A Touch of Gold

by Joyce Lavene; Jim Lavene

  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.

  I expected to hear bullets whiz by me (whatever that sounded like in the water—another experience I’d never had), but that didn’t happen. I took a good look at my compass location and kept swimming close to the shoreline. Even if this was a private island, which seemed likely, there had to be a spot I could get out of the water and not be noticed.

  I had no idea what I was going to do after that. At that moment, getting out of the freezing water was the only thing on my mind.

  I swam for a long time before I surfaced and looked around. I was still close to the island. My bearings were good on that. The boat was nowhere to be seen. Still terrified of what would happen if they found me, I wondered, Did I do it? Did I manage to get away?

  I was glad that I’d seen the pilot’s hand. I might not be able to explain my vision, but I knew that the pilot was the last person to see Sam alive. When I got back to Duck, I’d bring the police here with me and have the satisfaction of seeing him prosecuted for kidnapping me and killing Sam. He might have some questions to answer about Max’s death and burning down Agnes’s house too.

  But first I had to get out of this freezing water.

  I could see one large house and several smaller houses circling around it. I wanted to be as far away from that area as I could. Despite my chattering teeth, I put my head back in the water and kept swimming along the coastline. The water wasn’t so cold that the exercise didn’t make it bearable. I wanted to get out where I’d have a good chance of not running into anyone.

  Another opportunity presented itself a little farther down. No boats. No piers. No houses. At least from my vantage point in the water, all I could see was pine trees. A little experience on these very outer edges of land told me that there could be other people living out here—many times without power or any other necessity. Gramps had a friend who’d lived like that for years. Tourists sometimes stopped off at these spots, never knowing that the island was private property.

  Between these hopes and the fear still churning in my belly lay a whole world of possibilities, some not as good as others. I couldn’t stay in the water much longer, and I hadn’t been lucky enough to spot a Coast Guard vessel. At this point, that would be the only group with a boat I’d trust.

  There were only trees, rocks and sand as far as I could see. My numb limbs told me I had to take my chances. I paddled carefully toward the shore, mindful of anyone spotting me. It was quiet when I reached the rocky beach and crept up, shivering. Water ran from my clothes in noisy fountains. Not wanting the sound to alert my captors, I sat down between some trees to dry off while I formulated my next move.

  So far, so good. Getting away from the man on the boat had been the hard part. I might be cold, but at least I was alive.

  In the distance, I could hear people shouting and the sound of several boat engines starting up at the same time. They were bound to conclude that I had stayed close to shore. Only a fool would swim out to sea with no source of rescue close by.

  I forced myself to my feet and moved further into the young stand of pine trees. They were barely taller than me but better than no cover at all. I figured if they didn’t see me from the boats, they might give up and believe I’d drowned. That was my best hope.

  I didn’t want to think about how worried Gramps was going to be. I’d given up on this being a short-term adventure. It might be days before I got back to Duck. In the meantime, Chief Michaels and others would be looking for me. With any luck, they’d be able to track me to the docks. Maybe they’d send the Coast Guard out to look for me. But I wasn’t sure how long that would take.

  I had to force myself to stop thinking that way. I tried to focus on what my plan for survival should be. My first concern was obviously dry clothes (if possible) and shelter. Then I needed to think about food and how I’d get back home.

  I waited in the trees, surrounded by the piney aroma, letting the sun warm and dry me. At long last, I couldn’t hear anyone shouting and the sound of engines had faded into the distance.

  I had no idea what time it was—I couldn’t recall how to tell time by the position of the sun. I’d learned one year in Girl Scouts, but that was a long time ago. It’s not important anyway. Time to move to phase two of the plan.

  Phase two meant getting up and moving my poor frozen body. Every part of me rebelled at the idea. Most of my clothes had dried, but I was still chilled to the bone. All my joints popped when I finally gritted my teeth and pushed to my feet. I really needed a latte and a nice almond biscotti. And a warm fire. I urged myself forward, farther into the pines. And a warm fuzzy robe.

  I thought about all these things, promised myself those and more if I kept moving. Somewhere out here there was warmth, food, and a telephone. I could call Gramps and he’d come and get me. He’d be angry but relieved to hear from me. Kevin would say I told you so. My adventure, which was turning out to be a nightmare, would be over and I’d be home again.

  “If I get home, I’m never investigating anything again,” I swore out loud for good measure. “I’m never leaving my room again except to go to the shop.”

