Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Dan returned from the restroom to find Gary making notes. “Did your digging turn anything up?”
Gary nodded. “Connor Brightmore was twenty when he died. College student from a wealthy family. But based on the eyewitness accounts and the examination of the wreckage, there’s no doubt he caused the accident.”
“So young,” Dan murmured. “His poor parents.”
“They still live in Boston. They have two houses, one on Marlborough Street and another on Cape Cod.”
“I’ve heard a lot about Cape Cod. Do you know it at all? Did you ever go there on vacation?”
Gary smiled. “Once or twice. My mom used to say she’d love to have a summer house on the coast. My dad told her to start buying lottery tickets.” He cocked his head. “How about a trip to Nantucket?”
“Okay, that’s… random.” Dan blinked. “Aren’t we a little busy right now? Maybe once we’ve gotten a case solved, but—”
“While you were gone, I called Mr. Brightmore to arrange a meeting. He says he’ll meet with us, but only if we come to their summer home—in Nantucket.” His eyes twinkled. “I said yes. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
Dan grinned. “When do we go?”
“I asked if we could see him tomorrow, but he refused. Said it could wait until Monday. Which means we have a long day ahead of us. It’s easily an hour and a quarter drive to Hyannis Port.
Then we have choices. If we take the vehicle ferry, that’s another two-plus hours.
Or we can take the high-speed passenger ferry. That only takes an hour.”
“We’d better have an early night Sunday, then. It sounds as if we’re going to have an early start Monday.”
Gary chuckled. “That only works in theory. Our early nights usually end up with both of us tired the following day.”
No time like the present. “Actually? I have plans for tomorrow.”
Gary’s grin widened. “I like the sound of that. What do they involve?”
“To quote you—down, boy. I think it’s time I finally got around to unpacking the rest of my stuff. I can’t keep living out of boxes and suitcases. If you’re serious about us living together….”
Dan didn’t have to see Gary’s expression or touch him to know a change had taken place—he could feel it in the air, feel Gary’s focus on him.
“Of course I am. And you’re right. It’s time we made it your home too.” Gary turned the monitor off. “And we’re done. It’s Saturday afternoon. Why don’t we go grab some lunch, and then we’ll go home.” He smiled. “We can get started on your unpacking.”
Dan couldn’t resist. “Well, we don’t have to start right away, do we?”
Monday, July 16, 2018
Gary and Dan walked up Broad Street toward the Whaling Museum, and took a right onto North Water Street.
The one-hour ferry trip had served as a reminder how much Dan enjoyed being on the water.
He’d grown up around boats: his dad had let him take the helm of the family yacht for the first time when he was fifteen.
Nantucket Sound was full of boats, and the flap of sails, the dull murmur of engines, and the occasional burst of laughter or loud comments between boats had plunged him into pleasant memories.
North Water Street was narrow and lined with cobbles, the sidewalk done in red and gray blocks.
On one side were red brick houses, and on the other, white mansions with porticos and vaulted roofs, upper decks surrounded by white railings, and trees that provided a splash of green against the white-cedar shakes.
Then white gave way to gray, but the size of the houses didn’t diminish.
Cars were parked along one side, and white picket fences protected front yards filled with shrubs, trees, and twisting, clinging plants that crept over trellises and covered exterior walls.
Dan gazed at the properties with a smile. “It’s like being home.”
Gary chuckled. “I keep forgetting. You come from New Hampshire. I suppose you get a lot of summer visitors too.”
“We get our fair share.” The high-speed passenger ferry had brought back yet more memories. It had been packed with families and couples armed with vacation paraphernalia and all sporting sunglasses.
Gary stared at the huge, almost palatial houses on the left side of the street. “We are talking a serious amount of money here.”
Dan said nothing. He came from such a background. His parents had expected him to lead a philanthropic life of fund-raising for charity, not to employ his strange gift to help others.
Not that they ever discussed his gift.
They came to a fork in the road, and Gary pointed to the left.
Cliff Road was a collection of impressive properties, some of them guest houses or hotels.
They hadn’t gone far when Gary came to a stop.
The house was set back on the right, its exterior walls covered in cedar shakes, a lawn stretching from the front door to the sidewalk, dissected by a rustic paved path.
Dan figured the second-story windows had to provide great views of Nantucket Sound.
They made their way to the door, which was hidden beneath a porch covered with roses. As they approached, it opened, and an elegant woman with short white hair and gold-framed glasses stood there.
“Gentlemen, I’m Marie Brightmore. My husband is expecting you. Please, follow me.”
They stepped into the light interior with oak floorboards, a staircase on the left, and glass-paned doors leading from the hallway. Mrs. Brightmore stopped in front of the farthest door. “I was about to make tea. Would you like some?”
“Thank you. That would be great,” Gary told her.
She pushed the door open, and they entered what looked like a sunroom, the walls and numerous window frames painted in a pleasant sage green, a colorful yet faded rug covering the wooden floor.
