A Touch of Gold mpm-2

by Joyce Lavene

  “I take that to mean you aren’t going to tell Chief Michaels about this latest vision?”

  “I’d like to tell him,” I reasoned. “But Brad made me realize that they don’t have any idea what’s going on. I don’t believe he talked to me without kicking the idea around with the chief either. Anything I say to them, especially if I’m right, could be evidence that I’m guilty, at least in their minds.”

  “I don’t think so. To begin with, just because they’re working together doesn’t mean the chief and Spitzer discussed this at all. That’s kind of the way it works. Everybody wants to look good by coming up with the right answers for themselves. Spitzer doesn’t know you—the chief does. I’m betting he’d listen to what you have to say.”

  “You’re right on that part. I never saw Brad before the museum fire. Just because we all live on the Outer Banks doesn’t mean we all know each other.”

  “I still think you should tell the chief and give him a chance to have some input.”

  “And I still don’t want to tell him.”

  “What did your grandfather say about it when you told him you weren’t going to share this new information with Chief Michaels?”

  “I didn’t exactly tell him that part,” I said. “I thought it might be better not to tell him I wanted to investigate it myself.”

  “I see.” He didn’t look happy about it.

  “If you’re uncomfortable—”

  “I am. You should be too. I know you’ve uncovered information through unorthodox means, but the chief seems like he’s willing to work with that. Why not take a chance on him?”

  I was disappointed with his response. He was a lot like Gramps—a little too on the side of law enforcement to be able to see outside the box. I realized I might have to go this one alone.

  “Dae?”

  “Sorry. I was thinking it over. Maybe if I can find one more physical clue I could turn it over to him. If I had the fisherman Max went out with, it might be different.”

  “I don’t know how you’ll find him. Holding hands with every fisherman in Duck shouldn’t be an option. And if I understand how it works, you’d only be able to help him find any lost items he was looking for.”

  “Or I could touch every boat.” I wished his point weren’t so valid. “But how will the chief find him? There are hundreds of fishermen who go in and out of here all the time. He might not even be from Duck.”

  “That’s true,” Kevin agreed. “Is that all Agnes knew about him?”

  “She knew what bar they’d met at, but that was five years ago. He might not frequent that place anymore. I don’t think she’d recognize him.”

  “The chief could check to see if any gold was stolen about the time Max got the windfall. It would make sense that a thief might give him a small amount to keep him quiet.”

  I got up from the sofa to stand in front of the massive fireplace. “Why not just kill him right away? Why give him a bunch of gold for his wife’s surgery, then threaten him for years? It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “I know you have questions about why your friend died,” Kevin said. “I know you want to do this by yourself. I understand that urge, and I know I’ve been a bad influence helping you. I should’ve just asked you out to begin with.”

  He got up and stood close to me, his gray-blue eyes very intent on mine. “But this could be dangerous, Dae, as well as illegal. I don’t know how else to say it to keep you out of the situation.”

  I wanted to argue with him, but I could see it was a losing battle. I wanted to find Max’s killer. I wanted to understand why these awful events had happened. I wasn’t afraid of any consequences from the police, even though I was already on Brad’s radar.

  I hated to do it—I had no choice but to lie to Kevin. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I didn’t do all I could to help. “Okay. You win. I’ll tell Chief Michaels in the morning. Happy?”

  “Only if you tell him everything, not the abbreviated version you told your grandfather. I’ll go with you if you want me to.”

  “I’ll be fine, thanks. I hope this is the right thing to do.” And by that I mean lying to you and leaving you out of what needs to be done.

  “It will be.” He paused. “Are you up for a walk on the beach?”

  “That sounds perfect. We should have a good view of the lighthouse lamps tonight.”

  “Good. You can point them out.”

  I really meant to do something about talking to Chief Michaels by Monday morning. Sunday came and went with no opportunity presenting itself. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough because my heart wasn’t in it. I wasn’t sure what I was going to say to him anyway that would make Kevin feel better while still advancing my cause.

