Chapter Fourteen
Taylor didn't move. She sat still except for her head, which was down and her shoulders moving with silent crying. Seth looked on as Willie Mac gently wrapped his arms about Taylor's shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Willie lowered his mouth to her ear and murmured something into it. Seth saw her nod and give a sigh. After a moment, her whole body went limp and Willie gently laid her sleeping form back into the chair. Seth's only reaction was to raise his eyebrow and to gently reach over and take her pulse. It was steady.
"If they bottled you as a tonic young man, you'd make a fortune," said Seth softly.
"Ach, I'd 'ave to pose shirtless for the label and I am prone to drafts. Wouldn't want to catch a chill now, would I?"
Tipper stayed up with Taylor while Seth and Willie Mac went downstairs with the others. She had known from Anthony's tone of voice that he was going to come to Cabot Cove to hear it from Taylor himself. She had tried to tell him that it would be the worst thing he could do – no good could come of it. But it was that damnable noble spirit. The group that had created Nightshade had resurfaced, and they had photographic proof the woman who had become close to Anthony was involved with them by the jewelry she wore. He cautioned Tipper to look for it on anyone that tried to come close to them.
In the hallway after closing the door to the room so as not to be overheard, Willie Mac turned to Seth and looked up to him.
"You should know that yesterday Taylor collapsed in my store, and it took a while for her color to improve. She said it happens more times than she is saying. Her heart was racing, and missing many a beat with premature ventricular contractions. She seems resigned to what has been happening, like there's na to be done. She's still young. Why ha ye na given her hope?"
"Young man, I am not accustomed to discussing my patients care with those who are not their relatives. The question is now, as I am familiar with all of the shops about here, which one do you own?"
"That which was called Nightshade, Dr. Hazlitt."
A knock at the door prompted Mort to go and open it, but instead of reporters he saw a young man in a brown uniform with a package for Jessica. Mort was going to sign for it, but the young man wanted Jessica to do it. He flushed when she wrote her name. "I've been a big fan of yours, Mrs. Fletcher, for many years," he gushed.
Jessica thanked him and carried the package into the house. She saw it was from the computer company and it was an external modem. Frank Jr. saw her looking rather perplexed with it as she put it on the end table. "I can help you with that later, Aunt Jessica," he piped up. She nodded, and returned to her guests.
Mort saw that all but a few of the reporters had withdrawn, realizing she wasn't at home, and were searching the town for where Taylor could be. Picking up his hat he went to Jessica and said, "I have some things I have to check on, Mrs. F. If you need anything, let me know…" He stepped up to her and gave her cheek a kiss, then nodding to Seth, he strode out the door to where the reporters were lingering.
Jessica saw Seth raise an eyebrow before turning his attention to Frank Jr. "Your appointment was to be today, but as things became a bit hectic this morning, how about we do things here?" he asked. Frank Jr. regarded him then nodded as Seth led him into the back parlor area.
They could hear Seth's voice speaking to Frank Jr. and his replies. Willie Mac turned and asked Jessica, "If you have any spare glass, I can fix the broken window before something else comes in…"
"There is some tucked behind the swing on the porch, as well as the clips to secure it. With Frank coming, well, his father broke many windows while learning to play baseball over the years… Thank you."
In the parlor area Seth had brought the basics for an eye test. He wasn't an ophthalmologist, but he had with him the tools to see if there was something functionally wrong with Frank's eyes. He couldn't prescribe glasses, but there was a good doctor in Portland who could and he would see that they got an appointment as soon as possible to be fitted with glasses. His father had preferred wire rims, but that would make most kids look a bit nerdish, as his granddaughter would say.
Seth held the paddle up to Frank. "Cover your right eye. Can you read this line?" he asked.
"E- W- L …"
"What about the next line?"
Mort went to his office and dug out of his files the business card that he had been given by Jessica several years before when she was traveling overseas. He compared it to the same one he had been given by Willie Mac and frowned. Willie's card had a different number listed under Met - 020 7233 4128. But the number for George was the same. His hand hesitated over the phone. It could be that he was bluffing, that everything Willie Mac had told them was the truth or that he could be as wicked to the bone as the rest of them. The thing was, if he was a confidence man, by passing the card to Mort to lend credibility to his story, he was counting on the average police officer not to follow up on it - the cost to call the UK alone would be prohibitive for most departments. Mort sat down in his chair and looked at the card again. Flipping his over he saw something that he had missed before when he had first placed the card in the file. He booted up his computer, logged on and began to type. It was ten minutes after he had hit the send button on the email that his phone rang. When Mort hung up the phone his face was troubled.
