Chapter Eight

 

Ben was not fond of funerals. He’d attended far too many of them. The service for Frank Ennis was particularly depressing. The dead man had no kin. No close friends were in attendance. The only ones present for services at the Unitarian Church in Ellsworth were his most recent colleagues and a few people who barely knew him. The preacher mouthed the usual platitudes, having never met Ennis in life, and the casket was carted off to be consigned to a lonely grave in the local cemetery under lowering skies that let loose with a light, steady rain as soon as the assembled mourners had tossed their ritual handfuls of dirt onto the coffin.

They adjourned in haste to the Hancock House, the same hotel where Ben had booked two rooms for the night. The only bright spot in this entire affair, Ben thought, was that Diana was with him. She might have her own room at the hotel for propriety’s sake, but she would not be sleeping there alone.

Graham had arranged for a private parlor and refreshments. A wake of sorts, Ben supposed, except that nobody was reminiscing about Frank Ennis. Prudence Monroe stood by the window, her back to the rest of them, staring out at Main Street and the Union River Bridge as she sipped a cup of tea. She was all in black and the hue did not flatter her. It emphasized her bony frame and made her pale, thin face appear gaunt.

Paul Carstairs, who had brought along his own bottle of Moxie Nerve Food, had filled a plate with food and was intent on consuming it. George Amity had not attended the funeral. He had been left behind to guard whatever secret Serena Dunbar was hiding on Keep Island.

Ben and Diana stood on one side of the room, Graham and Serena on the other. They were deep in conversation, oblivious to everyone else.

“I need to talk to him soon,” Ben whispered. He’d assumed Graham would stay overnight in Ellsworth, since it was a long trip by water to return to Keep Island. Instead Graham and Miss Dunbar, together with Mrs. Monroe and Paul Carstairs, planned to travel by road to Bucksport after the wake and board the Miss Min there in the morning.

“Perhaps one of us should find a moment speak with Mr. Fellows and Sheriff Fields first,” Diana whispered back, “and find out how the murder investigation is progressing.”

Oscar Fellows and Dorephus Fields had helped themselves to food but now stood awkwardly, balancing plates and glasses of lemonade. The stranger beside them was attempting, with little apparent success, to engage them in conversation.

Keeping an eye on Graham, lest he miss the chance to take his oldest friend aside, Ben grasped Diana’s arm and escorted her to the refreshment table. “Fellows,” he greeted the county attorney. “Fields. Any progress on the case?”

“None, nor likely to be any.” Fellows had the grace to look a trifle embarrassed by this. His sidelong glance at the stranger was enough to put Ben on alert.

“I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said, offering his hand. “I’m Ben Northcote. This is my fiancée, Mrs. Spaulding.”

“J. C. Chilcott,” said the stranger, who appeared to be in his fifties and had an air of respectability about him. “Editor of the Ellsworth American.”

“You find Mr. Ennis’s death newsworthy, then?” Diana cut in.

“I find the circumstances curious, but I am also a member of the church where services were held. I felt it my duty to attend.”

“I am a journalist myself,” Diana told him.

“Diana—” Ben began, catching her forearm, but he was too late to stop her from completing her introduction.

“I am employed by the New York Independent Intelligencer.”

Chilcott took an involuntary step away from her. An expression of extreme distaste distorted his face. “That scandal sheet!”

Color rose in Diana’s cheeks but she stood her ground. “And what, precisely, do you find so objectionable, Mr. Chilcott?”

“A newspaper should have high moral and ethical standards. That one does not.”

“My editor is of the opinion that scandal sells newspapers.”

“Then how do you explain that the Ellsworth American is the most popular weekly newspaper in the state of Maine?”

Ben tightened his grip on her arm. Whatever answer she intended to make died before it reached her lips.

Chilcott tugged on the bottom of his vest, although it was already perfectly straight, and glowered at Diana. “I will not be writing about Mr. Ennis’s death,” he said stiffly. “There is no place for wild speculation in my newspaper.”

Ben watched him go with mingled relief and exasperation. “An upstanding citizen,” he observed.

“He’s a temperance man,” said Sheriff Fields, missing Ben’s sardonic tone. “Keeps an eye on the hotels to make sure none of them are serving liquor.”

“Oh, that’s much more important than seeing that a murderer is brought to justice,” Diana muttered under her breath.

