A Roux of Revenge (20 page)

Lucky’s heart skipped a beat. Was it Elias? Perhaps he had decided to stop in, perhaps he wasn’t angry. She peered through the hatch. Her heart fell when she saw Horace waving through the glass. Cicero, his adopted dog, was on a leash next to him. She returned to the main room and unlocked the door for him.

“I hope we’re not too late for a visit.” Cicero’s
tail was wagging. The dog looked up hopefully.

Lucky forced a smile, not wanting her disappointment to show. “You’re not too late. Always good to see you.”

“Cicero and I were just taking a walk. Is it okay if he comes in?”

“Sure. No one else is here—just me and Jack.” She reached down to pat Cicero’s head and was rewarded with a wet kiss on her cheek. “Can I get you some tea?”

“Oh, lovely, yes, herbal please. Thank you.” Horace took a seat at a small table and unclipped Cicero’s leash. The dog settled happily at his feet. “You two have very serious looks on your faces. Anything wrong?”

“Nah. We’re fine, Horace. We were just talking about these travelers and the disappearing body.”

“Did you say disappearing?” Horace asked.

“Yes, but keep it under your hat.
Nate just found out this morning that the body was stolen from the morgue.”

“Interesting,” Horace replied. “Very interesting. I heard about the insurance investigator who’s chasing a traveler, or thinks he is at any rate.” Horace was silent for a few moments and then finally asked, “How often do these travelers come through this area?”

Jack thought a moment. “Maybe every few years. They
always stay up by the Stones.”

“Fascinating,” Horace replied.

Lucky returned with Horace’s tea and a hunk of chicken wrapped in a napkin. “You know, when we were kids, there were a lot of stories about the Stones, that they’re haunted, that a woman hung herself there and her ghost torments anyone who comes close—all that silly stuff.” Cicero rested his head on Lucky’s knee. She unwrapped
the napkin and the dog neatly devoured the treat.

Jack shut the drawer of the cash register and joined them at the table. “There’ve always been a lot of stories and legends about the Stones—as far back as I can remember. Even
my
grandfather used to talk about them. He always believed the Indians had nothing to do with them—that the Stones went much further back in time than that.”

“Oh
yes,” Horace replied. “In fact, there are stone structures, megaliths if you will, all over New England—Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, not just Vermont. And in truth not just New England. They’ve been found as far away as Iowa, New Mexico, places like that.”

“Really?” Lucky questioned. “I had no idea. I thought our Stones were unique.”

“Unique, yes, but not rare. There are some amazing
sites. There’s the Woodstock, Vermont, megalith, and the Mystery Hill structure in New Hampshire, the Gungywamp Complex in eastern Connecticut, the . . . uh . . .” Horace thought for a moment. “Let’s see, the Upton stone chamber just outside of Boston, and the Wendell Beehive Cave, also in Massachusetts and many more. And then in Ontario there’s a protected site that has a great deal of evidence
about the voyage of a Bronze Age Scandinavian king named Woden-lithi around 1700 
BCE
. I think I’ve read there are eight hundred different sites discovered in New England alone. And that doesn’t even begin to take in the rest of America.”

“So strange. I grew up here, but I’ve never given it much thought.”

Horace laughed. “Most people don’t or don’t take any interest. Let’s see, the Bronze
Age is considered 3000
BCE
and late Bronze Age is, I think, 1500 to 1200
BCE
. Bear in mind, stones can’t be carbon-dated, so I have no idea how the archeologists have arrived at the figure. Perhaps they can date tree roots that have grown through the sites or implements found in them. But here’s another interesting thing—most of these sites, if not all, have openings that line up with the solstices
or the spring and vernal equinoxes. Maybe they don’t anymore because of the precession of equinoxes over thousands of years, but it’s thought that the openings of many of these chambers would have lined up perfectly thousands of years ago.”

Jack whistled. “I’ve never even heard that.”

