Saltar's Point (34 page)

THIRTY-SEVEN

McGinty hung his head over the side railing. The ocean pitched and rolled sloshing the contents of his stomach up and down and making his legs weak. He wiped the sweat from his brow and summoned all of his might not to loose his lunch into the raging waters of the Indian Ocean. It would be a long journey, and he did not need to succumb to the symptoms of seasickness so early. They would sail down the east coast of Africa, around the Cape of Good Hope, and then northward to New York where they would board a train bound for the west coast. It had been only four days since their discovery of the tomb of the Bedouin, and Talcott was determined to make the journey in record time. A large swell raised the hull of the Bengali, a large Indian fishing vessel Talcott had commandeered for a handsome sum to transport them and their precious cargo back to America. The swell raised the fluid in McGinty’s stomach enough for him to loose control over his abdominal muscles and his last meal came spewing up from his throat spilling into the churning waters below, forming an undulating pool of yellowish brown bile atop the raging sea. Food for the fishes McGinty thought as he tried in desperation to keep from heaving once again.

When the last wave of nausea washed over him and he was once again able to stand up straight without his knees buckling beneath him, McGinty made his way back below deck through the port door and down the cast iron steps to the cargo hold below. Inside it was dark, only a few kerosene lanterns illuminated the massive hold. The putrid smell of fish assaulted his nostrils, making him gag once more and his eyes and salivary glands water. Years of transporting fish had left their mark on the Bengali, permeating the walls and filling the air with the wretched odor of rotting seafood.

“Talcott?” He called out into the darkness. “George? Are you in here?”

Only the roar of the ocean answered him. He made his way further back to the recesses of the cargo hold. Talcott had spent nearly the entire time at sea down here, babysitting his precious cargo, as if someone would be able to steal a 1400-pound sarcophagus in the middle of the Indian Ocean. Talcott must have made his way back on deck, to urinate or eat he thought, but when McGinty moved farther into the hold he saw his partner sitting idly by the sarcophagus staring at the marble top with unwavering eyes.

“George. What are you doing?” Again no answer. “George!”

Talcott seemed oblivious to his presence, his body sat rigidly still, his breathing nearly imperceptible, and for a moment McGinty thought he might be dead. He reached out and grabbed his shoulder and shook him gently. Talcott whipped his head around and stared directly through his partner. His eyes were glazed over and harbored a far away look that disturbed McGinty deeply. Undaunted he spoke to Talcott as though there were nothing out of the ordinary.

“The cook has supper on. Better get up top if you want something to eat. These skinny Indian sailors can eat their weight in hummus.”

The far away look in Talcott’s eyes lessened a bit; McGinty let out a silent sigh of relief.

“Hummus and curry again?” McGinty nodded. “I am so sick and tired of curry.”

“Better get used to it, it’s only been three days.”

Talcott let out a harrumph of indifference. “What about you, you eat yet?”

McGinty nodded. “Already donated it back to the sea too.”

“It’s amazing you manage to keep anything down at all, that weak stomach of yours would even kick back vegetable broth.”

Talcott rose from the wicker rocking chair he had set up alongside the sarcophagus, emitting a rangy squeak. McGinty noticed that his appearance had changed drastically in the past four days. His face was now gaunt and pale, whereas before it had been rotund and flush in complexion.

“It wouldn’t do you any harm to get some fresh air either.”

Another harrumph from Talcott followed. “Well I guess if there’s anything you Irishmen know about it would be fresh air.”

“That and a good pint of Guinness George.”

Talcott emitted a small chuckle as he exited the cargo hold. The small gesture of levity raised McGinty’s spirits. Perhaps his old friend was returning to normal after all. Another large swell crashed against the side of the Bengali, pitching the floor beneath his feet. He put his arms out at his sides to maintain his balance and fought another urge to vomit. As soon as the boat leveled again he plopped down into the chair that Talcott had vacated. He pulled a cigar from his breast pocket and the small tinderbox in which he kept his matches, pulling one deftly from inside. The match flared to life as he struck it against the rough edge of the tinderbox. He placed the match to the cigar but before he had a chance to puff the match went out in a small draft of cold wind that blew through the cargo hold. Odd, he thought, there shouldn’t be any drafts down here. The hold was watertight. Shrugging it off, he struck another match and puffed on the end of the cigar until the tip glowed a bright crimson orange. The sweet aroma of cigar smoke filled the hold, battling the sickly smell of fish for dominance in the stale air.

McGinty leaned back and took another long puff, trying to get the taste of vomit out of his mouth. The boat continued to rock back and forth causing the kerosene lanterns to sway and cast dancing light around the cargo hold. He peered down at the sarcophagus, noting the way the light seemed to slip off the smooth marble surface, like drops of mercury from a shattered thermometer. He ran his hand across the top, feeling the glasslike stone beneath his fingertips. It was beautiful he had to admit, in an eerie and unnerving way. He tilted his head back and took another long savory puff from his cigar. When he looked back down he caught sight of the sarcophagus, and the image that burned its way into his retinas made him cough the cigar smoke from his mouth in a long wheezing sputter.

