Chapter Sixteen
“I think this building has been here since the colonies were founded,” Lindsey whispered as they climbed the broad steps of the Bangor Public Library. She was trying to ease the bad attack of nerves she’d woken up with.
“So has the librarian,” Nick whispered back, pointing to the woman behind the checkout desk.
Lindsey elbowed him to be quiet, then waited while he explained to the woman what they were looking for.
“Oh, yes, we have those,” the woman assured him. “But they’re down in the basement. No one ever asks for them.” She made a slight tsking sound. “I’m sorry, but I’m afraid it’s very dusty down there.”
“That’s all right. We’re dust proof,” Nick told her.
Lindsey jabbed him again.
“Follow me, then.” She marched down the stairs ahead of them, her soft rubber soles barely making a sound. Throwing open the door to a long, narrow room, she pointed out the boxes of newspapers on the shelves. “If you could get those down, sir, it would be a great help. You can spread them out on that table over there. Those chairs are none too comfortable, I guess, but it’s better than standing up.”
“We’ll do just fine,” Nick assured her.
“Well, all right. My name is Grace if you need any further help.”
“Thank you.” He urged Grace back upstairs, then scanned the labels on the boxes. “Let’s see if we can make this a little easier,” he told Lindsey. “According to the letters, the baby must have been born in 1970. He looks to be at least a year old in those pictures, so they had to be taken the following year. Let’s start with 1971 and work forward.”
He took down the appropriate boxes, pulled out the issues they wanted, and gave half to Lindsey. The process was tedious. The Beach Recorder may have only published weekly, but each issue was at least fifty pages.
“Who would ever believe there was so much news in these teeny little communities,” Lindsey commented, stopping a moment to stretch her arms and rotate her head. “Of course, most of the paper is a bloated society column. I can’t believe some of the stuff that’s in here.”
“Everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame.” Nick grinned. “And some people, it seems, want it more than once.”
A picture of a crowd at a party caught her attention and she sat forward, excitement skittering through her veins. “Nick, look at this. Here’s a picture of my—the Dolmans at somebody’s event. See?” She pointed to a page. “They’re standing with a bunch of political bigwigs. I guess they really did move in high society.”
“That means they spent some significant time around here.” He turned another page. “Let’s keep looking. Maybe there are more pictures of them.”
They found six more shots of Brent and Marie at social functions with a group of the island’s elite. After that, they searched each page carefully, looking not only for the headline but for any mention of the couple or their family. A picture began to emerge of a wealthy, successful attorney, his socially important wife, and their place in island society.
According to the newspaper write-ups, Brent Dolman practiced corporate law in Boston and sat on the boards of many of the corporations he represented. He may have come from old money, but he apparently hadn’t rested on the family’s reputation and fortunes. Lindsey was stunned by the picture of her parents that emerged from the articles and society columns.
“I’ve got the article.”
Her head jerked up at Nick’s words. She reached across to take the paper from him. “Let me see.”
He held onto it firmly. “Let me read it to you, Lindsey. Please. Just listen to what it says.”
“Why? Will I hate it?” Her pulse skipped, and her hands curled into fists.
“No, but it will be a shock,” he said. “And it opens other doors we need to go through. Just sit and listen. Please.”
In a calm, even voice, he read the story of the tragedy that hit a prominent young family summering on Indian Island. According to the newspaper, Brent and Marie Dolman and their two children, Barbara Ann, six years old, and the toddler, Charlie had gone out for an afternoon sail. Marie was pregnant with their third child, which made the trip even more curious. They were caught in a sudden storm, and everyone was washed overboard. The children’s nanny called the Coast Guard when they didn’t return. The boat was found floating several miles away on the ocean, but three days of searching had not turned up any survivors.
She blinked. “That’s it? No other details?”
“I haven’t read any further. But that’s all it says here.”
“And Marie was pregnant?” Lindsey placed her hand over her own stomach. “B-But if that’s really them, they can’t be dead because they lived in Texas.” She was suddenly finding it hard to breathe. “And this means I had a sister. And a brother.”
“So it would seem.”
“I don’t understand any of this, Nick. Not one bit.” Nausea crept up into her throat, and she forced it back. “Let’s keep reading. There’s bound to be some follow-up.”
In the next week’s issue, the paper reported divers were no longer searching for the remains of the Dolman family. A memorial service was held, organized by their families, and memorial markers were set in the Dolman family plot in Boston. A tiny notice the following year announced the summer home previously owned by Brent and Marie Dolman had been sold to a family from New York.
