On Folly Beach (51 page)

Slowly, Emmy got out of bed and moved to the desk, opening up her laptop as she sat. Without turning on the light, she clicked on the Safari button on the toolbar, watching the monitor flicker blue as her fingers hovered over the keyboard. The clock in the right-hand corner of her computer registered three twenty-four a.m., but she was wide-awake now. She pointed the cursor on her browser and hesitated only a moment before typing in the name Peter Nowak. Pausing only for a moment, she hit the enter key.

The name appeared several times in soccer-related articles and other miscellaneous listings, but after searching three pages Emmy gave up trying to find something of relevance to her own search.

Not yet ready to give up, Emmy began typing in miscellaneous names and events that might trigger something. She used Cat’s name and Robert’s, even Maggie’s and John’s, turning up nothing pertinent. Then she began doing searches about Folly Beach and its history. Her eyes burned from the brightness of the monitor in the darkened room, but she wasn’t ready to give up. She knew there was something she was missing—something right in front of her if she only knew where to look.

And then she remembered her conversation with her mother and what Paige had told her about the Atlantic House restaurant. Small static shocks erupted on the back of Emmy’s neck as she typed in the name and then began scrolling down the listings, many of them referencing a book about the island’s history written by a local writer. Emmy made a mental note to get a copy for herself, then kept scrolling down the list.

She was about ready to accept defeat when a short entry caught her attention. Former site of Atlantic House restaurant linked to Duquesne spy ring. Thirty-three Nazi spies captured. . . . It then listed a URL, and Emmy eagerly clicked on it, unaware that she was holding her breath until she let it out.

It appeared to be the introduction of an article on the official FBI site about historical cases. Emmy eagerly read about the thirty-three spies who were living and working in the United States prior to Pearl Harbor whose purpose was to glean information about American life and the best ways to sabotage American infrastructure.

She scanned the article for mention of the Atlantic House restaurant or of Folly Beach and found nothing. But at the end of the article was a link that read Read the full story. Dubious now about finding anything relevant, she clicked on it with a promise to herself that she’d go back to bed as soon as she’d finished glancing at the site.

The page was similar to the first with a graphic of the American flag at the top and a listing of FBI links on the left margin. But this page contained a list of names of all the spies cited in the Duquesne spy ring, and each name was a link. She began to halfheartedly scan the names and was about to close her browser when her gaze fell to the bottom of the list, where the final name, separated by several spaces from the rest, was one single name: Peter Wilhelm Koehler. PWK. She could almost feel the embroidery on the dirty handkerchief between her fingertips.

With a shaking finger, she clicked on the link and stared at the picture of the man staring back at her. She didn’t need to go check the photograph on her wall to make sure. One look at the odd, light-colored eyes told her she was looking at the same man.

She scanned the article, finding the words Atlantic House Restaurant in the final paragraph. Quickly skipping to it, she read it twice.

Peter Koehler, a Berlin native with family in Iowa, was the only spy not apprehended. He disappeared in 1943 from South Carolina, where he’d been placed as a traveling salesman near Charleston. He was suspected in the death of a courier carrying pertinent naval intelligence from Charleston to Virginia Beach, Virginia. Had the information been turned over to the Germans, the war could very well have had a different ending. Luckily for the United States and her allies, the papers were never found, and Koehler disappeared shortly afterward. His whereabouts remain a mystery today.

Emmy’s hand immediately went to her cell phone to call Heath before she remembered it was close to four o’clock in the morning. She leaned back in her chair and stared at the familiar face in front of her, and waited as the puzzle pieces began to slide into place.

EMMY HATED HOSPITALS. SHE SUPPOSED it was because she’d been to one so many times as a child to visit her mother after each miscarriage. They reminded her of forced smiles and lost expectations, and stale lollipops given to her by well-meaning nurses.

Roper Hospital was no different. Despite the different-colored walls and tiled floors, layout, and artwork, it was still a hospital, and Emmy found it hard to shake the feeling of having been there before.

At the main desk, she asked for directions to the floor where Lulu had been moved; then she made her way to the waiting room, where Heath had told her he’d be with his parents and Lizzie. In the end, she hadn’t told Heath what she’d found out about Peter. She’d already stepped too far over the line, and she’d rather keep Peter’s secret for the rest of her life than cross that line. Her only goal in speaking to Lulu this morning was to find out about what had happened to Maggie and Peter. That way, Emmy told herself, she would know the end of their story and could move on. As to where, or what, she had no idea.

Heath stood as she entered and greeted her first before Emmy made the rounds of hugs and kissing cheeks, finally settling into a chair next to Lizzie. After sitting down, she noticed Jolene standing in the corner. Her color was slightly better than when Emmy had last seen her, her eyes clear but sad. Emmy remembered what Heath had told her about Jolene’s mother, and realized that Jolene had an even greater reason to hate hospitals than Emmy did. Jolene gave Emmy a small smile before finding a seat on the bank of scratchy cloth chairs beneath the window. Close enough to the family but not too close.

Emmy touched Lizzie’s arm. “How are you? How are the babies? I guess I’m going to have to make the drive over to Mt. Pleasant soon to actually see them.”

“We’re fine. Thanks for asking. Joe’s with them now, which means I can’t stay long—you know how men are when they’re required to multitask.” She rolled her eyes at her father’s grunt.

Turning to John, Emmy asked, “How’s Lulu?”

