Remember Me

  She responded coolly to his greeting and asked, “Can I get you anything from the bar?”

  They each ordered a glass of chardonnay. When she left them, Elaine said, “I wonder what’s with Tina today?”

  “I suspect she’s nervous about being dragged in to testify at the inquest,” Adam responded. “Well, she has to get over that. The district attorney is certainly going to subpoena her, and I want to make sure she creates a favorable impression.”

  They ordered hamburgers and shared a side order of onion rings. “It’s a good thing I don’t have lunch with you often,” Elaine said. “I’d put on twenty pounds. I usually have a salad.”

  “This is like the good old days,” Adam told her. “Remember how after our summer jobs we’d all load up on junk food, pile into that wreck of an outboard motorboat I had and call it our sunset sail?”

  “I haven’t forgotten.”

  “The other night, at your house with the old gang, I felt as though fifteen or twenty years had disappeared,” Adam said. “The Cape does that to me. You do too, ’Laine. It’s nice to feel like a kid sometimes.”

  “Well, you’ve had a lot to worry about. How is Menley doing?”

  He hesitated. “She’s doing okay.”

  “You don’t look or sound as though you mean it. Hey, this is your old buddy you’re talking to, Adam. Remember?”

  He nodded. “I always could talk to you. The doctor thinks it would be wise to bring Menley back to New York and hospitalize her.”

  “You don’t mean a psychiatric hospital, I hope.”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  “Adam, don’t jump the gun. She seemed great at the party and at dinner the other night. Besides that, when I spoke to John, he said that Amy was going to be over at your place all day from now on.”

  “That’s the only reason I’m able to be here. Menley told me this morning that she wants to work on her book, and she knows I’ll be busy getting ready for the inquest, so she wanted to hire Amy for the entire day for a while.”

  “Then don’t you think you should leave it at that? You’re home in the evening.”

  “I guess so. I mean, this morning, Menley was herself. Relaxed, funny, enthusiastic about her book. You’d never think she’s been experiencing post-traumatic stress—hallucinations, actually. Yesterday she told the doctor that she thought she heard Bobby calling her. She left Hannah screaming while she searched the house.”

  “Oh, Adam.”

  “So for her own good and for Hannah’s safety, she has to be hospitalized. But as long as Amy can be there and I have to prepare for the inquest, I’ll wait. After that, however, I’ll take Menley back to New York.”

  “Will you stay there yourself?”

  “I simply don’t know. From what I understand, Doctor Kaufman wouldn’t want me to visit Menley for a week or so. New York is damn hot, and our regular baby-sitter is away. If Amy helps out, minding Hannah during the day, I can certainly take care of her myself at night, so I may come back up here for at least that week.”

  He finished the last of the hamburger. “You know, if we really had wanted to make this like old times, we should have been drinking out of beer cans instead of wine glasses. No matter, I think I’ll settle for coffee now.”

  He changed the subject. “Since the inquest is a public hearing, I can give a list of the people I want called to testify. That doesn’t mean the district attorney won’t frame his questions to try to put Scott in a bad light. Let’s go over the sort of thing you might be asked.”

  They finished the coffee and had a second cup before Adam nodded in satisfaction. “You’re a good witness, Elaine. When you’re on the stand, emphasize how lonely Vivian seemed when she bought the house, how happy she was at her wedding reception; and talk about when she and Covey were house hunting, and all their plans for a baby. It’s okay to let them know that Vivian had more than her share of New England thrift. That would help to explain why she didn’t buy new diving gear right away.”

  When he was paying the check, he looked up at the waitress. “Tina, you finish work at two-thirty. I’d like to talk to you for about fifteen minutes after that.”

  “I have an appointment.”

  “Tina, you’re going to receive a subpoena to appear in court next week. I suggest you discuss your testimony with me. I can assure you that if the judge rules unfavorably, it will be because he thinks you were the motive for Vivian’s murder and maybe he’ll even suspect you were involved. Being an accessory to murder is pretty serious.”

