No Mortal Reason (15 page)

“It was back then,” Ben told her. “They made bullets from it.” They still did, he supposed.

“And arrowheads,” Myron put in. “The story of the lost Indian mine is nonsense, but back in my great-great-great-great-great—” he counted them off on his fingers “—grandfather’s day, the Grants had a store where the Indians came to melt lead for arrows.”

“Wouldn’t that be a smelter?” Diana asked. She’d grown up in the mining country of Colorado.

“The story I heard said it was a silver mine,” Sebastian interjected.

“Lead,” Mercy insisted, “and I’m telling the story.”

Sebastian subsided, but he mouthed the word “silver” just to annoy his cousin.

Ben and Diana and Mr. and Mrs. Saugus had been invited to share the evening meal with the Grants and Ellingtons, since there were no other guests in the hotel. Belle Saugus was present, but she’d informed them, rather curtly, that her husband was “indisposed.”

Howd had not yet returned to Lenape Springs.

Ben watched Diana as Mercy resumed her story. He didn’t pay much attention to the words. She chattered like one of her father’s birds—a junco, perhaps, or a jay.

Since Ben’s return to the hotel, Diana had brought him up to date on developments, including Mercy’s clear desire to avoid an interview. The girl evaded Diana’s eyes even now, babbling on about ancestors she had no idea she and Diana shared.

“William Grant had two children, twins, a girl named Mercy and a boy named Justice. It’s said they could communicate with each other without words.”

“A dangerous thing, I should think, in those unenlightened times. If the wrong person knew of it, either or both of them would have been accused of witchcraft.”

“But so convenient, don’t you think, Diana? Especially in light of what happened to them. You see, bandits who wanted the map to the lead mine attacked the Grant home in what was then the Connecticut colony. They’d built their farmstead in a very remote spot, so no one was nearby to help. The villains burned it to the ground, killed two servants, and kidnapped Justice. Mercy only escaped because she’d been off in the woods gathering berries when they struck.”

“Their father wasn’t at home?” Diana asked.

Ben could sense her fascination with Mercy’s account. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised. These were, after all, her family’s stories.

“William had already left with his younger brother. The map wasn’t there, either. The robbers found nothing. There was a copy, but William had given it to his daughter and Mercy had taken the precaution of sewing it into the lining of her skirt.”

Diana’s cousin went on to tell them how the first Mercy Grant had tracked her twin, with the aid of their otherworldly connection and the assistance of a handsome stranger named Sebastian Tanfield.

“Did they ever find the mine?” Diana asked.

Myron snorted. “Lot of nonsense. All of it.”

“A gold mine might be, but there could be silver,” Sebastian said.

“Lead.” Mercy sounded exasperated. “And there
is
lead in the mountains. There’s a mine over near Wurtsburo.”

“Which mountains?” Ben asked. “The Catskills or the Shawangunks?”

Mercy giggled. “It’s pronounced Shon-gum,” she corrected him.

Ben bore the amused smiles with good grace. There were a few place names in Maine, too, that tricked the unwary visitor from away.

“Our mine was probably up around Sundown. That’s where the Grants lived before they came here. We still own the old homestead. My father uses it when he wants to spend time by himself.”

“Is that where he is now?” Ben inquired.

“I don’t know where Howd’s got to,” Myron complained.

“I’d like to talk with him when he returns,” Diana put in.

“I’ll see to it,” Myron promised. He glanced at Mrs. Saugus, who had not been informed of Diana’s status as a journalist, and said no more.

“So,” Diana said, “it sounds as if William Grant
did
find a mine.”

Mercy sighed. “Truth is, there wasn’t much to find. Turns out the Indians just dug lead out of a stream of water and took it to smelters to make into arrowheads. Or bullets. There was some lead to be had, but not enough to make their fortune.”

“Unless that’s just what they wanted people to think,” Sebastian interjected. “I’m pretty sure it was illegal to mine without the Dutch government’s permission in those days.”

“What happened to the map?” Diana asked, taking a sip of the fine wine Mrs. Ellington had served with the meal.

“It used to be kept in an old blue chest in my grandfather’s room, but one time he and Uncle Myron and my father took it and went looking.” She cast a sly grin her uncle’s way. He glowered back. “Apparently, by then, the stream had changed course or dried up because there wasn’t a trace of it left.”

