Chapter 5
Chapter Five
The drive into Stonecross took less than ten minutes, winding down the coastal road past the lighthouse and the boatyard before reaching the main street.
In daylight, with more tourists bustling about, the town looked even more charming than it had during my early morning run.
It was still small, still quiet, but picturesque in a weathered New England way, with wind-battered wood, faded awnings, and storefronts that looked as though they’d been there forever.
Tessa parked in front of the library, and as I got out of the car, I smelled sea air and the scent of fresh-baked bread from a nearby bakery. "Something smells good. Maybe we should check out the bakery first."
"After the library."
I'd thought of Tessa as being the least focused of the three of us, but she was all business now.
The library smelled of old books and furniture polish that reminded me of weekends in college, when I'd spent hours studying while most of my friends were at parties or football games.
My father had made his financial assistance contingent on my grades, and I couldn't afford to get anything less than an A, so I had to hit the books even when there had been more appealing alternatives.
The woman at the circulation desk looked up from her computer as we entered. She was in her mid-fifties with chin-length dark hair going gray at the temples.
"Good morning," she said with a friendly smile. "Can I help you find something?"
"We're looking for Margaret."
"That's me." Her smile widened. "And you are?"
"I'm Cassidy, and this is Tessa. We're staying at the Stonecross Inn for a few days, and we're researching historic inns across New England for a book we're writing."
"How wonderful!" Margaret stood, clearly pleased. "I love talking about local history. The inn is certainly one of our most historic buildings. Are you researching anything specific?"
"Just general background," Tessa said smoothly. "The architecture, the families who've owned it, any interesting stories or legends. We're trying to capture the character of these old places. And sometimes the owners don't want to share all the good stuff."
"Well, you've come to the right place. I've lived in Stonecross my entire life, and my parents before me, and my grandparents before that. I have deep roots in the community. Follow me."
She led us into a back room that was packed with filing cabinets, old photographs on the walls, shelves of binders and books, as well as a long table with two computers.
"The Stonecross Inn was built in 1872 by Captain Josiah Hartwell, a whaling captain who made his fortune before the industry declined," Margaret said.
"Captain Hartwell's descendants ran it as a boarding house and eventually a proper inn until the seventies, when it was sold to Richard and Ellen Clarke. "
My pulse quickened at the mention of my grandparents' names, but I kept my expression neutral.
"Ellen has been running the inn for more than fifty years," Margaret continued. "And the past thirty-six on her own, since her husband died."
"What happened to him?" I asked, eager to learn more about my grandfather.
Margaret's expression shifted, became more somber.
"Richard fell from the cliffs behind the inn.
It was a stormy night with heavy fog, and he'd gone out to put some plywood on the windows.
No one is really sure what happened. Ellen was already asleep and didn't know he'd gone out until the sheriff knocked on her door the next morning.
A tourist had found Richard's body on the beach.
It was such a tragedy. He was only forty-one years old. "
"That's awful," I said.
"The whole town was devastated. Richard was very well-liked. He ran the boatyard—Clarke and Sons. It had been in his family for generations."
"We passed that building on the way into town," I said.
"Yes. It's still operating, but not by anyone in the Clarke family. Richard's son wasn't interested in taking it over. David left town shortly after his father's death and never came back."
"Why not?" I asked, wondering if I'd finally get an answer.
Margaret hesitated, and I could see her weighing how much to say. "It's a small town," she said finally. "People talk. There were... rumors. After Richard's death."
"What kind of rumors?" I asked, even though I wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
Margaret looked uncomfortable now. "I probably shouldn't gossip. It was a long time ago."
"We're just trying to understand the history of the place," Tessa said. "The full story, you know? The good and the bad. It makes for a more complete picture."
Margaret glanced toward the door, as if checking that we were still alone, then lowered her voice.
"Some people thought David had something to do with his father's death.
That they'd fought. That Richard fell during an argument.
" She shook her head firmly. "But the police investigated thoroughly, and it was ruled an accident.
The cliffs are dangerous, especially in the fog. "
My mouth had gone dry. People thought my father killed my grandfather? They'd suspected him of murder. No wonder he'd left. No wonder he'd never wanted to go back.
"Did his mother think that, too?" I asked.
"Ellen has never spoken to me or anyone about why David left. She made it clear the subject was off-limits. David was two years ahead of me in school, so I didn't know him well. Not many people did. He was polite but very private. All the Clarkes are kind of like that."
My father certainly fits that description now. He had excellent manners, but he was so guarded, so walled off from emotion, that no one could get close, especially me.
"I'm sure you're more interested in the inn itself and not the sad family history.
" She waved her hand to the nearby computers.
"We've digitized all the local newspapers going back to 1920.
Anything that's been written about the inn will be there.