Tipper came down the steps and saw Willie Mac fixing the window. She could hear Seth giving Frank some sort of exam. Jessica was sitting at the table with the modem out of the box looking at the instructions. The tea was on the tray, untouched. Tipper snuck another look at Willie. She didn't know how Taylor managed to meet him, and as the door was closed between the kitchen and the back porch she was fairly certain that Willie wouldn't over hear what she had to tell Jessica.
Jess looked at Tipper. "Yes, I saw the book over at Taylor's house this morning. He also said upstairs that he wrote it after he came back from Cambridgeshire and Manchester."
She saw Tipper thinking. "Well, that makes sense," she said slowly. "His written English is flawless, but his dictation of the language is … unique."
"I noticed that too. I do know that my cousin Emma has the same speech patterns as he does, but when she is on the stage speaking in a role; her English can be from any quarter of the UK. I've taught students who were learning English, and who had spoken it, returned home, and then had to speak it again. They find it difficult to think in English, and to find the words. They hesitate and slip back into familiar patterns when it's not forced upon them. He seems to have a genuine concern regarding Taylor."
"One can hope for the 'happy ever after,' Jessica," she said turning her head to watch him work.
"And he isn't too shabby on the eyes either?" asked Jessica.
Tipper fought not to grin too hard. "Ayuh, you'd be right on that account," she said with a smile.
Tipper was just pouring the tea when Seth entered into the room. Jessica knew what was coming as he handed her a slip of paper. "I have made arrangements for you two to be taken to Portland this afternoon at 3 o'clock to meet with Dr. Samuels who is an ophthalmologist, and you may be able to fill Frank's eye glass prescription in a few days. From what I have been able to ascertain, it may be all corrected with glasses, and perhaps some eye exercises. He was ecstatic to be able to read very fine print with my bifocals. Hopefully…" he shrugged.
The door opened and Willie Mac entered into the kitchen. "Your window's in, and the glass is up off the riser. There are still a few reporters who are nosing about your neighbors' yards, but no more of them in yours, or Taylor's. She's still asleep, then?" he asked Tipper, who nodded.
"No, I'm up now," said her voice from the living room as she crossed the floor. She had dressed and had her shoes in her hands. "We have a lot to do today," she said to Willie,
"What did you have in mind?" asked Tipper, suddenly interested. "I have the next 3 days off, can I help?"
Seth, showing an interest in seeing what was planned, offered to drive them to the shop, and, as he put it mildly, "Make a fast get-away if the press is hanging around." That left Jessica and Frank, who did want to go, but understood that he would need to get ready for the eye exam in the afternoon, and didn't want to lose track of time. Besides, there was the trip to the library to use the computers that he so desperately wanted to log on to so he could see what was happening. He saw the modem on the table.
"Is that all you need to be hooked up?" he asked, curious, after they had left. Jessica nodded. "Piece of cake," he said, picking it up and looking at his aunt.
She took a breath. "All right. If we can get this working, for today you may check your web site."
Frank started for the door, then waited as Jessica reached in her pocket and pulled out the key.
"Why do you keep it locked?" he asked. "Because of me?"
Jessica shook her head. "No. The hasp has problems staying unlocked. There is a spring missing, and it's just become easier to carry the key than to have the lock replaced."
Frank unplugged the computer and then the old modem, and re-plugged in everything in proper order. In a few moments they were online and he was entering in his passwords. Jessica was curious and stood behind him as he clicked on the entrance to one of the web message boards.
"Huh?" he said out loud.
"What is it?" she asked, curious at his disappointment.
He turned in the chair and looked at her. "It's all gone. Everything. No explanation, either." Rubbing his chin he hit the back button and tried the second link to his personal message area. There were twenty PMs from several different people. Curious, he pulled up the one from the Moderator of the board that they were just on.
