Page 18 of Is Anyone Listening?
"Ellen has never spoken to me or anyone about why David left. She made it clear the subject was off-limits. David was two years ahead of me in school, so I didn't know him well. Not many people did. He was polite but very private. All the Clarkes are kind of like that."
My father certainly fits that description now. He had excellent manners, but he was so guarded, so walled off from emotion, that no one could get close, especially me.
"I'm sure you're more interested in the inn itself and not the sad family history." She waved her hand to the nearby computers. "We've digitized all the local newspapers going back to 1920. Anything that's been written about the inn will be there. You can also access the bigger media sites in Maine and across the country." She paused, waving her hand toward the bookshelves behind her. "We also have some history books that were written about the town and the inn that you can check out. Let me know if you need any help."
"Thank you," Tessa said.
After Margaret returned to the circulation desk, I sat down in front of one of the computers, while Tessa took the seat next to me.
"You okay?" Tessa asked.
"Not really. I just found out people thought my father was a murderer."
Tessa frowned. "It was a rumor. We don't know that it was true."
"I can't imagine my father killing anyone. He's not violent. He's just…cold." Despite my words, I still felt unsettled by what I'd heard. "But is this why my dad never talked about his past, never wanted me to meet my own grandmother?"
"Maybe your father was hurt by the accusations. Maybe your grandmother didn't defend him." She gave me a sympathetic smile. "You're probably not going to know the truth unless you ask one of them what happened."
"I'm not sure either one would tell me the truth. But I can't ask them right now anyway. We need to focus on Natalie. Maybe we can find something in the local papers that we haven't seen before."
"I can look for Natalie while you research your grandfather's death. I'm sure there was press about that, too. Maybe you'll find something reassuring in those reports. Right now, we just have Margaret's version of events, and we don't know if she has any idea what she's talking about."
"That's true." I turned my gaze to the monitor as I opened the search window and put in my grandfather's name. Several results appeared, the first one about his death. "Got something," I said.
"Already?" Tessa asked. "I barely finished typing in Natalie. Read it to me."
"Local Businessman Dies in Tragic Fall," I read. "Richard Clarke, forty-one, owner of Clarke and Sons Boatworks, died Saturday after falling from the cliffs behind the Stonecross Inn. Clarke's body was discovered early Sunday morning on the beach below the inn. Sheriff Tom Holloway stated that the death appears to be accidental, though the investigation is ongoing. "The cliffs behind the inn are treacherous, especially in rain and fog," Sheriff Holloway said. "Clarke is survived by his wife Ellen and son David. Services will be held at Stonecross Community Church on Thursday."
"That's pretty short," Tessa said. "There must be more than that."
"Here's an even shorter article from a week later. The investigation into Richard Clarke's death has been closed, with officials ruling the death accidental. Sheriff Tom Holloway confirmed that there was no evidence of foul play."
"Sheriff Holloway likes to close cases fast," Tessa commented.
"Like you said, I'm not going to find the answers about my family online. Maybe I'll see if I can find anything on other women who have gone missing from the inn. Tyler had to have gotten his information somewhere."
"Good idea."
I typed in missing women Stonecross Inn and hit search.
I was expecting to see Natalie's name pop up first, but instead, there was a short article from three months ago about a search being called off for a woman named Jessica Trent, who had rented a boat and failed to return to the harbor. The boat had been located several miles south, but there was no sign of the woman. Apparently, Jessica had been vacationing at the Stonecross Inn for several days before she'd rented the boat and never returned.
"Here's something interesting," I said to Tessa. "Three months ago, a woman named Jessica Trent rented a boat and failed to return. They found the boat, but there was no sign of her." I looked up from the computer to meet her gaze. "She was staying at the inn. Maybe that's who Tyler was talking about."
"I found someone else, too," Tessa said. "This article is from six years ago: Woman Missing After Coastal Visit. Emma Rodriguez from Boston was reported missing after a visit to the Stonecross Inn for the summer solstice. Husband says she suffers from mental illness, and anyone with information should contact the sheriff's department.”
"If she was mentally ill, maybe that's why she disappeared."
"I found something else. But this goes way back," Tessa said. "Lily Morrison, sixteen, of Stonecross, appears to have drowned during last night's storm. Her clothes were found on the beach below the Stonecross Inn, along with a suicide note. Lily worked part-time at the inn and was last seen leaving the property after her shift at three o'clock in the afternoon. Ellen Clarke expressed shock and sadness at the loss of such a beautiful, kind girl. A coworker remarked that Lily had seemed depressed the last few weeks, but she had no idea she was suicidal."
"That's sad. But she wasn't staying at the inn; she was working there."
"Does that make a difference?" Tessa asked. "I think we've just found the tip of an iceberg. Natalie wasn't the only one to disappear. Tyler was right."
"But we don't know if any of these events are related. They sound more random."
"We could talk to Margaret about these other women."
