“No comment.” I unlocked the car door, jumped in and slammed it shut, then locked it. Curlew Island curse? I hadn’t heard those words since Dove’s passing. The reporter was obviously trolling for a story.
Buddy’s Diner was a local favorite and very much off the tourists’ radar. It featured inexpensive local dishes like shrimp and grits, fried green tomatoes, and chicken with waffles. I hadn’t eaten there in several years, but nothing had changed. The tables and chairs were still mismatched, the menu was still stuffed into a sticky plastic holder, and two ceiling fans still rotated lazily overhead. It smelled of fried fish and mac and cheese.
Officer Chou sat in the back-corner booth. I joined her. “What’s wrong?”
Chou clutched the red plastic glass of iced tea with both hands. “Let’s just say if they weren’t shorthanded, they would have put me on administrative leave.”
“Good heavens, Officer Chou! Is Lieutenant Gragg doing this?”
“You can call me Mandy. No. He’s with the police. This is the boss of marine patrol. I turned in the report on our welfare check for Dr. Mueller. I also told them about the research I did on the currents and tides. Apparently I did everythin’ wrong. I shouldn’t have brought ya along when we checked out the house. I shouldn’t have touched anythin’. I shouldn’t have used her phone to make the calls. I shouldn’t have talked to the granddaughter.” She stopped and gulped some tea. “I was ‘outside my level of expertise.’” She made quotes in the air. “They found nothing in Dr. Mueller’s boat and don’t intend to follow up at her home at this time. She needs to be missin’ for forty-eight hours. They told me to back off.” She studied me over another sip of tea.
“But what about the pajamas? The missing computer? The unlocked house?”
“They said I had no proof of anythin’, just speculation, and they didn’t have the manpower to look into every person who doesn’t know how to tie up a boat.” She glanced around the room, then leaned in closer and whispered, “Here’s the strange part, the reason I wanted to talk to ya. They told me to stay away from anythin’ to do with Curlew Island, and especially you.”
A waitress appeared with a glass of water and placed it in front of me. “What can I bring you to drink?”
“Tea. Unsweetened.” After the waitress left, I asked, “I wonder why I’m off-limits to you.”
“I suspect it’s not you so much as your senator brother. Everyone’s stayin’ away from politics these days.”
“Any idea what’s going on? Joyce is missing—there’s no doubt about that.”
“I’ll be charitable and say the sniper attack yesterday has everyone on edge. The press wants to know when there’ll be an arrest. Your brother puttin’ up that reward has the phones ringin’ like crazy. Another woman died from her injuries. That makes three dead.”
A jolt shot through me. I hadn’t followed up on Ami’s family. I hadn’t even called with condolences.
“What?” Mandy was staring at me. “Your face just went splotchy.”
I gave her a rueful smile. “My face gives away my every thought. I just had a guilt attack about my friend Ami. She was one of the three who died.”
The waitress reappeared. “Have you decided?”
I looked at Mandy. “Go ahead. My treat.”
“In that case . . .” Mandy glanced at the menu. “I’ll start with a bowl of she-crab soup, then a roasted beet salad and blackened grouper.”
“You can eat all that?” I stared at Mandy.
“Yup. And enjoy every bite. Oh, and banana puddin’ for dessert.”
I suddenly lost my appetite. Pointing to the menu I said, “I’ll have a salad. House dressing on the side. No tomatoes or onion. No croutons.” I handed it to the waitress. After the woman left, Mandy asked, “On a diet? You’re already too thin.”
“Lost my appetite.” I leaned forward. “So what now?”
“I kinda, sorta already done put somethin’ into play.” Mandy glanced around the room. The diner had filled, and the clink of silverware, dishes, and conversation rose considerably. “My brother has a fishin’ boat. I asked him to fish near where I figured Joyce’s boat may have been. He griped that the fishin’ was terrible around there but agreed to go tomorrow. He has scuba gear so could look around if needed.”
“Look around? For what?”