“Not sure it was murder,” Fields said. “Coroner says what Miss Dunbar suggested makes sense.”

“An accident?” Ben couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Sheriff that’s—”

Fields held up a hand to stop any objections. “Maybe. Maybe not. But murder’s a stretch. Can’t see that anyone had a reason to want that fella dead.”

Ben had to exert considerable effort to keep his voice level. “What you mean is that you don’t expect anyone to make a fuss. No one will care if you pursue the matter nor not, not even the local newspaper.”

If the murder had happened in a small town, the local constable would have investigated to the best of his ability. In a city, the police or the city marshals would have handled the case. They might even have asked for outside help because there would have been neighbors who were outraged and town fathers who were pushing for justice. After all, no one wanted to leave a killer running loose. But Ennis had died on a private island. The only person who could insist upon a thorough investigation was the one who clearly did not want one.

“There’s nothing to pursue,” Fellows chimed in, “and no money available to hire a private detective. Last I heard the going rate was ten dollars a day plus expenses. The county can’t afford an outlay like that.”

“Speaking of money,” Diana interrupted, “Mr. Somener paid for this—” A gesture indicated the refreshments. “—but who bore the expenses of the funeral?”

She had reason to be curious, Ben thought. Ennis had been buried in a proper coffin, not a plain pine box, and in a regular plot rather than a pauper’s grave.

“Miss Dunbar took care of everything,” Fellows said. “Told me it was Ennis’s money, from back pay and what she found in his effects.”

Diana was no longer listening. “Mr. Somener is looking at his pocket watch,” she said in an agitated voice. “I think he’s about to leave.”

“As we should,” Oscar Fellows announced. Setting aside his plate, the contents untouched, he started toward the door. Fields followed in his wake.

Reluctant as he was to give his friend bad news, Ben knew he could not put it off any longer. He had to warn Graham about Serena.

“Distract Miss Dunbar,” he whispered to Diana.

A question about where she purchased her divided skirts was sufficient to divert Serena’s attention away from Graham while Ben took the other man aside.

“Any luck finding Palmer?” Graham asked.

“No, but in the process several questions have arisen about Miss Dunbar. What do you know about her training as an archaeologist?”

Half of Graham’s attention remained on the woman in question as he answered. “Aunt Min encouraged her interest in history. Serena used to visit her in Boston, as well as on Keep Island. In fact, Min was so fond of Serena that she left her a legacy.”

Ben’s eyes narrowed. “Money?”

“The contents of a certain trunk. I’m not sure what was inside.”

“And after Min’s death?” Ten years ago, Serena would only have been fifteen or sixteen. Still, some girls taught school at that age. Others were already married. “Did Serena attend college? How did she come to be an archaeologist?”

“She studied at Harvard. They were all there at the same time—Serena, Carstairs, and Ennis.”

Not according to retired Harvard professor Lucien Winthrop, Ben thought. “Is it possible Serena once had a romantic relationship with Frank Ennis?” He’d decided before this conversation began that he might as well be blunt. Subtlety had never worked well with Graham, and he’d be right on the spot to deal with it if his old friend lost control of his temper.

The lines around Graham’s mouth went taut. His lips compressed into a hard, thin line. His eyes blazed blue fire. Ben half expected to see steam coming out of Graham’s ears.

“Defend the lady’s honor later, Graham,” he warned in a low, soothing voice. “For now, just answer the question.”

“Two or three years ago, Ennis asked her to marry him,” Graham said through gritted teeth. “She declined the offer.”

“So they were never—?” Ben was about to say “intimate” but Graham didn’t let him finish the question.

“She did not marry him,” he snapped. “She’s never been married. That’s what she told me and I believe her. Ennis was just trying to make trouble with his lies.”

Graham’s words more than his virulent tone had Ben backing up a step. Ennis had claimed Serena was his wife? That shed an entirely new light on things. It also gave Serena another good reason to want the man dead.

“Graham, listen to me. Someone murdered Frank Ennis. He was poisoned and later drowned. Serena Dunbar has not been truthful about her educational background. An archaeologist from Harvard, someone who was there until just this last year, says she was a student only briefly. He’s never even heard of Ennis or Carstairs. Furthermore, I believe there is a connection between Serena’s arrival on Keep Island and the rumors that brought Justus Palmer to Maine to investigate criminal activity. What if—?”

