by John Locke
They shuffled me out to a police van and closed the door. The deputy who hadn’t laughed at me in the diner climbed behind the wheel, and the Sheriff rode shotgun.
Literally.
They took me south on A1A, a few miles past Amelia Island Plantation, and turned into the scrub area surrounding a gravel road that had been virtually invisible from the highway. The car slowed and dipped and I noticed a sign that said, “Site of the Little River Crossing, 1684 – 1758.” Just as quickly, the front of the car raised and I guessed we’d crossed the river that used to be there.
No one was talking, but I wanted to plant a seed in their heads. I said, “Killing me might prove harder than you think.”
They remained silent and stared straight ahead as they drove through the thickets and pine knobs. When they got to the base of a huge sand dune, the deputy put the wagon in park and the Sheriff turned around in his seat and looked at me.
“We got a problem,” he said.
“Want to talk it out?” I said.
The Sheriff was a balding man, barrel-chested, powerfully built. He had pale blue eyes and looked like he might have wrestled in college.
“How much do you know about the history of St. Alban’s?” he said.
“Depends on how far back you want to go.”
“Tell me what you think happened here three hundred years ago.”
“Ah,” I said.
Chapter 25
EVERYTHING I KNEW about what happened in St. Alban’s three hundred years ago came from thirty minutes of online research. But it was enough to get me cuffed and shackled and locked in the back of a bullet-proof paddy wagon guarded by two shotgun-wielding law enforcement officers.
“From what I understand,” I said, “Gentleman Jack Hawley, the pirate, used to terrorize these shores in the early 1700’s. He traveled with fifty men, seasoned fighters all, and had a sort of gentleman’s agreement with the town of St. Albans.”
I waited for the Sheriff to acknowledge me. “Go on,” he said.
“Hawley and his men agreed that whenever they came to St. Alban’s, they would confine their activities to the one-block area surrounding the saloon. That area included a blacksmith, a leather shop, a clothing store, three whore houses, two restaurants and a hotel.”
“It did?”
I laughed. “How the hell do I know?”
The deputy laughed. “Sounded like you knew,” he said.
“Why don’t we go outside, sit on one of the sand dunes while I tell the story,” I said, innocently.
“This is fine right here,” the Sheriff said. “Keep talking.”
“It makes sense there’d be whore houses and restaurants and a place to sleep,” the deputy said.
“Percy,” the Sheriff said. “Pipe down and let Creed tell his story.”
Percy nodded. I said, “In return for not looting the town or harassing their womenfolk, the people of St. Alban’s gave Hawley and his men refuge from the Governor of Florida and the British Navy.”
“And then one day,” the Sheriff prodded.
“And then one day the governor of Florida offered a reward: one hundred pounds for the capture of Jack Hawley, and twenty pounds for each of his men. The people of St. Alban’s conspired to capture Hawley and his crew while they were on shore leave and claim the reward. They enlisted the help of some soldiers from Amelia Island, but Hawley somehow learned about the scheme, and quelled the land attack. Then his ship was attacked at sea by the governor’s navy, but Hawley’s crew defeated them as well. After the battle, Hawley pointed his cannons at the town of St. Alban’s and threatened to decimate it”
“Those were our forefathers,” Percy said, and the Sheriff nodded. We all sat quiet for a few minutes, putting ourselves back in time. Finally the Sheriff said, “You know the rest? Why Hawley spared the town?”
“I know the legend,” I said. “A teenager named Abby Winter offered to give herself to Hawley if he agreed to spare the town.”
“Prettiest girl in town,” Percy said.
Sheriff said, “And he took her up on it.”
I said, “Hawley kept his word, and that’s how he got the name Gentleman Jack Hawley.”
Sheriff said, “I think he got the name because of the gentleman’s agreement he had with the town before that incident.”
I said, “Well, whatever.”
The Sheriff said, “The point is, the town carried the guilt of Abby’s sacrifice for the next three hundred years.”
“Three hundred years of bad luck,” Percy added.
“Which brings us to present day,” I said.
“Which is why we’re sitting in the scrub with a major problem,” the Sheriff said. “Any idea what that problem might be?”
“I’ve got a good idea,” I said.
“Thought you might. But let’s hear you say it.”
“I think the people of St. Alban’s decided to change their luck about a year ago.”
“How’s that?” Percy said.
“A girl named Libby Vail happened to mention on TV that she was a direct descendent of Jack Hawley the pirate. Someone in St. Alban’s heard about it, captured her, and a large part of the town is keeping her prisoner somewhere and using her disappearance to boost tourism.”
“Well, that ain’t exactly true,” Percy said. He waited to see if his boss would shush him, but the Sheriff seemed lost in his thoughts. Percy added, “The thing is, the town was cursed. Hawley cursed the town, and it required the blood of his blood to reverse the curse. The tourism thing is just a side benefit.”
“So you would have kidnapped her anyway?”
“Those that did would have.”
“And you support it.”
“Wouldn’t expect you to understand,” Percy said.
“Is the whole town in on it?”
The sheriff said, “The descendants are. Percy and I are descendants. The other deputies don’t know.”
