Pieces of Hate (A Wendover House Mystery Book 4) (12 page)

As I prepared our meal, augmenting the beans with a tablespoon of
marmalade and the remainder of a very old tin of curry powder, Harris read
through the papers I had found. He rearranged them slightly, perhaps giving
them more coherence, though obviously not improving the grim tale because he
cycled through expressions of amazement, fear, and disgust as he read.

“Kelvin didn’t tell me about this. If he knew and I am inclined to
believe he did. This is simply.…”

“Yes.” I set our plates on the table. “As I said before, I hope
the
whatever
the hell it is out there
got him. He
deserved it.”

Harris
tutted
at my bloodthirstiness but
didn’t contradict me.

“It comes from marrying men from
away
,”
he said fussily. “They almost always have bad blood.”

I wondered if he was thinking of Jack.

“Some of the local blood isn’t so great either.”

That reminded me that I still hadn’t answered Jack’s email. I would
need to do that before he climbed on a plane and flew out to see what kind of
trouble I was in. Jack had done that before, bless him.

“So, you plan to return the box on Friday evening?” Harris asked.

“At the full of the moon.
Nicholas
mentions it as important so….” Kelvin jumped in my lap and fixed me with his
unblinking stare. “The full moon is good? You approve?” I asked the cat,
forgetting Harris was there and rather nervous about the cat.

Kelvin lay down in my lap and began to wash his paws.

“Yes, Friday night is a go,” I said, looking up and finding Harris
staring at me with something close to consternation. He can accept everything
about the family except that we have always had cats.
That
look
exactly like Kelvin. In fact, I think Harris believes that all the
cats
are
Kelvin. “
It’s
okay, Harris. I talk to the cat, but he doesn’t talk back. He isn’t a demon or
anything.”
Though he wasn’t just a cat either.
I
didn’t try to fool myself about that.

Barney sighed and dropped his head onto my feet, no doubt wishing that
he, too, could sit in my lap.

“I talk to the dog, too, you know. He doesn’t answer either. It’s just
the habit of someone who lives alone.” I broke off some crust and passed it to
Barney. I know, I shouldn’t feed him from the table, but usually it’s just us
and Barney really likes toast.

Harris picked up a fork and began eating. I didn’t think that I had
convinced him of my cat’s innocence.

Never before
did I believe that the dead would truly
ryse
up in
judgment if not
layd
to rest in consecrated ground.
But I have seen with
myne
own eyes, those drowned
faces and barnacled bones walking out of the surf. They stay on the shore for
now, waiting, demanding I return what is
theyrs
. Horror
dwells upon me day and
nyght
. I must find some way to
do what they want. My
wyfe
who is
wyth
child must not be allowed to see them lest it harm the babe resting in her
womb.

—from the unbound journal of
Halfbeard

Ben reappeared
that afternoon. There were circles under his eyes which were an unattractive
shade of red in whites that looked a little jaundiced.

I had expected
him to plead once more for the box to stay with his friend, but after he set it
on my counter, he went immediately to wash his hands. I thought that, perhaps
once the excitement of discovery had worn off, he was beginning to find the box
as repellant as I did and to maybe question the wisdom of possessing it. At
least I hoped that was what he was thinking and not plotting how he could
convince me to keep it, or to let him have it. All other considerations aside,
I didn’t think that the box was good for Ben.

Or
anyone.

Even if you
didn’t believe in psychic contagion, the damn thing might somehow still be
carrying some corporeal disease.

My offer of
tea was accepted and we sat down on the kitchen bench with our cups and some
muffins and ate in silence. It wasn’t an angry quiet, but one filled with unusual
tension. Ben was troubled.

“I don’t
believe in curses and ghosts,” he said at last. “I just don’t. It isn’t
rational.”

“
Don’t be an idiot
,” I said mildly. “Think about where you
live. Everyone here believes in curses and they are all quite sane.”

“I don’t mean
that
. I’m talking about this box and
those coins … it’s just a legend that ignorant seamen believed in. Treasures
can be cursed, of course, but it doesn’t mean the crazy people who mumble their
spells over it really have any real power,” he insisted but looked uneasily at
the box on the counter. It wasn’t actually still wet but it gave the impression
of being damp and slimy. It wouldn’t have surprised me if something squishy and
tentacled
had come wiggling out of it.

“Have you
found any of
Halfbeard’s
papers yet? Does he talk
about the box?” Ben asked.

“I’ve
excavated to the right layer, I think, but am still sifting,” I lied. I had
picked all the papers up and locked them in the desk. I wanted to get a fire
box for them. All the papers should be stored more carefully, but I figured
rubber totes would do fine for most of them. “I should have something by this
weekend. Right now I just want to get through this Founders Day speech.”

Ben grunted.

“What a
confoundedly stupid time to have a celebration,” he complained, though it was
actually the perfect time for this sort of thing if one wanted tourist dollars
and the islands most emphatically did. That meant getting in your licks between
the mainland blueberry and cranberry harvests. “Is your speech ready?”

“Yes.
More or less.
It just needs a tweak or two. What I need to
do is practice it out loud. I hate public speaking.”

“Do you want
me to read it over? Maybe punch it up a little?”

He didn’t mean
that to be insulting about my writing abilities. It was a nice offer, an olive
branch even. After all, Ben was a great writer. He probably could punch up the
speech and make it something for the history books. But that would mean
spending more time with him and I didn’t want to have to keep lying about
stuff, not even by omission.

