28
“I think it was a good idea to get Amy to mind Hannah for a couple of hours,” Adam said as they drove past the lighthouse and through the center of Chatham. “From what I understand, Phoebe can’t handle much distraction. I gather also that she probably won’t be able to discuss her notes, but I’m really glad that Henry was receptive to the idea of sharing them with you.”
“I am too.” Menley tried to sound enthusiastic, but it was a struggle. It should have been a perfect day, she thought. They’d spent a couple of hours on the beach, then read the Sunday papers while Hannah napped. Around three-thirty, when the thunderstorm broke, they stood at the window and watched the rain lash at the ocean and the angry surge of the waves. An easy, comfortable day, time spent together, sharing things, the kind of day they used to know.
Except that now always in Menley’s mind was the specter of a breakdown. What was happening to her? she wondered. She had not told Adam about the panic attack at the railroad crossing, even though he would have understood. But to tell him that the night he was in New York she had awakened to the sound of a train, thundering as though it were roaring through the house! What would any rational human being think about a story like that? Likewise, could she tell him that she had no memory of being in the baby’s room last night? No, never!
It would have seemed like whining to let him know that at Elaine’s party she felt isolated by the camaraderie she witnessed but could not share. I have plenty of friends, Menley reassured herself. It’s just that here I’m an outsider. If we do decide to buy Remember House I’ll get to know everyone really well. And I’ll bring my own friends up to visit.
“You’re very quiet suddenly,” Adam said.
“Just daydreaming.”
The Sunday afternoon traffic was heavy and they inched their way down Main Street. At the rotary they turned left and drove a mile to the Sprague home on Oyster Pond.
As Adam braked in front of the house, a blue Chevy pulled away. Henry Sprague was standing in the doorway. His greeting to them was cordial, but it was clear that he was preoccupied.
“I hope Phoebe’s okay,” Adam murmured to Menley as they followed him to the deck.
Henry had told his wife they were coming. Mrs. Sprague pretended to recognize Adam and smiled absently at Menley.
Alzheimer’s, Menley thought. How awful to lose touch with reality. At Bellevue, her mother had sometimes had patients with Alzheimer’s on the floor she supervised. Menley tried to remember some of the stories her mother had told her about helping them to retrieve memory.
“You’ve researched a great deal about the early history of the Cape,” she said. “I’m going to write a children’s story about the Cape in the sixteen hundreds.”
Mrs. Sprague nodded but did not answer.
Henry Sprague was describing Nat Coogan’s visit to Adam. “I felt like a damn gossip,” he said, “but there’s something about that Covey fellow that doesn’t ring true. If there’s any chance he let that poor girl drown . . .”
“Elaine doesn’t think so, Henry. She sent Scott Covey to me last week. I agreed to represent him.”
“You! I thought you were on vacation, Adam.”
“I’m supposed to be, but it’s obvious that Covey is right to be concerned. The police are on a fishing expedition. He needs representation.”
“Then I’m talking out of turn.”
“No. If it comes to an indictment, the defense has the right to know which witnesses will be called. I’ll want to talk to this Tina myself.”
“Then I feel better.” Henry Sprague gave a relieved sigh and turned to Menley. “This morning I collected what I could find of Phoebe’s files on the early Cape days. I always told her that her research notes were an awful hodgepodge for someone who turned out polished articles and essays.” He chuckled. “Her answer was to tell me that she worked in orderly chaos. I’ll get them for you.”
He went into the house and returned in a few minutes with an armful of thickly packed expandable manila files.
“I’ll take good care of them and get them back to you before we go home,” Menley promised. She looked at the material longingly. “It will be a treat to dig into this.”
“Henry, we’re giving some serious thought to buying Remember House,” Adam said. “Have you been in it since it was renovated?”
Phoebe Sprague’s expression changed suddenly, became fearful. “I don’t want to go to Remember House,” she said. “They made me go in the ocean. That’s what they’re going to do to Adam’s wife.”
“Dear, you’re confused. You haven’t been in Remember House,” Henry said patiently.
She looked uncertain. “I thought I was.”
“No, you were on the beach near it. This is Adam’s wife you’re with now.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, dear.”
He lowered his voice. “A few weeks ago Phoebe wandered out about eight o’clock at night. Everyone was searching for her. We always enjoyed walking on your beach, and I decided to drive over there. I found her in the ocean not far from your house. Another few minutes and it would have been too late.”
“I couldn’t see their faces but I know them,” Phoebe Sprague said sadly. “They wanted to hurt me.”
August 8th
29
On Monday morning, Adam called the Wayside Inn, established that a waitress named Tina was scheduled to work there that day, then called Scott Covey and made an appointment to meet him at the inn.
Menley had arranged for Amy to come and mind Hannah while she delved into Phoebe Sprague’s files, something it was obvious she was looking forward to. “You won’t miss me,” Adam laughed. “You’ve got a look in your eye like a pirate chasing a ship full of gold.”
“Being in this house helps so much to capture the sense of the early days,” Menley said eagerly. “Did you know that the door of the main parlor is so large because it was made wide enough to get a casket through it?”
