Twenty-Seven
Loretta did the driving into Boston, veering into the left lane and staying there for most of the trip. On their way out, Dylan had warned Samantha to make sure her seat belt was securely fastened. Good advice, she thought as Loretta careened down Storrow Drive into Boston. They’d talked about Knights Bridge, and Samantha had told her new friend about Benjamin Farraday and the tragic couple in the photographs in the country store.
She looked out her window as they passed the Boston University campus. “I hardly slept last night thinking about Zeke and Henrietta. I have a feeling their story got to Justin, too.”
“These tall, dark, silent types can have hearts of gold, you know,” Loretta said, but without her usual half-serious tone. “It’s quite a story, Samantha. I can’t imagine what I would do if the man I loved died saving my life.”
“I can’t, either.”
Samantha felt the flashback to her close call with fire coming on this time. She let it wash over her—let herself feel Justin’s strong arms coming around her as she’d gasped for air, tasted the smoke, felt it burning in her eyes, her throat. The moment passed, and she exhaled a long, slow breath before she continued.
“Okay?” Loretta asked her.
“Yes, thanks. I keep thinking I’m missing something that’s right in front of me.”
“Maybe getting away from Sloan testosterone will help.”
Samantha smiled. “Maybe.”
“I’ll write down these names once I get to my gate. Farraday, Hazelton. Do we know Henrietta’s maiden name?”
“Justin might. I don’t.”
“No worries. I know a guy who can find out anything about anyone.” Loretta pointed at an exit off Storrow. “This is where we get off for your grandfather’s house, isn’t it?”
“Yes, but I don’t mind getting you out to Logan. I can take the subway back into town.”
Loretta already had her blinker on. “It’s all right. I’ve got this down now. If I get lost after I drop you off, I’ll dump this heap on the side of the road and flag a cab. Nobody will miss it. Isn’t it the worst car rental ever?”
Samantha laughed. “It is pretty bad.”
With no need of Samantha’s guidance, Loretta pulled in front of Harry Bennett’s Back Bay house without making, or even almost making, a wrong turn. She grinned as she parked crookedly. “Serendipity, but I’m not staying. I want to give myself plenty of time to get to the airport and turn in this car.” She reached over and grabbed Samantha’s hand, giving it a quick squeeze. “I’m glad I came out here and met you, Samantha. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again before too long. Knights Bridge is under your skin.” She added in a conspiratorial half whisper, “More to the point, so is Justin Sloan.”
“Things did kind of explode between us,” Samantha said. “But he’s coming to his senses.”
“Yes, he is, and he’s about to realize that having you in his life is worth the chaos.”
“We haven’t even known each other a week.”
“All it takes sometimes. Duncan and I...” Loretta sighed, wistful, not as manic and sad as she had been yesterday. “Hours.”
“And now you’re going home to this guy who can find out anything about anyone—”
“Who is a total pain in my backside,” Loretta said with a laugh. “I’ll be back in touch if we find out anything. See you, Samantha.”
“Safe travels.”
After Loretta pulled away in her creaky rental, Samantha dragged her backpack to the front stoop of her grandfather’s house. She hadn’t managed to refold her tent as neatly as Justin had, but she didn’t care. She wouldn’t be using it again for a while.
She had her keys out when a movement down on the street caught her attention. She looked back and saw Justin standing on the street with an apple in one hand. He put one foot on the bottom step. He had on his usual canvas shirt, T-shirt, jeans and scuffed boots. “Hey, Sam. I thought you’d never get here.”
“How did you beat us?”
“Loretta doesn’t know the roads. I do. I passed you in Concord.”
“Concord terrified her.”
“She’s all drama. Nothing terrifies her.”
Samantha stuck her key in the door. “What about your business in Boston?”
“It’ll keep. It’s not why I’m here.”
She pushed open the door and led him into the front entry. Her gaze landed on her grandfather’s umbrella still in its stand in the corner, as if he were about to go out for a walk on the esplanade.
Justin grabbed her backpack and set it inside the door. “I have to be back in Knights Bridge tonight. I’m on call, and I have work in the morning.”
“You’ve lost a lot of time already since I came to town.” She pointed to the curving stairs. “My grandfather’s office is on the second floor. That’s where the things are that I want to show you.”
“Lead the way.”
“This place could use a good contractor,” she said. “Carpenters who know old houses. You’ll see.”
As Samantha headed up the familiar stairs, she was aware of Justin behind her, watching her, taking in everything, as if he were gauging whether their worlds were so different—too different.
She came to the landing and pointed to the open door to her grandfather’s office. “In there. I think I’ve spent more time in Grandpa’s office during the past three years than he did in all the time he lived here.”
“You love this place.”
