Seeders: A Novel (7 page)

“Oh, Dr. Beecher.”

“Jules. It’s nice to see you again, Isabelle.” He realized the circumstances and cleared his throat. “I mean…”

“Yes, I know. Do you have any idea…?”

Jules shook his head and gazed out the window. Isabelle was struck by the beauty of his face in the light, his soothing voice.

“It’s an awfully lonely island for one person,” he said.

“Did you visit at all?”

“No. You?”

She shook her head.

His chin gestured to Ginny. “She’s a pip, that one. Going on about her finances, how she funded George. I can tell you she pursued him like a starving cat after a defenseless mouse.” His teeth clenched in anger. “George was very good to her, far better than she deserved.”

Isabelle was puzzled by his ire and wondered if it was part jealousy. After her divorce, Isabelle’s mother made some scathing allegations about George and Dr. Beecher, although such rumors were hard to believe.

“Would you like some more tea?” Jules said, raising his empty cup.

“No, thank you.”

He excused himself and Isabelle watched him walk to the tea cart, thinking about the flurry of rumors that surrounded George and how they conflicted with the man she’d known and loved. To her best recollection, her father had radiated integrity and warmth. He had never been without a smile and almost everything he said was funny. Still, she couldn’t deny the frightening moments she witnessed in later years, his tendency to sink into bouts of depression and fits of rage. A drug habit that made him see things that weren’t there—dangerous, scary things that caused him to scream out at night. How could a ten-year-old possibly understand such behavior? It occurred to Isabelle that perhaps she’d never really known her father at all.

*   *   *

“This is gross.” Monica picked out tiny cubes of bright-colored fruit from her cake.

Luke sat beside her, sipping tea and playing Tetris on his smartphone.

“Hey, can you call Canada for takeout?” she asked him. “I’d kill for an egg roll.”

“There’s no connection from here.”

“What games you got?” She grabbed the phone, pressing all the buttons. “Probably a lot of brainy crap. Yep. I was right.”

Luke took the phone back, eavesdropping on a conversation between Jules and Bonacelli. He shook his head slowly. “I should have been British. They sound so—civilized.”

“You mean wimpy. Sure, you’d fit in.”

Ginny flounced by, swirling the hem of her dress and falling into a chair beside the couch. She smiled at Luke through sleepy lids. Then her gaze found Monica and she scowled.

“I think Mary Poppins just gave me the evil eye,” Monica whispered.

“Don’t start,” Luke replied.

Ginny turned up a penciled brow. “In my day, a girl was more appealing when she showed less, not more.”

Monica’s lips curled slightly. “You know, I bet I could learn a lot from you. My friend here was just saying, you’re a total fox in that dress.”

Luke closed his eyes, trying to disappear.

Ginny nodded and a grin stretched across her face. “I used to attract the local boys like horseflies. All it takes is the tiniest gesture; a slight lift of the skirt, a glimpse of the knee.”

“Think I’m gonna hurl,” Monica muttered.

Luke shushed her.

“You’re George’s grandson?” Ginny asked him with an alluring smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I see the resemblance. You have his lovely blue eyes and a quiet intelligence about you.”

“Thank you.”

Monica muttered softly, “She’s totally into you.”

“Have you started college?”

“No, ma’am. Not for three more years.”

“You have some aptitude for science?”

“Yes, ma’am. I enjoy science a lot.”

She looked pleased. “Good. There’s nothing that attracts a woman more than an intelligent brain.”

“You’re kidding, right?” Monica sputtered.

“Quality women,” Ginny clarified. She narrowed her eyes at the girl. “Does your mother know you dress like that?”

Monica reddened. “My mom spent, like, twenty years as a designer in Paris. This happens to be the latest in French fashion.”

Ginny’s eyes grew wide and she smiled. “So you’re of French lineage?” She nodded knowingly. “Now I understand. It’s that French-American mix that’s so … tawdry.”

Monica looked puzzled.

Ginny spoke to Luke. “You really should think about continuing your education at a proper university in England, like your grandfather.”

“Yeah, that would be super expensive.”

“You can’t put a price on knowledge. George spent every penny he had on scientific discovery. Most women would be appalled, but I find that kind of dedication and curiosity to be very attractive in a man.” She looked at him sideways and pursed her lips.