You can also access the bigger media sites in Maine and across the country.
" She paused, waving her hand toward the bookshelves behind her.
"We also have some history books that were written about the town and the inn that you can check out. Let me know if you need any help."
"Thank you," Tessa said.
After Margaret returned to the circulation desk, I sat down in front of one of the computers, while Tessa took the seat next to me.
"You okay?" Tessa asked.
"Not really. I just found out people thought my father was a murderer."
Tessa frowned. "It was a rumor. We don't know that it was true."
"I can't imagine my father killing anyone. He's not violent. He's just…cold." Despite my words, I still felt unsettled by what I'd heard. "But is this why my dad never talked about his past, never wanted me to meet my own grandmother?"
"Maybe your father was hurt by the accusations. Maybe your grandmother didn't defend him." She gave me a sympathetic smile. "You're probably not going to know the truth unless you ask one of them what happened."
"I'm not sure either one would tell me the truth. But I can't ask them right now anyway. We need to focus on Natalie. Maybe we can find something in the local papers that we haven't seen before."
"I can look for Natalie while you research your grandfather's death. I'm sure there was press about that, too. Maybe you'll find something reassuring in those reports. Right now, we just have Margaret's version of events, and we don't know if she has any idea what she's talking about."
"That's true." I turned my gaze to the monitor as I opened the search window and put in my grandfather's name. Several results appeared, the first one about his death. "Got something," I said.
"Already?" Tessa asked. "I barely finished typing in Natalie. Read it to me."
"Local Businessman Dies in Tragic Fall," I read.
"Richard Clarke, forty-one, owner of Clarke and Sons Boatworks, died Saturday after falling from the cliffs behind the Stonecross Inn.
Clarke's body was discovered early Sunday morning on the beach below the inn.
Sheriff Tom Holloway stated that the death appears to be accidental, though the investigation is ongoing.
"The cliffs behind the inn are treacherous, especially in rain and fog," Sheriff Holloway said.
"Clarke is survived by his wife Ellen and son David.
Services will be held at Stonecross Community Church on Thursday. "
"That's pretty short," Tessa said. "There must be more than that."
"Here's an even shorter article from a week later. The investigation into Richard Clarke's death has been closed, with officials ruling the death accidental. Sheriff Tom Holloway confirmed that there was no evidence of foul play."
"Sheriff Holloway likes to close cases fast," Tessa commented.
"Like you said, I'm not going to find the answers about my family online. Maybe I'll see if I can find anything on other women who have gone missing from the inn. Tyler had to have gotten his information somewhere."
"Good idea."
I typed in missing women Stonecross Inn and hit search.
I was expecting to see Natalie's name pop up first, but instead, there was a short article from three months ago about a search being called off for a woman named Jessica Trent, who had rented a boat and failed to return to the harbor.
The boat had been located several miles south, but there was no sign of the woman.
Apparently, Jessica had been vacationing at the Stonecross Inn for several days before she'd rented the boat and never returned.
"Here's something interesting," I said to Tessa.
"Three months ago, a woman named Jessica Trent rented a boat and failed to return.
They found the boat, but there was no sign of her.
" I looked up from the computer to meet her gaze.
"She was staying at the inn. Maybe that's who Tyler was talking about. "
"I found someone else, too," Tessa said.
"This article is from six years ago: Woman Missing After Coastal Visit.
Emma Rodriguez from Boston was reported missing after a visit to the Stonecross Inn for the summer solstice.
Husband says she suffers from mental illness, and anyone with information should contact the sheriff's department.”
"If she was mentally ill, maybe that's why she disappeared."
"I found something else. But this goes way back," Tessa said.
"Lily Morrison, sixteen, of Stonecross, appears to have drowned during last night's storm.
Her clothes were found on the beach below the Stonecross Inn, along with a suicide note.
Lily worked part-time at the inn and was last seen leaving the property after her shift at three o'clock in the afternoon.
Ellen Clarke expressed shock and sadness at the loss of such a beautiful, kind girl.
A coworker remarked that Lily had seemed depressed the last few weeks, but she had no idea she was suicidal. "
"That's sad. But she wasn't staying at the inn; she was working there."
"Does that make a difference?" Tessa asked. "I think we've just found the tip of an iceberg. Natalie wasn't the only one to disappear. Tyler was right."
"But we don't know if any of these events are related. They sound more random."
"We could talk to Margaret about these other women."
"We could, but let's hold off for now. I don't want us to get too distracted by the other women when Natalie is our focus." I sat back in my chair. "I also don't want to get derailed by my family’s story. Let's take a break. I need some air."
"That's fine with me. I want to shoot some video around town before we go to the pub. And, frankly, I don't think we're going to solve anything from this library. We need to get out and talk to people."
"I agree. I just hope they talk back."