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The Drowned Woman
Terry Lynn Thomas


Family secrets won’t always stay buried… December 1937. When Zeke’s sister-in-law Rachel Caen was found dead on Christmas Eve, her family assumed that she had taken her own life. Now five years later, one of the emeralds that Rachel was wearing at the time of her death is discovered at a stonecutter’s house in Portland, Oregon. With his brother Simon under suspicion for Rachel’s murder and stealing the emeralds, Zeke and detective Sarah are under pressure to clear his name. But with troubles of their own and in need of a place to hide, the duo return to Zeke’s hometown where a spiritual force helps Sarah find another emerald… All the fingers are pointing to Zeke’s family; how far will they go to protect their secrets? And will Sarah uncover the killer before it’s too late? This book was previously published as NEPTUNE’S DAUGHTER Get ready for another gripping read from USA Today bestselling author of THE SILENT WOMAN! Readers LOVE Terry Lynn Thomas: ‘Intriguing and page-turning. ’ ‘I really enjoyed this fascinating historical thriller. ’ ‘an absorbing novel’ ‘a marvellous historical suspense that had me engrossed from the start. ’ ‘I read it in just one sitting. ’









About the Author (#ulink_93300362-63c5-575a-b07a-50d186214dda)


TERRY LYNN THOMAS grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, which explains her love of foggy beaches and Gothic mysteries. When her husband promised to buy Terry a horse and the time to write if she moved to Mississippi with him, she jumped at the chance. Although she had written several novels and screenplays prior to 2006, after she relocated to the South she set out to write in earnest and has never looked back.

Terry Lynn writes the Sarah Bennett Mysteries, set on the California coast during the 1940s, which feature a misunderstood medium in love with a spy. The Drowned Woman is a recipient of the IndieBRAG Medallion. She also writes the Cat Carlisle Mysteries, set in Britain during World War II. The first book in this series, The Silent Woman, came out in April 2018 and has since become a USA Today bestseller. When she’s not writing, you can find Terry Lynn riding her horse, walking in the woods with her dogs, or visiting old cemeteries in search of story ideas.




Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas (#ulink_4c29cd21-5bfa-581f-96ce-da42c19efe30)


‘Intriguing and page-turning’

‘I really enjoyed this fascinating historical thriller’

‘An absorbing novel’

‘A marvellous historical suspense that had me engrossed from the start’

‘I read it in one sitting’

‘A fabulous page turning, mildly paranormal whodunnit’

‘A good read, difficult to put down!’

‘Brilliant! Thoroughly enjoyable read’

‘I look forward to reading the next in the series’

‘A real page turner!’




Also by Terry Lynn Thomas (#ulink_de4c608b-025d-5256-905f-064eefa2fc0f)


The Silent Woman

The Family Secret

The House of Secrets




The Drowned Woman

TERRY LYNN THOMAS








HQ

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd.

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

First published in Great Britain by HQ in 2019

Copyright © Terry Lynn Thomas 2019

Terry Lynn Thomas asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008330743

E-book Edition © April 2019 ISBN: 9780008328887

Version: 2019-02-25


Table of Contents

Cover (#u6d49132a-0981-5a47-90cc-6d7e908d496c)

About the Author (#u9409c67c-ebe2-5929-a0c1-b0bc6fa9829e)

Praise for Terry Lynn Thomas (#u90196f44-b630-5255-a8e8-fce01a4980c2)

Also by Terry Lynn Thomas (#ub13570f7-6e27-50cf-903e-63c6352e9e5d)

Title page (#u35dbecfa-abd4-586e-9519-18ebeab20136)

Copyright (#ud7908a63-907f-551f-8fa4-121c71c1bea8)

Dedication (#u7f5bb469-ad44-5b13-aa2f-2fabb0ad278f)

Chapter 1 (#u6b26f1c0-5697-549c-bba9-810093c0b42b)

Chapter 2 (#ud3aa8a9d-1545-5824-9633-5d1e0e251738)

Chapter 3 (#ub0eb54c4-71b3-5638-b769-4227c51c7b47)

Chapter 4 (#uc9ecc503-0cda-57b1-855a-5996f29be189)

Chapter 5 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 6 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 7 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 8 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 9 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 10 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 11 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 12 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 13 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 14 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 15 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 16 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 17 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 18 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 19 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 20 (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter 21 (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Dear Reader … (#litres_trial_promo)

Keep Reading … (#litres_trial_promo)

About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)


In loving memory of Lillian Harper Tombaugh for instilling in me a love of all things Gothic and for her ability to make the ordinary come alive with magic.




Chapter 1 (#ulink_d73a1c8d-a888-5b37-bba9-9c54392a08c9)

June 10, 1943


Wade Connor’s blue Chevy was the only car on the street not covered with a fine patina of dust. I swore under my breath as I stepped off the bus, my document case in one hand, the meager groceries I scrounged with my ration coupons in the other, and headed toward home.

Hoping to slip up to our flat and avoid seeing Wade altogether, I climbed the steps that led to our entryway door and set my bags down, careful not to make too much noise as I reached for my keys. Zeke and I lived above our office, a spacious ground-floor storefront nestled against the hills of Sausalito. My desk and typewriter were tucked into a small office in the back, where I did the transcription work for my boss, Dr Matthew Geisler, who wrote textbooks on paranormal phenomena. Zeke didn’t have a title. Instead, he had Wade Connor. Wade worked for the FBI. Zeke worked for Wade on a freelance basis. From my perspective, Wade sent Zeke on secret operations, often putting Zeke in grave danger, and then took the credit for Zeke’s heroics. Wade’s voice met me as I stepped into the hallway.

‘Sarah needs to be told. And she needs a gun, so she can protect herself.’ I tiptoed to the door and pressed my ear against it.

‘She’ll never agree to carry a gun,’ Zeke said.

‘She will when she finds out what’s happened. And you’d better tell her. She’ll sense you’re keeping something from her, and then she’ll wind up in some sort of mess and compromise my entire operation. Be quiet. Someone’s there.’ The door burst open, and Wade stood in the doorjamb, his eyes ablaze. I raised my hands.

‘It’s just me.’

Zeke limped to the door. He smiled when he saw me. ‘Come in, love. We need to talk.’

I followed them into the office. Once we were all inside, Zeke locked the door and engaged two brand new deadbolts.

‘Extra locks?’

‘We have a situation.’

The ghost shimmered in the corner of the room, her eyes fixed on me. Wade and Zeke carried on, impervious to her.

‘Sarah, are you listening?’ Zeke asked.

‘Yes,’ I said. The ghost smiled and winked at me. I ignored her.

‘I want you both out of here.’ Wade barked out his orders. ‘Go upstairs and pack. Bring enough clothes to stay away for a month or two.’

I stood, ready to lash out at Wade, but one look at Zeke changed my mind. His brow was furrowed with worry. ‘What’s happened? Where are we going?’ I asked.

‘Millport,’ Zeke said. ‘I need to go home.’

‘And you’re not safe here,’ Wade piped in. ‘Zeke’s going to tell you all about it, once you are on your way.’ Wade peered between the blinds again, surveying the street below us, keeping his eyes riveted on the foot traffic as he spoke. ‘I’m sorry, Sarah. I don’t mean to be short. Zeke will explain everything. I want you two on the road in fifteen minutes. You’re in danger. Can you please just go pack?’

‘I started to pack for you, but I didn’t know what you’d want to bring. Your typewriter is loaded up already. I put the extra ribbons, ink, and a case of paper in the trunk, too. I’ll take those.’ Zeke nodded at the sack of groceries I had carried in. ‘We can bring them with us. No meat, I suppose?’

‘Not a scrap,’ I said. ‘Do we have gasoline coupons?’

‘I’ve taken care of that,’ Wade said.

‘Of course you have.’ I sighed and left the room.

‘Stay away from the windows,’ Wade called after me.

With a shaking hand, I unlocked the door to our upstairs flat, frightened now, thanks to Wade Connor. I loved our flat. The bay windows faced the water, angled just enough to the west to allow floods of afternoon sun to fill the room.

The ghost stood before the window now, her image stronger than it was downstairs. She looked like the type of woman who rode horses over tall hedges while perched in a tiny saddle, fearless and bold. Her hair shimmered with golden light. She wore an evening dress of cream silk. It fitted her body and flowed to the floor like liquid pearls.

‘Why have you come?’ I asked. Although I could see ghosts, most of the time I couldn’t hear them. I pointed to a scratch pad which sat on the table near the sofa. ‘Can you write your answers?’

She floated over to the tablet in that particular way of ghosts.

‘Good. I’m going to pack.’ I turned my back on her and headed down the hall toward our bedroom. Zeke’s suitcase sat on the floor. Mine lay open on the bed, ready to be filled with the clothes I would need. Something about Wade’s manner and the look on Zeke’s face struck a chord with me. I realized with a start that I had seen fear, not only in Zeke, but in Wade Connor as well. Urged on by this, I threw clothes into the suitcase without thinking or taking the time to fold them. I jammed the black Lanvin evening gown on top of the pile, not caring that the tiny pleats around the waistline would need to be ironed again – a tedious job that I loathed. I grabbed four sweaters and tossed them on top of the gown.

