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Briar

1942

M y fingers shook so hard I could barely open the envelope. I couldn’t go on living without Tom. How cruel the Army was to just send such a formal message to a downed soldier’s family. Not even a phone call.

Gram linked her arm tightly with mine.

“Just open it, Briar,” Cadence said, clutching Bess’s hand.

My eyes blurred with tears.

“Do you want me to read it for you?” Cadence asked.

I slid the letter from the envelope and unfolded it. It took a second for the words to sink in after I read it.

RAN BOOK BY MILDRED AND SHE IS GAME. CRASHING THREE TITLES PULLED FROM COOKIE JAR. COMING SOON TO DROP MARGARET. CONGRATS MVBABC. X WIN

“For God’s sake, read it, Briar,” Bess said, one hand at her throat.

I blinked the tears away. “It’s not about Tom.” I handed the sheet to Cadence. “It’s from Winnie Winthrop.”

Gram relaxed her grip. “Thank the Lord.”

Cadence read it and a smile spread across her face. “They’re making the books.”

Gram and Bess huddled around her, hugging one another.

“It’s happening,” Bess said. “I wonder which titles.”

Cadence embraced us all. “Almost can’t believe it.”

“What does that mean, ‘coming soon,’ do you think?” Gram asked.

“I don’t know, but we did it,” Cadence said.

—

I was desperate to get out of book club the next day, but Cadence roped me into it, insisting she and Bess needed the head count now that Margaret was off to New York City. I was fine with it, though. Before he left, Tom had wanted me to make an effort to get along with Cadence, and it was the least I could do, to sit around and listen to them gush about Jane Eyre, a novel I’d been forced to read in junior year. It was a book that Bess, Gram, and Cadence talked about ad nauseam , even out of book club, so it seemed redundant to discuss it there, but I just focused on the cookies.

Bess recited a passage from one of the many Jane Eyre scenes that pushed the bounds of credulity, where Mr. Rochester, who somehow stays sound asleep in a wildly flaming bed, is doused with water by Jane, who singlehandedly saves the day.

“ I became further aware of a strong smell of burning…. Tongues of flame darted round the bed: the curtains were on fire. In the midst of blaze and vapor, Mr. Rochester lay stretched motionless, in deep sleep. ”

I watched Gram and Cadence, as they listened, rapt.

“ The very sheets were kindling, ” Bess continued, a surprisingly good narrator. “ I rushed to his basin and ewer; fortunately, one was wide and the other deep, and both were filled with water. I heaved them up, deluged the bed and its occupant, flew back to my own room, brought my own water-jug, baptized the couch afresh, and by God’s aid, succeeded in extinguishing the flames which were devouring it. ”

Bess snapped the book closed, spent.

Gram turned to me. “You have to admit, sweet pea, that’s one heck of a book.”

“Whatever you say.” I bit into a cookie.

“Out with it, Briar,” Cadence said.

“It’s just improbable. First of all, Rochester doesn’t know he’s actually on fire? That’s a deep sleeper. And second, Jane throws some water on the fire, and it just goes out. That would never happen. Clearly it was triggered by lamp oil, which, like all fuels, isn’t extinguished by water. Water only makes it worse, since it’s heavier than most fuels.”

Cadence set her book down. “What should Miss Bronte, who is considered one of the greatest novelists of the nineteenth century, have used instead, Briar?”

I shrugged. “Salt or baking soda would have been a better choice.”

Gram leaned over and picked up the empty cookie plate. “We do learn things at book club, girls.”

“Plus, then Rochester calls her a witch and a sorceress,” I went on. “He’s such a jerk.”

“That’s true,” Cadence said, perhaps thinking of her own Rochester-in-training, Major Gil.

Bess sat. “You really know how to keep the conversation going, Briar. I always liked Rochester. He ends up being the love of Jane’s life.”

It made me sad that Bess seemed desperate for romance, with Tom gone. She was starting to lose her grip on reality a bit, maybe imprinting Tom onto Peter. She spent so much time with the German, reading aloud and fixing up the attic for him. It didn’t help that we’d had no news about Tom, despite multiple calls to Washington.

Finally, I had enough of Jane Eyre and squirmed out of the meeting, claiming an urgent need to vet Sandra at Island Treasures as a possible spy. I could also pick up the proceeds from the sale of the ring if Sandra had been successful. That money would go a long way.

Cadence must have wanted out of book club, too, since she immediately volunteered to drive me. Gram wasn’t doing great in the breathing department that morning, so she wanted to rest, and Bess had her usual morning sickness and took to her bed, as well.

It was good to be alone with my sister, just the two of us driving, no Bess to come between us. We kept the truck’s radio on in case there was more news about our brother at Dieppe. Somehow, the car made us almost friends.

In exchange for the ride, I promised Cadence I’d run into the A a jar of Belgian cocoa, which Gram made hot chocolate with on occasions and Bess drank from a special French bowl; ten boxes of Swiss cereal that looked like horse feed, which she ate every morning.

And the clothes. Though Bess dressed as Cadence and I did, in farm clothes, heavy on the denim, she mixed in her few luxury pieces. A Schiaparelli scarf wound around her neck while she weeded the alfalfa. The lace-trimmed Swiss-cotton nightgown that she slept in. Pretty French-blue espadrille sandals as she watered the Burbanks. Sometimes I wondered what Bess would do when the suitcase was empty. Maybe it would be better if Bess went home and had her baby. It would free Cadence to go to New York, the best thing for her.

Cadence needed to get away from Major Gilbert, too. She was obsessed with the major, always watching him down on the beach. Observing him from afar, I thought he seemed a rigid, career-military type, classist and glib, with little interest in a farm girl like Cade. He’d asked her to show him the island, which was no doubt his way of saying, “Let’s go neck somewhere,” so who was I to tell her she was barking up the wrong tree?

