THE GHOST SHIP

by Gerrie Ferris Finger

  Ann reflected on the remarkable sensations she'd felt that cold morning on the beach by the shipwreck. “It was a wonderful feeling,” she said, looking from Lockridge to Rod. “I didn't want to leave.”

  Rod's face remained impassive and Lockridge said, “Ah, that's why there are so many doubters amongst those who have not studied Einstein's equations. Travel back in your own universe and stay there and you might wind up being your own mother.”

  The idea made her laugh. “We can visit, but we can't live there.”

  “That is correct.”

  “Under no circumstances?”

  He hesitated. “None that I have discovered through science.”

  “So,” Rod said, “where does that leave us now?”

  Lockridge said, “You know my thoughts on the subject, Rod.”

  “Henry, you are a physicist, slash, museum director. You are a scholar and a mathematician. You look at things in a detached way. People expect you to throw out oddball theories. In other words, you won't be the laughing stock of the community if you spout idiocies.”

  Ann daren't look at Rod. She leaned toward the director. “I know you're not spouting idiocies or oddball theories, Dr. Lockridge. What do you think should happen?”

  “Make public the facts of Deering investigation. Let modern science look at the case taken together with your experience.”

  Rod made a rude noise and sat back. “And get hooted out of our so-called multiverse?”

  Looking at the director, she saw that he was mildly amused at Rod. She said, “It's one thing for we three to sit here and discuss what could have happened that morning, linking time travel and parallel universes, but quite another to publish it. But I do vote for a quiet investigation of what happened to the crew. I've already begun …”

  “We are not going to do that,” Rod said.

  Lockridge spread his arms. “I will do whatever you wish.”

  She looked at Rod. “I, too, will do whatever you wish.”

  Rod stood, looking like a grown man who'd beaten two eight-year-olds at lawn croquet.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  --

  Bidding the director goodbye, Rod wordlessly led her into the gallery. Standing before the Deering artifacts, she asked, “What do you think about his theory?”

  “Just that. The old man's a theorist. You should hear some others. He borders on crackpot.”

  She looked at him. “He's a scientist, like you.”

  “Hardly like me. I deal in living beings.”

  “But living beings defy explanation, like the whales beaching themselves.”

  “There's an explanation, we just haven't discovered it yet.”

  “No whales in the multiverse?” she said, trying to tease.

  Rod shook his head. “Just in my moment in time.”

  “I'm in one of your moments in time. Strange, isn't it, that we can't pick and choose who inhabits our moments.”

  His eyes were no longer focused on her. She'd read his thoughts. They were on Carmen. Forsaken, she said, “We just walk right in, and sit right down in somebody else’s multiverse, without so much as a, 'Knock, knock, may I come in?'“

  With a jerk of impatience, he put a hand on her shoulder. “Don't judge me now. Please.”

  After we came together last night, when our lives entwined, and we understood what was in our hearts? No I won't judge you.

  “I need to make sense of things,” he said. “It's not so easy for me. Migrating birds, I understand. Sharks, I understand. The abstract – I don't understand. Maybe I'm not as smart as you or Henry.”

  It took all her self-control to keep from reaching up and caressing his beautiful face. “Rod, you know better than that.”

  He let go of her shoulder and turned for the gallery door. She remained rooted to a floor that looked like a sea bed. She called to him, “Thank you for taking me this morning,”

  He turned. “Next time, maybe it will end better.”

  Next time.

  When she entered the lobby to leave, he was waiting at the outer door. Knowing that she hoped in vain for his mood to have changed, she took measured steps up to him.

  “Where will it end?” His blue eyes cut through her affected detachment. He took two steps and pulled her to him, his face inches from hers. “When?”

  She looked into his anguished eyes. “Rod …”

  The rapid pulse in his neck showed the quickening rhythm of his heart. She laid her palm on his chest. Tears rimmed eyes. He lowered his face and kissed her with passion and sorrow. Then he drew abruptly away. “I'll bring your car to The Pub as soon as I can. An hour maybe.”

