THE GHOST SHIP

by Gerrie Ferris Finger

  Spence thought it was funny. Officer Johnson did, too, but Ann sensed Rod's increasing hostility.

  Officer Johnson said, “If you folks don't have any more questions, then I'll be on my way.”

  “What time's the hearing?” Ann asked.

  “It's changed 'til in the morning at nine,” he answered.

  Ann asked, “What if the museum doesn't press charges.”

  He shook his head. “Doesn't mean he didn't break into it. It's a public place. The judge will decide whether or not to go forward with any charges. See you folks,” he said, and walked out the door.

  Rod said, “I'm ready, Spence.”

  Ann moved toward Rod. “I'd like to talk a minute.”

  He stayed immobile for a few seconds, then said, “Sure. Outside.” He pushed past Missi like she wasn't there and headed for the door.

  Ann turned to Spence. “What's the point of lying to Rod?”

  Spence's face reddened. “Lying? You calling me a liar?”

  “You told Missi about the whale. Rod knows it. I told him days ago go about your and Missi's affair.”

  Spence's anger flared, reddening his face, filling the room with light like in The Pub. The light suddenly dimmed, and she heard frantic cries and water splashing. Looking from Missi to Spence, an overwhelming doom came over her.

  “What the fuck …” Spence said.

  “She's going to faint,” Missi said in twenty slow syllables.

  Their hands grasped her and backed her into a chair. “Put her head between her knees,” Missi said.

  “No,” she gasped. “Leave …” She struggled to breath. “Alone.”

  “Should we call an ambulance?” Missi asked.

  She managed to hold up a hand. “Just, please, I'm all right.”

  “You want some water?” Spence asked.

  “No water.”

  The smell of sour mud came into her nose, but the light in the room returned to normal. Her vision cleared, and the splashing of water drained away.

  “What happened, sugah?” Missi said, running her hand down the strands of Ann's back hair.

  Swallowing, Ann said, “Nothing. I'm all right.”

  Missi cooed. “This has just been way too much for you, Ann Gavrion. Just you wait until your mama and daddy get up here. They'll see to you, and you need to listen, sugah. Your mama and daddy want to take care of you.”

  “Go away. Go back to your celebrity gossip and leave me alone.”

  “I'm not writin' near what I know, sugah, I want you to know that.”

  “Thanks.” She looked at Spence, who offered his hand. She took it and stood. Was Spence's hand clammy, or was it hers?

  Spence said, “Better get going. Roddy gets impatient, 'specially the mood he's in.”

  “Real pissy, seems to me,” Missi said.

  “Do you blame him?” Ann said.

  “I never blame anybody for anything, sugah, you know that.”

  The three of them walked outside, but Missi and Spence hung back just outside the station door. Yards away, Rod leaned against a rail with his arms folded across his chest. When she approached him, he nodded. She kept a little distance between them. “Do you have some time?”

  “What's wrong?”

  “I’m not quite sure.”

  “You look like you've seen a ghost.” Was he being a smart mouth? The corner of his upper lip twitched, but his eyes were soft and weary. At least she wasn't the only weary one here. He asked, “Time for what?”

  “We need to talk.”

  “Ann …”

  “I – something's in my mind, something that needs to come out.”

  “Looking for another ghost?”

  “No, not a ghost, something worse.”

  “Ann …”

  “I mean …” She shook her head, and pushed back hair blowing in her face.

  “I don't need any more right now.” He turned his back and looked toward the sea where silver clouds formed a bank over the horizon.

  The officer who manned the desk came outside. “Miss Gavrion out here?”

  She answered, “That's me.”

  “You have a phone call.”

  Puzzled, she didn't reply immediately.

  He said, “Inside. You can talk inside.”

  She looked at Missi, then at Spence, and finally Rod, who whirled on his heel and muttered as hurried away. “Why don't you people go back where you belong.”

  Inside the police station, Mrs. MacGregor was on the phone. “I got a call,” she said. “It was from a woman who said she was your mother. Is your mother's name Anabel Gavrion?”