A blast of cold air on the back of my neck told me that my ghost had joined me. She stood by my small writing desk, holding the tablet that I had left for her to write on. When I moved close to her, she disappeared. Her writing was schoolroom perfect. I am Zeke’s sister-in-law, Rachel Caen. You must find the emeralds to discover who killed me.

Rachel had dumped all the sweaters I had packed onto the bed, and was now replacing them with cotton blouses and light-weight summer clothes. She folded the clothes and placed them in neat stacks inside my case. When everything was properly stowed, she snapped the latches in place with a resounding click. The smile she gave was a sad one. She pointed to the tablet on the table one more time before she disappeared. New handwriting had replaced her prior message. Be careful. And just like that, she was gone.

* * *

It was ten-thirty by the time Zeke and I headed north on Highway 1, through the Marin headlands, a picnic basket on the backseat and a sinful amount of five-gallon fuel ration stamps tucked into the glove compartment.

‘You’ve been suspiciously quiet,’ Zeke said.

‘Tell me about Rachel and the emeralds.’

Startled, Zeke steered the car off the road and parked on the dirt shoulder.

‘She came to me.’ I bit back the desire to apologize. I had long grown tired of apologizing for something over which I had no control.

‘Who—’

‘Rachel Caen.’ I watched Zeke, trying to gauge his reaction. ‘Actually, she came to you. She was in the room with you and Wade when I came home.’

‘Oh, just what I need,’ Zeke said.

I looked ahead, not quite sure how to respond.

‘I’m sorry. Truly.’ He grabbed my hand. ‘I just forget. Your ability to see – it interferes with my logical brain at times.’

‘You said no secrets between us, Zeke. I promised you that I wouldn’t keep anything back. I am telling you that Rachel came to me.’

‘What does she want?’

‘She said if I find the emeralds, I will find her killer.’

Seconds ticked past. He didn’t speak, and neither did I. Zeke took my hand and kissed it. He handed me the newspaper. ‘Read the headline.’

I took the paper from him and scanned the front page. Resting in between the news of the war overseas and the threats of the striking miners, the headline that so worried Zeke screamed,

‘FIRE DESTROYS SAN FRANCISCO BARRACKS – ARSON SUSPECTED!’

‘I don’t understand. What does this have to do with you?’

‘The arsonist is one of Hendrik Shrader’s men,’ Zeke said.

White fear washed over me. A cramp formed in my stomach and my mouth went dry.

Hendrik Shrader – kidnapper, murderer, Nazi sympathizer, and Zeke’s mortal enemy.

‘I thought he and his collaborators had been arrested.’ I would never forget being thrown into the back of Hendrik Shrader’s car by one of his henchmen. Hendrik Shrader’s threats haunted my dreams to this day.

‘When they raided his apartment, he was gone, but they found a piece of paper with our address on it. And I agree with Wade, we’ll be safe in Millport. It’s a small town. If anyone comes looking for me, I’ll soon hear about it. Wade Connor can take care of Hendrik Shrader. Once it’s safe, we’ll come back and life will return to normal.’ Zeke rested his hand on my thigh.

‘Will it ever be safe?’ I imagined Hendrik Shrader had an army of men, and when one was thwarted, another would step up to take his place.

‘Hendrik Shrader isn’t my only enemy, Sarah. I have to be diligent. Making enemies like Hendrik Shrader is a component of the life I’ve chosen to live. I will spend the rest of my life looking over my shoulder, for Hendrik Shrader and others.’

‘I admit to being a little afraid,’ I said.

‘Caution is the operative word,’ Zeke said. ‘We’ll be safe in Millport. It’s about time you met my family.’

I believed him. ‘Tell me about Rachel. How did she die? Tell me about the emeralds.’

‘Rachel is – was – my brother William’s wife. My father didn’t approve of the match. Rachel didn’t come from an influential family. Instead, she pulled herself up by the bootstraps. She was a smart girl. Wanted to be a doctor. Not a nurse, mind you, a doctor. And she probably would have succeeded. We all went to an annual Christmas Eve party at the Winslows’. The Winslows are our closest neighbors. There’s a path from our property to theirs by way of a lake that my grandfather built. Rachel left the party early. She brought walking shoes and put them on under her dress.’ Zeke laughed and shook his head. ‘I remember how she looked, in that long flowing dress, that gorgeous necklace around her neck, those bulky shoes, and her fur coat. She claimed a headache and left the party early. She walked home and disappeared. There was speculation. Many thought she had run away, cracked under the pressure of living in the same house with my father, who was very vocal about his disapproval of William’s marriage and Rachel’s desire to go to medical school. Her body turned up two weeks later in the lake. She had been drowned; murdered. Rachel’s death almost destroyed my brother. He loved his wife very much.’

‘And the emeralds?’

‘Gone. Disappeared without a trace. My father hired divers to search the lake. He offered a generous reward for their return, but they were never found. They are unusual in that they are round, perfect orbs shaped like pearls, with gold filigree over each stone. My words don’t do them justice. They were stunning. Every now and again a journalist rekindles the story, and the speculation starts all over again.’

‘I wonder why Rachel came to me now?’ I asked.

‘Because one of the stones has turned up at a jeweler’s in Portland, Oregon.’ I took in Zeke’s words, playing out in my mind what they meant. ‘Surely they can trace the stone?’

‘The police are trying. Wade’s father, Ken, was the detective on the case. He spent the last three years trying to solve it. He retired last year. I imagine he is still trying to figure out who murdered Rachel. He was very fond of her – we all were. I haven’t had much contact with anyone in Millport since I left.’

‘What a sad story for Rachel,’ I said. ‘I think I would have liked her.’

‘You would have. Everyone did. William never recovered. That’s why he volunteered to go to Germany with me. I made it home. He didn’t. Now my father and I hate each other.’ Zeke stared at the road ahead, lost in his own thoughts, and didn’t speak for a period after. ‘I’m glad you’re coming with me. I will be better able to face them with you at my side.’

I smiled.

‘There’s something I’ve been meaning to discuss with you,’ he went on.

‘What is it?’ I asked, worried now.

‘I need you to be careful. I’m not going to tell you to ignore Rachel’s ghost because I know you wouldn’t listen to me anyway. And don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right. But the woman was murdered. All I’m asking is that you take caution. If you think you are coming close to uncovering any information about Rachel’s killer, come to me. I will help you. I will listen to you, and I will do whatever you ask. I just need you to be smart. You have a tendency to put yourself right in the middle – enough said. Just promise me you’ll be careful. Because I couldn’t bear it if something happened to you.’

He took my hand and kissed it. We drove like that, hand in hand, connected, each with our own thoughts. We drove along craggy cliffs with the waves pounding beneath us, enjoying the estuaries teaming with wildlife and sea birds and the warm summer sun.

‘I should tell you about my family, so you can prepare yourself,’ Zeke said. ‘My father and I don’t get along. I’ll leave it at that. I’ve not seen him in almost four years, so maybe he’s changed. I don’t know. My brother Simon is a ne’er-do-well. My father spoiled him since the day he was born. He hasn’t done a day’s work in his life. Father just throws money at him. Simon gambles, and I would tell you that he is just as bad as my father—’

‘But?’ I asked.

‘But he has a wonderful wife, Daphne, who is trying her best to force him to grow up. They have a little boy, Toby, who I haven’t seen since he was a baby. My family’s mill has always manufactured textiles, namely velvet for curtains and upholstery. They’ve switched gears since the war and now manufacture silk parachutes. That’s about all I know.’

‘Did you work at the plant?’

‘Of course,’ Zeke said. ‘We all did – Simon, William, and I. Father demanded it. I returned from Germany in 1939 and moved to San Francisco to work with Wade. He wasn’t happy. I have no idea how things are situated now.’

‘You haven’t missed your family? I never hear you speak of them.’

‘I miss Granna and Simon at times, but no, I don’t miss my father.’ He smiled at me. ‘My life is with you. I’ve moved on.’

We had traveled for three hours when my stomach growled.

‘Ready for a picnic?’ Zeke asked. He drove off the highway onto a dirt road almost hidden by overgrown shrubs and saplings. He continued about half a mile until we wound up at a gravel parking lot abutting a secluded beach under a steep cliff.

Despite his injured leg and the cane he now used to walk, Zeke carried the hamper with our food. I knew better than to offer to help him, so I picked up the blanket and followed him along the rocky path which led to the beach. Soon we made our encampment and dug into egg salad sandwiches, potato salad, and canned peaches. The cliff provided a shelter against the wind. The crashing waves served as our background music. When we finished eating, we lay side by side on the blanket, basking in the warm sun as seagulls circled overhead. For that brief moment it seemed as though we had no troubles at all.

I kissed him. ‘I expected you to forbid me to get involved in Rachel’s murder.’

‘I don’t believe in forbidding. I don’t want, nor do I have, that type of control over you. Just stay safe. That’s all I ask. If things get dangerous, I’ll help you. Will you do that?’

‘Yes.’ I kissed him again.

