The Castle on Deadman's Island Page 2

  “You?”

  “Sure. He won’t suspect me. He’s never seen me before.”

  Graham sneezed and dug out his handkerchief again. “Maybe you’re right. No chance he’ll mistake you for me, that’s for sure.” He looked up at his friend. “You’re a good foot taller than shortie here and a lot thinner. But are you sure you want to get involved in this mess?”

  “Of course I do – you’ve helped me often enough.” Neil was thinking of their last detective venture together and of the countless times Graham had come to the rescue when he was stumped by some math problem. “I’ll just saunter by casual-like, and get a look at them. I may not be able to hear much of what they’re saying, but at least we’ll know who you have to watch out for. It’ll be a cinch.”

  Actually, I’ll be scared stiff, Neil thought, but I won’t let Graham know that.

  “It’s starting to rain,” Neil said. People strolling along the waterfront were opening umbrellas and picking up their pace. “Maybe they won’t come.”

  “It’s only sprinkling,” Graham said. “They’ll come.” A few minutes later, he nudged Neil and pointed. “Must be them now, right on schedule.”

  Up ahead, two figures could be seen settling down on the last bench at the far end of the walkway. “Wait here,” Neil said, and he set out alone.

  As he neared the bench, Neil saw that one of the men wore the gray fedora and ugly green sports coat Graham had described. But the other, to Neil’s surprise, was dressed in a dark blue suit. Graham had expected the second person might be a seedy criminal type, depending on how you interpreted the note. But this guy looked like a prosperous businessman, with his conservative clothes and furled umbrella.

  The two men on the bench were arguing and gesticulating, but stopped as Neil approached. He glanced sideways at them as he went by. When he reached the end of the pavement, Neil turned and walked back, his hands in his pockets, whistling, which may have seemed odd behavior when it was getting dark and threatening rain. The two men looked up at him as he passed.

  Neil hurried back to where Graham was waiting. “I heard some of what they said. They were arguing and the one said, ‘But we can’t go that far!’ Then the one with the gray fedora said, ‘Why the hell can’t we? Serve her right.’ They clammed up when I went by, but I got a good look at them and I know I’ve seen them before.”

  “You have? Where?”

  “Not sure. I remember their pictures from somewhere. The newspaper, maybe.” Neil stared at the darkening sky, trying to concentrate. “Something to do with a will …”

  “Not Major Tripe’s will?”

  “Yeah, that’s it!”

  Graham slapped his forehead. “The major’s will! Then it must be Grimsby and Snyder over there.”

  Neil wondered who they were and why Graham suddenly looked so concerned.

  “You know, Major Tripe’s castle was left to three people to share,” Graham said. “It was in the paper.”

  “I guess I saw it, but I wasn’t that interested. What’s it got to do with some guy trying to run you down?” Neil stopped suddenly. “Uh-oh, look out. Here they come.”

  Busy talking, neither he nor Graham had noticed the two men get up from their bench and come towards them. It was too late to flee.

  “Don’t let them see you,” Neil hissed. But there was no place to hide. Graham turned and pretended to be watching the waves.

  One of the men stopped and stared at Graham’s back. He said something to the other and nodded in Graham’s direction. For a moment both men looked hard at him, then they walked on, their faces set.

  FIVE

  _

  “So now will you tell me what this is all about?” Neil said. They were in his room, just back from their encounter on the waterfront. “Why are those guys out to get you?”

  “In a nutshell,” Graham said, “it’s about money. And a man with a strange sense of humor who left his castle in the Thousand Islands to three people to share – three people who hate each other. One of the three is Jake Grimsby –”

  “The guy with the gray fedora?”

  “Right. The other is Carson Snyder –”

  “The one who looks like a prosperous businessman?”

  “Right again.”

  “But if they hate each other, why were they together?”

  “That’s what I’m worried about. Judging from what was in that note, they could be joining forces to get rid of the third person they’re supposed to share the castle with.”

  “And who is that?”