Graham’s short bark of laughter cut him off. “That’s absurd. Do you hear yourself? You may as well accuse me of murder. That would make as much sense.” He leaned in, ramming a finger into Ben’s chest to emphasize each question he asked. “Is that what you think? That because I want to marry Serena myself, I killed her husband to clear the way?”

“Graham, I never said—”

“You didn’t have to. It’s clear you believe Serena had something to do with Ennis’s death.” The heat in his expression had been replaced by an icy glare.

“What else am I to think when you have just managed to cover up a crime? With Ennis dead and buried, it suits you to forget all about the way he died.” They were nose to nose, speaking in hoarse, hostile whispers.

“I’d like to forget! I don’t know how he died but I certainly didn’t kill him and neither did Serena. Damnation, Ben, it was an accident! Now I intend to get on with my life. And I intend to share that life with Serena Dunbar.”

“For God’s sake, Graham, use a little common sense. At least ask a few questions. Don’t take everything she says on faith just because you’re in love with her.”

“I know as much about Serena as I need to.” He started to walk away.

Ben caught his arm. “Graham—”

Turning, Graham broke the hold. The venomous look on his face persuaded Ben not to touch him again.

“I’ve asked her to marry me and she’s accepted,” Graham hissed.

Stunned, Ben stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say.

“The ceremony will take place on Islesborough two days from now. I meant to ask you to be my groomsman, but perhaps it would be best if we simply borrow a couple of strangers to stand up with us.” With that, Graham stalked off towards his intended bride.

* * * *

“Let us dispense with formality,” Serena Dunbar suggested. “It serves no useful purpose. I would be happy to have you call me by my first name.”

They had quickly exhausted the subject of women’s fashions, one that held little real interest for either of them. Serena’s gray flannel suit was as plain as could be and Diana’s traveling outfit of dark blue cashmere was not much fancier. For each, the main concession to the solemnity of the occasion had been the addition of gray illusion veiling to a hat.

At Diana’s doubtful look, Serena’s smile faded. A hint of asperity came into her voice. “We may as well be at ease with one another. I expect we shall see a great deal of each other in the future.”

“You expect us to become friends?”

“Is that such a preposterous idea? We are both professional women, trying to succeed in careers dominated by men. I suspect we have a great deal in common.”

“Perhaps.” Decidedly wary, Diana struggled to discern the purpose behind this unexpected olive branch. Had Serena heard they were investigating her credentials? Was she trying to charm Diana out of continuing? Too little, too late if she was.

Diana glanced towards Ben. She had been keeping an eye on him while listening with half an ear to Serena’s discourse. Graham Somener did not look happy. She saw him break away from Ben and head for Serena, but Ben caught up with him and said something that appeared to gave him pause. They stayed where they were, once again openly, if quietly, quarreling.

Since Serena’s back was to the two men, she remained blissfully unaware of their conflict. “I am sure you are as devoted to writing articles for your newspaper as I am to discovering the secrets of the past.”

“You intend to continue excavating, then?”

“Of course. In fact, I expect we can manage a half-day’s work at the site tomorrow. We will be short-handed without Frank, but Paul is a dedicated archaeologist and I believe George Amity can be trained to do the simpler tasks.”

“Does Mr. Carstairs call you by your first name, too?” Diana tried not to sound disapproving. Heaven knew she’d “dispensed with formality” often enough herself. Her life had too often been lived on the fringes of society to ever be a stickler for propriety.

“We have known each other for many years and, like me, he believes in the equality of the sexes. Does that shock you?”

“I am not easily shocked, but in my experience, it is often the gentlemen who object to excessive informality. Unless they are bent upon seduction, that is.”

“Not Paul,” Serena said with a laugh. “He had a twin sister with advanced ideas. She was a suffragist and an advocate of free love. I’ve always thought I would have liked her very much, but I never had the opportunity to meet her. She died at nineteen, a couple of years before Paul and I met.”

“I do hope the young woman did not suffer some terrible fate because of her beliefs—locked up in an insane asylum, or imprisoned for demonstrating for women’s rights.”

“I do not believe so, although Paul has never said how she died. It grieves him too much to speak of her, I think. He only confided what I’ve told you on a rare occasion when he’d had too much to drink.”

“Died in childbirth, no doubt,” said Mrs. Monroe, who had abandoned her post by the window to join them and had been unabashedly eavesdropping on their conversation for several minutes. “Or from consumption. It’s usually one or the other that takes women at such a young age.”

