I rubbed at my arm. I could still feel the strength of Jo Harper’s fingers through my jacket.
“Everything all right, Lucy?” Sam Watson asked me.
We were standing on the sidewalk outside the Harper house. I hadn’t had a chance to ask Jo what she was talking about before Phoebe tossed the last of her scraps to the chickens and came dancing back across the lawn. She left the enclosure without shutting the door behind her, and the chickens bolted for freedom. “What do you want me to do today, Miss Harper?” she asked.
Jo turned to her, her voice calm once again. “Mr. Harper turned over the vegetable beds and added the dirt and fertilizer last week, so we can start planting today. I brought the first of the collard and spinach seedlings up from the light room. It’s warm enough that we can get them in. I’d like to get the tomatoes out as well, but another week or so, I think, to be sure. There’s no frost in the forecast, but sometimes it can fool a person. Nature doesn’t like to be predictable. You need to always remember that if you want to be a farmer.”
“Okay,” Phoebe said.
I was left standing alone on the small patio, watching as Phoebe and Jo walked toward the toolshed.
“Ready to go, Lucy?” Sam Watson said from the kitchen door.
I followed him through the house. Ralph had shown us out and shut the door firmly behind us.
“Jo said something strange,” I began now.
Watson’s phone rang, and he lifted one hand to me while he answered it with the other. He listened for a moment, his eyes narrowed, and he said, “Is that so?” He hung up.
“What?” I asked.
“That’s the second call we’re gotten from this street. One report, I was prepared to dismiss as a citizen wanting to make themselves sound important. We get a lot of that. Or people genuinely mistaken. But two?”
“Calls about what?”
“Sightings of Jimmy Harper. On this street. In the last couple of days.”
“But Ralph said—”
“Both Jo and Ralph claim not to have seen their brother for a long time. You heard Jo yourself, and I asked Ralph that question again when you were outside.”
“That he was supposedly on this street doesn’t mean he went to their house or that they saw him,” I said.
“Agreed. I’m going to have to have this area canvassed. Today’s Saturday; we should be lucky enough to find people at home.” He started pushing buttons on his phone. “Thanks for coming with me, Lucy. Oh, sorry, did you have something you wanted to say?”
“No.” I got into my car and drove back to the library. Jo Harper, I assured myself, wasn’t exactly known to be a strong judge of character. Far as I knew, she’d never even met Connor or his parents. I told myself to put her words out of my mind. I had complete confidence in Connor’s character and that of his parents. Jo had been talking rubbish; she might even have been thinking of a different family altogether.
“Is something bothering you tonight, Lucy?” Connor asked as we were cleaning up the supper dishes.
“No. Nothing.” Over dinner, I’d told Connor about my visit to the Harper house with Watson but not what Jo’d said to me. Perhaps I should have, and we could have had a hearty laugh about it. But something held my tongue.
“You seem on edge. I hope”—he held his arms out to encompass our kitchen—“what happened here hasn’t put you off the house. If you’re uncomfortable here—”
I put down my dish towel and wrapped my arms around him. “I love this house, Connor. It’s our house now, yours and mine. Not the Froomer and Harper family’s with their rum-running and secrets. Speaking of secrets, did you hear if the police found anything interesting upstairs?”
Connor held me close. “Sam called my office this morning. There’s not all that much in those boxes and trunks apart from what we saw earlier. They’re mostly empty. What there is is dusty old clothes the moths have had a field day with, some kids’ toys generations of mice have been playing with, those old books, and that box of stock certificates. Every one of which appears to have had absolutely zero value after the thirties. Watson took the certificates away, and he’ll run better checks than what I could do on Google, but it’s unlikely they’re worth anything at all anymore. Ezekiel Froomer, it would appear, had a mighty poor business sense. He could have sold any stock that was of value, but Ralph insists the family didn’t have much in the way of money after the Depression, according to his mother anyway.”
“Speaking of Ralph,” I mumbled into his chest.
Connor pulled himself out of my arms and tousled my curls. “Lucy, are you planning on investigating?”
“Not investigating as such, but—”
“But?”
“I’m curious about what happened to Jo Harper that night when she was a girl. When you were away, I heard things. I told you about that.”
“And we know that was almost certainly Jimmy and whoever came with him doing whatever they were here for. My guess is he was after something in those tea chests and trunks. Something he didn’t know had been moved long ago. Maybe something he thought had value but didn’t. Like those stock certificates.”
“Perhaps.” I turned my attention back to the contents of the sink and made myself busy. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. I assume you and your dad are going to continue working on the deck.”
“Yup. We didn’t get much done yesterday, what with the police poking around. Weather forecast is for rain later in the week, so we want to get all the outside work done we can while the sun shines. Dad’s coming at seven thirty, which as we know—”
“Means quarter to seven.” I ran water into the sink and watched soapsuds building. “Maybe I’m just the curious sort—”
“That’s an understatement,” Connor muttered.
“But I am interested. Jo Harper was frightened out of this house years ago, I was frightened more recently, and even though I know what I heard, the parallels are there. I’d like to know more, that’s all.” I scrubbed at a pot.