Mandy just lifted her eyebrows.
I knew.
Chapter 8
I finished eating my salad, then pulled out my list from the previous day.
Contact Ami’s parents and offer condolences. Bring food to the house.
Order flowers.
Offer to help with funeral arrangements.
“I see you’re a list maker as well.” Mandy popped the last bite of grouper into her mouth.
“Yes, but I didn’t follow up.” I pulled out my cell, looked up Ami’s parents’ number, then dialed.
Ami’s younger sister answered. “Churchill residence.”
“Hi, this is Piper Boone, and I’m calling to offer my condolences—”
“You! You brought the Curlew Island curse, or should I call it the Baal Island curse, on my family! How dare you call here.”
“I . . . I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“It’s all over the internet.” She started crying. “The news. Social media. Stay away from my family!” Click.
“What’s wrong?” Mandy asked.
Instead of answering, I logged on to the diner’s internet and typed in “Curlew Island curse.” An article in the Charleston Times appeared, written by Bailey Norton.
Curlew Island Curse Strikes Again?
Could the recent shooting spree at a downtown café in picturesque Marion Inlet be the result of a curse? Sandpiper Boone, a resident of Curlew Island, was caught in the hail of bullets that left three dead and five injured.
According to legend, in 1801 a schooner ship bound for Charleston Harbor went aground on the island. Only one sailor lived to tell of the horrible fate of his fellow seamen. He declared the island cursed and named it Baal. For over 150 years, sailors and locals alike avoided the area, until William and Lucinda Boone purchased the land in 1958. They immediately changed the name from Baal to Curlew.
Their only child, Montgomery, sold an acre of land at the north end of the island to a doctor, then built the 7,000-square-foot house in 1999. Montgomery was the first to succumb to the alleged curse. An amateur but talented metal sculptor, he was electrocuted when welding in his studio in 2001. No one was on the island at the time.
Less than a year later, Caroline and Montgomery’s 22-year-old daughter, Sparrow, died under mysterious circumstances. The family moved off the island but continued to use it as a retreat and vacation home. Tragedy struck again when three-year-old Dove, the daughter of Sandpiper Boone Yates, was abducted and later found dead. A third member of the Boone family, Raven, vowed she’d never set foot on the island again . . .
A photo of me, snapped the day before as I left the hospital, was next to the article. I snorted. “Total nonsense. Ridiculous.”
“What is?”
I handed my cell to Mandy. The woman read the article, then handed it back. “Is any of that true?”
“Sparrow did die, but hardly under mysterious circumstances. She was thrown from one of the golf carts on the island and hit her head. Father’s accident was just that. He’d been welding on his latest piece and apparently thought he’d turned off the electric power inside the welder case, but the power disconnect switch was faulty. And Dove . . . well, yes.” I carefully folded the napkin in my lap and placed it on the table.
“That’s three people in one family. I can see where someone would start to think that way . . .”
“Two of them were accidents. As for Raven, I have no idea where they came up with that statement. Raven is estranged from the family, but she lives in Mount Pleasant.” I sighed. “Tern is going to go ballistic.”
“What about the ship? The legend?”
“I’ve heard about it, of course. At one time my dad had a journal, handwritten, that told about the shipwreck. I read it and asked him about it. He said it wasn’t true.”
“Who wrote the journal?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Do ya still have it?”
I shook my head. “You’re like a bulldog with this legend thing.”
Mandy grinned at me. “Aren’t you?”
The waitress brought the bill and left it on the table. I checked the total and took out my wallet. “I suppose at one time or another, all of us kids—Sparrow, Raven, Tern, and I—scouted the island looking for treasure, or graves, or some evidence of the shipwreck. It was like a game to us.” I pulled out a credit card. “The only man-made thing we ever found was the concrete building at the north end, which is now part of Joyce’s house. Joyce loved the view and didn’t want to tear down something that could be historical, so she added on to the structure. As for the journal, I think Raven asked for it when she moved out.” I checked my watch. “Do you have to be back at work?”
