Chapter Seventeen #4
A muscle ticked in Mayor Stills’s jaw. “Your brother should be horsewhipped for spreading lies and discord. The supply of iron and logs coming out of the Dysterwood is the same as it always has been this time of year, not that it’s any of your business.
” Stepping back to address everyone, the mayor shouted, “When the road reopens, Mr. Allen will let everyone know. Until then, go about your business and prepare for the barge coming on Monday.”
Without answering another question hurled at him, the mayor stormed back to the idling steamer, threw it in reverse, and left.
At the edge of the woods, Lucien Stills watched as his father peeled away and left him behind.
Oliver grimaced as Lucien gave the crowd a pained, placating smile and sighed as if this had happened before.
The auburn-haired man looked to the woods again before turning back to the milling crowd.
“I promise I will speak to my mother about this. She might know a way to clear this up faster,” Lucien offered as the trees shuddered in an unseen breeze. “In the meantime, we should plan around the barge’s arrival. Just in case.”
“The Witch of Aldorhaven is better than nothing,” the grey haired man said before turning to speak to one of his companions.
As the gathered crowd broke up into smaller groups to speak amongst themselves or headed back to town, Lucien stood quietly at the edge of the road with his hands folded as if waiting for his father to realize he had forgotten him.
Oliver watched him from the shadows of the porch.
He had lamented to Felipe that he feared he was related to the mayor, and he wasn’t exactly wrong.
If Mrs. Stills was Stephen’s sister, then Lucien Stills was his cousin.
With his ruddy complexion and auburn hair, the commonalities in his face and Oliver’s weren’t obvious, but the anxiety with a twinge of sorrow that flashed across his features was all too familiar.
Overall, they were roughly the same height and shape, even if Lucien was autumn and Oliver was winter.
Oliver doubted anyone would realize they were related unless they were told.
When the mayor never returned and the crowd grew even sparser, Lucien started up the hill toward the inn.
Spotting Oliver, Felipe, and Mr. Allen on the porch, Lucien’s features brightened as he waved and quickened his pace.
When Oliver looked back, Mr. Allen was gone.
“Guess you three won’t be leaving any time soon. Bit of bad luck about the road, I’m afraid,” Lucien said with his best approximation of a blithe grin. “I’m sure you can hitch a ride with Captain Langdon once you’ve dealt with the dead if the road isn’t open by then.”
“Is there a telegraph in town, Mr. Stills?” Felipe asked.
“Yes, in the mayor’s office, though it isn’t used often. Why? Would you like me to send something for you?”
Felipe frowned thoughtfully but nodded. “If you could send a telegram to the New York Paranormal Society about the road being blocked, I would greatly appreciate it. Our boss will get suspicious if we disappear off the face of the earth.”
“Consider it done, Inspector Galvan. I should probably contact everyone the mill and ironworks do business with and warn them about what’s going on, but I’ll do yours first since it’ll take longer to make its way to Manhattan.” Glancing around the porch, Lucien asked, “Where’s your lady librarian?”
“Miss Jones is inside, staying out of the fray,” Oliver said flatly. Even if Lucien Stills was his cousin, he wasn’t certain he trusted him. He didn’t have much faith in people who placated both sides or never took a side in the first place.
“That’s probably for the best. For a moment there, I thought Father would come to blows with them.
He and Mother have been so touchy lately.
Dinners are exhausting. I spend most of it trying to talk at least one of my parents down instead of eating.
At this rate, I’ll waste away by Christmas,” Lucien said with a half-hearted chuckle before flashing another placating smile.
“I know I said I was going to ask Mother to host you all for dinner, but I think I would be a bad host for inviting you at this point.”
Oliver bit back the response on his tongue about not wanting to go anyway, but even if it was true, no one wanted to hear it.
“Is this something that commonly happens?” Felipe asked, eyeing the blocked road. As he waited for Lucien’s answer, his expression hardened as it did during an interrogation.
They both already knew the answer from Lucien’s expression upon seeing the trees.
“Father says it has. I don’t remember it doing so in recent memory, but I don’t leave town hall or the house that much.
The road could close for a few hours every day, and I’d never notice.
Will says I’m frightfully unobservant, and Mother says I’d lose my head if it wasn’t attached, so I’m not the best judge of the Dysterwood’s comings and goings,” he replied with a shrug.
“Oh, speaking of Willard, he wanted me to give you this.”
Reaching into his breast pocket, Lucien pulled out what Oliver assumed was a folded piece of paper or an envelope.
It was hard to tell as every edge and opening had been dipped in what looked like black candle wax.
Lucien shook his head with a tut and held it out for Oliver to take.
The soft, tacky texture of the wax sent a wave of revulsion through Oliver as he held it aloft with two fingers.
“My apologies, my cousin is a tad paranoid. A proper seal or the glue it comes with is never enough for him, not that he sends many letters. But as soon as he heard I was heading over here, he gave it to me and said I was to give it to you if you were still here. I guess based on the other investigators, he assumed you would be gone by now.”
“To me or to us?” Oliver asked slowly.
“To you. Give it to the tall, pale one, were his exact words, and before you ask, I don’t have a clue as to what he wrote.
One can never tell which Will we’re going to get.
Well, I had better be off. I promise I will send your telegram as soon as I get to town hall.
At least I’ll be able to get in my daily constitutional before the telegram requests roll in. ”
With a tip of his hat, Lucien set off up the hill toward town.
The moment he was out of eyeshot, Felipe held out his hand for the note.
He examined it in the light and turned it over before handing it back to Oliver along with his smallest knife.
Slipping the blade beneath the half-melted wax, Oliver pried the plain envelope open and was relieved to find a clean, dry card on the inside.
In spidery, crooked script that meandered across the paper, it read, Meet me at seven SHARP behind the big house near the fountain. Keep to the shadows. DO NOT knock on the doors. Bring your friends. Welcome home, cousin.