  Tina paled. “I’ll meet you at the soda place next to the Yellow Umbrella Bookshop.”

  Adam nodded.

  He walked down the block to the real estate agency with Elaine. “Hey,” he said, looking in the display window, “where’s the picture of my house?”

  “Your house?”

  “Well, maybe. Just keep in mind I have an option that I may decide to exercise.”

  “Sorry. I sent the picture over to Scott. I have to hedge my bets. If you don’t buy it, there’s a good chance he might. And Jan Paley could use the sale. She and Tom sank a lot of money in that renovation. I’ll have another copy made up for you. I’ll even throw in a really nice frame.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  * * *

  Tina was clearly on the defensive when she spoke with Adam. “Listen, Mr. Nichols, I’ve got a nice boyfriend. Fred isn’t going to like my having to testify in this thing.”

  “Fred has nothing to say about it. But he could help you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He could verify that you two had dated for a while last summer, then broken up over Scott; that you got back together and now you’re getting married.”

  “We didn’t get back together right away. I dated other guys last winter.”

  “That’s all right. The point is, I’d like to talk to Fred and decide whether he’d be a good witness.”

  “I don’t know . . .”

  “Tina, please get this straight. The faster Scott’s name is cleared, the better it will be for you.”

  They were sitting at one of the small tables outside the soda shop. Tina toyed with the straw in her soda. “That detective is making me very nervous,” she burst out. “Yesterday he was looking under my car.”

  “That’s the sort of thing I need to know,” Adam said quickly. “What was he looking for?”

  Tina shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m getting rid of it soon. Damn thing leaks like a sieve.”

  When they separated, Adam took Fred’s phone number but promised he would wait to call until this evening, after Tina had a chance to explain what was going on.

  He got in the station wagon and sat for a few minutes, thinking. Then he reached for the car phone and dialed Scott Covey’s number.

  When Covey answered, Adam said abruptly, “I’m on my way over.”

  57

  Phoebe had had a restless night. Several times a nightmare caused her to cry out in her sleep. One time she had screamed, “I don’t want to go in there,” another time she’d moaned, “Don’t do that to me.”

  Finally, at dawn, Henry had managed to coax her into taking a strong sedative, and she had settled into drugged slumber.

  Over his solitary breakfast, Henry tried to figure out what might have upset her. Yesterday, she had seemed relaxed when they walked on the beach. She appeared to enjoy the visit with Adam and Menley at Remember House. She’d been glad to see her files there, and had sounded absolutely lucid when she told Menley that the answer was in the Mooncusser file.

  What answer? What did she mean? Clearly some aspect of her research had surfaced in her mind and she was trying to communicate it. But she’d also been clear when she talked about the sketch Menley had made of Captain Freeman and Mehitabel.

  Henry brought his coffee into Phoebe’s study. He’d received a letter from the director of the nursing home, suggesting that he select some mementos for Phoebe to have in her room when she went to l
ive there. The director wrote that familiar objects, particularly those involving long-term memory, helped increase awareness in Alzheimer patients. I ought to start deciding what to pack for her, he thought. This is the place to look.

  As always, sitting at Phoebe’s desk brought back with knifelike sharpness the reality of how different things were for them now, as compared to a few years ago. After Phoebe retired from teaching, she’d spent every morning in here, happily absorbed in her research, working much as he imagined Menley Nichols worked.

  Wait a minute, Henry thought. That picture of the captain and his wife Phoebe talked about yesterday was in the extra-large folder. That wasn’t with the data I gave Menley. I didn’t know another picture of them together existed. It seems to me that folder had a lot of other material on the Freemans and Remember House. Where would Phoebe have kept it? he wordered.

  He looked around the room, taking in the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, the end table by the sofa. Ther he thought—of course, the corner cupboard.

  He walked over to it. The open shelves of the fine antique held rare samples of early Sandwich glassware. He remembered how Phoebe had collected each of them lovingly, and he decided that a few of the pieces should be among the items she had with her in the nursing home.