As much as Cadence and I didn’t get along most days, I would actually miss her if she left. Hopefully Cadence’s new books-for-the-troops venture would vault her to a publishing career. It didn’t help that Margaret Coutinho was probably romping around Manhattan, while Cadence dealt with our German-soldier situation.

My sister had borne the brunt of our parents’ sudden deaths, Tom’s departure, and Gram’s illness, taking her to all of her hospital appointments. Not to mention my stupid choices. She deserved better.

Cadence and I entered Island Treasures and looked around. I’d shared the plan: She would keep Sandra occupied while I snuck into the back room. But I was surprised to find that Sandra was not standing behind the display case as usual.

“Who buys this stuff?” Cadence asked, resting two hands on the glass.

I stepped farther into the room. The smell of cigarettes hung in the air. “Sandra?” I called out toward the back room. “It’s Briar.”

Cadence and I exchanged glances. Sandra practically lived in that shop. Where was she?

I started toward the back room, but suddenly Cadence called out, “Oh, no, Briar!”

I hurried to her and found Sandra lying on her back behind the counter, arms splayed out. I knelt and felt her neck for a pulse—finding none, I stood. There was no sign of aggression that I could see. No gunshot wound. No blood. I was shaken to the core, with a deep sense of sadness and fear. Poor Sandra. Had the ring caused her death? It could also have been a simple accident.

I bent to grip Cadence’s arm. “We need to get out of here.”

She shook off my grasp. “She needs a doctor.”

“No doctor can help her.”

Cadence lingered near Sandra’s body. “But we have to call someone. An ambulance. Or the coroner.”

Was the ring still here somewhere? The money from the sale? I shuffled around the body and crouched behind the counter, searching the shelves.

“We need to find something I brought in here a few days ago. She was selling it for me.”

“Did she write you a receipt?” Cadence asked.

“Yes. Not sure she has a copy, though.”

The door opened, startling us, and we stood to find Captain McManus. My whole world imploded. He’d find out about the ring for sure, come to the farm, and unravel our lives.

Upon seeing me, he ran one hand through his greasy hair. “Smith.”

I stepped out from behind the case and introduced Cadence.

“Great. There’s more of you.”

“We just got here,” I said. “How’d you know about it?”

“A tip.” He slid on a pair of examination gloves.

“From who?” I asked.

“I hate to break it to you, but you’re not a member of the FBI.”

Cadence started for the door. “We need to get going, actually.”

McManus held up one hand. “Whoa. You’re not going anywhere. This is an active crime scene. Gotta wait for more uniforms—you need a debrief.”

“Clearly, someone else was here before us,” I said. “If they called itin.”

“And why are you two here?” he asked.

“We came in to shop and found her like this,” I said.

“Shop for what?” he asked.

I waved toward the glass cabinets. “Just stuff.”

Cadence added, “I bought a statue from Sandra last year and wanted to tell her how much I’m enjoying it.”

“A statue,” McManus said.

I cringed. Cadence was only an okay liar, given that she was related to me and all.

McManus knelt and checked Sandra’s pulse. “Touch anything?”

“Just the doorknob,” I lied, standing over him. “And her carotid artery, checking for a pulse. It must’ve been recent. There was still cigarette scent in the air. And rigor mortis hasn’t set in.”

McManus glared up at me. “Put a sock in it, Smith. What were you two doing behind the counter?”

“Trying to find the phone,” I said.

He looked pointedly at the phone on the table next to the BarcaLounger.

“To call an ambulance,” Cadence added, staring down at Sandra’s body. “We hoped she could be saved.

McManus waved toward the BarcaLounger. “Take a seat and cool your heels.”

The idea of sitting in a dead woman’s former nap chair was not appealing, but Cadence and I gingerly shared the seat.

“I know she took epilepsy medication,” I said. “Could’ve been a grand mal.”

He ignored me and searched the shelves behind the counter, then parted the curtains and entered the back room, which I hadn’t even checked for the ring. If it was there, he’d find it for sure.

Cadence felt next to her on the seat, where the cushion and the armrest met, then lifted a small black book held closed by a thick rubber band. Sandra’s receipts book.

With a knowing look, she handed it to me, and I slipped it into my pocket.

McManus wandered out of the back room. “Did Sandra have any kind of cashbox?”

“Not that I know of,” I said.

Cadence stood and stepped to him. “It’s probably not the normal protocol, but can you debrief us now? Our brother Tom’s regiment has been hit at Dieppe, and we need to get home in case there’s news.”

McManus nodded. “Heard about that. Sorry.” He turned back to the body.

The black phone on the table next to us rang, and Cadence picked it up. “Island Treasures, Cadence speaking.”

McManus lunged for the phone. “I told you not to touch anything. Jesus. ”

Cadence looked at me and rolled her eyes, and we listened to McManus’s side of the conversation. It sounded like something big was happening in Oak Bluffs. As tense as it was, it was fun experiencing it all with Cadence. She had potential.

He hung up. “I need you two outta here.”

I stood, the sticky fake leather trying to hold on to the backs of my thighs. “We’ll go give our statements at the police station.” It was a short walk, next to the fudge shop near the steamship dock.

“You do that,” he said, already making another call.

I pulled Cadence out of there, and we headed to Gram’s truck. The Totenkopf ring was gone, and there was no sign of the money, but I was just happy to have escaped McManus’s long arm. We’d get to the police station another day, maybe. I had a feeling Sandra wasn’t the spy we’d been looking for after all.

“That was kind of fun,” Cadence said.

I felt my pocket for Sandra’s receipts book. And, thanks to Cadence, we might even have the answer to who’d killed her.