A Finder's Fee

by Joyce

  Gramps had given me a lot to think about. Once he got the information about the badge holders, I could make a list of them and crossmatch those names with the badges that had been lost. It seemed that could be the answer I was looking for. I hoped he could have them by dinner.

  I wasn’t planning on spending all day at the store. I wanted to interview Joe’s sister, Pam, at some point. If anyone knew what girl he was interested in, it would be her.

  Thanks to the town’s newfound popularity—mostly due to the election-murder scandal all over TV—stores and restaurants in Duck were crowded. I couldn’t afford not to take advantage of all the potential customers who were waiting to get into Missing Pieces. That interview with David Engel didn’t seem so bad now.

  Most of the shoppers were from Newport News, Portsmouth, and the Virginia Beach area. One woman wanted to have her picture taken with me. That was fine. The crowd bought a lot of cheap souvenirs like T-shirts, postcards and maps. They wanted me to make a red X on the maps where I’d found the car.

  A few were more serious shoppers. They were at Missing Pieces because they were looking for a special piece to add to a collection. I had that too.

  For instance, I’d recently received an old cashbox used by Lucian Smith, one of the first merchants in the area to actually open a permanent store. Lucian Smith was interesting because he was educated to be an engineer. He went to school in England then settled on the Outer Banks. He was one of the first people to think about building a bridge from the mainland. He may have been the first to draw up blueprints for it. That was in the early 1800s.

  I’d been given a whole group of his belongings when his great-great-granddaughter, Alice, had died. I donated a lot of the items to the Duck Historical Museum and gave the old Duck bridge blueprints to Chris, our town manager.

  I thought Chris would appreciate them more than anyone else. He was the town’s liaison with the state in our battle to have another bridge built to the mainland. It wouldn’t happen anytime soon, but another bridge would ease the summer congestion when crowds swelled the island from a few thousand to over a hundred thousand.

  Lucian Smith’s cashbox was a prize even without knowing who he was and what he did. It was made of brass and had lovely detail put into it. All the intricate scrollwork was done by hand. It wasn’t only a box to hold money, as some cashboxes were. It was a work of art that showed how important the details were to him.

  I knew from touching the box that Lucian was indeed the good, decent man we’d learned he was from our forefathers. He was a man who worked hard and tried to help his neighbors in the struggling Banker community at that time.

  So when a customer, an older woman with gray hair wearing a nice black suit and expensive shoes, picked it up and looked at it, I was happy. When she put it down only to circle back and look at it again, I was thrilled. I hoped she’d be willing to pay my price for it.

  She finally brought it up to the counter where I patiently waited. I knew she was coming my way.

  “I love this piece.” She put it on the counter. “What can you tell me about it?”

  I told her Lucian’s story and showed her pictures I’d taken of the blueprints I’d given Chris. She and I talked about Duck’s past and the people like Lucian who’d helped the area to grow.

  “My great-great-granduncle was a pirate who supposedly visited this area. He sailed around the Graveyard of the Atlantic, looking for prey.” She smiled. “At least that’s what my grandmother always told us when we were kids. I grew up in Portsmouth. I guess I’ll never know if it was true.”

  “What was his name?” I was always eager to learn new legends.

  “She called him Sam Spit.” She laughed self-consciously. “I can’t imagine a person really having a name like that, can you?”

  “I knew Sam Spit!” Maggie jumped in with all the eagerness of a child waiting to be acknowledged by her teacher. “He was a vile, filthy creature. No woman would spend time with him unless he paid her in gold first!”

  “You mean you know of him?” My customer tried to understand what I was talking about.

  “Pirates were usually running from something.” I squared my shoulders and continued as if Maggie hadn’t spoken through me. “Most didn’t use their family names. They had all kinds of crazy nicknames. Most of those came from something they did, treasure they’d found or unique physical characteristics. I know of pirates named Bowlegs, One Eye, Fairweather and Topsail. One of my friends has a pirate ancestor named One Eye Tom.”

  “Aye,” Maggie added defiantly. “You can imagine what his gift was! The man could spew twenty paces into a spittoon.”

  “So they called him Sam Spit. That makes sense.” The customer seemed satisfied with Maggie’s answer.

  “We can only guess at why they called him that. That doesn’t mean he wasn’t a pirate. Not everyone was a famous captain. Each ship had dozens of pirates onboard. Your ancestor may well have been here.”

  “Oh yes, he was certainly a pirate,” Maggie confirmed. “One of the lowest.”

  I gave up trying to explain why this was happening. Maggie refused to back down, since it was a subject she knew about and could understand.

  “It’s fascinating thinking about it.” My customer admitted it as though it were a guilty pleasure. “I’m a little too old for pirate stories, I suppose, but I still love them.”

  “Around here most people have pirates in their family trees. Those who say they don’t probably just won’t admit it. I recently learned that I have a pirate ancestor.”

  “Lucky you. I hope he had a better name than Sam Spit.”

  “Mine was Rafe Masterson, the scourge of Duck. You should go by the history museum. They have a lot of pirate lore there.” I drew her a little map of how to get there.