  The cabinet under the shelves was jampacked with books and papers and folders. I didn’t realize she had all this stuff in here, Henry mused.

  In the bewildering hodgepodge, he did manage to find the folder he was looking for, and in it the sketch of Captain Freeman and Mehitabel. The billowing of her skirt and the sails suggested a strong, cool wind. She was standing a little behind him rather than alongside, as though he were sheltering her. His face was strong and firm, hers soft and smiling; her hand was resting lightly on his arm. The unknown artist had caught the chemistry between them. You can tell they were lovers, Henry thought.

  He glanced through the folder. Several times the word “mooncusser” caught his eye. This may be what Phoebe intended Menley to read, he decided.

  “Oh, is that where I left the doll?”

  Phoebe was in the doorway, her hair disheveled, her nightgown stained. Henry remembered that he had left the bottle of liquid sedative on the bedside table. “Phoebe, did you take more medicine?” he asked anxiously.

  “Medicine?” She sounded surprised. “I don’t think so.”

  She stumbled over to the cabinet and crouched beside him. “That’s where I put the Remember House doll,” she said, her tone excited and pleased.

  She pulled papers from the deep bottom shelf, letting them scatter on the floor. Then she reached into the back of the cabinet, and pulled out an antique doll dressed in a long yellowing cotton gown. A lace-edged bonnet with satin streamers framed the delicately beautiful china face.

  Phoebe stared at it, frowning. Then she handed it to Henry. “She belongs in Remember House,” she said vaguely. “I meant to put her back, but I forgot.”

  58

  After lunch, Amy sat in front of the baby swing, playing with Hannah. “Clap hands, clap hands till Daddy comes home. Daddy has money and Mommy has none,” she singsonged as she patted Hannah’s hands together.

  Hannah gurgled in delight, and Menley smiled. “That’s a pretty sexist nursery rhyme,” she said.

  “I know,” Amy agreed. “But it sticks in my head. My mother used to sing it to me when I was little.”

  Her mother’s on her mind a lot, poor kid, Menley thought. Amy had arrived promptly at nine that morning, almost pathetically glad to be back. Menley knew her attitude reflected more than a desire to earn the baby-sitting money. She seemed genuinely happy to be there.

  “My mother claims she tried to avoid singing to us,” Menley commented as she scrubbed the sink. “She’s tone deaf and didn’t want to pass it on to my brother and me. But she did.” She swished water in the sink.

  “Honestly, Hildy isn’t very much use,” she complained. “That cleaning woman who was just leaving when we arrived here left this place spotless. I wish she had come back.”

  “Elaine was mad at her.”

  Menley turned and looked at Amy. “Why was she mad at her?”

  “Oh, I don’t know,” Amy said hurriedly.

  “Amy, I think you do know,” Menley said, sensing that this might be important.

  “Well, it was just that Carrie Bell was scared that morning you arrived. She said she had heard footsteps upstairs, but there was no one there. Then, when she went into the nursery, the cradle was rocking by itself, or so she claimed. Elaine said that was ridiculous and she didn’t want those kind of stories spread about the house, because it’s for sale.”

  “I see.” Menley tried not to sound excited. That’s three of us she thought. Amy, Carrie Bell and me. “Do you know how I can reach Carrie?” she asked.

  “Oh, sure. She’s cleaned our house for years.”

  Menley reached for a piece of paper and jotted down the number Amy rattled off. “I’m going to see if she can come over again, and I’ll ask Elaine to cancel Hildy.”

  Since it was still very cool, they agreed that Amy would bundle Hannah up and take her for a walk in the carriage. “Hannah likes to know what’s going on,” Amy said, smiling.

  And don’t we all, Menley thought as she settled down at the table and reached again for the Mooncusser file. For a moment she stared reflectively into space. This morning Adam had not bothered to mince words. “Menley,” he had said, “I’m sure if you phone Dr. Kaufman you’ll find she agrees with me. While you’re having such shattering anxiety attacks and flashbacks I have to insist that Amy stay here with you and Hannah when I’m out.”