* * *

From the beach, we headed inland, away from the brisk sea air and into the blazing summer heat. I dozed in the car for the last two hours of the journey and didn’t wake up until we crossed the railroad tracks into Millport. We drove along Main Street, passing a bank, a post office, a pharmacy, a hardware store, a women’s beauty shop, and a diner. People milled along the sidewalks. Some window-shopped, some hurried along at a surprising pace, considering the heat waves which shimmered from the ground. Trickles of sweat beaded between my shoulder blades and ran down my back. When I leaned forward in the seat, my blouse stuck to my skin.

We rounded the corner and reached a three-story brick building with a row of police cars parked in front. Zeke drove around the block until we found a place to park under the shade of an oak tree. He rolled up his window and took the keys from the ignition.

‘I’m here to fix the business I left unfinished three-and-a-half years ago. After that, we are going to leave and – with luck – never come back.’

We were interrupted by an obnoxious rapping on the driver’s side window. Zeke opened the door and got out of the car. The girl who stood outside moved in to hug him, but he managed to turn his back on her as he opened the back door and took his cane out of the back seat. I got out myself, even though I knew that Zeke would have preferred to come around to open the door for me. We moved toward each other and met by the trunk, the woman following at Zeke’s heels.

‘Hello, Sophie,’ Zeke said. ‘I’d like you to meet my wife, Sarah. Sarah, Sophie Winslow.’ Sophie Winslow reminded me of an elf – a mean elf, but an elf nonetheless. She had a pointed nose and big brown eyes which gazed at me with a fair measure of malice. She wore trousers with sturdy walking shoes. Above the waist, she was dressed in a blouse with a collar made of fine lace. A strand of good pearls encircled her long neck.

‘Hello.’ She all but ignored me and spoke to Zeke. ‘The cane makes you distinguished, darling,’ she said.

Zeke moved next to me and enfolded me in the arm that wasn’t holding the cane.

‘So is this the new wife?’ Sophie smiled as she said this, aware of my discomfort and taking pleasure in it. ‘She’s had her name in all the papers, I hear.’

‘Sophie, when are you going to grow up?’

‘I am grown up, darling, and if you stick around long enough, you might discover that for yourself.’ She changed the subject. ‘Daphne’s planned a little reception for you tomorrow night. Mother expects you to come to the house at some point for cocktails and gossip. She’ll want to get a look at Sarah, of course. They all will.’ She faced me. ‘You’ve brought proper clothes?’ She didn’t give me a chance to answer. ‘Never mind. Daphne will help you. She always helps the underdog. God knows, she has a closet full of clothes that she will never wear.’

Sophie didn’t give either one of us room to get a word in.

‘Okay, darlings. Got to run. Kiss, kiss.’ She hurried off, spry and quick, leaving a vacuum of silence in her wake.

‘That is Daphne’s little sister,’ Zeke said, as we walked through the blazing heat. ‘Don’t mind her. She’s a little fool.’

More like a cunning fox. I forced a smile. Zeke held the door for me, and we walked into the police station.

* * *

A dark-haired man with a haggard face and tired eyes waited for us in the lobby. He didn’t have a drop of sweat on him, despite the long-sleeved shirt. I didn’t notice his missing arm until he pushed away from the wall. The desk sergeant, an older man whose face resembled a bulldog, looked on as Wade Connor’s brother and Zeke’s childhood friend, Joe, greeted us.

‘Welcome, Sarah. I’m so glad to meet you.’ Joe Connor had a warm smile and an easygoing way about him.

‘How are you holding up?’ Zeke asked, as he and Joe shook hands.

‘No more boxing for me, but I’m managing. I tell myself to be grateful that I only lost an arm. Others fared much worse, believe me. What happened to the leg?’

‘No more boxing for me either. One of your brother’s operations went awry.’

‘You should get one of those canes with a sword on the inside,’ Joe smiled. ‘Come on. Let’s go to my office so we can talk.’

We followed Joe down a corridor of smoked glass doors with the names etched in gold letters on the outside. We stopped before one that said ‘Detective Joseph Connor’.

‘Impressive.’ Zeke ran his fingers over the gold lettering.

‘I’m glad you’ve come back, Zeke. I’m sorry about Hendrik Shrader and that you and Sarah are in danger, but something’s happened …’ Joe hesitated.

‘Out with it, Joe. What’s he done?’

We followed Joe into his office.

‘There have been a series of jewel heists in Millport. The thief – or thieves if you believe some people – targets the Millport elite. Initially the robberies occurred when no one was home. That, among other things, has led us to believe that whoever is doing these robberies is on familiar terms with the victims.’

A large map took up almost an entire wall, complete with pins with red flags, which were stuck in random places.

Joe opened a file cabinet and took out a stack of files. He reached inside one of them and handed Zeke a bunch of photos in various shapes and sizes.

‘Things have escalated lately. The burglar is taking more risks and has been entering the houses while people are there, usually while they are sleeping. He climbed up the Donaldsons’ drainpipe and stole Mrs Donaldson’s jewelry box, right out from under her nose.’

We thumbed through a stack of photographs, all depicting jewelry – diamond necklaces, earrings, bracelets, pearls – and a large quantity of sterling. The burglar had hit the motherload.

I moved over to the map on the wall.

‘I’ve put pins where the robberies have taken place. I was desperate to try something. As you can see, the victims are all concentrated in that eight-mile circumference. This guy is physically fit. He’s nimble, which also leads me to believe that he doesn’t live here. All the usual suspects enlisted and are no longer in Millport. So we’re looking for an outsider, which should help.’

‘Are you saying that Millport has a cat burglar?’ Zeke said.

‘Yes,’ Joe said.

‘Press?’ Zeke asked.

‘Haven’t gotten a hold of it yet,’ Joe said. ‘But it’s just a matter of time. The victims don’t want their names made public, and the various insurance companies are eager to recover the jewels so they don’t have to pay the claims. It’s a nightmare and of course, no one is happy with my efforts.’

‘Surely you don’t think my brother has been climbing into people’s homes and stealing their valuables?’

‘He’s recently paid off a large gambling debt. Where did he get the money? He won’t tell me. I’ve asked him repeatedly. There are some who believe that I am not objective because of my connection to your family. You know as well as I do that Simon has been headed for trouble.’

‘That doesn’t mean he has the emeralds, or that he had anything to do with Rachel’s death.’

‘I realize that. But an emerald turns up and all of a sudden Simon has the money to pay off his sizable gambling debts. The newspapers haven’t yet discovered that one of the emeralds has turned up. But they will. Everyone in town knows. Conclusions have been drawn. I will keep you informed as to what’s going on. You’re home now. We’ll sort this out. As for the other thing, I’ve spoken to Wade. A few of us in the department know what’s going on. If anyone comes after you, we’ll soon know about it.’

‘Who discovered the emerald in Portland?’

‘My father. Since he retired, he’s been obsessed with Rachel’s case. He claims that he will solve her murder before he dies, and if he doesn’t, he’ll come back from the grave to see justice done.’

‘Do you need my help? If my brother is a suspect …’ Zeke didn’t finish his sentence.

‘As of now, I don’t need your help. Since your brother is a potential suspect, your involvement would start speculation and rumor. I can promise to keep you informed, but that’s the extent of it. Wade has offered his services in tracing the emerald. That should help, but it’s going to take some time.’

‘I believe you have something for me?’ Zeke asked.

Joe took a black leather case the size of a large book out of his desk drawer.

‘I expect you to teach her to be safe with this,’ he said as he handed it to Zeke.

‘Sarah, this is for you,’ Zeke said. He laid the box on the desk and stepped aside. ‘Open it.’

I undid the brass latch and lifted the lid of the box. Inside lay a tiny gun made of gleaming silver, with a mother-of-pearl handle. I recoiled.

‘What am I going to do with that?’ I asked.

‘You are going to learn to use it to defend yourself,’ Zeke said.

‘I will not. I refuse. You know very well that I would never shoot anyone no matter what they were doing,’ I said.

Joe Connor intervened on Zeke’s behalf. ‘Sarah, the men who are after you and Zeke are dangerous. I usually do not condone civilians carrying guns, especially women, but I think in this instance Zeke’s right. Just take the gun, Sarah. Let Zeke show you how to use it. Practice a bit. When this man who is after you is back in custody, you can put it away.’

I looked at my husband and his well-intentioned friend. Hendrik Shrader was a dangerous man. I knew that. But the question remained, would I actually be able to shoot him?

‘You’d shoot him if he was going to harm you,’ Zeke said, as if he could read my mind. ‘And I know you’d shoot him if he was going to harm me.’

He was right. With a sinking feeling, I acquiesced.




Chapter 2 (#ulink_34c6de99-b2ac-59d5-9c6a-68ebd286ce83)


‘I forgot about this oppressive heat.’ Zeke loosened his tie, removed it, and handed it to me. I rolled it up and tucked it into my purse, next to the case which held my gun.

