A new day dawns on the great estate at Collinwood. A stiff wind blows as a herald of the powerful force that has been reintroduced to the estate. Four desperate people have summoned a formidable sorceress to aid them, knowing the risks of unleashing an unpredictable element among the populace of the town of Collinsport and the residents of the great estate. Though each has misgivings, none of them has more than Maggie Collins. For she has faced the sorceress's jealous wrath and was nearly destroyed by it.
Maggie sat in the dining room of the Inn with Professor Stokes. She came here often now—sometimes with Quentin for dinner after work or a late supper after a movie, sometimes she met Professor Stokes there for afternoon tea, once David and Amy's lessons were done for the day. On this day, she met the professor for a late morning repast. It still felt odd to her to frequent the dining room of the Inn, after so many years of working in the adjoining, more downscale coffee shop.
Mrs. Stoddard and Carolyn had taken David and Amy for an overnight trip to Bangor, leaving Maggie free for two days. So when Professor Stokes called, she drove into town to meet him. She felt vaguely guilty about enjoying her freedom, but the feeling was tempered by the need to help the professor. He was tasked with watching over Angelique.
"So, where is she?" Maggie asked.
Professor Stokes took a long sip of coffee then answered. "She is still upstairs. She had the dress shop send over a variety of clothing, from which she'll select a wardrobe for her stay in this time."
The evening before, the four co-conspirators who summoned Angelique to 1969, decided that she would be introduced as Professor Stokes's niece, visiting from Martinique. The latter detail, Angelique had insisted must be a part of her fabricated history. Julia had suggested that she stay hidden at the Old House, but Angelique rejected it out of hand.
"I'm sorry, Professor. I know it's more than you bargained for," Maggie told him sympathetically.
"It is I who am sorry, my dear. There are matters I must attend to at the university this afternoon. I'm afraid I'll have to entrust her to your watchful eye."
Maggie's face fell. She drew a deep breath. "If I must, but what am I going to do with her? She can barely stand the sight of me … and I …"
"Ah, my ears are burning," Angelique said as she approached their table. She was wearing one of the outfits sent over by the dress shop—a tan skirt with a box pleat, and a floral top that Maggie would never wear, but seemed to suit the sorceress. The professor stood. "My dear uncle," Angelique said loudly enough to attract the eyes of a couple at a neighboring table. She bestowed an unexpected peck on the professor's cheek. He pulled out a chair, silently inviting her to sit. "I hope there is still coffee in that pot," she said indicating the coffee pot on the table.
The professor signaled the waitress and asked for a fresh pot.
When the waitress left, Angelique began in a more subdued tone, "I should like to meet the demon's current host today."
"I don't think that's wise," Professor Stokes responded. "You are our secret weapon against it. If you tip your hand …"
Angelique's eyes sparkled to an impossible hue. "You worry too much, dear Uncle," she crooned and gently patted his arm. "Besides, I need something to occupy my time."
Maggie struggled to suppress her irritation when the professor's cheeks stained pink. "I think Julia had the right idea," Maggie began. "You should stay at the Old House until it's time to do the exorcism," she added in a hushed voice.
"Stay at the Old House until the full moon?" Angelique said in an imperious tone.
"The full moon?" Maggie echoed.
"Yes. Tell her, Professor—I mean, Uncle," Angelique said, but went on before the professor could speak. "The power of the full moon will aid me. And there is something else I will require." She waited until Maggie asked.
"What?" she sighed as much as asked.
"You must bring together the host, its vessel, and Quentin on the night of the full moon. Then I will exorcise this demon, free Quentin, and take what is mine in payment," Angelique continued, her tone unchanged.
"Of course—the vessel. Evan Hanley did say that it was forced back into its vessel," Maggie said.
"Evan Hanley? What has he to do with this?" Angelique asked.
Professor Stokes took charge, drawing the witch's eyes to his. He again acknowledged to himself that he found them quite disarming. Still he dissembled. "We contacted him through a séance. It's how we learned what we are dealing with."
Angelique rewarded the older man with a deeply dimpled smile. "You continue to impress, Professor, especially for a descendent of Ben Stokes."
"And you continue to underestimate the Stokes family, my dear Angelique. Ben Stokes," he began proudly, "managed to transcend the curse of the Collins family and survived the lot of you. He was the best and most honest chronicler of the Collins family. It is thanks to him that the truth is known to some, even if not to everyone."