  Menley remembered the effort with which she had bitten back an angry reply. Instead she had simply pointed out that it was her idea to have Amy with them, so he didn’t need to be so overbearing. Even so, Adam had watched until Amy’s car came into the driveway, then he had rushed out to have a word with her. After that he had closeted himself in the library, preparing for the inquest. He left the house at twelve-thirty, saying he’d be back late in the afternoon.

  He talked privately to Amy because he doesn’t even trust me to keep my word, Menley thought. Then she forced those thoughts from her mind and determinedly settled down to work.

  Before lunch she’d been trying to make sense of the Mooncusser file, preparing her own notes, which she’d culled from the data Phoebe Sprague had put together.

  She reread those notes:

  The fifteen miles of treacherous currents and blind channels and shifting shoals that were the Chatham coastline were the undoing of countless vessels. They foundered and broke apart in blizzards and storms or sailed into sandbars, wrecking their hulls and sinking in the violent waters.

  “Mooncussers” was the name given to the wreckers, who would rush to loot the cargos and snare the spoils. They would sail their small boats to the dying ship, carrying pinch bars, saws and axes, and would strip it clean of cargo and lumber and fixtures. Barrels and trunks and household goods were hoisted over the sides onto the waiting craft.

  Even men of the cloth were wreckers. Menley had come across Phoebe’s notes about the minister who in the middle of his sermon looked out the window, saw a ship in distress and immediately informed his congregation of the fortuitous happening. “Start fair,” he’d yelped and rushed out of the meeting room, followed closely by his fellow scavengers.

  Another story Phoebe had noted was of the minister who, when handed a note about a sinking ship, ordered his parishioners to bow their heads in silent prayer, while he himself slipped out in search of plunder. Returning five hours later, his booty tucked away, he found his obedient, stiff-necked and weary congregation still in place.

  Wonderful stories, Menley thought, but what have they got to do with Tobias Knight? She continued to read; an hour later she finally came to a reference to him. He was listed as denouncing “the plundering gangs who stripped clean the cargo of flour and rum from the beached schooner Red Jacket, depriving the Crown of its
salvedge.”

  Tobias was put in charge of that investigation. There was no mention of the success or failure of his mission.

  But what is the connection to Mehitabel? Menley wondered. Certainly Captain Freeman wouldn’t have been a wrecker.

  And then she came upon another reference to Tobias Knight. In 1707 there was an election to replace him as selectman and assessor and to appoint Samuel Tucker to complete the building of the sheep pound that Knight had begun. The reason: “Tobias Knight no longer apeering in our midst to the greate disadvantage of the congregation.”

  Phoebe Sprague had noted: “Probably the ‘greate disadvantage’ was that they’d already paid him to build the pound. But what happened to him? No record of his death. Did he leave to avoid being pressed into service? ‘Queen Anne’s War,’ the French and Indian war, was being fought. Or was his disappearance tied to the Crown investigation that began two years earlier?”

  The Crown investigation! Menley thought. That’s a new twist. Tobias Knight must have been quite a character. He threw Mehitabel to the winds. He led the search to recover the spoils from the Red Jacket, which meant he was investigating his own townspeople, and then he disappeared, leaving the sheep pound unfinished.

  She got up and glanced at the clock. It was half past two. Amy had been out alone with the baby for nearly two hours. Concerned, she jumped up, went to the kitchen door and was relieved to see the carriage just turning onto the dirt road that marked the beginning of the property.

  Will I ever get to the point where I’m not overly worried about Hannah? she wondered.

  Stop thinking like that, she cautioned herself. You haven’t even glanced at the ocean since you got out of bed, she thought. Take a look at it. It always does something for you.

  She walked from the keeping room to the main parlor and opened the front windows, relishing the blast of salt-filled air. Tossed by the sharp breeze, the water was a mass of whitecaps. Cool as she knew it must be on the beach, she found herself yearning to walk there and feel the water on her ankles. How had Mehitabel felt about this house? She could visualize the way she would write the story.