“You should frame that map and display it,” Diana said. “Tourists love that sort of thing.”

“I would, except that now the map’s missing, too. I went to look for it a few months ago and it wasn’t in the blue chest.” She cast a suspicious glance in Sebastian’s direction. “No one admits to knowing what happened to it.”

Ignoring her, Sebastian calmly went on eating.

This family had spotty luck with streams, Ben thought, but it did ease his mind when Myron continued to debunk the myth of the mine. If he’d really salted the brook, he’d jump at a chance to exploit a lost Indian mine.

“Seems I’ve heard similar stories,” Ben ventured when there was a break in the soliloquy. “Wasn’t there something about an Indian who painted his face with gold?”

 “Agheroense.” Myron supplied the name with an ease that belied his lack of interest in the subject. “An Indian interpreter. Showed up at Fort Orange—that’s Albany now—with shining face paint. Everybody said it was gold. The Injun took the authorities to the place he found it, but they kept the location secret and tried to send some of the stuff to Holland to be tested. Know what happened to it? Disappeared off the face of the earth. Oh, the ship it was on was seen once more, out in the harbor at New Haven, but only long enough to vanish in a puff of smoke.” The sarcasm in his tone intensified. “A ghost ship.”

“I was thinking of something a bit more recent,” Ben said. “Perhaps fourteen or fifteen years back. The father of a friend of mine was one of a party that went to the Mountain House in Woodstock because they’d heard an Indian legend about a gold mine in the Catskills. They took a boy medium with them. He was supposed to be able to look through an enchanted stone and discover hidden treasure. It didn’t work, but the treasure hunters apparently enjoyed the experience. As I recall, there was talk of organizing a stock company to work the mine. They were certain they’d find it on their
next
expedition.”

“There’s a sucker born every minute,” Mrs. Saugus said,
sotto voce
. Everyone laughed, but Ben doubted they were all amused for the same reason.

* * * *

Howd Grant put in an appearance shortly after Diana and Ben retired to their suite for the night. There had been time to turn up the gaslights, stir the embers and add kindling to the fireplace, and exchange their first conflicting opinions about where Ben was going to sleep that night.

“Myron told me to talk to you.” Howd’s curious glance went from Diana to Ben and back again.

“Come in, Mr. Grant,” Diana said, stepping back out of the way. “I have a few questions for you.”

“Howd. Remember? Or Uncle Howd, if you feel better being a bit more formal.”

Diana stared at him, but his expression was benign. She assured herself that he’d meant nothing more than to offer to be an honorary uncle. If he had any idea she was really his niece, surely he’d say so.

“Myron explained you want to help,” Howd continued. “I’ll cooperate all I can.” He hesitated. “I didn’t have anything to do with Elly’s death, you know. I loved her.”

“I want to believe you,” Diana said, “but your word alone isn’t good enough. You must see that your secret courtship of Miss Lyseth makes you
look
suspicious. Even your brother was beginning to have doubts when you didn’t return to Lenape Springs by this evening.”

If she’d hoped he’d tell her where he’d been and what he’d been up to, she was disappointed. He simply made himself comfortable in the armchair, leaving the sofa for her, and waited for the inquisition to begin.

“Tell me about Elly Lyseth.” Diana sat gingerly on one end of the sofa, glad she hadn’t yet put out the blanket and pillow for Ben.

“I don’t know where to start.”

“Start with the way things were ten years ago. Why not court her openly?”

“She was a lot younger than me. I figured we didn’t need to hear what folks thought of me robbing the cradle.”

“Your idea, then?” She looked up from her notes.

He frowned. “No. I was pleased as punch she seemed to like me. I wanted to show her off. Take her to dances. She wouldn’t go.”

“A religious issue?” Ben had been standing with one shoulder propped against the elaborately finished terra cotta and pressed brick fireplace. Now he gave the fire a last stir and, satisfied that it was burning well, returned the poker to its rack, put the fire screen in place, and crossed to the sofa. He sank down next to Diana, sprawling elegantly and taking up far too much room.

“You mean her mother?” Howd asked. “No. Celia wasn’t such a stickler back then. She wouldn’t have begrudged Elly a little fun. It was Floyd Elly was leery of. When she was younger and misbehaved, Celia’d take a switch to her, but Floyd, he’d use his fists.”

