An oar could easily have made the kind of injury to Frannie’s head that Edwin had reported. Trudging away from the dock after I thanked Mr. C, I caught sight of a stooped-over old woman tending the blooms flourishing in front of a small cottage. The house had a direct line of sight to the wharf. I hoped Edwin or one of his men had already queried her in case she had witnessed Frannie going out on a boat. It wouldn’t hurt for me to ask a few questions, too.
I waited until a large carriage passed, then I crossed the road and approached the woman. “Good afternoon, ma’am. Thee has a splendid garden.” When I reached her, I saw she was the little old woman I’d spied in the market a few days ago.
She set a hand on the small of her back and straightened. The top of her kerchiefed head came barely to my shoulder.
“Why, thank you, dearie. It’s my primary joy, producing beauty.” She plucked off a faded zinnia bloom surrounded by a riot of color. She squinted up at me. “Move over here, will you, so you don’t have the sun behind you.” She ushered me toward a bench under an ancient dogwood, its boughs bending with grace to provide a corner of shade. She sat, dusting her hands off on her apron.
I perched next to her.
“You’re not from these parts, am I right?” she asked.
“Thee is correct, ma’am. My name is Rose Dodge.”
“And I’m Effie Bugos.” Her eyes were a faded golden brown a shade dimmer than the goldenrod blooming behind her. “I’m pleased to meet you, Mrs. Dodge.”
“And I thee, Effie. I hail from up north near the New Hampshire border, but I’m down here seeing my aunts for a few days.”
“Which would be Miss Tilly and Miss Drusilla. I offer my condolences on the loss of their plucky girl.”
“I thank thee. We buried her yesterday and we’ll be holding her Memorial Meeting for Worship tomorrow afternoon, if thee wishes to attend.” A honeybee buzzed to a jasmine bloom and made its way inside, while a showy golden butterfly alit on a yellow aster. “Thee has an excellent view of the harbor from here.” Mr. C had resumed his snooze. Coots and terns bobbed on the sparkling water near a fisherman standing and casting from a skiff, while a cormorant balancing on the gunwale of a rowboat extended its mountain-shaped wings to dry.
“Yes, I do,” Effie said. “My father was wharfmaster before that lazy bum over there. You never would have caught my daddy sleeping on the job. Anyway, the man who owned this tract of land deeded the cottage to my father. I was born here, and I expect I’ll die here.”
“Did thee marry?”
“Oh, yes, and I had quite a happy life. My boys are grown and gone, though, and my dear husband slipped off this earthly coil twenty years ago. It’s only me and my flowers now. Well, that and keeping track of what goes on around here.”
Keeping track. This could prove useful. “What does thee mean?”
“I don’t sleep much, you see. I spend a great deal of time in my chair at the window just there.” She gestured over her shoulder with her thumb at the window to the left of the front door. “I see the dalliances between the young, and between the young and the old, too. I watch industrious fishermen set out before dawn, and the laggards who drag themselves out on the water later than they should. You name it, I’ve witnessed it. And my hearing is as sharp as it ever was.”
“Then perhaps I might ask what thee saw last Seventh Day before dawn.”
She raised a single pale eyebrow. “I thought you might ask me that. Your reputation precedes you, Mrs. Dodge.”
“It does?”
“My, my, yes. It most certainly does.” Her laugh was a gentle wave of tiny bells ringing. “Mrs. Gifford and I are friends. She told me all about you.”
“Sadie’s a lovely and caring person. She’s been watching over Tilly this week.” Better than Dru or I had, in truth.
“Yes, I know.”
“I would be happy for thee to call me Rose.”
“Pshaw.” She batted the air. “I won’t be taking such a liberty, Mrs. Dodge. Mrs. Gifford is always after me to address her as Sadie. I tell her every time, I’m having none of it. I might be an old lady gardener, but society has its strict code of conduct for a reason. What would come of us if no one showed proper respect?” She blinked and held up a lined hand. “Excepting you Quakers, of course. Even with your Christian-name ways, I’ve barely met a one of your lot who acts with disrespect.”
Barely. I wondered who the exception was. I’d opened my mouth to ask when Effie beat me to it.
“That Mr. Latting, now. I’m surprised you all still let him come around to your meetings of a Sunday.” She wagged her head, her smile gone.
“I’ve heard more than one person mention certain of his proclivities,” I murmured.
She snorted. “Proclivities is hardly the word for a man who diddles the girls. He’s living alone now, though, isn’t he?” She sounded satisfied.
I’d neglected to ask Sadie why Abial hadn’t been at least eldered for his preying on girls. On the other hand, he was a widower, no longer married, and sixteen was of the age of consent. Perhaps, especially because of his standing in the community, West Falmouth Friends disapproved of how Abial conducted himself but didn’t have grounds on which to expel him.
Effie gave herself a little shake. “But Abial Latting’s disgusting activities isn’t what you were asking about. I do declare there was a surprising amount of activity at the wharf on Saturday before the sun came up. The moonset should have provided more light, as it was full the very next night. But my eyesight in the dark isn’t what it used to be, and clouds covered the moon, you see. Everything I tried to observe was murkier than it might have been.”
Like this confounded case. Murky was the watchword of the week. “Did thee happen to see Frannie go out on a boat with anyone?” I was stabbed with an idea. No one had raised the possibility Frannie might have gone out alone, perhaps because the fish bit best at dawn. What if, like the man fishing in the skiff, she had stood to cast and slipped? Could she have fallen into the water, hitting her head on the gunwale on her way down? It might have caused the contusion and knocked her unconscious. Edwin had said the injury was crosswise on the back of her skull. Perhaps it was a suspicious death but not actually homicide.
Effie continued. “As I told the nice young policeman, Frannie might have gone out on a boat, with someone or alone, but I can’t guarantee it was her I saw.”
“But you saw someone wearing a skirt get into a boat?” I peered at the wharf as if I could see into the predawn five days ago.
“I believe so. Possibly more than one.”
“Two girls?” I pressed.
“I really can’t say, Mrs. Dodge. I’m terribly sorry. I will tell you I heard a female voice among male voices in boats. Sound carries so well on the water, don’t you know?”