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by AUTHOR'S NOTE: In the mystery genre, there is something called "willing suspension of belief," which is what happens when the reader willingly buys into the unlikely fact that the same protagonist keeps stumbling over dead bodies. Penny wishes to thank you for your willing suspension of belief not only about the dead bodies, but also about the number of times her adventures are able to be described with excessive alliteration. Penny, her colleagues, and her adventures are fictitious. The Thimble Islands are not, and neither are the books by Les Standiford, which are highly recommended. (Although the Thimble Islands are real, Bric-A-Brac Island is not.) Grateful acknowledgement is given to Ken Weber of the FIVE MINUTE MYSTERY series, whose puzzles I can never solve, and who has given me much inspiration for Penny's escapades. Penny English, PE, could not believe Connecticut could possibly be so hot in the summer. She could not believe that her contractor cousin, Peter Bilt, had once more talked her into accompanying him to a job site. And she certainly didn't believe it was a good sign for the entire population of Bric-A-Brac Island to be standing at the dock awaiting their arrival. She wondered if it was too late to jump off the small boat transporting them to the island and swim back to the relative security of Stony Brook, a small town on the Connecticut coast. The heat was a factor outside Penny's control. When they boarded the small boat which was to motor them out to the island, the aged captain assured her that the weather was nothing out of the ordinary. "There was a right smart breeze this morning," he told her, fanning himself with a canvas hat that had seen better days. "But it died down less than an hour ago, and with a heat spell like this 'un, it may be two, three days before a breeze stirs up to cool things off again." Since the man claimed to be a native son of Stony Creek, Penny figured he was an expert on the matter of local weather, and didn't argue with him. The fact that she was on this particular boat, in this particular heat wave, approaching this particular island, was all her cousin's doing. It had started with a conversation about Halloween, which should have been enough in itself to warn her off, Penny reflected ruefully. "I know your past few Halloween's have been traumatic," Peter had begun as his way of broaching the subject. "Let's just put it this way," replied Penny, "I'm trying to do anything I can to avoid the body count going into double digits." "That's why I think we should make plans early," said Peter. "I have a client who's planning a masked ball as a Halloween celebration. I'd like you to meet her. I'm sure she'd invite you." Penny shook her head. "I plan to spend Halloween locked away in the safety of my own bathroom. Statistically, how many people who live alone discover bodies in their own bathrooms?" "There are no guarantees in life," replied Peter, "and you, as an engineer, should know that. Come with me to visit the job site and meet Mrs. Bartholemew," he wheedled. "The job is located in a really interesting place, and it's the middle of the summer, weeks away from Halloween. What could go wrong?" "Don't tell me about this client, let me guess." said Penny. "Your Mrs. Bartholemew lives in a spooky old mansion, is wealthy, has numerous poor relatives, and you're repairing a rickety old spiral staircase for the masked ball. I can just feel a murder coming on, not to mention a liability suit." Peter cocked his head, probably trying to decide how to avoid telling Penny just how many of her guesses were right on the mark. "There's no spiral staircase," he said. "I'm renovating Mrs. Bartholemew's house, which is located on one of the Thimble Islands, and no one lives on the Thimbles except in the summer. Her Halloween party will be in New Haven--it's the nearest town of any size." "What's a Thimble Island?" asked Penny suspiciously, refusing to be reassured by the lack of a spiral staircase. "They're a string of islands off the coast of Connecticut--twenty three of inhabitable size, anywhere from twelve acres to less than half an acre. Captain Kidd used to hang out there." Penny narrowed her eyes at her cousin, and he hurried on with the rest of his explanation. "The Thimbles were used as dry docks to build ships during the American Revolution, then during the Victorian Era, they became summer retreats for the rich and powerful. There's a total of ninety five homes on the islands, many of them built during the 1850's. Some still have no utilities, and that's what I'm doing for Mrs. Bartholemew, installing