Lethal Legend (19 page)

“Wait. Talking to Graham won’t do any good. Not right now. But there may be another way.”

They stepped out of the hotel into a cold mist. The rain had stopped, but Ellsworth’s maple- and elm-lined streets dripped moisture. By the time Ben had taken them to the county courthouse, even at the brisk pace he set, the brim of Diana’s hat was sodden and drooping.

She removed it and gave it a shake while Ben requested a copy of
Maine Court Officer.
She had no idea what he was up to, but she followed after him when a clerk showed him to a small stuffy room that was obviously used to store old records. The dust lay so thick on some of them that Diana at once burrowed into her bag for a handkerchief. The first sneeze followed only seconds after she located it.

By the time she stopped sneezing, Ben was thumbing rapidly through the pages of a thick, leather-bound book. “This is a handbook for officials. Everyone from coroners to justices of the peace. It contains all the laws of the state, including the revised statutes and public acts. If there is a legal way to stop a wedding, it will be recorded here.”

“Do you know when and where the ceremony is to be?” Diana asked.

“Islesborough. Before a justice of the peace, I imagine. Graham’s not much of a churchgoer.”

Another sneeze manifested itself, violently, followed by a second smaller explosion. Holding the handkerchief to her nose, eyes streaming, she mumbled, “Why Islesborough?”

“Closest town. See here.” He tapped a page. “Someone who doesn’t live
in
an incorporated town has to file marriage intentions with the town clerk of the nearest one.”

“And at least five days ahead of time.” Diana already knew that part. They had filed their own marriage intentions as soon as they’d returned to Bangor from New York.

A grim smile overspread Ben’s face. “Ah, this will do. We can file what’s called a ‘caution’ with the town clerk.”

Diana leaned closer to read the entry over his shoulder. “This seems to be an effort to prevent bigamy. You can claim there is an impediment to the marriage if either the bride or the groom has a spouse already.”

“That’s the usual reason, yes, but surely the fact that the bride is a criminal is an ‘impediment’ as well.”

“I am sure it would be ... if we had proof of it to offer. If we did, we could also stop the wedding by having the sheriff arrest Serena.”

Ben slammed the law book closed, sending up another cloud of dust. Diana hastily backed away, the handkerchief over her nose and mouth.

“If we’re right about Serena Dunbar,” Ben muttered, “Graham’s very life is at stake. I will not let him make a mistake of this magnitude, not without trying to stop him. And I won’t quibble at stretching the truth, if that is what is required.”

As Diana followed Ben back outside the courthouse, her mind was awhirl. If they were right about Serena, and if Graham Somener married her, at best there would be a scandalous divorce. At worst, he might become her next victim. Ben was correct. They had to do something ... anything ... to prevent his oldest friend from making a terrible mistake.

 She was not surprised when Ben announced that they would not be returning to Bangor by train the next morning, as they’d originally planned. Instead, they’d be catching the steamer to Islesborough.

* * * *

Friday morning, the twenty-second day of June, dawned clear and calm. It was not ideal sailing weather, since there was not much breeze, but that did not affect the ferry Ben and Diana boarded in Ellsworth at 5 AM. It set them ashore at Bar Harbor in time to catch the steamer
Cimbria
, departing at seven. They would reach Islesborough at half past twelve.

Diana yawned hugely as the deep-toned bell in the pilot house rang to signal their departure. They’d gotten little sleep the night before, although that was only partly due to their early departure time. Ben was not surprised when she dozed off sitting beside him in the saloon on the main deck.

She slept soundly, only occasionally disturbed by the sound of a horn, or a bell from a buoy or a lighthouse, or another boat. It did not seem to take her long to grow accustomed to and ignore the steady ka-chung of the engine, the swish of the wake, and the way the glass in the portholes rattled.

Ben, on the other hand, was unable to rest. What he was about to do to his oldest friend preyed on his mind, and yet he could not come up with any better solution. Serena Dunbar was undoubtedly a liar and a confidence woman and very probably a cold-blooded killer. He could not permit Graham, who had already suffered greatly because someone he’d trusted had betrayed him, to go through with the wedding. Bad enough what learning the truth now would do to undermine his friend’s hard-won sanity. Finding out
after
he’d married her that she only loved his fortune was likely to push him past endurance ... with potentially deadly and tragic results.

