The Sense of Reckoning Page 22

  “Good heavens, Annie,” he said, “what happened to you?”

  Chapter 45

  Scott hurried across the lobby to where Ann stood, leaving Mace at the door, mouth agape. At the bottom of the elevator shaft, Ellen was struggling to a sitting position, cradling her arm. Scott peered into the shaft at Ellen and then back at Ann. “What happened?” he asked again. “Are you alright?”

  “Ah, excellent,” said Garrick, “the chauffeur. Tell him to get the defibrillator. It’s in the office.”

  The pounding in Ann’s head had started again. She stumbled back toward the chairs, thinking she might be sick. “Can’t you tell him yourself?”

  “Ann, I think you know I can’t tell him myself,” said Garrick at the same time Scott said, “Tell who myself?” and hurried over to help lower Ann into the chair.

  Ann looked toward where Garrick was standing by the elevator and Scott followed her gaze. “Don’t worry, honey, I’ll help her in a minute.”

  “Scott, do you see him?”

  Scott looked back again toward the door where Garrick stood. “See who, sweetie? I think you’ve hurt your head. You just sit there and I’ll call 911.” Scott reached into his pocket for his phone.

  “Now, Ann. He has to get it now,” Garrick said.

  Ann fought her way back to her feet. “Scott, there’s someone else in the shaft. Get the defibrillator, it’s in the ...” Her voice trailed off as Scott hurried from Ann to the open elevator door.

  “The office,” said Garrick, his voice strained. “Behind the registration desk.”

  Ellen, huddled in the corner of the shaft, whimpered, “My arm ...”

  “We’re going to help you, ma’am,” said Scott. “Oh my God, you’re right, Annie, there’s someone else in there!”

  “Scott, come with me,” said Ann. She limped quickly across the lobby and went around the registration desk to the door to the office. She flipped on the overhead light and steadied herself on the frame of the door, scanning the room. “I don’t even know what it looks like!” she yelled.

  “In a box on the wall behind the door,” Garrick called from the lobby.

  Scott eased past Ann and scanned the room. “You don’t have to yell, sweetie, I’m right here. They’re usually in a box on the wall ...”

  “Behind the door,” said Ann.

  Scott peered behind the door. “Ah yes, here it is.” He opened the glass case, and removed a bag about the size of a bulky briefcase. “Did you examine whoever that is? How do you know this is what he needs?”

  “He told me. Hurry.” Ann started back to the elevator, followed by Scott.

  “If he’s talking, we shouldn’t shock him, it would do more harm than good,” he said.

  Ann reached the elevator and lowered herself to the floor of the shaft.

  Ellen squeezed herself even more tightly into the corner. “You see him, don’t you? You’re talking to him. See, it doesn’t matter whether he’s dead or alive, he’s still with us!”

  Scott also lowered himself into the shaft, which was now quite crowded. Ann tugged at the form on the floor, setting off a wave of dizziness and reigniting the pounding in her head. Scott squeezed by her and eased the body over.

  “It’s Mr. Masser!”

  Ann slumped against the wall of the shaft. “Scott, you need to shock him with that thing.”

  “Tell him my heart has stopped,” said Garrick.

  “His heart has stopped,” said Ann.

  Scott felt for a pulse at the neck. “You’re right.” He quickly unbuttoned the shirt then pulled up a black t-shirt, revealing a painfully thin torso. He pulled a machine out of the case which he lay on the floor of the shaft and activated with the press of a button. He extracted two white pads that were attached to the machine with wires and, pulling a paper backing from each, attached them to the chest, one on the side of the ribcage and one on the other side of the chest near the collarbone.

  An automated female voice intoned, “Stand clear, do not touch the patient.” For a few moments the only sound was Ellen’s fast, uneven breathing. “Shock advised. Charging. Stand clear.”

  Scott shuffled back as best he could in the tight space. “Ma’am, can you pull your legs back a little?”

  Ellen shifted her legs.

  “Press the flashing shock button,” the machine said.

  “Good heavens,” Garrick muttered from the lobby as Scott pressed the button and the body on the floor of the shaft jerked.

  “Shock one delivered. It is safe to touch the patient. Begin CPR now,” said the machine.

