Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (23 page)

Alvin
rose to go. 
Even if he were not anxious to slip back to town unobserved, he still would not
abide much more of this hotel room, which had acquired the stench of its
inhabitant. 

Oblivious, Craig
Lucius scratched himself now, and belched.  Then he said, “So what now?”

“Now we wait,”
Alvin
instructed. 
“But only for a reasonable amount of time.” 

Eagerly, Lucius
nodded along.  As always,
Alvin
tried to keep a poker face.  But really,
if Craig Lucius mistook this partnership as a burgeoning professional respect
or anything of that nature—well, it would be a rather sad misjudgment on his
part.  After this was done, anyone who knew of
Alvin
's involvement
would be a liability.  And liabilities, of course, had to be eliminated.

The next day,
Nicole finished Josiah Hardy's diary.  She pressed the last page flat on the
table in an automatic gesture of finality.  Admittedly, today had been
different than her other days at Tinsdale, as she had been looking for more
notations in Nina's purple pencil, rather than focusing on the diary itself. 
But she did not find any more letters written in the margins, or any other
underlined passages.

However, when she
opened a skinny blue folder at the bottom of the stack that was on loan from
the Chatham Historical Society, she soon met with a windfall of clues.

Inside the folder
was a copy of a newspaper article from 1955, folded in half.  Nicole un-creased
the pages and began to read.  The article was about the lighthouse on
Nauset
Beach
—Nauset Light—
becoming automated, which meant no longer requiring a light keeper.  The piece
detailed the history of
Nauset
Beach
:
After battling decades of sea-beaten
weather,
Nauset
Beach
's trio of light
towers finally retired in 1923, being replaced by one of
Chatham
's recently
dismantled twin towers.  The
North
Tower
was sent to
Nauset and effectively took the place of the Three Sisters Lighthouse,
nicknamed for their appearance.  The trio of towers that had once served
together as Nauset's beacon of light, were called the “Three Sisters” because
of the way they stood, like proper ladies in stiff white dresses with black
bonnets. 

When Nicole
turned the page, she saw a rash of purple letters in the margins.  Down the
left side of the page were the letters: O, N, H, B.  Down the ride side: E, Y,
D, I, U.

 Her heart sped
up.  She sat up straighter in her chair, frantically searching the letters for
some meaning that would become clear.  Then she reached into her bag and
grabbed a pen.  On a piece of scrap paper, she jotted the letters down in a
row. 
Reading
and re-reading
them, Nicole scrambled the letters around, trying to figure out some
combination that would work.  

END

LEND

DEFEND.  No, she
realized, that required two Es and two Ds.  She needed to stay focused on what
was in front of her.

BEND

BIND

HIND

Suddenly she
stopped.  Studied the letters.  Something occurred to her.  Eagerly arranging
the letters in her mind, she verified a possible combination on paper.  Her
heart pounding hard now and her foot tapping on the leg of her chair, she
created two complete words out of the letters. 

BEHIND YOU

She gasped.  With
a shudder, she gripped the strange feeling that settled over her.  It felt as
though her aunt had just whispered the words right into her ear.

Slowly, almost
timidly, Nicole turned around in her seat. 

Directly behind
her, was a framed black and white photo.  It was rectangular, no larger than 8”
x 6”, wedged on display between several bound atlases.  Nicole had seen it many
times, but never paid attention to it.  Before now, it had been just a part of
Tinsdale's overall ambiance, cozy and old-fashioned.  It had been a detail of
the decor, like the curved oak banister or the criss-crossed panes of the
window. 

Now, rising from
her seat, Nicole approached the shelf, and looked closely at the photo.  It was
a photo of two little girls, a baby, and, presumably, their parents. 
Cautiously, Nicole glanced back to make sure no one was around, especially
Hazel, and then pulled the frame out of its snug spot on the shelf.  Once she
detached the backing, the photo itself slipped free.  Nicole turned it over and
read the back inscription, written in thin calligraphy: 
Rosemary Martins
Bloomingdale, First Prize Winner, with husband John and daughters, Hazel,
Ginger, and Portia Bloomingdale—Joy of Cooking Regional Bake-off, 1958
. 

Confused, Nicole
began chewing on her lip, pondering this.  Was it a coincidence, the cryptogram
“behind you” and this photo?  Because what or why—

Wait a second. 

What had she just
read? 

Hurrying back to
the table, she re-read part of the old newspaper article:
The
North
Tower
was sent to
Nauset and effectively took the place of the Three Sisters Lighthouse.

Three Sisters.

Could that
be...?  Impulsively, she slapped the paper with the flat of her hand.  She
could feel her pulse speeding, as her adrenaline ran high and her mind grappled
with pieces of a puzzle, but not the whole.  The conclusion was incomplete, yet
the question was inescapable. 

Was her aunt
trying to tell her something about the Bloomingdales?

***

Back on
Orchard Street
, Nicole took
Puddle for a walk.  She’d invited Michael to come along so she could share with
him her recent discovery at Tinsdale. 

“Well, it’s
really more of a theory than a discovery,” she amended now, as they climbed
their way back toward the house.

“You really think
there's some important link between your aunt and those two biddies next door? 
Well—three biddies, if you factor in the other sister in the photo.” 

“I definitely
think it's possible.  The references to the
Three Sisters
Lighthouse.  I
mean, who else?”

“Could be
something to do with you and your sisters,” Michael offered.

