Page 28 of Never Been Witched (Starfall Point #3)

“I believe Collin’s parents were off-island with him at the time, doing some sort of school interview,” Norma said. “And this was a motivator for buying Lawrence and Cynthia out of the beach house, rather forcefully.”

“They had it coming,” Alice grumbled.

“We were careful to mark them inconspicuously, just in case the family ever asked for them back,” Norma assured her.

“These are letters from Collin Bancroft’s great-great-great-aunt, I believe.

Gladiola Bancroft describes a very eventful summer on Starfall Point to her sister-in-law, who lived in New York.

In 1898, there was an engagement between a young man named Stanford Newlin and a Victoria Bancroft .

Stanford was the son of a wealthy New York family, nouveau riche, just one generation away from working for a living instead of entertainment , but respectable.

He’d taken an interest in the hotel project and spent time with the family on Starfall Point.

And, next thing you know, Stanford has designed the hotel in its entirety and managed to affiance himself to Victoria. ”

“That’s a good word, affiance ,” Alice mused.

“Yes, that’s why I used it. Now, pay attention,” Norma told her, carefully turning the pages until they reached a photo of a beautiful young woman in early-1900s garb.

She had the piercing eyes typical of the Bancroft family, delicate features, and full lips twisted into a playful smile.

Her dark hair was piled into a Gibson-girl style on top of her head.

Alice had been right. Victoria had been beautiful before death and rage had taken hold of her soul.

“So…not my ancestor. Collin’s,” Alice said, absorbing the information.

She was oddly hurt that Victoria hadn’t been yelling at her, seeking connection with her.

Then again, she’d only appeared when Collin entered the house.

She’d wanted Collin. So… Who was the “he” that Victoria had been screaming about? Was it Stanford, the fiancé?

“The inscription read ‘V & S,’” Alice murmured.

Norma paused to gingerly open a very old journal bound in lilac linen.

“This is a diary kept by Victoria’s younger sister, Lillibet, during the construction of the hotel.

Lillibet made it clear that she and her brothers did not like Stanford, whom she also occasionally refers to as S .

She says she doesn’t like his eyes, but it sounds to me like it was a case of a baby sister who was used to having Victoria’s attention not liking the change in the family dynamic.

But there are several pages dedicated to speculating about Victoria’s feelings for ‘S.’ Victoria lights up when she’s speaking to S.

Victoria spends hours discussing music and literature with S.

So at least, Victoria had warm feelings for ‘S.’ Lillibet wasn’t a terribly organized writer, but her penmanship is lovely for one so young. ”

A photo slipped out of Lillibet’s journal, another sitting portrait of Victoria in another high-necked dress, formal. She was so young, hopeful, sweet. Just under Victoria’s lacy neckline, a sun-shaped pin hung so heavy that it made the silky fabric of her dress bunch.

“The year before her engagement, on her sixteenth birthday, Victoria had been given her first important piece of jewelry, a pigeon’s blood ruby brooch called the Ceylon Sun Fire.

At the time, it was worth several hundred dollars.

Now? Much more, obviously. And she was known for wearing it most days. ”

“I’m going to assume from your tone of voice that Victoria’s story didn’t have a fairy-tale ending,” Alice said, as if she didn’t know.

“Victoria died in 1900,” Norma told her. “Her body was found on the far end of the island, on a quickly emptying lot where wood was being cleared for the hotel. Her neck had been broken.”

Norma hopped up with considerable spryness for a woman in her seventies and grabbed more books.

“She’s a murder victim? That’s awful.” Alice gaped at her.

Another woman found dead on Starfall Point.

Another tragedy. Why were there so many stories like this on such a small island?

And why hadn’t she heard more about this?

There were so many ghost stories attached to the Duchess, but she didn’t remember one about a murdered girl, which in itself was surprising.

Alice gasped. “Wait, is the brooch important? Was it lost when she died? Did the killer rob her for the brooch?”

Was Alice about to be sent on a treasure hunt for a ghost’s lost ruby? Yes, she had more important things to worry about, but she’d always wanted to Indiana Jones her way across the island. It might be just the distraction she needed.