“Yeah, she wants you,” Monica whispered. “I say you hit that thing.”

Luke lowered his forehead to his fist.

Bonacelli asked everyone to be seated for the reading of the will.

CHAPTER 6

THE LAWYER PEERED DOWN
at the desk through small reading glasses on the bridge of his nose, and then looked up at the faces before him. “George’s will is dated the third of March, six years ago. I can assure you he was of sound mind at the time. Since he had renounced his British citizenship, the document has been prepared according to Canadian law.”

“Oh, get to it,” Ginny said, scowling.

Bonacelli gave her a sharp look. He cleared his throat and began reading in a formal manner. “‘This is the last will and testament of me, George Elliot Brookes, a resident of Halifax, in the Province of Nova Scotia, Canada. I hereby revoke all former wills, codicils, and other testamentary dispositions made by me. I nominate, constitute, and appoint my daughter, Isabelle Lydia Maguire, to be the Estate Trustee of this, my will.’”

The lawyer’s tone softened. “‘Before bequeathing my property, I wish to thank everyone for coming to Sparrow Island when I’m sure you would have rather not. However, I know that in retrospect you’ll all agree that the island holds a special place in your hearts and sharing the experience together one last time can only be a good thing. I want you each to remember me, especially Isabelle, during fonder days when all we had was this island, and each other.’”

Ginny gave an impatient sigh, loud enough to make the lawyer take pause. He found his place and continued. “‘To my daughter, Isabelle Brookes Maguire, I give, devise, and bequeath all of my possessions of every nature and kind, including the property known as Sparrow Island, but excluding any and all properties listed hereafter.’

“‘To my friend and associate, Jules Beecher, I leave all of my research, textbooks, and equipment that comprise my laboratory, in hopes he will continue the work to which I’ve devoted most of my life.’

“‘To my dear friend, Ginny Shufflebottom, for all her financial support, I leave my undying gratitude—’”

“
Gratitude?
” Ginny squealed. “Bloody hell.”

“If you please, I’m not finished. ‘For her uncompromising faith in my work, I leave to Ginny my most valuable possession, a red diamond known as the Crimson Star.’”

Right away, Ginny perked up and pulled back her shoulders. “Well … that’s more like it.” She sniffed into a tissue. “Poor, dear George. Please go on, Mr. Bonacelli.”

“That’s it. The entire will.”

Ginny seemed to sober up quite suddenly, her eyes focused and alert. “Well, then, I’d like to see the diamond immediately.”

Bonacelli leaned back in his chair with a deep breath and slow blink of his eyes, as if there were bad news coming. “There’s a slight problem,” he said.

“What do you mean
problem
?”

He took off his glasses and folded them neatly. “For the past five years, George had been going on about an important discovery he made; one which he claimed would change the world.”

Jules was instantly alert. “Did he say what kind of discovery?”

“I have no idea what it was.”

“He must have mentioned something.”

“You might find some of his research in the laboratory. I do know he was very excited and said he’d found what he’d been searching for his whole life. However, two years ago, when I came for a visit, he was showing signs of mental illness; rage and confusion. He refused to leave the island.

Then, two months ago, a letter arrived at my office. George wanted to return to the mainland. He wrote something unintelligible about sowing the earth.”

“Sowing the earth?” Jules repeated.

“Yes, starting the world over or some nonsense. I came to pick him up a week later, but as our boat approached the island, George began shooting at us with a rifle. We had to turn back. By the time we returned with police—” Bonacelli stopped and his breath caught. “George had jumped off High Peak to his death.”

Jules looked horrified. Isabelle met his gaze.

“We found him along the rocks, had him buried in the family plot outside of London.”

“What the devil are you going on about?” Ginny shouted. “What’s all that got to do with the diamond?”

Bonacelli sighed. “I’m getting to that. George never mentioned where he kept the diamond, but we found a jewelry case in his laboratory. Inside was a piece of paper torn from a notebook and dated on the morning of his death.” Bonacelli took a slip of paper from the desk and held it out to Ginny. “This appears to be some kind of riddle. It could either be the ramblings of his madness, or a clue to the whereabouts of the Crimson Star.”

Ginny took the paper and read each line aloud.

