“He’s dead.” Graham’s letter of condolence to Law’s sister had been one of the pieces of mail Mrs. Monroe had turned over to Lucien Winthrop.
“Thunderation, Diana! Don’t interrupt. Yes, he’s dead, but do you know how?”
She had to admit that she did not.
“Graham Somener’s partner didn’t just die. He was murdered.”
“What? Why would someone murder him?”
“Because, my dear, he was responsible for that building collapse five years ago, not Graham Somener. Vernon Law also absconded with the profits of their company. Because Somener refused to cast blame, people assumed he was equally guilty. Press coverage at the time blamed them both. Law vanished for awhile, then turned up in Arizona. He lived quietly in a remote area, so remote that he’d been dead several days before he was found. That was six months ago. The local authorities found no clues and have no suspects in the case.”
“How was he killed?”
“Shot in the head.”
“Poor man,” Diana murmured.
“Some might say he got what he deserved, but that’s neither here nor there. Seems to me his murder opens up the possibility of a connection to recent events on Keep Island.”
“And just what do you know about them?” Diana had been careful to tell him very little in the telegram she’d sent.
“More than you might think. I’ve got connections. I’ve seen a transcript of the coroner’s inquest.”
Diana didn’t ask who he’d had to bribe. She didn’t want to know. She was quite certain, however, that his source had not been a certain local newspaper editor.
“Are you telling us you think someone is seeking vengeance on both men because of the deaths in the building collapse?” All but dancing in delight, Maggie looked from Foxe to Diana and back again. “How wonderfully bloodthirsty!”
Foxe blew a smoke ring with a self-satisfied air. “Sensational story, no question about it. Out of all those who lost their lives, it seems that one had a friend or relative who believes in an eye for an eye.”
“Vernon Law could just as easily have been shot during a robbery,” Diana reminded him. “Or he might have double crossed someone else, someone out there in the wild west where everyone carries a gun. Someone less forgiving than Graham Somener.”
“All true,” Foxe agreed. “But add in the dead man on Keep Island and my theory becomes much more plausible. It defies coincidence to think that Graham Somener would be connected to
two
murdered men in less than a year.”
“It has been five years since the building collapse,” Diana pointed out. “Why would anyone wait so long for revenge?”
“Five years?” He snapped his fingers. “An instant. Besides, it would have taken time to track down Law and Somener. Both moved to remote areas of the country.”
“No. It doesn’t make sense. The attacks here were against the archaeologists, not Graham Somener.”
“He might be the real target,” Foxe insisted, “and what happened to the others just a ploy to muddy the waters before killing him. Tell me what has been happening here—the things that did not come out in the inquest.”
Diana obliged, since he’d doubtless be able to find out on his own, but she gave him the capsule version of events.
“I admit this Professor Winthrop seems a likely villain,” Foxe conceded when she’d finished. “I never have trusted academics. And that fellow Carstairs is suspicious, too. But of all the choices, I like the housekeeper best.” He grinned around his second cigar. “Makes a better story if she did it. Talk about revenge served cold! The plot could well span three generations. I can see the headlines now: ‘Lethal Legacy Destroys Island Paradise.’“
“Lethal Legend.” Diana corrected him before she could stop herself, then grimaced. She was not going to play this game. Winthrop was the logical mastermind, with Carstairs and Mrs. Monroe as his pawns.
“It sounds as if Somener has taken steps to protect his wife,” Foxe mused, “but he doesn’t expect to be the object of a murderous attack himself. If I’m right, he’s in danger. Tell you what. I’ll go to Keep Island and warn him.”
A most unladylike snort escaped Diana at this transparent excuse to get close to the story. “He won’t let you near the place.”
“He will if you come with me.”
“She can’t go running off again,” Maggie protested. “Not with her wedding only four days away.”
But she could, Diana thought. And she probably should. Although she was almost certain that Lucien Winthrop was the one responsible for Ennis’s death, aided and abetted by either Prudence Monroe or Paul Carstairs, it would be reckless to take chances. If Mrs. Monroe really was out to punish Graham for stealing her inheritance, or if some unknown relative of the victims of the building collapse
had
killed Vernon Law, then Horatio Foxe was right.
