by Joyce Lavene
Heart pounding, I answered and tried to focus. It was problem number 347 for the Duck Mayor’s Conference. Who’d have thought so many problems could come up for a two-day event? “I’ll be right there,” I promised our town clerk, who sounded on the verge of collapse.
“You can’t go now,” Shayla said after I got off the phone. “We’re so close—I can feel it. You might still be able to talk to your mother tonight.”
“As exciting as that sounds, if I don’t get over to the Blue Whale and sort some things out, the town staff might all be dead from stress. Think how much guilt I’d have then, since the conference was my idea.”
“You shouldn’t play around with the dead,” Shayla quoted with dark intent.
“I’m not. Really—maybe you could tell them how serious I am. We could try again after I get things settled down.” I hugged her and smiled. “Thank you for being here with me.”
She rolled her expressive dark eyes. “Go on then. Go do your mayor thing. I’ll try to get this place cleaned up. You know, I think this storm might be worse than the TV weather people are expecting.”
Chapter 2
I’d brought the golf cart and my umbrella to Shayla’s house for the séance. Neither of them was any good at protecting me from the hard rain and high winds that were sweeping across the island. It was hurricane season—but not anything to panic about.
My storm knee that I’d injured surfing when I was fourteen ached like crazy, telling me that Shayla was right about the tail end of this tropical storm. It would surprise me if it wasn’t upgraded to a hurricane before the end of the day.
Most stores and houses were locked down, windows already boarded up or protected by heavy shutters. Storm debris was being pushed across Duck Road, our major thoroughfare.
But people were still out, dressed in colorful ponchos and boots. A few restaurants and shops were open, including Game World, our gaming arcade. Most people took bad weather for granted. Only the worst of it got our attention.
That made it difficult sometimes to protect the population. Most Bankers flatly refused to evacuate in the face of hurricanes, much less a tropical storm. Even though I was the mayor of Duck and understood the emergency protocols, I was just as bad. I couldn’t imagine what kind of storm would make me and my grandfather leave our home on the Currituck Sound.
As far as I knew, an O’Donnell had never left Duck for something as unimportant as some rain and gale-force winds. My family had lived here for several generations. Stubbornness was bred into our Banker bones.
I turned down the side street that led to the Blue Whale Inn. Rain almost blinded me, but I hunkered down behind the plastic windshield and kept my foot on the accelerator. The battery-powered golf cart responded with its usual sluggish movement. It was lucky to go ten miles an hour. But it was better for the environment than a gas-powered golf cart and cheaper to run. A lot of people here used carts instead of cars.
Though, in times like this, Gramps’s old car might’ve been better.
The Blue Whale Inn sat squarely facing the Atlantic side of Duck. Its three stories, tall turret and sweeping verandah welcomed guests into a wealth of comfort and Southern charm. It had been built in the early 1900s and had been the scene of many major events in Duck—both legal and illegal—down through the years.
It was owned now by ex-FBI agent Kevin Brickman, who’d labored long hours to make the place livable again after it had sat empty for more than thirty years. Between his wonderful cooking and painstaking refurbishing, the Blue Whale was again a hub of activity year-round.
I pulled up through the circle drive and parked by the old hitching post. As I got out of the golf cart, I spotted a set of keys on the ground. I stooped down and picked it up, thinking someone would miss it. There was only a single key—a car key—on the key ring, and a fob—maybe a dolphin?—broken in half.
Immediately, I was swamped with emotions that came from the object. I couldn’t make out the woman’s face as she threw the key ring at someone, but I felt her anger and frustration. Whoever the key ring belonged to was having a very bad day. I pocketed it, then turned to go inside.
“Where have you been?” Nancy Boidyn, the town clerk, demanded in an uncharacteristic tone of panic. She was waiting for me on the verandah. Normally she was an unflappable Banker, unmoved by any outside force. “This place is going crazy! We have to do something.”
I was drenched, and my teeth were chattering. “You have Barbara and Althea helping you. What can I do?”