‘The mill is about two miles that way,’ Zeke pointed as he turned onto a tree-lined dirt road, kicking up dust in our wake. We passed pastures with weather-beaten fences and tall golden grass shimmering in the afternoon heat. Horses grazed here, their coats glistening in the sun. A man on a tractor made tracks through the grass, waving at us as we drove by. We came to a pasture surrounded by a white fence, where four horses grazed. One of the horses, a giant red beast, pricked his ears and raised his head as the car approached.

‘Prepare yourself, my love,’ he said.

‘Oh, come on. It can’t be that bad,’ I said.

‘You’ve no idea,’ he said.

We drove on, following the white fence as it wove around the oak trees. The red horse broke away from the herd and ran toward us, keeping pace with our car. He kicked his heels a few times, before he lost interest in us and ran back to the others.

‘That’s Seadrift, Daphne’s horse,’ Zeke said.

We turned into a tree-lined driveway, which wove through a shady canopy for about a half mile before the house came into view – a two-story structure made of gray stone with a shale roof. A sloping flower bed abutted the driveway. Burgeoning blooms in a riot of color almost shielded the woman who squatted among them. She held a spray can and worked the beds with industry, deadheading blooms, spraying the plant when she finished, and scooting down the row. She had a rhythm and made quick work of the project. I recognized larkspur, foxglove, delphinium, sunflowers, all melded together in a vibrant burst of color.

When Zeke tooted the horn, the woman stood. When she took off her hat, a mass of auburn hair tumbled around her shoulders.

‘None of those flowers was here when I left.’ He turned off the ignition. ‘If we were to stay on this road, we’d run into the stables. All that grassland back there is where we get our hay. What Daphne doesn’t use for her horses, we sell.’

‘How much property is there?’ A fresh batch of sweat pooled between my shoulder blades and started to trickle down my back. I opened the passenger door, but the breeze did little to dispel the heat.

‘Three hundred and fifty acres,’ Zeke said. ‘I wanted to grow grapes for wine and start a vineyard – never mind. Let’s go in.’

The door burst open and a ginger-haired boy, who I guessed to be five or six, came tumbling down the stairs and running towards Zeke.

‘Uncle Zeke, Uncle Zeke!’ The boy launched himself at Zeke, who somehow managed to sweep the child up with one arm, while maintaining hold of his cane.

‘Toby!’ Zeke spun him around, hiding the pain that I was certain the activity caused. He set the boy down and leaned against the car.

‘You must be Sarah,’ Daphne said. She wiped her hands on her trousers and held one out for me to shake. She took my hand in a strong grip and shook it, then saw Zeke taking the bags out of the trunk and went to help him.

‘Give me a hug, brother-in-law,’ she said. She and Zeke hugged, and Daphne air-kissed his cheek. ‘Simon’s at the mill. He asked you to join him as soon as you got here. Why don’t you leave the bags, and I’ll get Sarah situated.’

‘We brought food, too,’ I said.

‘Perfect,’ Daphne said.

‘Uncle Zeke, I’m getting a pony.’ The boy still clambered over Zeke, who was taking our suitcases, my typewriter, and the box of food out of the trunk.

‘And Father?’ Zeke asked.

‘Running errands today,’ Daphne said. An unspoken current passed between my husband and Daphne, words unsaid, but their meaning conveyed nonetheless.

‘Toby, your uncle has a sore leg. He’s also trying to carry things. Please quit climbing all over him.’

‘I can help. Sometimes ponies carry things. I don’t know if they carry suitcases, but my pony will do anything I ask,’ the boy said.

‘That’s marvelous, old boy. I think you’d be great on a pony,’ Zeke said. He climbed the stone steps and set the box of food next to our suitcases on the front porch. When he walked back down the stairs, Daphne noticed the limp.

‘Oh dear,’ Daphne said.

‘I know,’ I answered, speaking just loud enough for her to hear.

The three of us stood for a moment, watching Toby run in circles as he pretended to ride an imaginary pony.

‘I should really go to Simon. You don’t mind if I leave you?’ Zeke asked.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

‘I’ll show her around,’ Daphne said.

‘See you soon.’ He kissed my cheek, got in the car, and drove away.

‘Miss.’ The boy came up to me now, as if noticing me for the first time. ‘Do you like ponies? I’m getting one of my own.’

‘He’s not getting one until he can muck out a stall,’ Daphne said. ‘Toby, say hello to Sarah. She’s your aunt.’

Toby skewed up his face, processing this bit of news. In a brilliant flash of understanding, his face broke into a big smile.

‘That’s super.’ He took my hand.

‘Sarah is going to be here awhile, darling. Go find Granna, would you? She is waiting to read to you.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ the boy said. He waved at me and ran off.

‘What a bright child,’ I said.

‘He’s a handful,’ Daphne said. ‘Would you like to go inside and freshen up, or would you like the quick tour?’

‘Should we take the food inside?’

‘Don’t worry. By the time we get back, Mrs Griswold will have all that sorted out.’

‘Tour, please,’ I said to Daphne.

‘Fabulous.’ She hooked her arm in mine. ‘We’ll start with the gardens.’

* * *

‘I try to get out here and tend to these beds myself, but it has been so hot these past few weeks, I’ve only been able to work in the early morning.’

‘How many horses do you have?’ We had strolled among the gardens in front of the house, through a rose garden nestled in the middle of a grove of shade trees, and were now sitting on a bench under the gnarled limbs of a majestic oak tree amid ferns, hydrangea, and other shade-loving plants that I did not recognize.

‘I have four, all told. Seadrift is my favorite. I bought him when he was a two-year old and broke him myself. I give lessons to the local children.’ She stopped as I wiped the sweat which ran down my face. ‘Are you okay?’

‘I’m just not used to the heat,’ I explained. ‘Zeke and I live near the bay, so it doesn’t get this hot.’

‘Let’s head back,’ Daphne said. ‘We are desperate for rain. One of these days the sky will break open, and we will get a little relief.’

Daphne pointed out the various plants and trees as we walked.

‘It will be cool in the house,’ Daphne said. An elderly woman waited for us in the doorway. She wore a lightweight floral housedress – perfect for this scorching heat – with her silvery-blue hair tucked into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Sparkling eyes smiled out of her plump face.

‘Welcome, Mrs Caen,’ she said.

‘Please, call me Sarah.’

We were in a long entry hall. No rug graced the hardwood floor. The whitewashed walls made the room seem cool. Off to the right, a sweeping staircase led the way to the second storey. A cool breeze tickled my bare skin, as though a fan were blowing on us.

‘Sarah, meet Mrs Griswold. She takes care of us,’ Daphne said.

‘And you look like you’re about to have a heat stroke,’ Mrs Griswold said. ‘If you want to take her up, Daphne, I’ll bring lemonade.’

‘Is there a fan somewhere?’ I asked Daphne, after Mrs Griswold had left us.

‘No, but it feels like it. It’s the design of the house.’ We headed up the stairs, taking our time. Daphne kept her eye on me, as if she was afraid I’d keel over. ‘We have a cupola on the third floor. If we open the windows up there, and open the front and back door, the heat in the house gets sucked up the stairs. That, plus all the big oaks around the house, gives us shade. Simon has begged his father to install an air-conditioning system, but Will Sr won’t hear of it.’

The top of the stairs opened into a sitting area. A picture window overlooked the vast acreage surrounding the house, with a good view of the stables. Four chairs circled a low coffee table, with a sofa positioned under the window. Books and magazines, along with a few picture books and reading primers, were scattered about the room. In the corner, a toy train set waited for Toby.

‘What a charming room,’ I said.

‘Thanks,’ Daphne said.

‘Did you do the decorating?’

‘Yes,’ Daphne said. ‘I must confess I read lots of design books and magazines. If I were a career woman, I would be an interior decorator. I like studying people and creating their surroundings. Your room is this way.’ The hallway had windows along one wall with a narrow staircase in the middle of the landing. ‘That staircase leads to the cupola I was telling you about. The view from up there is stunning, but it is as hot as an oven.’

We stopped before a large door, with a heavy brass handle and a skeleton key – also of brass – in the lock. Daphne unlocked the door, handed the key to me, and led me into a spacious sitting room decorated in earth tones. A well-worn rug covered the wood floors, and the French doors, which stood open now, allowed the summer breeze to flow through the room. More French doors opened into the bedroom, which held a four-poster bed set high off the ground. This room also had access to the covered porch.

‘I recommend closing the doors and curtains that lead to the porch by ten o’clock in the morning. We’ve left them open today to air the room. You don’t realize how precious this cool air is until afternoon, when the heat can be a bit stifling.’ She shut the doors and closed the curtains. ‘This was Zeke’s room,’ Daphne said. ‘I’ve changed it up a bit, painted it, new furniture, curtains and the like.’ A small fireplace with a white marble hearth was set in the middle of the wall. On one side, a work table held my typewriter and office supplies, all unpacked and ready for me to use.

Daphne spoke, but her words faded into the background. Above the fireplace hung a portrait of Rachel Caen. She wore the same dress she had on when she appeared before me just a few hours before at our flat in Sausalito. The emeralds sparkled around her neck as though they had a life of their own. Her hair flowed over her shoulders in honey-colored waves. Her expression suggested hidden mirth, as though she thought the whole idea of the portrait a joke. I could not take my eyes away.

