by Joyce
I didn’t say anything. I didn’t dare let anyone know I had any doubts about what had happened. The group around me felt like tigers waiting to pounce on any weakness that might lead them to the witch.
I watched as Kevin plied the hard, sandy ground with the metal equipment. The pile of sand grew steadily around him. It wasn’t long before he’d reached something.
“What’s that?” Shayla squinted down into the dark hole.
“It doesn’t sound like witch’s bones to me.” Gramps stood beside her.
Whatever it was had red paint on it. Bright red paint. I could only see about three feet of it, but nothing like it would have been here four hundred years ago.
“Let me take one more swipe at it,” Kevin yelled over the noise of the machine.
I watched the bucket go down and come back with another load of dirty sand. The color was different this far down—more burnt orange than the pale sand on top. I knew that was because of sand washing away and the town replacing it every year. It usually wasn’t even local sand. Archaeologists of the future were going to have a headache someday when they tried to figure that out.
As the bucket came up and moved away, something else of what lay beneath us became visible. There was more bright red paint and the number twelve.
“It’s the top of an old car.” Ann sounded almost excited. “Are we going to have to go through a car to reach the witch’s hovel? Did she mention a car was resting on her, Dae?”
Gramps peered hard into the hole. I held his arm as he almost got too close to the edge. “What is it?” I asked as he drew back.
“Kevin,” he yelled. “Take one more swipe—to the left side a little. I think I know what this is.”
“Sure, Horace. Stand back.”
The excavator bucket went down again and came back. We all waited impatiently to see what more was revealed, standing as close as we could without falling in or getting hit.
There was a crashing sound—like shattering glass. The bucket seemed to be caught on something. Kevin couldn’t get it to come back up. He had to play with it for a few minutes.
Finally, it broke free and came back to the surface. Attached to one of the tines on the excavator’s bucket was a damaged car door that had been ripped from the vehicle. A partial, skeletal arm appeared to be waving at someone out the window.
“Old number twelve.” Gramps chuckled when he saw the door. “That’s Mad Dog’s old race car. I wondered where that thing got to.”
Chapter 3
“A car?” Disbelief showed in Ann’s flat face. “Why would a car be buried down there?”
“And what does this have to do with the witch?” Shayla demanded.
“Maybe that’s one of her bones there.” Flourine pointed to the car door and the arm bone.
Kevin shut down the digger and joined them. “I think this is probably someone else. It looks to me like someone was buried in the race car.”
No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Duck police officer Scott Randall pushed aside the yellow tent flap. He stopped when he saw all of us there. “Mayor? Sheriff? Mr. Brickman?” He appeared a little bewildered. “What are you all doing out here this late? And what are you digging up?”
No one wanted to burden him with the tale of Maggie Madison. Gramps basically explained that we’d found the race car while looking for something else and stopped when we saw the door with the arm attached to it.
Scott was a very nice young man who was totally dedicated to Duck. He was also a little reserved and careful when it came to voicing opinions. He simply shrugged and said, “I’ll call this in to the chief. He might want to talk with all of you.”
Gramps put his arm around my shoulder. “I’m going to take Dae home, Scott. She hasn’t been feeling well. The rest of you are welcome to come wait at the house until Ronnie gets there. I think we have some coffee, and I baked an apple pie yesterday.”
Scott didn’t question it. Gramps might not be the sheriff of Dare County anymore, but everyone still listened to what he had to say.
We slowly filed out of the tent. The cold air was like a blast of reality. I only thought it was freezing inside.
I was surprised when Shayla and her grandmother went along with the plan, but they respected Gramps’s word too. Flourine rode to the house with us, sitting with me and Gramps in the front of the golf cart. It was a snug fit. I was pretty sure she was flirting with him too.
Shayla left her car at the Duck Shoppes parking lot, which was next door to the spot where the new town hall was being built, and rode with Kevin and Ann in his pickup.
I was confused and not sure what to do next. Obviously, finding a body in a car was going to put off trying to locate Maggie’s bones.
It would also stop any further work being done at the town hall site, which was good. I didn’t have to worry about anyone drilling a hole for the geothermal work through Maggie’s house for now.
Finding the race car was completely unexpected. The area would no doubt be a crime scene for a while until the police could figure out what had happened. I kept wondering what they would find. How could something that bizarre have been there? Who put it there and when?
I made coffee when we got back to the house. Ann called the local woman she’d left babysitting Betsy at the Blue Whale while she and Kevin went out.
It seemed Ann had changed a lot in the past year. I couldn’t imagine her caring about a child’s welfare when I’d first met her. I felt bad that she seemed to know so much about what was going on in my life while I knew nothing of hers.
As usual, everyone gathered around the big kitchen table. Its scratched and bumped surface had seen many late-night conversations between Gramps and other law enforcement officers down through the years. I used to sit and listen to them talk long after I should’ve been in bed.
I’d always looked up to Gramps and secretly wanted to be a police officer when I was a child. I’d never said anything about it, not sure if I would be allowed to join those exalted ranks.
