Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (10 page)

Raid on a Sand-Swallow Colony, “How Many Eggs?”
Winslow Homer wood engraving of four boys climbing up sand dunes and stealing eggs from the nests of the swallows nesting there. Printed in
Harper’s Weekly
, June 13, 1874, one of the last of Homer’s engravings to be printed in
Harper’s
, and one of his finest. It was done at Gloucester, Massachusetts, and is therefore sometimes considered one of his “Gloucester Series,” although it doesn’t quite match the four other beach scenes he did there because it’s a vertical engraving; the other four are horizontal. 13.75 x 9.25 inches. Price: $450.

“This house belonged
to Diana’s father? Not just twenty years ago when he lived here, but until three years ago?” asked Maggie.

“Yes. I thought everyone knew,” signed Cordelia. “When he and his wife moved west I needed a place to stay. They told me I could live here for the rest of my life if I wanted to. Roger sent money to pay the taxes and keep the house painted and the roof from leaking. I paid for the utilities and my food, of course. Then three years ago, for some reason, he signed the deed over to me.”

“I see,” signed Maggie. She glanced over at Diana, who was finishing her second Danish and ignoring their signing. “Does Diana know this?”

“I haven’t told her,” said Cordelia. “I don’t know if her father did.”

Maggie suspected he hadn’t. He hadn’t told Diana much about her family. How had she gotten so involved with these two women? But how could she not care about what happened to them? “Cordelia, why would anyone want to hurt you or Diana?”

“I have no idea.”

A very bright light on the wall between the kitchen and living room started blinking.

“Someone’s at the door. I’ll get it,” said Diana.

Of course. In the home of someone who was hearing impaired a light would signal that someone was at the door; a doorbell wouldn’t be heard. Maggie had read about signals connected to TDD machines and doorbells, but this was the first time she’d seen one operating.

Chief Ike Irons came back with Diana. “Good morning, ladies. Maggie Summer. I didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I came to keep Diana and Cordelia company. They’ve had a difficult morning.”

“And you speak the hand talk, don’t you? I remember your saying that. Well, then it’s good you’re here. You can translate for Ms. West. I wanted them both to know we looked in their yard, and down to the beach from their porch, this morning, but we didn’t find any footprints. Of course, the wind has blown considerable, and wet leaves are over everything. But we couldn’t find a trace of whoever was here.”

“Did you check on the beach? Down by the tide line? Maybe whoever was here was picked up by a boat,” Maggie interrupted.

“Doubt it. If there were someone there he probably walked through the water so the tide washed away any footprints.”

“Well, he wouldn’t walk in that frigid water forever! Wouldn’t you see where he walked out?”

“Theoretically, yes, Dr. Summer. But we didn’t find anything. For whatever reason. The beach isn’t even, and the tide comes up pretty high about now. Maybe whoever it was hopped on a unicorn. In any case, we didn’t find anything. But we haven’t given up. We’re checking marinas and gas stations to see if anyone remembers seeing someone pump gasoline into a container in the past day or so. But that’s not unusual around here, you know. And we’re going to keep an eye on this house, both from the road and the water, for the next few days.”

Chief Irons nodded to Diana and to Cordelia. “Miss Hopkins and Ms West can be assured they’re under the personal protection of the Winslow Police Department.”

While Maggie translated the message for Cordelia, Diana asked, “Have you figured out who killed my father yet, Chief Irons?”

“That investigation is underway.”

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Who are you investigating?”

“We don’t have any specific suspects yet,” Chief Irons replied, “but we’re working on developing a timeline: trying to find out where your father was during the last few days of his life, and who he saw then. Once we know that, we’ll be in a better position to start interviewing persons of interest.”

“What do you know so far?” asked Diana.

“We know he was here on Tuesday morning with you for breakfast, and he was seen in town later that morning.”

“Yes?”

“Well, so far, that’s it.”

“Where was he in town? With whom?”

Maggie listened as Chief Irons tried to avoid admitting he didn’t have too many answers. “He was walking down Main Street, near the statue of the whaling master. He was alone, heading toward the library.”

“That’s it? That’s all you know?”