“Fair enough, I guess,” Connor said. “But it happened a long, long time ago. If no one knew for sure back then what had happened, they’re unlikely to now. All you’ll get is gossip that has grown by leaps and bounds over the years. Particularly, I’d say, in Joanna Harper’s mind.”
“I thought I’d ask Ralph.” I put the pot on the draining board, and Connor began drying it.
“Can’t hurt,” he said.
“To that end,” I said, “I have to go out early tomorrow. I’ll be back when your dad gets here to give you two a hand.”
“All you’re doing is asking questions about a long-ago occurrence, right? I understand that librarians are curious folk, you in particular.” He grinned at me, but the grin died and his handsome face turned dark with concern. “You’re not thinking of investigating the current murder, I trust.”
I chose my words carefully. “I realize that apart from Jimmy dying in our house, this has nothing to do with us or with people we care about. Sam Watson has everything under control.” I smiled at the man I loved.
“Why does that not reassure me?” Connor muttered as he gathered me into his arms.
The following morning I was awake before the birds and slipped quietly out of bed. From his place on the floor, Charles opened one eye to watch me tiptoe out of the bedroom, but Connor simply murmured and rolled over.
I dressed in the bathroom so as not to turn on the bedroom light, grabbed my keys off the hook by the kitchen door, and headed out without so much as stopping to make a cup of coffee.
Most of the houses on our street were wrapped in darkness, and not a soul was to be seen as I drove north toward the center of Nags Head. A few cars joined me at Whalebone Junction, and we crossed the bridge to Roanoke Island. Lights sparkled in the harbor. Most everything was closed, but I knew my destination wouldn’t be. The Shrimp Shack at Pirate’s Cove Marina caters mainly to fishing people and thus opens early. Its clientele wasn’t well-dressed and expensively equipped visitors from Boston or New York or Raleigh here to try their hand at snagging a big fish but people who made their livelihood from the sea. People like Ralph Harper. I knew from a previous case that the Shrimp Shack was close to where Ralph kept his boat and that it was his regular breakfast place.
Despite what I’d said to Connor, I wasn’t particularly interested in finding out more about what had frightened Jo Harper all those years ago. I thought I knew: her older brother, with or without some of his friends, accessed the house through the secret entrance, pretended to be a ghostly presence, and scared the poor thing out of her wits. She would have been on edge anyway if she’d sneaked a boyfriend into the house in her parents’ absence. I thought of the photograph I’d seen of her grandfather in the storage room. Had that picture hung in pride of place in Jo’s childhood home?
I knew, or thought I knew, what had happened to Jo when she was seventeen. I could probably even understand if she’d been trying to warn me away from her house—if she thought her disapproving grandfather still haunted it. But I didn’t know why she’d warned me off marrying Connor. Despite my determination to forget her words, I couldn’t. She might be a recluse, but her wits seemed sharp enough to me, and I couldn’t convince myself she’d mistaken the McNeils for another family. Perhaps I should have told Connor, but a little something niggled at me, and I wanted to know the truth of the story. Then I’d tell him what I’d learned.
No point in going back and asking Jo. She wouldn’t tell me anything more. She’d made her statement—warning me away from marriage to Connor—and walked away.
I don’t believe in anything like bad blood or generational feuds. If Connor’s ancestors and the Froomer/Harper ancestors had been enemies, it meant nothing to me or to Connor. But I am, as I said, a curious sort, and Jo Harper had definitely roused my curiosity.
Ralph Harper doesn’t fish for his living anymore; instead, he takes fishing charters out on his boat. Today was a Sunday, but it was the beginning of the tourist season, and vacationers, fishing people in particular, don’t take a break because of the day.
Pirate’s Cove Marina was coming to life as I pulled into the parking lot. Lights were on in many of the charter boats, crew running around the deck getting things ready, passengers lining up to go on board. It was five o’clock, and I hoped I wasn’t too late.
The moment I stepped into the Shrimp Shack, I was hit by the marvelous aroma of freshly brewed coffee, bacon, and hot buttered toast. My mouth watered.
The place hadn’t changed in the slightest since I’d last been here. I would have been surprised if it had. The Shrimp Shack didn’t look as though it had changed in generations. Even the patrons seemed to be the same, genuine old salts mixed with the occasional tourist looking completely out of place in his brand-new fishing gear, sitting at scarred wood tables or on the cracked vinyl stools lined up at the long counter.
“Help you, hon?” a coffeepot-bearing waitress asked.
“I see the person I’m here to meet, thanks,” I said.
She gave me a nod and walked away. The place was almost full, only a couple of seats left at the counter. Fortunately, one of those vacant chairs was next to my quarry. Other than the waitress, not one person had bothered to look up when I came in. Ralph Harper was digging into a plate piled high with fried eggs, sausages and gravy, and thick slabs of toast dripping butter. A coffee cup was at his elbow and a hardcover book propped open against a saltshaker in front of him. He read while shoving eggs and sausage into his mouth.
“Mr. Harper. Ralph. Do you mind if I …” I indicated the empty stool beside him.
He tore himself away from his book, was about to say something, and then he blinked. “Miss Lucy. This is a surprise. What brings you here? Have a seat.”
