Chapter 2 Ben #4
“Interesting. Thirty years ago, Randolph’s business partner, a guy named John Bellamy, was also murdered.
The police noted ‘suspected organized crime violence’ but never found the killer.
They owned a salvage and liquidation company that was one of several involved in selling off the assets of the Commodore Wilson Hotel before it was demolished. ”
Ben and Erik stared at each other for a moment as the importance of that tidbit sank in.
“Holy shit. I swear that damn hotel is a vampire. It keeps coming back from the dead,” Erik muttered.
The Commodore Wilson had once been the crown jewel of Cape May and, in its day, the largest hotel in the world. The huge luxury property commanded a beach view and offered lodging, meeting services, and food that drew loyal visitors who returned year after year.
Over the hotel’s long life, it had a checkered past, ruining everyone who owned it, whether they were hoteliers, fire-breathing evangelists, or sketchy self-improvement gurus.
Rumors circulated from the earliest days of Mafia money behind the scenes.
Despite a turn as a fundamentalist Christian retreat center, gossip blamed the bad luck on cursed magic and deals with the devil.
Ben and Erik believed the land itself was a dark genius loci, quintessentially evil.
After the Commodore Wilson fell into receivership and disrepair for the last time, no one rushed in to save the aging property.
It was stripped of any saleable assets or décor, which were sold in a massive auction, and then imploded.
In the thirty years since then, the property had been home to a variety of businesses, none of which prospered.
“Okay, this is a long shot, but hear me out,” Ben said.
“I’m used to your crazy, so hit me up.”
Ben gave him the side-eye. “You said you thought that the book in the stained-glass panel was a grimoire. What if the old guy who owned the window was a strega, a Mob witch? Maybe he worked for the Mafia families who owned the Commodore Wilson property over the years to blunt the curse of the land as best he could.”
“It’s certainly possible,” Erik mused. “But why come after Randolph now? The panel he brought in didn’t have a connection to the Commodore Wilson. And even if it did, the hotel was blown up thirty years ago. There’s something here we’re missing.”
Ben sat back in his chair and twiddled his pencil. “That’s what I’ve got. What made you come looking for me?”
“Oh, that. I always thought of Tiffany windows being in churches and mansions. But it turns out, there’s a dark side,” Erik said.
“A Tiffany window could either have been created by Louis Comfort Tiffany himself, or later on, by artisans at the Tiffany Company working under his guidance. According to what I found, there were at least twenty Tiffany windows made celebrating the Confederacy, both in Richmond, Virginia, and elsewhere in the Confederate states. They were put in churches and universities.”
“No shit,” Ben said, eyes widening. “Wait. Wasn’t Cape May part of the Underground Railroad, getting slaves out of the South?”
Erik nodded. “Yep. That’s why the Harriet Tubman Museum is here. Interestingly enough, both well-to-do abolitionists and slave owners liked Cape May, at least before the Civil War.”
“Tiffany didn’t care who bought their windows?” Ben replied.
“Apparently not,” Erik agreed with a disgusted twitch of his lip.
“They did a lot of commissions for homes, mausoleums, and private chapels. Either they intentionally destroyed records to ensure privacy, or they were ‘lost’ over the years, but it’s not uncommon for previously unknown Tiffanys to show up even now.
Collectors love finding a hidden gem, and the lack of publicity makes the purchase desirable for people with lots of money and something to hide. ”
“Like mobsters,” Ben said.
“Yeah. Why does everything always come back to that?”
“Just our luck.” Ben paused. “Mausoleums? Really? Pretty fancy for a place hardly anyone will ever see.”
Erik shrugged. “Maybe it didn’t seem extravagant to someone with a lot of money or guilt.”
“Not something I’m ever likely to know about,” Ben replied. “Do you think anyone is going to come after the window?”
Erik grimaced. “I hope not. The property and building are heavily warded and so is the safe. If you didn’t notice with the storm, there was a police car outside last night, and I’m guessing it will be there again tonight.
I think there’s been a plainclothes officer stationed nearby all day.
Hendricks said he’d have someone watching.
I’d just send the damned window to the folks in Charleston to get rid of, but Hendricks said we couldn’t. ”
“Any news from Susan?” Ben switched subjects.