“Not today. My shift ended with the dressin’ down.”
The waitress snagged the card and bill as she scurried past.
“Well.” Mandy placed her napkin on the table. “Thanks for the great lunch. And the sympathetic ear.”
“Glad to help.”
The waitress returned with my receipt and card. “Have a nice day.”
I signed, tucked my card into my wallet, and stood. Mandy joined me. The café had become packed and we had to weave between the diners. More than a few of them paused in eating to watch me move past. I ducked my head and let my hair cover my face. Doggone that reporter.
Once outside, Mandy paused. “Aren’t ya pickin’ up Dr. Mueller’s granddaughter this afternoon?”
“Yes. And Tucker, the man who took a bullet for me. He needed a place for some R & R.” I caught Mandy’s expression. “It’s the least I could do.”
Walking to my car, I pulled out the keys. Mandy, walking beside me, slowed, then stopped. “Piper, do ya think ya could get that journal from your sister? Mount Pleasant is on your way to the airport.”
I jerked to a halt. “I don’t really know if she has it, and anyway, I haven’t had contact with Raven for something like sixteen or seventeen years. I doubt she’d want to see me now.”
“Why? Why the silence, if ya don’t mind me askin’?”
Around us the palms and palmetto fronds softly clacked in the breeze. The humidity was slight this time of year, and the air was pleasantly warm. “You know, after all this time, I really don’t know. I don’t even know if she stays in touch with other members of the family.”
Mandy pursed her lips for a moment. “If this is a forgiveness thing, if she’s somehow wronged ya, don’t ya think it’s time ya made up? Sixteen or seventeen years is a long time to hold a grudge. She’s family.”
“It’s not like that. We were never close. She went her own way. I mean, the last gift I got from her was this key ring.” I held up a key ring with a robin engraved on a medallion. “It came with a key on it.”
“That could be a clue to—”
“No.” I separated one of the keys. “The key’s a blank. It opens nothing. Just to let me know I should put keys on it, I guess.” How to explain my family? I stared sightlessly at the line of clouds forming in the east. “Have you ever had times in your life that seem like a blur? Like you were on a hamster wheel and the world was rushing by?”
“Yes.”
“That whole time of my life was like that. I was supposed to marry well, have children, carry on the family name. I went to a private boarding school, got good grades, did everything I was supposed to. I was just nineteen when I married Ashlee, and we got pregnant right away. I was thrilled. Dove came along and she was my world. Then she was gone. I could barely function. I . . . really wanted to just curl up and die.” I grasped my right wrist, making sure my bracelet covered the scars. “Nothing had meaning. I had a hole in my chest that wouldn’t heal. My marriage disintegrated. I didn’t care. No one called or came around anymore, because they didn’t know what to say. I moved away, went back to college, got a job . . .” I sucked in some air and let it out slowly. This is the first time I’ve been able to talk about Dove without feeling as if a knife were turning in my stomach. I brought my gaze down to Mandy. “I’m sorry, that was too much information, and I’m diving into a pity party. But I think you’re right. Maybe I will pay Raven a visit. That journalist had to have had a source for the legend. Maybe Raven is trying to stir up trouble for the family.”
“Or reach out to ya. What did she want to say to ya with that blank key? Call me if ya find the journal.”
“I will.” I slid into my car, pulled out my cell, and dialed Mildred. “Do you know if Raven’s moved from her condo in Mount Pleasant?”
Mildred was silent so long I thought the connection had dropped. “Hello?”
“As far as I know, she still owns the condo.”
I could hear the question in her voice but decided to ignore it. “I’ll be home for dinner and will be bringing a guest. He’ll be staying with us for a bit.”
“He?”
“Tucker Landry. The man who saved my life. He needs recovery time away from the press, and I offered him a room.”
“I see. Not a problem for dinner, but where are you having him stay? All the rooms here are full.”
