Chapters (206)
- Praise for Maplecroft
- Title page
- Copyright page
- Contents
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- THESE ARE THE THINGS AN EARTHQUAKE BRINGS
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- A DOCTOR, A LAWYER, A MERCHANT, A CHIEF
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- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BE SURE YOUR SINS WILL FIND YOU OUT
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- I CROSS THE MAGPIE, THE MAGPIE CROSSES ME
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- Nance O’Neil
- THIS KNOT I KNIT, THIS KNOT I TIE
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- AND IF YOU HAVE A HORSE WITH ONE WHITE LEG . . .
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- THE WORST IS TO BE JUDGED WITHOUT HOPE
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- BUT NETTLE SHANT HAVE NOTHING
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- CUT THEM ON FRIDAY, YOU CUT THEM FOR SORROW
- Phillip Zollicoffer, Professor of Biology, Miskatonic University
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- HAPPY IS THE CORPSE THAT THE RAIN SHINES ON
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- A DWELLING PLACE OF JACKALS, THE DESOLATION FOREVER
- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Nance O’Neil
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- RIGHT CHEEK, LEFT CHEEK—WHY DO YOU BURN?
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- Aaron B. Stewart, Fire Chief, Farthington, Mass.
- Emma L. Borden
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- Gerald Macintyre, Telegraph Clerk, Western Union
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Physalia, Z. University I Was Not Now
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- DEPART, ALL ANIMALS WITHOUT BONES
- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
- Phillip Zollicoffer. Physalia Zollicoffris.
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- Christoff Dane, M.D., Ph.D., University of Rhode Island, Kingston
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Emma L. Borden
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- FAMILY SLAIN IN MAYFIELD
- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Emma L. Borden
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- Owen Seabury, M.D.
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- Lizzie Andrew Borden
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- Inspector Simon Wolf
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Before I could finish the offer, he’d released the informal barrier with a determined pinch of manual dexterity. “Thank you, but I’ve finally got it.” He fished about in his pocket for a key, given to him by the sheriff, I assumed. Or maybe it came courtesy of some other authority, as he implied. He found the key, retrieved it, and inserted it into the lock. “You’ve been here before—is that correct?”
“Everyone in town has been here, at one time or another. It’s a local institution. Or it was, I’m sorry to say.”
The door unfastened, and he pushed it open. “There’s always a chance that someone will reopen it. Some family member or another. But the Hamiltons had no children . . .” It wasn’t a question; he was merely recalling the facts as he’d heard them. I wondered who’d filled him in on all the peripheral details. “A brother, or cousin, perhaps.”
“Ebenezer had a brother, but he was a mariner and I only met him once. He was older, too. For an old man who’s spent his life upon the sea . . . it might be a good retirement, to operate a shop such as this,” or so I thought aloud. “Then again, perhaps he’s lost his taste for living on solid ground. Some of them do, you know. They take to the ocean, and never find comfort elsewhere.”
“I’ll ask Mr. Hamilton when I speak to him next. That poor man . . .” He might’ve said more, but we both stepped inside, where the store was dark and strangely cool. Both of us went quiet; we milled about in the entryway, beside the overflowing barrel of sea glass. It drew my eye, even when I consciously decided that I must look elsewhere.
Nervously, I said, “Bit of a chill in here.”
“Bit of a smell, too. Did Mr. Hamilton mention it?”
“Yes, he did. Compared it to the stomach contents of a beached whale. And he ought to know—for he helped discard one. It was the talk of the shores last summer.”
Wolf nodded. “The bowels of a rotting whale. That sounds about right.” He flinched, like he’d prefer to pinch his nose, but it wouldn’t be manly.
“It is terrible,” I agreed, though it wasn’t quite the veritable wall of stench I’d been guaranteed. It was more of an undercurrent in the chilly, damp air. Something riding the humidity, as if the very mist itself was the source of the odor.