“We’ve only had a couple of days to work on the investigation, you know. These things take time. This isn’t ‘CSI’ or ‘Law and Order.’ This is the real world, young lady.”

“And in the meantime someone just walks up to our house and tries to burn it down, with Cordelia and me inside!”

“We’re investigating that, too, I assure you. These sorts of things do not normally happen here in Winslow.”

“Well, they’re happening now! And they’re happening to my family! And I want them to stop!” Diana burst into tears, and turned to Cordelia, who reached out to hold her.

“These women are very upset, Chief. Isn’t there anything more that can be done for them?” Maggie asked.

“They could go and stay somewhere else, I suppose, but then whoever wanted to burn down their house could do that more easily.”

“If they went to stay at one of the B and Bs in town for a few days, very quietly, could someone on your staff stay here to protect their property?”

“Dr. Summer, do you have any idea how much that sort of protection would cost? I have one detective and three regular cops on my force. You think I could spare someone to hang out in an empty house on the chance some stupid kid came back to try to burn it? I’m sending over someone to clean off the gasoline that’s there now. I think between Miss West and our guys we scared off whoever was there this morning. I don’t think anyone’s coming back. Winslow’s a small town, Dr. Summer. If you don’t like it, you can go back to New Jersey.”

With that Chief Irons stomped off, heading for the front door. For once Maggie was glad Cordelia was hearing impaired. She couldn’t hear the door slam.

Or the light knock a few minutes later. But Maggie did. Diana was still sobbing, so she went to the door. It was probably too much to hope that Chief Irons had come back to apologize.

Yes, it was.

“Morning, Maggie. Gussie said Diana and Cordelia had a scare here this morning.”

“Exactly. Did you pass your friend Ike on your way here?”

Jim nodded. “His car went by mine.”

“Probably over the speed limit. He couldn’t wait to get out of here. He says he’s providing protection for them and for the house, but I don’t see it. They’re really upset, Jim. And, truthfully, so am I. Attempting to burn a house down is a pretty nasty game.”

“You’re right. Do either of them have any idea who would have done this?”

“No clues. Cordelia didn’t see anything helpful, and Diana was upstairs asleep. Neither of them can think of anything in the house someone might want to destroy, or a reason anyone might want to hurt them.”

Jim shook his head. “I don’t have a magic solution, Maggie. I’ll be moving out of my house in a couple of days, and I could have them both come and stay there, but that would leave this house unprotected. I don’t think they’d want that, either.”

“I suggested something like that to Ike. He didn’t seem impressed.”

Diana and Cordelia looked up as Maggie and Jim walked into the kitchen. From the look that passed between them, Maggie wondered what they’d been doing—or communicating. Did they look guilty?

Harvard College.
Cover of
Appleton’s Journal of Literature, Science and Art
for Saturday, March 5, 1870, and following seven pages, which are devoted to a history and current view of Harvard, including wood engravings of Harvard Square (which shows men driving cows away from the area), Harvard Church, the Library Building, Appleton Chapel, the Divinity School, Law School, Lawrence Scientific School, The Observatory, and the Class Tree. Special treasure for any Harvard graduate. Page size 7.5 x 11 inches. $75.

Maggie left Jim
with Diana and Cordelia, hoping perhaps his advice and male calm could provide a different sort of comfort than her hot chocolate and Danish had.

Although the hot chocolate had certainly not been refused.

She headed toward the new Aunt Augusta’s Attic. If the schedule was on target, Gussie should be there, and the painters and carpenters should be finished. This morning they’d planned to unpack before, if she remembered correctly, a last-minute wedding cake check at the bakery.

Gussie’s van was the only vehicle in back of the new shop; there were no painting or construction trucks there. That seemed a positive sign. Maybe the work was complete.

Maggie walked up the ramp to the back door, knocked, and went in.

“There you are!” Gussie called from the front room. “How are Diana and Cordelia?”

“Physically, fine. But scared and confused. They have no idea who would try to set their house on fire.”

“I can’t imagine too many things more frightening than fire,” said Gussie. “Jim and I’ve put ramps at three entrances to our house, and fire alarms everywhere we could think of.”

Getting out of a burning house would be so much more complicated for Gussie than for someone who wasn’t disabled, Maggie realized. She hadn’t ever thought of that. And now that she had, the pictures in her mind were horrific.