“What about the nanny?” Lindsey’s mouth was dry, and her heart thudded against her ribs. “Does it say anything about her? Who she was? Where she went to?”
“Wait. This isn’t all. It’s continued.” Nick flipped through several pages. “Yes. Here. Now it talks about the estate. Boy, this paper really prints everything. The estate was probated by one of Dolman’s law partners. Most of it went to a judge who was a former law professor of Brent’s.”
“A law professor? What a strange bequest.”
“Norma and Howard Littman, the nanny and the caretaker, received a million dollars. Jesus, Lindsey.” He looked up from his reading. “That’s a lot of money to leave the household help. Something doesn’t add up here.”
Her head was spinning. “Nick, we have to find out what happened. Someone must know. Maybe we’ll find someone on the island who does. Maybe the people who bought the house can put us in touch with Carrie and Renee, if they’re even still alive. Maybe someone can track down the Littmans.”
“That’s a lot of maybes.”
“Come on.” She was up and pulling at him. “Let’s go. I want to try and find out.”
“Hold on.” He picked up the papers with the articles in them. “First let’s see if Grace can make copies of this stuff for us. They must have a machine here someplace. Then I’m going to call the office. They’re better equipped to search than we are here. Besides, Reno may have to use a little muscle to do some of the digging.”
“What do you mean?”
“I want to get a copy of the probate papers,” he explained, “and I want someone to talk to the partners at the law firm. At least one of them must still be practicing. Then we’ll go over to the island and reconnoiter. Slowly and casually.”
Grace was happy to make copies for them, carefully collecting a quarter for each one. She insisted on giving them a receipt, taking what Lindsey thought was forever to write it out.
Finally, they were back in the car and on the highway.
“Do you really think—I’m not sure I even want to ask this—that my nightmares have anything to do with this?” Lindsey twisted her hands together in her lap.
Nick stole a quick look at her. “I told you I have a grandmother who believes in things like this. She’d say someone is trying to send you a message about what happened. That their soul was wandering and can’t rest until the truth comes out. Or maybe someone else who died that night.”
“God, Nick, it seems so…otherworldly.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
She rubbed her forehead. “But that would explain the water and the drowning voice, wouldn’t it?”
He reached over and squeezed her hands. “You said the nightmares started when your father died. Then they disappeared and came back when your mother passed away. Right?”
“Yes.”
“So my grandmother would say, each time a soul went to heaven, someone was trying to get a message through to you.”
Lindsey leaned her head back. “I feel like I’m in a nightmare again, only this time I’m awake.”
“But now I’m right here with you.”
Yes, you certainly are. And that’s good and bad. Damn.
“Lindsey, don’t make yourself sick over this. We’re going to find all the answers, and then you’ll finally have some peace.”
“Lord.” She rubbed her eyes. “I certainly hope so.”
The drive from Bangor to Bar Harbor took less than an hour. Dan Gregory had given them good directions to the ferry they needed, and by early afternoon they were chugging across the short distance to Indian Island.
The first thing Lindsey noticed was the abundance of pine trees that covered much of the island. They obscured most of the homes, although rooftops peeked out here and there. Docks protruded from the beach like so many extended wooden fingers, with boats anchored at their moorings. Here and there, a sailboat lazily skimmed the waves. April weather in Maine was still on the chilly side, but a few hardy souls had opened their homes early.
“It seems almost too cold for this now.” Lindsey shivered, pulling the edges of her coat together.
“It is, although my guess is a few early birds always arrive on the island. But that’s why we’re able to use this cottage. The owner won’t be here for another month.”
They drove along a road that wound into the interior of the island, past high brick walls and thick privacy barriers formed by the pines. Occasionally, a smaller, less protected house stood out, but Lindsey guessed even those people demanded their privacy. Trying to talk to anyone might be a real challenge.
The road curved back on itself like a switchback, and soon she caught a faint glimpse of the water again through the trees. Eventually, Nick turned off the road and bumped down a gravel driveway that ended in a wide clearing. A garage big enough to hold four cars stood at an angle to the two-story white house. The dormer windows and glass-enclosed sun porches reflected the afternoon sunlight. A side view showed a wide expanse of green lawn dotted with flagstones stretching to a narrow strip of beach.
“This is a cottage?” She stared, open-mouthed. “I wonder how big it has to be before they call it a house. Lord, Nick. I’d love to come here on a real vacation. Are you telling me we have this whole place to ourselves?”
“You bet.” He fished a key ring from his pocket along with a folded piece of paper. “Let’s go in, turn on the heat, and scope the place out. Then I’ll get the luggage.”