  “It is.”

  “Well, I never admitted you were here. I thought it was someone trying to trick me again.”

  Her folks hadn't caught up with her yet. Intervention, indeed! Like some gross old drunk. God, please, don't let Mama speak to the press. But she's already spoken to Missi. But wait – Missi wouldn't be reporting anything because Missi knew that she was serious about revealing her affair with a source – a National Park Service source – the reigning mafia-of-the-Outer-Banks source.

  When Ann reached the Buick, Rod's Jeep was gone.

  She pulled into the Osprey Shopping Center and went into the ABC store. She bought two half-gallon bottles of Beefeater's and a bottle of tonic. Back at The Pub, she swept past Mrs. MacGregor who argued with two men reporters. Before she rushed up the steps, she noticed a triumphant gleam in Mrs. MacGregor's eyes. Locking herself in, she poured a much-needed drink. Intervention, indeed.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  --

  At dawn, she was up and showering away the after-effects of a few hours with Mr. Beefeater's. She dressed in jeans, the sweater and twisted her wet hair into a French knot. Picking up her few things, she trod lightly down the steps. She doubted that any of the reporters – still hanging out in Hatteras – would be up at this hour. Deep into the night, she'd heard their loud banter resounding through the old inn's walls and registers.

  She left Mrs. MacGregor a note and left the inn, tossing her cape and cloche on the back seat. Pulling onto Highway 12, she looked right, toward the sea, and saw the pale cherry streaks, the messenger of the rising sun. She wondered if pink was the same as red sky at morning, sailors take warning?

  There were no cars on the road all the way to Frisco. At Buxton, she thought about a whale. Goodbye stinky Minke.

  In her mind, she heard Rod's voice. Minke's are human watchers. They'll come right up to your boat. Their breath smells awful, thus they're called stinky minkies. She visualized the dark lump on the water and Rod looking through the binoculars. His voice echoed torturously through her mind. “On a scale of idiot to genius, every whale that reaches a year of life is a genius. Idiots don't survive in the ocean.”

  Idiots – they only survive on land.

  She could hear Rod's laughter as he said, “He made a liar out of me. But I'm sure of this: he's telling us not to worry about him. He might breach again. Just for you.”

  Just for me.

  She pushed a Rachmaninoff CD into the player and let the Russian composer punish her with his piano.

  --

  Mrs. Sweeney was delighted to see her. Mr. Sweeney had already gone out crabbing.

  “You come up for the hearing?” Mrs. Sweeney asked.

  “Wouldn't miss it,” Ann said.

  “You lost some weight. You got time for breakfast before going.”

  “I'm starved, and I need a change of clothes.”

  “You seen the news yet?”

  “No, I haven't. I listened to music all the way from Hatteras.”

  “Then you don't know that your mother and father are in Manteo.”

  The weight of guilt pressed her chest. “I knew they were coming to the Outer Banks, but not where.”

  “Want me to find out where they're staying?”

  “Turn on the TV. Maybe they'll be giving a news conference, poor lambs.”

  Mrs. Sweeney turned on the small
set on the counter and opened her packed refrigerator and began taking out Tupperware.

  Fifteen minutes later Ann came down the steps in tan slacks and a cashmere twin set. The television showed vivid photos of a plane crash that happened in the hills of West Virginia. Sadly, it kept The Ghost Ship story out of the news for the half hour that she flipped channels and ate sourdough biscuits and sawmill gravy.

  “Time to go to court,” Ann said. She handed the Buick keys to Mrs. Sweeney. “I think I'll get reacquainted with my rental. By the way, can I borrow a coat and hat?”

  “My word!” Mrs. Sweeney gasped. “A coat of mine would go around you ten times.”

  “I don't want to be recognized.”

  “But you want to be near that young man.”

  It was a flat statement that she couldn't deny, so she twitched her nose with a smile.

  “Don't blame you. He's a fine one, although he doesn't show himself well nowadays on the TV.”

  “He has his reasons.”

  “He needs to listen to you.”