“If Cordelia hadn’t happened to be downstairs in the kitchen so early in the morning, who knows what might have happened,” Maggie said. “She wouldn’t have heard anything. But thank goodness she saw a light. Whoever it was had a flashlight.”

“She probably has visual fire alarms connected to her heat and smoke detectors, but depending on how well she sleeps, she might not have noticed them.” Gussie shuddered. “I’m just glad they’re both safe.”

“Jim’s at the house with them now,” Maggie added.

“Good,” said Gussie. “And, before I forget or die of curiosity—as that movie said, ‘You’ve Got Mail!’”

“What?” said Maggie.

“When I got here there was an envelope on the floor near the front door. It must have been pushed through the mail slot. At first I thought the carpenter had dropped off a bill, but it’s for you. Over on the counter.”

Maggie picked up the envelope. It was addressed in penciled block letters to MAGGIE FROM NEW JERSEY.

“Who’d be sending you mash notes here?” Gussie asked, only half in jest.

Maggie started opening the envelope. “Yesterday, while you were resting, I stopped and had a beer at the tavern where Jim’d said Dan Jeffrey drank. The Lazy Lobster. I thought someone there would have an idea of what happened to him.”

“Maggie! That’s not exactly a social high spot in Winslow. If you felt you had to go, why didn’t you ask Jim to take you?”

“Because he wouldn’t have. And, besides, no one would have said anything if he’d been with me. I wanted to go on my own.” She ripped open the envelope. “I told the men there that if anyone had something to tell me about Dan they could leave a note here. I figured the shop would be a neutral place.” She read what was on the sheet of paper inside.

“So? What does it say?”

“‘Stay away from bars and balls. Let sand cover sin.’” Maggie shivered. “That’s hideously poetic.”

“Not poetic to me. Scary, and downright weird!” said Gussie. “Sounds like you made a real fan in that bar. Which someone is definitely telling you to stay away from.” She reached inside a carton and pulled out the ringmaster for a Schoenhut Humpty Dumpty Circus, a popular set of toys made in the early twentieth century.

“‘Bars and balls. And sand,’” mused Maggie as she paced the front of the shop. “Did you know Dan Jeffrey was involved with a baseball team here in town?”

“Where did you hear that?” Gussie arranged a wooden clown and a glass-eyed lion next to the mustached ringmaster on the shelf.

“From Diana. He’d told her. Cordelia confirmed it. He didn’t coach. He kept track of equipment. But his working with the team might connect him to the boy who died last spring.”

“Tony Silva. Bob Silva’s son. Bob’s a widower. He thought the world of that boy. Went to pieces after he died,” said Gussie. “Horrible situation. Jim said everyone knew there were drugs in the school. Ike’d been looking for the dealer for months. Thought someone was picking drugs up in Boston and selling them locally. But none of the kids would talk. You know kids. And after Tony died, they closed down even more. Bob accused anyone who had contact with the kids.”

“I heard he’d blamed Dan Jeffrey.”

“Could be. I didn’t hear that, but then, I don’t have a child in the school, so I don’t have a pipeline into those circles. But it makes sense. Dan was a ‘wash-ashore,’ someone relatively new in town, and as far as anyone knew he was a bachelor. Parents these days are nervous about single men being around their children.” Gussie paused. “Winslow’s an old town, Maggie. Most of us year ’round people have known each other since we were kids. My family’s been here a couple of hundred years. There are still divisions. Families that were Portuguese fishermen a couple of generations back may still be fishing, but now they’re just as likely to own restaurants, or run tour boats for summer people, or be professionals. A few who summered here as children have found a way, with telecommuting and all, to live here full time today. Times change. But a lot of the same families are still here. Jim’s one of the few newcomers. He went to Harvard Law and decided to move to the Cape and practice here instead of going into a big firm, or returning South.”

“What about Cordelia West?”

“I’m pretty sure she’s from Martha’s Vineyard, which is considered ‘in the neighborhood.’ There used to be a deaf community on the Vineyard, back, oh, a couple of hundred years ago.”

