A Spirited Gift mpm-3

by Joyce Lavene

  “I suppose you’ll be decking yourself out in some fine doodads,” he suggested. “You could take a trip around the world. Or you could help yer old dad.”

  “I’m not making any plans yet.” As I said the words, the shovel hit something hard and solid. I couldn’t tell what it was. The horizon was getting light, but not enough yet for me to see by. I could barely make out the shape of the Eleanore where she rode anchor off the island.

  “That must be it,” Rafe said. “I think that means it’s time for me to leave. It’s been grand meeting you, girl. I’m proud to be your relation.”

  “You could at least wait until I bring the treasure up.”

  “I could—but that sunrise can’t wait. Good luck to you.” He looked up toward the pale sky showing at the horizon. He smiled and held out his arms. “Well, look here. It seems you were right. I see my beautiful Mary coming for me. After all these years of being alone.”

  I followed his gaze but couldn’t see anything. When I turned back toward the duck-shaped rock again, he was gone. I sighed, hoping it was as he thought—Mary was coming for him and they would be together again. Then I dug some more until I saw the outline of the old wood chest Rafe had buried here three centuries ago.

  I thought about the mates he’d left here after the treasure was buried, and got a little creeped out. I called Gramps on the radio to let him know that I was all right. “I don’t know if I can pull this chest out of the sand. It’s big and probably waterlogged. Any ideas?”

  “I have a few. Can you hold on until I get back? It shouldn’t take more than an hour each way with the fog gone. I can get some equipment and a few spare hands.”

  “Yeah. That’s fine. It should be completely light by that time, so we’ll be able to see everything. Bring back some coffee and biscuits with you, huh? All this predawn work is making me hungry.”

  I worked for a while longer after I heard the Eleanore’s engines leaving the area. I sat down on the hard, damp sand when I just couldn’t dig anymore. My shoulders ached and my hands burned. Probably blistered, but no one ever said finding treasure was easy.

  It was sunrise—pink and orange streaks running across the sky. I watched a few ships going by and enjoyed the antics of some seagulls. The island was a beautiful place. Who knew pirates and treasure lay buried here? If anyone had known, no doubt the wood chest would’ve been long gone by now.

  I finally heard the Eleanore return. Gramps called to let me know he was back. I had dug enough sand so that the box was visible, but the bottom half was still embedded.

  I wasn’t surprised to see Kevin with Gramps when they brought the second dinghy to the island a short time later. They tied up to the same spot I did and came toward shore with block and tackle and sturdier shovels.

  I kissed Kevin when he handed me a large coffee and two biscuits. “Still warm! You are a wonder.”

  “I have to keep up with you,” he said. “You could’ve told me you were following the pirate ghost out here looking for buried treasure.”

  “I thought you’d had enough to do the last few days. I was going to surprise you.”

  “I’m surprised.” He looked down into the hole I’d dug. “That’s bigger than I expected.”

  Gramps looked at the chest too. “That could hold a lot of gold. Let’s get started.”

  I attached the special rigging Gramps and Kevin had thought up to raise the chest. While I did that, they set up the block and tackle. I figured we might be rich by lunchtime. Maybe there was something to this talking-with-ghosts thing. I wondered why Shayla didn’t make contact with some wealthy ghost who could show her where to find a fortune.

  The wet sand under the chest sucked hard at the wood, making it strain against the rope that was trying to pull out the chest. Twice we had to reset the ropes and repair the block and tackle. But eventually, the island gave up its treasure.

  Rafe’s initials were scratched into the brass lock fixture. I looked at Gramps and Kevin, then hit the lock with a hammer. It fell open and Kevin pushed the top back.

  “Yep.” Gramps pushed his hat back on his head. “That’s about what I expected.”

  “What is it?” Kevin asked. “It doesn’t look like gold coins.”

  “I guess it’s what Rafe thought was most valuable in the world.” I dropped to my knees in front of the chest. Inside was an old sextant, covered in green mold. Beside that was a compass that didn’t seem to be working anymore. There were some brass buttons and a silver knife and fork. And of course, there were three bottles of rum.

  “Honey, I don’t think this will even buy us lunch,” Gramps said. “I hope you aren’t too disappointed.”

  “No. Not at all.” I smiled at him and Kevin. “I’m sure the museum will love to have this. And the whole thing isn’t an adventure I’m going to easily forget.”

  Kevin put his hand on my shoulder. “Let’s at least open the rum. I have some cups. This should be the good stuff.”

  “Sure. Why not?” I passed him a bottle. It took almost as much prying to get the cork out of the bottle as it did to get the trunk out of the sand. I held my cup up for the first taste.