"Whoa…" was all he could say.
Jessica caught the tone of the message and turned his chair around. "Frank, tell me exactly what is going on. Why is he so upset with you? What did you do?" she said, trying to be very calm about what she had read over his shoulder. The moderator was furious and using language that even as an English teacher she had to think of what the meanings were. She also saw that the moderator wasn't conjugating his verbs and nouns properly.
"The last thing that I told him was that I was going to think about what was being done on the board, and that he would have my decision shortly."
"Is there anyone here that you know that can tell you what happened?" she asked, concerned.
"Yeah, Dot would know. And I don't see any PMs from Dot…" he said, before going to the button that said "new message." He waited until it opened and then typed in, "What da heck happened?" in the Message title area followed by, "Dot - I've missed exactly what happened on the boards, when I had a chance today just now to check them, everything was wiped out. My PM box is filled with most of the people in the group saying that I am a lame-ass idiot. What do they think I did? I was shipped off to my great aunt's house for the summer and between a bad modem and a power failure at the library, I haven't been able to go online. If you texted me, my phone is back home, it's out of range up here. Please let me know. Thanks, QuillGoi"
"Kill Joy?" Jess said with a bit of amusement in her eyes.
"They kept calling me that because I kept telling them what they were doing was wrong. I can't show you the boards, but I can show you how it started." Frank went back to the home page and did a Google search of a few terms. He clicked a link and the page opened to show a photograph of a beautiful red haired girl wearing a white v-neck cotton blouse. A thin chain hung around her neck with a triangle shaped pendent. Frank stood up. "It takes a while to read, Aunt Jessica, so you'd better sit down."
Midway through Frank handed Jessica a box of tissues. When she final was done, she clicked back to the PM area, but there was no answer from Dot. She logged off, and then turned off the computer. She glanced at her watch. "Oh, our ride will be here in 45 minutes, we'd better get ready." Frank didn't move. Jessica looked at him.
"I understand, and I will help you in every way I can while you are here to find out who murdered that young woman. I won't make you go to the library to do it, but I will be right beside you when you log on until you log off, is that understood?"
"Thank you," he said in a small voice, nodding his head. He looked at her "Am I really a lame dumb-ass?"
"No, you're not. But when people get upset they say things. It's hard to say 'I am sorry I was wrong,' and often they will not say it in the same place that they became angry in. Don't hold your breath waiting for an apology, either. Some people are so head-strong they don't understand how words affect people when they are not said face to face."
"Nice to know that some adults are mature about things," he said, keeping a straight face.
Seth sat down on a packing crate and folded t-shirts to go inside of it. The more he saw and listened to Willie Mac, the more he had questions for him regarding how Nightshade had become such a monster.
Thankfully, the lower basement area had been cleaned out by the DEA. Only a few boxes needed to be carried up the steps by Tipper and Willie before everything was all in the front room.
"Last is the sign to be taken down. I don't want anything to do with it," said Willie Mac. He noticed that Taylor was not in the main room where she had been previously placing labels on the boxes. He heard a gentle sweeping upstairs. Seth saw his anxious glance in the direction of the sound.
Tipper placed her hand on his shoulder. "She often does as she darn well pleases."
"Ah, I haven't met a lady who doesn't," he said. "Right, who has the hammer so we can have a go at the sign?"
Taylor went from room to room sweeping up years of dust and small insect bodies that she would rather not think about where they came from or what they were. She heard the sounds of pounding outside and stole a glance out the window, watching Willie as he removed the nails that held the sign for the shop. Last night after they had eaten, she had taken him up to where the spare bedroom was. He had said sleeping on the floor was fine for him, or even in a chair, just as long as he knew she was okay. She had smiled, and lifting his hand placed it over her heart which was beating steady. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it softly. Maybe what Seth said was true. Maybe it was the accent, or his clothing which made him look all the more like a romantic figure from the past. Maybe it was the look of tenderness in his eyes as he tucked her into bed and kissed her forehead, bidding her to sleep.
