The Elusive Wampum

  Sweefern Harbor Mystery #9

  Wendy Meadows

  Copyright © 2018 by Wendy Meadows

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, without prior written permission.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Thanks for reading

  Be the First to Know

  About the Author

  Also by Wendy Meadows

  Chapter 1

  Collectors Arrivals

  Allie Williams scrolled down on her computer to look over the next guests coming to the Sheffield Bed and Breakfast. The young reservationist stood back and whistled softly. She glanced up at owner Brenda Rivers.

  “Look at this, Brenda,” she said. “It looks as if everyone coming in this weekend is a professor – they all list university addresses for their workplace. I hope I can relate to a group of scholars.”

  “You’ll be fine,” Brenda said. “Besides, they are all coming for the Native American Market Show and probably won’t involve any of us directly in conversations about their work. I think they’ll be in their own world with one another.”

  Brenda expected a very interesting group in her bed and breakfast. The annual Antiques Market Show would be in town for two and a half days. All guests had connections in the field of artifacts.

  Phyllis joined her co-workers. “William will help out if we can’t understand what they are talking about.” She laughed at her own joke. “He and your uncle used to pore over old stuff often from what I hear, Brenda. Randolph was a collector, too.”

  Brenda looked surprised. “I didn’t know Uncle Randolph dabbled in artifacts. I thought he was into theater. And the restoration of this beautiful Queen Anne mansion, of course.”

  “When he was in the middle of restoration here, he found several valuable artifacts along the way and became interested. I don’t know that first-hand but William often tells me stories about his days with Randolph. I knew him during his theater days and later when he hired me to work here.”

  Phyllis was a young woman in need of a job when Randolph hired her as his head housekeeper. She and William Pendleton, recently married in their later years, had found supreme happiness together. Though William was wealthy enough that Phyllis did not have to work any longer, he had soon realized his wife’s attachment to Sheffield Bed and Breakfast was set as if in stone. He teased her lightly but whole-heartedly agreed she should stay in the job if it made her happy.

  The three women became engrossed in their conversation and did not heard the front door open until voices interrupted them.

  “I hope you’ve chosen the right accommodations, Edward.” The fashionably dressed woman appeared to be in her forties, though they later learned she was fifty. Her skin was flawless, and her light brown hair highlighted with sandy blonde, like the beaches along the nearby Atlantic Ocean. Her eyes swept the entrance. “I do love the architecture here.”

  “You’ll enjoy it here, Lisa. I have been here before, back when Randolph Sheffield owned it. He restored it to perfection.”

  They approached Allie and introduced themselves as the Granthams. Allie already knew Lisa Grantham was the president of a university near another university where her husband Edward taught Anthropology. He had a doctorate and was respected in his field.

  Brenda noted Allie’s nervousness and squeezed her elbow. She introduced herself as Brenda Sheffield Rivers, and she and Edward exchanged a few comments and memories of Randolph. Lisa stood back as if impatient to be assigned to their quarters. The porter, Michael, picked up their bags when they completed check-in and led them to their room.

  Brenda and Allie watched as they ascended the staircase. “I’m really glad I gave them the best room,” Allie whispered.

  “Try to relax, Allie. Everything will go fine, as it always does. What time are we expecting the big grocery chain owner?”

  Allie noted that Andrew Masterson and his long-time companion Jane Higgerson were to arrive in half an hour.

  “I’m going to the kitchen to speak with Chef Morgan and attend to some other things,” Brenda said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. I assure you, Allie, Mr. Masterson should be an easy guest.”

  Allie nodded. She had the impression because the man was into the grocery business, he would seem more down to earth than the aloof Granthams.

  Forty-five minutes after Brenda left her, Allie welcomed Andrew Masterson and Jane Higgerson. Andrew’s dark eyes and black hair immediately drew her in. He leaned against the counter and winked at Allie. He introduced Jane as an afterthought.

  “We’re here for the big weekend. I hope to purchase an authentic treaty document. Have you heard if any big-name artifact dealers are in town?” Andrew leaned too close to Allie. She stepped back one step.

  “I don’t know what will be for sale except a variety of Native American artifacts. I hope you enjoy your stay.” She tried to remain professional despite the intensity of his flirting.

  Jane pulled his arm away and greeted the porter Michael when he arrived for their bags. Then she said, “Let’s get settled in, Andrew. I’m sure this young woman has more to do than chat with you.” Several locks of blonde hair fell over her right eye and she brushed them back in place with delicately tapered fingers. “I have to get this hair pulled back into a pony tail. It can get quite unruly,” she said to Allie.

  Allie smiled and told her she wore it beautifully as it was. Jane’s crystal eyes reminded Allie of the blue waters of the ocean. “Are you interested in anything in particular from the show?”