“That’s cheerful,” Adam said. “My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old house she lived in. I’ve forgotten most of them.” He paused, wistful for a moment. “Well, I’m off to begin the defense of my new client.” Menley was feeding Hannah cereal. Adam kissed the top of Menley’s head and gave a friendly pat to Hannah’s foot. “You’re too messy to kiss, Toots,” he told her.
He hesitated, trying to decide whether or not to mention that he planned to walk past Elaine’s real estate agency and drop in on her if she was there. He decided not to say anything about it. He did not want Menley to know the reason for that visit.
* * *
Adam arrived at the Wayside Inn fifteen minutes before Covey was due. It was easy to spot Tina from Henry Sprague’s description. As he walked in, she was clearing a small table near the window. He asked the hostess to seat him there.
Very attractive in a showy way, he thought as he took the menu from her. Tina had shiny dark hair, lively brown eyes, a pink-and-white complexion and perfect teeth that were displayed in a radiant smile. An unnecessarily tight uniform displayed every line of her rounded figure. Late twenties, he decided, and she’s been around.
Her cheery “Good morning, sir,” was followed by a frankly admiring stare. A phrase from the song “Paper Doll,” which his mother used to sing, popped into his mind: “flirty, flirty eyes . . .” Tina definitely had flirty, flirty eyes, he decided.
“Just coffee for now,” he said. “I’m waiting for someone.”
Scott Covey came in exactly at nine. From across the room, Adam watched his expression change when he realized Tina would be their waitress. But when he sat down and she came over with the menu, he accepted it without acknowledging her, and she likewise gave no outward sign of recognition, saying merely, “Good morning, sir.”
They both ordered juice, coffee and a Danish. “I don’t have much appetite these days,” Covey said quietly.
“You’ll have even less if you play games with me,” Adam warned.
&n
bsp; Covey looked startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Tina was clearing a nearby table. Adam nodded toward her. “It means that the police know that you met that lovely young lady in the Cheshire Pub before your wife died, and that she may have been in your house.”
“Henry Sprague.” Covey looked disgusted.
“Henry Sprague knew you hadn’t just bumped into her at the pub. But if you hadn’t given him a cock-and-bull story about her being in the cast of the play at the Cape Playhouse, he wouldn’t have said anything to the detective. And how does Mrs. Sprague know Tina?”
“She doesn’t.”
“Phoebe knew enough to call her by name. How often has Tina been at your house?”
“Once. She dropped by when Viv was missing. That Sprague woman doesn’t know what she’s doing. It’s pretty spooky to see her staring in the window or opening the door and walking in. Since she got so bad, she gets confused about the houses. She must have been hanging around when Tina came that one time. Don’t forget, Adam, a lot of people dropped by in those weeks.”
“What was your relationship with Tina before your wife died?”
“Absolutely none from the minute I met Viv. Before that, yes. Last year when I was working in the office at the playhouse I was dating her.”
Adam raised an eyebrow. “Dating?”
“I was involved with her.” Scott Covey looked anguished. “Adam, I was single. She was single. Look at her. Tina’s a party girl. We both knew it was going nowhere, that when the season was over I’d be leaving. She used to work at the Daniel Webster Inn in Sandwich. It’s just hard luck that she got a job here and Viv and I ran into her. She called me that one time, to ask me to meet her for a drink. She came to the house to tell me how sorry she was about Viv. That’s all.”
Tina was heading toward them with the coffeepot. “Another cup, sir?” she asked Scott.
“Tina, this is my attorney, Adam Nichols,” Scott said. “He’s going to represent me. You know the rumors.”
She looked uncertain and said nothing.
“It’s all right, Tina,” Scott told her. “Mr. Nichols knows we’re old friends, that we used to date and that you stopped by the house to offer condolences.”
“Why did you want to meet Scott in the Cheshire Pub that day when Henry Sprague was there?” Adam asked.
She looked directly at him. “When Scott left the Cape at the end of the season last year, I never heard from him again. Then when he came in here with his wife, I was furious. I thought he’d been seeing her while we were going together. But that wasn’t true. He met her at the end of the summer. I just needed to hear that.”
“I would suggest you make sure that you tell the police that story,” Adam said, “because you’re going to be questioned by the police. I will have another coffee and the check, please.”
When she left the table, Adam leaned across to Scott. “Listen as you’ve never listened before. I have agreed to represent you but I must tell you there are a lot of negative factors piling up. At your expense, I’m going to put an investigator on this.”
“An investigator! Why?”
“His job will be to do exactly the same fieldwork the Chatham police are engaged in. If there’s a grand jury hearing, we can’t afford surprises. We need to see the autopsy pictures, the diving gear your wife was wearing, know the currents that day, find other boaters to testify about nearly being swamped because the storm came up so fast.”
He paused as Tina laid down the check and left again; then he resumed. “We need more witnesses like Elaine who can testify to how great your marriage was. And finally my investigator is going to investigate you just as the cops are doing right now. If you’ve got any blemishes in your background, I need to know them and be able to explain them away.”
He glanced at the bill and pulled out his wallet.
“Here, let me.” Scott reached for it.
Adam smiled. “Don’t worry. It’s on the expense account.”
