The Secret Staircase (A Wendover House Mystery Book 1) Read Free

of Nova Scotia, that angle which is formed by a line drawn due north from the source of St. Croix River to the highlands; . . . by a line to be drawn along the middle of the river Saint Croix, from its mouth in the Bay of Fundy to its source, and from its source directly north to the aforesaid highlands which divide the rivers that fall into the Atlantic Ocean from those which fall into the river Saint Lawrence; comprehending all islands within twenty leagues of any part of the shores of the United States, and lying between lines to be drawn due east from the points where the aforesaid boundaries between Nova Scotia on the one part and East Florida on the other shall, respectively, touch the Bay of Fundy and the Atlantic Ocean, excepting such islands as now are or heretofore have been within the limits of the said province of Nova Scotia.
     
    Unfortunately, Mr. Ladd explained, this left a few islands in uncertain circumstances.
    I asked who islanders paid inheritance and income taxes to, hoping we didn’t have to pay both countries, and he said that depended on where the citizen was employed. On Great Goose, the only resident paying taxes to Canada was the lighthouse keeper who worked for the Canadian Coast Guard.
    “We have a very able accountant here on Great Goose. Marge Holmes keeps abreast of events and will take care of you when you need help.”
    This sounded like he was assuming I would stay.
    “And if one needs the police or a doctor?” I asked, curious and unable to ignore what might be a good story for The Democrat . I was used to living in a small town, but we had a major city nearby. The thought of going to a three-house island was kind of like visiting the edge of the world.
    “We have an arrangement with the Haven police department—which is made up of Everett and Bryson Sands. And if you need a doctor, Hillary Abbott is your man— er , woman. She is also here on Great Goose.”
    “Is there any hope of selling the house?” I asked bluntly, bracing myself for bad news. The economy was hardly hearty in this part of the world and who in their right mind would want to live on an island with only two other houses?
    Mr. Ladd looked startled.
    “You wish to sell Wendover House?”
    “Well, you see I own a newspaper in Minnesota. It would be rather a long commute.” Especially given that the paper was on its last legs and I had to work about three different jobs and might have to take on a fourth since my paper boy was threatening to quit if I didn’t give him a raise. You know the difference between a small-town editor and Sisyphus? In addition to pushing a heavy weight uphill forever, I also have to pay taxes and rent.
    “I’m sorry to sound so surprised. Of course you would want to sell. Just because there has been a Wendover on Little Goose since the late eighteenth century doesn’t mean that you would want to stay.”
    He did not sound convincing and I am not tone-deaf. In fact, I was pretty sure he felt that a failure to stay would be a complete dereliction of duty on my part.
    “Wanting doesn’t have much to do with it,” I replied apologetically and then paused to think about my wishy-washy answer. Did I truly want to stay? “It’s the ways and means that are troublesome.”
    He sat back in his chair.
    “I see. But you would like to stay if it were possible? We should think on this. There could be ways to arrange things, creative sources of income that might allow you to hire someone to manage the paper for you.”
    We . That was kind of nice. His suggestion was not really practical but I appreciated the sentiment.
    Certainly there wasn’t anything drawing me back to my cracker-box apartment, and only duty to my grandmother’s memory forcing me to work every day. I’m not saying this wasn’t a strong compulsion, but I was awfully tired of the burden.
    However, if I did move here, what would I do? How would I make a living? Two hundred and fifty thousand was a lot of money, but it