“What about the gang bangers in the diner?”
“They aren’t our blood.”
“Then why were you working with them?”
Percy laughed. “We aren’t working with them. We were protecting them. From you!”
I looked at the Sheriff. “You know who I am?”
“Ran a check on you.”
“You found me through a police check?”
“Not exactly. When we ran the check a guy named Darwin got in touch.”
I smiled. Darwin is my Homeland Security boss, my facilitator.
The Sheriff continued. “According to Darwin, you could buy this whole town. Or kill it, if you wanted to.”
“And you believe him?”
“Got no reason to believe him, or not to. And don’t care to find out either way.”
“How many of you are descendants?”
The Sheriff and Percy looked at each other. Sheriff said, “What, eighty?”
“Maybe eighty,” Percy said.
“And you’re keeping her in the old church on the corner of Eighth and A1A?”
They looked at each other again. “Told you he knew,” the Sheriff said.
“How do you keep her quiet during the church services,” I said. “Drug her?”
“What? Are you nuts? What kind of man would drug a young woman?”
A guy like me, I thought, since I planned to drug Rachel that very night if I survived.
“Can I ask you something?” I said.
The Sheriff shrugged. “Don’t see what difference it makes at this point.”
“I’ve noticed a disproportionate number of people in town are almost insanely happy, including you guys. Why’s that?”
“We’re grateful for Libby’s sacrifice.”
“Sacrifice?”
“Uh huh.”
“Are you kidding me? Abby Winter made a sacrifice. Libby Vail was kidnapped. Hell of a difference!”
The Sheriff gave me a curious look. “You think we’re forcing her to stay?”
“Aren’t you?”
CONVINCED I WASN’T going to kill them, Percy removed my chains. Convinced they were going to remove my chains, I decided not to kill them.
The Sheriff put his shotgun down and said, “Libby’s not our prisoner, but there is a conspiracy of sorts.”
He paused as if trying to find the best words.
“A bunch of us—the descendants—are helping her hide here.”
“So eighty people are working together?”
“Maybe eighty.”
“And you’ve managed to keep it a secret this whole time?”
“Till you showed up.”
“How’s it possible for that many people to keep a secret?”
“We’re all related.”
“What’s she up to, that requires such secrecy?”
The Sheriff and Percy exchanged a look.
I dove in. “It’s the healing power, isn’t it?”
Percy said, “Told you he knew. That’s why he was at the church, trying to talk to the elders.”
I said, “I felt something myself and was trying to find out what it was. These old people were like statues at first, and then they started moving around. There were two guys in the van watching them. The driver made a phone call and you showed up in seconds. How’d you get there so fast?”
“We were already nearby, north on A1A.”
“Guarding Libby?”
“Guarding her secret and making sure the elders got to her safely. We sometimes help with the driving.”
“Tell me about the elders,” I said.
“Libby’s not a healer,” the Sheriff said, “but she has the power to make people feel better. We’re her people, and she’s our blood. Of the roughly eighty descendants, there are fifteen or twenty older ones. Some are sick, some arthritic. When she’s at the church, if we think it’s safe, we bring them to see her. If we’re not sure, we bring them to the church yard so they can be close enough for her to ease their pain.”
“And you believe this.”
“Doesn’t matter if I believe it.”
“Why’s that?”
“’Cause you do.”
Ignoring him, I said, “And where does Beth fit into all this?”
“Beth is one of us.”
“Why hasn’t she had any luck?”
“Luck?”
“Well, it seems the whole town is prospering, but Beth’s husband died, she’s losing money, her B&B’s falling apart…”
“Libby doesn’t bring good luck, she attracts good people.”
I thought about that a minute.
“Like Dr. Carstairs?”
“Surely you’ve wondered how a rinky dink town like ours could land a nationally respected medical guy like Carstairs.”
“You don’t think his coming here had anything to do with the climate, the beaches, the friendly people, the desire to do something simple but meaningful?”
“You tell me.”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re a six billion dollar caretaker and part-time cook. Your girlfriend’s a twenty-five million dollar waitress. You telling me you folks always had a desire to do something simple but meaningful before you visited our little town?”
“So you think Libby Vail summoned us?”
“Nope.”
“Then what?”
“She summoned you.”
“What, Beth couldn’t find her own cook and caretaker locally?”
Percy laughed. “He just don’t get it, does he?”
“Get what?” I said.
“Libby summoned you for Beth.”
“You mean—”
“You’re going to marry Beth.”
I laughed. “You’re insane!”
“Maybe.”
“I’m with Rachel.”
“Uh huh.”
“Beth and I haven’t exchanged fifty words together.”
“Not yet.”
“Well, if she’s got a thing for me, why hasn’t she said so?”
“Wouldn’t be proper, long as you’ve got a girlfriend.”
“This whole thing is crazy. I’m not even attracted to Beth in that way.”
“Libby won’t let you feel it till the time is right.”
“So you’re saying that the reason Beth’s good fortune lagged behind the town’s is that she was waiting on me to show up?”