“No, it was found near her body,” Norma said, rolling her eyes at Alice’s antics.

“I don’t think robbery was a motive. I believe the family sold the Sun Fire and started a literacy charity in Victoria’s name, back in New York.

Victoria was passionate about equal access to education.

The murder was never officially solved.”

“Oh,” Alice huffed, slumping down in her chair. What was wrong with her? She was acting like this was a particularly juicy Dateline episode. This was Collin’s relative she was talking about here—a relative she’d met , ever so briefly.

“The day before Victoria’s body was found, a local man named Samuel Proctor disappeared. I don’t know if you know this, but your family made caskets and cabinets at the time, in their workshop. Samuel delivered a load of wine racks to the hotel and disappeared.”

“Caskets?” Alice burst out laughing. She covered her mouth with her hands. “My family made caskets ?”

Norma spared her a wink. “Well, cabinets, too, but mostly caskets. It was too expensive to ship anything across the lake, so they had plenty of business here on the island. That, and the lumber mill.”

Her grandparents constantly talked about the fact that Superior Antiques had been open for more than a century, even though the family only bought it in the 1960s. They’d always said with a lofty air that they had “roots in the furniture business.” But caskets and lumberjacks?

And… Alice realized she was laughing in the middle of a murder story. That couldn’t be good in terms of her character development. She nodded slowly. “So, people thought that Samuel killed her?”

Alice chewed her lip. That might explain the feud between their two families.

An unsolved murder, in which the Bancrofts suspected the Proctors of hurting one of their own.

If she’d lived back then, she probably wouldn’t have wanted to spend much time around the Bancrofts if they thought a relative of hers was a murderer.

And over time, that sort of thing festered and here they were, two families who resented each other for reasons even they didn’t fully understand.

Norma showed her a sheaf of newspaper clippings, including tintype photos of a young man in a high collar, dark hair parted ruthlessly in the middle.

“Well, the speculation was that he was in love with her, obsessed, and he killed her when he realized that she would never leave her successful fiancé. He’d been spending too much time around the hotel, chatting with Victoria in a way that was considered highly inappropriate, given the time frame.

Her family had complained to his parents several times and threatened to cancel the cabinetry contract if he didn’t leave her alone.

He wasn’t present at the workshop when the police arrived, demanding to know his whereabouts on the day of Victoria’s murder. He was never seen again.

“The family continued the construction, but I don’t think Forsythe’s heart was in running it anymore,” Norma told her.

“He sold it to the Frickes, who sold it to the Drewes, who sold it to the next owner and the next. But the Bancrofts’ reasons for loving the island were the same.

And they felt closer to their lost daughter here.

Plus, it gave them the opportunity to prod local law enforcement about catching the killer.

Or, at least, catching up to Samuel. If anything, they spent more time here after Victoria’s death,”

Alice sat back in her chair. How was she going to tell Collin about any of this? How could she tell him that a member of her family was probably responsible for hurting a member of his? That his however-many-times-great-aunt had probably been begging him to help her find her fiancé?

“What happened to the fiancé?” Alice asked.

Norma shook her head sadly. “Poor Stanford. The stress of Victoria’s death, combined with what was considered advanced age at the time—”

“Wasn’t he in his thirties?” Alice asked.

Norma gave her a pointed look. “At the time.”

Alice raised her hands in defeat.

“In the weeks after Victoria’s death, he took to strolling around the island at night, told people the quiet let him concentrate on the good times spent with her,” Norma said.

“He was found on the Main Square one morning, dead as a doornail. It was probably a heart attack or some very common ailment that could have been treated today.”

“How sad,” Alice mused, looking at the photo of Samuel. He just didn’t look like the murdering type. The kind of guy you would have to give the “let’s just be friends” speech to more than once, maybe, but not a murderer.

“So.” Norma reached out and patted her hand. “You seem to be spending a lot of time with Collin.”

Alice nodded. “I’m helping him with some projects at the hotel.”

“This young man, is he good to you?” Norma asked.

Alice thought about it and answered, “Yes.”