“Sadly, they’ve pretty much been ignored until recent years. It was assumed they were colonial root cellars,
but that doesn’t make any sense. The colonists wouldn’t have stored food that way. There are even written accounts that the early colonists who found strange markings on the stones sent inquiries back to England about them. I doubt they ever got any answers to their questions though. No one could decipher the written language.”

“What kind of markings?” Lucky asked.

“Well, that’s where
it gets truly interesting. There are lots of theories out there, and I’m not really sure what the latest thinking is. My interests lie several centuries beyondthat time.” Horace chuckled. “But you can be sure most of this stuff is hotly debated. There are books about the markings and the megaliths written by a professor from a very well-known university in Boston. I think at the time they pooh-poohed
his theories. I may still have one of those books. I’ll have to have a look. If you’re interested, I’ll dig it up.”

“Well, no wonder these travelers might consider the Stones a sacred site, something built by their ancestors thousands of years ago,” Lucky said.

“Yes,” Horace replied. “Perhaps they know a lot more than the academics. I’d be interested to hear what
they
have to say about
the Stones.” Horace took a last sip of his tea. “Thanks, folks. I’ll be on my way. I’m sure I’ve bored you silly by now.”

“Not at all, it was fascinating, Horace.” Lucky rose and walked Horace to the door.

Horace said good night and pocketed Cicero’s leash. Lucky watched as the dog followed him dutifully to the car.

“Good night. Drive safe,” she called out as she locked the door behind
their guests. Lucky returned to the table and stacked the cups and saucers.

“Jack, I think we should talk to them ourselves.”

“What? Who?”

“These people. The travelers.”

“I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

“Why not? They’re just people. I saw them today at the festival. They’re wonderful musicians. They’re not baby killers. There’s something else, Jack. I couldn’t say anything
before because . . . because Nate was here with Joe Conrad and I didn’t want to blow Janie’s cover. And I know Nate will figure it out instantly as soon as he gets a chance to meet the musicians from the festival.”

“What’s that?”

“The photo they e-mailed to Nate from Lincoln Falls? The photo of the dead man? He’s a twin of the man who’s been watching the restaurant.”

“What?” Jack looked
stunned. “A twin? How can you be sure?”

“Because I got a good look at him at the festival. He was on stage, he stepped forward, and his face was very memorable. It’s the same face as the dead man, and Miriam confirmed that Eamon MacDougal had a twin brother.”

“What do you know!” Jack said. “He took off so fast when he saw me coming across the street, I couldn’t swear I’d be able to identify
him if I did see him again. But why didn’t you tell Nate right away?”

“I don’t know. If it had only been Nate sitting there, I would have. That’s why I asked him about talking to the musicians—if he had had a chance to do that. I know as soon as he gets a good look at the violin player, he’ll put it together. It was because of Joe. Something made me hold back. I was being protective of Janie.
I’m not sure why. I think the whole story about Miriam and Janie and the travelers will probably come out eventually. For now, I’d just like it to be only Nate who might find out—other than us. Sophie knows a little bit. I had to tell her when she saw Janie freak out at the festival, but I just stuck to the main points. And I trust Sophie. She’ll keep her mouth shut and not say anything to embarrass
Janie.”

“I guess you’re right. But check with Nate tomorrow and make sure he’s figured it out.”

“I really want to talk to that man. It doesn’t look like Miriam is going to, and it could be important to figure out which brother died. If he really is Janie’s father, Janie should meet him. He obviously has an interest in her. But if he’s not her father, why has he been following her all over
town? Somebody needs to figure out exactly who he is. And is he the traveler Joe’s been looking for? I think the thing to do is to go up there to their campsite.”

“When?”

“Now.”

“Now?” Jack jumped. “It’s late. It’s dark. You don’t even know for sure where they are. Why don’t you wait till tomorrow?”