  “I don’t know how I can in this space,” said Scott. He turned toward Ellen. “Ma’am, can you stand? I need more room. Annie, can you help me get her out?” Scott grasped Ellen’s uninjured arm and tried to pull her to her feet.

  Ellen let out a squawk. “It hurts!”

  “Leave her,” came a croak from the form on the floor.

  “Garrick!” cried Ann and turned toward where he had stood a moment before, but the lobby was empty except for Mace, who was pointing her mobile phone at them.

  “Excellent! This is going to get a million views!”

  Chapter 46

  Ann and Scott were playing gin rummy on Ann’s wheeled hospital table the next morning when Mike burst into the room.

  “Sweetie!” cried Scott. He put his cards on the table—face up—and crossed the room to hug Mike. “How did you get here so fast? Did Walt fly you up?”

  “Nope—I drove.” Mike went to the bed where Ann was propped up on pillow. “How are you?”

  “I’m okay, just a little banged up.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “How did you get here so fast?”

  Mike and Scott sat down side-by-side in the guest chairs. “I did think about calling Walt but I didn’t feel like waiting around until he got the plane ready and flew down from the Adirondacks. I figured I could get here almost as fast on my own.” He turned to Scott. “Let it never be said that the Prius can’t be a high-performance car with a determined driver at the wheel. Only got one speeding ticket. ‘It's six hundred miles to Bar Harbor, we got a full tank of gas, half a pack of cigarettes, it’s dark ... and we're wearing sunglasses.’”

  Ann groaned. “Did you spend the whole drive thinking about delivering that line?”

  “I had other things on my mind,” Mike said, smiling at her. “You’re a lot less out of it than I was afraid you’d be, but you are kind of a mess.”

  “Concussion, sprained ankle, miscellaneous cuts and bruises,” said Scott.

  “Largely self-inflicted,” said Ann.

  “They weren’t self-inflicted!” Scott scolded her. He turned to Mike. “Biden Firth was chasing her.”

  Mike raised his eyebrows at Ann.

  “He was in the car with me, he’s the one who’s been giving me the pain in my hands. He made me lose control. I crashed Audrey,” she added sheepishly.

  Mike waved his hand. “That’s not important. What happened?”

  Ann described the slide into the embankment, eliciting a wince from Mike, although whether for herself or for the car, she wasn’t sure. With prompting from Scott, she described her confusion after the crash, the shock of seeing Biden in the seat beside her, her escape through the sunroof, Biden’s pursuit of her.

  “All she could see were his hands,” whispered Scott to Mike.

  “And I got stuck in the mud flats.”

  “Wait until you find out how she got out of that! Very clever.” Scott smiled at her proudly.

  “Then I got to the hotel.”

  “Just in time to save Mr. Masser.”

  “Scott saved Garrick. Garrick’s client, Ellen Lynam, shot him with a Taser. A lot, evidently.”

  “Sounds like a client to avoid,” said Mike.

  “I’m guessing he had a preexisting heart condition,” said Scott. “The stress must have sent him into cardiac arrest.”

  “Scott shocked him back to life with a defibrillator,” said Ann.

/>   “Annie told me where it was,” said Scott.

  “Garrick told me where it was,” said Ann.

  “That’s certainly a handy skill to have,” said Scott. “I hope that if I’m ever temporarily dead I can tell someone how to save me.”

  “By the way,” said Ann, turning to Scott. “How did you know where I was?”

  “I got your voicemail and your text—a little while after you left them, the club was noisy—and tried calling you but I didn’t get any answer. Then when we got back to the inn and the car was gone I got worried. You had been so mysterious about that place where you had me drop you off for your solo hike that I asked Mace to drive me back there. That road only went to one place and Mr. Masser’s car was out front.”

  “How do you know what kind of car Masser has?” asked Mike.

  “It was sitting outside the garage one time when I picked Annie up at his house.”

  Ann laughed. “Scott, you’re in the wrong business, you should be a private detective.”

  “Or possibly a criminal,” said Mike fondly.

  Scott raised his eyebrows at them. “I have left my criminal past behind me. Anyhow—” he turned to Mike, “Annie found a painting—a Renaissance painting.”