“A brilliant Star is what you seek

West of the woods

East of High Peak

Open The Book to find a link

The goddess Hanus,

Protector of all who think.”

No one said anything for a long moment.

“The man was daft!” Ginny gasped, breaking the silence.

“I must admit,” Jules said, “the prose seems rather trite. Not like George at all.”

Bonacelli reminded the group that George was not of sound mind when he wrote it. Still, he believed the riddle might be the only clue to finding the diamond.

“My father was very fond of riddles,” Isabelle said. “Perhaps it isn’t about the Crimson Star at all.”

“Well, of course it is,” Ginny spat, holding the paper up to Isabelle. “What other
star
do we seek?”

“I have to agree,” Bonacelli said. “It was found in a box that could have held the diamond.” He opened the spring lid to show an empty case. It was covered in blue velvet, lined in silk, and obviously made for jewelry.

Isabelle stared at the riddle. “I suppose
The Book
could be a reference to the Bible.”

Jules snickered. “George certainly believed in God, but he despised religion. He thought that all living things—plants, insects, animals—came from a single consciousness. I’m fairly certain he didn’t own a Bible.”

“You’d be wrong,” Ginny replied. “George spoke about getting married in church. He even picked out a burial site in the woods for the two of us, and engraved a headstone with a cross.”

“Of course, you can’t dismiss the possibility that it’s gibberish,” Bonacelli said. “George was in a terrible state that day, I can attest to that. Regardless, I’ll need your signatures.” He handed the will to Isabelle first and when all three heirs had signed, he made duplicates at a copy machine.

“May I see the riddle?” Luke asked.

Ginny hesitated, but gave it to the boy.

Luke repeated the words, and then pondered them aloud, “For one thing, there’s no proper punctuation and
goddess
should be capitalized … There’s no Hanus in any mythology I’ve studied—Greek, Roman, Indian, Persian—”

Isabelle asked, “How many goddesses are there?”

“If you go back to the first writings of the Sumerians all the way to the present, historians have recorded about forty-six hundred supernatural beings, of which there are about twenty-nine hundred true deities. From those, about fourteen hundred fall into the category of ‘goddess,’ but that’s not including Hindus, who believe there’s a god for every Hindu, so that’s like half a billion right there.”

“Oh, never mind all that,” Ginny said with a scowl.

“Luke, you’re such a dweeb,” Monica said.

He frowned at her. “I don’t see you helping.”

She snatched the paper from his hand. “You people are so lame. This is obviously a treasure map, and like any treasure map you just have to follow the instructions. It says right here, walk west of the woods and east of High Peak.”

Luke squinted at the map of Sparrow Island on the wall behind Mr. Bonacelli. “West of the woods, huh? That’s Canada. And east of High Peak would be France.”

“He’s right,” Isabelle said. “Those are opposite ends of the island. Either way, you’d fall into the ocean.”

Jules shook his head. “All these ideas are too rudimentary. George’s riddles were very clever. The answer wouldn’t lie in a sentence or two, but the entire passage as a whole.”

“Give it back to me.” Ginny swiped the paper from Monica and read silently this time, mouthing each word. “Oh, bloody hell! What if I can’t figure out this riddle?”

“I think it best you try.” Bonacelli put the original will in his briefcase and distributed the copies.

“So what’s the diamond worth?” Monica asked.

Bonacelli told her it was appraised at $350,000. “It’s quite rare. One of the few red diamonds in the world. Nearly one carat.”

“It must have been insured,” Isabelle said.

“No. Nothing George owned is insured. Too costly. Plus, he had trouble getting insurance with his … legal difficulties.”

Ginny eyed the lawyer suspiciously. “How do I know you didn’t take the diamond yourself? After you found George dead in the water?”

Jules gasped.

Monica laughed.

Bonacelli released a sigh while packing up his belongings. “I suppose you don’t. However, if you check my impeccable résumé, you’ll find I’m an extremely well-paid attorney for some very influential clients. The act of searching over a deceased man’s island for his only valuable possession is far below my character and completely illegal to boot. My business is entirely based on my reputation and integrity, which cannot be bought.” He picked up his trench coat from a hook and threw it over his arm. “What’s more, I’ve known George for twenty years and considered him a friend. Not only have I been on retainer free of charge for the last decade, it was I who paid for your passages here.”