Outside, Dan spied a deck with three sofas, surrounded by lawn.
Mr. Brightmore rose from his rocking chair to greet them. “Detective Mitchell?” Gary went over to him, and they shook. He introduced Dan, another shake of hands, and then Mr. Brightmore indicated the couch below the window.
Gary had mentioned that Roland Brightmore was seventy-seven years old, and his wife, seventy-five. Looking at the man who welcomed them, Dan had an impression of someone a lot older—someone who didn’t indulge much in smiling.
“Thank you for agreeing to come out here. We spend the summer months here.” Mr. Brightmore gestured to their surroundings. “This old house has been in the family for generations. I believe it was built in the early eighteen hundreds.”
Gary crossed the room to the table that stood in one corner, draped in a white tablecloth. Its surface was covered in framed photos. Gary pointed to the ones in the front row. “Your children?”
Mr. Brightmore smiled. “Indeed.” He joined Gary and picked up the nearest frame.
“This is our daughter Rachel, her husband, their three children and their partners, and our great-grandchildren.” He replaced it and picked up another.
“And this is our daughter Louisa, her husband, their two children and their partners, and yet more great-grandchildren.”
Dan joined them, peering at the happy, smiling people. “You have a beautiful family, Mr. Brightmore.”
His lower lip trembled. “But we lost our son, so this is where the family line comes to an end. A family that can trace its lineage back to the nineteenth century.” His face contorted in a grimace. “Except the result would probably have been the same had he lived.”
Gary gave Dan an inquiring glance, but Dan hadn’t understood the remark either.
Mr. Brightmore straightened. “But enough of that. I believe you said in your phone call that you’re investigating a death. How does this concern us?”
“We’re looking into the death of Cheryl Somers, who disappeared in 1992. Her body was later discovered in 2006, clearly a wrongful death.”
Mr. Brightmore frowned. “I have no recollection of that name.”
Gary’s voice softened. “You would have known her under another name—Benjamin Raskin.”
The only sound in the room was Mr. Brightmore’s labored breathing, and the hairs on Dan’s arms stood on end.
At last Mr. Brightmore cleared his throat. “In that case, justice was served.” His voice quavered.
Dan studied his face, his body language. “You don’t seem surprised by the news.”
Mr. Brightmore managed a shrug. “That is because I’m not. I must admit, I had no idea of the name or… gender change, but I knew whoever was responsible for our son’s death had met their Maker.”
Dan’s goose bumps would not quit.
Gary gave Mr. Brightmore a thoughtful glance. “How could you know that, sir?”
Another shrug. “I was informed.”
“The reason we’re here is because we discovered that for two years after your son’s fatal accident, death threats were made against Cheryl—Benjamin.” Gary kept his voice low.
“Ah, I see.” Mr. Brightmore arched his sparse eyebrows.
“And you want to know whether someone carried out those threats.” He looked Gary in the eye.
“I can assure you, though Connor’s untimely death devastated us, no one in this family would ever resort to such an illegal and immoral act.
” He paused. “Clearly we have an avenging angel who is not hampered by such scruples.”
“But avenging what?” Dan demanded. “Connor was to blame for the accident.” Mr. Brightmore’s eyes narrowed, and Dan gave a slow nod. “Unless they’re avenging the fact that Cheryl survived and Connor didn’t.”
Mr. Brightmore’s breathing caught, and Dan knew he’d touched a nerve.
“That’s all you can tell us?” Gary asked.
A heavy sigh rolled from Mr. Brightmore’s lips. “There is nothing to tell. And if that is all, gentlemen….” His wife appeared at the door, holding a tray, and he shook his head. “Our guests are not staying, Marie.”
They had been dismissed.
Gary shook Mr. Brightmore’s hand. “Thank you for your time, sir. I’m sorry to have brought back such painful memories.”
Dan took the proffered hand and clasped it briefly, steadying himself for the onslaught of emotions he felt sure was about to overwhelm him.
What he felt was so much more powerful than he’d anticipated.
He waited until they were out of sight of the house before sharing his shock.
“Well, that was a wasted trip,” Gary declared with a sigh. “That is, if we believe him. Please, tell me you learned something useful.” They headed down the street toward the ferry.
Dan gripped his arm, forcing him to come to a halt. “Gary, he… he’s… dead inside. Thirty-five years have passed since the accident, and I don’t think he ever got over it.”
Gary stared back at the house. “He might be dead now, but what about twenty-six years ago? What if he sent out that avenging angel? Or paid someone to be an avenging angel? Someone unconnected to the family? He did say that, right? No one in the family. And he’s a man of means.
” His expression grew grim. “A car accident kills his only son. I’d say that’s a pretty good motive for wanting the person responsible dead. ”
Dan couldn’t help but agree. As they walked slowly to the ferry, all he could think about was the void he’d encountered.
A void he would never forget.