Chapter 5 Erik
FIVE
ERIK
“Idon’t like the weather forecast.” Susan cradled a hot cup of coffee in her hands. “Do you have plywood to board up the front windows if it really gets bad?”
Susan had insisted on stopping in to check on Ben and Erik, and had brought along a chicken noodle casserole and a pan of sweet rolls for dinner “to keep their spirits up.”
Erik looked up from his computer. “Do you really think it might?”
The rain made for a slow morning. A few people called to schedule appraisals on recent estate purchases, but no one stopped in, and Erik didn’t see any foot traffic on the sidewalk. Then again, walking in this storm would be more like swimming.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Susan remarked.
“The last big hurricane hit here in the early 1800s, and people still talk about how the town was cut off by a ten-foot storm surge. A Category 2 hit in 1903, and then in 1944, a series of bad storms wiped the whole community of South Cape May right into the ocean. It never rebuilt.”
Erik’s eyebrows rose. “Wow.”
“Old timers still talk about the Nor’easter of 1962. Took out the boardwalk, convention hall, and a bunch of shops,” Susan went on. “Although Hurricane Sandy mostly missed us, even though we were told to evacuate.”
“I guess we’ve been lucky since I moved here,” Erik admitted. “Do you think there’s plywood in the storage area?”
“Pretty likely,” Susan said. “Go have a look, and I’ll stay here in case some sodden soul wanders in from the storm.”
He thought they were pretty safe from surprise visitors, but then again, Peter Randolph had shown up with his haunted window in a storm.
Erik didn’t often go into that part of Trinkets, unlike the finished storage rooms where they kept stock.
The old converted house had an area consistent with trends when it was built, an unfinished space with bare concrete walls that held the furnace and other plumbing and heating essentials.
He had been warned by the previous owner not to store anything in the area that would be damaged by humidity or water, so the winter tires for his SUV were the only things he had put there.
Against the far wall, Erik spotted several stained sheets of plywood. They had clearly seen storm water but seemed to be in good enough shape to be nailed in place if necessary.
In all his years of traveling for museums and law enforcement, Erik never worried about storms beyond their impact on his flight schedule.
Thinking like the owner of a home and business was new, and he sometimes felt overwhelmed by what he didn’t automatically know.
That made Susan’s insights all the more valuable, since she was a lifelong Cape May resident.
“Yep, we’ve got plywood,” Erik announced when he returned.
“Hoping we don’t have to use it, but it’s good to know.
If things weren’t so high tech now, I’d suspect the radio station’s antennae were getting blown around, considering how the signal keeps going in and out.
” Given the weather, Erik had tuned to the local station for updates.
“Happens every time there’s a storm,” Susan agreed with a sigh. “Satellite or antennae, doesn’t matter.”
Static drowned out the weather report, followed by a high-pitched squeal.
“Buccaneer Radio, mayday. I repeat, mayday.” The voice was lost in static again, and then the weather report resumed mid-sentence.
“What was that?” Erik realized Susan had gone pale. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Heard one.” She sounded shaky. “Welcome to another Cape May ghost story and storm tradition.”
“What is Buccaneer Radio?” Erik couldn’t help being intrigued.
Susan sat and paused before responding. “The seventies were wild around here, just like they were everywhere. There was a guy who had a lot of opinions on everything that was going on: politics, culture, music, and more. He was quite a showman and could pack speaking engagements. But he couldn’t be on the radio back then because there were stricter rules than there are now about what you could and couldn’t say.
“He bought a decommissioned Navy minesweeper and converted it to an offshore radio station.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Quite the publicity stunt, but folks think he really believed he could make a go of it by bringing in donations and advertisers.”
“What happened?” Erik tried to imagine how the usually staid Cape May society would have reacted.
“A bad storm came in. His equipment failed, the government served notice that they were going to impound the ship, but before they got there, it capsized and sank,” Susan replied.
“The way I’ve heard it, by the time the authorities got there, they saw a life preserver but never found his body. Quite the scandal in its day.”
“Give the man credit for originality.” Erik laughed.
Susan sobered. “The thing is, hearing the phantom broadcasts is considered an omen around here. Only ever happens when there’s a big storm in the offing. I know folks who consider it a signal to pack up and leave town.”
Erik frowned. “Ben and I are still new here. Should we go inland? I notice you’re still here.”
