Chapter 8
“And then I told him I’m not that kind of sleazy journalist and he had a lot of nerve thinking we’d splash his personal business everywhere.
” Gabby got indignant just remembering the confrontation she and Barnaby had gotten into after that dramatic revelation in Tamara’s little cottage.
It had happened a few days ago, but she hadn’t gotten a chance to bring Heather up to speed until now, since Heather had been in Boston wrapping up some loose ends.
“Go, Gabby. You tell ’em. Then what happened?” Heather asked.
It was a brilliantly sunny day and they were painting the last coat on the trim boards. Gabby had given up on staying paint-free, and had stripped down to her bikini top and shorts. They were planning to jump in the ocean the minute they were done.
“He explained that he used to get written about in newspapers as some wealthy, eligible playboy and he hated it. That’s why he’s touchy when it comes to the media.”
“I guess that makes sense.”
“It does, but I have to say that calling the press ‘dirty rotten bastards’ was over the line.”
Heather burst out laughing. “Sorry, I have to hand him that one.”
Gabby smiled too, since she secretly agreed it had been a pretty funny turning of the tables. “Anyway, he felt bad about insulting me, so he voluntarily offered to keep us informed of any progress the Sea Smoke Island Fund makes in tracking down more descendants.”
“That’s huge. Great job.”
It was. More information would help give context to Sasha’s story, and possibly lead to other interesting storylines.
“I didn’t do anything except tell him we’d never exploit his personal history. You know, it was interesting seeing Barnaby in such a different light,” she said thoughtfully. A bee buzzed past her ear and she shrank back. “Nature!”
That was her new warning call when anything in the outdoor world rubbed her the wrong way.
Heather, showing no fear, shooed the bee in another direction, toward the wild roses that covered the slope behind the café. “Are you allergic?”
“I don’t know, and I’d rather not find out.”
“Fair. Okay, back to Barnaby. What was different?”
“I mean, Tamara is this tiny elf of a woman. And there’s Barnaby, so huge he barely fits in her house, making her tea and being so gentle to her. When I was talking to her, he kept giving me these dire warning stares. Like, hurt her and I’ll throw you into a volcano.”
“No volcanoes in Maine,” Heather pointed out.
“Where’s the closest one? Mount Saint Helens? Wherever it is, he could probably throw me in from here.”
They both laughed at that scenario, and then spent some time debating whether Mt.
Saint Helens or Mt Etna was closer to an offshore island in Maine.
Once that question was settled by Google, Gabby returned to the topic of Tamara.
She found the woman fascinating and couldn’t stop thinking about her.
“I think Tamara knows a lot more than she’s sharing right now. ”
“About her ancestors?”
“Yes. And about what they must have left behind for her. Think about it. She told me she’s been a healer all her life, but she has no formal training. How can that be enough to make a living? I think she has other resources.”
Heather touched up a spot where a bug had landed in the paint. “A secret stash of pirate booty, perhaps?”
“I’m sorry, wasn’t her ancestor Marianne the secret stash of pirate booty?”
Heather laughed and offered her hand for a fist bump. “Good one. So how did Tamara learn about herbs and healing?”
“It’s the family business, basically. She learned from her mother, her grandmother, her great-great-aunt and so forth.
She said they were known throughout the outer islands as healers and midwives.
That included herbs for abortion, by the way, before abortion was legalized.
She said many girls and women came to them for that purpose.
According to her, pregnancy and childbirth back then was always considered women’s business and doctors weren’t even involved until the late nineteenth century.
Now she rarely does that kind of work because everyone goes to the hospital.
You know, it’s wild to me that her family lived in those woods for generations, ever since the eighteenth century, but they were such recluses that the island was still considered officially uninhabited. ”
“It was never actually uninhabited,” Heather pointed out. “The Wabanaki were here, too, probably long before the eighteenth century. I wonder how the pirate crew and the Wabanaki got along?”
“Good question. I’ll add it to my notes for my next interview with her.
She’s cagey, though. Luke wanted a list of her clients and she refused.
He told her he could get a search warrant, and she said, and I quote, ‘What an unrealistic threat, dear boy.’ At which point, Barnaby told Luke until he had one, he’d better back off. ”
“She sounds sort of adorable.”
“She is. After she put him in his place like that, she gave Luke a packet of herbs to give to anyone with the same symptoms as Safiya and Andy and Buzzy. Luke gave it back and said he couldn’t possibly do that, but it was pretty cute.
” Gabby could hardly wait for another chance to talk to Tamara.
She took a step back from the trim board and gave it a thorough assessment.
“This one’s done. You know, I don’t mind this work, but my mama would tell me I’m wasting all my degrees being out here in the sunshine. ”
Heather laughed and set her brush down so she could help Gabby set up the next board. “And my mama would say you’re saving her a bunch of money, so screw those degrees. Did you tell your mom it’s all going to be worth it once we get this whole series on the air? Has she been listening?”
