Winnie's Web Page 2

  “Looks as if you’d better stick around so you don’t disappoint the man,” I told Frankie.

  “I guess you won’t be needing my services after all,” she said.

  “On the contrary. I think I need a koi pond now more than ever.”

  “It’ll take some mighty big koi to dispel this negative energy,” Sasha said.

  She was right about that.

  Sheriff Sam and his Deputy Dan arrived within ten minutes. Sam was the older and shorter of the two, and broader. They both looked as though they lifted weights on a regular basis but my hunch was that Sam was more diligent in his practice. He did, however, have a slightly protruding belly, which was most likely due to beer, or if I believed the stereotype, jelly donuts.

  Despite his efforts, subtlety was not Sam’s strong suit. He was so distracted that at one point I thought he was going to involuntarily inhabit the bones’ old home. After photographing the bones, taking notes, and making detailed diagrams of what appeared to be a crime scene, they carefully packaged up the bones to deliver to a crime lab. Sam suggested we keep our findings a secret so as not to alarm the town.

  “A secret? On this island?” Sasha said. “Sounds like an oxymoron to me.”

  Sam pulled off his cap and ran his fingers through his thick brown hair. “Well, if we five are the only ones who know about this, how’s anyone else gonna find out?” He was cute, Sam was, especially the way he stared straight at Frankie no matter to whom he was speaking. Poor Sam. Very likely destined for a broken heart.

  “You’re not that naive now, are you, Sam?” Sasha said. “I bet more than one person in this town is spying on us right now.”

  “And why would they do that?” he asked.

  “Because we have a newcomer on the island!”

  “Oh, yeah, I guess that is exciting news around here.”

  “I don’t think anyone noticed my arrival,” I volunteered. “Other than Ned, of course. I was the only car on the ferry.”

  “That helps,” Frankie said. “But what are you planning on doing with the bones, Sam?”

  “Hunh? What?” It took him a moment to recover from hearing Frankie say his name. “What am I planning—? Well, since the tissue is gone, we’ll have to take them to a forensic anthropologist. We’ll pack them into the police van and Dan can deliver them tomorrow.”

  Frankie and Sasha sighed.

  “What?”

  “With Myrtle Ormsby working in the post office? Directly next door to your office? You think she won’t see you two and start snooping around?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Sam scratched his head.

  “She does ask a lot of questions anytime we head out for anything but donuts,” Dan said, confirming my jelly-donut-belly theory.

  “I guess there’s not much hope of keeping this a secret,” Sam said. “I hate to think what they’ll all be speculating about this one.”

  So did I, especially since the bones were found in my great Aunt Winnie’s garden.

  But that wasn’t the only question on my mind. How could my intuitive aunt have not been aware of these bones, especially since, more than likely, they’d made up a complete body at one time.

  * * *

  After a long soak in Winnie’s claw foot tub, I climbed into bed. Despite the events of the day, I would sleep well tonight. Had the bones not looked as aged as they had, I might not have slept at all. Still, I was very glad they were no longer on the property.

  I was grateful Sheriff Sam had hurried over to gather up all the evidence he needed, including the bones to take in for analysis in the morning. They were gone, out of my hands, none of my business, something I did not need to think about ever again.

  The old rotary dial candlestick telephone on my night stand jingled, causing me to jump. Maybe that bath hadn’t relaxed me as much as I thought. I grabbed the ear piece from its cradle and pressed it to my ear, speaking tentatively into the mouthpiece. It had been a while since I had manipulated Winnie’s now antique telephone. “Hello?”

  “Not expecting a call your first night there, were you?”

  “Charlie!” I didn’t even try to hide the relief that came with the sound of my father’s voice.

  “Aye. Are you all right, luv?”

  “I’m fine, Charlie. Didn’t expect to hear from you. I thought you were leaving for Scotland today.”

  “With a stopover in New York to visit my granddaughter, remember?”

  “Oh, of course. Is that where you’re calling me from? Isn’t it awfully late there?”

  “It is, but Holly and I went out to dinner and have been visiting. Didn’t want to miss a moment of my time with her, now that she’s about to be an east coaster.”