  “I’ve heard tell of Rafe Masterson!” Maggie was delighted with her contribution.

  Thank you so much.” My customer shook my hand. I got a quick overview of everything from her new perfume to her teenage granddaughter—who was in trouble for something every time I came in physical contact with her grandmother. “It was delightful talking to you.”

  Usually that meant there was no sale involved. I quelled my disappointment by reminding myself that she might come back and buy something later, when Maggie had been laid to rest. Talking to customers and making a connection with them was good for future sales. I’d learned that at a conference I went to after opening Missing Pieces.

  Barbara Reece, my chatty customer, surprised me when she took everything I had that belonged to Lucian Smith. She never even asked the price—my favorite kind of customer. She told me to wrap it all up and she’d take it home with her.

  I thanked her repeatedly—it was a hefty sale—and helped her take everything to her car. Trudy wasn’t busy, so she watched the shop for me while I carried the boxes out.

  It was easy to smile through the process. A sale like this one was what kept Missing Pieces open and helped me do what I loved.

  The last trip out, I thanked her one last time. She told me she was going to the museum to take a look around then asked about the news report on TV.

  It was difficult to explain to someone not from Duck why I’d be out digging around in the middle of the night. I did the best I could by way of explanation without going into too much detail.

  “You know, my grandmother was like you,” Barbara said. “She found things too. It didn’t matter what it was. If it was lost, she could find it. Do you find people too? Is that why you found Joe?”

  “Not really. Once in a while people happen to be where I’m looking for other things.” I laughed. “I don’t know about your grandmother, but my finding comes with its own set of rules.”

  We parted company on good terms, and I watched her drive her late-model BMW out of the Duck Shoppes parking lot. I had the oddest feeling that this woman might be important to
me in some way. Not now, but in the future.

  Chapter 18

  “I can see you made some money.” Trudy was filing her nails when I got back to the shop. “I wish I’d found a dead man in a car so I’d be busy. Even though I’m right next door, I don’t get many drop-ins. People go to the same hairdresser all the time.”

  “Sorry. I’ll be happy to keep my eye out for anyone who needs some time in a tanning bed or could use a massage.”

  We both laughed and she hugged me.

  “You’re a good friend, Dae. You always have been.” She drew a deep breath. “I hope you’ll be my maid of honor when Tim and I get married.”

  What? “That was fast. Are you really making plans to marry Tim?”

  “No reason to drag my feet. When it’s right, it’s right. Don’t you think?”

  I glanced at her slender fingers. There was no ring. “Maybe you should have a nice long engagement and bask in the glory of getting married before me. Remember how we made that bet when we were kids? Whoever got married first won?”

  “We’ll see.” She hugged me again. “I have to run back next door. I’m thinking peach for the bridesmaids’ dresses, if we can wait until spring. If we can’t, do you think tan would be too plain?”

  She left before I could even think what to answer. Trudy and Tim, married? I was having a hard time wrapping my mind around that. It was only last week that Tim had asked me out.

  “A wedding?” Maggie chirruped, at least waiting until Trudy was gone. “I haven’t been to a wedding in a very long time. May I stay for it, Dae? What is a bridesmaid’s dress?”

  I ignored Maggie, speechless with surprise at Trudy’s news. Trudy and Tim had barely noticed each other since high school.

  The afternoon continued to be busy until the sun began to set. Maggie kept asking questions about weddings and talking about pirates she’d known. I made it through her talking around me and smiled at the customers who looked at me like I was crazy.

  The boardwalk was suddenly empty, as though the waning light had been a warning for everyone to go home.

  It wasn’t how I’d envisioned my day going, but a woman had to make a living too. Who knew when the next time would be that I’d make another big sale? I’d been fortunate recently, but there were usually months that I had to survive on selling T-shirts and souvenirs.

  I tried to get back on track with finding Joe’s killer by calling Gramps, anxious for information on the badges. He didn’t pick up. He rarely did, mostly forgetting he had a cell phone on his belt.

  I started to call Kevin, whose luncheon was long over. Before I could dial out, the group of ladies who made up my reelection committee trooped into the store.

  It impressed me that I had a reelection committee at all. I thought it would be me and Gramps and the occasional schoolkid who put up posters, like last time. Of course I didn’t expect Dillon Guthrie to lend a hand either. Life was full of surprises.

  Cailey Fargo, our fire chief, had become the self-appointed head of my campaign. Mrs. Euly Stanley was a powerhouse when it came to getting things done. Shayla was there, even though she wasn’t a political person, and Marjory Michaels, Chief Michaels’s wife, had agreed to help out, despite his misgivings on her taking sides.

  The appearance of favoring one person over another was what had kept La Donna from being part of the group. She’d contributed to my campaign but had stayed in the background.

  “Good evening, ladies,” I greeted them at the door. “Can I get anyone some tea? I’m out of cookies, although I could run next door and see if they have some at the general store.”

  I could tell at once that these were not the usual happy, determined ladies who’d worked so hard to raise funds for me and spent hours making buttons and posters. Something was wrong.

  “Dae, you could’ve given us a heads-up on the new ads.” Cailey, who was also my fifth-grade teacher, sounded hurt and angry. “People have been calling me all day. I didn’t know what to say.”

