We stood at the open doorway overlooking the beach. The police had left, the neighbors had dispersed, and fishermen and beach walkers had resumed their fishing and walking. Ralph Harper stood a few feet away from the water’s edge, talking to his sister. She had her arm tucked into Tony Snyder’s, as his cane was useless on the soft sand and incoming surf. Jo turned her head and gave our house a long look with eyes full of trepidation. I lifted one hand in a wave and gave her a smile. She probably couldn’t see my smile at this distance, but I hoped she’d know it was there. Connor’s arm was draped over my shoulders, and Theodore stood next to him. Jo took a deep breath, almost visibly summoned all her courage, returned my wave, and said something to Ralph. And then, slowly, clinging to Mr. Snyder’s arm in such a way that I realized he was supporting her, not vice versa, they made their way across the beach to the house. Connor and I ran to the kitchen to let them in. Theodore followed us. Having had enough excitement for one day, Charles had taken himself into the bedroom, where he’d settled down for a nap in a patch of sun streaming through the south-facing windows.
I stood on the top step and held out both my hands. “Please come in, Jo. You’re very welcome here. I hope you’ll like what we’ve done with the place.”
She threw a frightened glance at her brother. “It’s okay, old girl,” Ralph said. “He’s long gone.”
Jo turned to Mr. Snyder, who gave her arm an encouraging pat.
I stepped back, welcoming her into my house. Jo Harper gave me a soft, hesitant smile, and she climbed the stairs and stepped through the doorway. She looked around the kitchen with wide eyes. “Goodness, but this is … lovely. So modern. It might be a different house. Can I see the rest?”
I pointed to my throat. “Can’t talk too well … yes.”
“Lucy shouldn’t be talking at all,” Connor said. “Be warned, much of the work isn’t finished yet. While Lucy’s showing you around, can I get you something? I’ve wine, beer, and tea. As Lucy’s a northerner, she likes hot tea, and because I’m a southerner, we keep a jug in the fridge.”
“A glass of tea would be nice,” Jo said.
Mr. Snyder said, “For me as well, thank you.”
I walked with her through the house. Ralph stayed behind, accepting a beer and telling Connor the finer points of the weather forecast at sea for the forthcoming week. Mr. Snyder followed us. No one said anything. When we got to the master bedroom, Charles opened one eye and immediately closed it again.
I could almost feel the tension falling away from Jo as she made her way through my house. When we were standing at the sliding door in the living room, watching the activity outside, she spoke for the first time. “It’s just a house, Lucy. Just a house. A house full of memories, but they’re almost gone now. You and Connor will be happy here. I know that.”
We joined Connor, Theodore, and Ralph in the kitchen. Teddy leapt to his feet when we came in and offered his stool to Jo. She took it, and Connor passed her a glass of tea while Mr. Snyder also settled himself into a seat.
I swept my arms in front of me, telling Theodore to take the floor.
He shifted his feet, tugged at his jacket, patted his pocket, cleared his throat, and put on his poshest English accent. “I am a book collector and dealer, but I know a small amount about other types of collectible art, such as paintings … and photographs.”
“So?” Ralph said.
“Lucy invited me around to examine the books she found in your mother’s trunks. They’re of no value. Not rare in the first place and quite badly damaged.”
“I know that,” Ralph said. “Bunch o’ junk, the lot of it. I told young Connor here to get rid of it. If that’s—”
“Let the man talk, Ralph,” Jo said.
Ralph huffed, but he fell quiet.
“I did, however,” Theodore continued, “notice a photograph on the wall. An associate of mine is an expert in early American photography.” He pulled an envelope out of his pocket, opened it, and took out a print of the photo of Mr. Ezekiel Froomer, the original of which was hanging in the room above us.
“Grandfather.” Jo made no move to take the picture. “In his youth. That photo used to hang in the living room.”
“What of it?” Ralph said. “He always fancied himself a good-looking old codger. Even when he wasn’t.”
Theodore took another page out of the envelope. This picture showed the back of the photograph. “It’s hard to read, particularly in a reproduction, but it would appear this portrait was taken by none other than Ansel Adams.”
