Читать книгу 15 Minutes of Flame - Christin Brecher - Страница 12

Chapter 5

For a few moments, there was some confusion about Agnes’s pronouncement and its relative value to the work at hand. Bellows took the liberty of filling in Andy, Solder, and Leigh about Patience and Jedediah Cooper and the robbery of the Petticoat Row ladies’ money. I was happy for him to take the lead. I knew the police and anthropologists would be more receptive to the story if it came from a historian rather than from Agnes or me.

I also didn’t mind taking a back seat because, while Bellows spoke, no one was paying much attention to me. Capitalizing on their distraction, I crossed the room. My pretense was to lower the sheet hanging over the skeleton, since it continued to spook Agnes, but I also wanted to glance at the grave itself, which I hadn’t done earlier.

“What did you remember about Patience’s story?” Andy said to Agnes when Bellows had finished.

“It’s something about Nancy Holland, Patience’s best friend.”

My eye had just caught sight of a stone that was at a funny angle, but I paused to listen to Agnes. Having my own very best friend on the island, Emily Gardner, I know that best friends are a vault of secrets and that they can answer a lot of important questions. For example, if Emily’s husband came to me before birthdays and holidays, he’d save himself a lot of hassle when buying gifts.

Agnes shifted in her seat, now that so many eyes were on her. She looked in my direction. I nodded toward her to continue.

“The story has always been that Nancy was racked with guilt about the Petticoat Row ladies’ lost funds, and she was devastated by the betrayal of her best friend,” Agnes said. “Shortly after Patience and Jedediah left, she killed herself by jumping down the well behind her house out in Monomoy.”

“Juicy,” said Leigh.

I had to agree. I’d always thought of the old-time ladies on the island as straight shooters and hard workers, but there was a lot of drama going on as well.

“The Hollands lived in what is now Old Holly’s house,” said Agnes. “You know the one. I guess Holly is Nancy’s great-great-grand-whatever nephew.”

Old Holly is the affectionate name given to Gil Holland, who lives out by a quiet area called Monomoy. He is a short-tempered fellow, now a retired widower, who had made his living as a mechanic. I knew his family had been on the island forever, but I didn’t know him well outside of serving him a Thanksgiving dinner at the Rotary Club once. I remembered him because their stuffing is out of this world and he’d complained that it was too dry. It’s the opposite of dry.

“I found an article about Nancy’s suicide that disturbed me,” said Agnes.

She opened her tote bag and retrieved a photocopy of an article she’d likely found at the library. I was proud of Agnes for bringing evidence with her since there was a circle of curious professionals around her. Since I didn’t need Agnes to prove anything to me with a piece of paper, however, I shifted my attention back to the hearth.

“See?” said Agnes. “Nancy jumped down the well behind Old Holly’s house. She left a note that said she could not live, having lost her friend and the Petticoat Row money. Aside from the letter, however, all that was found was her cloak, hanging from the well.”

“Hello,” I said to a small object I pried from behind the rock, at a spot that would have been beside Patience’s clavicle. “Check it out.”

I held up a small metal tool to the group.

“What is it?” said Andy.

“It’s a tong,” I said, bringing it over to the still small but growing team. “Used to remove pots of melted wax from heat before pouring it into molds.”

“It’s from the right period,” said Bellows, admiring the piece. “Mid-eighteen hundreds.”

Solder took the tool from me and walked back to the skeleton. He removed the sheet that covered Patience and then moved aside her blouse. He held the tong over the exposed rib cage.

“One mystery solved,” he said. “The injury and the tool match. Combined with the blood spatter on the metal, I believe she died from a wound inflicted by this tong.”

“The handkerchief’s initials suggest that the body is Patience Cooper, and the hidden blood-spattered tongs suggest someone used them to kill her,” I said. “Given that there are no signs of a brutal attack from robbers, I think there’s more to the Cooper legend than anyone ever knew.”

“It’s just as I feared,” said Agnes. “You know, I was at Old Holly’s house once. Years ago, before his wife died. We were making jams for the cranberry festival. Holly’s wife said that when he inherited the house there was a stipulation that the well remain untouched, as it had been for decades, because Nancy was down there. She thought it was creepy that the body of a dead woman was in her backyard, but she said no matter how much she complained, Holly would never go near the well.”