Every room was large, part of an open, spacious design. An open-hearth fireplace dominated the living room. A sun porch like the one they’d entered held a dining room table and chairs as well as comfortable lounge furniture. The master suite located just off the living room had the same magnificent view of the water as the living room.
“Wow.” Lindsey moved from room to room, studying the design. “I love houses like this. I had to draw one as a class project, and I always wanted to do one for real.”
“Maybe you’ll get the opportunity when we wrap this up,” Nick encouraged her.
They sorted out the sleeping arrangements without too much discomfort. Nick seemed willing to give her the space she needed, at least for now. While she unpacked and put her things away, Nick sat on the couch in the living room making calls. She hoped Guardian had more to tell him. Her impatience to find answers was growing thin.
“Anything?” she asked, walking back into the living room.
“Yes and no.”
“That’s your favorite answer, isn’t it?” She pushed her hair nervously behind her ear.
“Sometimes, that’s all I’ve got. Anyway, the office is working a trace on the Littmans. If they were paid staff employees, it means they have Social Security numbers, which I hope will help us find them. I also asked for a search of other articles on the drowning and on the Dolmans.”
“What about the estate?” she prodded. “You said maybe someone could find out about the beneficiaries and go from there.”
“That’s Reno’s department.” He circled something on his tablet. “He’s setting a meeting with one of the partners in Dolman’s old firm. Two of them are still practicing, believe it or not.”
“He’s going to Boston? Just for that?” She was amazed at what this firm could and would do for its clients.
“He wants to see the probate file and find out about the balance of the estate.” He tossed the electronic device on the coffee table. “Something stinks here, Lindsey, and Reno’s got the best nose for rooting out stuff like that. He’ll call back when he has a day and time set up.”
His cell rang, and he tapped the icon to answer it. “Yeah? Yeah? Okay, just a sec.” He reached for the tablet again and picked up his stylus. “Okay, go. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yup. Got it. Thanks.” He stood up and reached for her hand. “Get your jacket. We’re going out again.”
“Where to?”
“When I called earlier, I asked the office to find out who bought the Dolman place,” he explained. “There has to be a recorded deed, and Guardian can search it out better online than we can begging at city hall. And more quickly. They did, so now we’re going to see if anyone’s in residence.”
The house was back on the other side of the island, surrounded by a high stone wall almost obscured by tall bushes. An iron gate barred the driveway, but a small speaker box sat just to the left.
Nick pushed the Call button.
“Yes? Who is it, please?” a disembodied voice asked.
Nick introduced himself, told whoever it was that he had identification and explained they were trying to trace the previous owners. After a long minute, the gate swung open and they drove through.
“I guess now I know what they call a house,” Lindsey mused.
Three stories of New England architecture rose before them, clapboards weathered by storms and age. A pitched roof swept up to the sky and tendrils of smoke curled from a chimney. Mullioned windows sparkled in the sun. No porch on this side, just a wide stoop leading up to double doors. One of them swung open as Nick and Lindsey pulled into the circle in front.
A woman somewhere between fifty and seventy, dressed in a navy dress and sensible shoes, stepped out to wait for them.
“I’m Mrs. Hutchins,” she told them. “The housekeeper. The Reynolds family isn’t in residence at the moment. I’ll try to help you, but I don’t know if I can tell you anything.”
After checking Nick’s credentials thoroughly and acknowledging Lindsey, she led them inside and took them all the way through to the kitchen. Lindsey tried not to gawk as they passed the rooms. Her architect’s antenna was vibrating, noting all the fine details of workmanship, the excellent placement of rooms and windows. She’d like to come back some time and really take a good look.
“Would you like some tea? I was just about to fix some.”
Nick and Lindsey both nodded, and they waited while Mrs. Hutchins fussed with cups and saucers and a plate of cookies.
She sat across from them, stirring sugar into her tea, her eyes bright and questioning. “If you’ll tell me what you want to know, I’ll try to answer your questions. As long as it doesn’t violate anyone’s privacy,” she amended. “The Reynolds family guards its privacy very tightly.”
“I represent clients who are searching for long lost relatives,” Nick told her. “The information we’ve uncovered led us here. Feel free to check on my agency before you answer any questions if that will make you feel better.”
Mrs. Hutchins studied the business card Nick had given her, then rose from her chair. “If you don’t mind. I’ll be just a moment.”
Lindsey sipped her tea nervously, her body filled with tension, as they waited for the woman to come back. When she did, her face was hard to read.
“So are you willing to help us?” Lindsey burst out, unable to sit quietly any longer.