  But when Kevin upended the bottle, small stones poured out and filled my cup. They sparkled in the sunshine.

  “Dae!” Gramps exclaimed. “The bottles are filled with gemstones! Maybe old Rafe knew what he was talking about after all.”

  I let the diamonds, rubies, emeralds and sapphires sift through my fingers, totally amazed. I thought I heard a touch of pirate laughter in the air around us—but that was impossible.

  Chapter 50

  The Duck Police had arrested Marissa and charged her with two counts of murder. I heard that she admitted to being Matthew’s girlfriend—even to killing Sandi at the Blue Whale. But she never admitted to killing Matthew. The police didn’t believe her, given the circumstances surrounding the crime.

  People in Duck were satisfied that the killer had been caught—especially so since she wasn’t technically from the area. They felt the entire incident was an outsider kind of thing that wouldn’t have happened if Marissa hadn’t moved to Duck.

  I found the courage to invite Danny to the house for dinner one night. Gramps made stew and biscuits, and I made a cranberry apple pie.

  Gramps was civil to Danny, if not warm and cordial. When dinner was over, Gramps took his coffee out on the back porch. I noticed he’d left the door open—the better to hear what we were saying.

  There was only one thing on my mind. I told Danny that he was my father. I explained everything I knew about how I’d come to be born, and showed him a few baby pictures.

  He seemed pleased. He jumped up and hugged me. We laughed as we looked at the old baby pictures and cried when we looked at pictures of my mom. I returned the smooth stone I’d found outside his van the night of the accident.

  “Why didn’t she call me?” he wondered. “Why didn’t she let me know?”

  The screen door squeaked open and closed. Gramps said, “It was me. It was my fault. I thought she’d be better off without you. Her mother was sick at the time. She died before Dae was born. I guess I didn’t want to lose Jean too. I’m sorry, son.”

  Gramps held out his hand to Danny. For a minute it was touch and go. Would Danny accept this act of friendship after Gramps’s admission and the passage of all these years? But he finally put out his hand and they both smiled. There was no hugging—not that I expected any.

  I told Kevin about it. He didn’t seem as pleased as I’d thought he’d be. He didn’t say anything bad about it, or about Danny, but his silence said something about his thoughts on the matter. I didn’t pursue it. Danny would be around from now on—a part of my life. The two of them would be all right.

  Jamie and Phil reopened The Coffee House and Bookstore. We had a big celebration lunch for them at Wild Stallions. Then about twenty of us trooped down the boardwalk for a ribbon-cutting ceremony.

  Nancy took lots of pictures as I cut the red ribbon with J
amie and Phil at my side. I was wearing the new necklace, bracelet and matching earrings made from the gemstones Rafe had left me. The federal government kept most of the gems, but I’d managed to put a few into the Duck Historical Museum coffer too.

  We shook hands all around and went inside the coffee shop for the rest of the celebration. The event wouldn’t make the nightly TV news or even a mention in the paper, but it was fun and a good opportunity to bring the community together.

  We were all standing around, congratulating ourselves at being able to drink lattes and espressos and order books from a local retailer. Kevin was at my side with his arm around my waist. He was wearing the new blue sweater I’d bought him as a thank-you for all his help.

  I saw the woman start moving through the crowd as soon as she came in the door. She was tall and gaunt. Her face was pale, no animation under the straw-colored hair.

  “Kevin,” she said when she’d reached us. She put her hand on his arm and smiled. “I’m so glad I found you. I’ve missed you so much.”

  His smile faded when he saw her, though he finally managed to cover his shock with a pleasant expression.

  I knew that look—it was one you use to hide your true feelings.

  “Ann!” Surprised was a mild way to describe how he sounded. “When did you get here?”

  “Today. Can we go somewhere and talk?” She glared at me. “Alone.”

  “Of course.” He looked at me. “Dae, this is Ann Porter, my partner when I was with the FBI. Ann, this is Mayor Dae O’Donnell.”

  I shook her hand and smiled despite the cold feeling of foreboding that overtook me. He hadn’t introduced me as his girlfriend. Maybe it was just too awkward right now. I knew he’d never expected to see her again.

  I was glad that I was still wearing my gloves when I touched her. There were stories in her dark eyes I hoped never to experience from her touch.

  “Hello, Dae,” she said. “I’m Ann—Kevin’s fiancée.”

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 9e6df1de-9686-4e64-9938-09698a22bfdb

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 14.9.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.67, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software

  Document authors :

  Joyce Lavene

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