by Kathi Daley
“I honestly have no idea. Do we have any other suspects left?”
“Not many. Toby suggested I might want to consider Digger as a suspect. He didn’t seem like a killer when I spoke to him, but Toby told me Digger and Buck had a history of skirmishes that took place whenever Buck decided to dig for treasure too close to a turtle nest.”
“I’d be willing to buy that if Buck’s body had been found on or near the beach, but why would Digger be in the house?” Kyle and I exited the building and then began loading the equipment into the car.
“I thought of that as well. It doesn’t make sense that Digger would be in the attic.”
“Do you think we might have narrowed our suspect list too much by focusing on the map?” Kyle asked. “Could there be another reason Buck was in the attic?”
“You mean besides giving something to Norton?” I asked as we returned to the auditorium for the next load.
“Yeah. I’m not sure how we’ll be able to prove or disprove that unless Norton admits Buck gave him something or we find evidence that he has something that was known to be in the attic. Can you help me move this table back against the wall?”
Kyle and I picked up the table and returned it to its original location before I continued. “I guess the one thing everyone has said about Buck is that he befriended people easily. It also seems he managed to make some of his newer friends angry on a fairly regular basis. Both Toby and Gil had nothing but negative things to say about him. Toby did tell me Buck lost the map they’d bought together in a poker game. I suppose it’s possible Buck was in the attic looking for something to sell if he ended up losing to the wrong people. The attic didn’t seem to be a treasure trove of valuable items, but there are some antiques up there that could have value.”
“Okay, so if we assume Buck was in the attic to find something of value in general, does that open up our suspect pool?” Kyle asked as we gathered the next load.
“Not really,” I answered as we headed toward the car. “The problem is, we never met the man, so we really have no idea who he might have been hanging out with. Although…”
“Although?”
“Blackbeard seems to have a knack for communicating. He continues to repeat the words ‘Charlie bad.’ What if Blackbeard was in the attic when Buck was killed? Do you think the bird is smart enough to actually name Buck’s killer?”
Kyle frowned.
“I don’t know. The bird does seem to be smarter than average, but to actually identify a person by name? Have you ever heard him call anyone else by name?”
“He calls you Captain Kyle.”
“That’s true. But even if he recognized someone named Charlie in the house, the concept of bad versus not bad is pretty advanced for a bird.”
“Garrett told me the other day that Blackbeard seemed to understand it.”
“We need to ask around to see if there’s anyone named Charlie on the island who might have had reason to be with Buck on the night he died.”
“Exactly. We’ll ask Gertie, Meg, and a few others tomorrow. Garrett already said he didn’t know anyone named Charlie when I asked him about it after the first time Blackbeard said it.”
“Should we return this stuff tomorrow?” Kyle asked after we finished loading the car.
“Yeah, it’s late. We should probably head back to the resort.”
I climbed into the passenger seat while Kyle slid in behind the wheel. It was another beautiful night. The air was warm, the stars were bright, and there was a gentle breeze. Even in the middle of summer it was cool after dark at Paradise Lake. I missed my mountain home, but it was nice to mix it up a bit.
“You know, after everything Garrett said about home and hearth I find I’m a little homesick,” I commented as we drove.
“Yeah, I had the same feeling. Don’t get me wrong, I’m enjoying my time here and am looking forward to the rest of the summer, but I think I’ll be ready to go home when the time comes.”
“At least you know where home is,” I grumbled. “I still haven’t made up my mind about where the girls and I should live once we get back to Paradise Lake.”
“I doubt your dad plans to kick you out.”
“He doesn’t. In fact, both he and Rosalie have said we’re more than welcome to stay indefinitely. But I have a feeling that when it comes to the needs of a newly engaged couple, more isn’t necessarily merrier. I’ve considered getting an apartment in town for the girls and me, but we have two dogs and three cats between us, so that may not be as easy as it sounds.”
“Come and live with me,” Kyle said. “I have plenty of room for you and the girls and the animals, and even Ben, if he wants.”
I looked at Kyle. “Yeah, you have room, but not enough where we won’t be in your way.”
“You won’t be in my way. I think it would be nice to have other people in the house. Right now it’s just me rambling around the place, and it gets lonely at times.”
“You hated it when your mother lived with you,” I reminded my very generous friend.
“Are you going to pick out my clothes every day and clean out my bedside drawers without asking me?”
“Well, no.”
“Are you going to open my mail or throw away the leftover pizza I’d been saving for lunch because I haven’t been eating enough vegetables?”
I laughed. “I might. Vegetables are important, but I get your point.”
“When my mom lived with me it wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy having another person in the house; it was more that she treated me like an eight-year-old.”
“It’s so sweet of you to offer, but I’m afraid a living arrangement like that could ruin our friendship.”
“It won’t.”
“It might.”
Kyle shrugged. “It’s up to you, but the offer is open and I really hope you’ll consider it. You don’t have to decide now; take some time to think about it. We are basically living together this summer. Let’s see how it goes.”