Before Diana could respond, Graham Somener appeared at Serena’s elbow. Diana started to speak, then saw his face. It was contorted with rage. As she had once before, when he’d been armed with a fencing foil, Diana quailed. This was a man who could kill when he was in a temper. She was certain of it.

“Come, Serena. We are leaving.” Somener growled the words. Ignoring Diana, he ushered the other two women towards the door, bellowing at Paul Carstairs to “shake a leg.” A moment later, all four of them were gone. Diana and Ben were alone in the hotel’s private dining parlor.

Diana cleared her throat and glanced warily at Ben. “I take it he did not heed your warning about Serena?”

Ben looked shaken, his gaze still fixed on the doorway through which Somener had gone. “He’s already asked her to marry him. The wedding is Saturday.”

Diana’s eyes widened. No wonder Ben looked so distressed. In a flurry of skirts she rushed to his side and placed both hands on his coat sleeve. She waited until he looked down at her to speak.

“We will find a way to stop him, Ben. We must. He cannot marry Serena Dunbar.”

“Frank Ennis claimed he and Serena were married. She denied it.”

“Well, of course she would. She could hardly marry your friend Graham if she already had a husband.” This was an unexpected development, but Diana had no difficulty incorporating it into her theory about Serena.

“She could have said they were divorced. Instead she denied ever being married.”

“Ennis’s claim threatened her plans,” Diana concluded.

“Especially if part of the plan was to marry Graham.”

“And now that Ennis is dead, he’s no longer a problem.”

Ben’s eyes were alive with fear. “If she killed Frank Ennis, what’s to stop her murdering Graham after they’re wed? With him dead, she’d gain complete control of his fortune.”

It was an appalling thought, but it made sense. Releasing her grip on Ben’s arm, Diana started towards the door. “We must go after them, convince him not to marry her. We cannot—”

“Wait. Talking to Graham won’t do any good. Not right now. But there may be another way.”

They stepped out of the hotel into a cold mist. The rain had stopped, but Ellsworth’s maple- and elm-lined streets dripped moisture. By the time Ben had taken them to the county courthouse, even at the brisk pace he set, the brim of Diana’s hat was sodden and drooping.

She removed it and gave it a shake while Ben requested a copy of Maine Court Officer. She had no idea what he was up to, but she followed after him when a clerk showed him to a small stuffy room that was obviously used to store old records. The dust lay so thick on some of them that Diana at once burrowed into her bag for a handkerchief. The first sneeze followed only seconds after she located it.

By the time she stopped sneezing, Ben was thumbing rapidly through the pages of a thick, leather-bound book. “This is a handbook for officials. Everyone from coroners to justices of the peace. It contains all the laws of the state, including the revised statutes and public acts. If there is a legal way to stop a wedding, it will be recorded here.”

“Do you know when and where the ceremony is to be?” Diana asked.

“Islesborough. Before a justice of the peace, I imagine. Graham’s not much of a churchgoer.”

Another sneeze manifested itself, violently, followed by a second smaller explosion. Holding the handkerchief to her nose, eyes streaming, she mumbled, “Why Islesborough?”

“Closest town. See here.” He tapped a page. “Someone who doesn’t live in an incorporated town has to file marriage intentions with the town clerk of the nearest one.”

“And at least five days ahead of time.” Diana already knew that part. They had filed their own marriage intentions as soon as they’d returned to Bangor from New York.

A grim smile overspread Ben’s face. “Ah, this will do. We can file what’s called a ‘caution’ with the town clerk.”

Diana leaned closer to read the entry over his shoulder. “This seems to be an effort to prevent bigamy. You can claim there is an impediment to the marriage if either the bride or the groom has a spouse already.”

“That’s the usual reason, yes, but surely the fact that the bride is a criminal is an ‘impediment’ as well.”

“I am sure it would be ... if we had proof of it to offer. If we did, we could also stop the wedding by having the sheriff arrest Serena.”

Ben slammed the law book closed, sending up another cloud of dust. Diana hastily backed away, the handkerchief over her nose and mouth.

“If we’re right about Serena Dunbar,” Ben muttered, “Graham’s very life is at stake. I will not let him make a mistake of this magnitude, not without trying to stop him. And I won’t quibble at stretching the truth, if that is what is required.”