Diana woke when she smelled coffee. A meal was served en route and afterward they went out on deck. Ben hoped the scenery would soothe his troubled conscience. After all, what he intended was a kind of betrayal, too, for all that he was acting to protect his friend.

By the time they’d steamed through Eggemoggin Reach and rounded Little Deer Isle into Penobscot Bay, he had convinced himself that he had no choice in the matter.  It was surgery, he decided. Painful, yes, but with the result that the patient lived a long and healthy life afterward.

“A pity we don’t have a stateroom,” Diana murmured, shifting restlessly. “I could do with some real sleep.”

“It’s too short a trip.”

 “Long enough.”

“A stroll will perk you up.”

By the time they had explored every nook and cranny of the
Cimbria,
Diana’s spirits seemed much improved. Returning to the rail, Ben pointed out some of the islands he knew by name—Beach and Butter, Pickering, and The Porcupines. The
Cimbria
passed close enough to one he didn’t recognize to make out groves of spruces and gray-trunked beeches on the wooded shore. On another, they could see pastures and gently rolling grassy slopes. A third sported evergreens, oaks, beeches, maples, and yellow and white birches that grew right down to the edge of the rocks on the shore. Some looked welcoming, offering safe anchorage, while others did not appear to have any harbor at all and were surrounded by nasty looking ledges.

“That’s Islesborough,” Ben said after awhile, pointing towards a long, sinuous stretch of land. The breeze rifled his hair and beard and set the feather that decorated Diana’s hat to dancing.

“I thought it was the mainland.”

“An easy mistake. Islesborough is some thirteen miles long.” He indicated a second, much smaller island a few miles to the east. “And there is Keep Island.”

From the steamer, the promontory was clearly visible but the buildings beyond were not. Ben did not see any sign of the expedition tents, either.

“Do you suppose Serena will give up all pretense of excavating, now that she thinks she’s going to marry Graham?”

“It did not sound that way,” Diana replied. “She planned to get right back to work today, as soon as they arrived on the island.”

“What’s wrong?” Ben asked, seeing Diana’s frown.

“A momentary doubt.” She gave a dismissive wave with one silk-gloved hand.

“Tell me.”

“It’s just that the few times Serena has deigned to talk to me about archaeology, she’s seemed genuinely enthusiastic about her excavation.”

“A performance designed to take in the unwary.”

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Most confidence women are excellent actresses, even the ones who have never trod the boards. That she sounded sincere is just more evidence of her cleverness.”

The boat steamed on, passing between Islesborough and Keep Island. There was nothing to see on the western side of the latter, which was all tall, bare, glassy cliffs with sea gull nests at the crests of the precipices and scudding clouds above.

“There are still a great many things that puzzle me,” Diana admitted as they listened to the birds’ raucous cries. The sound reached them clearly across the water. “A confidence game is an unlikely source for the rumors of criminal activity on Keep Island. Serena must be engaged in something more than that, but what?”

“She’d make a fetching pirate queen,” Ben suggested.

Diana punched his arm. “Don’t be sarcastic. The excavation would make an excellent cover for a smuggling operation, don’t you think?”

“Smuggling seems most likely,” he agreed as the
Cimbria
approached the steamship dock in Ryder’s Cove.

“Smuggling what?”

“Liquor, without a doubt. Maine may be a dry state by law, but that has never stopped a man from getting a drink if he wanted one.”

“Or if
she
did. And Serena is certainly no advocate of the temperance movement. The night of Frank Ennis’s death she drank a great deal of wine at supper. Later, after she retired to her room, she topped that off with a considerable amount of brandy.”

More damning evidence against the woman, Ben thought, although he’d never noticed her overindulging at any other time. “I wonder what prompted the binge—grief for Ennis? Remorse over killing him? Fear of arrest?”

“More likely,” Diana said in a grim voice, “she was celebrating the successful elimination of someone who’d threatened to ruin one of her evil plans.”