I thought about the dreams I’d been having of Kyle and me locked in a passionate embrace. Living with him under the same roof didn’t sound like a good idea in the least. “That’s fair enough, I guess. And thank you. However it turns out, it means a lot that you offered.”
Chapter 15
Friday, June 23
The next morning Kyle and I decided to have breakfast at Gertie’s after we dropped the girls off at kids’ camp. He planned to join the group for their trip to the beach that afternoon, but he had a few hours until they were leaving, so we were using the time to explore our Charlie theory. Gertie’s was moderately busy when we arrived, so we took stools at the counter, where we could chat with Gertie while she worked.
“Charlie?” Gertie said as she poured syrup into a small dish. “No, I can’t say I know anyone named Charlie.”
“What about Charles?” I asked as I buttered my toast.
“No.” Gertie shook her head. “Can’t think of a single Charles. You know, if you think about it, that’s kind of odd. It’s not like Charles is a rare name, and we do have a decent population on the island.”
“Garrett said the only Charlie he could think of was Charlie Chaplin. Apparently, Blackbeard is fascinated with his hat in the old movies he saw with Garrett. I wonder if that’s it. Do you know anyone in town who wears a hat like Charlie Chaplin’s? Or even a black hat in general?”
“Can’t say that I do. Maybe Blackbeard is referring to some other characteristic, such as the dark suit Charlie Chaplin wears or his bushy dark mustache.”
“I guess it really could be anything. For all we know Blackbeard is just rambling.”
“What did you think of the meeting last night?” Kyle asked.
“Stroke of genius getting Garrett on camera like that. I definitely get the feeling public opin
ion shifted after Garrett’s speech. Norton might still have a few business owners willing to sign his petition, but not nearly enough to challenge Garrett’s right to do as he pleases with his land. My sense is that he and the rest of Destination Properties will move on to the next parcel of land needing to be upgraded.”
“I hope that’s true, for Garrett’s sake. He has enough to deal with without having to worry about them and their megaresort.”
“For the most part, folks around here really do want the kind of life Garrett painted. They wouldn’t live here otherwise. I think Norton got them to forget that for a bit, but Garrett did a wonderful job of getting them to remember. Can I get you anything else?”
“No thanks. This was delicious. I should get back so I’m not late for my volunteer gig at kids’ camp,” Kyle informed us.
“I need to pick up Grandpa for our appointment,” I added. “Thank you for breakfast.”
“It looks like we’re back to square one,” Kyle commented as we walked out to the car. “If you want to brainstorm after I get back from the beach, I’m in.”
“I have softball practice tonight, so it’ll have to be after that. I have a feeling we’re getting close to figuring this out.”
“Really?” Kyle looked at me with an expression of doubt. “If anything, I feel like this is getting more complicated.”
“That’s how it usually works. Just when nothing makes sense, suddenly everything does.”
After I picked up Grandpa, we headed for our appointment at the Gull Island Senior Home. I wasn’t sure why, but my gut told me I’d find the clue I needed to solve the mystery of Buck Barnes’s death either at the home or as a result of having gone there in the first place.
I took a moment to look at the grounds as we drove up. The building was lovely, perched on a bluff overlooking the western side of the island, which seemed to attract a lot of wildlife due to the swampy conditions. If I did have a grandparent who was in need of senior care this was exactly the type of place I’d seek out.
“We have care programs for both seniors needing daily medical assistance as well as those who are able to live independently with only a small amount of help,” the receptionist informed us. “We’re currently at capacity, but we have a waiting list, and we give preference to locals when a room does open up. This is a nonprofit organization, and due to our highly-rated facility and desirable location, we tend to have a lot of interest from seniors looking for a place to spend their final years.”
“I’m not in immediate need of a placement, but I might be interested in a spot on the waiting list for my grandfather,” I replied. “When I called earlier in the week I was told that if I came back on Friday we could take a tour.”
“That’s not a problem at all. I’ll have one of our volunteers show you around.”
The volunteer was a lovely woman named Edith who looked to be in her early sixties. She was both friendly and knowledgeable and made a wonderful first impression.
“It seems you have a lot of volunteers,” Grandpa commented.
“There are a lot of caring folks on the island.”
“Are all the volunteers seniors like yourself?” I asked.
“No, ma’am. We have volunteers of all ages and all walks of life. The gal who is running the bingo game is the mayor’s daughter. She was probably our first volunteer in that age group, but she has managed to recruit quite a few others. There are a couple of volunteers from the church who are in their twenties, and Willow Rivers from the kids’ camp volunteers during the winter. Veronica Bolton, the daughter of our local innkeeper, is in her twenties and also a volunteer, as is Frank Davenport, who works at a local bar, and Rory Savage, a nephew of Deputy Savage.”
“I heard Deputy Savage helps out here as well,” I queried.
“He does indeed. He’s one of the best. I’m not sure what we’d do without him. He’s always willing to jump right in and help out with our most difficult residents.”