There was the sound of the hammer coming down wrong and a long string of words in a language that she didn't understand. She looked out the window to see Willie nursing his thumb. The last blow had freed the sign. Giving it a wrench Willie lowered it to where Tipper was waiting. He looked up, his thumb still in his mouth and saw her in the window holding the broom, the wind gently blowing her hair. He caught his breath. She was beautiful. For a moment he didn't move until he heard Tipper asking the same question three times. He looked down to answer it, and then looked up. Taylor had moved from the window. Climbing down the ladder he put the hammer into the tool box and breathed a sigh of relief.
"Now what?" asked, dusting her hands off as Seth dragged the sign into the store.
"Well, I canna ask ye to help with the scrub down and linseeding the floors. And there's dinner to be taken care of, it's getting to be that time. Tomorrow two trucks will arrive, one in the morning, to haul this away, and the afternoon one, to bring in the other things…" He sat down on a crate. "I canna believe that this nightmare is almost over," he said wiping away sudden tears.
"What will you do now? This place is zoned commercial - not residential," said Seth, easing himself onto another trunk. "Even before, the people who ran this shop didn't stay here - the upper rooms of this place always became beastly hot over the summer and ghastly cold in the winter. There isn't any insulation to speak of, and the wiring in this place wouldn't support a coffee maker."
"He will be staying with me," said Taylor as she came down the steps. Tipper saw Seth's jaw hit the floor.
"Young lady …" Seth began.
Taylor raised her hand and stopped his reply. "You said yourself that I should have someone stay with me just in case. Well, the way I see it, it's a win-win for both of us: Willie has a place to stay, and I won't be alone when I die, and after, well, he can stay there if he wishes. I've been very lucky these last few years. Being here in Cabot Cove has given me an extension on my life, but I've come to realize it's been rather empty. You all have been wonderful friends and you have your own lives, going to your homes at the end of the day, you still have your family at the other end of the phone line. I just have Sydney."
Mort found himself pacing outside of Jessica's house waiting for them to return. With relief he saw the taxi pull up and Frank helping Jessica out of the back of the taxi before handing him the money for the fair. He saw Frank had heavy sunglasses over a natty pair of thicker wire rim glasses. Jessica sent him ahead to open the door with her key and faced Mort.
"What is it?" she asked softly. Frank watched as the two adults spoke, then she nodded and thanked Mort.
Mort was about to get in his car to go down to where the Nightshade shop was when Seth's car came down the street and pulled up behind Mort's. Willie and Taylor got out of the back of the car, Tipper out of the front. Seth turned off the engine when he saw Mort standing there with his hat in his hand. Getting out of the car he saw Mort walk up to Willie Mac and incline his head to Taylor's home. Seth knew something was wrong, and he and Tipper followed.
Mort indicated they were to sit down. He paced for a moment then said, "I have to admit, I was more than a bit curious and skeptical about you, Willie Mac, especially when you have two different names. That card from Scotland Yard had me for a while as well. The budget of Cabot Cove's sheriff department doesn't allow much for long distance phone cards, but the internet service can go world wide. I also happen to have the email address for George Sutherland, who does know you, and your family. He was kind enough to make some calls to the University of Cambridge, and to Manchester. I also put in calls to Coventry House, who wouldn't discuss exactly what the terms of the settlement were."
"And?" Seth said impatiently.
"Willie Mac did go to and graduated with his doctorate in medical biology and Herbology 5 yrs ago with high honors. They remember him very well, as he was the only student to walk into the green house on campus and correctly identify every plant inside by their botanical designation, and their common name in two other languages as well as their use - including the weeds - prior to taking a single class. His height was another thing they remembered. Inspector Sutherland remembers him from not from the loss of the sword, but from the first time that the sword was used to murder his grandmother's last apprentice, Stephan Furhdaham, or, as it would be Americanized, Fordham, older brother of Kent Fordham who was arrested for his involvement in the Nightshade operation. It seems that there was a bit of a feud going on between the two families. No one would say how it was started, but the sword had been used quite a few times by both sides to kill off the other. Stephan was run through with that sword, but no one knows by whom. The blade was wiped clean, and your Gram's hands were incapable of holding the sword, let alone pushing it through him. You were back from school though. You saw what was going on, and how ill your Gram had become. You're a smart man as well - you knew who was responsible and why. You came home covered in blood, and the constable let you go. They took the sword only to check for the prints, and then gave it back to you. You wrote your book, and were out when Kent came to take photos and took the sword. I want to know why they looked the other way, and didn't take you in for the murder The report on the murder said it was the same blood type as his on your clothing - and why they didn't help you recover the sword if you knew who had it."