  “My aunt, Henrietta Stone. Aunt Etta, I call her.”

  “Your aunt! Then you’d better warn her.”

  Graham stood looking out the window at the rain slanting against the streetlight. “I would if I could.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “I mean Aunt Etta isn’t here to warn. She told my mother that Grimsby and Snyder were both busy in town, so this was her chance to spend two weeks at the castle on her own. She’s there now.”

  “Then phone her.”

  “There’s no phone line to the island. Apparently the major didn’t intend to be bothered by phone calls from people wanting to drop in.”

  Isolated in a castle on an island, Neil could picture all sorts of grim things happening to Graham’s aunt. But then he was always told he had an overactive imagination. “Where exactly is this castle?”

  “On Deadman’s Island.”

  “Deadman’s! Isn’t that the one that’s supposed to be cursed?”

  “Oh, that,” Graham said. “It’s just some superstition the locals have. The major didn’t pay any attention to it when he bought the place, though I must admit he died there of a mysterious illness.”

  “I still think you should warn your aunt,” Neil said. “Go there, if you can’t phone. I’ll come with you if you want.”

  “Easier said than done. We’d need a boat. Besides, Aunt Etta’s a very independent person and she likes her privacy.”

  “Tell your folks, then. Maybe your dad would drive us downriver and help us find a boat.”

  Graham shook his head. “He’d never take us seriously – he’d say we were just playing Dick Tracy again. And it would only worry my mother. You know what my folks are like – the less said, the better.”

  “Then we’d better hope your aunt comes back to town soon.”

  “That’s just it. She won’t,” Graham said. “She called my mother before she took off for the castle and said she’s going on a long car trip afterwards.”

  “This gets worse and worse. A car trip where?”

  “She wouldn’t say. She said she was sick of all this will business – her name in the paper and people giving her funny looks, laughing behind her back. When she leaves the castle, she’s just going to get in her old Packard and drive south – she’s been saving her gas coupons. She isn’t sure when she’ll come back, maybe not for a long time … until it all blows over.”

  “So if you don’t get to her now, who knows when you’ll see her again,” Neil said.

  “That’s about the size of it, I’m afraid. Aunt Etta’s always been able to take care of herself. I just hope she leaves before Grimsby and Snyder get there.”

  At Graham’s house, his mother was concerned about Henrietta too. Not about Jake Grimsby or Carson Snyder harming her sister – that thought never occurred to her. After all, they were both well-known, though not well-liked, businessmen. Her concern was that the two would somehow manage to cheat Henrietta out of her rightful share.

  As head of the Historical Society, Henrietta clashed regularly with Grimsby and Snyder over the preservation of Kingsport’s old limestone buildings. Snyder, a real-estate agent known for sharp dealings, wanted to sell them to the highest bidder. Grimsby, a slum landlord, wanted to buy them cheap to add to his string of rundown rooming houses.

  And now these three were to share a castle in the Thousand Islands! The major even put in a clause stating that the castle was not to be sold, and
if it was, the entire proceeds would revert to the animal shelter. Nor could an owner’s share be passed on to his heirs. On an owner’s death, his or her shares would revert to the other surviving owners. The major, who got along with everybody, apparently wanted his three friends to see the error of their ways and learn to tolerate each other.

  “But Henrietta absolutely cannot stand either of those two men,” Graham’s mother said. “And that Barbara Snyder’s even worse than her husband, Carson. She seems to think the castle is all hers, Henrietta says.

  “It’s not funny either, Alex,” she added. For Graham’s father couldn’t help chuckling.

  “Well, Henrietta doesn’t have to go there, does she?” he said. “If she just stays away, then she’ll never have to deal with those two devious rascals, as she calls them.”

  “It’s not that simple, Alex. There’s upkeep and staff to deal with. You can’t just leave a castle worth millions to go to ruin.”

  “Then let the other two handle it.”

  “And do what they want with it? Those two? You know Henrietta would never allow that.”

  “No, I suppose not. But I wouldn’t worry. Your sister can look after herself. Henrietta isn’t called the tiny dynamo for nothing.”

