Page 186 of Secrets Hidden In The Glass
“Of course, honey. I’ve been selling trinkets here and there for years.”
He picked up one of the cookies. “Right.”
“In fact, that’s Silas Tillerson’s mark.”
He set the baked good back down as the gravity of Bess’s statement registered. “Mr. Tillerson, Captain Bob’s brother?”
She nodded. “This piece is rather different from something he typically made. I imagine that’s why I didn’t recognize it as one of his. He died a time ago—twenty-two years this last March.”
How did she remember stuff like that? “Twenty-two years?”
“Yes, dear. Aneurism took him. Dropped dead at the Lion’s Club breakfast.”
That would have been pretty memorable. “I’d forgotten about that.”
“You were just a little one back then. His death took us all by surprise.”
He made a sound in his throat as he sampled more of the melt-in-your-mouth cookie. “How long was he a jeweler?”
“Oh, a long time. He was much older than our Captain Bob—a good ten or fifteen years, I’d say. Different fathers from different marriages.”
“I don’t remember where his store was.”
“He didn’t have one, honey. Jewelry making was a hobby—something he dabbled with during the winter when he wasn’t taking people out for a day of fishing during the high season.”
Christ, this had the potential to be huge. “Did he sell his jewelry to the tourists?”
She shook her head. “I can’t be sure but it’s doubtful. The man had a true talent. It was a real prize to own something Silas made, especially after his arthritis started getting the better of him and he didn’t work as much.”
“And he died in March of ’95?”
“Yes, dear. Mid-March. We have our Lion’s meetings the third Thursday of every month.”
Mid-March was two solid months before the season began—when the island was typically cold, quiet, and Sandersonians were eager for summer weather and visitors. He took another bite as his mind began to race. “Would you say Mr. Tillerson’s jewelry was well known?”
Bess shrugged. “I always thought it was lovely.”
“But he probably didn’t advertise off-island?”
“I can’t see why he would. We knew where to find him if we needed something special.”
“Do you know if he supplied to any stores on the mainland?”
“Most likely not.”
“So mainlanders probably didn’t know about his jewelry?”
“He certainly didn’t go out of his way to brag about his talents. He was a quiet soul—liked to keep to himself.”
Nate made another sound in his throat as his thoughts whirled. His mystery man had to be from Carter Island. “Ms. Bess, I hate to say it, but I should probably go.”
“Oh? Is there an emergency?”
“Yes, I need to get back to work.”
“All right.”
“Your cookies are delicious.” He stood, feeling slightly guilty for leaving four on the plate, and bent down, kissing her cheek. “Where can I set my dirty dishes?”
“You can leave them right there and get back to being our sheriff.”
“Thank you, Ms. Bess.”
“You’re welcome.”
“I’ll lock the door behind me.”
“All right, dear.”
He locked the door and hurried to the Tahoe, taking his seat and gripping the wheel. Silas Tillerson made jewelry quietly in the off-season. And the time frame he needed worked. Mystery Man buys one-of-a-kind personalized locket, pays for and collects it before Silas keels over in his pancakes. Mystery Man gives the gift to Samantha for her early-April birthday.
He glanced at the dashboard clock. The ferry was out in the middle of the Atlantic. He wanted to talk to Silas Tillerson, but since that wasn’t an option, Captain Bob was going to have to do. It was doubtful there were twenty-two-year-old receipts lying around somewhere, but it never hurt to ask. He turned over the ignition and accelerated, starting back toward Route 1 and the mansion. For now, he would be keeping what he’d learned this evening to himself—until there was something definitive he could tell Callie. He wanted to go back to the office, call Sanchez, and get moving on their huge new lead, but enough was going to have to be enough for today. He had apologies to make and Callie’s adoptive mother to officially meet. The case would be waiting for him in the morning.