  She nodded, laboring to breathe.

  He asked, “Are you going to stay at The Pub?”

  “I haven't thought …”

  “Your hanging around just keeps the press here.”

  His resolve was like the tumultuous surf pounding the shores of her determination. “You want me to leave.”

  “It might be better until things quiet.”

  “Things won't be quiet as long as Poblo's determined to stir them up.”

  He held up a hand. “We'll give the son-of-a-bitch his job back. That will end it.”

  “Will it?”

  “It had better.”

  Rod opened the door and cursed. Outside, the madding media was organizing for an assault on the museum and anyone who came out.

  He propelled himself through the crowd, shouting, “No comment.”

  He turned toward the marina where his Jeep waited. She pushed past the shouting reporters trying to besiege her, and fled to The Pub where Mrs. MacGregor greeted her with outstretched arms.

  “When I heard you was down here, I saved your suite.”

  “Thank you, but …”

  “I got to tell you though, you're going to have company you don't much like.”

  She knew who they were.

  “Some of them reporters has gotten rooms.”

  She clutched Mrs. MacGregor's arm. “It's business. I understand.”

  “I'm thinking of changing my mind, though. Some idiots ask me if I'd been seeing ghosts lately. Asks if this place is haunted.”

  “What do you tell them?”

  “There's ghosts everywhere. Som'er meaner'n others. And they don't much like heathens comin' in from outside makin' fun.”

  This was funny after the discussion with Henry Lockridge. “And what do they say?”

  “Stupid stuff, like kids.” She sighed. “Can I buy you a drink?”

  “And a couple of crackers,” Ann said. Lack of sleep had caught up with her, but she wouldn't be able to sleep for the memories so vivid from last night and the emotional turmoil of this morning.

  She followed Mrs. MacGregor from the lobby to the bar. Bad idea. Before she could retreat, she saw Missi sitting at a table facing the door.

  Missi called, “Ann.” Ann avoided Missi's eyes. “Ann,” Missi called again, and beckoned with an arm that was strung up and down with gold bangles.

  Ann threaded her way to the bar and sat. Mr. MacGregor had begun to prepare her drink.

  Missi stood from the table and came forward. “You've got to talk to me.”

  “I've nothing to say to you.” MacGregor placed a napkin and her drink in front of her.

  “But I have something to tell you,” Missi said. “It's important.”

  “What is it?”

  She looked at MacGregor. “It's private.”

  Ann slid off the stool, picked up her drink and went to Missi's table. “This better be worth the trip.”

  “Sit down.”

  “Don't order me around.”

  “Please, sit down. Let's talk quietly.”

  Sitting, Ann said, “I don't think you can do anything quietly.”

  “I'll try.” She lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “I talked to your folks?”

  “And?”

  “They're concerned. They've picked out a place for you to rest. Your mama called it intervent
ion.”

  She flared, “You'd better not print a word my parents have said to you.”

  “Or what?”

  “I know a few things about you, Missi – where a few bodies are buried. I think our media hounds might be interested to know about your relationship with Spence – the latest in the confidential sources you've bedded.”

  “You threatening me?”

  “Damned right.”

  “I don't intend to print anything your mama said, although she did say some interesting things. I just thought you'd like to know they're on their way up here.”

  “You told them where I was?”

  “You haven't read my column today, have you?”

  “I had better things to do.”

  “Read it. I think you'll find it touching. You and Roddy boy saving the whales.”

  “You bitch.”

  Missi' had the grace to appear chastised. “It's my job.”

  “Is it your job to screw Spence?”

  A shadow fell over the table. Ann looked up to see Spence's glassy glare.

  “You hear that, Spence?” Missi said.

  “How could I not. My name was slandered.”

  Ann stood. “Not slandered, Spence. Slandered is when what you've said isn't true.”

  His lips pressed together, setting like concrete. He balled his fists and his face grew bright red.

