by Joyce Lavene
“Now wait a minute,” Rafe interrupted. “I have a valid reason for being here. This isn’t a lark for me, ladies. I need a relation to help me clear my name.”
“Clear your name?” I laughed. “Clear it of what? Everyone knows you did terrible things. You were hanged as a pirate because of them.”
“I was,” he agreed. “But I wasn’t a pirate when that unfortunate event took place. And I had papers of pardon from the governor himself.”
I thought about what Mark Samson had said about Rafe. Maybe he was right. But having a large pirate ghost tag along with me everywhere I went wasn’t exactly my idea of a good time. There had to be another way.
“Let’s say you’re telling the truth,” I said. “How about you go back to your grave and I look into it for you.”
“Why would I take yer word for what you’ll do when you are so eager to get rid of me? I wasn’t born yesterday.”
“Because otherwise Shayla will make you go away for good and you might never get your name cleared.” Although what difference that would make after all these years was beyond me. “At least if I promise to investigate the history of your death, you have a shot.”
He stroked his chin. “I don’t think so. Not that I want to be here, but this is important to me. And your friend here doesn’t seem too sure she can get rid of me at all. Besides, I can help you find who murdered the woman at the old house. Ye need me too, girl.”
“We don’t know yet if she was murdered at all,” I told him. “But thanks for the offer.”
“I know,” he assured me. “I can smell it a league away.”
“I thought you said that was an accident, Dae?” Shayla asked.
“It probably was an accident. She shouldn’t have been out there during the storm.”
“An accident,” Rafe scoffed. “If it was an accident, then I don’t know gold from dross.”
“Okay. Who killed her?” I asked the pirate ghost.
“That I don’t know—but I could be helpful in the search for the devil who done the deed,” he said with great confidence. “It’s the smell of blood. T’would be all over him.”
I thought about his offer. Maybe he knew something the rest of us didn’t. He was a ghost, and ghosts were supposed to know things—see things we couldn’t from the other side. And Shayla seemed really uncertain about getting rid of him.
And I supposed I could look into the matter of his history, since Mark had already said much the same thing. The usual Duck history must be missing some facts if suddenly Rafe Masterson was the wronged party in his hanging.
I still didn’t believe he was really related to me. But it could prove interesting finding out for sure and possibly rewriting part of that Duck history.
“All right,” I agreed finally. “I’ll help you, and you can help me. But we need some ground rules.”
“I don’t take to rules well,” he growled, dark eyes fierce.
“That’s your choice.” I smiled at Shayla. “Any time you want to get rid of him—”
“All right! All right! You made your case.” He paced about one inch above the floor. “Ye drive a hard bargain, girl, and that’s no lie. What do you want of me?”
“You stay out of my private life—no standing around while I’m sleeping or hanging out in the bathroom for any reason with me. You have to keep your distance. And no starting up conversations or making demands while I’m with people who might think I’m crazy talking to you.”
He agreed. “Done and done. You must be my own flesh and blood to be so hard on a man. That must be why ye aren’t wed at such an old age. No man wants you, I warrant.”
I ignored the backhanded compliment. “Deal?”
He spit on his hand and reached it toward me. “Deal—and no going back on it.”
Lucky for me he wasn’t real enough to have spit that I could touch. “Good. You can start by leaving right now and going wherever it is you go when you disappear.”
He frowned and kind of growled at me again, but he disappeared.
“He’s gone,” Shayla said. “Wow! What a spirit! You’re so lucky to have him as an ancestor.”
“Thanks.” I cleaned up my tea spill. “No telling what I just agreed to.”
“Admit it—you’re excited. You love all that old dusty stuff. Look at what you collect here. I know you want to prove your ancestor was wrongly put to death. It’s your kind of thing.”
“You really think he’s related to me and not just saying that so I’ll help him?”
“I think it’s the only thing that could have brought him and held him here. Blood is very powerful. It’s hard for any spirit to get a foothold in our world much less be able to speak to the living. It’s the bond between you that gives him strength. Look how he can follow you around from place to place. That’s very unusual. He’s definitely your ancestor. Don’t you have a family tree or something?”
I remembered hearing something about my grandmother having started work on family records. I wasn’t sure if that was for the O’Donnell or the Bellamy family. I’d have to ask Gramps about it.
“It’s weird thinking I have an ancestor that was a pirate,” I admitted. “I always think of my predecessors as being hardy Duck folk—Bankers who survived by their wits and backbones and who held on to their homes with their fingertips when the storms came.”
She shrugged. “You never know, do you? We don’t get to decide where we come from. I’ve never been able to shake the feeling that Marie Laveau is watching me. Who knows? Maybe I’ll get lucky and she’ll have some urgent need to be avenged.”
Only Shayla would think being haunted by a pirate ghost was a good thing. I asked her to look up information about getting rid of Rafe in case our agreement didn’t work out. I could tell she thought I was crazy not taking full advantage of this opportunity, but I was worried about the potential consequences of having a ghost in my life.
Shayla went back to her shop, and I got out the duster to go over my treasures. I considered what she’d said about Rafe helping me identify things I’d found from his time. I didn’t need his help anyway. And it wasn’t worth having a pirate looking over my shoulder.