‘That’s my sister-in-law, Rachel. She’s gone now, but she was very dear to me. The artist captured her expression so well, it’s almost as if Rachel … Forgive me. I’m getting maudlin.’ She wiped her eyes on her sleeve and turned her attention to the small round table with two chairs nestled in the corner, topped with a tablecloth and empty cups and saucers.

‘I thought you and Zeke might want coffee in here in the morning.’ Daphne wouldn’t meet my eyes. She twisted her hair into a bun and surveyed the room. ‘Is the room okay? I want you to be comfortable.’

‘Everything is perfect,’ I said. ‘Thanks so much.’

‘I’m so envious that you are able to actually have a meaningful job,’ Daphne said. ‘I would love to work, but Mother forbade me to even think of it as a child. Simon wouldn’t care if I got a job, but Will Sr would not approve.’

‘Well, I was forced into it,’ I said. ‘I had to earn my living.’

‘I know. I read about you in the papers, starting with Jack Bennett, and then that woman who wanted to kill her husband. Are you a detective, too?’

‘Some people say a proper lady’s name should appear in the newspaper three times: upon her birth, her marriage and her death.’ I met Daphne’s gaze head on. ‘I have given up any notion of being a proper lady.’

‘I like to think you’ve paved the way, made it a little easier for those who are coming behind you. But enough of that. I want to hear about your job. Surely you don’t need to earn your living now?’

‘I like to work,’ I said.

‘Ah, an independent streak.’ The smile had come back into Daphne’s eyes. ‘I’m glad you’ve come. I hope we shall be great friends.’

‘Do you dress for dinner?’ I opened the wardrobe. Daphne and I surveyed my meager collection of clothes, which now hung on cedar hangers.

‘These are lovely.’ She ran her fingers over the fabric of my emerald dress and the black Lanvin gown. ‘They’ll be perfect for dinner, but if you need anything else, I’ve got things you can borrow.’

I longed for Daphne to say goodbye and leave me alone, but she didn’t leave. Instead, she moved around the room, fluffing pillows, fiddling with the lamps, straightening a picture that didn’t need it.

‘Sarah, are you and Zeke planning on staying here? Simon thinks Zeke is going to take over the business. He’s not very happy that Zeke’s come back.’

‘Oh, no. We have a business and a home in Sausalito. We just needed to get away. It’s a long story, and I think Zeke should be the one to tell you why we came.’

‘That’s a relief. My husband has the ridiculous idea that Zeke intends on taking over the business and ousting him in the process. Simon’s been a bit of a drifter, but he’s trying so hard to do the right thing, at least for Toby’s sake, if not for mine. I tried to explain that Zeke isn’t like that, wouldn’t do that. Simon is stubborn, and he’s also a bit jealous of Zeke.’

There was a soft rapping at the door.

‘Come in,’ I said.

A young girl came in carrying a tray.

‘Ah, Helen. Lemonade. Good. Sarah, meet Helen Dickenson.’ We said our hellos.

‘Helen is going to make sure you and Zeke have everything you need. I’ll leave you two to get acquainted. See you later,’ Daphne said.

‘Thanks,’ I called after her.

Helen Dickenson was a sturdy girl, with brown eyes and a quiet way about her that I liked right away.

‘I’ve taken a few of your things to be ironed. And I’m quite handy with the comb, miss. I can come back before dinner and fix you up real nice, if you’d like.’

‘Thank you, Helen.’

‘My room is just next door. If you need me, that’s where I’ll be, or downstairs in the kitchen. We’re all glad that Mr Zeke has come home, miss. I hope you’ll be happy here.’ With that, she walked down the corridor toward the staircase.

‘Oh, but we won’t be staying that …’ My words trailed off. Helen had disappeared.

* * *

I lay down on the sofa in the sitting area and soon fell asleep, Rachel Caen’s portrait the last thing I saw before my eyes shut. Daphne was right. The afternoon heat was relentless. I woke up groggy, damp with sweat, and parched. The sun had started to set, leaving the room bathed in a soft light that pierced the heavy curtains. The iced lemonade that Helen had brought up earlier had melted. I poured a glass of the watered-down stuff and chugged it, then poured another and sipped. A fan sat in the corner of the room. I propped it up on the desk, turned it on, and headed into the bathroom.

I took a cold bath and had just buttoned my blouse when Zeke came into the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. ‘Just me,’ Zeke said. ‘I’ve had a—’

Someone banged on the bedroom door.

Was there no privacy to be had in this house? I smoothed my hair and hurried out to meet whoever had come to speak to Zeke.

‘Simon, what do you want? If it’s about what happened at the mill, now isn’t the time.’ Zeke’s tone was so sharp, I stopped in my tracks.

‘No, we are talking about this now,’ the other voice said.

I stayed hidden in the bathroom, like a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar, not quite sure if I should make my presence known.

‘You seem to think that you can come home, the prodigal son, and waltz into a position of authority at the mill,’ Simon said. ‘How dare you? You’ve always been arrogant, but don’t you think this is pushing it just a little bit? I’ve actually done a good job, made a difference to the workers’ lives, and have increased the profit margins. Not that Father would notice. He hasn’t said a kind word to me in years.’

‘Simon, we aren’t going to stay here. We have a life in Sausalito, a home, a business.’

‘Why should I believe you?’ Simon asked.

This had gone far enough. I knocked on the door between the bathroom and bedroom, and opened it, like a lamb going to slaughter.

Zeke leaned on his cane. His eyes flashed with fury as he faced off with his brother. Simon Caen, for his part, seemed just as angry. He shared Zeke’s flashing eyes, although his were blue. Both men were tall and lean, but the resemblance ended there. Where Zeke’s jaw was determined, Simon’s was soft. Where Zeke’s eyes held your gaze, never breaking contact, Simon’s flitted around. He had the countenance of a spoiled boy, and I judged him to be weak within seconds of laying eyes on him.

‘You must be Simon,’ I said, forcing a smile.

‘So this is the psychic wife,’ Simon said. He surveyed me, not bothering to hide his distaste.

‘You will address my wife with respect,’ Zeke growled.

‘Simon, I overheard what you said. We’re not staying here. Believe me.’

Simon smirked. ‘You’re up to something, both of you. I would like to know what it is. Why in the hell are you two here?’

Zeke hobbled over to the table and poured himself a glass of watered-down lemonade. He drank it in one gulp.

‘I’ve come to clean up your mess, Simon.’

‘I don’t have a mess, brother, and if I did, I wouldn’t want your help.’

‘Are you aware of Millport’s resident thief? Ah, I didn’t think so. Are you aware that one of Rachel’s emeralds has surfaced?’

Simon’s face paled.

‘They’ve been reworking the autopsy and other evidence. What do you say about that?’ Simon’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth and shut it again, without uttering a word. ‘And it seems that you’ve somehow come up with the money to pay off your gambling debts,’ Zeke said. ‘So how did you get the money?’

‘Are you saying that Joe Connor thinks I had something to do with Rachel’s … My god, I cannot even fathom this,’ Simon said. He started pacing the floor beneath Rachel’s picture. The irony of this was not lost on me.

‘Where did you get the money?’ Zeke asked again.

‘None of your business,’ Simon snapped. ‘I’ll discuss it with Joe Connor. That’s all you need to know.’ He stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I stood behind Zeke and started to knead the muscles in his shoulders.

‘It never will change,’ Zeke said. ‘Simon doesn’t want me here, my father doesn’t want me here, and – here’s the irony – I don’t want to be here.’

I longed for the foggy days, our small, yet comfortable flat, and the day-to-day things that we dealt with at home – finding scrap metal for Jimmy Blithe to take to the corner; Mrs Fields and her cats that were always escaping; the clients who would wander into the office seeking help for small matters, such as lost jewelry or suspicions about wives who had spending problems. They all appealed to me now. I even missed the neverending noise from the shipyards that were turning out Goliath-like ships at a frightening pace. Now that I had a chance to miss the home we had created together, I realized that our life in Sausalito was very fine indeed.

Zeke stood up, kissed me, and tucked a stray wisp of hair behind my ears, a familiar gesture of endearment that never failed to warm my heart. ‘Promise me that you won’t let my father upset you. He’s an ogre. Prepare yourself for the worst.’

‘Surely you know by now that I’m case hardened,’ I said.

‘Excuse me, miss?’ Helen rapped on the door before she opened it. ‘Oh, I’m sorry. It’s just that I thought you might like me to dress your hair.’

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ Zeke said. He nodded at Helen and left us.

‘He’s very romantic,’ Helen said.

‘He is. Now show me what you have in mind.’ I took the seat at the vanity.

‘Close your eyes,’ she said. I did as she requested. She took my silver brush and ran it through my hair in sweeping strokes that lulled me. She parted my hair and started curling and pinning, weaving my hair into loops and curls with the expertise of a professional.

‘Okay, I’m finished.’

She handed me a small mirror. I surveyed my hair from the back. Helen had woven my hair into an updo, similar to the style worn by movie stars.