  In that second, a blaze of extraordinary light filled the barroom and a roar followed as if thunder crashed through the door. Just as quickly, the light dimmed, and the scene changed. The air around her smelled dank and salty and fishy. Water covered her feet. A man was in the water, wading through cattails. There was a boat. In the boat was a woman. A dark-haired pretty woman, who laughed. Ann couldn't see her face. Then, Ann couldn't breathe, and …

  Ann felt herself yanked back into the barroom. Spence's fist clutched her arm. He mouthed words at her. “Keep you fucking mouth shut, you hear. My life is none of your business.”

  She heard Missi's voice. “Let her go, sugah. Don't make matters worse.”

  Spence released her arm.

  Missi got up, and, looking sympathetic, said, “Ann you know you control this whole story. It's about you. If you want it to go away, I'm telling you the only way is to speak the truth. That'll shut people up after they get over the novelty of it.”

  “I don't need a sermon from you.”

  Shrugging, Missi flashed away in the clanging of her jewelry. Ann felt bereft at the loss of a friend who'd been dispensing homespun wisdom from their first meeting. Five minutes ago she'd called her a bitch in front MacGregor. She wished she could take back the word.

  Spence hadn't moved, and he looked as if he wanted to say something in parting – a word of warning, perhaps – but apparently he changed his mind and spun on his heel to join Missi at the door.

  --

  She didn't know how long she stood looking after them, replaying the odd sensation in her breast, smelling the wet mud and water, and trying not to see the dark cloud over a love that had bloomed so gloriously in a single evening.

  “Miss Ann?”

  Suddenly she was a swimmer fighting for the water's surface.

  “Miss Ann?”

  She came out of her trance – twice now – hearing MacGregor call across the bar, “Are you okay? Do you need a lie down?”

  Shaking her head, she spoke, hearing her voice come from an alien realm, “No, I'm fine.”

  “Who was that hussy?”

  “A reporter from Atlanta.”

  “I ain't never seen Spence act like that, not since maybe when…”

  “Not since when?” she asked, too tired to care.

  “Ah, we oughten talk about folks in bars when they been a drinking.”

  She let a smile escape her lips. “Not a good idea if you want to keep your customers.”

  “Ay, you understand. Spence is a good sort. He's needin' a good girl to settle with not like the ones … Well, a man has to pick his own.”

  “Yes,” she said, looking toward the door. “I apologize for speaking harshly to Missi in your bar.”

  “Nothin' to it,” he said, wiping the wood like he would a baby’s cheek.

  In her suite, she watched from the window, to see Rod pulling the Buick into the parking lot. She must remember to call the Sweeneys and let them know, but hell, Mrs. Sweeney was probably in front of the tube watching the circus.

  Rod parked the Buick, got out and walked to the porch and disappeared under the eaves. The Buick's keys jangled in his hand. At the desk, would he ask for her?

  She waited for the telephone to ring, but it didn't.

  She waited for a knock on the door, but it didn't come.

  The back of Rod's head, that deep auburn hair, appeared from underneath the porch roof. Without a backward, or upward, glance, he walked toward Highway 12. Wiping her cheeks, she saw Spence's truck pull into view and stop for Rod to get in.

  Wonder if Spence will tell him about the confrontation in The Pub?

  Ann began to pace, her brain too tired to make sense of her tumbling thoughts. Stop it. I've got to get out of here, or I'll go crazy. She hit her thighs with her fists. But where will you go? You have no plan, no idea, no way to make this mess right. She realized that not even Washington could make it right. Henry Lockridge's idea seemed the best, but it wouldn’t do for Rod. She could stand the spotlight, but Rod was not a believer and never would be.

  She remembered last night, the love …

  Dashing into the bathroom, she turned the tap and threw cold water onto her face. Looking into the mirror, she laughed harshly and said to her reflection, “How charming you look, Ann Gavrion. Like hell.” She needed to speak aloud to make sense of her thoughts. “Okay, now. Forget Rod. You can't undo what happened this morning, after such a wondrous, unbelievably beautiful night.” Would she ever forget? “You must. get to Mama and Daddy. But where are they? Start in Manteo. Mrs. Sweeney will send out the call on the landlord's grapevine. Okay, that's a start. Get the Buick. Get going.”

