Page 51 of In the Pursuit of Haven
“It’s only dangerous because ofyou,” I said, though I wasn’t quite sure if that was the case anymore. Robert was different from those ruffians after Jessie. He’d been after me since he saw me at the wharf. I took off for the street, wanting to create as much distance between us and that guy as possible.
Jessie easily caught up to me. “You could’ve been hurt.”
That was ironic coming from him. “Do you know how hypocritical you sound right now?”
“I don’t care.”
Typical!“What were you doing following me?” I threw back at him.
He made a disgruntled sound. “Scrooby told me where you were. When he told me about Robert, I stole my old man’s Harley and broke every law to get here in time.”
“Wait, what?” Did Jessie have a super web of spies set up in Marblehead? Granted, his best friend lived just across the street. He might’ve glanced out the window and spied me. “What does Scrooby know about Robert?”
“He killed a guy, Haven. He’s been in prison for almost fifty years, and he’s been out for less than one. He blames my dad for turning him in.”
I felt like I’d been slapped. Well, that was disturbing! My “stranger danger” meters were malfunctioning in a big way. “Oh.” That was all I could manage. Apparently, Robert had inherited his family’s rotten tendencies. The Corwin blood ran thick in him.
“Look, Roxy you’ve got to believe me, okay?”
“I believe you,” I said testily. “Thank you!” That came out way harsher than I intended. I tried to moderate my tone, “Thank you.”
He grew silent then nodded. He brought me down the little pathway to Haven’s boat, and he didn’t let me go until he handed me wordlessly into the vessel. “Are you going to be okay from here?” he asked.
As long as Robert isn’t lying in wait in the bay for me like a pirate.
“Who did… um, Robert kill?” I asked.Please don’t say Matthew.
“It was a bar fight, but… well, he was meeting my old man down at the wharf and they stopped to get a few drinks. Some guy was trying to blackmail him, and he lost it. My dad said killing came too easy to him, and he thinks he’s done it before.”
I wondered if Pete was right. Haven had a whole board of information, and even things on Robert, though so far, she hadn’t named him as a suspect. Funny… because right now he was top on my list.
Jessie’s fingers pressed into mine. “Don’t wait up for me.”
That broke the spell he’d somehow put over me. “Where are you going?”
“Scrooby’s just over there. I’m going to visi—”
“Whatever!” I cut him off.
I’d appreciate some honesty. I knew exactly what he was doing—Jessie was throwing himself in harm’s way by doing what he told me not to do—but sure, go right ahead!I can just cry myself to sleep every night for the rest of my life and build secret rooms with mystery boards to try to find his murderers.
“Yeah, don’t worry,” I huffed. “I have no intention of waiting up.”
Chapter Fifteen
Not only was Robert not dead, but he was a murderer? The second I returned home, I rushed to Haven’s room—well, maybe I put together a sandwich and ate first and then the very next second after that—I began dismantling Haven’s closet to get at that secret room again.
Don’t wait up? Fine. Sure. I have my own things to do!
Haven’s clothes landed against her bed with a thud. The dog let out a whimper and rushed out into the hall to find solace with Stu. His parents had gone crazy.
“Okay!” I shouted after him, “but you’re missing out on all the fun.” Locking Haven’s door, I got the ladder down again and headed up to the organized chaos of her mind. The worn wood creaked beneath my feet as I searched through the journals, trying to find something on Robert.
I found profiles on many of the historical figures of this town, which didn’t catch my interest. Setting those aside to peruse later, I next discovered a Bowditch map from 1806 showing Salem, Beverly, and Marblehead’s coastline and surrounding islands. It was the most detailed that anyone could get their hands on nowadays, though at the museum, we often wished we could find an earlier one—an impossible undertaking, since long before our Salem native got involved, nautical maps lived entirely in the heads of ship captains.
Haven had made notes on the map to indicate where Crabb’s friends and associates had once lived—according to this, he was a popular man. And then strangely, she’d circled the pictures that Bowditch had used to decorate the title of the map. She’d written:“What did Bowditch know about the treasure?”
Odd question. What would he know that wasn’t already common knowledge?