modern utilities in her house on Bric-A- Brac Island." "Twenty three islands with ninety five houses?" "Some of the islands are like private hideaways, with one house per island. The larger ones have multiple residences--one island even used to have its own school and post office." "Without utilities?" "It's kind of a reverse snobbery thing--some of these summer retreats have been in the same family for generations--without utilities. Gradually, though, they're all being modernized. It's no coincidence that one of the islands is named Money Island." "Why is this one you're working on named Bric-A-Brac Island?" "Originally, because the house had so much gingerbread trimming." "And now?" Penny prodded. The use of the term "originally" always meant there was something else to follow. "Originally, this project was on schedule and within budget" was a phrase Penny had heard more than once. "Well, Mr. Bartholemew was an eccentric," Peter admitted. "He collected all sorts of things. The entire second floor of the house is devoted to his collection, which Mrs. Bartholemew inherited after her husband's death. It's called the Bric-A-Brac collection." "Ah ha!" said Penny triumphantly. "So this woman IS a rich widow." "I don't know how much of the collection is worth anything," said Peter, "although there seem to be some relatively valuable pieces. There's one of those carousel horses you like--what do you call them, a Peeping Tom Parker?" "A Peek-A-Boo Parker," Penny corrected him. "Those horses got that name because there's a hole in the carved mane. If your Mrs. Bartholemew has an original Parker carousel horse, you can bet that's worth a lot. So when do we get to the poor relatives?" "Well," said Peter uncomfortably, "they're not really her relatives. They're related to her late husband." "This gets better and better," said Penny. "Tell me." "Mrs. Bartholemew and her husband had no children, and he was estranged from his family. Now his wife wants to find someone to inherit Bric-A-Brac Island and take care of the collectibles after she's gone. It appears that Mr. Bartholemew had three brothers, all estranged from each other, and all now dead. Mrs. Bartholemew has located two nephews and one niece, each an offspring of one of the brothers. Unfortunately, none of them knew of the family connection before she went looking for them, so--" "So none of them can vouch for the authenticity of the family relationship," Penny finished for him. "She's pretty sure the niece and nephew are authentic. For one thing, all their first names begin with the letter `B'." "What does that have to do with anything?" "The Bartholemew family traditionally named their children names that began with the letter `B.' Old Mr. Bartholemew himself was Batty." "I beg your pardon?" "I don't mean he was batty--his nickname was Batty. Batty for Bateman. Bateman Bartholemew." Penny just stared at her cousin. "Mrs. Bartholemew told me her husband loved the fact that her given name is Bertha," Peter added. "See how it fits in, Bertha Bartholemew? So what are the odds that three people claiming to be related to Bateman Bartholemew would all have first names beginning with the letter `B'?" Penny shook her head. "I feel a recipe for disaster coming on." No, you're wrong," said Peter. "First of all, Mrs. B has simply asked the younger Bartholemews to visit her at her summer house on the island--she hasn't mentioned the disposition of the collection. And all three are gainfully employed--one is an accountant, one is an actress, and one held master's papers as a ship's captain for several years, then started his own shipping company." Peter took a deep breath. "So, Mrs. Bartholemew doesn't live in a spooky old mansion, I'm not sure that she's wealthy, and her relatives aren't poor. Come with me to take a look at the house on Bric-A-Brac Island." Penny wasn't ready to give in so easily. "What's in it for me?" "A possible invitation to a Halloween Ball." "I already told you my plans for Halloween." "I'll hire you to do a structural analysis of the house." "I have enough weird clients of my own, thank you." "You can see the Bric-A-Brac collection and the carousel horse." Peter didn't give Penny time to decline, but rushed on recklessly. "If we come across a dead body at any time while we are on the island, I'll pay your professional liability errors and omissions insurance for a year." Penny studied her cousin, running numbers in her head. "You can't afford my insurance premiums and all the alimony you're paying," she said. "I'll think of something," said Peter. And that was how Penny ended up on a boat out of Stony Creek, approaching Bric-A-Brac Island where