‘I can’t believe it,’ I said.

‘You look lovely.’ She beamed at me, her cheeks aglow.

‘You should be a professional, Helen,’ I said.

‘No, ma’am. I’m going to be a teacher. But you have such thick hair, it is easy to do up like that.’

I tested it, just to make sure that nothing would fall down during the course of the evening. ‘Don’t you worry about that, miss,’ Helen said. ‘It’s pinned fast, of that I can assure you.’ I dismissed Helen, as she was needed in the kitchen. The sun started to set, so I opened the French doors and ventured onto the veranda, where I had a clear view of the sloping back lawn, followed by miles of the golden grass indigenous to California. In the distance, the stable gleamed white as the horses grazed in the diminishing sunlight. It was still warm out, and the grass smelled sweet. At home in Sausalito the fog would be rolling in. Zeke came out of the bath, damp tendrils of hair curling around his face, and found me sitting at the vanity fidgeting with my pearl necklace.

‘You’ll break that string of pearls if you keep on like that.’ He stood behind me. Our eyes met in the mirror. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll protect you from my father. If you can survive this, you can survive anything.’

‘Surely he can’t be that bad,’ I said.

‘We shall defend ourselves, whatever the cost may be.’

And so we headed down to dinner to face Zeke’s father, while Zeke quoted Winston Churchill.




Chapter 3 (#ulink_5cdd9d5c-44e8-5b45-99a2-e984b79e35b4)


My husband’s tension level increased with each step, so by the time we reached the sitting room where everyone had gathered, he was coiled like a panther, ready to spring. The energy flowed off the arm that I held and coursed through me, as we followed the sound of clinking glass and the low murmur of voices. We entered a large room with whitewashed walls, which gave the spacious room a gleaming brightness, accentuated by the large picture window. Through it, the sun set in purple and red streaks. Daphne held a champagne flute while Simon filled it. She gazed at Toby, who was busy with a vast collection of toy soldiers.

‘You look gorgeous,’ Daphne said, smiling as she walked over to me. ‘Pour Sarah champagne, Simon.’ She put her arm around me, as though she wanted to tell me a secret. Zeke went over to Simon and busied himself with his own drink.

‘I see Helen has done your hair.’

‘She also mended my clothes. She is very talented,’ I said.

‘Helen is a marvel,’ Simon said. He handed me a flute full of bubbly liquid, took a sterling silver cigarette case from his pocket, and made a fuss over lighting up. I wanted to step away – I hated cigarette smoke – but was afraid of being rude. He offered the case to me. I shook my head.

‘No, thank you,’ I said. ‘What an interesting lighter.’

‘Thanks. Gift from my father.’ He handed me the sterling lighter, overlaid with white enamel. On the front a tiny fish under the sea had been painted in remarkable detail. ‘It’s my lucky charm.’

‘Then I’d best give it back to you.’ I handed the lighter to him. He tucked it into his pocket, gave me a tight smile, and wandered to the window, where he stood smoking with his back to the room.

‘This room is lovely,’ I said.

Daphne spoke about her interest in design and her efforts to use light to enhance space. I listened, nodding when I should, or saying, ‘Really?’ and, ‘You don’t say,’ when a response was required. We carried on this way until an old woman hobbled into the room.

‘Granna, look at me! I’m big!’ Toby jumped up and flew toward the woman. ‘Mamma said we can eat lots of ice cream and cake.’

Granna wore a floor-length skirt twenty-five years out of style, topped with a silk blouse with an elaborate lace collar, held by a cameo at her throat. Toby skipped around her skirts for a moment before he ran back to Zeke, his eyes riveted on Zeke’s black cane with the silver lion’s head.

‘Do you have a sword in there? Some crime fighters have swords in their canes—’

‘Not so loud, Toby,’ Daphne said. She stood up and went to her son. Soon Daphne, Zeke, and Simon were listening to Toby’s tales of heroes with canes.

‘That’s my fault.’ The old woman stood next to me now. ‘I’m afraid I let him listen to anything on the radio that he wants, and, well, boys will be boys. Let’s sit, shall we?’

We took the two chairs tucked into the far corner, just out of earshot.

Granna said, ‘My son – Zeke’s father – is a bully and a fool, and I just want to warn you not to expect too much from him. We are glad to have you here, my dear. It is time that Zeke came home. I’m sure that you’ll want to stay on permanently after you’ve had a chance to get the lay of the land, so to speak.’

I was about to tell her that we wouldn’t be staying permanently when Mrs Griswold stood in the doorway.

‘Dinner, Mrs Griswold?’ Daphne asked.

* * *

We followed Mrs Griswold into a dining area positioned inside the alcove created by four windows which formed a good-sized bay window. An octagonal table had been expanded with leaves to accommodate all of us. The open windows provided a pleasant breeze. Outside, the crickets and nocturnal birds serenaded us. Zeke’s father already sat at the head of the table, a large glass of amber liquid at his elbow. He surveyed us as we filed in, his eyes mean and hard.

Zeke held my chair out for me.

‘This is Sarah, Father.’

‘I know who she is,’ the man growled at me. ‘I followed the trial. I know what you said about that man.’

‘I didn’t have much choice,’ I said.

Mr Caen sipped his drink and watched me over the rim of his glass with watery blue eyes. He had the same features as his sons, intense eyes, and a strong jaw that had once been as determined as Zeke’s. Mr Caen was handsome – all of the Caen men were – but the booze was taking its toll. It wouldn’t be too long before the skin would hang off the jowls and the eyes would become irreparably clouded.

‘You continue to speak to Sarah like that, and we’re leaving.’ Zeke spoke in that calm-before-the-storm quality that even his father noticed. A hush fell over the room. In the distance, an owl hooted.

‘I see someone’s knocked you down a peg or two. You’re a cripple now. Always knew you’d wind up on the wrong end of someone. Troublemaker, that’s what you are.’

‘Stop it, William,’ Granna snapped, as she sat down. ‘Zeke and Sarah made a lot of effort to get here. Let’s not chase them off today. Please, everyone, sit. Let’s enjoy our meal.’

Mrs Griswold entered the room as if on cue. She carried a pan with roast beef, potatoes, carrots, and peas, which she set on the sideboard. She made quick work of serving us. Soon the room fell silent as we ate.

‘The meat shortage hasn’t affected us too much,’ Daphne said. ‘We have a neighbor who raises beef cattle. I give their children riding lessons, and every couple of weeks we get a roast. I grow the vegetables, as you saw earlier.’

‘Regular paragon of virtue,’ Will Sr said. He turned his focus to Zeke. ‘What do you think of the mill? We’ve made a smooth switch to parachutes. Doing our part for the war.’ Will Sr put a piece of beef in his mouth and looked at Zeke.

‘Indeed you have. But you need to install an air-conditioner. One of those girls had to go to the hospital today, Father. She had a heat stroke. You need to take care of your people.’

‘Too expensive,’ Will Sr said.

‘Then at least let them work in the evening so as to avoid the heat of the day,’ Simon piped in. ‘I had to go tell Fred Jones his daughter collapsed on the job because we didn’t provide a humane working environment.’

‘Enough about the mill,’ Will Sr said. ‘Let’s have some peace while we eat.’

‘This is really good,’ Toby said. He ate ravenously. If he noticed the rancor among the adults, he didn’t let on. ‘When I get a pony, I will only feed him grass and alfalfa, maybe some rolled oats, right, Mamma?’

‘Yes, sweet pea,’ Daphne said.

‘Aunt Rachel will lead him while I ride. Just at first. That way Mamma can still teach her lessons and not worry about me.’

All movement in the room stopped. Toby didn’t notice. He kept right on talking, despite everyone’s attention. I knew that children often saw ghosts, so this revelation from Toby didn’t surprise me.

Toby stuffed a huge piece of potato in his mouth.

‘Aunt Rachel said—’

The color drained out of Daphne’s face. Drops of perspiration broke out on her upper lip.

‘Don’t talk with your mouth full,’ Simon said.

‘That’s enough,’ Will Sr barked.

Toby froze. His eyes widened with fear. He chewed his food and swallowed it with a gulp.

‘Get that child out of my sight,’ Will Sr said.

Daphne rose and went to Toby.

‘Sarah sees her, too. Rachel told me so,’ Toby said. His voice quivered. My heart broke for him.

‘Come on, love. Grandpa’s having one of his spells. I’ll bring you some food to your room.’

‘Do I still get my cake and ice cream?’

‘Of course, extra scoops,’ Daphne said.

‘That’s fine then. Grandpa will be fine tomorrow, right?’ Toby said, as he and Daphne walked hand in hand out of the room.

‘Did you really have to speak to my son that way?’ Simon didn’t bother to hide his disgust.

‘I wouldn’t have to if you would manage your family like a man,’ Will Sr said. He stood and filled his glass from the decanter on the sideboard. He sipped his drink and surveyed us. ‘You’re a sorry lot. I’ve had enough of this nonsense.’

He tottered out of the room, leaving us all in silence.

‘Is this a common occurrence?’ Zeke asked.

