The Secret Staircase (A Wendover House Mystery Book 1) (10 page)

“Oh, that’s too bad. I’ve never seen one.” I couldn’t help but feel that her words were overly discouraging. I wasn’t sure why I was so excited about the idea of a sea cave, unless it was from reading about the local smugglers and pirates.

The man I assumed was Captain Sibley dropped a large sack of cat food at my feet and thrust a small box of groceries into my arms.

“Ma’am,” he said, jerking his head in the slightest of nods. His cap was pulled down almost over his eyes. He didn’t smile and spent his time gazing past me. I began to wonder if I shouldn’t have checked a mirror before coming out. Maybe I was a lot dirtier than I realized and my filth was embarrassing people.

“Tess, this is
Cap’n
Thomas Sibley.”

“How do you do?”
I asked politely. “Thank you for bringing out the cat food.”

“
Ayuh
,” he said, nodding again and then hurrying away. It occurred to me that he was afraid of something. Was it me?
Or just the island?
Or, I thought as I turned at the sound of a strident meow, was it the cat? Some people had strange phobias, but Kelvin was just sitting on a rock, looking as unthreatening as a flower. Surely it couldn’t be that.

“You weren’t planning on looking for that cave alone, were you?” Ben asked, handing me a small box with dried cereal and a bottle of milk and picking up the enormous sack of cat food and hoisting it over a broad shoulder. He might be a bit pale from being indoors but he wasn’t weak.

“No. I would need a boat anyway. The cliff face is too sheer to climb down.” I put a box under either arm so I was more balanced. Cardboard boxes didn’t seem ideal carriers to me, especially if it was raining, though I supposed the market probably had tons to spare and they would stack better on the ferry.

We started up the trail. Mary went in front since we couldn’t walk three abreast. Kelvin followed behind Ben, perhaps keeping an eye on his dinner.

“That’s true. Can you recall when you’ve heard the booming? Was it high or low tide?”

“Near high tide,” I said, thinking back. “I could hear it just before the ferry came today but it was getting fainter by the minute.”

“Would you mind if I came back with you and had a listen?” he asked. “You’ve made me a bit curious. I’ve been doing some research about local smugglers and pirates and I would love to see a cave, if one exists.”

“Since you have the cat’s food, definitely not,” I said with a smile. Mary was outdistancing us and she didn’t look back. I had the feeling that we weren’t going to become the best of friends.

“Is she cold to everyone?” I asked Ben.
“Or just newcomers?”

“She keeps company with Everett Sands sometimes, but mostly she is a loner. Don’t take it to heart.”

“I won’t.” But I did kind of. “So could I interest you in a slice of Mrs.
Crumpert’s
blueberry pie first? I am suddenly starving.”

“You got one yesterday? I missed out this week. She only bakes pies on Thursdays and people snap them up right away.”

“Well, I have one.
Half of one.
But I’ll share.”

“Then I don’t mind being the beast of burden for your cat.”

“Thank you for doing this. I am relieved it’s not raining. This path would be a pain.”

“Me too, though the ferry usually delays if there is a gale.”

“Speaking of gales, did you hear about my ancestor who adopted the Wendover name because he was wanted for piracy and smuggling in New Hampshire?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.
I’ve read about it.
Didn’t talk to Kelvin about it since he was usually so touchy about his ancestors.
Kelvin maintained that the reprobate reformed, but I don’t think your fly-by-night relative gave up his evil ways after he married. The locals certainly suspected him of smuggling.”

“Really?
That’s kind of … fun. But stupid, I guess, if everyone knows what you’re doing.”

“There was a lot of money in liquor in a dry state. A lot of men ran rum to make ends meet. It happened in the best families. And anyway, there would not have been that much disapproval from the locals. The
Wendovers
were important people in the community. I have a feeling that their little eccentricities were tolerated.”

“Hm.
I guess everyone has colorful relatives. I found a creepy painting up in the attic. You know the story of how Abercrombie Wendover drowned? It’s a painting of that. I’m thinking of hanging it in the library.”

“You can actually tell it’s the
Terminer
?” he asked excitedly.

“Yes, you can read it on the sinking ship. I am kind of hoping this doesn’t mean I have ghosts at the house.” I tried to sound like this was a humorous idea, but really I wasn’t amused. “I also hope that I can find some portraits up in the attic. It seems very odd to have nothing but pictures of animals hanging on the walls.”

Ben cleared his throat.

“I don’t want to shove my oar in, but have you considered having electricity run up to the house? I don’t know how you could stand it there when the storms are at their worst. It would have anyone thinking about ghosts.”

I stopped in my tracks and Kelvin began twining around my ankles, urging me to keep up with the kibble.

“What?”

“I said why not
run electricity
up to the house
?”

Never mind that I might not be staying on the island, I heard myself say, “I can do that? I mean, the lines have already been brought to the island?”

“Of course.
You don’t think the rest of us would live here without power, do you? Kelvin was just too damn stubborn to have the house wired.” Realizing I had halted, Ben stopped too and turned back impatiently. “I thought I had him convinced, but the electrician said the minute he told Kelvin he needed to install a fuse box in the basement the old bastard—
er
, pardon my language—the old man threw him out. He wouldn’t hear of it, though the electrician explained that the wires have to go underground in a pipe and that means the easiest place to enter the house is through the basement.”

Goosebumps covered my arms. I’d have paid them more heed but anger was flushing my cheeks.

“Why the hell didn’t Harris mention this? I mean I’ve been managing with the weird solar panels and oil lamps, but this has not been a convenient stay.”