  “One day you can tell him that.”

  “One day I will.”

  As short as Mrs. Sweeney was, her black coat only came to Ann's knees, but the volume of material made her look as if she were wearing a tent. She chose one of Mrs. Sweeney's brimmed knit hats that nearly covered her eyes.

  She passed the picturesque courthouse that was like many in southern small towns and drove to the new Dare County Justice Center by the Highway 64 Bridge. She could see elements of the old courthouse, the columns and brick. Inside, except for the lighthouse replica in the lobby, it was like other twenty-first-century justice centers. The Ten Commandments wasn't on display, nor were there statues to offend anyone. Reporters milled, chatting with each other, never noticing her. Hiding under plain sight. She entered the courtroom and sat on the back bench. No Rod, nor Spence, nor Missi – yet.

  The massive oak bench and matching jury chairs had no personality; but the judge, when he came in the side door, obviously did. Settling himself in the black chair and taking a swig from a glass, presumably of water, he looked long at the defendant's table as if to calculate how he was going to address the defendant and the case before him.

  “Is Mr. Pablo Quitano in the courtroom.”

  Poblo raised his hand.

  Pointing with his gavel, the judge said, “The Court calls on the man with his hand in the air.”

  Pablo’s lawyer motioned him to stand. Two large deputies were at the ready in case Poblo made a break for it.

  Poblo looked confused.

  The judge said again, “Would the man with his hand in the air speak up.”

  Poblo opened his mouth, but his lawyer rose and motioned for Poblo to do likewise.

  “My client is present. This is Poblo Quitano .”

  Poblo nodded.

  “Can't he speak?” the judge asked.

  “Tell the judge your name, Mr. Quitano .”

  “I am Poblo Quitano .”

  “Why are you here, Mr. Quitano .”

  The lawyer spoke. “We have asked that Mr. Quitano be released on his own recognizance pending formal charges being presented to the court.”

  “Haven't you been charged, Mr. Quitano?”

  “Yes sir, I think so, sir.”

  The judge adjusted his glasses. “Says here you are charged with two felony counts of burglary and two felony counts of theft by possession of videotapes and one count of felonious assault on a safe.” The judge looked at Poblo over his half glasses. “You try to beat up on a safe, Mr. Quitano .”

  “I tried to pick the lock, yes.”

  The black coat and hat were too warm, but she couldn't slip them off without attracting attention.

  The judge asked, “You damaged it?”

  “The lock, no. I couldn't.”

  “What did you do to it?”

  “I guess the front of the safe got scratched.”

  “With what?”

  “My screwdriver.”

  “Hmmm. Are you aware that you can get excellent instructions on how to crack a safe on the internet? Have you access to the internet, Mr. Quitano?”

  “Sure. I mean, yes sir, your honor.”

  “You ever rob a safe before?”

  “Oh no, never, your honor.”

  “Was there money in the safe?”

  “No money was kept there, your honor. It was for artifacts.”

  “What kind of artifacts?”

  “Seafaring artifacts.”

  “Doubloons?”

  Poblo smiled, “We have no doubloons, no sir.”

  “Did you know the combination of the safe?”

  “I did when I worked there. I figured they probably changed it when I left.”

  “Why would they, if there is only old seafaring junk in it?”

  Poblo seemed insulted. “Sir, it is the heritage being preserved.”

  “You ever break into the museum before?”

  “No sir.”

  “Didn't you say you worked in that museum?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “When you worked there, did you have keys to the museum?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Why didn't you use your keys to open the door instead of prying it open.”

  “I needed to burglarize the museum.”

  Pablo's lawyer tried to intervene. “Your Honor, Mr. Quitano …

  The judge wouldn't let him interrupt. “You needed to burglarize the museum?”

  “Yes sir, to clear my name,” Pablo said.

  “Your Honor,” the lawyer tried again. “Mr. …”

  “Most people don't commit crimes to clear their names, Mr. Quitano .”

  “I had to force their hands.”

  “Your Honor,” the lawyer said.

  “Whose hands?”