  She hurried downstairs and fetched the Buick keys from Mrs. MacGregor. She knew that the sharp-eyed innkeeper hadn't missed her bleary eyes.

  “Going for a ride, Miss?”

  “Keep my suite, please. I don't know when I'll be back.”

  “Poor thing. People keep running you out of town.”

  That stopped her dead. Nobody feels sorry for Ann Gavrion. Not Missi. Not Poblo. Not even Rod. “Where's the police station?” she asked.

  “You going to see Poblo, too?”

  “Too?”

  “That hussy of a woman was heading there. And so was Rod, I think.”

  And Spence.

  Mrs. MacGregor said, “Get on Route Twelve and go nine-and-a-half miles. You can't miss the police.”

  --

  She pulled up at the two-story white building, and parked in the lot next to Spence's Suburban, which was next to Missi's rental. Rod's Jeep was parked by a squad car. The polite uniformed man at the desk told her that the officer in charge would be out pretty soon. He added, “Seems lots of folks want to talk to Poblo Quitano.”

  “Is it allowed?”

  “Lieutenant Brinborn will answer your questions.”

  She sat in a straight wooden chair and waited for fifteen minutes. Then an African American man came through the door. He wore a blue suit, white shirt and a yellow tie, the perfect detective.

  “Miss Gavrion?” he said, sticking out his hand as she stood up.

  “I'm Ann Gavrion. I'm here to visit with Poblo Quitano.”

  He shook his head. “Can't here. He's been taken up to Manteo.”

  “Manteo?”

  “For a bail hearing.”

  Just then a door in the hallway opened. Rod came out first, followed by Spence. They were carrying on a conversation, and when they saw her, their mouths snapped shut. The detective waved goodbye to her and left by the front door. Where was Missi?

  The men walked warily toward her. Sh
e glanced at Rod's tired blue eyes, and then looked at Spence. He had a big smile on his face. “Ann!”

  She said, “Lieutenant Brinborn tells me Poblo's gone to Manteo.”

  “Yep. Got a date this afternoon with a judge.”

  Her eyes slid to Rod. “I thought – you said …”

  Tightlipped, he gave a slight shake of his head.

  She asked, “Isn't he going to be hired back with the museum?”

  A few tense moments passed before Spence said, “Uh-uh. It was no go with Poblo. He declined. The little bastard wants to be brought up on charges.”

  “Did you get a chance to talk to him?”

  “I did, this morning,” Spence said. “Too bad you didn't get here sooner. I know he wants to talk to you.

  ““I'm flattered,” she said.

  “He said you could make it right.”

  Rod pretended he wasn't listening to their conversation. He was giving his full attention to the photograph of the police captain hanging on the wall.

  Spence asked her, “Why did you come here?”

  “I want Poblo to stop what he's doing. He's only making matters worse for himself. And don't you dare tell Missi what I've said.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Why did you tell her about the whale?”

  Rod turned to look at Spence. She said to Rod, “I haven't read Missi's column this morning, but apparently she reported on our efforts to save it.”

  Rod asked Spence, “You give her that info?”

  Spence didn't look at Rod. “Several reporters knew about the whale.”

  Ann shot back, “Several reporters didn't know that I was at the scene.”

  “They could have,” Spense said. “How do I know when and how your name came into the story?”

  She bit her tongue against calling him and out and out liar.

  Suddenly, a door opened and Missi came out, followed by a uniformed policeman. They apparently were sharing a joke.

  Spence said, “Officer Johnson is the media affairs officer for the police department.”

  When Missi and the cop walked up, Missi said, “Well, if this ain't a great place to meet 'n greet.” She looked and sounded like Mae West in an old film, “We had a basketball net, we could shoot some hoops.”