Doubtfully,
Nicole shook her head.  “It wouldn't make sense. 
Cape Cod
references
wouldn't make sense in that case, considering my sisters and I spent most of
our childhood—and our lives—in or around
Boston
.  Besides, I was closer to Nina
than Linda and Alyssa were, and this is all completely remote to me.”  She
focused on the Bloomingdales again; it seemed she could not get the notion out
of her mind.  “I just wish I knew how well Aunt Nina knew them—Hazel, Ginger,
and Portia, too.” 

“Where’s Portia's
now anyway?” Michael said, sounding curious. 

“I don't know
anything about her,” Nicole said simply. 

“They never
mentioned her?”

“Well, Ginger had
said something initially about Portia, but not much.  Something about Portia
leaving
Chatham
to go to
New York
, but that was a
long time ago.  Like maybe thirty or forty years ago.  It doesn't really tell
us anything about today.  And I can't imagine what the history of the
Bloomingdale sisters would have to do with me anyway, or with Aunt Nina.”

“Maybe Portia was
the one your aunt was more friends with, not the other two,” Michael
suggested.  “Do we know if she's still alive?”

“No, now that you
mention it.  I have no idea if Portia ever returned to
Chatham
at all, if she
married, had kids, anything.”

“Was Ginger ever
married?” Michael asked curiously.

“I don't think
so...”  Wow, Nicole was amazed at how little she did manage to pick up about
her neighbors so far.  Was she that self-involved?  Or were they just uniquely
guarded about their lives, down to even the basic details?  “Hazel was, I know that.”

“Listen
sweetheart,” Michael said, his tone firmer all of a sudden, “if you think the
key to this mystery puzzle is with your neighbors somehow, then we've got to
learn more about them.  How about pumping Ginger for some information?  She's
the nice one, right?”

“Um, she's timid
and appeasing, I don't know if that really translates to 'nice.'  There seems
to be some kind of invisible wall around her.”

“What about
asking someone else in town?  Someone who has known them a long time?  Like
that guy working on your front steps?”

“Mac?”

“Or
not
working on them, I should say,” Michael added.

Nicole let out a
laugh.  “What does that mean?”

Michael said, “I
haven't seen him do any actual work.  When I was at the mailbox this morning,
that guy was just kind of hanging around with his tools out.”

“Oh.  Well, maybe
people just move slower around here.”

“Sure,” Michael
mumbled doubtfully.

“Maybe Mac's more
thorough than your average handyman.”

“If you think
so...”

Playfully, she
giggled and reached over for a kiss. 

Yet, despite her
teasing, she couldn’t help thinking that there might be truth to what Michael
was saying.  Only very recently, Nicole had started to wonder about Mac’s
repair work and why it was taking him so long.  It was as if she were
suspicious all of a sudden, but she didn’t even know what she was suspicious
of
. 
Once a distrusting kind of feeling found its way to someone, it tended to
linger around.  And now it moved through Nicole like a ghost, like a
free-floating miasma of cynicism.

“Nicole?” Michael
said.  “What are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking
that we
should
get more concrete information on the Bloomingdale
sisters,” she said, going back to their initial conversation.  “And I know who
might be able to help us.”  Yet it was hard not to grimace at the thought.

“What's that
look?”

“Nothing…” Nicole
replied vaguely.  “Just bear in mind…nobody ever said that decoding was a
pleasure cruise...”

With a short
laugh, Michael said, “Oh boy.  This ought to be good.”

What better way
to spend the following evening than with a flirtatious inn keeper, her speckled
cleavage and her groveling husband?  But first, Michael and Nicole sat at her
kitchen table, waiting for their guests.  A frozen lasagna was baking in the
oven, Puddle was devouring her boiled chicken and rice, and Michael was
monkeying with Nicole's “disc-man.” 

“It will play and
then it will suddenly stop and just spin,” Nicole explained again. 

Nodding, Michael
tilted the device, stuck two fingers into the battery socket and popped the
gray face out.  Just then Puddle trotted over, licking her mouth and nose, and
stretched up on two legs, resting her front paws on Nicole's shin. 

“Hi, baby,”
Nicole said sweetly, reaching down to stroke Puddle's back.  “You want to come
up?”  Gently, Nicole lifted the dog by her sides and set her on her lap,
securing her in a loose embrace. 

“Ever thought of
just getting an IPOD, or
something
from the past decade, to replace this
thing?”

“I'm
behind on the times,” Nicole said with a self-effacing smile.

“I
see, I see.”

She
added, “ 'Don't fix it if it ain't broke'—oh wait, it is.  Forget it.”  Shaking
his head, Michael chuckled and reconnected the two pieces he had split apart. 
Hugging Puddle to her, Nicole asked, “Do you think you can fix it?”   

“Look,
I know I don't wear overalls and carry a hammer in my pocket for effect—but I
think I'll muddle through.  Here.”  He handed her the disc player, reassembled
and in tact.

“Oh
my God, it's fixed already?” she said, impressed.  He nodded.  “You're
unbelievable!  Thank you!”  She leaned over to kiss his cheek but he swiftly
turned his head so her mouth landed on his.  Once he captured her lips, they
shared a long, lingering kiss.

Suddenly
she realized Puddle was shifting.  “Am I squishing her?” Nicole began, and then
watched the dog matter-of-factly climb right from her lap into Michael's.  “Oh,
she wants to sit with you now.  So picky,” Nicole added with a smile.  She rose
from the table to check the oven.  “By the way, was that a crack about Mac?”

“What
do you mean?”

“C'mon,
admit it, you're jealous of The Hermster.  It's so obvious!  Because he's got a
fun nickname and you don't.”  Smirking, Michael just shook his head.  “That's
it, isn't it?  Do you want people around town to start calling you 'The
Mikester'?  Will that make you feel better?”