Once I was old enough to consider it seriously, my mother had died and I’d dropped out of college. I began spending all my time collecting things that eventually went into Missing Pieces.
Now I knew joining the police wasn’t for me. It took a certain mind-set that I’d noticed in Kevin, Gramps and even Tim, to a lesser degree. You had to have a suspicious nature and believe that the law was the best way to get things done.
I didn’t always agree with that notion.
Shayla, Flourine and Ann were having a heated discussion about Maggie Madison and why we hadn’t found her bones. Flourine was convinced that Maggie had manipulated the car to cover the spot where her bones were buried.
“That doesn’t even make any sense,” Ann argued from her perspective as an ex–FBI psychic who’d once found missing children. “If you’re saying the witch’s bones have power and she’ll rise again if we dig them up, why would she put anything in our way?”
Flourine, obviously a little angry too, shook her feathers and charms at her. “Don’t act so high and mighty with me, miss. I can see right through you. You’re like a ghost to me. I see all of you. And you are plain scared.”
Ann rolled her eyes. “Even if I was scared—which I’m not—the race car takes out all of your theories about the whole event. You might as well go home and dig around in your root cellar for answers.”
Flourine hissed at her much the same way Treasure had earlier. Shayla got between them, and the argument about Maggie’s witchy powers went on among the three of them for a while.
Gramps was talking to Kevin in a corner of the living room. I noticed that Flourine insinuated herself between them, smiling up at Gramps, asking him what his favorite kind of pie was.
Kevin came into the kitchen to help me. “That’s interesting.” He nodded toward Gramps and Flourine then smiled.
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br /> “I know. Did you notice Trudy and Tim at the inn earlier? Romance must be in the air.”
“You could’ve fooled me. Not much romantic about digging up a car out in the cold.”
“I haven’t thanked you yet for bringing the excavator out there even though I probably sounded like a crazy person and everyone thinks I’m possessed.”
He kissed my forehead and put his arm around me. “I love you, Dae. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for you.”
My usually confident smile trembled a little as I said, “And you don’t think I’m possessed, right? It would be okay to add that in.”
“Something’s up.” He didn’t quite let me off the hook. “I’m not sure what it is yet, but I’m willing to give you the benefit of the doubt. I wish you’d be honest with me.”
That wasn’t exactly the answer I was looking for. I wasn’t ready to go into more of what had happened either. Before I could put my foot into it any more, there was a hard rap at the front door that drew everyone’s attention.
I went to answer it, expecting to see Chief Michaels. He was on the front step, but he was also joined by another familiar face. Luke Helms had moved to Duck after retiring from his lucrative legal practice on the mainland. Last spring, when the district attorney for Dare County had given up his position due to illness, Luke had stepped in to take his place.
“Chief! We’ve been waiting for you. Luke, I haven’t seen you in a while. I hope life as the DA is agreeing with you.” I shook both their hands. I’d never felt less like the mayor of Duck than I did at that moment. There were too many doubts clouding my brain. I had to let my usual outgoing personality switch to autopilot and hope everything I said made sense.
Chief Michaels muttered something polite and immediately went to find Gramps.
Luke smiled and held my hand an extra moment when he stepped inside. He was a good choice for DA. He’d always been kind and helpful to everyone in Duck. I admired his expensive suits and confident handshakes.
“I haven’t seen you for a while, Dae. How’s the campaign going? You know you have my vote, right?”
“Thanks. I’m afraid I haven’t put as much time and energy as I should have into the election. It always seems like something else comes up.”
“Well, you must have good people working for you then. I’ve never seen so many signs in such a small place. Was that an airplane banner I caught the other day? I even noticed the Richmond paper had a story about you last week.”
I was totally surprised by that. I knew Gramps and some of his friends from the pinochle group had put up a few posters they’d printed on our computer, and some high school students had held up signs during rush hour on Duck Road. That was as far as my campaign budget went. Who else would put money into my campaign?
I smiled and nodded then sidestepped the issue. “Why did Chief Michaels drag you out on this awful night?”
“I think we’re about to hear the story.” Luke nodded toward the chief, who was standing at the kitchen table. “I’ll defer to him since he knows it better.”
He was right. Gramps called us all into the kitchen, where he passed out slices of apple pie and mugs of hot coffee.
I wasn’t hungry, but I felt the pressure of Shayla, Ann and Flourine watching me like it was some test of proving I wasn’t possessed. I took a big mouthful of the spicy apples and crumb topping then swallowed. It almost choked me, but I washed it down quickly with coffee before I grinned at my audience.
“Now, I don’t know what was going on out there tonight,” Chief Michaels began in his usual semi-irritated voice. “I’m sure so many of Duck’s illustrious citizens weren’t out at this time of night simply vandalizing town property. So let me assume that our good mayor had a vision.”
Of course, everyone was looking at me then. Not that it was a secret. I’d used my gift of finding things for the people of Duck since I was a child. I’d located hundreds of keys, wallets, earrings and watches. In more recent years, it was mostly missing cell phones.