Nancy’s eyes flared with anger for an instant. Her narrow lips pressed tighter together.
I realized we were all under a lot of stress. I didn’t know what was going on that they couldn’t handle, but I knew Nancy didn’t get upset over just anything. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here. I’m soaked and freezing. I was with Shayla. It’s October 15.”
Her pretty face softened instantly and she hugged me, totally disregarding my wet clothes and hair. “I’m so sorry, Dae. I completely forgot the date with all this rushing around. Did you hear anything?”
Nancy wasn’t surprised by my attempts to contact my mother. Most people from Duck believed having the dead in your life was part of living. Ghosts weren’t a big deal. Curses and pirates were our daily fare.
“No. Not really.” I didn’t go into the spirit balls. I’d probably tell her about them later. Right now, the living needed attention. “So, what’s going on?”
She took out a large pink notebook. “The mayor from Elizabeth City needs seltzer water with a twist of lemon, not lime. The mayor from Manteo needs a room with a bigger window. The mayor from Virginia Beach needs a bigger room—with a view of the Atlantic. Some of the schedules were blurry. There may not be enough wine, but it’s too late to get any more.”
“Why aren’t Kevin and Marissa handling these problems?” I wiped away streams of water that kept dripping down my face.
“He’s cooking for the reception tonight and getting the ballroom set up. Marissa is in there running back and forth, trying to keep things organized. I thought this was why you assigned me and the girls to the event. Kevin and Marissa can’t do everything.” She smiled in a more Nancy-like fashion. “But whatever Kevin’s cooking smells divine! I can’t wait!”
“Let’s make it to dinner first. Where are Althea and Barbara?”
Nancy walked me into the crowded lobby of the old hotel. I felt a little out of place, dripping water, my clothes plastered to me, and my sun-bleached brown hair hanging in wet rat’s tails all over my head. But I put on my big mayor’s smile and began to put things in order.
The first thing I did was drop off the broken key ring with Marissa at the front desk. She was the new manager Kevin had recently hired. Her parents had moved away from Duck before she was born, but she’d come back to take care of her ailing grandfather, Joe Endy.
She was a beautiful young woman, probably in her late twenties, who dressed well and seemed to have an affinity for getting along with people. But there was a sadness about her—something in her eyes that was unspoken—that made her seem like more than just another pretty face. I didn’t know her well enough to ask questions.
“Do you have any idea who this belongs to?” she asked, swinging her long blond hair out of the way as she handed out Duck brochures to the people attending the conference.
I told her about finding the key ring outside. “I guess someone will need it before they can go home. We’ll see.”
I kept glancing back at the key ring until she put it away. Sometimes, I feel emotions for the things I find—it can be hard to set them aside. I had to focus on something else, like changing clothes before too many people saw me this way.
It was warm and dry inside, with a pleasant fire in the old hearth. I avoided people I recognized who were drinking coffee and talking quietly. The old iron-lace elevator was moving slowly up and down, taking guests from the lobby all the way up to the recently completed third floor.
I’d helpe
d in a lot of the renovation—even helped coat the outside of the old hotel in its original blue color. Most of the work was Kevin’s, though. He’d done a great job restoring the 1930s atmosphere and charm while modernizing everything for his guests.
I was prejudiced, of course, since Kevin and I had been dating for several months. Sometimes it seemed as though he’d lived in Duck forever even though he’d been here less than a year. He’d blended in as a Banker, joined the chamber of commerce and the volunteer fire department.
But he was more than a responsible Duck resident, or even a boyfriend, to me. He understood my gift in ways even my grandfather didn’t. He never seemed to be surprised by anything that happened. Pirate curses and ghost stories left him unphased. He might not have been born in Duck, but he belonged here.
I popped my head in the kitchen. Kevin had four other cooks working with him. They all wore white jackets with cute little chef’s hats—except for Kevin, who wore an apron over his tuxedo. I watched him as he directed, tasted, and got everything ready for the reception. He was like a conductor with a kitchen full of gastric musicians.
