Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Present Day
I t was a few days after Estelle returned from Martha’s Vineyard. There in her office, snow swirling out the window directly in front of her desk, Estelle typed notes to herself about the mystery of Clarence, the sunken ship, Travis, Roger Albright, and Vivian. Originally, she’d begun this “investigation” to flesh out her novel and inspire herself. But now, she felt captivated with unsolved mysteries—and why Vivian Morceau Knight currently sat alone and wordless at the retirement facility on Martha’s Vineyard. Where was Travis? Why had the boat sank in the first place? Why had everyone abandoned the story as though it didn’t matter at all?
But Estelle couldn’t spend the rest of the day at her computer. It was December, and Christmas was just around the corner. Like every other year, she’d invited her daughters, sister-in-law, daughter-in-law, and female granddaughters over to bake cookies, drink wine, and chat. It was one of her most anticipated events of the year—a time when she fully embraced being a “grandmother.” Ida and her daughters Frankie and Nellie were coming this year, too. It would be a full house. Estelle had bought plenty of baking supplies and bottles of red wine.
Estelle went downstairs to find Roland at the kitchen island with a bottle of beer and a newspaper spread out in front of him. She kissed him on the cheek, barely distracting him from his crossword, and said, “You remember the girls are coming over?”
“I’m more than ready to let them take over the house!” Roland raised his beer. “I just have three more words left…”
Estelle peered over his shoulder, but Roland smacked his hand over the crossword before she could see anything. “You’re a writer, Estelle,” he said playfully. “This kind of thing is easy for you. Give the old man a chance, okay?”
Estelle giggled. It was true that Roland usually got angry when she tried to help him with his crossword. She began to get things out of the cupboards, such as flour and sugar, oats, and chocolate chips. As soon as Roland went upstairs, she put on Christmas music and prepared her heart. A few seconds later, the doorbell rang. But Sam didn’t wait for Estelle to come open it before she strode in, bellowing, “Hello! We’re here!”
Estelle hurried out to hug Sam and Darcy. Rachelle had gone back to Italy until next year, which devastated all of them. It would be the first Christmas she’d miss. Estelle just prayed that she’d get all that travel out of her system and not miss any more.
Darcy waddled into the kitchen and sat down in front of the cookie cutters, her hand over her pregnant belly. Sam took a tortilla chip from a bowl Estelle had put out and assessed the bags and bags of ingredients. “It looks like we have our work cut out for us!”
Estelle laughed.
“Hilary called me this morning,” Sam said, snapping her hands over her thighs. “She’s having a little bit of a panic about the wedding.”
Estelle was surprised at herself. She hadn’t thought about Hilary’s wedding in ages! She’d been too immersed in the story of the sunken ship.
“We’ll help her with whatever she needs,” Estelle promised, feeling like the worst mother ever.
“You know how she is,” Sam said. “She likes to worry too much. It’s her way of making sure everything falls into place.”
The doorbell rang again. This time, Hilary and Aria ambled in with piles of wedding magazines and stressed-out smiles. Estelle hugged Hilary extra tight and ordered her to sit down. But as soon as Hilary collapsed in the chair beside Darcy, she burst into all kinds of drama about the wedding. “The caterer pulled out,” she said, “and it’s going to take so much time to find a new one up to par with the old one! I wish Rachelle could come back and do it.” She sighed and looked down at her fingernails, which she’d tugged at and bit. Estelle couldn’t remember Aria ruining her nails since she was a child. It meant things were especially bad.
Estelle made everyone cups of tea and tried to impart as much wisdom as she could. “I’ll be with you every step of the way,” she told Hilary. “If it comes to it, I’ll cater the thing myself.”
“No way, Mom! I want you to have a good time.” Hilary’s shoulders fell.
As Hilary continued rambling about the wedding and all its drama, more and more Colemans came by—Shawna and Sheila and Marcy, plus Katrina and Ida and Nellie and Frankie. After a stressful year of ups and downs, of fears and tribulations, Ida and Frankie looked especially bright-eyed and optimistic. Estelle hugged them tightly and ordered them to put on aprons as she was nearly done mixing the cookie dough, which meant it was almost time to cut out the Christmas cookies. From the speaker, Nat King Cole sang with his full heart and soul.
After everything settled down, Sam turned everything on its head and asked Estelle how she’d been. Estelle, being the grandmother there to take care of everyone else, hadn’t anticipated the conversation shifting to her. She stopped rolling out the dough and blinked. The only thing on her mind was the shipwreck, obviously.
“I’ve been doing research about old lighthouse keepers in Nantucket and Martha’s Vineyard,” she explained. “And it’s led me into quite an intriguing true story.”