As they walked down the outside steps of the inn, the blue Chevy Adam had seen leaving the Spragues’ pulled up and parked. “Tina has a visitor,” Adam said dryly as Detective Coogan got out of the car and walked into the restaurant.
30
A my arrived at nine-thirty. After greeting Menley, instead of going immediately to Hannah she lingered by the refectory table, which was now piled with the books and files Menley was planning to sort through.
“Mrs. Nichols, my dad and Elaine had some people over for a barbecue last night, and Scott Covey was there. He’s gorgeous!”
So that’s the reason for the bright eyes this morning, Menley thought. “He certainly is,” she agreed..
“I’m glad Mr. Nichols is going to represent him. He’s so nice, and the police are giving him a hard time.”
“That’s what we understand.”
“It’s weird to think that he and his wife were looking at this house only a day or two before she died.”
“Yes, it is.”
“He talked to me for a while. His mother died and he has a stepmother. He told me that at first he wouldn’t let himself like her and then afterwards he was sorry he had wasted so much time being mean to her. They’re really close.”
“I’m glad he told you that, Amy. Does it make you feel a little better about your dad getting married?”
She sighed. “I guess so. Listening to him made me believe it will be okay.”
Menley got up from the table and put her hands on the young girl’s shoulders. “It will be better than okay. You’ll see.”
“I guess so,” Amy said. “It’s just . . . no, it’ll be all right. I just want my dad to be happy.”
Hannah was in the playpen, examining a rattle. Now she shook it vigorously.
Menley and Amy looked down at her and laughed. “Hannah does not like to be ignored,” Menley said. “Why don’t you put her in the carriage and sit outside for a while?”
When they left, she opened the Sprague files, stacked the contents on the refectory table and began to try to put the papers and books and clippings in some kind of order. It was a treasure chest of historical research. There were copies of letters that dated back to the sixteen hundreds. There were bills and genealogies and old maps and page upon page of memos Phoebe Sprague had made, noting their sources.
Menley found files marked with dozens of categories, among them SHIPWRECKS; PIRATES; MOONCUSSERS; MEETING ROOMS; HOUSES; SEA CAPTAINS. As Henry Sprague had warned, the papers within the files were far from orderly. They were simply there, some folded, some torn scraps, some with highlighted paragraphs.
Menley decided to glance into each file to get a sense of its contents and try to establish an overall picture. She was also on the alert for any mention of Captain Andrew Freeman, in hopes of learning more about Remember House.
An hour later she came across the first one. In the file marked HOUSES there was a reference to a house being built by Tobias Knight for Captain Andrew Freeman. “A dwelling house of goodly size, so as to house the chatles he has transported.” The year was 1703. That must refer to this house, Menley thought.
Further back in that file she found a copy of a letter Captain Freeman had written to Tobias Knight, directing the construction of the house. One sentence stood out: “Mehitabel, my wife, be of gentle size and strength. Let the boards be tightly joined so no unseemly draft penetrate to chill her.”
Mehitabel. That was the unfaithful wife. “Of gentle size and strength,” Menley thought. “. . . so that no unseemly draft penetrate to chill her.” Why would any woman deceive a man who cared for her like that? She pushed back the chair, got up, walked to the front parlor and looked out. Amy had placed the carriage almost at the end of the bluff and was sitting by it, reading.
How long had Mehitabel lived in this house? Menley wondered. Was she ever in love with Captain Freeman? When he was due to return home from a voyage, did she ever go up to the widow’s walk to watch for him?
She had asked
Adam about the small railed platform that crowned the roofs of many old Cape houses. He’d told her they were called widow’s walks because in the early days, when a sea captain was expected home, his wife would keep a vigil there, straining her eyes for the first sight of his ship’s masts appearing over the horizon. So many vessels did not return that in time the platforms became known as widow’s walks.
She mused that the one on this house must command a sweeping view of the ocean. She could imagine a slender young woman standing on it. It would be one of the sketches she would make to illustrate the book.
Then she smiled as she looked out at the carriage where Hannah was sleeping in the sunshine. She felt suddenly calm and at peace. I’ll be fine, she thought. I worry too much. Work always puts me back on balance.
She returned to the kitchen and began to go through more files and compile her own lists—names typical of the times; descriptions of clothing; references to weather.
It was quarter past twelve when she glanced at the clock. I’d better think about lunch, she decided and went out to fetch Amy and Hannah.
Hannah was still fast asleep. “This air is like a sedative, Amy,” Menley said, smiling. “When I think of the way this kid wouldn’t close an eye for the first six weeks of her life!”
“She was unconscious the minute the carriage started rolling,” Amy said. “I should charge you half price.”
“Not a bit of it. You being here meant I’ve had a wonderful couple of hours. The files I’ve been studying have terrific background material.”
Amy looked at her curiously. “Oh, I thought I caught a glimpse of you standing up there.” She pointed to the widow’s walk.
“Amy, except for a few minutes looking out the downstairs window, I haven’t budged until just now.” Shading her eyes, Menley looked up at the widow’s walk. “There’s a strip of metal on the left chimney. The way the sun is hitting it, it looks as though something is moving.”