  So Monday morning I went out early and left my cell phone at home. I had a feeling Kevin might try to call me and ask how my meeting with the chief went. What would I say?

  It gave me a very small window to prove my theory before I’d have to either tell Kevin the truth—that I’d lied to him—or tell the chief about the man who may have killed Max.

  Not wanting to do either of those things, I left Gramps a note saying that I was busy at the shop for the day. I didn’t really have any idea what I should do, but I set out for the docks.

  It was a foggy morning, which meant the fishermen would be hanging around waiting for the weather to clear. I had no idea how I was going to tell one fisherman from another or which of them knew Max. I thought if I hung around I might get lucky.

  If the fisherman was the same man who went out on the Segway with Sam, he might be wearing the odd ring I’d seen in my vision. I was betting those things went together. It wasn’t a coincidence that Sam was dead too. Whatever Max was into had doomed Sam as well.

  The docks had once been an infamous place where pirates and other nefarious gentlemen spent time with women of ill repute. Residents foolish enough to venture here might end up serving a captain of a pirate vessel or find themselves doing a gallows jig.

  Now the docks were more a tourist area. At one time they had provided the people of Duck with a livelihood from fishing. Now it was more dinner cruises and charter boats. But fishermen still went out, and their catch went to hotels and restaurants whose patrons demanded fresh fish.

  The boats were all moored along the piers waiting for the sun to burn away the fog. Their captains and crews sat at the quayside drinking coffee from thermoses or hanging out at the few remaining bars. These places still served rum and beer, but they also made a pretty good breakfast and were known for their steaks and seafood. The tourist trade kept everything clean and open. There was money to be made by providing what visitors needed.

  I looked carefully at the boats, especially the ones that seemed seaworthy enough to go a little further from shore. I knew there were islands off the coast of the Outer Banks where few tourists ever roamed. Most of these were owned by wealthy individuals or the government. It seemed likely to me that one of these would have been Max’s destination where he met his wealthy benefactor.

  I put out my hand to touch the first one and brought it back before it got close enough to the bow. I’d lost my courage after Saturday’s incident. Maybe I could tell something from the boats, but I couldn’t work myself up to it. I wasn’t back to wearing gloves, but I needed to be cautious. I wouldn’t do Max any good if I couldn’t control what happened to me when I saw something.

  I sat down on one of the benches next to a group of boats. It was cool in the ghostly fog. Icy crystals lodged themselves on windows and the flat surfaces of hulls. The names of the boats were colorful—White Wave, Jezebel, Ocean Sprite and Better Luck Next Time.

  I saw Gramps’s boat—the Eleanore—named for my grandmother. She was a sleek, twenty-two-foot charter boat with a few berths in the stern and a sturdy hull that had seen her through many storms over the years. She could raise sail or slice quickly through the water using her powerful built-in engine.

  I had many happy memories of being onboard
the Eleanore . We’d had birthday parties with dolphins swimming nearby and beautiful sunsets for the Fourth of July. I hadn’t been out on the boat for a long time. Gramps frequently asked me to go out with him, but it never seemed like there was enough time.

  Realizing Gramps could be here somewhere hanging out with his friends and waiting to take a charter out made me doubly cautious. He’d be a lot harder to explain to than Kevin. If he’d been with Kevin and me at the inn last night, he would have seen right through my sudden willingness to share information with Chief Michaels. I might be able to keep information from him, but I could never lie to him.

  I resolved to touch every boat at the docks, if necessary, until I could find the right one. Obviously I couldn’t spend time in the bars and risk seeing Gramps, so this seemed like the only way.

  I had just steeled myself for the first touch, choosing the Jezebel as my first victim, when a swirl of fog moved away from another boat further down the pier. It was named Golden Day. How could I resist? The name was like a sign from the heavens that this was the right boat.

  I looked around a little first. It was a few feet longer than Gramps’s boat and definitely in better condition. It was probably a lot more expensive too.