* * * *

A hotel with a dining room was located within sight of Islesborough’s steamship dock. It was more boarding house than luxurious hostelry, but the proprietor was a loquacious sort and happy to answer Ben’s questions while Ben and Diana consumed a midday meal of thick fish chowder and fresh-baked biscuits slathered in butter.

“Town clerk is Lincoln Gilkey,” he told them. “You’ll find him at his farm, about five miles down the road.”

“Where can we hire a horse and buggy?” Ben asked.

“Right next door, Dr. Northcote.”

“And the next steamer to the mainland?”

“That’d be the
Electra
. She makes the round trip from Belfast to Castine three times a day, with stops here at Islesborough each way. You won’t be staying over, then?”

“That depends upon how much we can accomplish in the next few hours.  The horse and buggy?”

The proprietor handled the financial end of the transaction, then led them into an attached barn. Right next door, as he’d said.

“Clat, harness Bernice!” he bellowed.

An amiable-looking little man with a slight limp popped out of a horse stall. He made quick work of his task, although it was clear he was a bit simple. “Anything else I can do for you, guv’ner?” he asked, tipping his disreputable-looking cap.

“Clat, is it?” Ben asked.

“Short for Clarence.” He bobbed his head as if to confirm this bit of information.

“Well, Clat-short-for-Clarence, where might I find the local justice of the peace? I should have thought to ask about him before mine host returned to the hotel,” he added for Diana’s benefit.

“You want Sprague?” Clat stuck one finger under the edge of his cap and scratched.

“If he performs marriages, yes.”

Obligingly, Clat gave them directions to the house of one Joseph A. Sprague.

“He’s closer than Mr. Gilkey,” Diana observed.

“We’ll stop on our way back. No doubt talking to the town clerk will be sufficient, but it occurred to me that the J.P. should be warned, as well.”

They set off at a slow and steady pace. “You seem to know your way around the island,” Diana remarked.

“Graham and I used to row over here when we were boys. There are several places on Islesborough that are prime hunting grounds for Indian artifacts. The Penobscot and Tarrantine tribes still visit here every year to pick berries, dig clams, split ash, and collect sweet grass. They make containers of various sizes out of the ash and weave the sweet grass into baskets to sell to tourists.”

“Weren’t there any Indian artifacts on Keep Island?”

“Not that we ever found.”

“More proof, as if we needed it, that Serena’s excavation is a fraud. If there weren’t even Indians on Keep Island, how could she expect to find traces of her mythical European settlers?”

“Perhaps the curse kept them away,” Ben suggested with a grin.

She did not return his smile. She’d forgotten all about that curse. “Do you have any idea how that story got started? People keep mentioning it, but like Mr. Palmer’s ‘criminal activities,’ the details are vague. Do you suppose Graham concocted it himself to keep people away?”

“You’ll have to ask Mrs. Monroe,” Ben said. “According to Serena, she’s the one who first mentioned it.”

Diana was still contemplating the best way to learn more about the mysterious curse when they reached Lincoln Gilkey’s house.

Islesborough’s town clerk was a taciturn gentleman in his sixties who greeted Ben’s attempt to file a “caution” with extreme skepticism. “What proof do you have of bigamy?” he demanded.

“None,” Ben admitted, “but we have the most serious doubts about Miss Serena Dunbar’s honesty. That she’s a confidence woman is almost certain. She’s undoubtedly a fortune hunter, as well. There’s also the matter of the drowning death of one of her partners. As a physician, I can tell you that it was no accident.”

“Jurisdiction over that death lies in another county,” Gilkey interrupted. “It’s none of my concern.”

“Murder is everybody’s business.”

“Calm down, Northcote. You’ve said your piece.”

With a visible effort, Ben kept his voice level. “In fact, I have not. As I understand it, the point in filing a caution is to postpone a marriage until irregularities can be investigated. That’s called for here. To prove any of the charges I’ve made, as well as to determine whether or not Miss Dunbar is already married, requires time.”

“I’ve known Graham Somener for years. He’s as sharp as they come. Not likely he’d be fooled by a bit of muslin.”

“I know him well, too,” Ben argued, “and any man can fall prey to a woman’s wiles.”

“There is a detective out of Boston who may be able to shed some light on the situation,” Diana interjected. “He’s been investigating reports of criminal activities in the area.”