A Spirited Gift mpm-3

by Joyce Lavene

  “No. That’s okay. I’ll check down there in the morning. We’ll have to get by until then. Thank goodness it’s nighttime so everyone should be asleep.”

  Gramps sat down in an easy chair. “Not me. I can’t go to sleep without the TV. Ask Dae. It’s like warm milk for me.”

  Kevin patted his shoulder. “Sorry, Horace. I thought the freezers were more important than TV. Maybe I was wrong.”

  All of the camaraderie—people singing softly at the old piano in the lobby, playing cards on the stairs and drinking in the bar—should have made me feel better about facing the night. It didn’t.

  That ghostly presence was still on my mind. It accompanied the thoughts about my mother and father. There were too many questions. My mind was exhausted but full to bursting, like some sandbag dam trying to hold back the flood. I knew I wouldn’t sleep.

  I reminded myself again of how often I’d wished to see a ghost. Since I was a child and had heard the supernatural stories of the Outer Banks, I’d imagined what it would be like. I’d thought about it every way possible—except this one.

  If the spirit following me was my mother, that would be different. But this presence sounded like some sleazy sailor who wanted to voice his opinion on everything. And that was assuming it was a human. Shayla’s comments on that had left me even more apprehensive. How could this be?

  I’d managed to stick my nose into plenty of things where it didn’t belong. Maybe one of those was trying to contact my mother. Gramps always said I didn’t know when to leave well enough alone.

  At least I didn’t have to worry about being alone with the ghostly presence. There were people tucked into every corner of the inn. I stretched out in a king-size bed— accompanied by Nancy and Marissa. Both of them had stayed on at the inn to help out. There were several others on chairs and cushions around the room. I could hardly reach the bed without stepping on someone.

  Marissa sighed as we lay there, unable to sleep. “I know I should go home tomorrow, but I’m dreading it. You didn’t hear or see anything around or about my place, did you, Dae?”

  “No. I’m sorry. Kevin and I were at the Duck Shoppes before we went to help Cailey with that accident. But you’re facing the sound—Gramps said our place was in good shape. Maybe yours is too.”

  Nancy sighed too. “I’m not facing the sound. I hope I have something left to go home to.”

  I was sure many others felt the same. Staying here at the Blue Whale for one more night put those realizations on hold until morning. But we would all have to face reality tomorrow.

  I think, despite not believing it was possible, that I fell asleep. I woke up and looked at my watch—it was almost two thirty A.M. I’d been asleep for at least four hours!

  I felt a little better, a little more clearheaded. I knew what I had to do—at least in regard to my father.

  The ghostly presence? I lay quietly for about twenty minutes, waiting to see or hear something. There was nothing. Maybe my “ghost” had been nothing more than exhaustion and stress. Maybe I could even attribute what I’d seen to the weather, like the warning ghosts that everyone talked about. It might not have anything to do with the séance.

  Sandi? Her death was a tragedy, and I wished I could’ve helped her. But I had to let it go. There was nothing I could do. Unfortunately, terrible things happen. I knew that better than most people, having grown up in the home of the Dare County Sheriff. Gramps had always been careful not to involve me too much, but I’d still heard bad things about our neighbors. I knew even Duck had problems.

  Renewed by my four hours of sleep and a confidence born of believing I knew what to do next about each of my problems, I was suddenly hungry. My stomach was growling loudly. Nancy groaned next to me and turned over. I was embarrassed to think I might wake her with my internal noises. Marissa was gone—maybe she was restless too.

  Carefully, I inched out of bed and across the old hardwood floor. It squeaked and complained under my weight in places—but that was the only unusual noise I heard. The sleeping crowd around me sighed and muttered but didn’t wake up.

  I crept down the hall to the kitchen, hoping there was something light to eat in the fridge. I didn’t want a full meal, just something to tide me over until morning. I knew Nancy and Marissa would thank me for quieting my stomach.

  I found some leftover pancakes from breakfast and ate them at the table in the kitchen that Kevin and I usually shared when I visited.

