Not only had Tobin befriended the Gordons, but he'd seduced — or at least charmed — Emma Whitestone, historian and archivist. It all seemed to fit. It was probably Tobin who'd somehow tumbled on to the possibility that there was buried treasure on Plum Island. And it was probably Tobin who paid for the Gordons' week in England to research this and maybe try to pinpoint the location.
Fredric Tobin was my prime suspect, but I wasn't discounting Paul Stevens or anyone else on Plum Island. For all I knew, this was a larger conspiracy than I first thought, and it could involve Stevens, Zollner, and others on the island, plus Tobin, plus… well, Emma Whitestone.
CHAPTER 21
I found Whitestone Florist easily enough; I'd passed it dozens of times in the last three months.
I parked close by, checked my hair in the visor mirror, got out, and strode into the store.
It was a very nice place, full of… well, flowers. It smelled good. A young fellow behind the counter asked, "Can I help you?"
"I have an appointment with Emma Whitestone."
"Are you John?"
"None other."
"She had to do some errands — hold on." He called into the back, "Janet. John is here for Emma."
From the back came Janet, a woman of about forty-plus, and also a younger woman of about twenty-five whom Janet introduced as Ann. Janet said to me, "Emma asked if you could meet her at the historical society house."
"No problem."
Janet continued, "Emma said she had no way to get in touch with you."
"Well, no problem. I can find the house easy enough."
Ann said, "She may be a little late. She had some deliveries and errands."
"Not to worry. I'll wait there for her. I'll wait all night if I have to." Did I need three people to brief me? Obviously, I was on display.
The young man handed me a business card and said, "Call here if there's any problem."
"I surely will. Thank you all for your help." I got to the door, turned, and said, "Emma has a really nice place here."
They all smiled.
I left. I easily got a passing grade on that.
Back in my Jeep and on the way to Cutchogue Green. I really didn't like myself for even thinking that Emma Whitestone was in cahoots with Tobin and who knew who else. I mean, she had the entire staff of Whitestone Florist there to check out her new friend.
On the other hand, when you wind up in the sack with a woman you just met, you have to wonder if it's your charm or her agenda. Still, it was I who sought her out, not vice versa. Where did I get her name? Margaret Wiley? No, I'd found it earlier in the Gordons' Rolodex on Plum Island. All of these people seemed to be interconnected. Maybe Margaret was in on it. Maybe the entire adult population of the North Fork was in on it and I was the only outsider. I mean, it was like one of those creepy horror flicks where the whole village is witches and warlocks, and this clueless tourist shows up and before long, he's dinner.
I drove into the small parking lot of the historical society mansion. There was no florist van there, but there was a ten-year-old Ford in the lot.
I left the chamber pot on the rear seat, thinking this might not be an appropriate time to present it. Perhaps after dinner.
Anyway, I went to the front door, and there was another Post-it note that said simply, "Enter."
So I did. Inside the big foyer, I called out, "Emma!" No answer. I walked through the various rooms of the large house and called out again, "Emma!" No answer. It seemed inconceivable that she'd unlock the door and leave the house with all these antiques around.
I went to the foot of the stairs and called out again, but no answer. It occurred to me that she could be on the potty, and I shouldn't be calling out to her. If she had waited, she could have used her gift.
Anyway, I began climbing the stairs, which were creaky. I'm not saying I would have liked to have had my gun, but I would have liked to have had my gun.
So, I got to the top of the stairs and listened. No sound except the sound a creaky old house makes. I decided to go into the upstairs parlor, which was halfway down the long hallway.
I tried to walk without making the damned floorboards creak, but every step made them squeak and moan.
I got to the door that led to the parlor. It was closed, and I swung it open. The damned hinges absolutely squealed. Jeez.
I stepped inside, and from behind the half-open door, there was a scream. I turned quickly, and Emma lunged at me with a sword and stuck it in my gut. She yelled, "Take that, you blackhearted pirate."
My heart raced and my bladder almost let loose. I smiled. "Funny."
"Scared you, didn't I?"
She had on a blue tricornered hat and in her hand was a soft plastic cutlass.
"Kind of surprised me."
"You looked more than surprised."
I got myself settled down and noticed she was wearing tan slacks today, a blue blouse, and sandals.
She said, "I got this sword and hat in the gift shop. There's a whole section of kids' junk." She went over to the armchair near the fireplace and held up a black pirate hat with a white skull and cross-bones on it, a plastic saber, an eye patch, and something that looked like a parchment. She gave me the hat and patch, which she insisted I put on as she stuck the sword in my belt. She showed me the yellowed parchment on which was a map that said, "Pyrate Mappe." There was the usual island with the palm tree, a compass, a fat face blowing a westerly wind, a dotted sea route, and a three-master plus a sea serpent — the whole nine yards, including the big black X that marked the chest of gold.
Emma said, "This is one of our biggest sellers for children of all ages." She added, "People are fascinated by pirate treasure."
"Are they?"
"Aren't you?"
"It's interesting." I asked her, "Was Fredric interested in pirate treasure?"
"Maybe."
I asked, "Didn't you tell me you taught him to read old English script?"
"Yes, but I don't know specifically what he was interested in reading." We looked at each other awhile, then she asked me, "What's going on, John?"
"I'm not sure. "Why are you asking me about Fredric?"
"I' m jealous."
She didn't respond to that, but asked me, "Why did you want to meet me here?"
"Well… can I rely on you to keep this to yourself?"
"Keep what to myself?"
"Pirates."
"What about them?"
It's a balancing act between telling a witness what you want and why you want it. I changed the subject and said, "I met your employees. Janet, Ann, and…"
"Warren."
"Right. I passed the test."
She smiled and took my hand. "Come look at yourself in the mirror."
She led me into the hall, then into the eighteenth-century bedroom. I looked at myself in a wall mirror with the pirate hat, eye patch, and sword. "I look stupid."
"You really do."
"Thanks."
She said, "I'll bet you never did it on a feather bed."
"No, I never did."
"You have to keep the hat and patch on."
"Is this my fantasy or yours?"
She laughed, then before I knew it, she was getting out of her clothes, which she left on the floor. She kept the cocked hat on, and holding it with one hand, she tumbled into bed, onto the quilt comforter, which was probably an expensive antique that had never had sex before.
I played along with the game, leaving the hat and patch on as I undressed.
As I said, she was tall with long legs, and the beds in those days were short, so her head and hat were at the headboard and her feet were touching the footboard. It looked kind of funny and I laughed.
"What are you laughing at?"
"You. You're bigger than the bed."
"Let's see how big you are."
Anyway, if you've never done it on a feather mattress, you're not missing much. I can see why no one in those old portraits on the walls is smiling.
CHAPTER 22
Later, in the archive room, sans costumes, we both sat at the oak table. Emma had a mug of herb tea that smelled like rubbing liniment.