“A lot better than she should be, apparently. Still as crusty as ever and no permanent damage to her heart. They say she’ll be able to go home in a few days. There will be some adjustments with her diet which she won’t be happy about, but we’ll work on it.” He sent a quick glance to his wife. “Right now she’s refusing to talk to anybody but you. And she wants to see you, Heath, and Jolene together.”

Emmy glanced up, meeting Heath’s eyes before they both turned to Jolene, who looked just as surprised.

“Well, then, we’d better go see her.” Emmy stood and began walking toward the door, her flip-flops slapping against the tile floor.

“Emmy,” Abigail called to her, “flip-flops in October?” She smiled, her perpetually browned skin creasing.

“Well, it warmed up today, so I figured I might as well.”

John let out a chuckle. “Careful, there. The more you start dressing like a tourist, the more you start looking like a native.”

Emmy paused at the door while Jolene and Heath joined her. “I think I’ve heard that before.” With a smile, she allowed Heath to hold open the door as she and Jolene passed through and made their way to Lulu’s room.

The room had two beds, but the other bed was unoccupied, and the partition separating them was pulled back. Heath set three chairs by the bed and they sat down, Emmy by herself on Lulu’s left side.

Lulu watched them, her glasses lending her face an odd normality, considering the oxygen tubes coming from her nose. Without greeting any of them, she turned to Emmy. “So what do you know?”

Used to Lulu’s abruptness, Emmy didn’t answer. Instead she said, “I’m glad you’re doing better. John tells us that you’ll be coming home in a few days.”

Lulu’s lips twitched as if she was trying not to smile. Serious again, she repeated, “What do you know?”

Emmy leaned forward. “Jolene and Heath are here. Is that all right?”

“I asked them to come, didn’t I?”

Emmy blew breath out of her lower lip, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “Are you sure? I only know bits and pieces—which could be more dangerous than knowing the whole story. . . .”

“I’m old, Emmy, but not yet dead. I know Heath and Jolene are here because I can see them with my own eyes. So when I ask you to tell me what you know, it’s because I want them to hear it. All of it.”

Without glancing at Heath or Jolene, Emmy nodded. “All right then.” Leaning back in her chair, she kept her eyes on Lulu as she spoke. “The messages in the books were between Maggie and Peter, although Peter’s handwriting was different from the inscriptions in your book and Maggie’s. I believe that was deliberate, as he didn’t want anybody connecting his unsigned margin messages with him.” She stared hard at Lulu to see if the last part had any effect on her, but Lulu’s expression remained the same.

Emmy continued. “Cat married Peter in June nineteen forty-two, and seven months later, she had a baby. I’m assuming that’s John, Heath’s father, since the birth date matches.”

“Go on.”

Emmy glanced at Heath and Jolene, who looked as confused as she felt. “That’s really all, except . . . except for Peter’s real name.” She waited for a moment to see if Lulu would stop her.

“Yes?”

Emmy drew a deep breath. “It was Peter Koehler, wasn’t it?”

Lulu’s face appeared to soften, to smooth out its wrinkles and age spots as if the weight of years was being lifted. “And what else?”

Again Emmy glanced at Heath, but his face remained blank. “He was a German spy, embedded on Folly to collect information and send it to the U-boats that were off the coast here and farther north. He was part of a larger spy ring that was mostly apprehended in nineteen forty-one—all except for him. He disappeared in nineteen forty-three.” She swallowed. “That’s all I know.”

Lulu’s eyes were closed and Emmy thought she might have gone to sleep. She’d started to stand when Lulu’s hand shot out and grabbed her forearm, her grip surprisingly strong. Lulu’s lips were thin and colorless, but her eyes were a rich hazel behind her glasses. “I want you to know the rest of the story. But at the rate you’re going, I don’t think I’ll live long enough for you to figure it all out by yourself.”

Emmy sat back down. “Don’t say that, Lulu. You’re going to be fine.”

Lulu frowned but didn’t pull away. “I didn’t mean today. But I’m not going to live forever, and at the rate you’ve been going, I’d have to.” She sent a cursory glance to Heath and Jolene. “It’s time to tell the truth.” She took a deep breath, her eyes closed. “It’s time to tell the story of how I killed the one person I loved most in this world.”

Emmy leaned forward, the puzzle pieces she’d so neatly placed in her head beginning to scatter. “Who, Lulu? Peter?”

The old woman shook her head, her eyes searching out Heath’s. “No. It was Maggie. I killed my Maggie.” She closed her eyes then and said, very softly, “I’m going to start at the very beginning, on the night when Maggie first met Peter on the Folly Beach pier.” Then, after a deep breath, she began to tell her story.

CHAPTER 29

FOLLY BEACH, SOUTH CAROLINA

May 1943

The rain fell hard on the dirt road, each drop like a little slap. Lulu knew she’d never be able to listen to rain again without seeing Cat lying in the backyard and feeling so scared she thought she might actually die.

She ran to the end of the street, where the Healy family lived. They had five boys and all of them had bikes. Lulu figured they wouldn’t miss one for a couple of hours, especially since it was raining.

She took the first bike she found leaning against a palmetto trunk near the end of the driveway. As she pedaled away, she realized it must belong to Harold, the oldest boy, because she had to stand to pedal it since the seat was too high up.

It was hard moving the bike through mud and puddles, and she could hardly see because of the rain blowing in her eyes. She knew she was crying, too, but none of it mattered. She needed to get to Peter before Maggie did, and that was all she needed to be thinking about.