I hopped onto the stool. A different waitress held up her pot in a question. My place was already set, and I pushed the coffee cup toward her. “Please.” She filled it and said, “Get you a menu?”
“No thank you. Nothing for me.”
“You gotta have breakfast,” Ralph said. “Most important meal of the day.”
“Coffee’s fine for now. I’ll have something when I get home.”
He shrugged. His eyes wandered back to his book.
“The House of the Seven Gables,” I said. “You’re reading it.” He was only a few pages in.
“Jo finished it yesterday,” he said. “I thought I’d give it a try. Guy kinda goes on, doesn’t he? Does it speed up?”
“I’m afraid not, but it is an interesting story.”
He scooped up eggs.
“It’s about family secrets,” I said, “and a house that might be haunted.”
“Hum,” Ralph said.
“Which is why I’ve come to talk to you,” I said. “About the house and … what happened the night Jo was seventeen. What do you think happened that night? How old were you?”
“Twenty-two. I’d been working on my daddy’s fishing boat for five, six years by then. I moved out of my parents’ house soon as I was old enough and lived in a small apartment not far from here. Jimmy had finished a stint in jail, his first, and was back in town, staying with some of his buddies, as I recall. He had money, I remember that, and he was flashing it around. Buying drinks for his friends, flowers for our mamma, perfume for his girlfriend.
“No one knew where that money came from. No one wanted to ask. I don’t know what happened that night no more than anyone else. Jo told me once and has never mentioned it again. She said our granddaddy appeared to her, he threatened her, told her to get out of his house and never come back. She said she doesn’t know why he’d do that, but she never did go back. Not ever again.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I’m not one for ghosts and hauntings and the like, Miss Lucy. Seamen are superstitious folk, but that’s about talismans and good-luck charms and not angering the spirits of the ocean, not human ghosts. No, out on the water a man learns that natural things are enough to deal with. Take that night in ’93. I was heading—”
“I’d love to hear that story, Ralph,” I said. “Can you save it for another time? What about the night Jo was in the house?”
He didn’t take offense at being cut off, just comfortably shifted gears from one story to another. “Always figured it was Jimmy playing a joke. He could be a mean one, when he got into the drink or wanted to show off to his buddies or some girlfriend or another. He said he didn’t know anything about it. I never believed that, but I always wondered. He didn’t have a key to the house anymore. Our mother had taken it away from him a long time before, when he came in when she was out and stole the grocery money. Jo said all the doors were locked, no windows broken or left open. I guess we know now how Jimmy, if it was Jimmy, got in. Granddaddy’s rum-running hole.”
“Yes.” I added a tiny splash of cream to my cup and took a drink. I almost spat it out again.
“Strong enough for you?” Ralph’s eyes twinkled.
I cleared my throat. “Do you use this to lubricate the engine on your boat?”
He grinned.
Forewarned, I took another cautious sip. Still awful. I didn’t know how to ask the question I’d come here to ask—about the relationship between the McNeil and Harper families and why Jo would warn me not to marry Connor.
Ralph mopped up the last of his gravy with his toast. He closed the book. The waitress ripped a sheet off her pad and passed it to him. When I opened my purse, Ralph waved it away. “Coffee’s on me, Miss Lucy. Next time I’ll treat you to breakfast. Best breakfast in the Outer Banks.”
“Thank you. Do you have a charter to take out this morning?”
“Yeah. I hired a young fella to help me this season.” His face twisted. “My hip’s been giving me trouble. Not as young as I used to be.”
“It’s none of my business,” I said, “but I have to wonder. Jo never tried to get over what happened? I mean, finish school, get a job.” Have a life, I thought but didn’t say.
“She was a quiet girl, for all she was as smart as a whip and a heck of a looker back then. My folks kept her on a tight leash, too tight. A girl needs to learn how to get along in the world, but Jo never did. At first I thought she needed some time to get over what had happened that night, to forget about it. But the years passed, and nothing changed. It suited her to keep house for me. Suited me fine too. I told you before, Lucy, I never was the marrying kind. My mistress is the sea. Always will be.” He shrugged. “What’s done is done. Things mighta been different if Jo’s young man had stood up for her. But he didn’t.”
“You mean the boyfriend who was in the house that night, with her?”
“Yeah. She never said, but I figured she felt guilty over that. As though she deserved our granddaddy appearing to her. Our parents were hard on her. Didn’t let her date, didn’t let her go to sleepovers or to parties with the other girls in school, so she never had much in the way of friends. She denied having a boy in the house, but no one believed her. Maybe things would have been different if he’d come ’round again. But he didn’t.” Ralph drained his coffee cup and clambered off the stool.
“No one knows who her boyfriend was? That’s sad, in a way.”
“I know who it was, Lucy,” Ralph said. “My daddy went ’round to his house when he got back from Raleigh and put the fear of god into him. Boy denied having been with Jo, but he never came calling on her again. She never mentioned him, but I figure it was that as much as the supposed ghost of my granddaddy that broke her heart.”
I had a very bad feeling, deep in my stomach. “Who was it? The boy?”
“Fred McNeil. Connor’s dad.”