The top was no longer smooth. Etched into the top were the distinctive five points of a pentagram. McGinty dropped his cigar and rocked backwards as though he had been struck by an unseen force. The lines in the marble seemed to glow the same hue as his cigar tip. He began to feel faint.

Good God in Heaven, what the hell is this thing?

McGinty shut his eyes tight and tried desperately to regain his composure. When he opened them, the lid on the sarcophagus was smooth once again.

THIRTY-EIGHT

“How is it?”

“Huh?”

“The tea dear, how is it? Is it to your liking?”

“Oh yes,” Ellie said, jumping out of her daydream. “It’s quite delicious.”

“Not too sweet.”

“Uh, uh. It’s perfect.” She took a long sip as if to prove her fondness for it.

“I’m so glad to hear that dear. You know a lot of people don’t like their tea sweet, but to me there is no other way to take it.” The elderly woman drummed her fingers against the tabletop. “Now you were wanting to learn a little bit about local history, is that right?”

Ellie paused a second, trying desperately to find a good place to begin, and wondering how much she should be asking of Beth Little, after all the woman was known to be fond of gossip, and if rumors were donuts she passed them around by the baker’s dozen. The look in her eyes was one of a hungry dog waiting for a pork chop, full of anticipation.

“Talcott.” Ellie said. “What do you know about him?”

“Oh yes, now I remember, you wanted to know about George Talcott. My mind does wander so these days. Let’s see, he was from Missouri if I recall, came out here for the timber industry, built the Talcott mansion, and died shortly after. Spun a lot of rumors about himself. Whenever a stranger comes to town and starts throwing money around it gets a lot of people talking don’t ya know?”

“What kind of rumors?”

The elderly woman’s eyes rolled up in the back of her head as she thought, almost as if she were trying to read her memories on the back of her brain.

“Oh let’s see, some people said that he had killed a man back in Missouri and fled out here to escape justice, others said he was suffering from tuberculosis and came out west under the direction of his physician to get some fresh air. Still other’s said he was involved in witchcraft, you know spells, chants, bubbling cauldrons, spooky stuff like that. If you ask me that’s all just a bunch of hogwash, just stories people like to tell through the years. Gives a little town like Saltar’s Point some personality don’t ya know. I never much believed the stories myself, course that’s all they were to me was stories. All this happened before I was born, I’m an old woman, but not that old.”

Ellie knew all of this and she wanted Beth to cut to the chase, but didn’t want to push her. She had to choose her questions carefully or Beth Little would begin asking questions of her own.

“What about archeology? Was he into archeology?”

“Oh heavens yes. That’s what started a lot of the witchcraft rumors. Folks said he brought back something evil from Egypt or one of those other African countries. I can’t keep ‘em straight anymore with them always changing governments and names, too confusing for an old lady such as myself. Anyway I’m getting off track here; other people said that he built the mansion full of trap doors, secret passageways, and dungeons. Never been in it myself so I don’t rightly know. Never got around to it ‘cause I thought I might visit it during my farewell stop, with it being the town mortuary and all, but I guess that all changed with Porter’s passing.”

Ellie took a long sip of tea, trying to act as casual as possible. “What about a business partner, in archeology? Did Talcott have one?”

“As I recall yes, an elderly gentleman by the name of McGinty, some big shot professor who used Talcott to fund some of his expeditions. Not much was known about him around here, quiet fellow, kept to himself. Died even before Talcott if I remember right.”

Ellie forced the next words from her throat. “Did he have any children, a daughter perhaps?”

The following silence seemed like an eternity to Ellie although in reality she knew it couldn’t have been more than three or four seconds.

“Yes, I believe he did. A young daughter, a teenager I think. She was a scandalous one around these parts. Practiced the oldest profession if you know what I mean. Although I can’t say I blame her, wasn’t much a young lady could do back in those days and after her father died she didn’t have much choice.”

“Do you remember her name?”

“Oh my, you’re really testing this old memory of mine today. Let’s see, I believe it was Sonja, no that’s not it.”

“Sofia?”

A bewildered look crossed the librarians face. “My word yes. Sofia I believe it was. Now how on earth would you happen to know something like that?”

“Just a lucky guess. Thank you Beth, you’ve been quite helpful.”

Ellie pushed back from the table and stood to leave, gathering her purse over her shoulder.

“Oh dear, leaving so soon?”

“I’m afraid so. I just remembered I have something I have to straighten out with my grandfather.” The last word stung her tongue like acid.

“But you haven’t even finished your tea.” Beth Little said, but it fell on deaf ears. Ellie had already slammed the door shut behind her. Kids, she thought to herself. They just don’t have good manners any more.

The fire and brimstone that spewed from Ellie’s mouth would have put a Pentecostal preacher to shame.

“And just when the hell did you plan on telling me?”

Cletus was silent for a moment. “Ellie, sometimes there are things that a man does in his life that he is not proud of.”

“And I suppose lying to your great niece is one?”

“I never wanted it to come to this, I was only trying to protect you.”

“Protect me! Protect me from what,” Ellie spat, “the truth?”

“Ellie sometimes in a small town you have to protect those closest to you from the truth. Had you known it would have been very difficult for you.”