As Diana followed Ben back outside the courthouse, her mind was awhirl. If they were right about Serena, and if Graham Somener married her, at best there would be a scandalous divorce. At worst, he might become her next victim. Ben was correct. They had to do something ... anything ... to prevent his oldest friend from making a terrible mistake.

 She was not surprised when Ben announced that they would not be returning to Bangor by train the next morning, as they’d originally planned. Instead, they’d be catching the steamer to Islesborough.

* * * *

Friday morning, the twenty-second day of June, dawned clear and calm. It was not ideal sailing weather, since there was not much breeze, but that did not affect the ferry Ben and Diana boarded in Ellsworth at 5 AM. It set them ashore at Bar Harbor in time to catch the steamer Cimbria, departing at seven. They would reach Islesborough at half past twelve.

Diana yawned hugely as the deep-toned bell in the pilot house rang to signal their departure. They’d gotten little sleep the night before, although that was only partly due to their early departure time. Ben was not surprised when she dozed off sitting beside him in the saloon on the main deck.

She slept soundly, only occasionally disturbed by the sound of a horn, or a bell from a buoy or a lighthouse, or another boat. It did not seem to take her long to grow accustomed to and ignore the steady ka-chung of the engine, the swish of the wake, and the way the glass in the portholes rattled.

Ben, on the other hand, was unable to rest. What he was about to do to his oldest friend preyed on his mind, and yet he could not come up with any better solution. Serena Dunbar was undoubtedly a liar and a confidence woman and very probably a cold-blooded killer. He could not permit Graham, who had already suffered greatly because someone he’d trusted had betrayed him, to go through with the wedding. Bad enough what learning the truth now would do to undermine his friend’s hard-won sanity. Finding out after he’d married her that she only loved his fortune was likely to push him past endurance ... with potentially deadly and tragic results.

Diana woke when she smelled coffee. A meal was served en route and afterward they went out on deck. Ben hoped the scenery would soothe his troubled conscience. After all, what he intended was a kind of betrayal, too, for all that he was acting to protect his friend.

By the time they’d steamed through Eggemoggin Reach and rounded Little Deer Isle into Penobscot Bay, he had convinced himself that he had no choice in the matter.  It was surgery, he decided. Painful, yes, but with the result that the patient lived a long and healthy life afterward.

“A pity we don’t have a stateroom,” Diana murmured, shifting restlessly. “I could do with some real sleep.”

“It’s too short a trip.”

 “Long enough.”

“A stroll will perk you up.”

By the time they had explored every nook and cranny of the Cimbria, Diana’s spirits seemed much improved. Returning to the rail, Ben pointed out some of the islands he knew by name—Beach and Butter, Pickering, and The Porcupines. The Cimbria passed close enough to one he didn’t recognize to make out groves of spruces and gray-trunked beeches on the wooded shore. On another, they could see pastures and gently rolling grassy slopes. A third sported evergreens, oaks, beeches, maples, and yellow and white birches that grew right down to the edge of the rocks on the shore. Some looked welcoming, offering safe anchorage, while others did not appear to have any harbor at all and were surrounded by nasty looking ledges.

“That’s Islesborough,” Ben said after awhile, pointing towards a long, sinuous stretch of land. The breeze rifled his hair and beard and set the feather that decorated Diana’s hat to dancing.

“I thought it was the mainland.”

“An easy mistake. Islesborough is some thirteen miles long.” He indicated a second, much smaller island a few miles to the east. “And there is Keep Island.”

From the steamer, the promontory was clearly visible but the buildings beyond were not. Ben did not see any sign of the expedition tents, either.

“Do you suppose Serena will give up all pretense of excavating, now that she thinks she’s going to marry Graham?”

“It did not sound that way,” Diana replied. “She planned to get right back to work today, as soon as they arrived on the island.”

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, seeing Diana’s frown.

“A momentary doubt.” She gave a dismissive wave with one silk-gloved hand.

“Tell me.”

“It’s just that the few times Serena has deigned to talk to me about archaeology, she’s seemed genuinely enthusiastic about her excavation.”

“A performance designed to take in the unwary.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Most confidence women are excellent actresses, even the ones who have never trod the boards. That she sounded sincere is just more evidence of her cleverness.”

The boat steamed on, passing between Islesborough and Keep Island. There was nothing to see on the western side of the latter, which was all tall, bare, glassy cliffs with sea gull nests at the crests of the precipices and scudding clouds above.