four people were practically jumping up and down on the dock, waiting for them. "I just discovered a few minutes ago that part of the Bric-A-Brac collection has been stolen," said a gray haired woman as soon as Peter and Penny stepped onto the dock. No one could accuse her of beating around the bush. "This is Mrs. Bartholemew," Peter interjected. The woman clutched at Penny's arm. "Are you Peter's cousin, Penny English?" Penny nodded, resisting the urge to claim that her name was really Benny instead of Penny. "Peter has told me about you. I had us all stand out here and wait for you from the moment I discovered that certain items were missing," she told Penny. "I'm hoping that you'll help us get to the bottom of this matter." "Is anyone dead?" asked Penny immediately. "No," said Mrs. Bartholemew, looking shocked at the question. "But since it's only the four of us on the island, you can see that there's a limited number of suspects for the theft." "I'll be taking off now," said the captain of the small boat, obviously anxious to be gone and away from the current discussion. "Call the dock at Stony Creek when you're ready to be picked up, and I'll send the SEA STAR back out for you. There's no need for her and me to hang around while you folks sort out your troubles." Quicker than the blink of a Bartholemew eye, the man untied his boat and started back toward Stony Creek, leaving Penny and Peter with Mrs. Bartholemew and the three newly discovered relatives of her deceased husband. Penny sighed and decided to make the best of it. "Perhaps it would help if you told me who is who," she said to Mrs. Bartholemew. "This is Bruce Bartholemew," the woman said, gesturing to the tall young man standing beside her. "He owns a shipping company, and he's staying in the cottage that used to be the servants quarters, because there's only three bedrooms in the main house." "And that's why I know he's the thief," said the short portly man standing next to Bruce. "And you are?" asked Penny. "I'm Barry Bartholemew." "He's the accountant," said Peter helpfully. Barry ignored the interruption. "See," he pointed toward the house. It was a lovely Victorian structure, complete with a widow's walk, gingerbread trimming, and a gazebo in the middle of a formal garden. "There's a ladder leaning up against the wall, right there by that window. The window is opened, too." "All the windows are opened in the house, you idiot," snapped Bruce. "In case you haven't noticed, we're in the middle of a heat wave." Barry ignored the interruption. "Only someone staying outside the house would need a ladder to get to the second floor," he insisted. "That makes it obvious--it's Bruce who is the thief." "So there IS a second floor," said Penny, glaring at her cousin. "But no spiral staircase," Peter said quickly. "That's ridiculous and stupid," said Bruce heatedly, still engaged in conversation with Barry. "First of all, I don't need to steal anything. I own a whole shipping fleet, including THE GYPSY QUEEN, which is one of the newest, fanciest freighters on the ocean. It's got so much technology on it, it doesn't hardly need a crew. That one ship alone probably makes me more in one run than you make in a whole year of counting beans." Penny gave Bruce a sharp look and he stopped his diatribe. "Then why the ladder?" challenged Barry. "How should I know?" replied Bruce. "I don't need a ladder to gain access to the house--I can walk in the front door just like the rest of you. As a matter of fact, only a few moments before our aunt discovered the missing items, I walked into the house and past the door to YOUR room, Betty, and you weren't there," he said, turning to the young woman who had stood silent so far. "She's Betty Bartholemew, the actress," explained Peter. "I was only out of my room for five, ten minutes at the most," said Betty. "I went into the kitchen to get a glass of water." "I've been lying down since breakfast," said Mrs. Bartholemew, "so I'm no help in telling you where everyone has been, and what they've been up to. But I visit the collection every morning as soon as I get up, and I can tell you that there's bits and pieces that have gone missing today." "Why don't we just search everyone's room?" asked Peter. "Given enough time, the thief could have removed the missing items from the second floor, then hidden them somewhere on the island," said Penny. "Remember telling me about Captain Kidd? Still, it would be a good idea to take a look at everyone's room." "Come look at the ladder," insisted the accountant. "That's all you need to tell you who's the thief here." "In a moment," said Penny. "Can you tell me what is missing from