Normally, thinking about what my mother had called my “service to the community” relaxed me. It made me feel that I’d done something useful with my life.
Not tonight.
Ann looked skeptical—she hadn’t touched her pie, but no one was watching her. Shayla and Flourine still looked like they were ready to throw a net over me.
Gramps and Chief Michaels had their patient, long-suffering lawmen’s looks on their faces. Gramps at least partially understood, because he’d lived with my grandmother, who was also a finder of lost things.
Chief Michaels put up with it, even acknowledging my help sometimes, but he would never understand. He usually tried to ignore the things I told him until he couldn’t look the other way.
Kevin and Luke smiled at me encouragingly. Luke wasn’t from Duck and had never had any traffic with the supernatural. I think he just liked me.
Kevin understood, maybe more than Gramps, after working with Ann for so many years. I knew he hadn’t made up his mind about the possession problem yet. I could tell by the question in his eyes when we talked.
Ann stepped into the silence. “Dae hasn’t been well. I’m sure one of us can explain.”
“I appreciate that, Ms. Porter.” Chief Michaels wasn’t willing to share his show with her. “I’ll get around to finding out why you’re back in town later when I take your statement. Right now, I’d like to hear from the mayor.”
I smiled at Ann, surprised that she’d tried to protect me. I might’ve once doubted why she’d done that, but I knew her better now. I’d been in her mind.
I never dreamed when we first met that she’d be sitting at my kitchen table, drinking coffee and trying to defend me. It would’ve made more sense for her to try to kill me, at least in her mind. She definitely didn’t want to share Kevin.
I realized I’d made the chief wait long enough. He wanted to hear my story. I took another sip of coffee and leaned forward to tell it.
I was less than honest. The whole ordeal with my friends had made me a little sensitive on the subject of Maggie Madison.
Instead, I explained about the dream that had led me to look for a historic artifact crucial to Duck history. I couldn’t lose with that argument. The chief knew I was crazy about finding things and Duck history.
I didn’t go into a lot of detail. Chief Michaels was used to me trudging around the Outer Banks looking for items to put into Missing Pieces and the Duck Historical Museum. My story wouldn’t surprise him.
“I didn’t want them to drill through it.” I tried to make it sound that what we were doing was the lesser of two evils. “Kevin—and everyone else—was helping me. We would’ve been in and out already, but we found the car.”
Chief Michaels digested what I’d told him. “All right. I assumed this had something to do with your friends looking for you. You have to give some thought to letting people know what’s going on. Tonight, for instance—”
“You know the proper channels would’ve been too slow to stop this.” I felt some of my old fire. “Once it’s lost, you can’t get it back.”
“There’s still the issue of proper permits.”
“That wouldn’t have gone through until after tomorrow. Besides”—I smiled at him—“we found the car with a corpse in it. That must count for something.”
He drew a deep breath and looked toward the heavens briefly. “It certainly does. That, and purchasing a permit for the work you’ve already done, plus paying a fine for digging on town property without permission, will keep you and your friends out of court.”
“As to the matter of the car you found . . .” Luke wanted his say before the chief could pile any other accusations against me. “It seems this car has been at the center of an open murder investigation for a long time. Have you all ever heard of Lightning Joe Walsh?”
Chapter 4
Everyone from Duck knew the legend of Lightning Joe Walsh. It came from back in the 1970s when local moonshine runners turned to racing. For a while, there was even a small racetrack in the Outer Banks. Nothing elaborate—just a dirt track and people sitting in lawn chairs watching and cheering local drivers.
The big local name at that time was Mad Dog Wilson. He drove his number twelve race car like a wild thing, uncaring if he rolled the car or skidded off the track to win the race. There was no real competition for him. He was the king.
Lightning Joe appeared out of the blue one day. No one knew who he was or where he came from. They said Mad Dog couldn’t beat him because Joe was even crazier than him. What added insult to injury was that Joe didn’t care about winning—at least not the applause, the trophy or the cash prize. He only seemed intent on being first, and making Mad Dog’s life miserable.
Their final race seemed to bear out this conclusion. Mad Dog wrecked his car. It wasn’t even as bad as other wrecks he’d had, but he was seriously injured. He gave up racing and had to walk with a cane after that. His badly broken leg had healed poorly. Mad Dog’s number twelve car was hauled away by a wrecker and never seen again.
People thought for sure Lightning Joe would stop at the end of that race. His opponent was down and it would have been the sportsmanlike thing to do. He didn’t stop—not for the thousand dollars in prize money or to see if Mad Dog was hurt. His car never returned to the racetrack either. No one ever saw hide nor hair of him again.
“Joe wanted to show up Mad Dog.” Gramps finished his version of the tale for the people who weren’t from Duck. “We always wondered what happened to him, the faceless driver who didn’t care if he won or lost.”
“How did you know his name if he never stopped?” Ann asked.