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Chapters (206)
  1. Praise for Maplecroft
  2. Title page
  3. Copyright page
  4. Contents
  5. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  6. THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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  12. A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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  20. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
  21. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  26. BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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  29. I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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  31. Nance O’Neil
  32. THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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  37. AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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  43. THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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  46. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  53. BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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  55. CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
  56. Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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  62. HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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  67. A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
  68. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  71. Nance O’Neil
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  84. Emma L. Borden
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  88. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  91. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  93. RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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  101. Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
  102. Emma L. Borden
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  104. Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
  105. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  107. Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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  109. DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
  110. Emma L. Borden
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  115. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  119. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  130. Owen Seabury, M.D.
  131. Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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  137. Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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  139. Emma L. Borden
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  144. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  150. Emma L. Borden
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  153. FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
  154. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  165. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  176. Emma L. Borden
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  186. Owen Seabury, M.D.
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  197. Lizzie Andrew Borden
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  205. Inspector Simon Wolf
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This having been established, I am frankly surprised that he’s asked so little after the bodies we found within the wreckage, in the days after the ashes cooled. Our final tally was eight, with remains that might have constituted a ninth discovered in a nook beneath the floor, where the boards had fallen. It’s difficult to say.

Word has it that a man from Boston is coming to investigate, but I’m not sure what he’ll make of the corpses. Each set of remains would fit in a drawer, so little is left. But if he wants them, he’s more than welcome to them.

No one here has the faintest idea who they might’ve been. Drifters, that’s our assumption. Perhaps even criminals in hiding, as such things are not unheard of. Regardless, we do not believe the dead men were local, for as I said above, the cannery was avoided by everyone within the vicinity; and besides that, no one is reported missing.

The cannery was a cold, wet place, and an uncomfortable one, too.

It’s almost bizarre to me, the thought that it’s somehow burned. I can’t imagine finding a surface dry enough to strike a match in there, so there’s great speculation as to how the fire began in the first place. We didn’t pump enough water in to cause such a soaking, as heaven knows we simply didn’t have it.

There were no storms, no strokes of lightning on that night. No one reported hearing any explosion, or seeing any suspicious characters lurking about. For that matter, no one had any idea that anyone lurked within, and that’s one reason we pulled back so quickly—not only could we not save the buildings, but so far as we knew, there were no squatters to be rescued. There was nothing to be lost but the timber and equipment inside, and we couldn’t see risking our brave firemen or volunteers to determine otherwise. By then, anyone who was getting out . . . was out already. And no one who went inside could expect to leave.

Other than this, I’m not sure what you’d have me say.

The cannery burned. We found some corpses, charred beyond identification. The circumstances were strange, but there was no sign that the dead men had any ill intent, or that they were the source of the blaze.

Between us, there might be more I could share . . . if I could share it firsthand. If the commissioner is so up in arms about the insurance adjuster, maybe it’s for the best that you come yourself, and we can quit passing one another notes like schoolboys. Or if you won’t come, I suppose the man from Boston will lend you his reporting, when he’s accumulated it.