"Why Professor, you almost make me proud to be a member of the Stokes family." Angelique's laugh belied the look in her eyes.
"Ahem." The professor was spared from having to mount a further defense of his family name, as Roger Collins approached their table. "Eliot, Maggie—I was at the host's stand making a dinner reservation and I couldn't leave without paying my respects," Roger said with remarkable, yet characteristic formality. When his eyes fell on Angelique's blond hair, he added, "to you and?"
Professor Stokes said, "Allow me to introduce my niece, Miss Angelique Bouchard. Angelique, Roger Collins."
Roger moved around the table to face Angelique. His face went pale when he beheld her. "Mr. Collins," Angelique greeted him as though she'd never met him before. "A pleasure to meet you."
Roger stared for an inappropriately long moment. Then fumbled to say, "Forgive me. You remind me of someone … I … I was taken aback by the resemblance."
"Indeed," Angelique said.
"Yes. You could be her sister, but for the difference in coloring," Roger said, a shadow passing over his features.
"I believe there is a saying to the effect that everyone has a double somewhere in the world. How disconcerting that mine should be so close at hand!" she burbled lightly.
"Have you visited Collinsport before?" Roger asked.
"Why, no. I'm afraid not," Angelique responded with her smile firmly fixed in place.
Joe's tale lurked in the back of Roger's mind, but he found that her eyes and her smile cast a spell of their own. He cleared his throat and continued, "So you've come to visit your uncle. Are you staying long?"
"I've not fixed a date for my return home, but I'll be here for at least another week, perhaps two."
"Well," Roger said in a warm tone, "you've come to Maine at a lovely time of year."
"Collinwood, Collinsport and Roger Collins? I take it you are a member of the namesake family," Angelique purred.
Roger laughed, "Guilty as charged." He continued proudly, "Our family has been here since the 17th century. It founded the local businesses and the town that grew up around them. The estate has many lovely walks and drives. If it's not too forward of me, I'd love to show you the Collinwood estate."
Professor Stokes intervened. "Don't forget, my dear niece," he said to Angelique, "that you agreed to assist me with my research."
Angelique batted her lashes at the professor. "How could I forget, Uncle Eliot? But surely there's time enough for me to take Mr. Collins up on his generous offer."
"Of course," Stokes acquiesced, rather than appear boorish in front of Roger.
"It's settled then. I happen to be free this afternoon, if you're not otherwise engaged," Roger said.
"I'm not," Angelique said with a deceptively coy smile.
"Very well. I'll pick you up here at three o'clock, we'll go for a drive, and then dinner, if that's all right with your uncle," Roger said, appealing to Stokes with an eager look.
Stokes responded with a shrug, but added in a gracious tone, "Of course. I'm glad my niece has something to occupy her time, other than serving as my research assistant."
"It's settled then," Roger said.
Maggie folded her arms across her chest, grateful, at least, that David was not there to witness his father so blatantly on the make with his former wife's doppelganger.
The next morning, Maggie, still in her peignoir, kissed Quentin at the farmhouse door. "I wish you could stay here with me today," she told him enticingly.
"Oh?" he replied with a raised eyebrow.
"Um hm," she hummed seductively, drawing him into her embrace.
He mustered his resistance to her charm. "So, what will you do today?" he asked to tamp down his baser impulses.
"I suppose I'll check in with Professor Stokes to see if he needs help babysitting Angelique."
"I doubt it. Roger seems to have that well in hand. I think he'll do any babysitting that's necessary," Quentin told her.
"That's what I'm afraid of, but at least it might keep her out of the way while we figure out how to get our hands on the puzzle-box. Other than that, I don't have any plans for the day. Maybe I'll take a long bubble bath and finally finish that mystery I've been reading."
"You could spend every day that way if you quit your job," he said.
With everything else that had overtaken their lives in recent days, their previous disagreements seemed mundane. She smiled and surprised him by not resuming their previous argument and saying instead, "I hadn't thought of it that way."
After Quentin drove down the drive and out of sight, Maggie went inside, called Professor Stokes, and made arrangements to meet him that afternoon.
They met for afternoon tea, not at the Inn, but in the Professor's sitting room. The professor had placed a decanter of sherry and three stemmed sherry glasses on the coffee table. Before Maggie could inquire about the third glass, there was a knock at the door.
"I've asked Julia to join us," the professor said. "I know that you two are at odds at the moment, but she is a valuable ally."