  Mrs. Graham sighed. “I know, but I don’t trust those two men.”

  SIX

  _

  The following week was the best of times for the students of Kingsport High – the start of the summer holidays.

  For Neil, the end of school also brought his girlfriend, Crescent, home from Havergal College, a private school in Toronto. Now, however, Crescent was into sailing and spent most of her days at the Kingsport Yacht Club, where she raced her family’s sailing dinghy. They often got together in the evenings – not often enough for Neil, though.

  In the meantime, he and Graham were thinking about finding summer jobs to make some pocket money. It was Neil’s idea, for Graham would have been quite content to spend most of his summer at the library.

  “I want a job where I can make some real money,” Neil said.

  “You’ve got your paper route,” Graham reminded him.

  “That’s peanuts,” Neil said. He felt a little guilty, remembering how excited he’d been to get the paper route a few years back, when jobs of any kind were scarce. Now, in the third year of the war, jobs were easy to come by as so many men left to join up.

  They were in Graham’s room, Neil searching the HELP WANTED ads in the Evening Standard. “‘Pin boys wanted for bowling alley’” he read out.

  Graham shuddered. “Thanks, but no thanks.”

  “‘Thirty-five cents a hour!’”

  Graham wasn’t impressed. “Danger pay. You’re down there in a pit, dodging flying pins and hurtling balls, with potbellied bowlers shouting at you to hurry up.”

  “Well, how about this then? ‘Delivery boys. Must have bicycle with carrier.’ Or this: ‘Grocery store helpers, bag packing and carry out, twenty-five cents an hour plus tips.’”

  “I suppose,” Graham said. “Monetarily rewarding, but not very stimulating.”

  “It’s the best we can do, Graham. If we were a few years older, we could make sixty cents an hour working shifts at the aluminum plant. Imagine, sixty cents an hour!” Neil pictured the money piling up in his bank account – it would make him feel good and safe. He’d seen too many hoboes begging at the door for a meal during the Great Depression. He never wanted to find himself in a fix like that.

  But Graham, he knew, was different. Science, physics, math – these mattered more to Graham than money. Neil knew he’d have trouble interesting him in a job, but he needed Graham with him. For Graham had confidence and the gift of the gab – things Neil himself lacked.

  “I think I’ll try for one of those helper jobs at Wheatley’s grocery tomorrow,” Neil said. “Coming with me?”

  Graham looked up from the pad he’d been doodling numbers on, solving quadratic equations just for fun. “Where?”

  “To Wheatley’s, of course. Why not give it a try-what have you got to lose? If you don’t like it, you can always leave. We’ll go see them in the morning, okay?”

  Graham sighed. “I suppose.”

  They turned onto the main street, passing a row of old office buildings with alleyways in between. Ahead, in the next block, sat Wheatley’s, Purveyors of Fine Groceries. Neil hitched up his pants and ran a finger around under his shirt collar, where it pinched. He hadn’t worn a tie since the class picture, and it felt like he was choking. Graham, he noticed, hadn’t bothered with a tie, but at least his pants had a crease of sorts, as if he’d put them under the mattress the night before.

  Beside him, Graham stopped suddenly. “Hey,” he said. “There it is!”

  “Yeah, Wheatley’s. Up ahead. I know.”

  “No, not the store, the car.” Graham was staring at a new, dark green Studebaker parked in front of the building they were passing. “Same grille – looks like a shark’s snout. I remember looking up and seeing it coming right at me.”

  “That’s the car that almost hit you?”

  Graham nodded. “Unless there’s two new, dark green Studebakers in town.”

  The car was parked in front of a building that was three stories high and made of limestone blocks with their characteristic rough-textured look. Like the dour Scottish stonemasons who had constructed many of Kingsport’s buildings, it was plain with no fancy trimmings, but rock solid.

  “Maybe the guy who owns the car has an office in there,” Neil said.