  Jane threw her head back with a laugh. “I have no interest whatsoever in anything old. I come along to keep Andrew in line. I prefer everything modern. I’m hoping to get some serious shopping done while here in Sweetfern Harbor. Your village is so quaint and interesting. We noticed quite a few shops in the downtown area.”

  Allie was in her element. She had an introduction to her hometown prepared, ready to come across in a natural and conversational tone with guests. But Jane stopped her.

  “I’ll probably ask for more information after we get settled in,” Jane said, turning to follow the porter.

  Andrew gave Allie another intense, alluring glance and trailed after Jane and Michael.

  Brenda returned to the front desk. “How did it all go?”

  Allie gave her a rundown on Andrew and Jane. “We’ll all have to watch Andrew. He’s quite a flirt.”

  Brenda groaned. It would not be the first time they had a guest with roving eyes. “We all know the drill with someone like that.” Brenda and Allie laughed. Allie agreed she had it down pat.

  “Carolyn Pyles asked for a late arrival,” Allie said, recounting a phone call that had come in earlier that morning. “She didn’t mean in the middle of the night but it will be after dinner tonight. She will come alone, her husband Jason won’t be here until tomorrow morning.”

  Allie knew very little about them but she mentioned that Carolyn’s voice sounded young on the phone. The guest had mentioned to the reservationist that she was a scholar in the field of textiles and weaving, and gushed about her hopes of finding an original Algonquian blanket for sale at the market. Other than that, she had no deep interest in anything else unless a painting of some sort came up.

  “She said something vague in regard to paintings. Her husband is an avid collector of arrow heads but wants to see everything offered at the show.”

  “I think we’ll have a very unique group here this weekend.” Brenda looked forward to the first dinner together that night. “I hope Mac gets home from the police station early tonight. He’s very good at getting conversations going again if they lag.”

  “I guess you never know his hours,” Allie commented. Everyone knew how easily the detective got involved in his work and often lost track of time.

  “It’s hard to tell sometimes. It depends on what case he is working on at the moment,” Brenda said. “If I don’t see him tonight by six I’ll call him and remind him I need him on the first night with guests.”

  She imagined Mac’s surprise when she would call to remind him of the hour. After several months of marriage, she still experienced deep warmth when she thought of Mac Rivers. Brenda married for the first time in her mid-forties. Mac, a widower of ten years, felt a strong attraction for the new owner of Sheffield Bed and Breakfast from the first time he met her, but it had taken them some time to finally get together. His daughter Jenny had married young Detective Bryce Jones soon after. Thinking of Mac and his daughter gave Brenda an idea.

  Brenda turned back to her reservationist. “I think I’ll call Jenny. She and Bryce may want to join us for dinner, too. I think Bryce mentioned once that he has an interest in Native American artifacts.”

  Allie agreed and Brenda went upstairs to her apartment. She passed the Granthams’ room and heard muffled voices. Each room was relative

ly soundproof and but an argument ensued, loud enough for her to hear them. She continued to her apartment and hoped the couples’ differences would be resolved by dinnertime.

  Just as Brenda ended her call to her step-daughter, a knock sounded on her door. Phyllis told her she was leaving for the day unless she would be needed during dinner. “I have two servers set up for you, Brenda, but I can stay if you’d like.” Brenda assured her she should get home and relax for the evening.

  Phyllis turned to leave and then paused, remembering. “I meant to tell you…did you know your Uncle Randolph owned a wampum bead?” Brenda’s face displayed only ignorance. “It’s an old Algonquian artifact once used as a coin. William told me that Randolph’s was dark purple, almost black in color. White and pale purple, even bright purple, are very common colors and were used to symbolize peace, but the darkest blackest shades of purple symbolize death.”

  “Why would Randolph choose the one signifying death?” Brenda asked.

  “Probably because it holds more value than the white or pale purple ones and is rarer.”

  “I didn’t find anything like that in his safety box at the bank. I wonder where he kept it.”

  “I’ll ask William. He can tell you more about it. He knows the history of the wampum bead itself and may know where Randolph kept it. If you find it in the meantime, you’ll know it’s authentic if it’s made of clam shell or sea snail.”

  “I would have no way of knowing what it is really made of,” Brenda said, “but I do find this interesting. I’ll have to hunt for it in the attic.” She asked Phyllis for more description.

  “I know it’s like a coin or a bead of some sort, but nothing else. I’ll ask William to stop by tomorrow and tell you whatever you want to know.”

  Mac arrived home just as Phyllis left the bed and breakfast. He kissed his wife and she returned the greeting.

  “I’m so glad you are home early for a change, Mac. I’m a little nervous with having all of these intellectuals around here.”

  He laughed. “Are you saying we’re not intellectuals?” She shoved him playfully and told him he should know what she meant.

  They prepared for dinner and went downstairs to greet their guests. Jenny and Bryce were already in the dining room. Bryce chatted with Edward Grantham, who mentioned his interest in wampum. Brenda and Mac sat down across from him and his wife Lisa.