"It's fine," Maggie mumbled in response.
Julia entered and removed her gloves; the professor helped her out of her coat. "Maggie" "Julia" was the full extent of the pleasantries between the two women. They assembled in the sitting room. Professor Stokes served the sherry then joined Julia on the couch.
"Where is Angelique?" Julia asked them.
The professor answered. "I believe Roger is taking her out again this afternoon. They're meeting at the Inn."
Julia's lips twisted into a sneer. "Do you think that's wise?"
"Decidedly not," the professor replied. "But I can hardly stop her. Besides, I suspect she can hold her own, as an accomplished liar is wont to do."
Maggie resisted the temptation to cast an accusatory glance in Julia's direction. "Maybe it's just as well that Angelique is otherwise occupied, so we can focus on the task at hand, which is finding out where Joe is hiding that box," Maggie said.
Both Professor Stokes and Julia fixed her with the same appraising look. Then Stokes said, "Indeed." His arched eyebrow allowed his monocle to tumble to his chest. "I was unsuccessful in my first attempt," he said, "but I will tread more carefully this time."
"That's out of the question, Eliot," Julia said decisively. "Last time, he nearly killed you."
"She's right," Maggie chimed in. "I should go to the cottage … maybe when we know he won't be there."
"Too risky," Julia said. "What if he returns while you're there?"
"I'll think up an excuse, or one of you can stand lookout," Maggie said.
"It could work," Julia said, dragging out the words as she thought. "But he could have hidden it anywhere—not necessarily at the cottage."
"True, but he'd want to keep it close by," Maggie said. "It's the logical place to start. I'll need to get the extra key from the cupboard in Mrs. Johnson's office. Then, we'll make sure he's still at work. We go in and search the place—neatly. In case we don't find it, we don't want him to know we've been there. If the three of us go together, two of us can quickly search for the box, while the third stands lookout."
Julia acknowledged that it was a good plan, but added, "And if we don't find it?"
Maggie responded, "Then we'll need a Plan B."
The three disconsolate co-conspirators convened in the Great House drawing room following their unsuccessful search, and Maggie began to formulate Plan B. The key was to gain Joe's trust. If, as Evan had told her, the demon and its host came together as one, the part that was Joe would still have feelings for her. She could go to him … and then what? Make dishonest overtures to him? Betray the spirit of her marriage to tempt him into revealing the location of the vessel? Time was running out and so were better options.
In the meantime, she suggested they disband for the evening—she to her husband, Professor Stokes to oversee Angelique, and Julia to check on Willie—all the while though, her mind kept coming back to one thought again and again—trust was the key.
The next afternoon, Amy put on her green coat and crept out of the Great House and into the woods. She claimed to have a headache, and said she was headed to her room to lie down. Instead, she walked through the woods to the cottage where her brother, Chris, once lived, and where her cousin Joe now called home.
Amy was still heartbroken by her brother's sudden departure from Collinwood. He had long kept her at arm's length—never asking her to live with him at the cottage, instead insisting that she'd be better off at the Great House. At least when he lived on the estate, she could see him. Now there was a hole in her life.
Then Joe was released from Windcliff Sanitarium, and Amy again hoped to have a family member in her life. But Joe had disappointed her too. He'd come back different somehow, remote and distant, and not like Joe at all. He'd run into her once at the Great House, but not sought her out. And as a child, she wasn't free to seek him out. She missed him—not the Joe who returned from Windcliff, but Joe, the way he was before he left—kind and friendly.
She approached the cottage, went to the front door, and knocked. There was no answer. She knocked again—harder this time, until her knuckles stung from the effort—still, no response. She looked through the window in the door. The cottage looked quiet and still; no fire burned in the fireplace. Then she went to the rear window, but found the curtains drawn. Joe was not there.
She returned to the front of the cottage. There was an old stone urn to the side of the door. She remembered when Chris moved in. She had called it an outdoor vase. Chris had laughed, but Amy didn't mind, because it wasn't a mean laugh. He was just amused. "It's called an urn," he told her. "This one is purely decorative, but I'm going to put it to good use," he said, as he tilted it up with one hand and slid his extra key underneath the urn's pedestal. He winked at Amy. "You know how forgetful I can be."
Amy stooped down and struggled to tip the urn. Something shiny gleamed underneath. Amy reached carefully under it, and used her thumb and forefinger to pull it out. Chris's extra key was still there, albeit dirty and gross. She dusted it off, inserted it into the keyhole, and turned the key. The door opened. Amy went inside and sat on the couch. She wished it were Chris living there instead of Joe. But Chris was gone and Joe was the only family she had left.