  I trudged throu
gh the pine trees, which seemed to stretch on forever. The sun was almost directly overhead. Even I knew that meant it was around noon. My stomach gurgled accordingly, letting me know that the rest of my body knew what time it was too.

  My dried clothes were itchy and full of sand—my feet hurt from walking over pinecones and rocks. I was as miserable as I could ever recall being. But at least I was free.

  The trees finally thinned and ended, leaving me in a huge open space with newly cut grass and a large fountain. In the center of the fountain was a large horse standing on its back legs, like the ones at the entrance to Brookgreen Gardens near Myrtle Beach. I wasn’t sure how clean the water was, but I was really thirsty. I reached in and took a handful. It was cool and clear—easing the ache in my throat.

  “Ha! A water thief! I knew it would come to this!” An old man in a motorized wheelchair came at me full tilt with a pearl-headed cane. “Get your own water!”

  I knew him at once. He was the man from the vision about the gold. I had managed to escape the boats and the men at the docks only to find myself in the garden with Max’s benefactor. He didn’t seem like much of a threat.

  “What do you want?” he yelled again. “How did you get here?”

  “Take it easy.” I tried to reassure him as I glanced around. No one else seemed to be with him. “I was thirsty. I’m lost.”

  “You’re on my property,” he proclaimed. “Head that way.” He pointed with his cane. “Keep walking until you reach the ocean.”

  “Thanks.” I swallowed another gulp of water and prepared to disappear back into the pines. I knew he could be the person behind Max’s death, but I’d run out of courage and options to continue. I just wanted to go home.

  “Wait!” he called out. “If you’re really lost, you can come back to the house with me and I’ll have someone take you home.”

  “No thanks. One of your men is the reason I’m lost. He kidnapped me and brought me here. I don’t need your help.”

  “Nonsense. There’s no reason one of my men would bring anyone here—unless you were snooping. Is that the case? Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Duck. And I wasn’t snooping—exactly. I was looking for a boat.”

  “Duck! My dear young woman, I insist that you stay! What’s your name? I probably know someone in your family. Stay and have lunch with me. I’m sure we can find you a change of clothes. We’ll sort out this kidnapping thing. You’ll see.”

  I’d already been here too long. I could see people coming out of the big house on the hill. They were still too far away to do anything, but I wasn’t about to wait around until they reached us.

  “Wait!” he called out again as I started back into the pines. “I’d love to talk with you. If you grew up in Duck, you probably know my name. I used to be somewhat of a celebrity. Probably before you were born. I’m Bunk Whitley. I once owned the Blue Whale Inn.”

  Chapter 17

  Nothing on earth—except that statement—could have made me stay there. I thought about the pictures I’d seen on microfiche from the old Duck Gazette. Old Bunk Whitley. Man about town. A real ladies’ man who caused two sisters in town to feud their whole lives. A mystery man who’d vanished years ago, his past strange and shadowy. It was hard to see the legend in this wrinkled old man.

  Of course, just because he was a legend in Duck didn’t mean I could trust him. But I was fascinated that here he sat before me, in the flesh. “Everyone thinks you’re dead,” I said, not immune to the lure of mystery.

  “I’m supposed to be dead. But it’s hard to keep a good man down. I’m sure I know you.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re related to Eleanore O’Donnell, aren’t you? Too young to be her daughter. You must be her granddaughter. I never forget a pretty woman.”

  The men from the house were running now. I had to make a choice. I wanted to stay and hear all the stories he had to tell. I could only imagine that Max would have risked anything to talk to old Bunk Whitley.

  Then it hit me. “You killed Max because he knew you were living out here. You couldn’t risk everyone knowing you were alive. There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You killed Wild Johnny Simpson at the Blue Whale Inn, then left town.”

  He laughed. “Don’t be absurd! I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I find money gets more done than guns. But, my young O’Donnell, tell me about your family. Tell me how old Sheriff Horace is doing. I hate that the Gazette closed down. No news anymore except what my men can glean for me.”

  I knew he couldn’t be trusted no matter how affable he seemed. I turned to run, but there was a man in my way—and no fire extinguisher to remove him. Too late.

  Bunk laughed again. “Come on. You’ll be glad you didn’t run off by yourself. There’s nothing out there, you know. We’ll have lunch and get things straightened out. What did you say your name was again?”