“There are still a great many things that puzzle me,” Diana admitted as they listened to the birds’ raucous cries. The sound reached them clearly across the water. “A confidence game is an unlikely source for the rumors of criminal activity on Keep Island. Serena must be engaged in something more than that, but what?”

“She’d make a fetching pirate queen,” Ben suggested.

Diana punched his arm. “Don’t be sarcastic. The excavation would make an excellent cover for a smuggling operation, don’t you think?”

“Smuggling seems most likely,” he agreed as the Cimbria approached the steamship dock in Ryder’s Cove.

“Smuggling what?”

“Liquor, without a doubt. Maine may be a dry state by law, but that has never stopped a man from getting a drink if he wanted one.”

“Or if she did. And Serena is certainly no advocate of the temperance movement. The night of Frank Ennis’s death she drank a great deal of wine at supper. Later, after she retired to her room, she topped that off with a considerable amount of brandy.”

More damning evidence against the woman, Ben thought, although he’d never noticed her overindulging at any other time. “I wonder what prompted the binge—grief for Ennis? Remorse over killing him? Fear of arrest?”

“More likely,” Diana said in a grim voice, “she was celebrating the successful elimination of someone who’d threatened to ruin one of her evil plans.”

* * * *

A hotel with a dining room was located within sight of Islesborough’s steamship dock. It was more boarding house than luxurious hostelry, but the proprietor was a loquacious sort and happy to answer Ben’s questions while Ben and Diana consumed a midday meal of thick fish chowder and fresh-baked biscuits slathered in butter.

“Town clerk is Lincoln Gilkey,” he told them. “You’ll find him at his farm, about five miles down the road.”

“Where can we hire a horse and buggy?” Ben asked.

“Right next door, Dr. Northcote.”

“And the next steamer to the mainland?”

“That’d be the Electra. She makes the round trip from Belfast to Castine three times a day, with stops here at Islesborough each way. You won’t be staying over, then?”

“That depends upon how much we can accomplish in the next few hours.  The horse and buggy?”

The proprietor handled the financial end of the transaction, then led them into an attached barn. Right next door, as he’d said.

“Clat, harness Bernice!” he bellowed.

An amiable-looking little man with a slight limp popped out of a horse stall. He made quick work of his task, although it was clear he was a bit simple. “Anything else I can do for you, guv’ner?” he asked, tipping his disreputable-looking cap.

“Clat, is it?” Ben asked.

“Short for Clarence.” He bobbed his head as if to confirm this bit of information.

“Well, Clat-short-for-Clarence, where might I find the local justice of the peace? I should have thought to ask about him before mine host returned to the hotel,” he added for Diana’s benefit.

“You want Sprague?” Clat stuck one finger under the edge of his cap and scratched.

“If he performs marriages, yes.”

Obligingly, Clat gave them directions to the house of one Joseph A. Sprague.

“He’s closer than Mr. Gilkey,” Diana observed.

“We’ll stop on our way back. No doubt talking to the town clerk will be sufficient, but it occurred to me that the J.P. should be warned, as well.”

They set off at a slow and steady pace. “You seem to know your way around the island,” Diana remarked.

“Graham and I used to row over here when we were boys. There are several places on Islesborough that are prime hunting grounds for Indian artifacts. The Penobscot and Tarrantine tribes still visit here every year to pick berries, dig clams, split ash, and collect sweet grass. They make containers of various sizes out of the ash and weave the sweet grass into baskets to sell to tourists.”

“Weren’t there any Indian artifacts on Keep Island?”

“Not that we ever found.”

“More proof, as if we needed it, that Serena’s excavation is a fraud. If there weren’t even Indians on Keep Island, how could she expect to find traces of her mythical European settlers?”

“Perhaps the curse kept them away,” Ben suggested with a grin.

She did not return his smile. She’d forgotten all about that curse. “Do you have any idea how that story got started? People keep mentioning it, but like Mr. Palmer’s ‘criminal activities,’ the details are vague. Do you suppose Graham concocted it himself to keep people away?”

“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Monroe,” Ben said. “According to Serena, she’s the one who first mentioned it.”

Diana was still contemplating the best way to learn more about the mysterious curse when they reached Lincoln Gilkey’s house.

Islesborough’s town clerk was a taciturn gentleman in his sixties who greeted Ben’s attempt to file a “caution” with extreme skepticism. “What proof do you have of bigamy?” he demanded.