She curled up in the corner of the couch and hugged one of the pillows tight to her chest. She closed her eyes and thought about Chris—the sound of his voice, and the way she could always tell how he was feeling just by looking at his eyes …
"Hey, wake up!" Amy felt a strong hand shaking her shoulder. "Wake up. What are you doing here, Amy?"
Amy opened her eyes to find Joe standing over her. She pushed herself up and swung her legs off of the couch. "I must have fallen asleep," she said in a groggy voice.
"I can see that, but what were you doing here in the first place?" Joe demanded. "How'd you get in here?"
"I let myself in, Joe." Seeing the look on his face, she said, "I really wanted to see you."
He softened and said, "Well, you can't go around letting yourself into other people's homes, Amy. You know better than that."
"You're right, Joe and I'm sorry." Amy's voice shifted into a whine. "But you never come to see me. Everyday I think you'll come and visit—but you never do."
"I'm sorry, Amy, but I've been busy. You know that. It's not easy being back in Collinsport and back at the cannery after being in Windcliff." He matched her whiny tone. "Roger's given me a lot of responsibility, and the men test me everyday to make sure I'm up to it." His words came out in a flood then he remembered he was addressing a child. "I guess you wouldn't understand."
Amy got off of the couch and drifted around the room. "I always liked coming here when Chris lived here," she said. She stopped by the fireplace. Her eyes fixed on the small cabinet above the mantle. "Chris used to say that the cottage was full of secret compartments and places to hide things."
"What are you talking about Amy?" Joe asked.
"Oh, I don't know. I was just remembering stuff that Chris and I talked about."
"Hide what, Amy?" Joe asked, now suspicious.
"Nothing, Joe. Nothing in particular."
"I don't believe you, Amy. Tell me the truth. Why are you really here?" Joe asked in an increasingly angry tone.
"I ... I," she stammered. "I thought there might be treasure hidden here," she said at last.
"Treasure? What gave you that idea, Amy?"
"It's … it's just a game that David and I are playing," she stammered again.
In two long strides, Joe stood in front of the girl. His voice was loud and harsh. He grabbed her upper arms and lifted her to her toes. "I don't believe you, Amy. Look at me—tell me the truth!"
"I heard Dr. Hoffman and Maggie talking about it this morning," Amy said, looking up at her cousin through terrified eyes.
"What did they say?" Joe demanded of his young cousin.
"I don't remember exactly—something about a box. That's why I think the treasure must be jewels. Maybe if we find it, we can sell them and then go and look for Chris."
"What did they say, Amy?" he demanded, shaking the girl for emphasis.
"I don't know," she cried. Then tears began to flow. "I don't remember. You're hurting me, Joe. Let go. I don't like it when you're like this," she cried. He released her arms and Amy dropped heavily to her feet. "I don't like it when you're like this," she cried again and ran from the cottage.
"Amy, come back," he barked at her from the doorway. He slammed his fist against the doorjamb then paced back into the room. Maggie and Julia—were looking for the box? He was glad he'd moved it after Professor Stokes came snooping around. But what did it mean that Maggie and Julia were discussing it? Clearly they were working together with Stokes. What did they know? What could they know? It didn't matter. It was safe where he'd hidden it—and it would remain safe.
Then a nagging doubt lodged in his mind. He felt an overwhelming compulsion to see it—to hold it—as he did at least once a day now that he no longer kept it at the cottage.
He left the light burning in the cottage, but closed the door behind him. He made his way a short distance into the woods. There he found the tree that had been felled, probably by lightning long ago. At the base of its now dead trunk a fissure opened. He bent on one knee and reached into the fissure. Using his hands, he brushed away a pile of leaves to reveal the box, still safe in its hiding place. He brushed the box clean with his hands. He looked at it. It was safe.
He turned it in his hand, silently contemplating his odd, contradictory relationship with the box. Then he replaced it, and obscured it once again with leaves and dirt. He stood and allowed himself a satisfied smile, as he returned to the cottage.
When Amy returned to the Great House, Maggie met her in the foyer. "Amy! Where have you been? You were supposed to be in your room!" Maggie said.
"I went for a walk," Amy said. "I thought it would make me feel better."