“Dae?” He looked upset and unhappy when he saw me. “What happened?”
“Bad storm outside. I suppose you couldn’t hear it.” If I’d forgotten how awful I looked, his face reminded me.
“But you’re speaking at the reception.”
“True. Not to worry. Nancy always prepares for the worst. She brought my outfit over earlier. I’ll be polished and ready to go when it’s time.”
He took my arm and we moved away from the frantic energy of the meal preparation. “How did it go with Shayla?”
“Nothing new happened.” I shrugged. “At least not message-wise anyway. There were these strange balls of light that floated around the room and disappeared.”
“That’s different. What did Shayla say?”
“That we should keep trying.” I rubbed a spot on my head that was beginning to throb. “I don’t think I have the heart for it anymore, Kevin. I don’t know.”
He managed to kiss me exactly on the spot that was beginning to ache. “I’m sorry I couldn’t be there with you. Somebody set October 15 as the day for the conference and then nominated the Blue Whale to hold it.”
I smiled, since that somebody was me. “That’s true. Believe me, I would’ve done it another day if I could have. Has it been terrible?”
“I’m not complaining. The money will look nice on my balance sheet.”
“Then I’m glad I could help. Anything else I can do?”
“What you need to do is change clothes.” He pushed me toward the kitchen door. “You don’t want people to see the Honorable Mayor of Duck looking like she rode over in the rain in her golf cart. Then get out there and network. That’s why you did this, right?”
He was right, I thought, heading up the stairs instead of trying the elevator. I don’t know why, but looking at it always made me queasy.
The conference was my baby. Twenty mayors, two days talking about our problems and strengths, getting together to make important things happen. I was ready for it—despite the strangeness of the day. I wished it wouldn’t have been this particular day in October, but that’s the way it had worked out.
I took a long hot shower and pushed the séance and the storm from my mind. I was the first elected mayor of Duck, North Carolina. That meant something to me because this was my home. I wanted to leave my mark here—to have people remember me as more than just a picture on the wall in town hall.
I wanted sidewalks to make walking safer going up and down Duck Road. I wanted community watchdog groups that would help fight bad development, the reason Duck incorporated in the first place. I wanted this to be a good, safe place to live during the summer when we were swamped with fifty thousand tourists and in the winter when there were less than six hundred of us.
As I gazed at myself in the lovely antique mirror, I thought I looked like that mayor in my black floor-length gown, my short hair swept back from my face. I added a touch of makeup and lipstick to enhance my after-summer tan. I was ready to go.
I smiled my big mayor’s smile—and in the reflection, saw something move. Well, it was almost something. But when I turned and stared at that area of the room, there was nothing there.
I surveyed the room. I was on the second floor of the Blue Whale in a suite Kevin had set aside for bridal parties to get ready for the big occasion. Again, I saw nothing.
Nerves. I grabbed my black clutch and headed out the door. I still felt that little bit of static electricity flowing up and down my arms and against the back of my neck.
It was the storm, I told myself, as thunder rumbled outside, shaking the old inn. But my Banker instincts told me to beware.
Chapter 3
The reception was a great hit. People were smiling, enjoying the good food and talking to each other. The ballroom was filled with twenty mayors, some of their families, and Duck residents I’d pressed into being there.
The town council was up to the task of impressing our visitors. They’d left the Hawaiian shirts and cargo shorts they usually wore to town meetings at home for the night. They cleaned up pretty well—especially Randal “Mad Dog” Wilson. At six foot four, three hundred pounds, he was visible from any corner of the room. He was smiling and giving out campaign buttons for his run against me next year. He was all over the place, wooing constituents and nonresidents alike.
“Seems like a good party,” my grandfather said.
“I can’t believe you’re here, Gramps!” I turned and hugged him. “I thought you were playing pinochle tonight.”
“I didn’t want to miss the festivities. It’s not every day we have a big party in Duck.”
