Atkins, Genevieve, was a scientist, a Nobel Prize winner in the 1960s, recognized for her work on what sounded like something akin to global warming, which back then was called the greenhouse effect. She traveled the world, but her home was in Tisbury. Annie recognized the name, but hadn’t known of her island roots. The contents of the envelope documented a number of events when Ms. Atkins was a featured speaker at the Tabernacle. Annie skimmed the articles, but saw no mention of the woman’s personal life.
Atkins, Clive, had been a cemetery caretaker for four of the six island towns, the exceptions being Chilmark and Gay Head. Several articles reported various cemetery situations—upkeep and gravestone-cleaning records, bits of history, names of young people he’d run off for partying among the plots. There was also an obituary. Clive Atkins of West Tisbury died in 1984. Though no wife, children, or siblings were mentioned, the article noted that he left a niece, Mary Rose, of Kennebunk, Maine.
If this were a Friday evening in the late 1970s, when Annie sometimes went with her mother to their church’s parish hall, she would have shoutedBingo!and stepped forward to collect her prize: two jars of strawberry preserves; a loaf of banana nut bread; potholders made on a square metal loom. Various church ladies would have made them all.
YellingBingo!, however, did not feel appropriate within the confines of the historicGazettelibrary, especially since Bella would probably echo her in a loud, screeching voice.
After putting everything back neatly, Annie thanked Hilary, packed up Bella (again) and carted her, her coloring masterpieces, Mr. Bear, and the lump of clay down the narrow staircase and out the front door, all the while thinking the stop had been well worth her time, after all, as she now knew that Rex Winsted was not a hardened criminal—or, at least, not on the Vineyard—and that Mary Rose Atkins could quite possibly be her Rose . . . and have an island tie. Which was (hopefully) enough to satisfy Annie’s curiosity so that she could put her nosiness to rest and let everyone just be themselves.
Besides, if she wanted to know more about Rex, she could go straight to the one person who would know him best—Taylor. It might give her another shot at befriending Taylor, a consolation prize for having struck out with Abigail. And if it worked, maybe in the process Annie would ease Kevin’s situation with his wife.
But as she opened the back door to the Jeep, Annie thought she heard Murphy whisper,Tread lightly, my friend.
Or perhaps she’d only imagined it.
Chapter 12
The car is a rental, a nondescript thing with Oklahoma plates so most people on the island will figure it came from the airport. It’s a compact gray one, which was a brainstorm on my part because it would hardly stick out among the few people who trek over to Chappaquiddick in November unless they belong there.
I decided to go over and look around the place to see what I could find. Just look, you know? No harm, no foul.
So I went today. I kept a camera on the front seat. If anybody tried to make conversation, I was going to say I’m a freelance wildlife photographer. Who’d argue with that?
Anyway, nobody asked, not even the captain of theOn Time.
I found my way around without a problem. I even parked the car a couple of times and took a few pictures in case anyone was watching. It wasn’t hard. But it was a little scary. And yet, I think it was a good trial run.
Sometimes, though, I wonder what I’m doing here and why I feel so compelled to do this.
Chapter 13
Annie’s minor success at theGazettegave her the boost she needed to get back to work on her inventory for the Fair. Which was great, because she not only loved creating the soaps and the artistic packaging, she also loved having a booth at local events, getting to know her fellow islanders better, and meeting happy shoppers who wanted island-made creations.
The boost also helped because it was already Wednesday, and she needed to be ready by a week from Friday. Ten days, really nine. Not much time. So she put everything else on the back burner of her imagination, except trying to improve her relationship with Taylor. Because helping her brother had to be a top priority.
But first, Annie called Trish again because she still hadn’t heard back and she was getting concerned. “ASAP,” Trish had said. “In other words, now.” But again, Annie was diverted to voice mail. Hoping that whatever had been urgent a week ago had either been resolved or no longer mattered, Annie—recharged and refreshed—left a quick message, saying she’d understand if Trish couldn’t make the wedding. Then she got back to work.
It was after eleven o’clock before she got around to calling Taylor. Four rings later, the woman answered. She sounded winded, as if it were the old days when people had to run to the phone from somewhere else because they didn’t have the luxury of a cell phone in their pocket.
Annie asked if she wanted to have lunch tomorrow at the cottage. “I don’t know what we’ll have, but I’ll come up with something.”
“What’s the occasion?” Taylor asked. As with many of her sister-in-law’s comments, it came out sounding caustic.
“I just thought it would give us the chance to talk without the gang around,” Annie said. “And I’d really like to ask your opinion about a few things for the wedding.” Until that moment, Annie had no intention of saying that—maybe Murphy had swung by unannounced and dropped the idea into her mind.
They agreed on one o’clock. Then Annie decided to walk up to the Inn and see what she could cobble together for lunch the next day; she hoped she wouldn’t have to go to Edgartown to shop.
She went in the back door, through the mudroom, past the laundry room, and into theHouse Beautiful–worthy kitchen. All was eerily off-season quiet, when year-round tenants and winter renters were all at work. Or had gone wherever they went, which would apply to Rose. Niece of the late Clive Atkins of West Tisbury. Or so it seemed.
Opening the door to the big refrigerator and staring inside, trying to will an appropriate gastronomical choice to step forward, Annie suddenly heard a small sound—a scurrying? —coming from the chef’s room.
She glanced in that direction; the door was closed.
Rationalizing that the subtle noise was due to either the heating system kicking on or by someone—Francine? A tenant? —crossing the upstairs hallway above the kitchen, Annie decided to ignore it.
Until she heard it again.
Then she felt certain that, yes, it was coming from inside the chef’s room. The door to which Francine kept closed only when she wasn’t there.