  “You told her the news.”

  “Aye, I did.”

  “How did she take it?”

  “I’m not certain it’s hit her yet. She did say she’s glad it happened after she left home.”

  “So am I. Divorce is never easy, but I think it will be easier because she and Matt are both off to college and have their own lives separate from Joe and me now. You didn’t tell her why, did you?”

  “This is Holly we’re talking about, Jenny darlin’, remember? The child who would never take a two hour explanation for an answer.”

  “Oh. I’d hoped she’d settle for our having grown apart.” But that wasn’t altogether true. Part of me wanted her to know the truth. Part of me wanted my children to know that it was all Joe’s fault. Of course, it wasn’t. It never was one person’s fault, but still— the truth was, deep down in some distorted part of me, if I was completely honest, I did want my children to know what their father had done to their mother. Another part of me, a healthier part, and kinder, remembered that this was their father, a part of them, and how devastating that would be.

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “She’s just gone off to sleep. Why don’t you call her tomorrow?”

  “I will. And Charlie, thank you for delivering the news.”

  “I felt it warranted more than a phone call, and since I was coming this way—”

  “When do you leave for Scotland?”

  “Tomorrow night. I’ll be able to watch Holly’s dance classes tomorrow and have dinner with her before I go.”

  “Take pictures, will you?” To add to my millions of photographs of my daughter the dancer. But I didn’t have any from her summer in New York, her first summer this far from home, her first summer before college, her first summer as an adult.

  “Are you certain you’re all right, Jenny?” He’d heard my sigh.

  “I’m fine, Charlie, other than suffering from empty nest syndrome, in a new home, on some all-but-deserted island, far from everything and everyone I know, not to mention having found a human skeleton in my garden.”

  “What!?”

  I laughed. “It’s an old one, Charlie. I’d say at least twenty years old, probably more.”

  “Now dinna fash yerself, luv. I’ll come up as soon as I get back and do some sniffing around.” I laughed at his thickened brogue and wondered if it was in preparation for his trip home to Scotland. Certainly he would not want to be mistaken for a foreigner in his native land.

  “Hey, you’re not the only detective in this family, remember? Besides, I’m going to leave this one to the local sheriff.”

  “Right.”

  “I am.”

  “Even when it was found on Winnie’s property? Aren’t you the least bit curious?”

  “Of course not. I’m sure she knew nothing about it. Hug Holly for me. And Matt, when you get to Edinburgh.”

  “You know I will. And as soon as I get home to Seattle, I’ll come up to see you.”

  “You needn’t do that, Charlie,” I lied.

  “To deliver all those photographs—Holly at the bar—ballet that is. Matt at the bar—pub that is. And to see you, of course.”

  “You missing me already, Charlie?”

  “Well, if I’m not, I will be by the time I get back from Scot
land.”

  “Okay, then, you come on up. I hear we have two pubs on this little island. I’ll scout out the one with the best fish and chips.” Something I had intended to do this evening, but after the events of the day, had settled for a can of vegetable soup I’d found in Winnie’s pantry.

  “Aye, it’s a date then.”

  I wouldn’t have admitted it, but I was very glad. By then we were bound to know a little more about the skeleton in my aunt’s closet—rather rose garden—and I wouldn’t mind getting Charlie’s expert analysis of the situation, let alone a hug from my father.

  “Oh, I almost forgot, Jenny. A message from Malcolm MacGregor. He said he’ll give you a call later in the week. Just as soon as he gets caught up at work, he’s planning to come up to the island for that dinner you promised to have with him.”

  “Sounds good to me.” Actually, just hearing my old professor, Malcolm MacGregor’s name, sounded a lot better than I wanted to admit.

  * * *

  I woke up stiff. Apparently my body was not used to digging. I staggered into the bathroom and climbed into my claw foot tub for another long soak and my morning meditation. Sitting cross legged on a pillow wasn’t going to get it this morning.