“Yes, she has. Mostly to make sure I’m not giving the family a bad name.”
Heather shot her a look full of sympathy. “Maybe she’ll be proud in the end.”
“I hope so.” Gabby felt her shoulders tighten as they always did when this topic came up. “That’s why we have to make it bomb-proof. Right now she’s trying to get the endorsement of the Fraternal Order of the Police.”
“The police union?”
“That’s the one. She sent me an ad that features my brother, the police officer. You know, the good sibling.” She pulled out her phone and played the ad for Heather. Shots of her brother in his uniform unfurled along with a stirring action-movie soundtrack.
“Damn. Makes me want to join the Marines.”
“Right?” They both laughed and Gabby tucked her phone back in her pocket. “Anyway, she’s extra touchy right now, wants to make sure we don’t air anything anti-police.”
“Got it. Luckily, the only police officer remotely connected to this story is Luke, and he’s no dirty rotten bastard.”
“Says his girlfriend.”
“Girlfriend.” A broad smile spread across Heather’s face, and her hazel eyes went soft and dreamy. “How did you know we’re using official terminology now?”
“It’s pretty obvious. Didn’t I always tell you you’d fall fast and hard?”
“You did. And I always said, you’ll need a man to move at least seven mountains before you admit you love him.”
Gabby snorted at the absurd image, though it had a ring of truth to it. Her standards were high, and she wasn’t planning to lower them. Which meant that, much to her mother’s annoyance, she’d probably be single for a long time to come.
“By the way, I keep meaning to tell you that I talked to Safiya’s closest friend at the hotel.” Back to business. “Imara said Safiya’s not coming back to work. She quit.”
“Really?” Heather cocked her head, clearly hearing the same little warning bell that Gabby had. “Is she afraid of getting poisoned again?”
“I don’t know. But apparently a Harbortown police officer came to the hospital to question her and she freaked out. She and her husband are trying to move to Canada now. They’re just waiting for their visa to go through.“
Heather frowned, paintbrush forgotten, white droplets dripping onto the grass. “The police are investigating her poisoning?”
“Imara didn’t say what they asked about. It could have been something else, or even just her immigration status. All the Somalis at the hotel are freaking out, even though they have designated refugee status. I might try to see her in town before she moves away.”
“Good idea.” Heather snapped her fingers. “We could also reach out to Detective Chen. Or maybe Luke could do that. They kind of bonded when they were rescuing me and getting shot at and all that.”
Suddenly the to-do list was piling up. “Do you think your mother will let us go now?” Gabby asked.
“You know this is voluntary, right? We’re not prisoners.” Even so, Heather cast a wary look over her shoulder. “I think we can slip away after we clean these brushes.”
But the brushes and the boards and the entire Bloodshot Eyeball café were forgotten as the sound of a siren caught their attention. Then came red lights flashing through the trees along the main road.
“Fire truck? Or Luke?” Heather asked.
“Either way, let’s go!”
They stuck their brushes into the jar of turpentine, closed the paint can, and ran for their bikes. “We can’t borrow your mom’s truck?” Gabby asked as she fastened her helmet.
“Believe me, it’s quicker this way. If we take the truck, we’ll have to run all her errands too, and it’ll take her twenty minutes to explain them all.”
They biked at top speed down the road in the direction the siren and lights had been going.
By the time they spotted Luke’s truck pulled over by the side of the road, Gabby’s lungs were on fire and her blood was pumping through her veins.
Two more vehicles were parked there too, a yellow fire engine and a dusty Chevette.
But she was oblivious to all that as she took in where they were.
“Do you think something else happened to Andy?” she panted, filled with alarm at the thought.
“No, it’s not the Highgroves. It’s their neighbor. That German piano teacher, I can never remember her name.”
The house next to the Highgroves’ was perched on a rise, with a long set of wooden steps climbing up the hillside to a covered porch, with the front door so recessed it was barely visible from the road.
Its wooden siding probably used to be a bright yellow, but it had faded with time to a surly mustard.
With its dark recessed windows, it gave off an unfriendly, don’t-you-dare-try-to-trick-or-treat-here vibe.
It seemed like an odd setup for an elderly woman.
Maybe that was why students came to her.
The front door opened and a cluster of firefighters emerged carrying a gurney.
Heather drew in a sharp breath. “Another poisoning?”
They watched as the crew awkwardly maneuvered their way down the long stairway. Luke was among the group, holding up one end of the gurney. So was Barnaby, who had apparently become the island’s unofficial paramedic.
Gabby didn’t like feeling like a looky-loo, but on their bikes, there was nowhere to hide. “Are we in the breaking news business now?” she murmured to Heather.
“Who says we’re reporting?” Heather whispered back. “We could have been going for an innocent bike ride and just happened to spot the drama.”
“It’s more than drama.” Gabby sucked in a breath as the crew turned a corner on the stairs and the gurney came into closer view. “They have a sheet covering her face. That means she’s dead.”