Maggie smiled. “I read a study about it once. People there didn’t think of deafness as a disability; it was just a characteristic some people were born with, like red hair. Everyone, deaf or not, learned sign language, so not being able to hear wasn’t a handicap. Fascinating.”

“That’s right. But as the world changed, people traveled more, and intermarried, and by the middle of the twentieth century that sign language was gone. If there are any deaf people on the Vineyard today they’re not part of that genetic cluster, as they now call it.”

“And she’s Dan Jeffrey’s—or Roger Hopkins’s—cousin.”

“So everyone says. Hopkins is a good old Cape Cod name, of course. There was a Hopkins on the
Mayflower
. Although I don’t know if there’s any connection to these Hopkins! Around here, every­one wants to claim a
Mayflower
connection.”

“Diana says her parents lived in that house when she was a baby.”

A lady Schoenhut acrobat with a bisque head fell over, and Gussie stopped to lean her against the larger of the two elephants in the circus parade she was setting up. “That would have been twenty years or so ago. I don’t remember. Maybe Ellen would. Ben would have been a baby then, too. New mothers remember other new mothers.”

“This morning Cordelia told me the house wasn’t hers until three years ago. It belonged to Roger Hopkins.”

“Three years ago? That would have been before he ‘died’ in Colorado,” Gussie said. “Did he give it to her or did she buy it?”

“From the way she put it, I assumed he’d given it to her,” Maggie said.

“I never had the feeling Cordelia had much money,” said Gussie. “Ellen would know more, but that little house of hers must be worth a small fortune. It has beach front. I’d guess its value is over half a million. Maybe closer to a million. Her property taxes must be incredible. A lot of local families have had to sell their homes because they can’t afford the taxes in the current market. I wonder how Cordelia has been paying hers? Those dolls she makes don’t sell
that
well.”

“She told me that until she owned the house three years ago her cousin sent her money for taxes and maintenance,” said Maggie.

“Interesting,” said Gussie. “He must have had a very good job at that bank in Colorado. Or she must have another source of income.” She looked at her watch. “We have to get going. We’re meeting Jim at the bakery. A wedding cake tasting awaits us.”

Josie’s Bakery, home of the delectable morning pastries, employed a pastry chef who specialized in creating spectacular wedding cakes. Luigi Ferrante greeted Gussie at the door and whisked them away to a private room.

“Ah, it is the bride! I have made samples of three cakes, just as you and your handsome groom requested! Come in, come in!” He moved a small table and several chairs so the table was in front of Gussie, and the chairs were arranged around it. “And where is the groom? We do not want to start without him!”

“Here he is,” said Jim, slightly out of breath, as he pushed through the heavy door, and kissed Gussie. “What a morning. But I made it! I see you haven’t started yet.”

“We would not begin without the groom,” said Mr. Ferrante, hovering around the three of them. “Now, let me remind you what cake you have selected.”

He opened a loose-leaf notebook filled with photographs of elaborately decorated cakes and flipped to the page he’d marked: a four-layer cake with white trim, topped by white roses made of frosting and a cascade of roses curving down the side.

“Oh, it’s lovely!” said Maggie. “Very elegant.”

“Now, I need you to make very certain this is the one you want.”

Gussie and Jim looked at each other. Gussie nodded. “We’re positive. It’s exactly what we want. You know we considered a lot of options. But we liked the flowers best. We almost went with real flowers, Maggie, but we decided the ones Mr. Ferrante made were so lovely we would go with one of his special creations.”

“Very good,” Mr. Ferrante beamed.

“And we want a four-layer lemon cake with chocolate filling between two layers and raspberry for the other one,” Jim added.

“Ah, yes! That will be perfect!” agreed Mr. Ferrante. “The flavors of chocolate and raspberry are certainly very…romantic, wouldn’t you say? Almost an aphrodisiac! For a wedding night, very appropriate.”

Maggie almost choked.

Jim kept smiling. “Shall we taste those cake samples now, Mr. Ferrante? We’re looking forward to deciding which of your delicious lemon cakes we’ll choose. ”

“Of course, of course!”

And as Maggie tasted the samples, all of which were delicious as far as she was concerned, she couldn’t help thinking about the note someone from the Lazy Lobster had left for her.

She needed to talk with someone connected with that baseball team.