Ellery suspected his eccentric relation had collected every book ever written about Buck Island. There was also an alarming number of tomes on malaria and lost treasure, so maybe it wasn’t fair to blame the peculiar diversity in literature all on Great-great-great-aunt Eudora. The library had predated her just as it predated Ellery. It did make him wonder about the relatives on his father’s side of the family.
Anyway, once he was home and had taken Watson for a cobweb-clearing walk in the meadow, he drew himself a bath in the insanely oversize claw-foot tub, dug out a battered copy of 1955’s Historic and Architectural Resources of Buck Island, Rhode Island by Philby Hammond, Esq., and settled down for a relaxing soak and a read.
He was amused by the author’s description of Buck Island as “a trip back in time,” and lamentations over “the incursion of modern life” with the replacement of power-line poles along Castle Road, and he was fascinated—and distracted—by the black-and-white photos of Then and Now, with Hammond’s Now being Ellery’s Then.
It took a while to find what he was looking for, but at last he had it.
The island cemetery is next on the left. Tread cautiously upon the hallowed ground of spirits and gravestones, for here lie in eternal peace the forbearers of those present residents who consider themselves natives. Fame, fortune, and tragedy can be read between the lines of these brief and sentimental epitaphs. Overlooking this peaceful glade stands a marble mansion of the dead: the private mausoleum built by the notorious “Gentleman Pirate” Tom Blood. Though construction was completed four years before Thomas Bloodworth’s death, none were laid to rest in that gilded tomb until the death of Clarence Bloodworth in 1903.
“Ah-ha,” Ellery murmured, and Watson, gnawing on a pig’s knucklebone, thumped his tail in an I’m-listening.
That answered one question. There were still a daunting number left.
Ellery set the book aside and exited the bath, listening to the old plumbing gurgle and guzzle as he wrapped himself in his favorite hooded modal robe patterned with retro surfboards.
He was in the kitchen, reheating the last of Nora’s tuna casserole, when he heard the doorbell ring. His heart gave an annoying jump.
He didn’t get a lot of visitors. His most frequent visitor was Jack. That seemed pretty unlikely given current events, but Watson’s tipped ears went up like a pair of antennae, and he sprang out of the room and down the hall.
Chapter Fourteen
“Now what,” Ellery growled. The growl was because his instinctive reaction was pleasure, and that was the wrong response. Jack would not be there for a social call. Jack would be there to read him the riot act.
Reluctantly, he followed the sound of the doorbell to the entry hall, where Watson was whining and whimpering, leaping up and down like a circus dog.
“Traitor.”
Watson ignored him, jumping still higher.
Ellery unlocked the door, opened it, and sure enough, there was Jack, darkening his doorstep. Over the last months, his skin had turned a summery bronze, and between the suntan and his navy uniform, Jack’s eyes looked intensely blue.
“Hey,” Ellery said curtly.
Jack began, “He—” and then looked nonplussed. “Were you in bed?”
“No. It’s five o’clock. I just had a bath.” The front of his robe was gapping. He tied the belt tighter. He was definitely not dressed for receiving.
Jack’s nod was crisp. “Can I come in? I’d like a word.”
That was uncharacteristically formal, and Ellery felt himself tensing up, but remembered that this was Jack. The same Jack who had not so long ago saved his life—not to mention helped him change out the decrepit toilet in the downstairs powder room.
“Of course.” He stepped back, and Watson shot through the open door, greeting Jack like he had returned from the wars.
Ellery’s exasperation mounted. “Watson, get down.” He bent to scoop up Watson, but so did Jack, and they narrowly missed colliding heads.
“Ooof,” said Jack, ducking left.
“Yeesh,” said Ellery, ducking right.
They gazed at each other with consternation as Watson wriggled frantically to get to Jack.
“Really, Watson?” Ellery demanded and handed the squirming pup to Jack. “Here. Puppygram.”
“How’re you doing, you rascal?” Jack tried to speak around Watson licking his chin. It was difficult to preserve a professional demeanor with a puppy trying to kiss you, but Jack did his best.
Ellery sighed. It was disarming. No use pretending it wasn’t.
“I want to talk to you about Julian,” Jack began.
“I know. And I know what you’re going to say, Jack.”
“I should hope so. I’ve said it often enough.” But Jack didn’t sound angry. He sounded…resigned. His expression was harder to read, complicated by the fact that his gaze kept dropping to the V of the lower half of Ellery’s robe.
“He asked for my help,” Ellery said, yanking at the flap of his robe.
“I understand that.”
“He’s desperate. He thinks you’ve already got your mind made up.”
“I understand that too.”
Of course he understood. Because calls into the jail were recorded and he had listened to the conversation between Ellery and Julian. Which meant he knew Ellery hadn’t wanted to get involved, didn’t think he was the right person to help Julian, hadn’t felt he had a choice.
“I can’t just…”
What? Abandon Julian to his fate? What if he was guilty? Nothing Ellery had discovered so far cleared Julian. Maybe even the opposite.
“I just want you to hear me out,” Jack said. “I’m asking you to keep an open mind, that’s all.”
“If that’s all, then okay.”
“This isn’t about you playing amateur sleuth.” Jack seemed to pick his words with care. “That is, yes, it is. But you already know what I think about that.”
Ellery opened his mouth, and Jack said, “And as far as the burglary at the Barbys’, I’m sorry I couldn’t let you out of the icehouse immediately. I was angry, yes, but the delay was really about my having to make sure the crime scene was clear. I got the idea I could use the situation to discourage you from any more sleuthing.” He added ruefully, “It was a bad impulse.”
Ellery was too surprised to answer. But in a way it made more sense than the notion that Jack would leave him freezing his tail off in a spider-infested ruin. Jack wasn’t mean or petty. Ellery nodded slowly.
“Apology accepted?”
“Apology accepted.”
Jack put Watson down, and Ellery wondered if he was stalling for time.
When Jack straightened, he was sure he was right. Jack looked uncharacteristically self-conscious. “You’re very…kindhearted,” he said. “I think your instinct to help can get you into trouble, and I’m afraid it’s going to get you into trouble with Julian.”
“I don’t think I’m abnormally kindhearted,” Ellery objected.
“I didn’t say abnormally, but you’re kind and you’re loyal.”
“Great. I sound like a collie.”