  My island refuge had turned out to be a place of loneliness. Maybe I should have stayed in Seattle, bought one of those condos downtown, close to the ferry terminal where I could have taken the boat to Bainbridge Island any time I felt the urge. After all, my friends were in Seattle, and my father, and my son. And Joe. No, Seattle would not have been a good place to stay. And the synchronicity of inheriting Aunt Winnie’s island home right before my divorce, had not escaped me. This was the perfect place to be. I knew the island. It was familiar. And I had a friend. Sasha had made that clear. And the truth was, no matter where I had chosen to live, it would have been lonely. It was the first time in twenty years that I had lived alone—and back then it was only for a few months, in the middle of a college dorm.

  I smiled at myself in the mirror. It was about time. I was forty years old. Forty. It hit me for the first time just how old that sounded. I didn’t look forty, did I? Hardly a wrinkle in sight. However, there was no guarantee that my eyesight was what it used to be.

  But in the scheme of things, how important were looks? Not very. I stared into my eyes. They were, after all, windows to the soul. I liked my eyes. They were a warm brown color, slightly darker than my hair. They weren’t blue. Like Joe’s.

  Shaking away my angry thoughts that seemed to form every time I thought of Joe and his dishonest eyes, I stared more deeply into my own eyes, remembering what was important. I could feel Winnie’s smile as though she were looking over my shoulder into the mirror. “Remember, sweet Jenny, you are a beloved child. Never let anyone tell you otherwise.” I felt better.

  Although, as I turned away from the mirror, I did notice that I could easily stand to lose a pound or ten. So much for all the exercise I’d been getting. Those recent ice cream binges probably hadn’t helped. Apparently, I was still stuffing those feelings.

  * * *

  It was a glorious morning. A mid-summer kind of morning. Birds chirping, squirrels running up trees, crows scouting out vegetable gardens ripe with squash, honeysuckle and jasmine still giving off their radiant scents, and a breeze from heaven. My kind of day.

  I jumped into the comfort of my well-worn jeans and a cotton blouse. After going for a walk over to the old lighthouse and back, I sat on the front porch swing sipping my homemade Americana. I didn’t have to do a thing today if I chose not to. One of the luxuries of living alone. No one to judge me for it. Except me.

  But I deserved a day of doing nothing. I’d just left a twenty year marriage and moved to a remote island in the middle of the Strait of Juan De Fuca. I needed time to recover.

  But the truth was, I did not want to sit around doing nothing. When I did nothing, I inevitably spent the whole time analyzing my life. One of Joe’s many complaints about me. One of his favorite nicknames for me was Hamlet. That thought gave me no comfort now. Nor did the prospect of thinking all day. I would no doubt have analyzed my marriage and its problems to death. Hmm, too late—it was already dead. Better to get on with my new life.

  I shivered. It wasn’t cold. Then I remembered. The bones. That made up a skeleton. A human skeleton. A life. Someone had been buried on my new property. Was it some kind of sign? A warning? After all, we’d discovered it the day I had arrived. Was it an omen warning me not to live here?

  But it wasn’t in me to give up after one day. I would make it here. At least I’d give it a fair try. I was Charlie McNair’s daughter after all. I was the daughter of a stubborn Scotsman.

  But a skeleton? And why did I have to go and dig that koi pond the minute I’d arrived? Oh yeah, the negative energy Sasha and I were picking up.

  Ugh. Hamlet at her best. Enough already. The best cure for overanalyzing one’s life, was action. I ran into the house, grabbed my old quilted purse, my car keys, and ran for my car.

  “Take me somewhere, Winston. Take me somewhere nice.”

  It must have slipped my mind what Ned had told me. Either that, or Winston really did have a mind of his own, because I ended up at the market that Ned had all but told me to avoid.

  Chapter 3

  They knew who I was before I arrived.

  “Winnie’s niece,” I heard a voice whisper.

  “Must be,” a voice whispered back.

  “What’s her name?”

  “Jenny, I think.” A third voice.

  Not being the coy type, I left behind the cilantro and basil and headed for the checkout stand. “Yes, I’m Winnie’s great niece and my name is Jenny. How do you do?”

