A Touch of Gold

by Joyce Lavene; Jim Lavene

  I looked closely at the coin in the palm of my hand. Max would certainly miss it if it was gone when the museum closed. He might even come to me since I’d been Duck’s unofficial finder of lost things since I was a child.

  At one time, when I was a teenager, I had big dreams of saving the world using my special abilities. When I was alone, I even dared to call them my powers. There were things I could do that other people couldn’t do. I was very impressed with myself.

  But time had given me better perspective and honed the abilities I was born with. I might not ever save the world by finding everyone’s many sets of lost keys and misplaced TV remotes, but I helped the people I cared about—the same reason I had become mayor of Duck.

  I slipped the gold coin into the pocket of my jeans. I didn’t want to interrupt Max’s enjoyment of talking to the children. I wasn’t surprised to see the coin out of place. How many times had I visited the museum to find cannonballs where they didn’t belong or an old ship’s compass taken apart on a table? Max was a good curator, but he was far from neat.

  Around the cupcakes and apple juice, the talk was still of Theo Burr and other ghosts that inhabited the Outer Banks. Max was juggling questions between bites of Agnes’s delicious cupcakes and glances at his watch.

  “Hot date?” I asked when I could get close to him.

  “What?” He pushed his glasses back against his face and smiled as he understood the humor in my words. “You might say so. You won’t believe what’s happened, Dae. I think I finally have a real lead on someone in Duck who’s related to Theo Burr.”

  “That’s wonderful!” I gave him my full attention, which wasn’t easy since the cupcake in my hand was really good. “I know you’ve been looking for proof that Theo lived here rather than died as soon as she washed up on shore.”

  “All of my life,” he agreed with a seriousness only dedicated historians can muster. “If I’m right, it will rock the historical world. Not to mention my intense joy at flaunting it in Sam Meacham’s face!”

  I knew how much that meant to him. Sam Meacham was the curator of the Corolla Historical Museum. He believed Theo Burr had died when she reached shore, in the arms of one of the Bankers who’d stolen her personal possessions once she was dead. His proof was a portrait that was widely recognized by historians as Theo. It was found at a Banker woman’s home in Nags Head in 1869. While the painting was never definitively identified as being a portrait of Theo Burr, most historians agreed with Sam.

  But not Max. “I’m trying to convince a man who claims to be a relative of hers to give me a sample of his DNA. He’s meeting me here in a little while. If his DNA matches the DNA from Theodosia’s hair samples, it will be the first real proof of what happened to Theodosia Burr in the winter of 1812. Don’t forget, her husband never sent a search party here to look for her. He and Aaron Burr looked everywhere but the Outer Banks. She was here all the time, not knowing who she was or where she belonged. A tragedy, to be sure.”

  I knew Max’s strong feelings on the subject. There weren’t many who agreed with him. I also knew he might never find out the truth. But it made him happy to tell the story. I loved Duck history. I hoped Theo Burr survived the pirates and the terrible gale. It would be another feather in the Duck historical annals to say that she spent her last years here.

  “Be sure to let me know what happens.” I smiled and ate more of my cupcake. “The kids always love your stories.”

  “We both know they’re so much more than stories,” he said with another glance at his watch. “They keep the history of Duck alive, Dae. Without our past, we have no future.”

  One of the teachers saved me from an intense lecture on the importance of Duck history by coming over and thanking Max for his program. She was a newcomer to Duck, one of many who came for a vacation one summer and decided to stay. They added to our increased population of almost six hundred full-time residents.

  It may sound small, but for a scrap of land hemmed in by water that could rise up at anytime and wash us all away, it was a lot. It was the largest population Duck had ever known. The town was becoming more popular as a tourist destination every year. We didn’t have the wild horses of Corolla or the lighthouse at Hatteras, but we were sandwiched in between on the one-hundred-mile stretch of land, brought together by a narrow ribbon of road.