your husband's collection?" she asked Mrs. Bartholemew. Mrs. Bartholemew looked as though she were about to break into tears. "I can only tell you what I've noticed--there may be even more things gone, I'm too upset to think straight at the moment. The first issue of READERS DIGEST is missing, and a can of beans retrieved from an 1850's arctic expedition. And most of the coins are gone." "That's too bad," said Peter regretfully. "There were some common ones, like those funny dark nickels from World War II that had no nickel in them, but there were some others that were really impressive," he told Penny. "My favorite was an ancient Roman one stamped 22 BC plain as anything, even if the profile of old Caesar Augustus had been worn down so much it was hard to make out. Is that one missing?" Mrs. Bartholemew nodded miserably. Penny insisted on seeing Bruce's cottage residence before she agreed to look at the ladder. There was nothing unusual to be found there--the only items in evidence were Bruce's clothes, personal belongings, and some books on marine navigation. After looking around dutifully for a few minutes, Penny went off to look at the infamous ladder, which was resting on the grassy lawn, leaning up against the house with the top rung even with the window sill on the second floor. The ground was soft and springy to walk on, but the grass precluded the possibility of any footprints. Penny sent Peter up to the second floor window as she retraced the supposed steps of the thief. Her cousin helped her keep her balance as she stepped off the ladder and through the window, for the last rung was a good half step below the window sill by the time Penny climbed off and into one of the rooms that housed the Bric-A-Brac collection. Standing in the dead center of the room was the Peek-A-Boo Parker carousel horse, its shiny black mane exhibiting the trade mark hole. Peter nervously rapped on the horse with his knuckles as Penny looked around the room. "It's easy to see why no one tried to steal this," he said. "It's so dense and heavy it would be hard to budge, much less carry off." The horse was such a beautiful work of art that Penny took a moment to walk over and touch it herself. Then she said, "Let's go downstairs and see the bedrooms where Barry and Betty are staying." Both proved to be as neat as Bruce's cottage room, and both had items reflecting the inhabitant's profession. There were ledgers and accounting references in Barry's room, while head shots, resumes, envelopes and stamps were neatly stacked on a desk under a large open window in Betty's room, held firmly in place by a heavy stapler. "You're certain that you were only out of your room for a few minutes?" asked Penny. "Yes," said Betty. "It couldn't have been more than ten minutes at the most. I was working there at the desk, sending out headshots and resumes for future jobs, and I got thirsty. I'd just returned to my room when I heard my aunt carrying on about things gone missing. I've been in plain sight of her and my so-called cousins ever since." "What do you think?" Peter asked Penny. "I think I want to leave before a body appears," she replied. "And if we stay in this company long enough, murder isn't out of the realm of possibility." Penny turned to Mrs. Bartholemew. "I don't know who stole the items that are missing," she said. "I think you could have one thief, or two, or three. All I'm certain of is that Barry, Bruce, and Betty are each lying about something. Therefore, I'd urge you to be suspicious of everything they've told you." "Oh dear," said Mrs. Bartholemew. "That's so upsetting." "Can't you give her any good news?" prompted Peter, disconcerted by the distress of his client. "Well, if you insist," said Penny. She turned back to Mrs. Bartholemew. "I'm not sure that you need to be too concerned about the items that have been stolen. I am relatively certain that at least two articles in your husband's collection are fakes, so that makes the authenticity of everything else questionable." "That's the good news?" asked Peter. "If everything in the collection is a fake, what if Mrs. Bartholemew doesn't have the money to pay for the renovations to the house?" "Every minute that we stay here, you run the risk of a dead body showing up," said Penny pointedly. Peter pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and called the dock in Stony Creek, trying to raise the SEA STAR's captain to come and fetch them off Bric-A-Brac Island before he became liable for his cousin's insurance premiums.
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National Engineers Week Foundation
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