  Three women stood there with their mouths open. One was the checker, buxom with bleached blond hair. The other two appeared to be customers, although they didn’t seem to be buying anything. One was thin with short gray hair. The other was a bit on the pudgy side, and with her well-sprayed hairdo, looked and smelled as though she had just stepped out of a beauty parlor.

  “And you are?” It took me an embarrassingly long moment to realize that none of the three was going to shake my outstretched hand.

  “Eleanor Thatcher,” the gray-haired one said with full-on haughtiness.

  “Marilyn Burrows,” the stylish hair-sprayed one said, just falling short of Eleanor’s haughtiness.

  “Daisy Crebbs,” the voluptuous checker said, matching Eleanor’s haughtiness and raising it one.

  Rallying the good manners my mother had taught me against my will, I said, “It’s nice to meet all of you.”

  Frowns in place, they nodded in unison, excused themselves, and went back to whispering and checking. Not the friendliest bunch. Maybe I’d take Ned’s advice and shop at the wee market on the north end or on Gael Island. How did they stay in business, I wondered, with attitudes like that. Maybe they were friendly to the natives, just not to newcomers. I heard it could take years to erase the stigma of being a newcomer on some of the islands. Apparently being Winnie’s relative gave me no points.

  Or maybe they’d heard about the bones. After all, they knew who I was. Maybe that was it. I decided not to ask and headed for the produce. I would buy the nonessentials on Gael or even Orcas. I grabbed some butter lettuce, a tomato, a head of broccoli, and three potatoes. Then I went in search of the coffee. Definitely an essential. The house was well stocked with tea, and even if it weren’t, there were always the peppermint leaves blooming in the garden. A loaf of bread, turkey meat, provolone and cheddar cheese, some butter, and I was set.

  I was never so happy to leave a market in my life. Daisy had not spoken one word to me the whole time she checked my groceries. Definitely not a thank you after I handed her the money. I just hoped the rest of the old islanders were friendlier.

  I didn’t go straight home. It was cold enough that I didn’t have to worry about my groceries, and a pint sounded good right now. And since the Crown and Anchor was across the street and
two doors down . . . I just couldn’t remember if this was the one Ned had recommended or not.

  It wasn’t. I knew that the moment I walked in the door.

  It was an authentic British pub, no doubt about it, with the dark wood-paneled walls, dark bar and bar stools, dark paintings of hunting scenes adorning the walls, dart board in the corner. All dark, just like the feeling I had the moment I looked up and saw none other than Eleanor Thatcher standing behind the bar. I was tempted to turn and run but that wasn’t my style.

  “Hello again,” I said in my friendly voice.

  It was returned with a scowl and a nod.

  “I’ll have a Belhaven,” I said, climbing onto a barstool. I decided to scrap the fish and chips. Didn’t want to risk being poisoned for daring to move to this obviously exclusive island. Seattle was looking better all the time.

  “We don’t have Belhaven,” Eleanor grumbled back.

  I pointed to the menu.

  “Out of it.”

  “A Guinness then.” No one ran out of Guinness and called themselves a pub.

  It hadn’t escaped my notice that a couple sitting two seats down from me had edged their way to the end of the bar, as far away from me as they could get. When I looked past the man, I recognized the woman. Marilyn something or other. How had I not noticed the hair spray?

  Clearly the town had outdone itself in the gossip department. It appeared that all inhabitants of the island, give or take a couple who might be house bound, had heard about the bones. Maybe they thought bones carried contagious diseases. Marilyn and her companion practically sat on top of an elderly man to escape me. The poor gentleman, wearing a Scottish cap much like the one Charlie wears, scooted his stool away from them. When Eleanor and the couple started whispering, he left his stool altogether, and his beer for that matter. He too must have had an aversion to hair spray or gossip.

  A deep sense of loneliness settled in my stomach. I paid for my Guinness the moment it was served, drank it down in record time, and left the Crown and Anchor, heading straight for the sheriff’s office.

  I almost laughed when I opened the door on a poker game. The place smelled of three-day-old coffee and stale donuts. And body odor. Sheriff Sam stood up when he saw me. He tipped his hat and said, “Hello, there, Jenny.”