“How do you mean?” Viv narrowed her eyes.

“That spirit who shows up in eighteenth-century clothes makes me think that all this stuff that’s been going on must have some link to our past.”

“This whole thing is giving me a headache.”  Viv leaned back against her chair.  “We need to start investigating Hammond’s murder.  Listen to conversations.  Ask people questions.  Ghosts don’t seem to be any help.  We need to talk to living people to get some answers.”

Lin shrugged.  She wasn’t convinced that ghosts couldn’t help, but she didn’t say anything about that.  “My first landscaping jobs start tomorrow.  I’ll bring up the murder and see what people have to say.  Any little thing can lead to important information.  We’ll keep our ears open.”  Lin gave her cousin a smile.  “We’ll get to the bottom of it.  We’re a good team.”

Even though worry was etched across her forehead, Viv nodded.  “Let’s go clean up.”

Lin gathered her dishes and as she followed her cousin into the house, she looked back over the dark garden.  I know you’re there.  What do you want?

Chapter 8

Lin pulled her truck into the driveway of an antique Cape-style house, her last stop of the day.  The sun beat down on her as she grabbed her work bag out of the back of the truck and then let Nicky out of the passenger side.  The little brown dog wagged his tail and followed Lin to the door, where she rang the bell.  She preferred to alert the homeowners before she headed into the gardens to work so as not to alarm them when they spied someone in their yards.

No one answered the bell, so Lin walked down the steps and followed the brick walkway around to the back of the property.  A large bluestone patio stood behind the house and pots of different sizes filled with flowers had been placed around the area.  A border of pink and white impatiens, red geraniums, and pink and white cleome ran along the edge of the lawn.

Lin started at one end of the patio pots picking out dead blooms and tossing them into a container she’d brought along.  While she unrolled a garden hose to water the pots, Nicky trotted around the patio and the small lawn sniffing out the new smells.  When the dog let out a woof of surprise, Lin dropped the hose and whirled around to see an older man emerge from the trees on the far side of the lawn.

The gray-haired, skinny, wiry man carried a pair of hedge clippers and he waved as he approached the patio.  “Hello.  You must be the new gardener.”  He gave a warm smile and extended his hand.  “Anton Wilson.”

Nicky hid behind Lin which puzzled the young woman.  Goosebumps formed along her arms.  She couldn’t remember ever seeing the dog act so cautiously and his behavior unnerved her.

She shook hands with the man.  “Lin Coffin.”

“Coffin?  I don’t remember hearing your last name.  You’re a Coffin, are you?”

Lin nodded.  “My last name isn’t on the garden company website or invoices.”  She eyed the clippers. “Is there some trimming you’d like me to take care of?”

“Oh my, no.  I like to putter.  I gave the hedges a little trim.”  He waved to the back of the property.  “I just need someone to take care of the watering and weeding.  I’m always working and I’m often away so that’s why I contracted with you for the flowers.”

“Well, if you ever need something extra done, I’d be glad to help out.”

“So tell me, which line of the Coffins are you related to?”  Wilson looked eagerly at Lin.

“My family is descended from Sebastian Coffin.”

Wilson gave a little gasp.  “How wonderful.  A most intriguing fellow.  Not the most famous of the Coffins, but I believe his is the most interesting line of the family.”  He gave Lin a wink.

“I don’t know our history, really.  I just know that Sebastian didn’t follow the rest of his family into the whaling business back in the day.”

“Yes, you’re right.”  Wilson’s bushy gray eyebrows rose up his forehead.  “But the whaling is the least intriguing part of the family.”

“How do you know so much about the Coffins?”  Lin cocked her head.

Wilson straightened up.  “I’m a historian, my dear.  I’ve written extensively about your family.”  He looked over at the door to the house.  “Do you have time for a cold drink?”  He gestured to the patio table.  “I can tell you a bit about your family tree.”

Lin hesitated, but she was feeling worn out from the long day of outside work.  She wasn’t used to working in the heat, bending and squatting to weed, and pushing a lawn mower up and down yards.  Her legs felt like jelly.  A cold drink sounded very good and she wondered if this man who knew so much about the island might have heard some information about the murder of Greg Hammond.  “A cold drink would be great.”

“Sit, please.”  Wilson smiled and pulled out one of the lawn chairs.  “I’ll be back in a flash.”

Easing into the chair, Lin was keenly aware of her sore muscles and she knew that the achy feeling would be even worse when she got up the next morning.  Her mouth turned up in a tiny grin as she pictured herself limping around the gardens of the next day’s customers.

She looked down at her brown dog sitting under the table.  “What’s wrong with you, Nick?  Why don’t you come out from under there?”  The dog didn’t budge.

Just then, Mr. Wilson came out of the house carrying a small tray with two glasses clinking with ice, a jug of iced tea, and a silver bowl filled with sugar cubes.  He bustled to the table and set down the tray.  “Here we are.  I hope you like iced tea.”  Wilson filled the glasses and handed one to Lin.

She was so hot and sweaty, Lin wanted to pour the cold liquid right over her head, but she controlled herself.  She took a sip from the glass.  “Wonderful.”

“So tell me.”  Wilson leaned forward eagerly.  “Have you lived here on the island your whole life?’

Lin explained that she was born on Nantucket, but that she’d grown up in Cambridge and spent time back on the island with her grandfather during summers and some weekends.

“What was your grandfather’s name?”

“Elliot Coffin.”

Wilson tapped his fingers on the surface of the wood table.  “Ah.  I knew him slightly from town events.

“And your father?”

“His name was Elliot, as well.”

“You know, I have some research in the house.  Some day you must stay after tending the gardens and I’ll show you your family tree.  I think you’ll find it most interesting.”  He tilted his head.  “Do you have siblings?”

Lin shook her head.  “My parents passed away when I was only a year old.”

“I’m sorry,” Wilson murmured.  “So then you are Elliot’s firstborn.”

Lin raised an eyebrow at the comment wondering why the older man mentioned that she was her father’s first and only child.  She waited for him to elaborate.

Wilson studied the young woman’s face.  “Your grandfather raised you?”

“He did.”

“Interesting.  And what about your mother?”

“Her name was Merry Witchard.”

Wilson almost leapt from his seat with excitement.  “Then you are both a Witchard and a Coffin.  My, my.  In my opinion, the Witchard family is the most fascinating of all the early founders.”  His voice was breathless.  “Yes, fascinating.”  Wilson’s gray-blue eyes ran over the curves and edges of Lin’s face.  His gaze didn’t hold any warmth or desire, his visual scrutiny was more like a clinical inspection of a specimen and it made Lin want to move away from him.

The young woman pushed her chair back.  “I’d better get going.  I have another stop to make,” she lied.  “Thank you for the iced tea.”  She stood.

Wilson got up.  “When you return at the end of the week, please stay and we can go over your family trees.”  He gave Lin a pointed look.  “I do think you’ll enjoy hearing about your family histories.”