A Touch of Gold

by Joyce Lavene; Jim Lavene

  “And why would that be, Mayor O’Donnell?” Agent Walker asked, catching up with us.

  “I don’t know exactly. I think whoever did this is related to Bunk. Family, you know?” I thought about what Bunk had said in the sunroom about Max not being the target. “Maybe Agnes was always the target, not Max or Sam. She was at the museum before it exploded too. Maybe Max and Sam got in the way, like Bunk said.”

  “You mean the woman he told you was his daughter?”

  “Yes. Max knew the truth and he was killed. Bunk said he was worried about Sam. Maybe Sam knew the secret Bunk was trying to hide, even though it was by accident. Someone tried to burn down Agnes’s house with her inside. Maybe it’s all about the gold and who gets it when Bunk dies.”

  Walker seemed to think it over but then dismissed the idea. “I don’t buy it. Sorry. Organizations don’t work that way. The spoils go to whoever takes over.”

  “I don’t know if you could classify Bunk Whitley as an organization,” I said.

  Walker nodded at the cane Kevin still held. “Did that belong to him? We’ll have to take it in as evidence.”

  I didn’t volunteer the note. I wasn’t sure it would really make any difference to Walker or the case. But it meant something to me.

  Walker told us we’d have to leave the island. They were locking it down for a special SBI forensics team that was coming in to go over everything more thoroughly. I was ready to go anyway. I guessed I’d found what I came for in part, if not everything. Bunk’s quick departure (probably by helicopter—Kevin pointed out the tracks in the sand) left me wanting to know more but with no one to ask.

  Since Walker and his men stayed on the island, that left me, Gramps and Kevin going back on the Eleanore together. Kevin conveniently left me and Gramps alone at the helm, probably thinking we should talk about our problem. I decided I was ready if Gramps was.

  “It was a long time ago, Dae. I guess I never expected it to come up. Or at least I hoped it wouldn’t. I can’t even figure out how Bunk knew about it. We kept it a secret between us, your mom, your grandmother and me.”

  “I think Bunk makes it his business to find out useful secrets. Maybe he thought he could use it against you. You were the Dare County sheriff at the time.”

  “Maybe. He probably got it from your father. He’s that kind of man.”

  “What kind?”

  “The troublemaking kind. He’s been in and out of jail his whole life. I begged your mother to stop seeing him, but she kept sneaking out. Then it was too late. She found out she was pregnant. She couldn’t wait to tell him. She really thought he’d want to settle down with her and the baby.”

  “But he didn’t?”

  He laughed in a terrible, sad way. “No. He took off for parts unknown. He told your mother to call him when she took care of the problem. She was so far gone over that boy that she almost did it too. Your grandmother found her at an abortion clinic in Elizabeth City and dragged her home by the ear.”

  The thump-thump-thump of the engine kept time with my heart. I’d asked for the truth not knowing how awful it might be. My father didn’t want me, and my mother almost got rid of me. My eyes stung with tears that I forced myself to hold back so Gramps would continue the story.

  “Then she decided she wanted me?” I asked hopefully.

  He glanced up as though to say he was sorry, but there was more. “I’m afraid not, honey. She left to go and find him, to make him change his mind. She was gone when your grandmother suffered a heart attack and passed on. Eleanore died of a broken heart—I don’t care what the doctors said.”

  How had they kept all of this from me? I remembered my mother talking about my grandmother so many times yet she never mentioned it. “That’s terrible.”

  “Your grandmother was in the ground before your mother came back with you. She’d thought seeing you would change your father. It didn’t. He threw both of you out on the street. Your mother had to beg for bus fare to get back home. When she got back, the two of you were starving—thin as rails and sickly too. You cried all the time. I hated to tell her that her mother was dead, but I had no choice. For a while, I thought it might kill her too. I was scared to death of trying to raise a little girl on my own.”