“There are many fascinating tales of inheritance restrictions,” said Bellows with an air of self-importance that fell flat. He seemed to realize it too and stopped his monologue.

“I can’t believe I didn’t think of it sooner,” Agnes said. “I can’t find my glasses, but sometimes I’ll remember something out of nowhere.”

“They’re on your head, dear,” said Leigh, bringing Agnes a cup of water.

“Thank you,” said Agnes.

“Nancy Holland reportedly went down the well, but her body was never recovered,” I said, catching on to Agnes’s line of thinking. “Jedediah left the island with a woman, who was clearly not Patience. Agnes, you told me that Nancy and Jedediah had had a thing before he’d married Patience.”

“Do you think that Nancy staged her own death after she and Jedediah killed Patience, and then they left the island together?” said Andy.

“It seems possible,” I said. “Nancy Holland and Jedediah could have killed Patience Cooper and made up the story about the attack.”

“Meanwhile, my poor family has had a black stain on it for generations, while the Hollands were the real criminals,” said Agnes.

“It would explain why people thought they saw Jedediah leave the island with a woman,” said Bellows. “And it would explain why the Holland family didn’t want to disinter Nancy’s body after she allegedly went down the well. Better that the Coopers be the bad guys.”

Agnes nodded vehemently. I could see that my morning’s discovery and subsequent investigation had had a profound impact on her. What had started for me as an otherworldly connection to Nantucket’s candle-making past had led to a much deeper significance for Agnes. I admired her pride in her family, but also feared that without some closure, she might be haunted by the story in a very unhealthy way.

“Why don’t we clear this up,” I said. “Couldn’t we find out if Nancy is down the well?”

“Could we?” said Agnes, a tear springing to her eye. “If she’s not, you may find you have a cold case with poor Patience.”

“As one of the island’s historians, I’d like to second the motion that we explore the well,” said Bellows. “I am humbled and thrilled to have arrived on Nantucket at a time when this discovery has been made. I will make it my mission to see it through.”

“Mr. Bellows,” said Solder. “This is a scientific endeavor, not a storyteller’s indulgence.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Bellows, his eyes practically dropping from their sockets.

“I’m sure this could be a great scientific discovery for us, as well as a wonderful story for Mr. Bellows to add to the history books,” said Leigh. “We could get our equipment together by tomorrow and explore the well with no problem if Mr. Holland agrees.”

“Old Holly is under no obligation to open up his well,” said Andy. “Especially for a rumor we’re starting.”

“I’ll take care of that,” said Agnes.

She whipped out her phone. She had dialed before anyone could argue.

“Holly? It’s Agnes,” she said.

I motioned for her to put the call on speaker.

“What do you want?” said a gruff voice.

“You lying, stinking cheat,” she said. “I just found out that Nancy Holland never killed herself. In fact, she had a hand in killing Patience Cooper, and then took off with her husband. I wouldn’t put it past you to have known all these years.”

“What the hell are you talking about, you old bat?” he said.

“I’m talking about the fact that I’m standing next to Patience Cooper’s skeleton.”

“I don’t believe you,” he said. “And I couldn’t care less, even if you were standing next to the bones of your family’s good-for-nothing thief.”

“I’m with a specialist in bones. We’re coming over tomorrow morning to open up your well to confirm that it is empty.”

“Like hell you are,” he said.

“Wait!” I said, before Old Holly could hang up. “Hi! It’s Stella Wright. I’m here with Officer Southerland and someone from the Nantucket Historical Association too.”

Old Holly cleared his throat.

“Hello,” he said, more politely. “I appreciate your interest, but I am not opening my well.”

“I can understand,” I said. “But you know how stories fly. If it turns out Nancy’s body is there, as you believe it is, then we can put Agnes’s suspicions to rest. However, if we let the story marinate, you’ll have all sorts of people showing up at your house, looking for access to the well, wanting to know about the story. It will never end, and you’ll never have a moment of peace.”

“Goddamn, Agnes. What have you done?” said Old Holly. “I was planning to watch baseball tomorrow.”