  Some people liked the growth. Others were unhappy about it and wanted things to stay the same. The one thing I’d learned in my thirty-six years was that nothing ever stayed the same.

  It was almost time for the story adventure to be over. The teachers gathered the kids together and thanked Max for his time. They were equally enthusiastic in their thanks to Agnes for her cupcakes. I knew Agnes enjoyed these moments as much as Max. Their daughters still lived in Duck, but neither of them were married yet. No grandchildren.

  As the teachers took the kids to the bathroom before leaving to walk back to Duck Elementary School, I helped Agnes throw away the cupcake wrappers and empty juice boxes.

  Max paced the floor, continually looking at his watch. He was obviously nervous about meeting what could be an ancestor of Aaron Burr. It would either validate his life’s work or turn into another joke that Sam Meacham could throw at him in the bar at night. I supposed that would be enough to make anyone nervous.

  “He’s got everything riding on this DNA,” Agnes told me when we walked out to the trash cans. “Damn fool went ahead and told Sam about the whole thing, of course. He’ll crash and burn for sure if it isn’t true.”

  “Let’s hope it works out then.” I took the lid off the trash can. “He and Sam really like to argue about Theo Burr, don’t they?”

  “And everything else.” She stuffed the trash in the can. “They argue about which town was settled first, Duck or Corolla. Which museum has the oldest artifacts. Honestly, they act like little kids with their toys.”

  Before I put the lid back on the trash can, I bent down and picked up a scrap of paper from the ground. It was one of the coffee cards they punched at the Coffee House and Book Store. It seemed odd to me because Max and Agnes didn’t drink coffee. As I tossed it into the can and put on the lid, I decided it was probably something a visitor had left.

  As Agnes and I walked back around the front of the plain little building that had been donated to the Duck Historical Society, I recalled the old store that had been here, a place where we used to buy chips and soft drinks. Someday no one would remember that little store. Agnes was right. Everything was changing too quickly.

  Near the front door of the building, a large statue of a duck that had been used to promote tourism stood beside a statue of a horse. Both had become animal icons in this area. There were two rusted cannons legend said had washed up on Duck’s shore back in the 1700s. Several cannonballs were stuck in concrete around them.

  The old museum was cool and musty smelling when we went back inside. The light was too dim to really see everything the historical society had managed to piece together through the years. But I was proud of this little place anyway. It represented the heritage of everyone who’d been born here. From pirates to wild horses, all of it was part of our past.

  The teachers were getting the kids lined up to go outside. Agnes kissed Max good-bye and told him they were having his favorite, tacos, for supper. She reminded him not to dawdle after his meeting and come right home.

  I smiled, seeing them together. I hoped someday there would be someone who looked at me that way. Right now, I was kind of stuck waiting for that person, wondering if he would ever blow into town on the right breeze and decide to stay. I’d given up on the indigenous male population.

  Once the kids were in their semi-straight lines, the teachers led the way down Duck Road. There were a few backward glances and shy waves at Max, who returned them with gusto.

  “Let me know how your DNA meeting goes,” I said to him before I followed the kids outside. “It would be something if you could really prove your theory about Theo Burr. That would pu
t Duck on the map historically.”

  “It’ll happen, Dae. I know I’m right. Wait until you see Sam Meacham’s face when I do it. Take it easy. See you later.”

  Outside, it was a beautiful day and traffic had picked up on Duck Road. Probably a few early tourists. People who lived here were used to walking under the puffy white clouds and bright blue February skies. Some of the cars sped by, making me a little concerned for the large group of kids on their way back to school.

  I’d had a few rainy days since the Walk to the Museum program started, but in general the weather had cooperated. I enjoyed helping the kids with their history lesson. I liked being the mayor of Duck and doing all the things that went with it. It took some time away from my thrift store, Missing Pieces, but sometimes that was a good thing.