How would I know if he was there—even now? What about when I dressed, showered, spent time alone with Kevin? I didn’t want to constantly feel his presence or be the butt of his pirate jokes all my life. He was very good at making fun of me already.
I realized as I finished dusting that something was missing. I couldn’t tell at first what it was. It seemed that something was out of place. Then it came to me.
A small, gold makeup case, its crest set with red and green stones. It had been on the counter when I was speaking to my father. Had he picked it up because it looked valuable? I hated the idea that he’d steal from me.
He was going to be disappointed if money was his motive. The eighteenth-century piece was valuable—but only to the right collector. It had graced the vanity of Lady Suzanne Forester, a wealthy beauty who briefly lived in the Carolinas with her uncle, Lord William Forester.
But the stones weren’t real. The gold was good, but—
I stopped in midthought, hating that I was accusing him in my mind. Gramps had told me so much about him being a shady character—and I knew something about his checkered past from my own research.
But that wasn’t me. I tried never to judge a person without first knowing them.
I knew Shayla didn’t pick it up. I was fairly sure Rafe couldn’t pick it up. But maybe the case had fallen. I’d had it on the counter for a customer who would’ve already purchased it, except for the storm.
I was on my hands and knees looking for the case, fueling my guilt about accusing my father, when Kevin stopped by. He looked exhausted, filthy from working with the cleanup crew in the street.
“I’m on my way home for a shower and some sleep,” he said. “Just wanted to stop by and let you know that the medical examiner is calling Mayor Foxx’s death a murder.”
I got to my fe
et—thinking about what Rafe had said. “If the shed collapsing didn’t kill her, what did?”
“The small-caliber bullet shot at close range into her heart. The ME said whoever did it was standing almost on top of her when it happened.”
“That’s terrible.” Even though I’d seen a gun in my vision and felt Sandi’s fear, I’d really hoped this wouldn’t end up as a murder.
“Yeah. Another death at the Blue Whale.” His smile was tight and not amused. “You think it’s something following me around?”
I didn’t answer—though the similarities of our circumstances struck me. I knew the Blue Whale had a dubious past. This was bad news on so many different levels. I hated to think of Sandi’s two little girls going through a murder trial.
But it was the soft pirate I-told-you-so laughter I heard from close behind me that made me shiver.
Chapter 19
I left Missing Pieces with Kevin—I didn’t want to be alone. My favorite places were suddenly too empty, too likely to be visited by a ghostly pirate. We were going to have to have a word or two about that. I should’ve added “No laughter in the background of conversations” to my list of demands.
Kevin and I talked about the things he’d seen while he was working and the progress the cleanup crews were making. He said he could tell the difference later in the day. There was less debris in the roads and more along the sides.
Traffic was beginning to flow more freely—we had to wait for cars to pass to get across Duck Road. I wasn’t sure where everyone was going, since most of the stores were closed and there was no way off the island. But the drivers seemed intent on being out and pursuing their own agendas.
I wanted to tell Kevin about my ghostly pirate ancestor, but really—how do you say something like that? Even though Kevin was rational about my gift, I didn’t want to find out yet how far I could push his belief in the paranormal. I was having a hard time believing Rafe Masterson’s appearance myself.
We walked back to the Blue Whale, reaching the crushed mermaid fountain (minus the car) as Tim Mabry circled around the drive in his police car.
“Brickman.” Tim nodded at Kevin as he got out of the car. “Dae, I’m afraid I have some bad news.”
Tim was a born storyteller. He’d weave even the most mundane aspects of his everyday life into an hour-long tale. I wasn’t in the mood for it. “We know about the murder,” I said, showing less tolerance than usual.
“Damn! How’d you find out?” he demanded. “I’ve only known for a few minutes.”
“I was there when the ME called Chief Michaels,” Kevin answered. “Sorry.”
Tim hitched up his uniform on his six-foot-six, one-hundred-eighty-pound frame. He ran his hand across his blond flattop and wrinkled his nose the way he’d done it since we were kids. “I might still be one step ahead of you, Brickman.”
“Okay.” Kevin paused. “What’s the other bad news?”
“Chief says everyone is coming back to the Blue Whale—everyone who was here when Mayor Foxx was killed, that is. They have twenty-four hours to get back here and answer questions about where they were and how they felt about the deceased.”
“The bridges must be fixed,” I muttered.
“Not yet—but you didn’t know that, right? They say the bridges will be open and the ferries will be running tomorrow morning. That’s why the chief is giving all the suspects twenty-four hours to get here.”
“The crime scene is a mess,” Kevin said. “What’s the point?”
“In case you haven’t noticed”—Tim looked at me while he was being clever—“we’re not the FBI. We only have a few officers to conduct a murder investigation. We can’t be running around after all those people. Chief says they need to come to us or risk having a bench warrant put out on them.”
“Great,” Kevin replied. “This just gets better and better. I hope the chief has thought about who’s feeding these people while they’re here.”
“I’m sure you’ll be compensated for everything,” I said. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.”