  “Gramps—”

  “Never mind, Dae. You didn’t know. But that’s why we never spoke of it. Your mother got better a little at a time, and we went on raising you the best we could. But that’s it in a clamshell. I asked your mother many times when she was going to tell you about your daddy. She always said she was waiting for the right time. Guess it never came.”

  Apparently, all the women in my family died abruptly leaving guilt-ridden children behind. Why hadn’t my mother told me? I wasn’t a kid anymore when she’d died. Was she that afraid my father would corrupt me too? Or was it too embarrassing to admit what she’d done?

  I scrubbed my eyes with my hands. “I’m sorry, Gramps. You were right. It wasn’t your story to tell. I wish Mom would’ve told me.”

  “Me too, honey.” He moved his hand over his face, then looked up to stare out over the Atlantic. “Maybe I should’ve told you sooner. I don’t know. I hate that you had to find out this way. I just didn’t know how to say all that without hurting you. I guess Bunk helped us out with that, huh?”

  Things were quiet for a few days after we got back from the island. I organized and reorganized Missing Pieces. I had a few customers too.

  I hated to do it, but I sold my African hand mirror to a woman who admired it. Much as I loved it, I knew I would never use it again. Looking at it was a constant reminder of the terrible sorrow I’d felt from it. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it, and I figured the woman who bought it would never know the mirror’s past. The shop seemed emptier without it, but I knew it was for the best.

  After so much excitement, I felt a little disappointed, even bored, getting back to my normal life. There were no late-night visits from Chief Michaels, no puzzles to solve. I even missed the unhappy frowns from Agent Walker. I could only imagine all of them being very busy dissecting the information they’d found on the island.

  They were lucky to have that information. When the museum burned, it destroyed the only copies of the old Duck Gazette. A lot of history was lost forever. I wished we’d put it in more than one place. But it was too late for second thoughts, no matter how well intentioned. Everything I ever knew about Bunk Whitley had been in the museum’s microfiche collection. After meeting him, I wished I knew more.

  I went out with Shayla and Trudy for what was supposed to be a girls’ night out. It ended up being a chance for Shayla to show off her new boyfriend. He was a navy SEAL with perfect abs and an attitude to match. I was glad she’d moved on after the thing with Kevin. It made me feel less guilty even though Trudy kept assuring me that there was nothing for me to feel guilty about.

  Trudy drove me home after the night out. I really wanted to tell her about my newfound father. But the words wouldn’t come. I’d known her all of my life. I really wanted someone else to talk to about it, but I couldn’t tell her.

  So I bottled it up inside and glanced through the Outer Banks’ phone listings starting with Duck and working my way around the island. There was no Danny Evans listed.

  Maybe it was just as well. Did I really want to contact him after all these years? What would he say? Would he be sorry he kicked me and my mother out when I was a baby?

  Somehow I doubted it. He might not even remember me or my mother. Obviously he’d never come to see what happened to us during the last thirty-plus years. I had to assume it was because he didn’t care. We still lived in the same place where he’d met her. How hard would it be to drive by?

  I didn’t want to make a fool of myself over the whole thing anyway. I was curious, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But I wasn’t rushing out to hire a private detective either. If Danny Evans wasn’t interested in who his daughter was, she wasn’t interested in him either. At least that’s what I told myself at
night before I went to sleep.

  The Duck Historical Society met and accepted the gift of Mrs. Elizabeth Simpson’s house as a new museum. The elegant old house on the ocean side had a historical background of its own besides being a great place for a museum. Max would’ve been so proud.

  It was also right next door to the Blue Whale Inn, which would make transporting the hundreds of artifacts that were cluttering Kevin’s lobby even easier. I volunteered to help with the move on that Saturday. It was cold and rainy—the icy, driving rain that comes from the ocean and leaves everyone shivering in their homes.

  No one stayed home that day, though. Everyone showed up to help. People from Duck knew how to put on a rain poncho and boots better than most.

  Gramps was busy in the morning but planned to come by the museum later in the day. I walked over by myself thinking I might open Missing Pieces later if the sun came out for a while. There wouldn’t be many customers looking for treasures in this weather, but I needed every sale I could get.