“I’m glad you came.”
“Looks like Mad Dog is pulling out all the stops to run for mayor.”
“I could put a hex on him.” Shayla joined us, wearing a beautiful black silk gown. Shayla never wore anything but black.
“Please! Don’t even joke about that or I’ll be known as the mayor who won because she used magic. A reputation like that can stick around for a few hundred years.” I said it in a joking manner—but I was serious. Either I could win an election against someone or not. The first time around, no one ran against me. A competitive election was bound to be much harder. I just wished Mad Dog wouldn’t get so personal.
“Don’t worry about it,” Gramps said. “Mad Dog already had his time. This belongs to you, Dae. I don’t think anyone is unhappy with what you’ve done while you’ve been mayor.”
“What about those ladies who wanted her to put up umbrellas on the boardwalk and hand-washing stations in the park?” Shayla asked. “I don’t know how happy they are right now.”
Gramps changed the subject. “How did the séance go?”
“Not so good for talking to Dae’s mother,” Shayla said. “But we saw ghost lights. You don’t see those every day.”
“I’m not sure what those are,” Gramps remarked. “But I’m sorry there’s still no word from Jean. I believe she’d come back if she could.”
“I think so too.” I said it, but I didn’t really believe it. She’d died angry with me. How long does that take to go away? I didn’t want to argue the point with Gramps—especially tonight. It was almost time for me to give my little welcome speech.
I saw Kevin trying to get the microphone and podium set up across the room. I excused myself from Gramps and Shayla—good thing too, since Mad Dog was headed our way. I wondered if he really thought I’d wear one of his campaign buttons. He’d already given me one. I’d left it in my desk drawer in town hall. I figured fifty years from now, it would be an antique that I could sell in my shop.
Kevin looked up, eyes scanning the crowded room. I met his gaze and waved to let him know I was on my way. A loud clap of thunder managed to get everyone’s attention as I moved toward him. Several thick bolts of lightning tore through the dark sky outside the large windows on the back side of the inn, overlookin
g the turbulent Atlantic.
The crystal chandeliers above us flickered and swung a little from side to side, the large teardrops tinkling loudly. The power stayed on—but a sense of uneasiness crept into the big room.
I managed to avoid Mad Dog and get through the crowd to reach the podium. Despite the storm’s furious pounding, I knew no real warnings had gone up across the Outer Banks. Chief Ronnie Michaels of the Duck Police and Fire Chief Cailey Fargo were standing together, both in their dress uniforms. They were drinking punch and acting like nothing was wrong. This wouldn’t be the case if the storm was really serious.
“I thought that last one was going to do us in,” Kevin said as I reached him. “I remembered that I only have a handful of candles. The generator is ready to go out back, but somebody would have to go outside and start it.”
“And in the meantime, we’d have some panic going on in here.” I watched the crowd. Most of them were either from the Outer Banks or from one of the cities along the coast. They could probably handle any problem from the storm without too much fuss—not that I wanted to find out.
“Are you ready?” Kevin smiled and adjusted the microphone for me.
“I think so. Thanks.”
I waited for him to step back, then addressed the group. People stopped talking and everyone looked up at me. “Before I launch into my welcome speech, I thought I should point out that our police and fire chiefs are here with us in the ballroom. You all know what that means—the weather sounds bad, but it’s really nothing to worry about.”
Everyone laughed and applauded. The thunder and lightning continued to pummel the outside world around us, but we were okay. I started into my often-rehearsed speech—our guests laughed and applauded at just the right spots. I could see Nancy out of the corner of my eye mimicking the words as I said them. She’d heard the speech often enough.
As I spoke, I thought about the steel gray ocean churning and spitting at the edge of the sand. Trees were blowing, pushed around by the harsh winds. Debris was flying everywhere—the town needed to issue a memo about taking in or tying down lawn furniture before a storm. It would take days of overtime for our maintenance department to pick up all the chairs, cushions and grills and find where they all belonged.