“What?” Connor sucked in a breath. Theodore had told us he’d discovered something of interest but not the specifics, wanting to keep his secret until the Harper siblings could hear.
Theodore pointed to the photograph backing. “This is his studio stamp. Authenticated.”
“May I?” Mr. Snyder asked, and Theodore handed it to him. “Amazing. Simply amazing,” the older man said.
“Ansel Adams never came to the Outer Banks,” Connor said. “Far as I’ve ever heard, anyway. Didn’t he work exclusively in the West? California, mainly?”
“That’s true,” Theodore said. “He’s primarily known as a landscape photographer of the American West, but he did do portraits, particularly in his early years.”
“Sometime in the late twenties,” Ralph said slowly. “Granddaddy went to San Francisco. He took the train, and that was a big deal in those days for a man from Nags Head. He talked about the trip a lot. Do you remember, Jo?”
His sister nodded.
“Something about traveling for business. He never came out and said what business that had been, so I assumed it had come to nothing. As his grand plans usually did.”
“Nothing but this photograph,” Mr. Snyder said.
“That’s interesting and all,” Ralph said. “And I thank you for showing it to us, but me and Jo don’t want it. Our granddaddy never liked either of us much and didn’t mind us knowing. Jimmy was his favorite.”
I wrote quickly on my notepad. Family treasure?
“You think this is the treasure?” Connor said.
I nodded.
Theodore grinned. “My friend has been away on vacation, and I didn’t think there was any urgency, so I waited until he got home before showing this to him. He estimates that if the photograph I saw upstairs is an original and authenticated Ansel Adams, it would be worth in the ten to fifteen thousand range.”
Ralph’s mouth fell open. “Dollars?”
Teddy nodded.
“I remember—” I said.
“Write it, Lucy,” Connor said.
I was too excited to do that. I waved my arms. “What Jimmy was after. Covered by doll.”
“What Lucy’s trying to say,” Connor said, “is that Jimmy might have known the value of the photograph and broke into our house in an attempt to find it. He was in the house at least twice prior to the night he died, but he couldn’t do a thorough search, as people, meaning Lucy, were in the house. He might have opened the boxes and started to look, but this picture was hanging on the wall and was obscured by the contents of an upper shelf. Lucy was alerted by Charles and got up to investigate. Against, I could add, all common sense.” He threw me a chastising look. I winked in return. “Plus, he had Diane to contend with, here for her own purposes.”
“Diane? Who’s Diane?” Jo asked.
“Diane Uppiton was arrested today for the murder of your brother,” Connor said.
“I don’t know anyone named Diane.”
Mr. Snyder snapped his fingers. “Diane Uppiton. Née Klaus. It’s coming back to me now—too late to do anyone any good, I’m afraid. I knew Diane had married Jonathan Uppiton, and I’ve seen her around the library. Never thought to put two and two together and remember that she and Jimmy Harper ran in the same crowd in high school. The crowd of serious troublemakers.”
“Diane Klaus,” Jo said. “She was Jimmy’s girlfriend for a few years, when they were in school and for a while after. I told you about her, Lucy.”
I nodded.
“You think Jimmy was after the photograph and he didn’t find it because he couldn’t do a thorough daytime search?” Mr. Snyder asked.
“Part o’ that might be my fault,” Ralph said.
“Why?” Connor asked.
“I told you, Miss Lucy, that Jimmy wanted money from me, part of the share of the house. When I told him to get lost, he demanded I hand over some family photographs. To remember our parents by, he said. I thought at the time that didn’t sound like Jimmy, but I paid it no mind. I told him I had a photo of our mother taken not long before she died, and I’d make him a copy. He got mad at that, accused me of destroying our family’s legacy. ‘What legacy?’ I said. I might have mentioned that some of Mother’s things might still be in the upstairs storage room over the pantry, if the new owners hadn’t tossed it yet.”
“All he had to do was ask,” Connor said. “You know I would have allowed you into the house to take anything at all.”
“But then,” Ralph said, “I woulda wondered what Jimmy was really after, and I might have wanted a cut.” He shook his head, his eyes full of sorrow. “Jimmy wasn’t after givin’ me a cut of anything, for all he wanted a share of what Jo and I had.”