  “Dae O’Donnell.” The man in front of me smiled. He wasn’t holding a visible weapon, but I felt pretty sure he wouldn’t let me get past him.

  “Mayor Dae O’Donnell? Amazing! I haven’t had lunch with a mayor for years. Nash, make sure our guest is treated well. Have Lacey find her some clean clothes and bring her down for lunch in the sunroom.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Don’t let her leave yet, Nash. I’m afraid she’d hurt herself out there. Eleanore O’Donnell’s granddaughter deserves better.”

  It seemed I was a prisoner again—this time because of my own crazy love of Duck lore. Had Max and Sam died for the same reason?

  I lost count of the number of rooms as I was shown to a guest suite. From what I saw in the mansion, everything was expensive and larger than life. I didn’t have much chance to linger over anything as Nash kept me moving. The door was locked behind me, reminding me that I was a guest in name only.

  I looked out of the panoramic windows, a colorful patio beneath me. It was too far to jump. I was eyeing the elaborate brass four-poster, thinking about using the pink sheets for a rope, when a young woman came into the room.

  “Hi. I’m Lacey. Mr. Whitley says you’re staying for lunch and you need clothes.” Her big brown eyes were friendly but probably not unaware of my position.

  “Is there a phone? I need to call my grandfather and let him know where I am.”

  “I’m sorry. There aren’t any phones up here. Maybe Mr. Whitley will let you use the satellite phone downstairs.”

  She walked to the side of the room where a double mirror opened into a closet with a touch of her finger. “There are clothes in different sizes in here. You should be able to find something to wear.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Don’t worry. Mr. Whitley has many guests who stay here. You’ll be well cared for. I’m sure he’ll send you home before too long.” She smiled at me. She was very young—maybe under twenty. I wondered how she’d managed to find work here. “If you’d like to take a bath or shower, it’s in here.” She pointed to the other side of the room. “Mr. Whitley eats at one, but he said to take your time. He’ll wait for you.”

  I thanked her again and she left. I heard the door lock behind her. What now?

  I always hate in books and movies when the woman being held captive gets all dressed up for her captor. On the other hand, my clothes were painfully awful. But what difference did it make if he was only going to kill me anyway?

  I considered going down for lunch the way I was—damn the consequences. I decided against it. If nothing else, my last hour I’d be clean and well dressed. Maybe that’s why all the captive females agreed to change.

  I took a quick shower, forcing myself to ignore a pink marble tub large enough to swim in. It even had a Jacuzzi. The pink marble floors were heated and felt good to my poor abused feet. The bathroom was a thing of beauty that I wished I could take with me to replace our old claw-foot tub and ancient appointments that needed to be replaced years ago.

  I found a pair of jeans—even new underwear with the tags still on them, wrappe
d in tissue paper. The closest thing I could find to a T-shirt was an apricot-colored button-down shirt. I wondered who the guests were who had worn these extra clothes and whether they’d made it home alive.

  I rummaged through the bedroom, which included a sitting room with fireplace. The carpet was so soft, I hated to put on the shoes I’d found.

  Bunk Whitley had certainly come up in the world from owning the Blue Whale Inn. No wonder he had gold to spare for Max, even if it had come with a price.

  I knocked on the inside of the door to let Nash know I was ready. He opened it wide. He didn’t say anything, just kept his distance, and led me back through the house to the sunroom. This time I noticed what were probably real Picassos and Renoirs on the walls. Everything was beautifully decorated and elegantly laid out.

  “There you are!” Bunk greeted me in the sunroom, which was almost the size of our whole house. “I hope you’re feeling more comfortable now, and I hope you’re hungry. It’s too cold for a swim this time of year, but I bet it gave you an appetite. Roger tells me you were on the Golden Day when he came back from getting supplies. I apologize for his rude behavior toward you. Sometimes my men get suspicious with strangers. You understand that being from Duck, I’m sure.”

  I sat down at the large glass table, the room full of plants and water features. There was fruit, wine and cheese out already with a white-jacketed waiter standing nearby. “Apology accepted. May I go home now?”

  “But my dear mayor, I’m so looking forward to having lunch with you. And there are some—discrepancies we should discuss before you go running back to get Chief Michaels out here.”

  “What discrepancies?”

  “Please, have some fruit. Pablo, my chef, is making us a wonderful quiche with fresh-baked bread. The wine is made from muscadines. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”