Ben shrugged. He didn’t smile but I could tell he was amused by my wrath. I tried to recall if Harris had told me there was no electricity on the island, or just none at the house. Surely he wouldn’t have lied—not when I could and probably would find out about there being power on the island.

“I guess he’s honoring Kelvin’s wishes. Ladd is a traditionalist and very loyal to your great-grandfather.”

“Kelvin is dead. It’s my wishes that count now.” I started walking again. “Okay, maybe he didn’t say anything because I haven’t committed to staying. He did say some repairs were needed before the house could be sold but we didn’t go into details.”

“Maybe so.
I know historical preservationists would prefer to leave the place as is, but I can’t help but think that the cottage would sell better with a few modern conveniences. Not everyone is as intrepid as you and Kelvin. Ladd should know this.”

I snorted. Harris did know this and probably just didn’t want me to sell the house. Well, he would be hearing from me shortly. Though mentally planning the conversation, I was also thinking about something else Ben had said.
I thought I had him convinced, but the electrician said the minute he told Kelvin he needed to install a fuse box in the basement the old bastard—
er
, pardon my language—the old man threw him out.

Why? What the hell was in that basement that Kelvin didn’t want disturbed? And why wouldn’t Harris want me to have electricity at the house?

Because it might make it easy to sell it and then I could leave? Did he really believe that I had to stay or the island would be pulled down into the sea?

We went out to the yard to have a listen for the cave, but the booming was gone. Ben admired the drapes I’d been beating and helped me carry them in and hang the bed curtains in my room. I was glad he was there because it would have taken me a while to figure out how to remove the rods which were cleverly fitted into the finials.

We had some pie and then Ben gave me the name of the electrician who had worked on his house. We were, as my grandmother would have said, getting on like a house afire. Ben asked if he might go through my library one day and I said he was welcome.

I called Harris as soon as Ben left. Remembering Grandma’s other adage about honey catching more flies than vinegar, I buried my annoyance and kept everything upbeat, expressing my enthusiasm for modern light bulbs over quaint oil lamps. Harris didn’t try to dissuade me, but I sensed a lack of zeal and I could hear him pacing up and down his narrow office as we talked. He did point out the expense. I countered with the argument of convenience. I didn’t mention how much a buyer would like having electricity, just kept it to a discussion of how much easier it would be for me to live on the island if I had a computer and coffee maker. Though I hated playing games, I did it, and soon Harris was agreeing to my ideas and even offered to call the electrician for me.

I wandered around the house after I hung up, feeling almost dreamy and making some tentative plans. Electricity could make the difference between staying and leaving, I thought, touching the furniture and even playing a few bars of
Silent Night
on the spinet. I was trying to picture the room with a Christmas tree and red candles, but before I could get them lit or the mistletoe hung, I heard the distinctive crash of a bag of kibble being knocked over in the pantry. A moment later Kelvin came running by the door and then thundered up the stairs as if chased by devils. I laughed once he was out of earshot.

The house felt very alive to me that afternoon, very welcoming. I couldn’t believe that it was all mine and that it came without strings—at least no emotional ones since I hadn’t known Kelvin and didn’t mourn him. And Harris hadn’t mentioned any legal strings either. Even probate would be through in a few more days. There was only the half-baked legend about
there
needing to be a Wendover in the house to appease the storm gods and I wasn’t buying into that obligation.

This sense of belonging was a new experience. I had to admit that the idea of leaving the house, even temporarily, now that I had laid eyes and hands upon it was increasingly less appealing. I felt like I really belonged there. This was the home I never had. This was where the changeling fitted in. I was grateful to Kelvin.
And Harris.
And the gift came without any shadow of grief to darken the moment.

Haven’t you noticed that usually, when someone dies, their home immediately feels empty and the people visiting for the funeral and cleanup are intruders in the vacated space? Maybe it’s because many of the deceased’s possessions are suddenly ownerless and worthless. After all, who wants an old hairbrush or beat-up sneakers or photo albums of other dead people that no one recognizes anymore? Their owner conferred their worth and meaning and now they are gone. Most everyone already has their own ratty sofas and wobbly dining room tables. The dead person’s beloved stuff is fit for nothing but a thrift shop, and stripped of its personal things, the house is just a shell, built to be generic, able to house anyone.

But that wasn’t the case at Wendover House. These possessions, these heirlooms, had never been ownerless or neglected. The house was never uninhabited. When one Wendover died, another took their place. Changing fashion was not considered. One did not discard the hand-carved grandfather clock in the parlor or the fine tapestries in the library because a new owner had different tastes. The furnishings were immutable, existing when their owners were dust.

Certainly I would not bring anything of mine here to pollute the space.

Except clothes and some family pictures.

And a television and DVD player.
And my computer.

So, okay, maybe the office would change a little.
And my bedroom.
I would not sully the public rooms with a television, but I would allow my bedroom to be degraded because I really like watching old movies in bed.

Imagining my computer in my new library office, I wandered back into the book room. My eyes fell on the painting I had left leaning against the wall after Ben and I had examined it.

I needed a hammer and a nail. I had seen some in the kitchen.

After hanging the grim picture behind the desk in the library where it was in a place of honor but where I wouldn’t be forced to stare at it all the time, I opened the central drawer and began looking for a tidal chart. The drawer didn’t open more than about six inches before it caught on something.

I jerked it a couple of times, but without real force since I didn’t want to damage anything. Though my mission was pure enough, I still felt presumptuous going through a desk that didn’t belong to me. Oh, legally it was mine, but morally? Unlike the other objects, the desk felt like it still belonged to Kelvin Wendover.