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THE EVENTS AND REVELATIONS of the evening did not make for a restful night’s sleep. Mary kept thinking again and again about the very real possibility that what had been an inquiry into the cause of death had now become a rescue. Though Mary could not know for sure, Agnes Olcott at this very moment might be slumbering away in Westerholm, as she herself tossed and turned in the Grand Hotel.
When she finally rose from bed at seven, having long since given up the pretense of sleeping, she quickly washed and dressed and went down the hallway to Christena’s door. She knocked, but no answer came. She knocked again. Not even a peep emerged from inside.
When she returned from breakfast, she knocked again. This time, a frazzled Christena opened the door a crack and told her she would meet her on the porch at about ten.
Frustrated by her aunt’s sluggishness, Mary headed out on a very vigorous walk, mulling over her next steps in the Agnes Olcott case. This investigation was turning into something much bigger than anticipated. But she needed to proceed cautiously. She didn’t want to bungle things through precipitous action before she actually found out the true fate of Mrs. Olcott.
And what if the woman was alive? What if Mary’s investigation resulted in the reunion of mother and daughter? Mary couldn’t imagine a more gratifying outcome.
She was waiting impatiently in her wicker seat at about ten, when she finally saw Christena emerge into daylight. Her aunt was wearing a hat with the brim adjusted to block out as much sun as possible. She shuffled along, looking pale and tired, and sat down next to Mary. As soon as a waiter appeared, she ordered “a nice cup of your strongest tea.”
Clearly, she was in no mood to talk, answering Mary’s queries with curt responses. “Slept poorly,” she muttered, by way of explanation.
Mary knew her aunt to be an adventurous and intellectually curious person. But she was surprised by how vivacious Christena had seemed on this trip. Particularly when handsome men of all ages were paying her so much attention. First Paul Forbes, then Thad and Ron, and last night Judge Tolliver. Evidently, Christena, was not immune to the charms of the opposite sex.
But why, at this particular critical juncture, had she decided to go boy-crazy? Mary needed her aunt’s sharp reasoning to figure out how to proceed with the Olcott case. And all her aunt was capable of at the moment was sipping her tea and complaining about the bright sun.
There was nothing for it but to wait until Christena rejoined the living.
So Mary got back to reading My Brilliant Career. She was determined to finish the novel as soon as she could. Given that the next week would be tied up entertaining Edmond and Paul, and re-visiting Dillmont, she’d best plow through as many pages as possible this morning. It was hard to concentrate, though, with thoughts of Mrs. Olcott bouncing around in her head.
Bit by bit, Christena seemed to wake up. The strong black tea apparently was having the desired effect.
“Don’t look now,” she croaked, peaking out from beneath the brim of her hat, “but Mr. Watkins is rapidly steaming in our direction, from starboard.”
Mary glanced up from her book and caught sight of Thad approaching with three other people, all in white tennis clothes and carrying rackets. One was Ron, and the other two were a pair of pretty sisters from Cleveland, whom Mary had met at the dance the night before. The four were engaged in an animated discussion. As they passed Mary and Christena, Thad doffed his cap with a smile, but kept on walking. Mary watched the group continue on, then saw him quickly glance over his shoulder in her direction, perhaps to gauge her reaction.
It was one of relief. Now maybe both he and his grandmother would focus their attentions on other matrimonial prospects at the hotel, and leave Mary in peace.
Christena finally pushed back the brim of her hat a bit and looked at Mary. “I gather the judge’s comments about Westerholm last night didn’t escape your attention.”
Mary laid her book down and sat up straight. At last, she could discuss the case with Christena.
“Indeed they did not, particularly the one about wealthy men who commit their perfectly sane if contentious wives there. One can only wonder if a certain middle-aged wife from Duluth has been so deposited. Out of sight, and out of mind.”
She didn’t know what made her angrier. The fact that a husband would do this to his wife. Or that a wife would let herself be abused in this manner. If ever there was a single reason for remaining an unmarried woman, this was it.
“But how could Olcott have pulled it off?” Christena wondered. “Surely his wife would have protested being committed.”
“Yes, she might have protested. But as the judge inferred, the husband has the final say.”
“And what about the death certificate? It was signed by Dr. Applegate, after all.”
Mary furrowed her brow. “I’m beginning to wonder if the good doctor might have some involvement in Agnes Olcott’s disappearance. All I know is that my work is cut out for me when I go back to Dillmont on Wednesday.”
“So the first order of business will be to see if Mrs. Olcott is at Westerholm?”
“Of course not. They’re not going to let a perfect stranger waltz in and start questioning the staff about the patients. For all they know, I could be a reporter from some yellow-press newspaper, trying to dig up dirt about the crazy wife of some millionaire or senator. No, I’ll start with Mrs. Gray’s cousin, the one who works at the asylum. If I go about it the right way, she might just tell me if Agnes Olcott is one of her patients there.”
Just then, another acquaintance walked by—Judge Tolliver, with his wife. Introductions were made, and the couple invited Mary and Christena to join them for dinner some evening that week.
The judge and his wife strolled away—she limping noticeably. As Mary watched them go down the red carpet that bisected the porch, she saw something that made her catch her breath. There, about a hundred feet away, carpetbags and equipment cases in hand, came Edmond and Paul. When Edmond caught sight of her, a smile lit up his face.
At that moment, all other thoughts flew right out of Mary’s head. She stood and turned to Christena. “They’re here,” she said, trying to keep her voice calm as they approached.
“A hearty welcome to Mackinac,” she pronounced as the men joined them.
“We are your official if not very energetic welcoming committee,” Christena added, not bothering to get up. “We had quite an exhausting day yesterday, and slept poorly, so you’ll have to excuse us if we’re not prepared to show you around the island this afternoon.”
“I’d enjoy just sitting here on the porch all day,” Paul enthused, gazing around the vista. “What a glorious spot. I can’t wait to start shooting. I hope you have some thoughts about good locations.”
“As a matter of fact, we do,” Christena said. “But first things first. We’ve booked you into a little inn near an old Presbyterian church. The old rectory, in fact.” At that, she rose slowly from her chair. “Why don’t we go inside,” she said to Paul, “and see if we can arrange a cab for you to the inn. You can rest and freshen up, and then you can come back here for dinner tonight.”
“And make plans for the rest of the week,” Paul said, following her. The two of them disappeared through the hotel’s front doors.
Mary, smiling shyly, reclaimed her chair while Edmond took Christena’s. She had been nervous about his visit, about spending so much time with him, with no prying eyes. Christena, of course, was supposed to play the role of chaperone. But considering her recent effervescence, she might need a chaperone herself.
Mary looked down at Edmond’s case and little fold-up easel. “I hope you’ve brought enough paint. There are so many breathtaking spots on the island that you’ll be in danger of running out.”
“I have plenty. In fact, I thought I could start you off on watercolors. After all, I owe you some lessons. The ones that I so rudely ran out on.”
She gave him a mock scowl. “Yes, well, you’ve got your work cut out for you. I haven’t held a brush since last fall. I barely remember which end to paint with.”
He sat back in his chair and grinned at her. “It’s good to see you again, Miss Mary MacDougall.”
Mary cocked her head. “It’s good to see you too, Mr. Edmond Roy.”