“More difficult than this?”

The tears welled up inside of Ellie’s eyes and began rolling down her cheeks one after the other. Cletus took the dishrag off his shoulder and began defensively to wipe down the bar. Bernie’s was empty and Cletus thanked his lucky stars for that, in her emotional state he doubted that a few patrons would keep Ellie from pouring out her feelings. She plopped down on the nearest barstool and rested her head in her arms as she sobbed on the counter. Cletus hesitated a second and then placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, praying that she wouldn’t pull away. She didn’t.

“Ellie,” Cletus began. “I loved your grandmother very much, but she wasn’t well. She got pregnant by some drifter and I spent my whole life taking care of her and your mother. Gave up a family of my own so I could do it, and you know what?”

He placed a hand beneath Ellie’s chin and lifted her head until they were square eye-to-eye. “I’d do it all over again, and do you know why?”

Ellie shook her head. “Because you became my family. I love you as though you were my own daughter, let alone granddaughter, and I still believe to this day that what I did was the right thing to do.”

“But why all the lies?” Ellie managed to get out between sobs.

“Small town people can be very judgmental, you know that Ellie. Isn’t that why you left town in the first place?”

“That isn’t fair.”

“And treating me like this is?” Cletus’ words had their desired sting effect. “When your father left your mother needed help and so your grandmother and I took you in. Your grandmother wasn’t right, everyone knew that. There was no way she could have cared for herself, let alone a granddaughter. So I did what I thought was best. Everyone has secrets in their past that they wish they could make go away. I just thought that if I kept them from you, you wouldn’t have to carry that burden. Perhaps our family lineage wasn’t derived in the normal honorable way, but we have always stuck together and for that I’m damned proud.”

Cletus’ eyes were misty now too.

“Why didn’t my grandmother ever get married? Surely she had suitors, you could have been free to live your own life.”

“Oh boy.” Cletus began, unsure how to continue. “I know we told you that your grandmother was suffering from Alzheimer’s but that wasn’t exactly true also. She was autistic, never was quite right in the head. Your biological grandfather took advantage of her, saw himself an easy target I guess. When she got pregnant he ran off and left her to care for your mother all alone, so I stepped in and raised your mother like my own daughter. Over the years people just sort of forgot, or at least paid us the respect of silence, you know one of those small town dark secrets that nobody talks about. My God Ellie we never wanted to hurt you.”

Ellie grew silent. The hurt and pain inside of her was almost too much for her to bear. She felt as if her whole life had been a sham, one giant lie told one after the other. At last she couldn’t keep her emotions in check any longer and she began to sob uncontrollably. Cletus came around the counter and sat on the stool behind her, placing one arm gingerly about her shoulders.

“I don’t know what else to say Ellie. I never thought you’d find out and I definitely didn’t want to hurt you. Who told you about this?”

“It’s not important.” She managed to get her sobs under control. “I need to know one more thing.”

“Okay.” Cletus said with quiet resolution.

“Who was John McGinty?”

Cletus couldn’t contain his look of disbelief. “Where did you hear that name?”

“I told you it’s not important. Now are you going to tell me or what?”

“He was your great great grandfather. Dana, your grandmother, was only my half sister. My father had an affair with a young prostitute. That prostitute was the daughter of John McGinty. We never talked about it much, although we all knew. It wasn’t something we were proud of.”

“But who the hell was he? I mean I feel like an amnesiac waking up from a terrible nightmare.”

Cletus sighed. “Truth be told Ellie, I don’t know much about him, nobody did really. He was an archeology professor I think, came out here to retire and died shortly after.” He paused briefly, searching for the right words.. “I’m sorry Ellie, I wish I could tell you more, wish I knew more myself, but I don’t.”

“My god,” Ellie said, “I don’t even know who I am anymore.”

This time, Cletus had no response.

When Randall got home that night Ellie poured her heart out to him. He listened quietly, not wanting to interrupt although tons of questions were being raised in his own mind. When she was finished he hugged her tight and consolingly stroked her hair. They were seated on the living room couch, Aiden was asleep in his bed. It was nearly midnight, Randall had been busy working on the missing prostitute case. The long hours were taking their toll on everyone and Ellie felt like a widow in her own home. Randall had tears in his eyes as he spoke to her.

“You know this doesn’t change a thing, I still love you with all my heart. I know it must be difficult for you, finding out that your roots aren’t planted exactly where you thought they were, but it doesn’t change who you are. You’re still the woman I fell in love with and you’re still Aiden’s mother, but most of all you’re still a wonderful person.”

She reached up and stroked his chest over his uniform, pausing momentarily to look up and make eye contact, the lunacy of the situation bearing down on her. How could she begin to tell him the extent of the story? There was no way.  The dream, the library, her nagging feeling that a woman named Abby whom she had never met was in trouble, how could she possibly explain all of it? The lump in throat began to grow.

“Randall.”

“Yes?”

“There’s something I need to tell you, and I don’t want you to think that I’m crazy.”

His laugh, though intended to be reassuring made her feel small and vulnerable. “I won’t think your crazy. Now what is it you want to tell me?”