Connor headed for the pantry. “I’ll get the photograph for you now. You should have it authenticated and formally appraised, Ralph and Jo, and then you can decide what you want to do with it.”
“I can help arrange that, if you’d like,” Theodore said.
“Imagine that,” Mr. Snyder said. “An original Ansel Adams portrait.” He gave Jo a kind smile. “What will you do with your windfall, Joanna?”
“There’s nothing I want. If we keep it, you can come and look at it anytime you like. I don’t want to see it.”
He smiled at her. She smiled back.
Ralph harrumphed.
“Your family treasure,” I said slowly. “Imagine that. There was something after all. I wonder why your grandfather didn’t sell it years ago when he was short of money.”
“He wouldn’t a known it was valuable,” Ralph said. “What did our granddaddy know or care about California photographers and collecting art?”
“Ralph’s right,” Jo said. “That photograph hung in our living room in pride of place all his life. Like I’ve seen in pictures of castles in England and the like. To Granddaddy, it was a treasure, because it was a picture of him in his youth. When he was, in his own mind, a great man. Like one of them English lords. He never knew it had any value as a photograph. The family treasure. What utter nonsense.”
“I wonder what made Jimmy figure he wanted it?” Ralph asked. “And after all this time? He wouldn’t be likely to know anything about this Mr. Adams guy.”
“I suspect I know the answer to that,” Theodore said. “An Ansel Adams exhibit toured the eastern U.S. over the fall. It made a stop in Raleigh. I went to see it myself. Most interesting. His landscapes are justifiably … uh, never mind that for now. The exhibit garnered a considerable amount of press. It’s possible your brother recognized the photographer’s name as the one on his grandfather’s portrait and did some investigation into the value of Adams’s works.”
The doorbell rang.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Connor came out of the pantry. “Not more company.”
“Maybe you could put a cent store in one of the back rooms, Lucy,” Theodore said. “Knock down part of a wall and install a counter. With all the people passing through, you might as well sell them things.”
Connor was soon back with his parents.
“Sorry to interrupt, Lucy,” Marie said, “but I think I left my phone somewhere. I was showing Ellen the photos of my niece’s wedding.”
Fred froze in his tracks when he saw the people who’d gathered in the kitchen.
The smile died on Jo’s face, and she ducked her head. Ralph looked quickly between Fred and Jo.
Electricity flew through the room.
“Jo,” Fred said.
“Fred,” she said to the counter top.
“After all these years.”
Marie’s phone was on the counter next to the sink. She ignored it and threw a question to her son. Connor said nothing. Ralph shifted uncomfortably on his stool. Mr. Snyder glanced from one person to another, confused by the abrupt change of atmosphere in the room.
“You’re looking good, Jo,” Fred said. “I’m glad to see it.”
Jo peered at Connor from underneath her lashes and said, “Your son has grown up to be a fine man, Fred. I wouldn’t have expected anything less.”
Marie’s eyes and mouth formed an O, and she threw me a look. I nodded, and she stepped forward with her hand out. “Jo Harper. It has been a while. Do you remember me? Marie Olivera, what was.”
Jo hesitated, and then she lifted her head and took the offered hand. “I do remember you, Marie.”
“You’re having tea; how nice,” Marie said. “I wouldn’t mind a glass myself, Connor. Fred, make yourself comfortable. Rumor has it, Jo, that you’ve managed to create a marvelous garden oasis in Nags Head. I’d be interested in hearing how you managed that. I’ve struggled for years.”
“It’s all about the soil,” Jo said. “So much good dirt has to be brought in. If you’d like, I can show you …”
“Ralph,” Fred said. “The son of a cousin of mine lives in New York City, but he’s hoping to get down here for a fishing trip in the summer. Can you recommend some good charters?”
“Recommend? If your friend wants that authentic Outer Banks fishing experience, I’ll take ’em. Tell ’em I don’t serve cocktails or canapés, though, and I don’t make no guarantees, not like some of those other boats. Real fishing is what I’ve done all my life, and real fishing is …”
I took glasses off the shelf and handed them to Connor. He poured tea for his mom as the conversation swirled around us. When I passed Marie her drink, I noticed Mr. Snyder surreptitiously place his hand on top of Jo’s, and she did not pull away.