“She probably didn’t know it was you at first, but when you agreed to take care of the B&B she probably figured it out.”
“So Libby’s not only got the power to ease people’s pain, she’s also a matchmaker?”
“Ain’t it the same thing?”
Chapter 27
THE SHERIFF CALLED Beth and told her I knew all about Libby. I couldn’t hear her part of the conversation, but his included “It’s not your fault,” and “No, it’s okay,” and “I don’t see that we have any other choice but to trust him,” and “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to take him,” and “right.”
When he hung up I asked him what that was all about.
“Beth is going to take you to see Libby, so you can see for yourself that everything’s okay.”
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“What about Rachel?”
“We’d prefer to keep a lid on this, as long as Libby’s willing to stay in town.”
“I’ve mentioned my theories to Rachel.”
“She believe you?”
“She thinks I’m nuts.”
“Well then, it’s your call, but if Rachel doesn’t need to know...”
I saw where this was going.
“You’re hoping I’ll see Libby, realize she’s here of her own free will, put the whole thing behind me and keep my mouth shut.”
“I’m counting on it.”
“And if I don’t?”
The Sheriff sighed. “We’re peaceful, small town people. We don’t make threats or kill people who get in our way. When Curly Bradford couldn’t get me to run you out of town, he did a stupid thing and called the only violent people he knew.”
“And you stepped in and saved their lives,” I said.
“Part of my job description,” he said.
“To protect and serve?”
We both smiled. I liked the Sheriff, liked Percy, too. But I wasn’t going to allow the town to hold a girl hostage. I’d been through this before. A few years back my best friend captured a girl and kept her locked up in his safe room for three years. He did it out of love, and the fear of losing her forever. But I couldn’t let that continue, either.
The Sheriff said, “Libby has the power to help people and wants to. And you have the power to take her away from us, get us in a heap of trouble with the FBI, and make our town a laughing stock. So yes, I’m hoping she’ll be able to convince you to help us.”
“Help you keep her secret?”
“Help us protect her.”
“And hide her?”
“That too.”
Percy drove us to The Seaside, where I found Rachel pacing the porch waiting for me. But when she saw me enter the driveway with the police she didn’t run over and hug me as I would have expected. Instead, she stared wide-eyed at the Sheriff and Percy until they were out of sight. Crazy as it sounds, I had the distinct feeling she thought we might have come to arrest her for something. Of course, with Rachel you never know what’s going on in her mind. She might have been thinking about Easter Eggs.
“I heard they arrested you!” she said. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there to pick you up!”
“It’s okay.”
“What did they do to you? Why didn’t you call?”
“Come inside, I’ll tell you everything.”
The Sheriff had already called Beth, so she and I sat down with Rachel. We’d gotten about halfway through the explanation when The Seaside’s phone rang. Beth took the call and after a few seconds, passed it off to me. I listened for a minute, asked a few questions, listened some more, and then hung up.
&nb
sp; Rachel said, “Who was that?”
“Dr. Carstairs. He called about D’Augie.”
Rachel jumped to her feet. It was interesting to watch how her eyes lit up. “How is he?”
“He’s dead.”
Rachel’s knees buckled. She made an attempt to grab the arm of the love seat, but missed. She hit the floor before I could get to her.
“I’ll get a wet cloth and smelling salts,” Beth said, moving out of the room quickly.
I got Rachel up on the couch and elevated her torso. The salts worked. Beth handed me the towel, and I dabbed at Rachel’s face. When she came to she began flailing. It took a minute, then she was better.
“Is it true?” she sobbed. “D’Augie’s dead?”
“I’m sorry. I know you liked him.”
“What happened?”
“They’re not sure. He may have had a reaction to the antibiotic they administered for the burns. They never got a proper medical history on him, so they had no way of knowing.”
“Oh, my God!” she wailed. “Poor D’Augie.” She was inconsolable. So much so that I began to wonder if her interest in him could have been more than casual. On the other hand, her initial reaction was bogus. I’d seen enough fainters in my life to know that Rachel was faking it. But why?
Under normal circumstances I would have stayed home to help her work through her grief. But I had a date with Beth that couldn’t wait, so I gave Rachel a double sedative and tucked her in for the night.
It crossed my mind that I could be walking into an ambush at the church. But it didn’t feel like one, because Beth would be with me, and surely the Sheriff knew how easily I could turn things around by putting a knife to her neck if I needed to get away. While I didn’t think it was an ambush, I didn’t know what I might encounter when I got there, so I took the time to hide some light weapons and tools in my warm up jacket and pants. I opened my little leather kit, the one where I stored various tools of my trade, such as syringes and opiates and poisons and…
And noticed a vial was missing.
I shook Rachel until she opened her eyes. “Wh-What?” she stammered, deep in a fog.
I held the kit in front of her face and made her focus on it. “Rachel, listen to me. There was a small vial in here that I told you never to touch. It’s one of the deadliest poisons in the world.” I shook her again. “Rachel!” I said, and slapped her across the face. Her eyes opened to about half-mast and a crooked smile formed on her lips. When she spoke her voice had a sing-song lilt to it.