  The old inn that had seen many disasters like this storm—and worse—seemed to sleep around me too. It sheltered all of us who weren’t very eager to face the next day and what it might bring. I sipped the last of the fresh milk and sat back in the chair, replete, and felt ready to go home and do whatever else needed to be done.

  I let myself glance carefully around the dark kitchen, keeping an eye open for any spirit balls that might be lingering, Nothing. No weird sensations of static electricity, no oppressive, frightening feelings of someone just behind me.

  Those scary sightings of spirit balls and hearing someone speaking to me that wasn’t there had probably been triggered by the storm, I decided. A big storm has some odd precursors to it. A doctor once explained that to me when I told him about my storm knee that could predict the weather.

  The ghostly presence was nothing more than my old storm knee acting up. I indulged in a banana, put my plate and glass in the sink and headed back to my room for a few more hours of sleep.

  I saw a flashlight beam headed toward the bar area and wondered who was up drinking at this time of the morning. Kevin had shooed all of the drinkers out of there last night with a warning about touching any more unopened bottles. There’d been some grumbling, but the bar patrons had cleared out. I suspected one of the drinkers had probably come back for a late-night snack slightly different than mine.

  But when I got to the bar, the room was empty, quiet. I was sure I’d seen a flashlight headed this way. Maybe whoever was holding it had changed their mind and gone back to bed. Which was where I was headed. I yawned and turned to leave.

  It was then that I heard the chuckle. There was no other word for it—it was a chuckle. It seemed to come from behind the bar. I approached the long wood slab carefully, thinking the late-night drinker was hiding there. Probably David or Barker.

  But as I reached the bar, a light that had nothing to do with any modern-day convenience like a flashlight bloomed in a strange iridescent way. I watched as the light coalesced into a form. And the form was chuckling.

  “If this be yer rum, ye be cheated, girl.”

  So much for believing my ghostly friend wasn’t real.

  Chapter 15

  The ghost, if that’s what it was, stood about six feet tall, had thick, shaggy black hair and a mustache. He wore a red coat and a tricorn hat.

  Without really thinking, I remarked, “I know you! You’re Rafe Masterson, the pirate.”

  He lifted a bottle, shaking out the lace at his wrist. “It’s about time. I thought I would have to introduce myself. You all but walked into me at that blasted archive of foolishness you call a museum. Why the blazes have you kept all that bilge?”

  “If we hadn’t, I wouldn’t know who you are,” I reminded him. “I’ve seen your portrait a hundred times. You look exactly the same.”

  “Ye see what ye wish.” He shrugged and poured rum into the glass on the bar. “I promise you, I don’t look at all like this fantasy you’ve created. A man doesn’t age well in the grave.”

  I almost laughed. It struck me as funny that I was talking to a pirate ghost. Especially the ghost of this pirate—the scourge of Duck, the man whose curse still lived with us. The dread Rafe Masterson.

  He drank the rum he’d poured and smacked his lips. “Almost like drinking mother’s milk. Why the blazes do ye water it down? In my day, men would string up a tavern keeper who served slop like this.”

  “It’s not watered down,” I explained. “This is probably just different—more refined than what y
ou’re used to.”

  “Well, I don’t plan to be here long enough to learn the ins and outs of this godforsaken time.” He set the glass down on the bar with a decided thud. “What the hell do you want of me, girl? Why have you bothered my sleep?”

  “Me?” I did laugh now. “You’ve been following me around. Why are you here?”

  “Why? Because you called me. Why else would I be here?”

  “I didn’t call you—I was calling my mother. Maybe you can leave now and get her for me.” Talking to a ghost wasn’t as hard as I’d expected. Or maybe I was dreaming. I couldn’t tell.

  “Yer mum, huh? She must be related. That must mean you’re related, girl. What’s your name?”

  “My name is Dae O’Donnell. I’m mayor of Duck, and I assure you, my mother wasn’t related to you.”