Graham
was the one in danger. And as long as Winthrop and Carstairs were missing, they would be blamed for any new violence. If the real killer was someone else, he or she would get away with
another
murder.
* * * *
Early the next morning, Diana and Ben caught the train to Bucksport, boarded the
Miss Min
, and once more made the journey to Keep Island. Graham and Serena were surprised to see them, but listened without comment to the details of Vernon Law’s death and Horatio Foxe’s theory. Foxe himself had been left behind in Bangor. Maggie Northcote had been put in charge of keeping him there and had promised to manage it even if she had to tie him up and stuff him in a closet.
“Do you know where we can find a list of the victims of the building collapse?” Ben asked.
“I have one,” Graham admitted. “In the library.”
They all trouped along after him and consulted the list he produced, but it yielded no familiar surnames. Diana had never heard of any of the victims or their next of kin.
“There are only two women’s names,” Diana commented. “Miss Judith Briggs and Mrs. Edith C. Alleyn. What kind of building was it? I don’t believe anyone has said.” She’d assumed, for some reason, that it had been residential.
“It housed several businesses. Miss Briggs was a secretary at an insurance company. Mrs. Alleyn was consulting her lawyer at the time of the collapse.” A tormented expression on his face, Graham let the list fall on the desk. “Your friend Foxe is just trying to resurrect old scandals. I have this list because I made reparations. I know money can’t replace lost lives, but I did what I could. I tried to make up for what happened. God knows, I tried. I can’t imagine that anyone would still want to punish me after all this time. Law’s murder can’t be more than a terrible coincidence.”
Perhaps, Diana thought, Foxe was wrong. That did not mean, however, that Graham and Serena were safe. “There is another possibility,” she announced. “I have uncovered something that suggests Prudence Monroe may have been more involved in Winthrop’s schemes than we supposed. Did you know she’s the only descendent of the man who sold this island to your grandfather?”
“What of it? That’s no secret.”
Although surprised that he knew, Diana soldiered on. It was foolish not to explore every possibility. “Does she have a reason to resent you and your family? To think the island was, er, stolen from the Pingrees?”
Graham’s glower returned with a vengeance. “My grandfather paid a fortune for this land. It’s neither his fault nor mine that Delmar Pingree squandered it all before he died.”
“How did Mrs. Monroe end up working for you?”
“Aunt Min hired her after Mrs. Monroe was widowed. They were both quite happy with the arrangement.”
“Speaking of Mrs. Monroe,” Serena interrupted with a too-bright smile that immediately put Diana on her guard, “I’ll just check on how dinner is progressing, and let her know there will be two more at table.”
Diana was right at her heels as she entered the kitchen. Mrs. Monroe gave them a black look but she did not reach for her heavy marble rolling pin or any of the other potential weapons at her disposal.
Diana kept a wary eye on the knife rack as Serena marched up to the older woman and shook an accusing finger at her. “You never told me your family once owned this island.”
“You never asked.”
“What more haven’t you shared?”
“Can’t think of anything that’d be your business,
Mrs
. Somener. Unlike some, I’m more interested in the present than the past.”
“You were with Min for years. I’d think some of her enthusiasm for history would have rubbed off.”
“I always liked the story about the curse.” Smiling secretively, Mrs. Monroe put a sprig of parsley atop the pork roast she’d just taken out of the oven.
“Did your grandfather invent it?”
“Not likely. He was downright superstitious about this place. Wouldn’t set foot on Keep Island for love or money.”
Diana believed her, but even more surprising was the way Serena visibly relaxed as soon as Mrs. Monroe denied any interest in the island’s past. It was almost as if she’d been afraid that Mrs. Monroe knew something Serena wanted kept secret.
After puzzling over her observation for a moment, Diana ventured a question: “What did you think Delmar Pingree knew about the island, Serena?”
“What could he know?” The flash of fear in her eyes was so quick Diana almost missed it.
“Were you afraid, perhaps, that someone other than Min was aware of Keep Island’s connection to those early Scottish settlers?”
Serena’s shoulders tensed and she bobbled the dinner roll she’d just filched from a pan keeping warm on the back of the stove. It would have fallen to the floor if Mrs. Monroe hadn’t snatched it out of the air.