“Plenty about the Awesome Autumn Festival, but nothing else,” Erik replied. “They want more ghost stories, so we’re supposed to weave that in. And stuff about pirates, if it applies.”
Cape May was said to be one of the most haunted towns on the East Coast, and had once been a haven for pirates, so both fit with the darker side of a resort otherwise known for its chill vibe.
“I saw the email. Monty’s going to have his hands full with all the events around the lighthouse and the concrete ship and the watch tower,” Ben said. “I know the festival is for a good cause and raises a lot of money for charity, but it’s a lot of work for everyone.”
“I also asked Susan to take a couple of days off because of the creepy window thing. If someone does try to steal it or attack us, I don’t want her to become a target.”
“Good idea. I’m surprised Hendricks hadn’t already lobbied her to stay home,” Ben replied.
Erik chuckled. “Maybe he did, but Susan definitely makes up her own mind about these things.”
“I’m hoping nothing will happen, but I’m glad she’ll be safe,” Ben agreed.
“We’ve only got a couple of hours until closing time,” Erik said. “I’m curious to see if anyone suspicious comes in. It’s a shame Hendricks can’t accept evidence from ghosts. Not that he’d believe us anyhow.”
To Ben’s relief, the rest of the day passed quietly. He continued his research into the dead men’s criminal history, and Erik did a deep dive into the lore of Tiffany windows on his computer downstairs.
“Here.” Ben handed Erik a small bottle of orange juice and a candy bar. “You look like roadkill.”
“You say the nicest things.” Erik accepted the snacks gratefully. “Doing the read on the window took a lot out of me. I’m impressed that Alessia held up so well.”
“I’m leaning into the theory that the book is a grimoire and the man was a witch,” Erik added. “Putting the box back into the safe was like closing a door. The dark vibes shut off immediately.”
“Good. Leave it there until we can get help,” Ben replied. “I think we’re going to need a team for this. At least we know a little more than when we started.”
“Answers and more questions,” Erik said. “Like always.”
Ben went to check his computer when it pinged. “Got a few more hits,” he reported.
“Anything good?”
Ben paused to read through the notices. “The old guy who was the Wildwood collector was Grant Samuels. Thanks to money, lawyers, and friends in high places, he doesn’t have a criminal record, but there are notes about his questionable associates,” Ben said.
“No one comes right out and calls him a witch, but the comments mention that he had exceptional people skills and seemed able to overcome any opposition.”
“Right. That means he either used magic or killed people who posed a problem. Maybe both,” Erik interpreted the deliberately vague description.
“That’s what I get out of it,” Ben agreed. “For Reynolds and Bellamy, it’s a different story. ‘Known Mafia associates’ shows up in both their records. They’ve got a history with shady auction houses that might be fronts for organized crime. After all, it’s a largely cash business.”
“Sounds like the Mob’s kind of thing,” Erik said. “Anything else?”
“They both had arrests on suspicion of money laundering, but the charges were dropped,” Ben read aloud. “Otherwise, they’re clean, not even parking tickets.”
“If they were useful to someone in the Mafia, getting charges dropped isn’t hard,” Erik remarked. “I’m guessing that some of the town’s prior police chiefs weren’t as upstanding as Chief Hendricks.”
Ben shrugged. “That might explain why he’s such a tight-ass. Trying to make sure no one thinks he’s cut from the same cloth.”
“We both know Susan would whip his butt,” Erik replied with a laugh.
Ben glanced at his watch. “I think we’ve done enough for one day.” He closed down his laptop. “Tomorrow, I want to see what else I can dig up on who some of those ‘known Mafia associates’ were and see if that leads anywhere.”
“I need to look into this mysterious Tiffany dome and see what I can come up with,” Erik agreed.
“Something that significant must have sparked interest from the art world as well as the press. It would have been a large installation. Maybe I can get an idea of who might have been unusually interested in it.”
Ben rose from the table. “How about we make some nachos and watch another movie? Then I’ll suck your brains out your dick and you won’t worry about mobsters anymore tonight.”
“Promise? I’ll return the favor,” Erik teased.
“Cross my heart,” Ben replied with a lascivious grin.