  Business was slow, as usual, after the crowds of summer. I usually collected more than I could sell over the winter. It was a bad habit that had filled the house I shared with my grandfather until he encouraged me to open the shop and sell the odds and ends I found.

  I reached into my pocket as my cell phone rang and realized I’d forgotten to give Max the gold coin I’d found on the museum floor. I signaled the closest teacher that I had to run back to the museum. “I’ll catch up,” I yelled over the traffic passing us.

  Kevin Brickman was on the phone. My heart did a little dance at the sound of his voice until I sternly reminded it that we had no real inkling of his intentions. Brickman was new to Duck, less than a year. He’d refurbished and reopened the old Blue Whale Inn and, so far, had been very successful in the undertaking.

  “I was wondering if you’d like to take a break from the store and get something to drink, but I see you’re busy being the mayor,” he said with a smile in his voice.

  “Where are you?” I glanced around but didn’t see his red Ford pickup. I was only a few steps from the museum door. “I’m almost done here. I could meet you somewhere.” I tried not to sound too eager to see him even though I’d spent a lot of time thinking about him.

  A car full of laughing tourists went by as I waited for his reply.

  Suddenly, the whole world exploded into a ball of fire with such force that it blew me backwards into Duck Road. I heard the screech of brakes around me, and everything went black.

  Chapter 2

  Brickman was crouched beside me, my head cradled on his arm. He was looking down at me, his face black with soot.

  “Are you okay?” He sounded scared. “Stupid question. Sorry. Not what I meant. Do you hurt anywhere? I had to move you. I’m sorry. The ambulance is on the way.”

  I realized then that I’d lost consciousness. “What happened?” My voice was rough and hoarse. I coughed and choked, thick smoke coming from somewhere around us, making my eyes water. My throat and lungs burned.

  “The museum blew up. I don’t know why yet. Don’t worry about it right now, Dae. Focus on staying awake. Stay with me until they come for you.”

  I was so tired. My head and right leg hurt. “Kevin, I don’t know if I can.”

  “You can.” His face came closer to mine. “Stay with me, Dae. Come on. Stay awake. You might have a head injury. It would be a miracle if you don’t have a head injury.”

  “I’m too tired,” I whined, despite myself. That’s when I knew something was really wrong. I never whine.

  “You can do it,” he coaxed, despite my whining. “Come on, Dae. Do it for me. Look at my face. Tell me about Duck. Tell me about the pirates and all the things you’ve collected in Missing Pieces. Don’t close your eyes, sweetheart. Stay here. Focus on me.”

  Despite the fact that most of me seemed to be lying on pavement littered with debris, it was easy to do as he asked. I liked the sound of his voice. It made me feel warm and wanted. I tried to smile and reassure him that I was all right, that he didn’t have to stay if he needed to be somewhere else. But the words wouldn’t come, and slowly he faded from my vision and everything went dark again.

  I was dreaming about Theodosia Burr. She was wearing white, just as the legends describe, and she was being forced to walk a rickety plank of wood that led off of an old ship. It rocked at its anchor, causing her to reach out to the closest pirate to keep her balance.

  “Let ’er fall!” one of the pirates yelled and the rest agreed.

  The man Theodosia reached out to kept her steady, but he couldn’t save her from her fate. He moved away from her, and I could see his face. It was Kevin Brickman with long hair and gold coins that made a chain around his neck. He wore brightly colored clothes and tall, leather boots.

  Theodosia stood at the edge of the abyss, her snow white slippers clinging to the plank that had become her doom. Her lovely face turned toward the men as she begged them to carry news of her death to her father and her husband. “I only ask this of you. Please do not make them suffer wondering what became of me.”

  The men surrounding her laughed again and pushed at the wobbly plank with their boots. For a moment, she put out her arms again, as though someone would be there for her. Then, as though resigned to her death, she crossed her hands over her heart and plunged down into the cold waters of the Atlantic.