“None,” Ben admitted, “but we have the most serious doubts about Miss Serena Dunbar’s honesty. That she’s a confidence woman is almost certain. She’s undoubtedly a fortune hunter, as well. There’s also the matter of the drowning death of one of her partners. As a physician, I can tell you that it was no accident.”

“Jurisdiction over that death lies in another county,” Gilkey interrupted. “It’s none of my concern.”

“Murder is everybody’s business.”

“Calm down, Northcote. You’ve said your piece.”

With a visible effort, Ben kept his voice level. “In fact, I have not. As I understand it, the point in filing a caution is to postpone a marriage until irregularities can be investigated. That’s called for here. To prove any of the charges I’ve made, as well as to determine whether or not Miss Dunbar is already married, requires time.”

“I’ve known Graham Somener for years. He’s as sharp as they come. Not likely he’d be fooled by a bit of muslin.”

“I know him well, too,” Ben argued, “and any man can fall prey to a woman’s wiles.”

“There is a detective out of Boston who may be able to shed some light on the situation,” Diana interjected. “He’s been investigating reports of criminal activities in the area.”

Gilkey’s derisive snort conveyed what he thought of interference from anyone from away. “I met Miss Dunbar when she and Somener came across to file their marriage intentions. She seemed a proper young lady to me.”

“All I’m asking is that you not issue the license until this matter is settled.”

“I make no promises,” Gilkey said, and cut off further protests by showing them the door.

“Pigheaded old man,” Diana grumbled as Ben assisted her into the buggy.

“Let’s hope we can convince the justice of the peace. If Gilkey goes ahead and issues the license, it will only be good here on Islesborough. They’ll still need the J.P. to marry them.”

“You’re certain they wouldn’t prevail upon a preacher?”

“Highly unlikely. The only churches on the island are Baptist. Graham doesn’t practice any religion, but he was raised Catholic.”

At the Sprague house they had better luck. Joseph Sprague was appalled by what Ben told him. When he heard that another man claimed to be married to Serena Dunbar, he began to sputter indignantly. “I want nothing to do with bigamy, Dr. Northcote. Nothing at all.”

Ben, Diana noted, had neglected to mention to either Mr. Gilkey or Mr. Sprague that the man who’d said he was Serena’s husband was now deceased.

“I’ve already filed a caution with Mr. Gilkey,” Ben told Sprague.

“That’s that, then. If they don’t have the license, I can’t marry them.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Gilkey expressed some doubts about our contentions. We have no solid proof, you see, so it’s possible he will—”

“Stubbornly insist upon believing Miss Dunbar?” Sprague’s grimace suggested that he knew his fellow islander very well. “Rest easy, Dr. Northcote. No matter what Gilkey does, I will refuse to conduct the ceremony.”

Ben’s step was lighter, his bearing less tense when they left the justice of the peace’s house. It was a pity, Diana thought, that they had to rush back to Bangor. It was very beautiful on Islesborough—green and peaceful. Although she knew they were on not on the mainland, Diana did not have the uncomfortable sense of being cut off from civilization that she’d experienced while on Keep Island.

When they were once more in the buggy, Diana glanced at the sky. “We have a little time yet before the Electra leaves. Is there enough for you to show me the place where you used to dig for artifacts?”

She saw that her request had pleased him and looked forward even more eagerly to the detour, but before they had gone very far, she caught sight of a familiar figure. A sudden foreboding had her grabbing Ben’s arm and pointing.

“That’s Paul Carstairs,” she hissed. “What on earth is he doing on Islesborough?” She was certain Serena had said she planned to get as much work done at the excavation site as possible this afternoon. Surely that would require the presence of her remaining assistant ... unless she had changed her mind in consideration of her coming nuptials.

Ben brought Bernice to a halt. In silence, they watched Carstairs walk rapidly away from the building he had just exited. There was something furtive about his movements. A moment later, he had passed out of sight around a curve in the narrow, winding dirt road.

Ben’s brow furrowed as he stared after Serena Dunbar’s assistant. “Perhaps he came to Islesborough for supplies.” He didn’t sound convinced.

Still beset by an uneasy feeling about Carstairs’s presence on the larger island, Diana wondered if she had been careless in overlooking the fact that Serena’s so-called assistants had to also be her accomplices. “I think,” she said to Ben, “that it would be a good idea to ask a few questions.”