Connor and I sat on the plastic chairs on the deck. Charles was allowed to join us if he wore the new cat leash I’d bought to replace the one the police had confiscated. He didn’t like it much, but clearly he’d decided that being outside was worth the indignity of it. He was sitting at the edge of the broken railing, watching the last few sea gulls circle overhead prior to heading for their refuge for the night. The sun was setting behind us, above us the sky was streaked orange and gray, and the sea in front of us was a wall of black. Waves lapped the shore, steady in their rhythm. A handful of people walked along the beach, some with lights bobbing in their hands, and the soft laughter of children and the barking of dogs drifted on the breeze. I held a glass of wine, and Connor had a beer. The scent of beef stew simmering on the stove mingled with the salt and seaweed aromas of the ocean.
“What happened with Jo has been on Dad’s mind all this time,” Connor said. “He never said so, of course, particularly not to me, and I don’t think he ever talked about it with Mom. But fixing up this house, finding the secret entrance, Jimmy Harper dying here brought it all back, and he talked about it to me as we worked on the deck. He feels guilty. If he’d called on her after the incident, she might have come out of her shell and been able to have some of what passes for a normal life.”
“If. Might have. No way of knowing, is there? He was a teenage boy who’d been given a fright and then threatened by an adult man. Jo had to be unstable to begin with to be so influenced. Maybe what happened was for the best. Some people might think she’s had a pleasant life. None of the stresses and worries of a family, earning a living.”
Connor took my hand. “No love.”
“Love is vastly overrated.” I burst out laughing. “Or so some people say. I wouldn’t agree myself.” I put my glass on the floor and stroked his hand. “I wonder if she and Mr. Snyder are going to start courting. I can’t see that going down well with Ralph. I don’t think Ralph’s a man who cares for change.”
“That he’s not. I don’t know about courting, but I think they’ve each found a friend to break their loneliness, and that’s a good thing. Did you hear Jo invite my mom over to see her garden? Jo’s defenses are crumbling, although only slightly, but I suspect, Lucy, you’re the architect of all that.”
“Me?”
“You invited Jo to come to book club, where she met Mr. Snyder. You visited her because you cared about her, and that made her realize the company of other people can be a good thing.”
“I visited her because I suspected she killed her brother.”
“Yes, but Jo doesn’t know that. Her bulwarks against the world are strong and built brick by brick over a lifetime, but you dug a tiny hole in the wall, and now the water’s leaking through.”
“That’s nice to hear.”
“You saved Ralph’s life too.”
“I did? How did I manage that?”
“If they get the kind of money Teddy thinks they might for the photograph, Ralph’s going to use it to fix his boat. It’s an old one, and it’s been repaired many times, but he can no longer afford to do what’s needed to keep it afloat, and he was probably going to have to give the boat up. Leaving the sea would kill Ralph.”
“I didn’t know that. We were only able to afford to buy this house because he gave it to us so cheaply. He should have sold it for market value.”
“The sea matters to Ralph,” Connor said, “and his family home matters too. He sold it to us because he knew we’d love it. Maybe to him, that was worth leaving the sea. Maybe he didn’t know how much the repairs on the boat would cost. I don’t see Ralph and Jo having saved much for their old age.”
“He’ll have to leave the sea someday. And sooner rather than later, I’d guess.”
“Yup. But hopefully under his own terms.”
The last of the gulls retired for the night, and Charles jumped onto my lap. I held Connor’s hand with one of mine and used the other to stroke the cat. Behind me candlelight flickered.
“Ironic, when you think about it,” Connor said. “If the picture of old Ezekiel in all his glory, the one he was so proud of, goes to helping his grandson keep fishing.”
“Serves him right. This wasn’t a happy house. Ezekiel was a tyrant and a bully, and even after his death, he caused people to be miserable here. But all that’s over and done with, and it’s up to us to write the next chapter of the history of this house.”
“I have a feeling”—Connor lifted my hand and pressed his lips to it—“It’s going to be a joyful one.”
Charles meowed in agreement.