“Min made a couple of trips to Scotland,” the housekeeper volunteered.
“Hmmm.” Diana mused aloud. “I wonder. What did Min Somener tell you, Serena? What did she give you? You were willed the contents of a trunk. What did it contain? What did Lucien Winthrop think was going to be his? What was worth killing Frank Ennis to obtain?”
“I didn’t—”
“Oh, for goodness sake! I know
you
didn’t kill Ennis. I meant Winthrop. What is he after? Why does he believe you’re likely to find on
this
island?”
Serena gave a convulsive shudder and hugged herself, as if she were freezing. “There’s a coin.”
For a moment, the silence in the kitchen was absolute. Even Mrs. Monroe stopped rattling pans to listen.
“Min found a coin,” Serena elaborated. “That’s what she left me, along with her diaries. She took it to Scotland and showed it to scholars there. They dated it to the end of the fourteenth century. Just the right date to have come here with settlers who arrived in 1401.”
Chapter Twelve
Following the midday meal, after Ben and Graham went off to meet with the two new guards Graham had hired, Serena produced a thin and much worn metal disc from her pocket.
“That’s the coin?” Diana regarded the object with skepticism. It was so smooth that she could barely make out the design.
“A silver groat, issued no later than 1399. Apparently, the experts can tell from the letter punches used to make the dies. And there is a mint signature. It’s English. That crowned head is supposed to be King Richard II. But coins from England were frequently found on the Scottish side of the border, so that doesn’t mean anything.”
Neither did finding the coin on Keep Island, Diana thought. It could have been lost here at any time before Min Somener found it. Perhaps it had been some coin collector’s lucky piece and that coin collector had been visiting Jedediah Somener. As proof of Serena’s colony, it seemed slim indeed. “Did Winthrop know about this?”
“I’m not certain. Min must have told him something, enough to convince him he’d been cheated when he found out that he wasn’t in her will. I didn’t know about that until you told me,” she added.
“Where, exactly, did Min Somener find the coin?”
“In the area where I am excavating, of course.”
“No luck finding more?”
“Not yet, and I should get back. I left George Amity working alone. He’s willing enough, but he’s had no training. I do not like to leave him there unsupervised.”
It occurred to Diana that no one had questioned George Amity about Paul Carstairs. The oversight was understandable. Amity kept to himself and didn’t say much. He was easy to overlook.
While Serena inspected the work her remaining crew member had done, Diana nodded to that cheerful little man. “Excavation going well?” she asked.
“Well enough. This archaeology stuff is some interestin’ once you get started. I like pokin’ around, lookin’ for things.” He rubbed his knobby knuckles to ease the swelling in the joints, perfectly willing to answer her questions.
Sadly, Amity had no new information to offer. He didn’t know Professor Winthrop. He hadn’t seen anyone tampering with the food, the Moxie bottles, or the diving suit. And he’d played cards with Paul Carstairs but had not been privy to the other man’s confidences.
“Don’t talk much,” was his laconic assessment of Carstairs.
“Do you know if he left the island the day Mr. Somener and Miss Dunbar went to Islesborough for their marriage license?”
“Might have done. He made himself scarce soon as they was gone.”
“What about the day before their wedding? After everyone returned from the funeral?”
“I can tell you that,” Serena cut in. “He wasn’t feeling well enough to work. He went straight to bed when we got back.”
“In fact,” Diana corrected her, “he went to Islesborough to buy a net.”
“Whatever for?”
“You didn’t order one?”
“I can’t think of any use we’d have at the excavation for a net.”
Another mystery, Diana thought. There were entirely too many of them! She’d have to ask Mrs. Monroe about that trip to Islesborough, since Carstairs had said he’d tagged along with her when she’d taken the sailboat and gone to visit a sick friend. She was about to return to the house and so when Serena caught her arm in a vise-like grip. She was staring at something out on the waters of Penobscot Bay.
“That’s Graham’s sailboat! The one Paul stole.”
“Where?” Diana caught only a glimpse of a boat passing out of sight beyond the point. She did not get a good look at it. “Was Carstairs aboard? Was Winthrop?”