‘What do you care?’ Simon didn’t bother to hide the sarcasm from his voice. ‘You don’t have to deal with him day in and day out. He’s an irascible fool—’

‘He’s getting worse,’ Granna said. She faced Zeke and met his eyes with her shrewd gaze. ‘Something’s got to be done about him before he drives the mill and this family into the ground.’

‘Zeke will fix everything,’ Simon said, as he pushed away from the table. ‘The prodigal son has come home to save the day. I’m going to bed.’

I was no longer hungry. The bit of roast beef I had taken had turned to sawdust in my mouth. I forced it down with a generous gulp of red wine.

Granna finished her wine and refilled her glass, and then topped off mine.

‘Welcome home, Zeke. You’ve stepped right back into the hornet’s nest, haven’t you?’ Granna held her glass up before she took a big swig.

‘Don’t you think you should go easy, Granna?’ Zeke said.

‘I need to drink. It’s the only way I can cope.’ She winked at Zeke.

We all stood up and filed out of the dining room toward the staircase. ‘Would you mind going up alone? I really just want to take a walk,’ Zeke said.

‘Of course,’ I said.

He kissed the back of my neck, a subtle promise that never failed to send shivers up my spine, and left me with Granna.

‘Come, dear. I’ll walk up with you.’

We walked side by side up the stairs, Granna taking each step slowly.

‘Horrible arthritis in my hips,’ she was saying. ‘I walk three or four miles each day, but the stairs challenge me. Simon offered me one of the cottages on the property, but I can’t bear the thought of not being close to Toby.’

‘He is a bright child,’ I said.

‘He’s a hellion and I love him to the moon,’ Granna said with a twinkle in her eyes. When we reached my room, I found the door locked.

‘Oh, no. I don’t have a key,’ I said.

Granna rapped on the door next to my room. ‘Helen? It’s Sarah and Granna. Open the door, please.’

We heard footsteps. Helen opened the door. She held a book in one hand. We explained our predicament.

‘Just a minute.’ She stepped into her room and rejoined us carrying a ring of keys.

‘There’s dessert for you downstairs, dear,’ Granna said. ‘Sarah and I need to talk.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ she said.

When we were alone, Granna locked her gaze on me.

‘Is it true? You’ve seen Rachel?’

I froze, not sure what to say.

I let my breath out and wondered if I should just confide in Granna right now. Tell her everything.

‘You’re smart not to trust me yet,’ Granna said. ‘Best wait until you discover for yourself who your allies are. Do you mind if I come in and sit for a minute?’

She came into the room and took one of the two chairs that faced the sofa. I sat in the other one, awkward and unsure where I stood with this strong woman.

‘I’ve always kept an eye on Zeke and Wade. Those two were trouble since they were children, each of them wanting to save the world and trying to outdo each other in the process. Zeke wrote when he took the job for Jack Bennett. He told me that he had met the girl he was going to marry.’ She studied my face. ‘You love him. That makes me glad.’

‘About Rachel—’

‘I am well acquainted with Dr Geisler and his work. It’s not every day a prominent psychiatrist walks away from a lucrative practice to study the paranormal. I know what you can do, Sarah.’ Her expression was frank and without judgment. ‘Rachel came to you with some sort of a task.’ She held up her hand. ‘No. Please. Let me finish. I know in my heart that Rachel’s death wasn’t suicide. That poor girl was murdered. She came to you. Did she ask you to find her murderer?’

My breath caught. I nodded, unable to find my voice.

‘That’s a dangerous undertaking, my dear.’

Granna took a silver flask from the pocket of her skirt and unscrewed the bottle. She offered it to me.

‘No thanks,’ I said.

‘One of the emeralds has turned up. Now Simon is flush with money.’ She took a generous swallow from it and tucked it back in her skirt, out of sight.

‘How do you know this?’

‘I know everything that goes on in this town,’ Granna said. ‘Does Zeke know that you’ve seen Rachel’s ghost?’

I nodded.

‘What an unusual relationship you have. Zeke was always a fair-minded, forward-thinking child. I’m glad to know that he carried that quality into his marriage.’ She stood and straightened her skirt. ‘Be careful, Sarah. You are treading into dark waters.’

‘I know.’ My voice came out a whisper.

‘You’ve a friend in me. If I can help, just ask. Good night, my dear. Sleep well.’

Soon Helen came to help me hang my clothes. She offered to brush my hair, but I declined. Instead I crawled into bed, aware of the space next to me where Zeke should have been. The curtain rustled in the breeze as the crickets and frogs made their night noises.

I was sound asleep when I heard footsteps outside my door. I opened my eyes and reached for Zeke, but the space next to me was empty. I got up and padded to the door, flung it open, and stepped out into the corridor. The house had a stillness to it, as if it too had gone to sleep for the night. In the distance a door shut, but other than that, the house was silent. Where was Zeke?

The curtain hanging over the open window at the end of the corridor billowed in the evening breeze. As if on cue, everything went silent. Even the frogs and the crickets ceased their song. I stood in the corridor until one lone frog called and was soon accompanied by the others. An owl hooted, and the nocturnal sounds resumed. I searched for a light switch but couldn’t find one. With the moonlight showing me the way, I headed toward the staircase, certain that I would find Zeke in his father’s study, poring over papers, or sitting in a chair with a book in his lap.

Goose bumps broke out on my arms. After a second my eyes adjusted to the darkness. Someone was behind me, a presence. ‘Who’s there?’ I turned, but not quick enough. A strong hand connected between my shoulder blades. The hand pushed. I tumbled.




Chapter 4 (#ulink_5cb63a8c-fedf-5524-b856-5509f8400b8d)


Doors opened and shut. Voices whispered in the corridor above me, which flooded with light. Footsteps pounded down the stairs.

‘Sarah?’ Zeke squatted down next to me, wincing as he bent his injured leg.

‘Don’t move her,’ Daphne said.

I convulsed with shivers.

‘She’s in shock,’ Simon said. ‘Daphne, brandy and a blanket, please.’

Soon Daphne returned with the blanket. Simon tucked it in around me, his hands gentle and sure, while Zeke cradled my head in his lap. Daphne poured a dollop of brandy into a snifter and handed it to Zeke. He helped me sit up and held the snifter to my lips. I sipped. The brandy went down smooth and hot. Soon the shivering stopped.

Simon examined my ankle. He poked and prodded. ‘Does this hurt?’

‘No.’ My voice came out as a croak. ‘I want to try to stand up.’ Zeke and Simon helped me to my feet.

‘I should fetch a doctor,’ Daphne said.

‘No.’

Daphne recoiled at my tone. I hadn’t meant to snap.

‘I’ll be fine. I just want to get back to bed.’

‘If it were broken it would be swollen,’ Simon said.

‘Are you sure you don’t want us to fetch the doctor?’ Zeke asked.

‘No. Let’s wait until tomorrow. I think I’ll be fine.’

‘Do you have aspirin?’ Daphne asked.

‘I do,’ Zeke said. ‘Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.’ I didn’t bother trying to put the weight on my ankle, for that wasn’t my problem. My shock didn’t come from pain. It came from fear. It came from being pushed down the stairs.

* * *

‘Lock the door,’ I said to Zeke the minute we were in our room and I was situated on the couch.

He turned the key in the lock and left it there.

‘What’s the matter? You’re scared to death.’

‘Someone pushed me,’ I said.

‘What? Are you sure?’

‘Positive.’

‘Tell me what happened.’ Zeke sat down next to me on the love seat. He reached the afghan that hung over the back and placed it around my shoulders.

‘I was going to come and look for you. It was dark. I didn’t see anything or hear anything. I sensed someone behind me. I called out to them and was just turning around to see who it was, when they pushed me.’

‘There’s no way that Jack Bennett knows where you are, Sarah. And I am certain that Hendrik Shrader has no idea where we are. In any event, I’m going to secure the house.’

‘I’m coming with you.’ I put my feet on the floor and tried to stand. Pain exploded in my ankle. I sat back down. ‘Maybe not.’

‘I’m locking you in. Don’t open the door for anyone but me, okay? I’ll be right back.’ He left the room. The key turned in the lock, and I sat listening until his footsteps faded away. With great effort and considerable pain, I managed to hobble off to bed. After what seemed like an eternity, Zeke returned.

‘All the windows were shut tight and locked. Are you okay?’ He locked the door behind him and sat on the bed next to me.

‘I’ll be fine,’ I said.

‘I need to ask you some questions while this is fresh in your mind.’

‘Okay.’

‘Lay back and close your eyes.’

I did as he instructed.

‘Was the hand that pushed you that of a man or a woman?’

‘I have no idea. They came up behind me, so it’s not like I saw them.’

‘Okay, think of it this way. Was the hand large or small? Strong? Or soft?’ I remembered the feel of the hand between my shoulder blades.

‘Strong,’ I said, ‘but I can’t tell the size.’

‘Did you smell anything? Cologne, aftershave? Perfume?’

I shook my head. ‘No, no smells.’

After he brushed his teeth, Zeke turned off the light and slipped under the covers next to me. When I was cradled in his arms, he said, ‘I don’t want to think that one of my family members pushed you.’