“Was she afraid of her father?”

“Just careful around him.”

Diana knew corporal punishment was the way most parents dealt with their children. Only the degree varied. Still, it bothered her to learn that Elly Lyseth had been beaten. “Did she think that if she ran off and got married she’d escape him?”

“Once the deed was done, he couldn’t touch her. Not legally, anyway.”

Diana did not respond aloud to that comment, but her hands involuntarily clenched into fists. Carefully, she straightened her fingers. She knew far too many women who had tried to escape a tyrant of a father only to end up in a far worse situation. A woman might escape parental discipline when she married, but once she was wed, then her husband could beat her with impunity.

As if sensing her thoughts, Ben shifted his position until his thigh brushed her skirt. She took comfort in the contact, as he’d no doubt intended. She kept her eyes on Howd, however, and most of her attention on the interview she was conducting.

“Did Elly ever talk about running away? No one seems to have been surprised when she simply disappeared. Even you didn’t suspect foul play at the time.”

“Elly was a spirited girl. And outspoken.” A faint smile curved his lips. “They had some fierce, loud quarrels, her and her parents. Elly’d be yelling, and Celia’d shout: ‘Do you want the neighbors to hear?’ And Elly, she’d raise her voice even louder and bellow: ‘Yes! Let’s give them something to listen to! What do I care?’“

“Someone told me she’d run off with a peddler.”

“That’s the story that was going around,” Howd agreed. “I believed it myself.”

“Why?”

“Well, given a choice, who’d pick me over a good-looking young man? There was a drummer come through here just about that time. Not the old fashioned kind, selling pots and pans and mending them. This fella was a jobber for a men’s clothing company. Called himself a commercial traveler. Dressed real fine and drove a wagon and team owned by his firm because he had to handle two big trunks, one for patterns and another for goods. He called with the summer line in early spring and the winter line in early autumn. Everybody saw how Elly noticed him the first time he visited Castine’s store. He came through again just before she disappeared.”

“Was she seen with him?”

“I saw her watching him. Can’t say for sure, now, if they even spoke, but she was interested all right. I was jealous at the time. That’s why I decided to give her the locket.”

“Speaking of that locket, was there a picture inside it?”

“See for yourself.” He reached into a pocket and produced it.

Diana opened the delicate gold heart and looked down at the smiling face of a younger, thinner, happier Howard Grant.

“Got it back from the coroner,” Howd said when she returned it to him. “He didn’t need to keep it for anything.”

“Did you ask her to marry you?” Diana asked.

“I was going to, but she . . . well, she wasn’t herself that day.”

“How do you mean?”

Howd sighed. “She was always so vivacious. Reminded me of an overeager puppy sometimes. She’d never remember until it was too late that puppies who make a nuisance of themselves are more likely to be kicked than petted.”

What a strange thing for a lover to say, Diana thought. Unbidden, her gaze slid to Ben, then quickly away when she found him watching her instead of Howd.

“Anyways, that day she was real quiet. I thought she’d be excited when I gave her the locket. She knew how much it meant to me, having been my wife’s and all. But she just took it and slipped it around her neck and thanked me. Said I was very sweet.”

“So later, when she disappeared, you thought she’d been planning to go all along?”

“I’m ashamed to say that’s exactly what I thought—that she was a rounder who’d been two-timing me. I thought about going after them. I was angry about the loss of the locket too. And I confess I would have liked to kill that drummer. But I’d never have hurt Elly and I
didn’t
go after them. I went up to my place in the woods for a spell, till I calmed down, and then I tried my best to forget all about Elly Lyseth.”

Diana put a sympathetic hand on his arm. “I’m sorry,” she said.

“We’d best add the clothes jobber to our list of suspects,” Ben said, “although it may turn out he never even met Elly Lyseth. Do you know his name?”

“Never heard one. And I’m told he hasn’t been seen in these parts since then.” A faint smile played around the corners of his mouth. “Folks figure he heard Floyd Lyseth was wanting to tar and feather him.”

“Mrs. Castine might be able to identify him for us,” Diana said, “and the company that employed him.” She scribbled a note to herself, then looked up expectantly at Howd. “Were you working at the hotel then?”