  “O‘Donnell, eh?” He stroked his chin and peered off into the dark. “I knew an O’Donnell—Lewes O’Donnell. As fine a pirate as I ever sailed with. But no relation. What’s your grandmother’s maiden name?”

  I thought back. “Her name was Eleanore Bellamy.”

  “Bellamy! Why didn’t you say so? That was me mum’s name before she married that scoundrel Robert Masterson. He left us to fend for ourselves when I was four. We be kin, my dear. No wonder you raised me—fooling around with the dark arts. You’d better be careful or you’ll feel the noose around your neck, or worse. They say the fire is a bad way to go. Not that hanging is any fun.”

  I didn’t believe him—didn’t want to believe him. We weren’t related. There were probably dozens of Bellamys. It was ridiculous. Gramps wasn’t related to a pirate either. “I didn’t raise you from the dead, Mr. Pirate Masterson.” I stumbled over my words. “And if I did it was a mistake. Please go back to your grave or wherever now.”

  “So yer mum is dead, eh?” He continued as though he hadn’t heard me. “Murdered, was she? That’s why you’re trying to raise her?”

  “No.” I choked a little on the explanation. “She drove off a bridge and died in the water, they say. Her body was never found.”

  He nodded. “And you had unspoken things between you. I see.”

  “Then you see why you can’t help me,” I said. “Go back home now. Leave me alone.”

  “Dae?” Kevin’s voice got my attention and I looked away from the bar. “Can’t sleep?”

  “No,” I said. “I slept. Then I was hungry. I saw a light on in here.” I looked back at the bar and the pirate—possibly my pirate ancestor—was gone. I noticed the glass and the bottle of rum were still there.

  “Did you chase someone out of here?” Kevin looked around at the empty bar and bottle.

  “Maybe. I don’t know.” I shook my head. “I’m going back to bed for a while. Sorry I woke you.”

  “You didn’t.” He smiled and put his arms around me. “I was having really vivid dreams about being a pirate. Crazy, huh?”

  “Maybe not so crazy. The way we talk about them around here, they almost seem real.”

  I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I’d chatted with Rafe Masterson while he drank Kevin’s rum. I wasn’t sure I believed it myself. Maybe I was just hard to convince. It was going to take more than a middle-of-the-night conversation when I was half awake to make me believe.

  I went back to bed but sleep eluded me. I was up and cleaning an hour later when the first of the guests came down for coffee. Soon after, all the restless souls were eating breakfast and listening to Scott Randall explain which roads were closed and how people could best get back to their homes.

  It sounded like the roads and the town itself were in much better shape than they’d been yesterday, which made everyone happy. It was easier once you’d seen all the damage for yourself and could make a plan for what needed to be done. Gramps and I had faced storm damage many times, as had everyone else who lived in Duck.

  Several local insurance agents came by to talk with their clients privately. A few relatives stopped in to pick up their husbands, wives or other family members who’d been trapped at the inn since the storm.

  “I guess we should be heading home,” Gramps said after filling up on oatmeal. “I know there’s some damage to the house. Sooner we get started on it, the sooner it’ll get done.”

  I agreed but thought it was only fair to stay and help Kevin clean up. The guests were leaving a mess behind—every room in the inn was dirty.

  But Kevin disagreed with me. “I have my usual cleaning crew coming in today. We’ll handle it. I’m going to try and drive over to Hank’s Hardware to order glass for the upstairs windows. Let me give you two a ride home, since the golf cart was trashed.”

  I had to admit I was ready to go. I was eager to get home and see how the house had fared. And I had a few private questions I wanted to ask Gramps. I hoped the words would come for those questions. It wasn’t easy to talk to him about my mother.

  Kevin’s cleaning crew was arriving as we left. Marissa waved to us as she told them what to do. Duck maintenance crew members were out too, cleaning up the streets as we made the trip home.

  Gramps and I lived only a few minutes away from the Blue Whale (along with everything else in Duck), but it took about twenty minutes to get there. There was still so much debris in the road, Kevin had to drive very slowly and continually go around tree branches and manmade items that blocked our passage.