Susan laughed and stood. “Oh, Cole and I would probably be the last to leave and turn the lights out on the way.”
“Don’t get me wrong, there’s a time to give up and get the hell out of Dodge,” Susan continued. “There’s nothing to be gained by being foolish and staying when it’s dangerous. But I don’t think we’re to that point yet.”
Erik looked back to his laptop, where he had been tracking down leads, however thin, that might have a connection to the missing Tiffany dome. “What do you know about the Great Fire of 1878?” he asked, since it seemed clear they weren’t likely to get customers.
“The fire was suspicious,” Susan said. “No one could prove arson, and the man they arrested wasn’t charged, but apparently everyone thought then, and still does, that someone set the fire.
It leveled five big hotels and burned forty acres of downtown.
On the plus side, disasters like the fire and the big storms made Cape May confront decisions about keeping its Victorian architecture earlier than in many cities.
” She frowned. “Why? Is it connected to something?”
Erik shrugged. “I’m not sure. There’s so much haunted history here, it’s difficult to figure out cause and effect.”
Susan looked around as if wanting to find something to work on. “Any leads on the stained-glass dome?”
He shook his head. “Nothing yet. Or I should say, lots of leads, but none that panned out yet.”
“It may be unlucky, but it certainly was beautiful,” Susan said wistfully. “I hope it wasn’t destroyed. Surely someone could un-hex it or do an exorcism or something.”
Erik chuckled. “I have friends who could certainly give it their best effort. But sort of like the Commodore Wilson and the land under it, sometimes things are bad to the bone.”
Susan nodded. “Since we’re not likely to get anyone stopping in, I’m going to finish cataloging that last crate from the latest estate sale before Cole comes by to drive me home. At least I’ll have it finished before sitting out the storm at home.”
“You’re supposed to be taking time off until things resolve,” Erik reminded her.
“Oh, pish. It’s quiet, and if anyone comes in, I can duck out the back. I’m bored.” As if it were the only explanation he needed, she walked away.
Erik shook his head and returned his attention to his computer. He knew when to pick his battles.
Erik’s phone rang. He didn’t recognize the number and was immediately suspicious because the call came from an international source.
“Erik Mitchell,” a man’s voice said, with a heavy Russian accent.
“You do not need to concern yourself with the matter of the Tiffany dome. Turn your attention elsewhere. Buildings can burn, even in the rain, and partners can vanish into the night. None of those things need to come to pass if you mind your own business.”
The call ended abruptly. Erik realized his hand shook. He stared at the screen, then turned to his history and snapped a photo to save the number, although he felt certain it came from a burner phone.
Erik felt his heart pound and had a few seconds of light-headedness as the threat sank in. Then he pressed Ben’s number. “Ben.”
Something in his tone alerted his partner to trouble. “Erik? Are you okay?”
“Please be very careful. Carry your gun. Don’t be alone. You’re in danger.”
“What happened?” Ben immediately slipped into what Erik thought of as “cop mode.”
“I just got an international call from someone with a Russian accent warning me off the Tiffany dome and suggesting that they would hurt you and the store if I didn’t.”
“Shit. Have you told the police?”
“Not yet. I wanted to call you first. Please. Don’t take any chances. No piece of art is worth getting killed,” Erik begged.
“I can’t come home right away because I’m doing a repair check on some of the rental houses with the maintenance team, but I’ll leave as soon as I can,” Ben promised. “And since someone has your number and knows where you are, that means you’re in danger too. Please don’t try to be a hero.”
“Just come home safely,” Erik told him. “It’s Bratva. They play for keeps.”
“Not my first rodeo, but I’ll be careful,” Ben said. “You, too.”
“Love you,” Erik murmured.
“Love you too.”
Susan was still out of earshot. Erik wanted to keep her away from danger, and knowing too much was definitely a hazard. He took a couple of deep breaths to calm his nerves and then called Sheriff Hendricks. It wasn’t lost on him that the top cop was in his contact list.
“What’s up, Mitchell? I assume this isn’t social,” Hendricks answered in a gruff tone.
“Just got a threatening call from the Russian Mob, figured you’d want to know about it.”
Hendricks was silent for a moment. “Not this shit again.”
“It’s about the Tiffany window.”
“The one in your safe?” Hendricks sounded skeptical.