“We’ll be busy here, and besides they’re working at the festival during the day.
I have a good idea where they’re camped from what Miriam has told me. They’re near the Stones; it must be that road that leads to the big clearing at the top of the Pilgrim Trail. If I go up there tonight, I can be sure they’ll be home—home at their campsite at least.”

“Lucky, I can’t tell you what to do, but I don’t like the idea of you traipsing up there all by yourself. If you’re gonna
be stubborn, then I’m going with you.” Jack pushed his chair back. “Go get your jacket. It’s colder than a witch’s you-know-what tonight.”

Chapter 29

L
UCKY DROVE SLOWLY
along the Old Colonial Road. Normally she would have driven much faster, but she knew Jack never liked it when she did. He was a much better driver than a passenger. He
had a tendency to reach out to the dashboard or stomp his foot, unconsciously reaching for a brake pedal when he was nervous about her speed. She was relieved he hadn’t objected more strongly to her desire to talk to the travelers and even more relieved he insisted on coming with her. What looked like a good idea an hour ago at the Spoonful, now seemed questionable. Without Jack it would be a lonely
odyssey indeed.

The road narrowed. Only a thin sliver of moon showed above the treetops. She knew nothing about these strangers. Would they be hostile? Or friendly? Would they threaten her or try to drive her away? There was only one way to find out. Talking to the man Miriam believed was Janie’s father seemed the only course of action left. Miriam hadn’t been able to bridge the gap with her
daughter, and Janie had become even more stubborn in her attitude. Lucky hoped against hope that talking to this man would relieve her anxiety and give her some insight to help Janie reconnect with her mother.

Miriam believed that Eamon had abandoned her. She had run away from her family, but Eamon had failed to follow, leaving her to fend for herself. Miriam admitted that she herself wasn’t
even aware she was pregnant. It followed that Eamon wouldn’t have known either. If so, how did he find out about Janie? How had he even found Miriam? And why now of all times? She wished she had a few answers to her questions. Perhaps this man, whoever he was, could provide some.

Lucky slowed. She knew the turn was coming up, but the road was so dark, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to see it.

Jack leaned forward. “Slow down. The turn off is coming up real soon.” Jack peered at the road. “Ah, here it is.”

The headlights swept over a stand of birch trees growing up to the edge of the road. An owl hooted in the distance, and a chill wind blew through the treetops. This road was narrower, sometimes curving and sometimes turning back upon itself as it climbed the hill. For all she
knew, they could arrive at the Stones and not find the travelers’ campsite. It was only a guess that this was where they were camped. Near the top of the hill the road ended, and a dirt path wide enough for a large vehicle ran in two directions, at right angles to the road they had climbed.

Lucky stopped the car. “What do you think Jack?”

“The Stones are to the right. I don’t think they’d
camp there, but they’ll want to be near it. Let’s go left.”

“Okay. You’re the boss.”

“I doubt that,” Jack said. Lucky looked at him quickly. She could see by the dash light he was smiling. Lucky drove farther along the road for a few more minutes.

“Slow down here.” Jack leaned forward in his seat. “Stop the car and turn off the lights. We don’t want to scare them.”

Lucky crawled
to a stop, hoping her brakes wouldn’t squeal, and flicked off the headlights. The night closed in around them.

“We should walk the rest of the way.”

Lucky glanced at Jack. She could barely make out his features in the darkness. She rolled down her window. Above the silence of the woods a strain of sound came. She turned to Jack. “Did you hear that?”

Jack nodded. “We’re close. I’ll
get the flashlights.” He reached into the glove compartment and handed one to her.

They climbed out of the car and closed the doors as quietly as they could. Aiming the beam of the flashlight at the dirt road, they followed it to the top of the hill where it narrowed even more. Jack took the lead, and they continued along the path. A deep reverberating sound filtered through the trees then,
voices harmonizing without words. The music had a mournful feel. Lucky and Jack stopped before the last turn that would lead them into the large clearing.