  But one man was missing from the pirate crew. The Kevin Brickman pirate had lowered a long boat, unseen by his peers. As the pirates finished laughing and turned away to other chores, Brickman was fishing Theodosia out of the water. She lay in the bottom of the boat, shivering and coughing, as he rowed toward Nags Head.

  I woke with a start, sitting straight up in the hospital bed. Alarms went off and tubes flew around me.

  “Take it easy!” Gramps warned, getting to his feet. “You’ll pull all this paraphernalia out of you, and they’ll have to put it all back in.”

  I lay back against the pillow and looked around the room. It was dark outside. The tiny window near my bed showed the street below.

  The last thing I remembered from real life was Brickman asking me to stay awake and calling me sweetheart. Though my head was pounding with pain—it felt like thousands of miners were chipping away at something in there—I could still feel the warm glow from those words.

  “What happened? Is Kevin all right? How long have I been here? Did the museum really blow up?”

  Gramps sat back down in the chair beside the bed.

  “Let’s start with you, if that’s okay. How are you doing? You had a lot of us worried.”

  Kevin? Was he worried? “I’m fine except for this headache. I hope they have some Tylenol. When can I go home?”

  “I think the doctor expects you to spend the night. You probably have a concussion. You were only a few feet from the museum when it exploded.”

  “Gramps! Are you trying to make it worse? Why did the museum explode? What happened? How is Max taking it? You know how his life is wrapped up in all that history.”

  Gramps bowed his head, then looked back at me. “Max is dead, Dae.”

  “What? What do you mean? He can’t be dead. I just saw him at the museum. He was waiting for his ultimate proof that Theo Burr lived on the island for years after everyone thought she was dead.”

  “I’m sorry. He wasn’t as lucky as you, Agnes, and the kids. He was still in the museum when it exploded. Cailey Fargo is working through the debris with the new arson investigator from Manteo. It’ll be a while before we know what happened. But they called me a few hours ago about Max.”

  “But if there was an explosion, how can they tell for sure? Everything must be all over the place. Even if they think Max is dead, he might not be. They make mistakes about these things in the early parts of an investigation. I’ve heard Chief Michaels talk about it before.”

  I knew I sounded a little hysterical, but there was that jackhammer going off in my head and I couldn’t believe Max was dead. My mind raced away from that reality and wondered how our little museum could explode. It seemed impossible, but I knew if Gramps was telling me, it must be true.

  “I shouldn’t have told you,” he said. “I’m sorry, honey. You
have to get better, and then we’ll worry about the rest of it, okay?”

  “Okay.” I bit my lip to keep myself from becoming a sniveling, whining mass. I had to get myself together and get out of the hospital so I could find out how this could happen. “Is everyone else okay?”

  “You were the closest one to the scene. There were a few accidents when you flew out into the street. Some debris hit a few cars and caused some problems. But all of the kids and their teachers were far enough away. I haven’t talked to Agnes yet, but Ronnie said she was okay physically. I wouldn’t want to imagine how her mental state is.”

  I stared at all the little plastic tubes around me. Some of them were plugged into me while others seemed to be waiting for their opportunity. The doctor came in and told us that I was banged up a little but essentially whole. He wanted me to spend the night but said that as long as there were no changes in my condition, I could go home in the morning. He told me a nurse would bring me something to help me sleep since it didn’t look as though I had a concussion after all.

  He sounded like some bad TV show. Even his smile seemed off to me. Gramps waited until he was gone to tell me again how happy he was that I was okay. He reminded me how important it was that I spend the night in the hospital since the doctor thought it was necessary. “I don’t want to wake up in the morning and find out you sneaked back during the night. This is for your own good, Dae.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” I assured him, settling back against the pillow again. “Don’t worry. You can go home and get some sleep. I’m going to do the same.”

  “I’ll be here for you in the morning.” He stood up and kissed my forehead. “I love you, honey. We’ll get to the bottom of what happened when you’re feeling better. You’ll see.”