“What about Matthew Wright?” Kevin asked. “I thought everyone was looking at him for this—if it turned out to be foul play.”
“He’ll be here.” Tim put his hand on his gun holster. “If he knows what’s good for him.”
“I thought he was in custody,” I added. “Weren’t you holding him for a while?”
“We could only legally hold him for forty-eight hours, Dae. You know that! Or did you lose track of time?”
“It hasn’t been forty-eight hours,” I argued.
“He convinced a judge that his time at the Blue Whale should be considered. We let him go—but he’ll be here.”
Kevin shrugged. “I’m going to take a shower and get some sleep before the new arrivals get here. I’m sure everything will look better then.”
“Would you like me to make you something to eat?” I offered.
“No, thanks. We were well fed today. Everyone is cooking all their food on their grills and giving the food away before it spoils. Betty Vasquez makes a mean bowl of chili in her cooker.”
“Okay. I’ll talk to you later then.” I glanced around, not sure where to go to find enough company to keep Rafe Masterson at bay.
“You don’t have to leave.” Kevin kissed me and smiled. “You can hang around here. You don’t even have to clean up or anything.”
“No, I should go home and see if Gramps needs any help. Give me a call when you get up—if your cell phone is working.”
He looked at me for a minute longer. Sometimes I felt as though he was the one with the gift. He always seemed to know when something was wrong.
But I was determined to let him rest in peace (no pun intended) while I tried to decide if I should tell him about my ghostly visitor.
“Dae—” Tim began when the door had closed behind Kevin and we were alone.
“Don’t start,” I warned, walking away, hoping Gramps was home.
“What? I was only going to tell you that I’d be glad to drive you home. The mayor of Duck shouldn’t have to walk everywhere she goes.”
“Thanks,” I said grudgingly. “I’d rather walk.”
“What happened between us?” he asked, going where I wished he wouldn’t go.
“We grew up, Tim. We weren’t meant to be together.”
“But you and Brickman are?”
“I don’t know. I only know that you and I aren’t ever going to be romantically involved. You know that too. That’s why you keep trying other people. We just have to move on.”
“My mom still believes we’ll end up together,” he said.
I waved as I walked briskly away. There was no use talking to him when he got this way—usually between girlfriends. I was always “the one” when he wasn’t dating someone else. It was kind of depressing.
So was thinking about Sandi being shot behind the Blue Whale while the rest of us cowered inside, afraid of the storm. I wished I could say I was surprised by the news, but I’d felt it in my bones before Kevin confirmed it.
The killer must have forced her outside—maybe Matthew, maybe someone else. It was probably to use the storm to shield the sound of the pistol. He or she lucked out with the shed collapsing on Sandi and conveniently covering up the crime.
I wished for the millionth time that my visions were more precise. It would’ve been more helpful to have seen the killer’s face than to have seen the gun. Surely Sandi had enemies—everyone in political office did. But there was a big difference between Martha Segall writing down my faults as mayor in her little book and someone dragging Sandi outside the Blue Whale and shooting her.
It seemed so obvious that Matthew Wright was guilty of shooting Sandi. He was there with her—they were lovers who were quarreling over their relationship. He had motive, means (possibly) and opportunity.
But I knew the obvious answer wasn’t always the right answer. How many times had I seen Gramps convinced that he knew what was going on
in a case only to find out he had to go in another direction. Chief Michaels would have to prove Matthew had a .22-caliber pistol and find some way to put him in back of the Blue Whale with her when she died. That probably wasn’t going to be easy.
Halfway home, I decided to turn around and go back to take a look at the collapsed shed and the area around it again. It might not officially be a crime scene yet—they’d just received the medical examiner’s report.
If the police had already roped it off, I’d cross that stream when I got there. Everything I’d heard so far had been secondhand reports. How was I supposed to know that I shouldn’t go back there? That was my story and I was sticking to it.
But there might be something left behind that I could pick up on and give the chief a hand. Not that he’d be happy about it, but I knew he’d take any help he could get. The shed had been such a mess, and finding Sandi dead out there had been a shock. I was bound to have overlooked some potential clues.
I wasn’t born a crime solver. Somehow it had happened to me, kind of like being the mayor. One day, Gramps said I should run. I hadn’t planned for it. I had to learn on the fly—just as I was learning to do more than find lost jewelry.
I saw Town Councilman Mad Dog Wilson on the road coming toward me from the Blue Whale. No doubt he’d been looking over the crime scene. I almost turned back, but he waved and I knew he’d seen me. Too late to escape.
I knew he was going to be trouble. He was looking for any ammunition to use against me in the upcoming election. Sandi’s murder, tragic though it was, wouldn’t be off the table for him. We’d never exactly been friends—he was much older than me. But lately we’d become adversaries.
“Mayor.” He nodded and paused, leaning heavily on his oak walking stick.
Gramps said Randall “Mad Dog” Wilson was a fearless stock car driver in his youth—until a terrible wreck had almost killed him. Hence the nickname—Mad Dog—and the cane.
“Councilman.”
“This is some bad business,” he said. “Bad news for Duck.”