Mrs. Hutchins nodded. “Yes. I called Mr. Reynolds at his office, and he gave me permission to answer general questions.” She took a sip of her tea and set the cup down, placing it precisely on the saucer. “The Reynolds family purchased this place more than thirty years ago. Ownership has since passed to the younger Mr. and Mrs. I’ve been working for them for ten years, and before that I lived in Portland. I’m sure I’ve never heard any of them mention people named Dolman.”
“Then you never knew anything about the people who owned this house before?” Lindsey was growing impatient. The more walls she met, the more dead ends, the more impatient she became to find answers. Somewhere in her past was someone who wanted to kill her and this was their best chance so far to find out who that might be.
“Not really.”
Not even Nick’s careful questioning could extract further information from the housekeeper. The only thing she knew about the Dolmans was they’d owned this house at one time.
“Well, thank you for your time,” he said at last, his tone polite. “We’re staying on the island for a few more days at the Burton place.” He pointed to the business card. “My cell phone number is on there on the bottom if you should happen to think of anything.”
Maybe it was the mention of the Burtons or the fact that the Burtons thought enough of them to have them as guests on the island. Whatever the trigger, something had unexpectedly made them acceptable. And Mrs. Hutchins had a sudden memory recovery. “Actually, now that you’ve jogged my brain, it seems I do know some of the story. Such a tragedy.”
“Anything you can remember would be helpful,” Nick assured her.
“Well, it isn’t much, really.” She pursed her lips. “I heard Brent and Marie Dolman were a nice young couple. Both of their families had homes on the island for years. Mr. Brent Dolman brought his wife and children here to this place after they were married. They were all very well thought of. When Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds bought this house, people were quick to tell them the story.”
Lindsey almost rolled her eyes. I’ll just bet.
“The residents were shocked by the tragedy,” Mrs. Hutchins continued. “Mr. Dolman was an excellent sailor, they said, and could handle a boat in any situation. Still, the mystery was why they would do something as foolish as going out with a storm coming in.”
“What about the Littmans?” Nick asked. “I understand they worked for Brent and Marie. Are they still around?”
The housekeeper clicked her tongue. “I heard they were destroyed by the whole thing and moved away somewhere.” She narrowed her eyes. “You know they inherited quite a large sum from the Dolmans.”
And no less than they deserved, her tone implied.
What was behind that?
“Do you have any idea where they might have gone?” Nick prodded. “Or what happened to the senior Dolmans? Or Mrs. Dolman’s parents?”
Mrs. Hutchins shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” Her attitude indicated she’d given them all she was going to.
They thanked her and went out to the car, heading back down the driveway. As they approached the gate, it swung open to let them exit the grounds.
“Something is weird here.” Nick’s thumb tapped the steering wheel as they drove back along the road. “One of the stories in the paper mentioned the storm forecast, too, and Brent Dolman’s sailing experience. This whole story just doesn’t ring true.”
At that moment, his cell phone buzzed and he answered the call impatiently. “Vanetta. Yeah. Uh-huh. Great. Can you text it to me along with directions? Good. Thanks again.”
He pulled over to the curb while he retrieved the text message. He left the message on the screen as he made a U-turn and started back the way they’d just come.
Lindsey tried to quiet the nervous energy running through her. “Where are we going now? What was that call about?”
“That was the office,” he said. “They found the address of the place where Marie’s parents lived. It’s been sold also, but I thought I’d see if we could learn anything from the new owners. I just hope the house is open and someone’s there.”
Luck wasn’t with them this time, however. The house was obviously still battened down for the winter, and no one had come to open it yet for the season.
“This was a long shot.” Nick sighed. “But it was worth a try.”
Lindsey chewed her bottom lip. “So what’s next? We can’t just sit around and do nothing.”
Nick opened the folder from Dan Gregory and glanced through one page of notes.
“Okay, we’re going to stop at the tiny little market right near the ferry landing. Dan says it’s a good place to pick up supplies. Then I’m going to call Guardian again and see what else they’ve come up with.”
****
I found you, you spoiled brat. Did you think I wouldn’t?
You surprised me, figuring things out. I had to make some quick adjustments to my plan. Can’t torture you much longer. At least not the way I have. But when I get hold of you…
Last night, I stabbed the Barbie doll forty times. It should have been you. I wanted to see your blood everywhere. But soon it will be your turn. Very soon.
Now I have to move fast. I knew the cat would be out of the bag soon. Maybe it’s time. Yes, it’s definitely time. The game is almost over.
You had it all, didn’t you? Well, you won’t have it anymore.
Now I get what’s mine. What should always have been mine. And you can’t stop me.
Bitch!