I almost felt like Deputy Rick Savage was too good to be true, which should have made me suspicious, but then I remembered the kittens. I was such a sucker for small balls of fur.
“So you take seniors with all sorts of health issues?” Grandpa asked.
“The Gull Island Senior Home was designed to help seniors with a wide variety of needs,” Edith informed us. “We have a full-care facility with round-the-clock nursing care as well as independent housing for those who require less assistance.”
“What would you say the ratio of those needing daily care to those needing occasional help is?” I asked, because I felt I should be asking relevant questions, not because I really needed to know.
“Our full-care facility has twenty rooms, all of which are filled at all times. We also have independent housing that accommodates up to thirty residents. The condos are one-bedroom units, many of which are filled by a single person, but we do have several couples who live there as well.” Edith paused to speak to a woman who was slowly making her way along the path that intersected with the path we were walking on. I had to admire her gumption. Her progress was slow, as she carefully took each step with a cane to help steady her. Suddenly it occurred to me that Charlie Chaplin had a cane.
“Are the residents allowed to come and go as they please?” Grandpa asked.
“Most are. We do have some residents with mental issues that would make it unsafe for them to leave the property without supervision. Those residents are grouped in a special unit with additional security. Residents are allowed to leave the property, of course, but only with individuals who have been designated by the families. If you’ll come this way, I’d love to show you our state-of-the-art rehabilitation center.”
“Do residents who aren’t supposed to leave ever manage to wander off?” I asked.
The guide frowned. “I can assure you that we take the utmost care to prevent that from happening.”
“But it has occurred?” I pressed.
“Yes,” Edith admitted. “It has. Especially when the resident is aided by well-meaning but uninformed accomplices.”
“Accomplices?” I asked.
“I really shouldn’t say, but there was an individual who used to do maintenance who didn’t always display the best decision making. Not to worry though. He’s no longer with us.”
Suddenly I wondered if the killer Savage was trying to protect was his own father. I knew Buck used to help out at the home in exchange for the use of a rental owned by Colin Walton. It made sense if she was referring to Buck as the person who’d helped and was no longer with them; naturally because he was dead. I remembered reading in an article that dementia patients could display a variety of symptoms, from loss of memory to an inability to control moods and exercise proper judgment. What if Buck had managed to liberate Rick Savage’s father from the home in order to take him on a treasure hunt, but things had gotten out of control? If Savage’s father had hit Buck with the cane he used to steady himself, it was entirely possible he wouldn’t remember having done so.
“I was hoping to speak to Colin Walton while I was here.”
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Walton is unavailable today. If you should decide to place your grandfather with us, I can assure you Mr. Walton will not only meet with you but will happily answer any questions you may have.”
“I understand this facility provides for seniors regardless of their ability to pay.”
“Yes, that’s true. Mr. Walton has worked very hard to set up endowments that help us provide for those who are chosen regardless of their financial situations. Will your grandfather require assistance?”
“Actually, no. My grandfather is quite wealthy.” I was curious to see if the prospect of a wealthy applicant might earn me an immediate meeting with Mr. Walton, but it didn’t. It really did seem that residents were selected based on criteria that had nothing whatsoever to do
with money. On the surface, the home seemed too good to be true, but experience had taught me that if something seemed too good to be true it most likely was.
Chapter 16
“Oh, good, you made it.” Jack jogged over and gave me a high five when I arrived at the ball field later that afternoon. Well, it was high for me; he actually had to reach down to meet my hand. “We’re having a scrimmage, so we need all the help we can get.”
“Thank you for inviting me. I’m really excited to get out and get some exercise. Seems like it’s been a while since I’ve had a chance to pound a softball into submission. Where do you need me to play?”
“Rick is the coach, so he assigns positions. Any one you prefer?”
“I can play anywhere. I don’t really have the reach for first base, but I can manage. I like to pitch.”
“We could use a pitcher.”
“You aren’t seriously considering letting this teeny tiny girl pitch, are you?” a tall man with a blue shirt and a blue baseball cap asked.
“I’m stronger than I look,” I defended myself.
The man snorted.
“Tj, this is John,” Jack introduced. “You know how every school has a bully and every softball team has a jerk? John is ours.”
“Happy to meet you, I think.”
John spat a wad of sunflower seed shells to a spot just to my left and walked away without responding.
“John is okay once you get to know him,” Jack assured me.
“If you say so,” I said doubtfully.
“Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone else. I think you’ll find we’re a fun group.”
I felt a rush of adrenaline as I took in the fresh-cut grass, stands full of spectators, and bags of sunflower seeds that were being passed around among team members. It was only a scrimmage, but a surprisingly large number of locals had turned out to watch, which added to the adrenaline rush. Besides, it had been a long time since I’d played for fun. Sure, I occasionally joined in with the girls I coached during practice, but actually being a member of a team made up of my peers hadn’t occurred since before my sisters had come to live with me and my life had changed from carefree to complicated.