On the Rocks: A Willa Cather and Edith Lewis Mystery by Sue Hallgarth Page B

Children’s Room at the Boston Public Library.
    Daggett glanced around. So many of these women were librarians or school teachers like the other Miss Jordan, and all of them seemed competent and somehow comfortable, shy or not. No wonder Jennifer had been so taken with the Cottage Girls and Jane Eyre. He smiled vaguely and turned back to Alice Jordan.
    “Well, there was that young man from Swallowtail,” Mary Jordan interrupted looking at her sister.
    “Oh, that’s right. He knocked at the door and asked Mary for directions to Whale Cove.”
    “And young Herbert Gordon,” Mary Jordan brightened. “I don’t believe Alice saw him. Mr. Gordon passed by sometime after four. He was riding his bicycle.”
    “And later Mr. Winslow went by in his wagon,” Mary added after a moment and, having finished, cleared her throat and refolded her hands in her lap.
    Mary Jordan conveyed even more Yankee taciturnity than her sister, Daggett thought. She sat entirely upright and took up very little room on the couch. Rather severe. A classic New England spinster school teacher. That may be her profession, Daggett understood, but he expected that this had been a fairly long speech for Mary Jordan. He had no doubt, however, that she had also learned the name of the young man from Swallowtail.
    “Matthew Johnson,” she responded promptly, “yes, Johnson with an h .”
    Daggett jotted his notes, then glanced up. Alice Jordan was squinting a bit in his direction. He waited for her to speak.
    “I remember him, too,” Alice finally said. “Natty dresser, in tennis togs, but not the others Mary saw. I was inside most of the afternoon reading.” She looked Daggett squarely in the eyes.
    Daggett watched as Alice Jordan refolded her hands in her lap also.
    “You’ve been very helpful, both of you. Quite observant,” Daggett turned again to his notebook. “Roy Sharkey, James Daniels, Sabra Jane Briggs, Herbert Gordon, Jr., Little John Winslow, Matthew Johnson.” He rubbed his forehead as he read the names aloud.
    “With an h , yes.”
    Daggett glanced at Mary Jordan, “I had understood Mr. Johnson was bird watching at Castalia with the rest of his party.” Daggett looked around the circle and then back at Mary Jordan again, “Did he happen to say what he was doing up this way?”
    As Daggett expected, that was beyond the scope of the Jordan sisters’ conversation with Matthew Johnson.
    Daggett took time to tamp and relight his pipe. He returned the tin of matches to his jacket pocket. They sat silent for a moment while he puffed.
    “Can you tell me,” Daggett finally lifted his notebook from his knee and turned back to the Jordans, “what they were wearing?”
    “Roy Sharkey and his partner wore jackets and work pants.” Typical gear, Daggett entered next to their names in his notebook.
    “Miss Briggs was in her red shirt and jodhpurs. Somewhat deeper than the hue in your jacket,” Daggett felt Mary Jordan’s eyes inspecting his uniform, coming to rest at the rumples about his waist. The back of his neck stiffened, and he seemed somehow to be sitting both deeper and taller in his chair. Daggett loosened his grip on the pen. Herb Gordon had on his usual slicker and fishing gear. Little John also wore a jacket, the same one he was wearing when he arrived at Whale Cove after Mr. Brown’s death. Buttoned all the way to the neck, Daggett remembered, though the afternoon had turned warm.
    Daggett paused to run his eye back down the list. He had already talked to Roy Sharkey and Miss Briggs. Young James was out on Sam Jackson’s boat. Herb, Jr. had probably been on his way to The Whistle to check his father’s nets. The Gordons kept a boat there for that purpose. Daggett would talk to young Herb in the morning and ask what he was doing and whether he saw anyone at The Whistle. It occurred to Daggett that he had never asked Little John what he was doing at Whale Cove that afternoon. He put a check mark next to Little John’s