  I held my head down against the rain and wind. I looked up when I noticed a car moving slowly along beside me. Someone was offering me a ride. I wished it were Kevin, though I knew he was busy preparing a huge luncheon for all the volunteers. But any ride in the rain would be welcome, so I stepped up to the car.

  Brad Spitzer pushed open the door for me. “Hey! Can I offer you a ride, Mayor?”

  I hesitated. I didn’t know him very well, though I’d accepted rides from other people I knew even less about. What I did know about him I didn’t like. And what if we got into another discussion about how he thought I killed Max?

  On the other hand, it was cold and wet. I felt like icicles were hanging from my poncho. How well did I need to know him to drive the short distance to the Blue Whale? He was a public official, after all.

  I climbed in the car and apologized for getting the seat wet. “Thanks for stopping. I’m on my way to the new history museum. Not far.”

  “Not a problem.” He started forward, no traffic on either side of Duck Road. “I admit to having an ulterior motive for offering you a lift, Mayor.”

  I squeezed closer to the door. He was going pretty slow. I figured I could always jump out. “Oh?”

  “I wanted to apologize for the things I said to you about Max Caudle’s death. I’m sorry I insinuated that you might have something to do with it. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I was frustrated, I guess. My first big case since becoming the head arson investigator and I was blowing it.”

  “That’s okay.” I smiled back. “People make mistakes.”

  “Thanks for understanding.”

  “Sure. Thanks for not thinking I killed anyone.”

  He laughed a little. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you the other night, but what you did out on the island was really brave. A notorious racketeer like Bunk Whitley had to be hard to face down.”

  I didn’t think any of my actions had been particularly courageous. “It wasn’t so bad. And it was almost unbelievable to meet old Bunk Whitley. He’s a legend in Duck.”

  “Yeah. I’m not from Duck and I’ve heard of him.”

  “Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. If he was hoping to hear interesting exploits from the adventure, he was doomed to disappointment.

  “I’m curious about what exactly Bunk said to you. You didn’t go into details at the meeting. You had lunch with him. He must’ve talked. Did he give you any clues to his past crimes?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I didn’t want to tell him about my father. “Not really. We mostly talked about general stuff.” I decided lying was my best course. Like I said, I didn’t know him very well. I wasn’t going to discuss Agnes, her mother’s suicide or any other sensitive subjects.

  “Really.” He glanced at me as though trying to verify that I was telling the truth. Probably one of those law enforcement techniques they teach. “As I understand it, Bunk discussed Max Caudle and Sam Meacham’s death with you. Old Bunk even took responsibility for Meacham’s death. Is that right?”

  “Sort of.” By this time we were parked in the Blue Whale’s driveway. It would’ve been easy to step out of the car with a fast good-bye and make for the shelter of Kevin’s inn. But Brad had given me a ride here. I didn’t want to be rude.

  “That’s fine if you’d rather not talk about it,” he conceded to my great relief. “But I have another question for you.”

  “Oh?” My skin prickled, and I glanced out the window through the cold rain to the bright blue building in front of us.

  “The chief says you have a gift, Mayor. That you’re psychic. He says you can help people find things they’ve lost by holding their hands. Is that true?”

  He seemed sincere—his eyes were worried and his voice wavered slightly, as though this really meant something to him. It wasn’t a secret that I could find lost things. Maybe I’d prejudged him because we’d gotten off on the wrong foot. “Yes. Sometimes that’s true.”

  “Could you—would you be willing to help me? I’ve been looking for something for a long time. It belonged to my father. He and I are strangers. It’s the only thing I have of his. I’d take it as a personal favor if you could help me find it again.”

  Going through my own struggle with an unknown father, how could I say no? I wanted to help him if I could. “I’d be glad to. We just need a quiet place to sit for a few minutes.”