“Mr. Holland,” I said, thinking of something that might put him over the edge. “I can have my cousins out to your house today to clear the backyard for you, to create easy access to the well.”

“I’ll ask the Historical Association to consider covering the costs,” Bellows said.

“Not necessary,” said Solder.

My cousins, Ted and Docker Wright, are the proud owners of Wright Brothers Carting Company. They recently bought an extra truck and had hopes for further expansion, so I knew they’d be happy for the extra income. Clearing yards isn’t part of their usual scope of work, but they were used to adding extra tasks to get the job done, especially while they were building their business. Hopefully, it would be a win-win opportunity for everyone.

“Yard work?” said Old Holly.

There was a pause. We all stared at Agnes’s phone.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t remove the body. I’m not allowed. Family rules.”

“We’ll be there tomorrow morning for the excavation,” said Leigh. She looked at Solder with a pleased expression, but he had begun to measure Patience’s bones.

“Wonderful,” I said.

Agnes hung up and looked at me. The laugh lines around her eyes had disappeared and a hollow darkness was left behind. I squeezed her hand reassuringly, and hoped tomorrow would give her peace.

“Up you go, Agnes,” I said. “Let’s leave the experts to their work. I’m going home to pack up a few items for my stay at the Morton house.”

“Honestly, I’m nervous about what we might find tomorrow,” said Agnes when we reached our cars. “I’m heading back to the library to get you that diary you asked for earlier.”

Agnes started her car, and I could see that there was nothing I could do to stop her. I decided that a little routine might steady her nerves, so I made her promise to attend our regularly scheduled candle class tomorrow morning before she drove away.

Andy and Leigh walked up the lawn to me.

“We called your cousin Ted. He said thanks for the job,” Andy said. “The chief also assigned me to be at Old Holly’s tomorrow. You should have some official presence around.”

“What are you going to do with Patience’s body now that we’re looking into Nancy too?” I said, impressed by how my town was coming together so quickly to learn more about these women.

Andy pushed his cap up his forehead an inch or two.

“Bellows was on the phone with the Historical Association,” he said. “He was angling to move the body over to the museum by the end of tonight, but Solder put his foot down.”

“From a scientific perspective, we’d like to keep the body on site, in case we find another tomorrow and there are points of comparison to make,” Leigh said in Solder’s defense.

I was thinking about my impending slumber party with Patience as I headed home to pack a few clothes for me and provisions for Tinker. I really hoped my stay at the Morton house would inspire the Girl Scouts to turn their fear of the skeleton into fascination. We couldn’t let all of the work they’d put into Halloween Haunts go to waste. And I didn’t want to let down the towns’ neediest.

Chris had put up a garbage bag over my broken kitchen window, but it wasn’t as creative a solution as I’d thought it might be. The bag kept the leaves and birds from flying into my apartment, but it was awfully cold inside. I was glad I had the Morton house to call home, especially if Peter was planning to spend the foreseeable future camping out at the beach.

On the way back to my new house, I stopped by the Wick & Flame. My day so far had had many unexpected twists and turns, so I used the afternoon to do what I know best. I made candles, and another Tinker Special, and closed up for Cherry. When I finally shut the door and turned the key for the night, I marveled over the fact that I’d unlocked a door to another world this morning.

I also realized that there was nothing in my fridge at the Morton house, so I had a bite to eat at the Nantucket Pharmacy on Main Street. When I finally arrived at the house, it was well after dark. The Shack’s door was chained and locked. Everything was quiet but for the wind, which was picking up.

The moment I stepped into the house, I realized it was almost as cold as the apartment I’d left. I flicked on the lights, then turned the knob of the radiator by the front door, hoping for the best. To be on the safe side, I found the linen closet on the second floor and pulled out every blanket I could find.

When I entered the bedroom carrying bedcovers piled up to my chin, Tinker was curled up under a pillow, with his nose and whiskers sticking out. He licked his paws and rubbed them over his head as I changed into my pajamas.

“Since when are you a fraidy cat?” I said, snuggling up next to him, and hoping the scent of mothballs from the blankets would dissipate sooner than later.

Tinker gave me a purr filled with indignation at my accusation.