Never Shake A Family Tree by Martin Greenberg

Author:Martin Greenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: ebook, book
Publisher: Thomas Nelson
Published: 2010-09-12T16:00:00+00:00

S. S. Rafferty combines history and crime in this next piece, a tale of mysterious lights along the Rhode Island coast. Able to seamlessly combine historical accuracy and a cunning crime, he is a frequent contributor to Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, appearing there over a dozen times.

9

The Rhode Island Lights

S. S. Rafferty

The autumn of 1736 was kind indeed to the coast of the northern colonies. Normally expected foul winds and fouler weather turned out to be a cool, clear sky and a placid sea lapping gently like a puppy against the eddyrock from Boston to New York. For the first time in 18 months, Captain Jeremy Cork and I were once again ensconced in our natural surroundings at the Oar and Eagle at Sea Bluff on the Connecticut littoral.

“Well, by jing,” I said, opening the letters that had come by the post rider early that evening, “it appears that your social puzzles have produced some coin at last.”

He was sitting at what he euphemistically calls his “work” table, absorbed in a newly arrived book from England. He looked up and grunted a slight note of interest.

“You remember Squire Delaney of the Rhode Island colony?”

“Of course, Oaks. We helped him in the Narragansett Pacer affair.”

“Yes, well, he has seen fit to give your spermacite candle factory in Warwick a substantial contract. It’s rather astounding, though. What could he possibly do with two-pound candles? My God, it says here, ‘For delivery to the Pharos at Point Judith.’Could Delaney have fallen in with some pagan ritual?”

Cork closed the book and looked up at me with that smirk-a-mouth he uses when he is about to jape me. “Perhaps we ought to refuse the contract. We wouldn’t want to be party to the Dark Arts, hey?”

Now there you have it. As Cork’s financial yeoman, I am patiently building him an empire of holdings that may some day make him the richest man in the Americas. However, it is part of his sport to ignore my efforts and waste his time in the solution of crimes, which he calls “social puzzles.”He has other unprofitable pastimes which are not mentionable in Christian company. This present piece of sarcasm about refusing the Delaney contract was a backhanded reminder that I once proposed the importation of shrunken heads from Spanish America. I said, give the public what it wants, but he was against it.

“I didn’t say ‘Dark Arts,’ sir, you did. I was merely curious about the use of so large a candle, and in such quantity.”

“Actually, Oaks, I am guilty of bad imagery. White Arts would have been a better choice.”

I looked at him querulously, and he went on, “Even in the absence of all the information, we have the thread of the tapestry. Where does the good Squire live?”

“In the Rhode Island colony.”

“More specifically, at Point Judith, does he not?”

“Yes, he owns his horse ranch, as he calls it, and everything in sight.”

“And does not Point Judith’s recent notoriety bring anything to mind?”

“Of course, the shipwrecks! Four, over the summer, I believe.

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