"Amy, you know better than that. Even if you wanted to take a walk, you should have asked me first," Maggie returned in a stern voice. "Let's discuss this in the drawing room."
Once inside, Amy's face twisted as she began to cry. She turned to Maggie and threw her arms around her governess's waist. "I'm sorry, Maggie. Please don't be mad at me."
"What is it, Amy? What happened?" Maggie asked. Amy shook her head furiously back and forth. "Come on, then," Maggie said. "I think you need to tell me everything." Maggie closed the doors behind them then led Amy to the couch beside the fireplace. The fire cast a glow of light and warmth over them. "All right Amy. Tell me what happened and why you're upset."
"I'm sorry, Maggie. I went to the cottage to look for the box, in the place where Chris used to hide things, just like we talked about."
"You shouldn't have gone on your own. You should have waited for me." Maggie gently scolded her young charge, which produced a fresh wave of tears.
Amy sniffed back her tears then continued. "When I got to the cottage, I kept thinking about Chris. And then I sat down on the couch and I guess I fell asleep. And then Joe came back and he wasn't happy to find me there. At first I told him that David and I were playing a game, but he didn't believe me. So, I told him that I heard you and Dr. Hoffman talking about a box, and I thought it might be treasure, and I thought we could use it to go and find Chris. I don't know why I said that, Maggie. I shouldn't have said that, but he was so angry—angrier than I've ever seen him." Amy started to softly cry again. "He's not the same, Maggie."
"No, he isn't the same since he came back from Windcliff. The Joe I know would never hurt you, Amy. I shouldn't have involved you." Maggie reproached herself.
"I'm sorry, Maggie. I was so frightened that I ran out of the cottage and hid in the woods," Amy said. "Just for a little while. "
Maggie could tell from Amy's face that there was more to the story. She took Amy's hand in hers and began in a gentle voice that belied the impatience she was feeling, "Go on. Tell me everything."
Amy looked at her through tear-stained eyes. "I don't know if I should, Maggie. Joe is already so angry with me."
"You want to help him, don't you Amy?"
"Yes, I do. I really do," Amy told her.
"Well, remember what I said about finding the key to helping him. Maybe we can get the old Joe back. That's what you want, isn't it?"
Amy nodded her agreement. "I was still upset, so I hid in the woods until I stopped crying. Then I saw Joe. At first I thought he was looking for me. But I was afraid so I didn't say anything. Then I could tell he wasn't looking for me, because he went directly to this old tree, and I could tell that's what he was looking for—not me."
"Go on," Maggie encouraged her.
"That's all really," Amy said.
"Did he do anything?" Maggie asked.
"Oh, yes. He bent down and looked into the place where the trunk is split open. Then I knew for sure he wasn't looking for me. Then he stood up and left. I think he was going back to the cottage."
"And did you go and look at the tree?" Maggie asked.
"Oh no. I was too frightened. I just wanted to come back before it got dark," Amy cried.
Maggie felt her pulse quicken. "Do you think you can show me the tree—the exact one that Joe went to?"
"Oh yes, Maggie," Amy responded, always eager to please.
"Good. Listen to me, Amy. You mustn't tell anyone else about this—not even David. Do you understand?" Maggie asked.
"Yes, Maggie, but why?" the girl asked.
"You must trust me, Amy. This is our secret—promise me."
"I promise, Maggie. I won't let you down. I promise," Amy beamed in response.
"Good. I want you to wait here for me," Maggie said.
"Why? Where are you going?" Amy asked in a voice that bordered on shrill.
"I just need to speak to Carolyn for a few minutes, but I'll be right back."
Maggie had only seen Carolyn in passing since she and Mrs. Stoddard returned from Bangor with the kids. Since marrying Quentin, Maggie spent less time with Carolyn, but they remained close friends and confidants.
When she answered Maggie's knock, Carolyn was clearly happy to see her friend. "Maggie! Come on in," she said pulling the door open wide and ushering Maggie in with the wave of her hand.
Maggie walked in and perched on the edge of Carolyn's bed.
"Which ones do you like with this blouse?" Carolyn asked holding up two different earrings to each of her ears.
"The blue ones," Maggie said. "Going on a date?"
"No. Tony's meeting with a new client in Boston. That's why I went to Bangor, to pass the time until he gets back."
"How was Bangor?" Maggie asked conversationally.
"Oh, you know … David picking on Amy and bossing her around … Mother dragging us to the museum … but at least I found time to do a little shopping," Carolyn concluded, indicating a pile of bags in the corner of her room.