  “Could be. Wait here, I’ll take a look. If Jake Grimsby’s office is there, I’ll know for sure he was the one who tried to run me down.”

  Inside the door, a glass-fronted board listed the building’s occupants. Graham ran down the list of names, stopping at one. J.K. Grimsby, it read. Suite 303.

  The door from the street opened and someone brushed past him. Footsteps hurried up the stairs, then paused partway up. Graham averted his face and the footsteps continued, until the sound of them died away. Somewhere above, a door slammed.

  “His office is in there, all right,” Graham said, when he was back on the pavement. “Third floor.”

  Neil automatically looked up. A face appeared at a third-floor window, screened by a pot of red geraniums on the windowsill. “The guy who just went in might have been Grimsby,” he said. “I’m pretty sure he was at the waterfront last week. Think he could have recognized you?”

  “Cripes, I hope not.”

  “Hey we’d better get going, or we’ll be late for the interview at Wheatley’s,” Neil said. He started to move away.

  But Graham was staring at the car again.

  “The man said to be there at ten,” Neil insisted. “C’mon.”

  Graham sighed. “Nothing I can do here, I guess.” He took one step forward, just as a heavy flowerpot hurtled downward, crashing to the sidewalk behind him.

  “What?” Graham turned and stared at the jumble of clay, black earth, and broken red geraniums, inches from his back foot. “Where the devil did that come from?”

  Neil turned. “Holy hell, Graham! If you hadn’t moved when you did …”

  “Precisely. And I’ll bet it wasn’t any accident.” His head back, Graham eyed the windows above. “I’d estimate from its trajectory that it came from the third window from the left on the top floor.”

  “Hey where you going? Our job interview –”

  SEVEN

  _

  Graham yanked open the door of the building. “You go for the interview. I want to find out if that window belongs to suite number 303. If it does, then this is serious.”

  “Wait. What if Grimsby sees you?”

  “So? You think he’s going to pull a gun and shoot me down in cold blood? No, not our friend Grimsby. His modus operandi, I see now, is to make it look like an accident. First the car, then this.” He disappeared inside.

  Neil was torn – go now, or stay in case Graham needed help and be late for the job intervie
w. He stayed. As the minutes ticked by, he became increasingly uneasy. Finally he went inside and mounted the stairs.

  Reaching the third floor, Neil found the hallway empty. The sound of voices and the clackety-clack of typewriters came and went as he passed each door, noting the names on the glass: 301, Lloyd Woods, Attorney-at-Law; 302, Fred E. Pennyfeather, Tax Account ant; 303, J.S. Grimsby, Property Management.

  He stopped and listened at the door of 303. He heard a man’s voice, but couldn’t make out what he was saying. Just then Graham popped out of the next office. He motioned silently to Neil, then he ducked back in. Neil joined him.

  The office was empty, except for cans of paint, brushes, and drop cloths scattered about. Graham was leaning against the wall separating the office from the adjoining one, which was Grimsby’s. He was holding one end of a drinking glass, with his ear pressed to the other end. He signaled to Neil, putting his finger to his lips.

  Neil waited. He heard a door shut at the far end of the hall. He pushed the office door closed as footsteps approached, passed, and faded away.

  When Graham touched his arm, he jumped. “Time to vamoose,” Graham whispered, “before the painters come back from their break.”

  “Could you hear what Grimsby was saying?” Neil asked, when they were on the sidewalk again.

  Graham nodded. “Some of it – once I found the glass in the washroom. An empty glass, as you may know, amplifies the sounds coming through a wall. Sound waves are conducted by –”

  “Never mind the physics lesson,” Neil interrupted. “What was he saying?”

  “He was on the phone to someone – Snyder, I suspect. I only heard the end of it, but it didn’t sound good. I’m afraid they’re out to get her all right.”

  “Your aunt? How?”

  “He didn’t go into that. But they’re definitely going to the castle.”

  “When?”

  “I didn’t hear that either. Not soon, I hope. Some how I’ve got to get to the island ahead of them and warn Aunt Etta.”