"I dinna kill Stephen, as much as I loathed him and his family. The blood on m' shirt wasn't his. It was from Lucy Donahue. Gram was ill, Stephen was drugged out of his mind, and Lucy was in labor. Her Da came for a healer, and I was the only one who could come. Stephen was the father of tha' wee babe. The constable only had to go to look, and knew I was there. Lucy almost died giving birth. As for who did it, the only one who knew that Stephen was the father was her father. The laws are particular when it comes to the rights of a father for the dishonor of family. Lucy ha' just turned 15. I'm na saying that Lucy's father did the killing - there were others Stephen had taken to bed. Stephen was twice her age. There is a saying, they have, tha if you can't kill them off, you can knock it out of them. Do ye know wha' that means, Sheriff?" Mort gave a nod.
"The sword ha' been in my family for 3000 years. In tha' time, yes, it has helped to settle feuds between the two families. He who held the sword, held the land. It was passed down from father to son and the birthrights were placed in the handle each generation. For you, if your country's wars last 10 years it seems like a very long time. The war to keep the sword has lasted 500 years, and we had kept it. Gram, when she said he could take the photographs of it, gave Kent the words he said to remove it from the house, and none would help get it back because it was not their place. The jewels tha' were woven on the hilt and that horrid Triangle hourglass were from his family crest. He was remaking the sword as he would have had it cast. If I wanted my birthright, I had to find it, and get it back myself. I returned the stones, I am na a thief, nor would be called one for keeping them. It is why he had it on display in every shop, on every book cover, to taunt me to come, and to hide his trail. He even had the contract written for the shops that Sutton House owned everything in the shop at the time that they would close. It is why I have returned everything to them. The murder and the sword being locked up at the time that the shops closing was the only thing that prevented Kent's family from reclaiming the sword - it wasn't in the shop when the company folded up. It fell to me, though, to do the work that they would not, and though they may hope that the sword has been packed away, they know it has not now."
"If you're innocent, once you had the sword, why didn't you go back?" asked Seth.
"He can't go back, not ever. It's because he didn't use the sword to avenge his father's death at the hands of Stephan's father," said Tipper softly. "I did jump to the end of the book, and it said as much," she admitted.
"A healer does na use his hands for harm. When asked, a healer must teach and put all else aside. Though I have claimed my birthright, I am a healer, and I canna use the sword. I canna fight for the land that I have taken back by the edge of the sword. Only my children can, and I am without issue. But for my Gram, it is enough for her to know that hope lives on. Kent Fordham is the last of his family's line, as I am the last of my family. None who were by Stephen were ever claimed by him before his death… they weren't quite right, you see, and none were male to carry on his line."
Taylor had been sitting in silence the whole time listening to what was being said. She watched Mort look at Willie Mac, then nod.
"All right. I believe you. Maybe it's from years of working with Mrs. Fletcher that I am beginning to think like her. If Scotland Yard says you haven't done anything wrong, I won't say otherwise. What I want to know is, will this feud be carried over by Fordham's followers?"
"I can't answer that, Sheriff. I don't know if they understand what it's all about, or if they would know the rules. Unless he has issue that he has claimed, and there is a record of their birth father, then it comes to the end with the passing of his father."
Tipper stood up and dusted off her jeans. "Well, if that's all, Sheriff, it's been a long day and I have to get home to feed my brood before they eat the canary."
Seth stood too. "Ayuh, tomorrow is another long day, Mort. Don't you have arm wrestling practice with Adele tonight?"
Mort shot Seth a glance. "Only if you're going to be available to reset my shoulder again. He saw Seth smile as he nodded to Willie Mac and Taylor. "Good night, you two."
Taylor walked them to the door and thanked them for their help today. When they had pulled away from the curb, she locked the door and put the blind into place. She saw Willie Mac standing in the door frame. He had a perplexed look on his face.
"Why would your Sheriff be working with Mrs. Fletcher?"