She told them everything she’d learned thus far about the shipwreck, which wasn’t a whole lot. “It feels like the twenty-first century all but abandoned the story,” she said. “I can’t get very far.”
Suddenly, all the color drained from Darcy’s face so much that Estelle was frightened that something was wrong with the baby.
“Darcy! Are you all right?” She turned from her dough and prepared to reach for her phone.
But Darcy’s answer was a smile. “Wait. Are you talking about the La Boheme ? The cruise ship that sank in 1982?”
Estelle’s heart hammered. “Yes?”
“I listened to a podcast about it!” Darcy explained.
“A podcast?” This was a medium Estelle hadn’t ever fully explored. Her world was books and the occasional film. Why would you want to listen to someone talking at you?
Darcy nodded eagerly. “It was a mystery podcast. It outlined everything we know about the case, plus the twists and turns that happened afterward.”
“Twists and turns?” Estelle repeated. She felt out of her mind. How could she have missed the twists and turns!?
“Nobody ever found out why the ship sank,” Darcy said. “But some stuff may or may not have happened after the ‘accident.’” She used air quotes to say accident . “Some of the stories are rumors, but it’s almost impossible to say what’s real and what isn’t.
“Like, maybe you read that Roger Albright had an enormous inheritance,” Darcy said excitedly.
“Yes! It went to his four children,” Estelle finished.
“But there’s a rumor that he had a fifth child,” Darcy said. “It’s also rumored that Roger Albright wanted to give everything to this fifth child and write his four legitimate children out of the will.”
“That’s a motive if I’ve ever heard one,” Estelle said, raising her eyebrows.
“Right?” Darcy sighed. “But after Roger died, the money went to his four legitimate children, and nobody ever came forward to demand the fifth inheritance.”
“So nobody knows who the fifth child was?” Sam asked.
Darcy shook her head. “Nobody ever knew! At least, it sounded like the story was totally abandoned after a while. Somehow, the investigation was botched.”
“Was it Martha’s Vineyard police who botched it?” Sam asked.
“That’s not clear,” Darcy said. It seemed nothing was.
“How do you sink a ship on purpose?” Estelle demanded. “Isn’t it way too dangerous to experiment with something like that?”
“The total inheritance was in the billions of dollars,” Darcy remembered. “I guess there’s a price for everything. That’s enough for someone out there.”
Estelle returned her attention to the cookie dough as her family members continued gossiping about the shipwreck, Roger Albright and his four children, and his fifth illegitimate one. Eventually, Sam pulled up an article about where the Albright children were now. This brought Estelle away from the cookie dough, swapping places with Marcy and Sheila, who took over.
Sam showed Estelle a website with four photographs of the Albright children. They were now in their seventies and held prominent positions on art museum boards and at the heads of major broadcast companies. One of them had become a philanthropist, which Estelle knew was just a fancy way of saying you had more money than you knew what to do with.
It was hard to believe these people had ever been involved in some kind of sinister plot.
“Is it really possible that they had their father killed?” Estelle breathed.
“Rich people love money,” Darcy said.
“Is this all for your book?” Hilary asked, pouring a glass of wine for herself and smiling. “It sounds like it’s turning into a murder mystery.”
“Maybe you’ve changed genres!” Sam agreed. “Goodbye to romance, hello to drama!”
“I’d never turn my back on romance,” Estelle said. “I’m still going to write the romance about the lighthouse keeper. Maybe there’s a mystery element, but love is still at the core of the story. I can’t escape that.”
“What will your readers think of all that mystery and darkness?” Sam asked.
“I never know what they’ll think,” Estelle said quietly, thinking of her thousands of readers at home, some of whom had written her in hopeful expectation, asking when her next book would be finished.
But Estelle still hadn’t told her daughters and granddaughters the most mysterious facet of the story—a young woman who’d been aboard that ship the night it sank was now sitting wordlessly at Chuck’s retirement facility. Chuck needed to know what had happened to her, why she was there, and where her family was. He’d asked Estelle for help.
Why was Chuck so curious about her? He’d said he’d been there the night La Boheme had sank and never figured out what happened with Vivian and Travis. He’d said that night had ramifications for his own life. But what did that mean?
Estelle didn’t want to turn the Coleman women against Chuck. He’d just re-entered their lives. She’d keep her lips sealed.
“Let’s put the first sheet of cookies in the oven!” Estelle suggested.
Estelle watched as Marcy bent to position the cookie sheet in the hot oven. Soon, Hilary asked Shawna for her opinion on a table-setting piece for the wedding, and the Coleman women were otherwise distracted.
This left Estelle to stew in the story, lost in her own mind. What made Estelle think she could get to the bottom of it if Darcy and the podcasters couldn’t? She was no researcher. She was just a storyteller who’d gotten lost in the past.