“Because it reminds me of him and the amazing life he led.”
“He set quite a standard. Tough to live up to?”
She took in a breath. “I don’t think he wanted us to see it that way. My father, Uncle Caleb, my cousins, me. I think he wanted us to find our own path in life and embrace whatever it is, wherever it takes us.”
“Within reason,” Justin said. “Bet he didn’t want you to be bank robbers.”
She laughed, not as tense and self-conscious about having him here, close to her, in this place she loved. She went first into the cluttered office. Justin stood back, taking in the massive old desk, the mix of glass-front and open shelves, the credenza, the filing cabinet, the heavy drapes and Persian rug.
Samantha walked over to the closet, the door still cracked open from when she’d been up here last Wednesday morning. “Grandpa used to say that the main reason he became an explorer was so he didn’t have to sit in an office. I’ve worked here on and off since he died, more steadily since Duncan fired me. Grandpa managed to squirrel stuff away all over the house. I’ve got most everything sorted out in his London apartment. We’ll be getting rid of it soon.”
“Will you be putting this place on the market?” Justin asked.
“I don’t know. It’s not up to me.”
She opened the closet door wide and stepped in, the cider mill painting and the original pages of The Adventures of Captain Farraday and Lady Elizabeth right where she’d left them. With a quick breath, she brought them out into the office. She set the small painting against the credenza that held her grandfather’s Scotch decanters and handed the pages, in their worn envelope, to Justin.
“I didn’t know about these when I went to Knights Bridge two years ago,” she said. “If I had known, I might have handled things differently. But I knew about them this trip.”
“That’s my cider mill,” Justin said softly, his gaze narrowed on the painting and its rich colors.
Samantha saw now that it could be no other cider mill but the one on Cider Brook in little Knights Bridge. Run-down, abandoned, no longer a vibrant red, it was without question the model for the romanticized one in the anonymous painting.
Justin turned to her. “Where did this come from?”
“I don’t know. Grandpa didn’t keep good records. Grandma did what she could, but she had her own work and died twenty-five years ago.”
He opened the envelope and read the handwritten title page. He smiled at Samantha. “Your pirate rogue?”
“A highly fictionalized version of him. The story’s just a rough draft. It was never finished. Captain Farraday rescues a British aristocrat after she’s kidnapped by one of her wealthy father’s enemies. They have numerous adventures on the high seas.”
Justin laughed. “I’ll bet they do.” He set the pages on the desk and picked up one of the decanters. “Is this what you filled your flask with?”
“That’s the Lagavulin, yes. There are still a few unopened whiskey bottles in the closet. Grandpa had a friend who sent him good Scotch at Christmas.”
“A good friend to have.” He nodded to the closet. “Mind if I have a look?”
Samantha shook her head. As Justin stepped into the closet, she sat on the edge of the desk, noticed the afternoon light was less direct in the office, a hint of the shorter days to come.
He emerged from the closet with an Ardbeg single malt, still in its distinctive box. “Another good Scotch. Ultra peaty.”
“I’m not that up on Scotch. I just poured some into the flask in kindred spirit with Grandpa.”
“Adam’s the Scotch drinker in our family. I’ve learned a bit from him.” Justin set the whiskey on the credenza next to the decanters. “I grabbed this one because there’s a card with it.”
Samantha jumped off the desk, and he handed her the small white card, tucked in a matching envelope. She opened it and read the neatly printed note. “‘Warmest regards, Ben Magowan.’” She smiled, placing the card back in the envelope. “I should have known, but I haven’t thought of Ben in forever.”
“Who’s Ben Magowan?”
“He was one of Grandpa’s closest friends. They met at Amherst College and stayed in touch until Ben’s death—it must be ten years ago now. He encouraged Grandpa’s work and helped fund his Antarctic expedition. I met him several times. He was from Boston.” Samantha pointed vaguely in the direction of Beacon Hill. “Louisburg Square.”
“So he was well-off,” Justin said, not making it a question.
“Well-off, and a man of many and varied interests.”
“Scotch being one of them.” He traced the Celtic A on the Ardbeg box. “Want to see what else we can find?”
“I’d like that,” Samantha said.
They dug through the closet together, pulling out two more unopened bottles of expensive Scotch and several loose photographs that depicted Ben Magowan with her grandfather. Justin laid them side by side on the desk. In each shot, the slightly older, distinguished-looking Ben was always conservatively dressed, calm and smiling next to high-energy, often disheveled Harry Bennett.
Only one photograph was labeled. Justin found it. “Hell, Sam,” he whispered, pointing at the inked cursive handwriting on the back of a photo of a young Ben and Harry grinning at the camera as they stood in front of a building at Amherst College.