  I didn’t see anyone. I decided to take my chances and stepped onboard. I laid my hand down flat on the deck, but before any image could form, a strong hand pushed me from behind and I tumbled down the stairs into the living quarters. Before I could get back on my feet, the door from above was closed. I heard the sound of a dead bolt scraping into place.

  “Hey! Let me out!” I pounded on the door, but there was no response.

  Before I could draw another breath to scream for help, the boat’s powerful engine started, blocking out any sound I could make. Within the next two minutes, the boat was leaving the docks and heading out to sea.

  Chapter 16

  I paced the confined space inside the boat. It was luxuriously appointed with carpet on the floor and expensive fixtures, including brass-rimmed portals. Everything anyone could want was available in a tiny format. Except for the one thing I wanted—something I could use as a weapon.

  I found radio equipment, but it was all turned off, with no way to power it up from here. Maybe kidnapping people was a normal activity for the boat. Of course, I’d left my cell phone at home. Who knew whether it would have had a signal, but I didn’t even have the opportunity to find out. Guess that’s what happens when you try to shirk your responsibilities. It wasn’t like Kevin hadn’t warned me.

  It seemed that I’d found the right boat on my first try, but now I wished I’d been wrong. Of all the boats to choose from, I had to choose the murderous, kidnapping boat. Sometimes I’m lucky that way.

  I sat down on one of the silk-bedspread-covered bunks and listened to the throbbing sound of the engine while I watched the shore slip farther away. Investigating was dangerous. Kevin was right. Gramps too. It was best left to the professionals—well-armed professionals.

  What am I going to do now? No psychic ability will get me out of here in one piece. Maybe I could pretend I don’t know anything. It’s all a mistake.

  I tried to clear my mind—to think about a plan that could help me be ready when the pilot finally opened the door to let me out. It would probably be the only opportunity I’d have to surprise him and get away. I had to be ready for it.

  My gaze fell on the fire extinguisher. That was a possibility. I could use it to shoot foam at him and then hit him in the head. Even if he was blocking the stairs, I could run out over the top of him. I took the extinguisher down from the wall, ignoring the vision of it being filled, packed and shipped.

  I also found several steak knives in the galley—they looked like weapons to me. I’d have to be pretty close to use one since knife throwing wasn’t one of my talents. The knives echoed with good times people had enjoyed onboard the Golden Day—laughing and eating dinner with friends.

  In fact, everything I touched on the boat had the same happy feelings. There had been parties here, good times fishing and people jumping off the sides of the boat to go swimming. Probably the same things I’d feel from the Eleanore if I touched her. It would have all my memories of the past.

  But, I reminded myself before I got lost in those pleasant visions, that didn’t mean the man who owned the boat hadn’t killed Max.

  Stay focused. Be ready for the door to open. You have to be sharp if you want to stay alive. This may seem like a pleasure cruise, but you’re a prisoner.

  I tried to imagine all the things Kevin would do in my position. Did FBI agents go to strategy sessions for coping with various scenarios? They were probably trained to use everything as a weapon. But try as I might, I couldn’t think of any way to use a pillow, a coffee mug or a box of paper towels as weapons. Would a pillow block a bullet if the pilot had a gun?

  There was no one to ask.

  I stood at the door for a long time, ready to fight my way out. After about thirty minutes of the door not opening, I gave up and sat down. But I kept the fire extinguisher and knives close at hand. I also confiscated a box of candles and a lighter that I thought might be useful. There were a few sandwiches and some pickles in the mini-fridge, but I wasn’t hungry.

  The pleasant, happy, vacation feelings of the boat surrounded me, almost cocooning me from the reality of my situation. Like the terrible feelings I’d experienced while holding the African hand mirror, these were just as overwhelming. The only difference was being on the boat was like spending a warm summer day on the sound.

  It would be easy to imagine Gramps being at the helm while we headed out to explore the shoreline going toward Kitty Hawk. We’d done it all the time when I was a kid. He’d tell me all the old pirate stories and show me the places where treasure was supposed to be buried. He knew all the legends and tall tales the Bankers could tell.