All but one. I gripped the steering wheel in my suddenly sweaty hands. I knew what Mildred was asking. “Put him in the blue room.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.” The blue room. Formerly painted pink and white and filled with dolls, stuffed animals, and little girl’s clothes. Even though it had been redecorated as a guest room, no one had slept there for fifteen years.
Chapter 9
“Okay, just about done.” A nurse removed the IV line from Tucker’s arm. “Do you have someone picking you up?”
“Yes. She’ll be here soon.”
Someone tapped on the door, then opened it. A tall, distinguished-looking man with short-cropped white hair entered. His posture reflected a military background. “Tucker Landry?”
“I’m Tucker.”
“Mr. Landry, I’m Joel Christianson. I work for the Boone family. Piper called and had me pick up your things at your hotel to take to Curlew. She thought you might need a change of clothing.” He held up Tucker’s suitcase.
The nurse patted Tucker on the arm and left.
“She thinks of everything.” Tucker moved his legs so the suitcase could be placed on the bed. “Thank you.”
“Thank you, Mr. Landry, for saving her life. My wife, Mildred, and I think the world of that girl.” He set the suitcase on the bed and opened it. Tucker’s clothing had been precisely folded and carefully packed.
“Been with the Boones long?”
“Mildred has been with Piper’s mother since Caroline was a child. Mildred’s mother worked for Caroline’s family. To my wife, Caroline’s like a sister and the Boones are her family.”
Tucker pulled out his loosest slacks and a golf shirt. “I hope I won’t be a bother staying with the family,” he said casually.
“Not at all. They all gather this time of year for the stockholders’ meeting, so one more isn’t a problem. They bring on extra staff to help. And you would be their honored guest.”
“So the whole family gets together on the island only once a year?”
Joel straightened and stepped back. “Sort of. Piper’s been living at the family compound for a while. Both Mrs. Boone and Tern come over fairly often as they live nearby. Ashlee comes once a year—”
“Piper’s ex-husband is there now?”
“He is head of sales and a shareholder.” His nose twitched as if smelling something bad. “I doubt you’ll see much of him. He’ll be on the computer or phone or working out.”
Tucker closed the suitcase. “Sounds like you don’t much care for Ashlee.”
Joel
rubbed his hand across his mouth, then shrugged. “Ancient history.” He picked up the suitcase and headed for the door.
“Does this have something to do with Dove?”
Joel stopped. “You know about Dove?”
“Piper told me.”
“Well. That’s new. She never talks about her. Ever.” He studied Tucker for a moment. “What’s your angle here? What were you doing in Marion Inlet yesterday?”
It was none of this man’s business, but alienating the family help wouldn’t be the best course of action. “I’ve been working at the H. L. Hunley, updating some facial reconstructions. I thought I’d take a day to see the area.”
“The Hunley?”
“The world’s first successful combat submarine, launched in 1864—”
“Yes, yes, I know all that.” Joel shifted the suitcase to his other hand. “Retired navy myself.” His features relaxed. “I’ve been to the museum in Charleston a number of times. Fascinating history. The Hunley was discovered by NUMA, the National Underwater and Marine Agency.”
“That’s right. You know your history.”
“NUMA. Wasn’t that started by the author fellow?”
Tucker nodded. “Clive Cussler. The remains of the sailors were still on board after 131 years. A casting of the men’s skulls was used to create three-dimensional facial reconstructions. I’m reviewing the reconstructions to confirm the correctness of the work and possibly create a two-dimensional painting.”
“You’ll find Piper to be a history fanatic, so be prepared.” Joel looked as if he wanted to say more but instead said, “We are . . . The whole family is grateful to you, so thank you again.” A curt nod of his head and he left.
Tucker picked up his cell, logged on to the hospital’s internet, and typed in Piper’s name. Thousands of hits about the shooting showed up. He narrowed the search by typing in “Dove.” Still a huge number of hits. One newspaper article written by Bailey Norton, the woman who’d barged into his room earlier that morning, jumped out at him. “Curlew Island Curse Strikes Again?”
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