Harry Bennett and Benjamin Hazelton Magowan
Samantha’s shock was so complete that she couldn’t speak. Justin stepped back from the desk where he’d set the photo. “I think we know what happened to Zeke and Henrietta’s son.”
“I had no idea.” She touched her fingertips to the regal man standing with her grandfather on some mountaintop. “Ben was married. His wife’s gone now, too. They never had children. I didn’t spend much time with him, but I...” She looked up at Justin. “I don’t think he did the painting of the cider mill or wrote the pirate story, but what if he gave them to Grandpa? For him to figure out what they meant. Or something.”
Justin brushed an errant curl off her face. “Your grandfather encouraged your interest in pirates. He put you on to Farraday. Maybe he wanted answers, too, for his own reasons, and never got around to telling you the whole story.”
“I wonder if he forgot the painting and the story were up here, or if he never really looked at them.” Samantha realized she was shaking. “Justin...I didn’t see this coming.”
“Zeke and Henrietta named their son Benjamin.” Justin frowned at the bottles of Scotch, the array of old photos and the general mess that was her grandfather’s office. “This is a start.”
“The answers aren’t here. They’re in Knights Bridge.”
“Then come back when you’re ready.”
“I’m ready now.”
“You don’t think that’s your impulsive nature talking?”
“I don’t care if it is. Justin, I need to know what happened to Henrietta Hazelton. I need to know—”
“Everything,” he said, finishing for her.
“Yes. Everything. If Ben Magowan gave my grandfather the painting and story, where did he get them? And why would he do that?”
“Lots of questions,” Justin said.
Before she could respond, he swept her into his arms and kissed her, not a restrained peck on the forehead, either—a lift-her-off-the-feet kiss that left her breathless, wanting more, when he set her back on the thick carpet.
He winked as he started for the door. “See you, Sam.”
She listened to his footsteps on the stairs, heard the front door shut. Could she wait for her family to return to Boston, then drive back to Knights Bridge after they boarded their flights?
No.
She ran up to the third floor to her bedroom. She stuffed things into the overnight bag her mother had given her at ten, anticipating, she’d said, that her one and only daughter would need a proper bag, given who she had for parents. Samantha paid little attention to what she grabbed—just enough to get through a day or two at Carriage Hill, in her tent, on Justin’s couch—it didn’t matter.
Except it did matter. She wanted to be with Justin.
It wasn’t a wheeled bag. She slung it over one shoulder and slipped back down to the second floor and into her grandfather’s office, debating only a few seconds before she tucked the cider mill painting under one arm. She would be careful, but she wanted it with her in Knights Bridge.
She ran down the stairs and out the back door, barely remembering to lock it behind her. She took a shortcut through the alley and caught up with Justin before he reached Storrow Drive.
She pulled open the door with her free hand. “Your truck’s easy to spot, and I know Boston streets,” she said. “There’s a difference between being impulsive and acting on what you know you want. I want to go back to Knights Bridge.”
His deep blue eyes settled on her. “Get in before someone runs you over.”
* * *
Once they cleared the city, Samantha called her father. “I know why you and Uncle Caleb came to Knights Bridge and why you went to Amherst.”
He sighed. “Because of you, Sam.”
“Because of Benjamin Hazelton Magowan. I remember him smoking cigars and drinking Scotch with Grandpa, but I never made the connection.” Her heart was still racing with the realization. “I didn’t know Hazelton was his middle name.”
“Caleb and I started wondering. We didn’t know the Hazelton part, either, or didn’t remember if we did know. Isaac told us. He’s fascinated with Pop’s history at Amherst College, and Ben’s name came up on the tour. I think there’s a building or something named after him on campus. We wanted to be sure before we said anything.”
“There are still so many unanswered questions,” Samantha said.
“You’ll find answers. That’s why Pop put you on this thing. You don’t give up. It’s who you are, Samantha. Tenacious as a terrier.” Her father added, “And we love you just as you are. All of us do.”
“Even if I never find lost pirate treasure?”
“Oh, I don’t know about that....” He laughed. “Would it be corny to say you’re all the treasure your mother and I ever wanted?”
“Very corny.”
“Yeah, but it’s true. Where are you now?”
“Driving back from Boston.”
“Caleb still has the Mercedes. You rented a car?”
She glanced over at Justin and smiled into the phone. “I’m with Justin Sloan.”
“I guess that’s no surprise at this point.”
She laughed. “Talk to you soon, Dad. Say hi to the gang for me.”
When she disconnected, Justin downshifted, almost at the turnoff for Knights Bridge. “Your family doesn’t give you any peace, do they?”
“Not a minute.”
“Then the Bennetts aren’t that different from the Sloans after all.”