Maggie smiled. She envied Carolyn's breezy, carefree affect, even though she knew her friend had her share of darkness and struggles. Everyone at Collinwood had their share—it was what united them.
"So, what's up?" Carolyn asked. "Not that I'm not always happy to see you, but you don't often just drop in to hang out anymore."
"I'm sorry, Carolyn. I guess I haven't been a very good friend lately."
Carolyn laughed. "That's how it is when your friends get married."
"I feel especially bad now, because I've come to ask a favor of you," Maggie said.
"You don't have to feel bad about it, just name it. What's the favor?"
"Would you invite Joe to the Blue Whale for a drink?" Maggie asked.
"Joe? I mean, sure but why?"
"Amy went to visit him earlier and he upset her terribly. I know how hard it can be—coming back to Collinsport after being at Windcliff. I thought maybe he could use a friend—an old friend—someone who really knows him." Maggie found the lie came easier than expected.
"And you can't be that friend," Carolyn said, as she plopped down on the bed beside Maggie.
Maggie looked down. "I'm married to Quentin now. Joe is having a hard time accepting that, to say nothing of how it would set people's tongues to wagging."
Carolyn sighed deeply. "That's true. Anyway, I'd be happy to." Carolyn stood and retrieved one of the shopping bags. "Let me show you this new sweater," she began.
But Maggie interrupted her. "I was hoping you'd meet him now," Maggie said, trying to convey the importance without sounding pushy.
Carolyn put the bag down. "Now?" She furrowed her brow. "Do you really think it's that important?"
"I do, Carolyn. I really do. I wouldn't ask otherwise."
"All right, Maggie." Carolyn went to the baby-blue phone on the nightstand beside her bed, and dialed the cottage phone—the number still committed to memory from all of the times she called Chris there. She waited. "Hello Joe. It's Carolyn … Carolyn Stoddard, of course … very funny." Maggie sat on the bed listening to Carolyn's end of the conversation. "I just got back from Bangor and I'm kind of at loose-ends, and I thought maybe my old friend Joe would like to go for a drink. I haven't seen you since you got back … please … please … great. Why don't I swing by and pick you up? See you then." Carolyn hung up and turned to Maggie. "Happy now? I'm picking him up in fifteen minutes."
"Thanks Carolyn. I should get back to Amy." Maggie went to the door, but turned back to her friend. "I really appreciate this, Carolyn," she said to assuage her own guilty feelings.
"Don't worry about it. In truth, I should have called Joe long before now. So thank you for getting me to do something I should have done anyway," Carolyn said with a smile.
The Blue Whale was where Collinsport gathered. While the Inn attracted a more upscale crowd, the Blue Whale brought together people from all walks of Collinsport life—from the scions of the Collins family, Carolyn and Quentin, to the cannery and mill workers, to visitors passing through town—the Blue Whale was where they gathered to drink and unwind.
When Joe and Carolyn arrived at the Blue Whale, a group of cannery and mill workers were still at the bar, finishing after-work drinks and verbally jousting with one another. A few tables were already occupied with couples enjoying a drink before heading to the movie theater. Carolyn snagged the first unoccupied table she saw, while Joe headed to the bar to get their drinks.
A few moments later, Joe joined Carolyn, placing two beers on the table.
"I should have called you before now, Joe. I should have called as soon as you got back, but …" Carolyn began, unsure how to finish the thought, let alone the sentence.
Joe spared her by saying, "That's okay, Carolyn. I'm sure you've been busy."
Carolyn looked up and saw in his expression and manner that he meant it to sting—and it did. She countered, "Actually, I thought for sure I'd run into you at the Great House from time to time, what with Amy living there and all."
Joe laughed. "Touché! Well met. Let's just say, we've both been remiss." Then he raised his glass, "To old friends."
Carolyn raised hers and responded in kind, "To old friends." She continued, "So, how are you? How are you settling in? It must be hard being back, but I understand Uncle Roger is doing what he can to help."
Joe offered her a wry smile in response. "Oh yes, Roger has been most generous, but I didn't come back to trade on the generosity of others—even someone as generous as Roger Collins. I came back to pick up where I left off—I came back to build something—something all my own. And I still plan to. I plan to build a fishing fleet to rival that of even the great Collins family," he said. He went on with a strange grandiose gleam in his eyes, "I've been locked away far too long, and I've emerged into a world that's full of possibilities for someone like me."