“That’s okay.
I need this to sound like me.
To sound sincere and homegrown.
You know, not too slick.
Or good.”

Ben grinned
briefly and got to his feet. He rubbed at his face. He looked absolutely
haggard.

“I need to get
home and start writing. I’ve been away a lot this week and haven’t gotten
nearly as much done as I had hoped.”

I felt guilty.
Ben really didn’t look well.

“Thanks for
everything. I should have something for you on Saturday.”

“Good. I need
to put this baby to bed. I have other deadlines. By the way, do you want to ride
over to Goose Haven with me tomorrow? You could practice your speech on me if
you wanted.”

“Thanks. That
would be great.”

The
whyspers
came from all around—at sea. From land, above, below.
When we
heeded them not they
turnd
to slurs and snarls that
seemed to draw ever closer.
Those below decks heard them too as well as
scratching at the
syde
of the ship where something
threatnyng
tried to gain admittance. Even down in the
lazarette
they heard the snarls and scratching as if giant
rats gnawed at the timbers.

—from the unbound journal of
Halfbeard

The weather was lovely for Founders Day. I wondered if I would get credit
for it. Certainly I would have been blamed had it stormed.

Barney knew that something was up when I took the step of putting on
makeup and he began to look concerned. He wasn’t used to being left alone and
it caused me some guilty pangs. I just hoped Kelvin would be a good enough
babysitter since Ben was going to be away too.

Going on the theory that an easy walk is not an attractive walk, I was
wearing moderate heels and a slightly tight skirt. My neckline dipped a couple
of inches into a tasteful V but even the Reverend Burke could not claim it
plunged and my arms were covered.

I had decided against wearing a costume. There hadn’t been time to dig
out something appropriate. It seemed best that I should go as myself and not
feel self-conscious when Bryson and I dined later.

A glance at my watch said it was time to go so I propped open the back
door, put food in the already empty dishes, and headed for Ben’s cottage.

Ben was quiet on the trip over, withdrawn though not angry. That silence
was unlike him, but since I had a head full of my own thoughts, I decided not
to try and draw him out. Anyway, what was there to say? The box had to go back.

The various groups coagulated into colorful clots along the street and
condensed around the stage, mostly sorted by era but sometimes by color, as in
the case of the choirs. I have noticed that there is ecumenical harmony at
official functions, probably because everyone agrees to pursue a separate but
equal doctrine.
At least in public.
What they feel in
their hearts is another matter. As far as the world of the mainland is
concerned, the Catholics love the Methodists and everyone enjoys pancakes with
the Baptists and snow cones with the Episcopalians.

The stands were full of tourists from both the U.S. and Canada who
were looking for some wholesome entertainment. They would get it too. I bet the
pageant wouldn’t have one witch, execution, pirate, or sea monster in it. There
would be no ugly histories reenacted in the play. They would learn a lot about
fishing and pine
trees,
and in a punctual manner since
the program would by God start on time.

Mr.
Hazeltine
, chairman of the Committee for
Better Motion Pictures
,
took the
stage to introduce me. The man is an utter and extreme bore and isn’t
particularly well informed about local history, but it hardly matters. He
sounds like Sean Connery and always gets asked to narrate plays and introduce
speakers. The only holdouts are the Catholics who won’t ask him to call Bingo
on account of his being a Methodist.

My speech wasn’t long, but I don’t think they wanted it to be. I spoke
mainly to Harris and a little to Ben who
were
both in
the audience, since I don’t like public speaking. The words were sincere and
the crowd not critical, either because they knew me, or because they didn’t, so
I got a lot of applause and was able to escape before I got sunburned.

The all-church choir took the stage next and sang “State of Maine Song,”
which I had never heard before. After that the choirs separated by robe color.
Red robes sang first. I sat through “What a Friend We Have in Jesus” and then
Bryson appeared at the edge of the stage. His smile was muted but that meant it
was genuine. He saved the toothy grin for the tourists. I nodded when he jerked
his head toward the chowder house and at the next exchange of choral groups I
snuck away from the stage.

“Nice speech,” he said.

“And short.”

“That too.
But this is
an audience that likes brevity.”

“That’s what I figured.”

Mike was in the throes of some kind of proprietor’s ecstasy. He had
probably made a killing with his wife’s fresh donuts and fishcakes and was now
hawking bread bowls filled with chowder to the crowded table he waited.

To Bryson’s amusement, I ordered grilled cheese and a salad. They are
taking bets about when I will learn to like shellfish. They don’t know it, but
that will be
never
.

“So, tonight’s the night?” Bryson asked suddenly. I noticed that he
wasn’t volunteering to be my right hand any more than Harris had.

“Yes, the moon is full. It seems inadvisable to let this continue
indefinitely. What if it drives the fish away?” Or more people died?

He nodded and said nothing else.

I would have preferred the crème
brulée
for
desert but am not inflexible and the chocolate
ganache
was heavenly. I couldn’t stick my spoon in it and not give it full attention
which means that whole gluttony is a deadly sin thing slipped my mind for a
while. It would have stayed slipped if Reverend Ezekiel Burke hadn’t walked in
and reminded me.

The reverend was not looking good. Even by candlelight he appeared
haggard, like someone had washed his insides in hot water and made his bones
shrink. And I recognized the look in his eyes. This was a fanatic who was
terrified of something beyond human sin.