“Maybe to try to blackmail Dan.”
“Blackmail Dan?” Maggie looked at Annie. “He didn’t have any money, did he?”
“That was the problem. She was tired of him living there and not paying her enough rent. The odd jobs he had around town—mowing lawns, substitute bartending—none of them paid much. I met him through Cordelia, and then he did some landscaping for us, and then, one thing led to another. He told me Cordelia complained he didn’t contribute enough toward his room and board. She was trying to force him to get a better-paying job.”
“I’ve wondered how she supported herself just making those dolls,” Maggie said, glancing toward the cradle in the living room.
“I don’t know,” said Annie. “Dan said a lot of people underestimated Cordelia. And then Diana arrived, and everything changed. I don’t know why; I only saw Dan once after that.”
Maggie looked at her. “Can you think of anyone else who knew Dan well?”
“He bartended at the Lazy Lobster sometimes. Men there knew him.” Her eyes filled up. “It’s all happened so fast. Diana arriving, and then Dan disappearing, and now Cordelia. I hope Ike’s able to figure it out. I miss Dan. But I can’t let Ike know what I was doing. Please, Maggie. Don’t tell anyone.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Maggie. “Thanks for talking with me.” She left Annie scrubbing her kitchen counter, tears smearing the makeup on her cheeks.
On Maggie’s way back to Six Gables she kept thinking about the Fairyland Lustre in Annie’s corner cupboard. She was no expert on china or pottery, but she’d always coveted that particular Wedgwood, probably because it was designed by Art Nouveau artist Daisy Makeig-Jones. Fairyland Lustre was gloriously colored in vibrant golds, blues, reds, and greens, and depicted magic creatures and the forests and fields in which they lived. Few pieces sold for under $4,000 or $5,000, and she’d read in one of the antiques newspapers recently that a large covered vase in the “Demon Tree of the Ghostly Wood” pattern had brought over $36,000 at auction. Not exactly within her budget.
As far as she knew Fairyland Lustre had never been reproduced.
Even if it had, it wouldn’t have the same glow, the same luster, as the original.
Those were original pieces in Annie Irons’ living room. Maggie was certain of that. But for some reason—maybe fear of burglary?—Annie hadn’t wanted to admit it. Well, she was lucky to have a collection like that.
Will was deep into his novel when Maggie got back to Six Gables. “You were right. That didn’t take long,” he said.
“How’s Aunt Nettie?”
“She sends her love,” said Will. “Tom’s taking good care of her, and Rachel stopped in to see her and brought them lobster bisque for tonight’s dinner and a ham in case there’s a power outage. The oil lamps are cleaned, the bathtub is filled. They’re set.”
“That’s right. You have a well, but the water pump is electric.”
“When the power goes, so does the water,” Will confirmed. “I’m thinking we should invest in a small generator. Enough power to keep the furnace and the pump going, and a few kitchen appliances. At Aunt Nettie’s age, if we had an ice storm and lost power for a week, I don’t think she’d cope well.”
“No power for a week in January in Maine? I’m not sure how well I’d cope,” Maggie agreed. “Sounds as though you should call for an estimate or two.”
“Next week,” said Will. “How’d your meeting go?”
“Educational,” said Maggie. “But I didn’t find out anything absolutely critical. I liked Ike’s wife more than I thought I would. Tell you what: why don’t we go and have lunch? If it’s open, there’s a place a lot of the fishermen around here eat. Not exactly gourmet, but it would be a bit of local color.”
“Do I sense another mission in the offing?” Will asked.
“Perhaps,” said Maggie. “But we do have to eat somewhere. Why not try this place? I’ve been there once, but just for a beer.”
“You don’t like beer,” said Will, raising his eyebrows.
“I’m flexible, remember?” said Maggie.
“What’s the name of this fantastic local establishment?”
“The Lazy Lobster.”
“A Mainer does not eat lobster on the Cape,” said Will, tapping her lightly on the head in reprimand.
“They have hamburgers, too,” said Maggie.
“With blue cheese and bacon?”
“It’s possible,” she said, as they headed out. The wind had picked up, and there was spitting rain in the air. But Hurricane Tasha was still 250 miles south of Cape Cod.
They had plenty of time.
Chapter 33
Rip Van Winkle at the Village Tavern.Wood engraving from Harper’s Weekly, September 20, 1873, by Felix Octavious Carr Darley (1822-1888), who usually signed his work F.O.C. Darley. He was the first well-known American illustrator and provided pictures for books by Cooper, Irving, Dickens, Hawthorne, Poe, Stowe, among others, during the first half of the nineteenth century. This engraving is based on one he did earlier for Washington Irving’s Rip Van Winkle. It shows shiftless Rip, beer mug in hand, being routed out by Dame Van Winkle. Other patrons of the tavern include an obese gentleman smoking an extremely long clay pipe, a boy reading a newspaper, and Rip’s dog, Wolf, his tail between his legs, who knows it’s time to head for home. 9 x 11.75 inches. $75.
The Lazy Lobster was not only open, it was full. Of course, Maggie remembered. Fishing boats were not out. Harbormasters had required them to be dry-docked yesterday.
The storm was closing in, and most men in the Lazy Lobster had either finished storm-proofing their homes and those of their neighbors, or were taking a quick break before returning to their tasks.
One flat-screen TV above the bar was tuned to the Weather Channel. The other was focused on NECN, New England Cable News. Both stations alternated weather maps and scenes of crashing surf, trees bent over in the wind, and scrolling words warning that Hurricane Tasha was moving steadily northeast, and had diminished very little in power.
“Table today?” said a pert young woman who hadn’t been visible during Maggie’s previous visit. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore her white LAZY LOBSTER T-shirt proudly, and scooped low enough to hint at barely hidden cleavage.
“We’d prefer the bar, if there’s room,” said Maggie.
“You don’t usually like to sit at the bar,” Will said, as they followed their hostess to two stools at the far end.
“I like this one,” said Maggie. “We can see the weather reports better from here,” she added, guilelessly.
“Right,” said Will. “How could I forget your new-found addiction to the Weather Channel?”
“A girl can never hear too much about the weather. Especially when there’s a hurricane in the offing.” Maggie smiled.
“Nice to see you again, Maggie from New Jersey,” said Rocky. “What can I get you today? Another Sam Adams?”
“Sounds good. And the fried Wellfleet oysters,” said Maggie, pointing at the menu behind the bar.
Will ordered a Narragansett and a blue cheeseburger, extra rare, with bacon.
“You just ordered a coronary,” Maggie pointed out.
“Your fried oysters aren’t the healthiest choice in the world,” Will retaliated. “Especially since you added fries to your order when you thought I wasn’t listening. Now, what are we really here for?”
“I’m not sure,” Maggie said, under the noise of the crowd. “But Dan Jeffrey worked here sometimes. And Bob Silva, the guy who owns the hardware store, said the bartender here knows a lot about what happens in town.”
The waitress slid their lunch plates in front of them with a quick “Enjoy!”
“Speedy service, anyway,” said Will.
“Notice anything unusual about this place?” said Maggie.
“You and the waitress are the only females in here?”