In the summer of 1890, two young women posed for artist Winslow Homer on the coast of Maine. What happened that summer, the secrets the women kept, and the lies they told, changed their families forever. Now, more than a hundred years later, one of their descendants has been murdered, leaving to antique print dealer Maggie Summer the family papers that may finally reveal the truth. Maggie's vision of a relaxing vacation in Maine- antiquing with beau Will Brewer and visiting his Aunt Nettie- turns into a murder investigation. Maggie must discover which of the family myths are based on reality, before someone she cares about becomes the next victim.With the centennial of Homer's death in 2010, there is renewed interest in his work and in the renovation of his studio in Prouts Neck, Maine, where some of the novel's action takes place.

Shadows of a Down East Summer

An Antique Print MysteryBy Lea Wait

Perseverance Press

Copyright © 2011 Eleanor S. Wait
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-56474-497-5

Chapter One

The District of Maine. Map of northern Massachusetts (when it still included Maine) engraved by John G. Warnicke. Published in Casey's General Atlas, Philadelphia. One of the earliest commercially available maps of Maine. Editions in 1796, 1802, 1814, and 1818; this map's edition is unknown. Hand-watercolored lines divide the District into six counties. Warnicke also engraved twenty of Alexander Wilson's ornithological prints. 12 x 17 inches. Price: $400.

"Who is Carolyn Chase, and why is it so important that we meet her before Maggie's even had time to unpack?" Will Brewer asked his great-aunt. He sat close to Maggie Summer on the weathered wooden gliding rocker overlooking Maine's Madoc River.

Deep blue tidal waters stretched wide in front of them, the calmness of high tide interrupted only by the voracious cries of herring gulls circling an occasional lobster boat on its way to unload the day's haul. Maggie's hand squeezed his as cool, late-day salt breezes gently ruffled the escaping pieces of the long hair she'd pinned in a casual knot hours before.

"Carolyn's a very dear woman," said Aunt Nettie. Her back was cushioned by green-flowered pillows on the Adirondack chair, but her feet were planted firmly on the porch floor. Maggie suspected Aunt Nettie had sat in that very chair, in that very spot, on early August days like this for most of her ninety-one summers. "I know your drive from the Cape was long, Maggie, but I just couldn't wait for you and Carolyn to meet. You could be an enormous help to each other."

Maggie looked from Will to Aunt Nettie. "I thought I was coming to Maine to relax. And do that antiques show you told me about, Will." And most important, spend time with the man she loved. Her back ached from the drive, and she didn't want to think about any more tasks. The Provincetown Show hadn't gone as well as she'd hoped. This trip to Maine might refill both her emotional and financial coffers.

"Don't get your knickers in a knot," said Aunt Nettie. "Lord knows I'm tickled to have both of you as guests. Will's been a widower so long I'd about given up hope of his finding some woman worth paying attention to. When I met you last summer, Maggie, I knew you were the right one."

Maggie kicked Will lightly in consternation. Will just grinned and squeezed her hand.

Aunt Nettie turned to Maggie. "Now, I'm an old woman, and know enough not to get in the way of young love, but you have to understand I have a few little things for Will to help me with this summer. You'd just be bored watching him work. I thought you could help Carolyn with her research while Will's busy."

Aunt Nettie had plans to fill not only Will's days, but hers as well.

Will winked at her, clearly not intimidated by his great-aunt. "I've always spent part of my summer helping Aunt Nettie with chores. When I got here two days ago she gave me this year's list. It seems I'm to paint her house, replace the gutters, and repair some shutters."

Maggie swallowed. A few little things! Visions of romantic walks on the beach and picnics on the rocky Pemaquid shore were dissolving before she'd recovered from her drive north.

"Don't be complaining, Will Brewer. You know I've got to keep this place in order or else someone's going to declare me incompetent and ship me off to some nursing home. Your cousin Shirley's already dropping assisted-living brochures on my coffee table. I plan to die in this house, and I intend for it to be in good order when that day comes."

"You're in perfect health," said Will. "As healthy as an ox. I'll talk with Shirley. But what about this Carolyn Chase? There have been Chases in Waymouth for generations. Who's Carolyn, and how does she fit in?"

"She's Helen Chase's daughter, of course," said Aunt Nettie. "Helen was my dear friend Susan Newall's cousin. Surely you remember Susan, Will."

Maggie, who'd lost the genealogy thread several names ago, dropped Will's hand and sat up straight, ending the gentle back-and-forth movement of the glider. "Helen Chase. The artist, Helen Chase?"

"That very one," nodded Aunt Nettie. "I knew you'd be interested! Carolyn's heard of you, too. She read an article you wrote about Winslow Homer in some artsy magazine. She was very impressed when I told her you were my Will's lady."

Maggie ignored the references both to her relationship to Will and to her academic publications. She was with him now, although what their futures held she didn't want to guess. It had been a stressful spring, and she wasn't up to making any long-term decisions. Not that Will was suggesting she do so.

As a professor of American Studies, occasionally she had to prove she could publish. As an antique print dealer on weekends and vacations, topics related to nineteenth-century American artists were obvious choices for scholarly articles. "I don't know as much as I should about mid-twentieth-century artists." Maggie searched her brain. "Wasn't Helen Chase from New York City? And didn't she die about ten years ago?" If Helen Chase were the artist Maggie was remembering, her idiosyncratic oil paintings of New York City and its residents had found homes in some of America's top museums.

"Exactly right," Aunt Nettie nodded in approval. "I was sure you'd know who Helen Chase was. She did live in New York City. But her family history is here in Waymouth, where her grandmother was born, and her great-grandmother before that. Her daughter Carolyn used to spend summers here with my friend Susan. Now do you remember her, Will?"

Will shook his head. "I remember your friend Susan, but not a relative from New York."

"Carolyn's a few years older than you. I guess your paths didn't cross. Still, she and her mother, Helen, have roots in Maine, and Maine roots run deep. That's why Carolyn's here." Aunt Nettie leaned back in her chair and sipped her iced tea as though she had now explained everything.

Maggie smiled at Will and gently shook her head.

No matter what Aunt Nettie had planned, it was good to be in Maine. She was with Will, away from the tensions and decisions of life in New Jersey. Winslow Homer, her cat, was comfortably sharing summer quarters with Uncle Sam, the American Studies department cat, at her secretary's home. Her new red van had made it to Maine after the disastrous antiques show in Provincetown where she'd barely made enough sales to pay booth rent, but at least she'd been able to spend time with her best friend, Gussie White. Her bank account might be too low for comfort, but on the whole, life was good.

Maggie's antique print business was named Shadows. Prints are images of the past, bringing reflections of earlier lives and images to the present. Here on the coast of Maine, sitting on a nineteenth-century porch overlooking a river harbor once filled with three- and four-masted schooners, Maggie felt closer to that past than she ever did at home in suburban New Jersey. She glanced down at her worn jeans, wishing they'd magically transform themselves into a long, lace-trimmed linen skirt.

The air smelled of salt water and of clams being fried at a small restaurant on the next block, and the man she loved was beside her. Maggie tugged teasingly at his soft, gray beard. He pulled her wayward hand to his lips.

Aunt Nettie pointedly looked out over the porch railing at a bright blue kayak making its way...