He owed it to them both to read the reports, meet the investigator, to do everything he could to find out why, who. Then put it away.
He read the report twice, thought it over as he sampled the smoothie he’d found in the fridge with its Drink me Post-it.
He decided to shift gears, got his notebook from the desk and yet another book on Esmeralda’s Dowry from the shelves.
He spent the next hour winding along the author’s speculative path. This one leaned heavily on the theory that the surviving seaman and the privileged daughter of the house, Violeta, had fallen in love. Her brother, Edwin, upon discovering them, had killed the lover. Violeta, reckless, wild, ran off to Boston, never to return. And Esmeralda’s Dowry remained lost to the ages.
What Eli knew of family history confirmed Violeta had run off, been disowned and all but erased from any documents through the wealth, influence and fury of her family for the disgrace.
The matter-of-fact tone used to depict the events might not have been as entertaining as others he’d read in the last weeks, but seemed more based in sense.
Maybe it was time to hire a skilled genealogist to do whatever could be done to track down the reckless Violeta Landon.
Considering it, Eli pulled out his phone again when it signaled.
He saw his agent’s name on the display, took one long, deep inhale.
Here we go, he thought, and answered.
He sat there with his notebook, his tablet, and his phone when Abra walked in.
“I’m done upstairs,” she began. “You’re clear if you want to go back to work. I’ve got one more load of laundry in the dryer. I thought I’d get back into the passageway. It’s taking some time as I have to haul buckets in and out to get the steps really clean. And I thought if I did it naked it would be more fun.”
“What?”
“Ah, as I thought, the naked got through the wall. Are you working here? Researching?” she asked, tipping her head to read the title of the book he’d set down: Whiskey Beach: A Legacy of Mystery and Madness. “Really?”
“It’s mostly crap, but it has a few pertinent details. It’s got a section on the area, and the Landons during Prohibition, that’s pretty interesting. My great-great-grandmother helped run the product to local establishments, hiding the bottles under her skirt to elude authorities, who wouldn’t ask her to lift them.”
“Clever.”
“I’ve heard that one before so it may be true. The theory on the dowry is the rescued seaman managed to hide it. Then he stole the fair and headstrong Violeta’s heart and several pieces of her jewelry. That concluded in a wild chase on a stormy night where he went off the lighthouse cliff, courtesy of Edwin Landon, her dark-hearted brother. The dowry likely went with him, back into the unforgiving sea.”
“Where it’s secured in Davy Jones’s locker?”
“According to this guy, the brigand and the treasure chest were dashed on the rocks, scattering the jewels like sparkling starfish. Or maybe it was jellyfish. Anyway.”
“If that were true, I’d still think bits and pieces, at least, would’ve been recovered. You’d hear about that over the years.”
“Not if people who snagged a shiny necklace or whatever kept their mouths shut, which he speculates, and seems very likely. Anyway,” he said again.
Abra gave him a curious smile. “Anyway?”
“She liked it.”
“Who? The headstrong Violeta?”
“Who? No. My agent. My book. The chapters I sent her. She liked it. Or she’s lying to spare my feelings.”
“Would she? Lie?”
“No. She liked it.”
Abra sat on the coffee table to face him. “Did you think she wouldn’t?”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“Now you are.”
“She thinks she can sell it on the five chapters.”
“Eli, that’s great.”
“But she thinks she can make a bigger splash with the whole book.”
“How close are you?”
“Nearly finished the first draft. Another couple of weeks there, maybe.” Less, he thought, if it kept rolling as it had been. “Then I need to tighten it up. I don’t know exactly.”
“It’s an important and very personal decision, but . . . Oh, Eli! You should go for the splash.”
He had to grin at the way she bounced on the table. “Yeah, that’s what she thinks.”
“What about you?”
“The splash. I’d feel easier about having it done before she sends it out. She could be wrong and I’ll rack up the new world record for rejections, but I’d have finished it.”
She bumped her knee to his. “She could be right and you’ll have sold your first novel. Don’t make me get a smudge stick to banish negative thoughts and energy.”