‘What if I surprised the cat burglar?’

‘I thought of that, too. If the cat burglar was in the house, I doubt he would take pains to close the window or door behind him. You’re going to learn to shoot tomorrow,’ Zeke said.

I shivered, but not from the cold.

* * *

Zeke was gone when I awoke to the morning sun beaming into my room. It was already hot, but I welcomed the light of day. Nothing like sunlight to cast away the shadows.

‘We’ll have to pull the curtains soon, miss,’ Helen said. She fussed with my pillows as I tied my dressing gown around my waist. ‘Otherwise it will get too hot in here and you’ll roast.’

‘I don’t plan on staying in bed all day,’ I said. My ankle didn’t hurt as much this morning, and I had no intention of spending my day cooped up in bed. Helen had placed the newspaper on the table, the headlines a brutal reminder of the war: ‘RAF, YANKS SMASHING REICH!’ The photos beneath the caption depicted a bomb’s wreckage and ruin. I flipped through the pages until I came across an ad for Quentin Reynolds’ radio piece entitled, ‘What Nazis Did to Civilians in Russia.’ Underneath that a small headline announced, ‘17 OUT OF 100 FATHERS MAY BE DRAFTED BEFORE 44.’

‘Pretty soon there won’t be any men left,’ Helen said. She picked up Zeke’s shirt and tossed it in the laundry hamper. ‘Do you want me to draw you a bath?’

‘No,’ I said, setting the paper down. ‘I’m going to dress and go outside.’

‘Do you need me for anything?’

‘No, Helen. Thanks for taking such good care of me,’ I said.

‘I’ll go down and get you some coffee and cinnamon rolls. Mrs Griswold’s cinnamon rolls will make your ankle feel better,’ Helen said. ‘I know it sounds crazy, but they have curing abilities. You’ll see.’

‘Knock, knock.’ Daphne breezed into the room, decked out in breeches and tall leather boots. She carried a crystal vase filled with an assortment of flowers I recognized from our tour of the garden. ‘These are for you, Sarah. I picked them myself this morning.’

‘They’re gorgeous. Where in the world did you get that vase?’

‘I bought it from an estate sale in Chesterton. It’s Waterford, probably late nineteenth century.’ She set the vase down on the table next to the breakfast tray and arranged the flowers until they were perfectly symmetrical. ‘I scour estate sales and church jumbles. This sort of vase is out of fashion now, but I like it, so to heck with fashion.’

She had used child’s marbles in a myriad of colors to secure the stems in the bottom of the vase. I recognized a cat’s eye, a couple of clams, peppermint swirls and an abundance of ordinary glass marbles, plain yet brilliant, especially when the sunlight reflected their colors through the cut crystal vase.

‘I read about it in one of the women’s magazines I subscribe to. Don’t tell Toby, a good many of them came from his toy box. By the way, Zeke’s downstairs with Simon and an insurance adjuster, who’s come about the emeralds.’ She said, ‘We can listen through the dumbwaiter in your sitting room if you want. Come on.’

I got out of bed, tested my ankle, and discovered it didn’t hurt if I was careful. I followed Daphne to the little door that accessed the dumbwaiter. She put her finger over her lips. I nodded in understanding. She raised the door and we both leaned into the shaft, eavesdropping without shame.

‘—or anyone in your family have any dealings with any jewelers in Portland, Oregon?’

‘Why would we?’ Simon’s voice floated up to us.

‘Never mind the “why,”’ the man said. ‘I’m asking the questions today. As you know, our company paid a large claim to you when the emeralds were reported missing. Now that one of them has surfaced, surely you can see why my company wants to investigate.’

‘But surely you don’t think that someone in this family has sold the emeralds to a jeweler in Oregon?’ Simon said.

‘That’s exactly what he thinks,’ Zeke said. ‘We know that one of the emeralds has turned up in Portland, Oregon. The police have it. If and when it, or any of the other emeralds, are returned to our family, our lawyer will contact you. My family is not in the habit of committing fraud.’

‘If the emeralds are recovered, we will expect reimbursement for the claim we paid, Mr Caen.’

‘I think you should leave, Mr Spencer. Our lawyers will be in touch.’

‘But I—’

‘I assure you, you have our full cooperation. I just got into town last night and am still getting familiar with the situation. Thank you, Mr Spencer,’ Zeke said. We heard footsteps and a door shutting.

‘Zeke certainly knows how to take charge,’ Daphne said. ‘You love him very much, don’t you?’

‘Is it that obvious?’

She smiled for a second, before her expression became serious. ‘What’s wrong, Sarah? Something’s bothering you.’

I weighed my words before I spoke. ‘Someone pushed me down the stairs last night. I am certain of it, or at least I was certain of it last night. Now I think I’m being fanciful.’

‘I can assure you that no one in this family would want to harm you.’ She smiled at me.

‘Not even Will Sr?’

Daphne’s face became serious before she forced a smile. ‘I’m so sorry that you had to witness that scene last night Don’t let him bother you. He speaks that way to all of us, except Granna, of course. He’s upset because we are about to be invaded. Again.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Any minute now the reporters will be at the gate, never mind the police investigation. Will Sr is a fusspot, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly.’

Helen came in with a tray laden with a coffee pot and a plate heaped with cinnamon rolls. They smelled divine.

‘Join me?’ I asked Daphne, as Helen busied herself setting the tray down on the small table.

‘No, thanks. I’ve got to get to the barn. Lessons at nine-thirty.’ Daphne walked over to the table to survey the food and coffee. ‘Mrs Griswold is a world-class baker. Oh, Helen, make sure that the vase comes directly back to me.’

‘Yes, ma’am,’ Helen said.

‘I’ll be off then,’ Daphne said. ‘Rest well, Sarah.’

Resting well didn’t work for me. I had no intention of staying in bed, so I moved over to my desk and transcribed a few of Dr Geisler’s handwritten pages. I had just finished proofing my work when the curtains rustled in the breeze, and the sweet smell of the mown grass wafted into the room. I pushed away from the typewriter, ready to be outdoors.

* * *

Downstairs, the curtains were shut, cloaking the foyer and the adjoining rooms in darkness. I didn’t hear a sound, nor did I see anyone. I knew Zeke and Simon – and probably Will Sr – were at the mill. I opened the front door and headed down the porch stairs.

I walked down the long driveway, staying in the shade. Seadrift raised his head and nickered at me when I walked past the pasture. In the distance, the roof of the stable peeked out among the trees. Soon I was by myself in a wooded area, the trail covered in dead leaves and lichen. I came to a weathered barn, bleached gray from years of sunlight. Bright green ivy climbed the front and wove through the rafters. A limb had fallen onto the roof and rotted there, long forgotten. I veered left, away from the old building, and toward the sun-dappled lane that led to Millport. I walked along the railroad track, my ankle getting better with every step. By the time I reached the town proper, my injury was all but forgotten.

Recalling Zeke’s narrative about the different shops and the people that owned them, I passed the bank, the café, and the general store. I headed for the stationer’s. Despite my brand new typewriter, I still liked to write notes longhand. While some women shopped for shoes and hats, my passion lay with fountain pens and thick linen paper.

A delicate bell jingled as I entered the store, a spacious room with high ceilings and white walls, redolent of floor wax and fresh paint. The cool air gave me goose bumps, and I marveled at how a shop like this managed to stay so cool. The influx of workers at the silk mill and the lumber mill was a boon for Millport. The store had a good share of shoppers, evidenced by the long queue at the cash registers, where two clerks, both wearing navy blue aprons with their names embroidered on their chests, rung up sales. Three women stood off to the side of the registers, huddled together, sharing confidences. They all wore hats and gloves, and I chastised myself for leaving the house without at least a pair of gloves. Every now and again, the tallest woman, who I imagined was the leader of the bunch, would raise her head and scan the store, like a buzzard searching for a fresh carcass.

I ignored her and headed for the row of stationery in the back of the shop. The women broke their huddle and stared at me as I walked by, their gazes burning the spot between my shoulder blades. I ignored them and focused on the surprising selection of fine stationery. I chose a thick creamy linen with matching envelopes.

‘I can get those for you,’ a young girl said. She wore the same apron as the other clerks. Hers had Betty emblazoned across the front. ‘How many?’

‘How about twelve sheets of stationery and eight envelopes.’ I could always walk back into town if I needed more. An excuse to get out of the house might turn out to be a blessing. ‘I’ll just browse for a while.’

‘That’s fine, miss. I’ll have these up at the register for you.’ The girl hurried off. I continued to look around the store, meandering full circle back up to the front, where I paused before a glass display of fountain pens. A black lacquer pen with gold overlay held place of pride in the middle of the display, resting atop a blood red leather case.

‘It’s a beauty, isn’t it?’ Betty spoke from the other side of the counter. ‘It’s a 1918 Conklin Crescent. That’s real gold on the overlay.’

‘May I?’ I asked.

‘Of course,’ Betty said. She opened the case, took out the pen, and handed it to me. My hand slipped as I reached to take it from her, and the pen fell to the floor with a clatter. The cap jumped off and skittered across the floor.




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