  “The museum's.”

  “How so?”

  “People need to see a videotape to show that I was helping Ann Gavrion do research on a voyage she says she took with a ghost.”

  That caused a stir in the room consisting mostly of reporters. A few tittered. The judge had given the gallery time to react. Obviously familiar with the case, he enjoyed playing with Poblo. He asked in a low, grave voice, “You believe in ghosts, Mr. Quitano ?”

  “Yes, sir, your honor. I believe that the spirits of my ancestors, and your ancestors, and everybody's ancestors, are with us, guiding us.”

  “Well, I think you might have something there. I believe I've tripped on a few and I believe one of my great-great uncles is forever stealing socks out of my washing machine. But look here, Mr. Quitano , I don't think one of your familial ghosts guided you into breaking and entering the Graveyard of the Atlantic Museum in order to prove the existence of a ghost.”

  “Maybe he did not, you honor, but maybe he did.”

  “Mr. Quitano , in the interest of justice, and the expediency of this court, I am going to chew over these charges and the indictment, if any. I will confer with the authorities in Hatteras, the museum people and the prosecutor in my chambers. In the meantime, you may go. In two days time, I will give you my opinion. Good day.”

  “But, your honor, I want to go to trial.”

  “Mr. Quitano, people in hell want ice water. That don't mean they're going to get it. Good day.”

  Poor Poblo left the court room looking like Little Boy Lost.

  But the reporters sought him out, and they didn't even notice her as she slinked down the steps behind Poblo wearing Mrs. Sweeney's coat and hat, not looking at all like the sleek Ann Gavrion whose photographs defined her.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  --

  It was good to get out of Mrs. Sweeney's outerwear. Drinking good and strong coffee, Ann watched the sidewalk interviews with Pablo from a café across the street. Her spirit wasn't a hundred percent yet, but she thought maybe her life wasn't still swirling down a dark hole. Before long, four people emerged through a side door of the justice center. Rod, spine-straight in his dark suit,
carrying an overcoat and wearing a fedora. Missi, in a cashmere camel coat and flamboyant brown felt. Spence in his uniform. Dr. Henry Lockridge, baggy suit and gray hair fluttering around his head. They crossed the street, heading for the café.

  Though they hadn't been in the courtroom, she figured they were in the judge's chambers. Rod, Spence and Dr. Lockridge were the authorities with whom the judge conferred as Hatteras authorities and museum people. Dr. Lockridge veered away from his compatriots and headed up the sidewalk.

  Ann gulped the last of her coffee and rose from the chair, staring, waiting for Rod.

  Inside the door, Rod's face brightened when he saw her. Removing his hat, he walked toward her with a loose, easy grace that made her pulse race. “Hello. I saw you in the lobby.”

  She said, “I didn't see you, or Missi or Spence.”

  “We waited in a jury room, away from the press, but I came out …” He paused and fiddled with the hat brim.

  Had he come out to see if she was there? She asked, “What did the judge say?”

  “He thinks the case is frivolous, but he didn't say he was throwing it out yet.”

  “He did say two days,” Ann said.

  “Yes,” Rod said, his eyes fixed on her face.

  “Hey,” Missi said, “you're back to your cashmere. I liked you in denim.”

  Ann smiled. “I did too.”

  Spence said, “I could use a cup of good coffee. That stuff in the courthouse left a bad taste in my mouth.”

  Spence and Missi went to the counter. Rod hung back. “You wanted to talk?”

  “Yes.”

  “Okay, we'll talk,” he said, going to the counter to order coffee.

  The four of them headed for a booth. Once settled, Missi said, “I'm glad y'all are here. I've been meaning to say something.”

  Rod asked, “What is it now, Missi?”

  “I saw a ghost the other night.”

  Spence looked as if he'd been slapped.

  Rod said, “Is this your idea of a joke?”

  “No, sir, sugah, it's my idea of what I saw.” She looked at Spence. “Tell them about the other night.”

  Spence looked shame-faced. He didn't dare look at Rod. “It’s your story, Missi.”