  Lisa Grantham braced herself for a boring evening until Jane Higgerson sat down next to her.

  “I have to admit,” Jane said, “I don’t understand all the interest in things of the past. I’m looking forward to shopping most of my time here.”

  Lisa beamed. “I’ll join you.” Their conversation revolved around what they may find to enhance their modern homes from shops in Sweetfern Harbor.

  Andrew Masterson chimed in. “I thought you wanted to learn more about my interest, Jane.”

  “I do,” she said, “but from a distance.” Andrew’s pretty assistant smiled, and her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed into a snug bun, causing her crystal blue eyes to stand out even more.

  Conversations flowed easily and Brenda relaxed. Jenny announced Bryce’s keen interest in artifacts after a few guests inquired. Once known as a womanizer before his marriage to Jenny, Bryce had the grace to blush faintly. He explained he had always been interested in early artifacts of various tribes of the area. Bryce told Andrew, when asked, that he liked the smaller items to study, stating if it became a full-blown hobby at least smaller pieces would be easier to find space for.

  When there was a slight pause, Brenda decided to tell them about the wampum bead.

  “I have no idea what one looks like but I understand my uncle, who once owned this bed and breakfast, possessed one with special value. I’m afraid I don’t know much about it except that it is very dark purple, nearly black in color.”

  Edward Grantham’s eyes were riveted on Brenda. “That would be quite a rarity. The darkest purple ones were fashioned from quahog clams which are both purple and white in color. Only a portion of the shell was that dark color, however, so it is considered rare. The Native Americans used to eat the meat of the clams and work the shells into beads. They would then string them into necklaces or belts, using either plant fiber or animal tendons for durability.”

  Several became interested and Brenda knew she would learn more from Dr. Edward Grantham about wampum beads than she could read in books. She encouraged him to tell her more about the beads.

  “The darkest purple ones were woven into necklaces and belts signifying broken treaties, grieving, and of course death, too. The usual white and pale violet beads were made from a spiral-shaped sea snail. They represented peace and prosperity and belts were traded in recognition of tribal unison or treaties. Eventually, they came to be used as trading currency, just as we use coins today, when the white man intruded on their lives.”

  Until this point, no one had spoken while Edward finished his lesson.

  “I suppose your uncle kept his under lock and key, Brenda,” Andrew Masterson said.

  “He didn’t keep it in his locked box at the bank. It could be here but I just found out about it and so haven’t searched.”

  Mac entered the conversation and told of several antique animal pelts from Algonquian tribes that his family possessed. “They are in storage to safeguard their delicate condition. I’ve studied that part of Algonquian history and find it quite interesting.” Interest increased in the pelts. Mac told them they had belonged to a relative who did not live in the immediate area.

  By the time dessert arrived, Jane and Lisa excused themselves. Lisa stated she needed fresh air from the suffocating talk of dusty antiques and ruins of the past. Laughing, Jane agreed and they moved to the sitting room to enjoy their coffees and desserts. Brenda left the table to ask if they would like company. Both invited her to join them. She went back and retrieved her dessert plate and excused herself.

  “I hope you don’t think we’re anti-social, Brenda, but I am very relieved to meet someone like Lisa who prefers shopping to rifling through artifacts,” Jane said.

  “I understand perfectly,” Brenda said. “Today is the first time I’ve heard of Randolph’s possession. I hope I didn’t bore you at dinner.”

  It was as if a light flickered on in Jane Masterson’s head. “Not at all – in fact, I knew Randolph Sheffield at one time. I can’t believe you are his niece. I tried acting once and actually performed with him in a play. I wish I had gotten to know him better. I was very young at the time and afterward realized acting wasn’t for me.”

  They discussed Randolph Sheffield’s acting career and then Lisa commented on the beauty of the house restoration. Brenda heard the others talking as they stood up from the dinner table and excused herself to help serve drinks to the other guests when they moved to the sitting room. After everyone was settled for the rest of the evening, she excused herself, along with Mac. Once upstairs, she asked him how he had become so interested in artifacts.

  “My father was an avid collector of paintings of the Mandan Tribe. He collected pelts, too, and preserved them. All of his collection is stored in a climate-controlled building that houses other pieces of history in Nova Scotia. He chose that place because he often visited there to fish.”

  “I have a lot to learn about you yet, Detective Mac Rivers.”

  He took her hand in his and squeezed it lightly. “I guess you have successfully joined the world of intellectuals tonight.”

  Chapter 2

  The Elusive Wampum

  That evening, Allie offered to continue to wait for Carolyn Pyles’ arrival. She told Brenda she had studying to do and may as well do it right there at the front desk. Allie was getting ready to enter college in the fall. Engrossed in her studies, she looked up when the front door opened and a woman in her late twenties walked in. Dark hair in a bob cut shone sleekly under the chandelier light. Her amber eyes were friendly.

 

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