  “Really?” said Mike.

  “Yes!” said Scott. “It was hidden in a secret compartment in a room on the top floor. Annie explained to me where it was and I took the police up there when they arrived. They’ve taken it to Boston to confirm who it’s by and where it came from.”

  “Evidently when Mr. Masser’s client saw Annie, she thought she was the woman in the painting. Gave her quite a turn.”

  “That, and the fact that I looked like Wile E. Coyote after a run-in with the Road Runner,” said Ann.

  A nurse had poked her head in the room and heard Ann’s last comment. “I think you guys should let our patient get a little rest. Why don’t you take a break and stop back in a couple of hours?”

  Mike started to protest, “But I just got here—” but Scott stood and touched his shoulder.

  “Come on, Annie needs some rest, I’ll fill you in.” He leaned over and gave Ann a kiss on the forehead. “You take a nap, sweetie, and we’ll go find some nice books for you to pass the time.”

  Mike stood as well. “Do you think Biden might show up at the hospital? It sounds like he has it in for you.”

  Ann shrugged. “I can’t imagine he could cause me to do much harm here—no cars, no knives, no hot coffee. I think I’ll be okay for now.”

  He contemplated her for a moment until the nurse cleared her throat.

  “Okay, okay, I’m going.” He leaned down and gave Ann a hug. “We’ll think of something,” he said, then followed Scott out of the room. Ann just caught, “So how bad is Audrey?” before the door closed behind them.

  Ann lay back on the pillows as the nurse checked her pulse. What could Biden Firth make her do? Other than fumbling a hand of cards, she couldn’t think of much. But she was still sorry when the nurse turned off the bedside light, drew the curtains, and left her alone in the room to her own—and perhaps Biden Firth’s—devices.

  Chapter 47

  1947

  A few days after the fire had swept down Great Hill, Eliot showed up at Lynam’s Point Hotel to retrieve some of the belongings he had stored there.

  “There’s a suitcase with some of my sister’s clothes in it that she asked me to pick up.”

  “Millie?” Chip asked, leading Eliot to the guest room where his things had been stored.

  “Yup.”

  “What does she need the clothes for?”

  “They’re the only clothes she has—everything else burned with the house.”

  Chip stopped, turning back to Eliot. “Her house burned?”

  “Our house. Me, Millie, our parents. Mom and Dad are staying with relatives on the mainland. I’m staying with some buddies who are fighting what’s left of the fire. Millie’s staying at a guest house in Bar Harbor, off Main Street.”

  Chip shook his head. “I’m really sorry to hear about your house. Where was it?”

  “Bar Harbor. Forest Street.”

  Chip unlocked the door to the room containing Millie and Eliot’s family’s things. Eliot entered and pulled a leather suitcase out of the pile, then began sorting through the other items, adding a collection of odds and ends to a wooden crate he had brought with him.

  Chip lingered in the doorway then said, “I could ask my dad if you and Millie could stay here.”

  Eliot stopped sorting and looked at Chip. “You think that might be okay?”

  As with the furniture, Chip was pretty sure his father wouldn’t approve. He shrugged.

  “Well, I’m okay where I am,” said Eliot, “but the place Millie’s staying is awful crowded, I know she’d appreciate getting away from there. Plus, I’ll bet she could help out around here. She doesn’t like to be at loose ends.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine she wouldn’t,” said Chip. “I’ll ask my dad.”

  Chip left Eliot to his sorting and went to find his father.

  Chip’s father had kept even more to himself than usual since their encounter after Chip’s return from the fire. Chip eventually found him in the workshop in the shed, sanding the arm of one of the Adirondack chairs he was building to replace several that even his father had to admit were a bit too worn to use for another season.

  “Hey, Dad,” said Chip from the doorway.

  “Yes?” said his father, not turning around.

  “Eliot came to pick up some of his things.”

  “Good. We’re not a depot.”

  “His family got burned out.”

  His father stopped sanding for a moment and dropped his head, then resumed his work. “I’m sorry to hear that. Lots of folks in that boat.”