  I could see Kevin (I thought it was Kevin, hard to tell in a poncho and boots) walking out of the Blue Whale and headed our way. This wouldn’t be a good time or place. “I’m going to be here for the rest of the day, but maybe later tonight or tomorrow would work out.”

  “That would be great! Whenever you can do it, Mayor. I’ve waited a long time. I can wait a little longer.” He scribbled down his cell phone number and handed it to me.

  “Call me Dae, please, everyone does. I’ll give you a call and we can meet somewhere.”

  “Thank you, Dae.” He smiled—it was like the sun coming out after the rain. Proof, I guessed, of how much this meant to him. “I’ve never believed in anything like this, you understand. But I want to. I really want to believe this can be the answer for me.”

  By this time, the hooded figure had reached us and it was Kevin. He rapped on the passenger-side window, peeking out at me from under the hood of his brown raincoat. I rolled down my window.

  “Dae? Are you okay?” He gave Brad a significant stare.

  “Sorry!” Brad smiled at him. “I didn’t mean to keep her so long, Brickman.”

  “That’s okay,” Kevin said, though he didn’t seem to mean it.

  “Thanks again,” Brad said to me before I got out of the car. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  “Okay. See you.” I closed the car door and ran up to the Blue Whale with Kevin.

  “What was that all about?” he asked. “I thought the last time you talked with him he accused you of killing Max.”

  “Anyone can make a mistake.” I sniffed the air, avoiding several anonymous people in ponchos, their arms filled with Duck history. “Lunch smells great! I guess I’d better get started if I’m going to earn my seat at the table.”

  It was hard to believe a town as small as Duck could have so much history to share. There were dozens of old dresses, suits and kids’ outfits worn by Duck residents from the 1800s through the 1950s. There were antique writing desks and chairs that had graced sea captains’ quarters. Not to mention hundreds of boat parts, from lanterns to anchors.

  Many people said they’d been waiting, holding these items until Duck got another, larger, museum. Of course, no one had dreamed it would happen this way. There was an air of regret that it had taken so long to move the museum out of the tiny building Max had overseen for so many years.

  The members of the Duck Historical Society made a special announcement during the luncheon of orange salad, fresh-baked bread and twice-stuffed ravioli I’d watched Kevin prepare. They told us that a bronze pl
aque was being made to honor Max and his contributions to the community. It was supposed to be ready midmonth, in time for the ribbon cutting on the new museum. His memorial would also be held at the same time.

  There was a spontaneous burst of applause. Agnes, Celia and Vicky were there, crying as they listened to the appreciative remarks about Max. Agnes said a few words about her husband’s love of history, which were followed by another round of applause.

  The Duck Historical Society members thanked Kevin profusely for his wonderful lunch. The dining room in the Blue Whale was completely filled with volunteers. I was amazed to see how many people were willing to give their time for the move.

  I could imagine how the dining room had looked in Bunk Whitley’s day. Probably not that different. Kevin had added some modern lighting and decoration, but the crystal, sterling and china were older, reflecting a more elegant, graceful time.

  By midafternoon everything that had been stored at the Blue Whale was in the Simpson house. It wasn’t in any order. Portraits of old Bunk and Banker relatives were pushed against chamber pots, old photos of fishing boats and jewelry from the early 1800s made from shells.

  My back, arms and legs were killing me, but I’d been careful and wore gloves so as not to have any incidents with these objects. There were a few things I knew I was glad not to touch—a noose left over from the last man hanged in Duck, a blunderbuss and some knives that were of questionable origin. I didn’t think those were only rust stains I saw on them.

  “Nice to have your lobby back?” I asked Kevin after everything had been moved.

  “Sure, but business is slow right now anyway. It was a good time to do it even if the circumstances weren’t anything anyone wanted.”

  “What will happen now about Max and Sam?” I asked him, sitting down on the old high-backed circle chair in the center of the lobby.

  He shrugged. “I guess it will depend on what they find on the island. Maybe Bunk Whitley killed Sam and Max. Case closed.”