Carolyn gave him a puzzled look in response. "And does your future include Amy?"
"Amy?"
"Yes—Amy. Joe, ever since Chris left, Amy's felt like she's alone in the world. You're her only family."
Joe's eyes flashed with anger. "Is that what this is about?" he demanded. "I thought you wanted to share a friendly drink—to get reacquainted. When all the while, you wanted to talk about Amy? What did she tell you? That I was mean to her? Did she tell you that she let herself into the cottage? I have no idea how long she was there or what she was doing. Did she tell you that?" His angry tone drew stares from the adjacent tables.
"Calm down, Joe. I didn't mean to upset you."
"But you have, Carolyn." He stood abruptly, his chair scraping hard and loud, as he did so. "I'll find my own way home," he said brusquely, rising and storming out of the bar, again drawing puzzled stares—this time from all those gathered at the Blue Whale.
Maggie gave Carolyn five minutes lead-time. She waited with Amy in the drawing room, listening for Carolyn to exit the Great House, and then for the sound of her car heading down the drive.
Finally, once she was sure that Carolyn had time to get to the cottage, Maggie said to Amy, "Do you remember which tree it was, Amy?"
"Oh yes, Maggie, I could hardly forget that."
"Good. I want you to take me there," Maggie said, as she rose from the couch and headed to the drawing room door.
"Now?" Amy asked, her eyes wide. "It's already getting dark out, Maggie. I don't like being in the woods at night."
"It's barely dark out, Amy. We'll be fine. Besides, we'll be together and I'll bring a flashlight," Maggie said sensibly. "All you have to do is show me the tree, and we'll come right back. Do you think you can do that for me, Amy?"
"All right, Maggie. I will, if you think it will help Joe."
"I really do, Amy."
It was still early evening as the two headed into the woods. The sun's final rays still burnished the horizon, but in a moment that would change and dusk would give way to darkness. For that reason, and because of the anxious child leading her, Maggie tried to move quickly through the woods.
"If we go to the cottage, I can find it from there," Amy said, forgetting her fear momentarily and thinking methodically, rather than emotionally, for a change.
They moved to within several yards of the cottage. All the windows were dark and Maggie felt comforted knowing that Joe was not there.
"This way," Amy whispered and tugged on Maggie's hand. Amy led them down a well-worn path deeper into the woods. "Right here," she said. "This is where I hid—I mean I wasn't hiding—not at first. I was just upset and crying. Then Joe came, and I didn't want him to be mean to me again, so I stopped crying and hid behind this tree." Amy rambled on, "I peeked out from behind it and I saw him go to that tree." She pointed.
"Are you sure that's the one, Amy?" Maggie asked. It was by now fully dark, and they moved by the light of the flashlight and the waxing moon.
"Yes, I'm certain," Amy said. "The top of the tree looks like a crown, the way the branches are broken, and there's the crack in the trunk. That's where Joe went—to that tree."
"Okay, I'm going to take a look. Wait here for me." But Amy shook her head and didn't let go of Maggie's hand. "All right, come on then."
They moved to the tree and Maggie gently extricated her hand from Amy's. Maggie went down on one knee. She shined the light into the crack at the base of the trunk. There was a pile of dirt and dead leaves. She flinched, but then stuck her hand in. She could feel something hard underneath the camouflage. Holding the light with one hand, she brushed aside the leaves and dirt with the other. Maggie swallowed deeply—there it was—the puzzle-box. She covered it again with dirt and leaves, hoping it looked much as Joe had left it.
"Well?" Amy asked when Maggie stood and turned back to face her.
"Nothing. Maybe he just likes this tree. Just remember what we talked about, Amy—this is our secret."
"I know, Maggie. I can't tell anyone, not even David."
"That's right, not David, or Dr. Hoffman, or even Mrs. Stoddard—no one."
When they returned to the Great House, Maggie sent Amy upstairs to wash up before dinner and then join David in the dining room. A short time later, Quentin arrived to pick up his wife following their respective workdays. He found her in the drawing room, staring into a blazing fire, lost in thought. Her guilt over using a child to do what she could not warred with her relief at having the means to exorcize the demon.
"Maggie? Are you all right?" Quentin asked, puzzled by her pensive mood.
"No, but I will be, when all of this is over." She rose, went to him, and threaded her arms around his waist. "Let's go home," she whispered.