  In the midst of thinking back on my childhood, part of my mind noticed that the engine had stopped. That tiny fraction of sanity kept pushing at the edges of my memories until all of me was duly alerted. I jumped up with my extinguisher in hand—knives in my pockets.

  It occurred to me, as I waited nervously for my assailant to arrive, that I had never stabbed, shot or hit someone in the head with a metal cylinder in my life. I urged myself to be tough, remember what was at stake. There wasn’t anyone else here to fight for me. Either I’d get myself out of this spot or possibly end my days washing up on the shore like Sam Meacham.

  I heard the pilot’s footsteps as he left the helm. I hadn’t heard the anchor splash into the water so I had to assume we were about to be tied up at a pier. There could be others waiting on shore. But first I had to get past the man who’d thrown me in here.

  The dead bolt slid away from the door. My muscles tensed, and I felt a little like throwing up. What if I couldn’t hit him hard enough? What if I got away from him but someone else shot me as I ran off the boat?

  The door began to open. I broke the seal on the extinguisher. I might not be a trained assassin, but Gramps had showed me how to use one of these when I was a child. Would I ever see him again?

  As the door swung open, I waited impatiently for the man to appear. I had to wait for just the right moment to spray him or he’d just back away from the foam. I went over and over it in my mind—shoot the foam in his eyes, hit him with the metal cylinder, get off the boat.

  He helped me, actually, by leaning his head in the doorway before he walked down the stairs. “You okay down here, girlie? I ain’t heard a peep—”

  I didn’t wait to hear any more. I held the nozzle out and pressed the lever, releasing a cloud of heavy white foam into his face. He put up his hands to try and shield his eyes, and I saw the strange green-blue stone—the same one I’d seen in the vision with Sam. I realized then that I really was fighting for my life.

  As he moved to protect himself, I hit him with the cylinder. He yelled and fell down the stairs to land at my feet. With a cry of victory, I jumped on top of him and
ran up into the sunlight.

  I was thrilled to be free and that my plan had worked so well. Maybe I was better at this than I’d thought. Still, I had the presence of mind to close the doors and lock them before I went up on deck.

  It occurred to me that getting off the boat might not be the smartest thing to do. I took a quick look around, assessing the dock where the boat was tied.

  There were several young men on the dock next to the boat. None of them seemed to be paying much attention to what was going on. I kept my head down so they wouldn’t notice me. Obviously, I would be hard-pressed to get the boat started without one of them realizing there was a problem and jumping onboard.

  On the other hand, I had no chance of getting past them to some sort of freedom—a place with a phone. Again, the men were bound to stop me.

  The pilot I’d closed in downstairs wasn’t as quiet as he’d found me to be. He was already yelling and pounding on the door. It wouldn’t be long before they’d hear him. How was I going to get myself out of this situation?

  There was only one answer. I had to swim away from the boat before anyone heard my captive or realized that I was here. I knew the water was cold, and I had no idea how far I’d have to go to find safety. I glanced at the horizon and saw nothing but ocean. It appeared I’d been right about the boat going to one of the outer islands. Not a great time to be right.

  I grabbed a snorkel and mask from the equipment locker near the helm. I also took a wrist compass to keep track of where I was going. I had to stay close to shore and look for help. Swimming out into the Atlantic with no land or boat in sight could be suicide. I didn’t plan to help them kill me.

  Taking a deep breath, I kicked off my shoes and jumped away from the boat. An instant before I hit the water, I heard a smashing sound and knew the pilot had found a way out of his prison that I hadn’t thought of. Lucky thing I was gone.

  I was right about the water. It was freezing. Not that I hadn’t gone swimming in the sound many times when it was that cold. But I was a kid then—adult bodies are more sensitive. The cold water closed over me and almost took my breath away. Only years of swimming and my training as a lifeguard kept me focused on breathing through the snorkel and kicking my feet to get away from the boat.