  I didn’t know what to say either, since I had no idea what she was talking about.

  “I thought putting up Randal’s banner on the museum was a bad idea, but Mark is in charge of that kind of thing and that’s what he wanted to do,” Mrs. Stanley said. “I thought your original ad on the water tower was a little ostentatious—what did I know? You’ve gone too far, young woman. What will people think?”

  “I’m sorry, but I’ve been here all day. I don’t know about any new ads.”

  “Well, let’s step out on the boardwalk and you’ll see why we’re concerned.” Marjory opened the door.

  We all went out on the chilly boardwalk and looked toward the water tower. The lights had come on for the night. Replacing my face up there was now an awful picture of Mad Dog behind bars. The caption read, “Vote Dae O’Donnell. Keep the Mad Dog behind Bars.”

  I knew who was responsible, of course. Dillon had changed up his attack strategy for my election, even though I had asked him to stop. It was a terrible ad, one that made me wince to see it there with my name on it.

  “Ronnie is telling me I can’t help you anymore because of this.” Marjory clasped her hands together. “Not that what he has to say bothers me, Dae, but we need to get on the same page with our strategy. Do you want this on all the new flyers?”

  “No!” I shuddered at the idea. “I’m so sorry.” I explained that a well-meaning but tasteless donor was funding the ads. “I don’t have any control over him.”

  “He must not be from Duck,” Mrs. Stanley observed. “Anyone born hereabouts would have better sense. It’s not Kevin, is it? He doesn’t seem to be that kind of person, even though he is an outsider.”

  “It’s not Kevin. And I’ll take care of it. The ad will be gone tomorrow.”

  All the ladies gave a sigh of relief, except for Shayla.

  “You don’t have long to set this right. I know you don’t want to be the mayor who won this way.”

  I apologized again. The ad was already up. All I could do was call the ad agency and tell them to get it down right away. Of course that meant getting in touch with Dillon again. He’d invaded my life a little more than I’d bargained for, and now I owed him five thousand dollars too.

  It occurred to me that the money I’d made that day on the Lucian Smith sale could rid me of that unwelcome debt, even though he’d promised to wait for the sale of the bells. It would probably be worth a little insecurity in the future not to owe him money.

  The ladies of my campaign were happy again, satisfied with my answer. I was embarrassed that they had to point it out to me and ask me to fix it. I’d heard of presidents and senators having Super PAC donors they couldn’t control. Who’d believe a mayor of a small town like Duck would have that problem?

  Once the ladies were gone, I sent an email to Dillon and left a message on the voice mail of the public relations firm handling the ads he paid for. I closed up shop and headed home. It had been a tiring but exciting day. Now all I had to do was set it all right.

  “Think you I should have given back my lover’s ring, Dae O’Donnell?” Maggie asked as we walked down Duck Road.

  It was too weird talking to her out in the open with cars whizzing by. I turned my back to the road and faced the bushes on the side. “No. Why would you ask that?”

  “You desire to give back the gold your lover has given you for your campaign. Why would you not keep it?”

  “Dillon isn’t my lover. It’s hard to explain, but he’s only a friend. Kevin is my, well, lover.”

  “And you have only the one? The others want you too. Why not see what happens with them?”

  “We don’t do that today. We stay faithful to only one man.”

  Her voice was disappointed when she said, “I thought as much. There were women like you during my time too. They called them nuns.”

  I refused to answer any mo
re questions until we got home. I didn’t need anyone to see me talking to bushes. They had to think I was acting crazy enough already.

  Treasure was glad to see me when I got back. He purred and tried to climb up on me before I sat down to look at the mail. Gramps had left a note on the kitchen table that he would be out late and that he hadn’t heard back about the badges yet.

  That was a disappointment. It was possible with that information that the whole thing with Mad Dog could be over and all I’d have to worry about was the next terrible ad that Dillon had put up before the election.

  I looked at the old badge I’d found while I ate some leftover vegetable soup for supper. I had Treasure in my lap and was also watching the nightly news.

  I heard them talking about Mad Dog and looked up to see Lightning Joe’s sister standing in front of the Dare County Courthouse, surrounded by reporters. She had plenty to say about what had happened to her brother.

  “After all these years, they finally found my brother, Joe.” She held up a picture of him that the cameras zoomed in on. “Why aren’t they moving forward with putting the man behind bars who killed him? Joe and Mad Dog were bitter rivals. It ended with Joe’s death. I’ve known about this and tried to get the police to act on it for forty years. My brother deserves justice and an end to his suffering.”

  Lightning Joe’s sister cried through the entire statement, the wind blowing her hair wildly around her reddened face.

  I could understand her need for justice and revenge. I wondered if there was something, besides the surface tensions of competition between Joe and Mad Dog, that made her so sure that Joe had been murdered by his opponent on the track.

  Someone knocked at the front door. I put Treasure down and turned off the TV. It was probably someone else complaining about the ad on the water tower. I’d already fielded three calls since I’d been home.

  I opened the door and was surprised to find the woman I’d just seen on TV standing on the doorstep.