  “I heard the cell phone towers might be working today,” Kevin said as I got out of the truck. “Let me know how things are going, if you have service. Or I can come in now and we can look at the damage.”

  I hugged him. “Go home. Take care of your own damage. Gramps and I have been at this a lot longer than you. I’ll call you later if I can.”

  “Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”

  I watched him leave, wondering if I should’ve told him about the pirate ghost—in case Rafe was haunting the Blue Whale now. Who knew if ghosts could travel from one spot to another? He might be drinking rum in Kevin’s bar for the next hundred years.

  Gramps and I walked around the outside of the house that had been in our family for several generations. The clapboard siding had splintered in a few spots where something had been blown against it, and two windows had been smashed, but otherwise, nothing major was wrong. We closed up the windows with plastic right away. We’d have to replace them later.

  “Not too bad,” Gramps said when we got inside. “We were pretty much spared.”

  “I guess this house is in a good spot.” I looked around at the place I’d always called home. “Whoever built this place knew what they were doing.”

  “That would be your great-great-grandfather, Lewes O’Donnell,” Gramps said with a smile. “He was a merchant who traded with the ships that docked here.”

  I couldn’t believe it! Rafe had said that Lewes O’Donnell was a pirate. Basically when anyone from Duck talked about their ancestors trading with English or Spanish ships, at the very least they salvaged goods from their wreckage. In the worst cases, they caused it. “Was he a pirate by any chance?”

  Gramps shrugged. “Could be. But he died in his bed at the ripe old age of ninety-two. If he started out as a pirate, he was never caught. Anything is possible, Dae. Not many people who are from here have a family history that doesn’t include pirates or scavengers.”

  As our house was in fairly good order, we went next door and checked on our neighbors. Their homes had been hit a little harder. We swept sand, mopped water and put up tarps in places that needed repair. It would take a few days to get the insurance adjusters in to appraise the damage. In the meantime, everyone would have to make do.

  When we were finished, we had lunch together. Most people didn’t have generators. When something happened and they were on the verge of losing the food in their refrigerators and freezers, they hauled out grills and smokers to cook as much food as could be saved. I had no doubt that there would be large crowds at supper, inside and outside the house. Not everyone put in enough seafood to feed an army like
Gramps did. But at these times, it was a good thing.

  The weather was nice. I decided to walk down to Missing Pieces for a while. I wasn’t really expecting any customers. There weren’t many out-of-town visitors in October, and most local people would be occupied with their own storm cleanup.

  But I never minded being at the shop, even without customers. It was Gramps’s idea for me to open a shop to sell the things I collected. He said the house couldn’t hold any more and I could make some money. As usual, he was right.

  The only thing I’d known him to be wrong about was not telling me about my father. When I’d first found out, he’d said it was my mother’s story to tell. But with her dead, that left him in the hot seat. It was hard hearing from a stranger, the infamous Bunk Whitley, of all people, that a big part of my life had been a lie perpetrated by the two people I trusted and loved most. Old Bunk was supposed to be dead. People had a way of coming back sometimes.

  I knew it would be hard for him to explain why he’d lied. Gramps was basically an honest, decent person. He had a stronger sense of right and wrong than most people—which had made him a good sheriff.

  He was protecting me, I realized that. But I was an adult. I didn’t need protection from the truth. No matter what kind of man my father was, I could handle it. From what I’d seen and the research I’d secretly done, Danny Evans wasn’t cut from the same cloth as Gramps. He’d made a lot of mistakes in his life. But it had been a while since he’d been in trouble—about as long as he’d been sober. Surely everyone deserved a few chances.

  Martha Segall was waiting outside Missing Pieces on the weathered boardwalk when I arrived. She was the town nuisance—although she’d been called worse by the town council. She attended every town meeting and was an alternate on the planning and zoning board. She’d run for town council when Duck first incorporated, but frankly, no one liked her well enough to vote for her. So she just came to every meeting and complained.