  “His sister is at a guest house in town, Eliot says it’s awful crowded. Maybe she could stay here. He says she wouldn’t mind helping out.”

  His father swapped one piece of sandpaper for another. “You know we don’t have money to be paying for help during the off-season.”

  “I don’t think he meant it like that, just that she wouldn’t mind helping out in exchange for room and board.”

  His father sighed. “Who is it?”

  “Millie.”

  His father turned. “Millie Reynolds?”

  “Yes.”

  “About your age, right?”

  “Yes.”

  His father pushed himself upright and went to the workbench. He gazed out the small window toward the water. Finally he said, “Yes. That might be alright.”

  *****

  Chip helped Eliot carry the stuff downstairs and load it into Eliot’s truck.

  “So you’re going to Bar Harbor?” he asked as Eliot climbed in the cab.

  “Yup. I’ll swing by the place where Millie’s staying and bring her back here if she wants to.”

  “I could go,” said Chip. “Save you the drive back.”

  “Not unless you have a pass, at least on the eastern side of the island.” Eliot pulled a small card out of his shirt pocket and passed it to Chip. It was a small form printed in red ink.

  “BAR HARBOR FIRE DEPARTMENT FIRE-LINE PASS … The Bearer”—here “Eliot Reynolds” had been typed into a blank—“is to be passed through Fire Lines on Mt. Desert Island. DAVID A. SLEEPER, CHIEF Bar Harbor Fire Department.” At the bottom of the pass was the note: “(This Is Not A Pass To or From Mt. Desert Island.)”

  “Have you been back to town yet?” asked Chip.

  “Nope, but I’ve talked with some fellas who have. They say everything this side of Eden Street and Spring Street burned.”

  “What about Jardin?’

  Eliot shook his head. “I hear it’s gone. Not just damaged—gone.” Eliot stuck out his hand to Chip. “Much obliged to you and your father. For keeping our things safe, and for offering a room for Millie.”

  “Hey, can I come with you?” said Chip as Eliot climbed into the truck. “I’d r
eally like to get a look at Jardin. Maybe something’s left. Maybe they need some help cleaning up. I’ll bet they’d let us both through with your pass.”

  Eliot rubbed his neck. “I don’t know, it just has my name on it …”

  “Worst that happens is they won’t let me through,” said Chip, “and I’d have to find my own way back to the hotel.”

  “I don’t know why you’re so fired up about going to Jardin,” said Eliot, “but okay, if you’re willing to take the chance.”

  “Sure!” said Chip. “Just let me tell my dad.”

  Chip’s father was no longer in the workshop and Chip eventually found him in one of the rooms on the second floor, smoothing the wrinkles out of the spread on the freshly made bed.

  “I’m going over to Bar Harbor.”

  “Okay. You steer clear of the fire, it’s still burning in places.”

  “Okay. Did someone else show up?”

  “What do you mean?” his father asked.

  Chip nodded toward the bed.

  “You’re going to bring Millie Reynolds back from town, right?” asked his father.

  “Well, yeah, if she wants to.”

  His father made a slight adjustment to one of the pillows on the bed. “Well, you make sure she knows she’s welcome.”

  *****

  Chip had heard the same reports Eliot had about the fate of Jardin, but wanted to see for himself. It seemed uncharitable to hope for the Furnesses’ home to have been destroyed, but if the library had survived, it would be hard to explain a blank space on a wall where a painting—or the remains of a painting—should have been hanging.

  Eagle Lake Road had been reopened. There was a checkpoint at the entrance manned by a soldier who was obviously frustrated at being stationed at such a dull location and was mostly interested in finding out what they knew about the fire. He gave the pass a cursory glance and waved them through.

  They drove into a scene of destruction. As they turned onto Eagle Lake Road, they saw smoke still rising from some fields, small groups of firefighters posted to guard against flare-ups. As they drove east, they entered the areas that had burned a day or two previously. At one former home site, a man tugged ineffectually at what looked like a bed frame sticking up from the rubble while a woman stood to one side rocking a two- or three-year-old girl who cried inconsolably. In some places, fields were scorched to the ground. In others, a few trees, stripped of their leaves, still stood, their charred branches pointing to the sky like skeletal fingers.