by Joyce Lavene
“Come on,” Kevin finally said. “Let’s get you settled in somewhere.”
“If I can do anything to help out while I’m here . . .” Danny offered.
“I’m sure I can find you something to do,” Kevin answered. “There’s always something to do around here.”
I went inside with them. The level of chaos seemed the same as when we’d left. Deputies questioned the conference attendees, who in turn struggled to remember who was and wasn’t around them in the lobby during the storm.
This seemed like a perfect opportunity for me to have a look at Sandi’s and Matthew’s rooms again. Last time, people had been with me—I do my best finding alone.
Despite other people searching the rooms, I still thought they might have missed something only I could find. I knew the rooms would be officially off-limits—part of the crime scene by now.
But if there weren’t any officers stationed at the rooms, and I was careful, I couldn’t see where it would hurt anything for me to look around. Hopefully I’d find something with more intrinsic value than the ruby ring. It wasn’t much help when people had to take my word for what I felt. Even the keys were doubtful as evidence, since I was the only one who could tell Sandi was angry when she threw them.
I crept upstairs past familiar faces who were busy writing down explanations they thought the police would like to see. I made my way back to Sandi’s room, opened the door, and carefully slipped under the crime scene tape.
I turned around to start searching—Rafe was sitting on the bed. I jumped a little and he laughed. “You’re too nervy by half, girl. You should be expecting my company by now. I’m never far away.”
“The way you blew out of the house this morning, I thought maybe you were gone for good,” I whispered, not wanting anyone alive to hear me.
“Unlikely,” he said. “Just because I was riled by what ye said doesn’t mean you’re off the hook.”
“Then be prepared—you might not like the answers I find.”
“Any answers that prove I was unjustly accused and hanged are fine.” He watched me look around the room. “What are ye searching for now?”
“Something to help the police chief figure out who killed Sandi. Either Matthew Wright is guilty or someone else is. The obvious person isn’t always the right one.”
“That’s what I’m talking about. I was the obvious person when they hanged me—but not the guilty one.”
“We’ll go next door to the museum when I get done here,” I promised. “But I’d appreciate it if you could be quiet right now so I can think.”
“You’re a cheeky wench, by God that’s the truth! You don’t deserve the information about the murder you find so much more interesting than my own.”
“What kind of information?” I asked, not really paying much attention. Ghosts seemed to be oblivious to their annoying habits.
“Only that your chief suspect has crossed over.”
“Crossed over what?”
“Crossed over—don’t be so thick! I know you understand the King’s English!”
I stopped looking in one of the dresser drawers. “You mean he’s dead?”
“Most people would assume that.”
“How do you know?”
He began rising from the bed toward the ceiling—a movement he made whenever he was upset, I’d noticed. “How do ye think I know? Sometimes it’s hard for me to believe you’re related to me. It must be the foul air or the strange food you eat that keeps your brain from working as it should.”
“Are you sure?” I started thinking about Gramps and Chief Michaels leaving the Blue Whale while the investigation was still going on. They might have heard about Matthew’s death. “Where is he?”
“I can’t say. Things are different now. I can take you there, but I can’t explain exactly where he is.”
I thought about my investigation here. If I left now, I might never get back in. But if Matthew was dead—there could be more evidence where he was.
“You can’t talk to him, can you? I mean, he’s dead and you’re dead—”
“I told you, it’s not a social club. I don’t know where he’s gone. If you know one of his relations, you might be able to talk to him through them.”
I shrugged. “Okay. Just thought I’d ask.”
“Again,” he reminded me. “You have no memory either, girl. Mayhap this is why women should be at home—seen but not heard. You waste your time dithering about things that aren’t important.”
“Okay. That’s fine. Insult me when you need my help.”
He laughed in a scornful way. “As you need mine to find your dead suspect.”
“All right.” I decided to leave and investigate Matthew’s possible death. “But you better be right.”
“Bloodthirsty vixen!”
I realized how my last statement must have sounded and rushed to my defense. “I don’t want him to be dead, but if I leave to look for him and lose this crime scene—never mind.”
The door to the room opened and Marissa looked around. “Dae?”
“Hi, Marissa.” At least it wasn’t a deputy.
“You went through the crime scene tape? I hope you don’t get in trouble for that. That police officer was kind of specific about not letting anyone in here.”
“I was hoping to find something that might help. No one else needs to know. I promise you won’t get in any trouble for this either.”
“I understand. Did you find anything?”
“No.” I walked to the door. The ghost was gone. “I have to leave now and look for something else.”
“Can I help?”
“No, I—”
“Dae, who were you talking to in here?” she asked as she glanced around the room again. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. Mostly.”
“I thought I heard voices. That’s why I came in.”
“Oh that!” I laughed. “It’s a bad habit—talking to myself.” I really looked at her. Her pretty blond hair was messed up and her clothes looked rumpled, as though she’d slept in them. I was going to have a word with Kevin about overworking the poor girl.
Marissa closed the door as we left the room, and this time, she locked it and pocketed the key. “I hope you don’t think I was spying on you.”
“No. Not at all. I know it’s part of your job to keep up with what’s going on at the inn. And you’re very good at it. I hope Kevin appreciates you. You know how men can be sometimes—they can’t see what’s under their noses.”
She sniffed a little and looked like she might cry. “I know exactly what you mean, Dae.”
I hugged her impulsively. “I’ll talk to Kevin. You need some time off. I hope everything is okay with your grandfather.”
“He’s fine, thanks.” She smiled wearily. “You’re right, though. Between taking care of him and the extra work here, I’m exhausted. Most of the time, I don’t know if I’m coming or going. A person can make mistakes that way. I’m trying hard not to let that happen.”
I spent a few more minutes trying to cheer her up, but she had other things she had to do. I did too, but I decided to take a minute and tell Kevin that she needed some time off. He probably hadn’t even noticed—he was such a workaholic.
I found him cleaning up the glass in the now-dry ballroom. He looked haggard too. We were all stretched too thin, but there wasn’t any way but through it. I told him about running into Marissa upstairs and suggested that he either hire someone else to help her or at least give her a few days off.
He handed me the oversized dust pan. “What were you doing upstairs? Please tell me you didn’t go in Matthew’s or Sandi’s room. Because the police have them taped off and they wouldn’t be happy knowing you went in and contaminated the crime scene.”
“I was just looking around a little. I didn’t touch anything.”
“Dae, I know you have some extraordinary gifts, but you have to be careful how you use them. You’re worried about Marissa—but you’re pushin
g yourself hard too.”
I thought about something Kevin had told me—how he’d lost his FBI partner, a woman he’d loved, who also had some psychic talent. She’d had a breakdown of some kind. I was pretty sure he’d quit the FBI because he’d lost her, although he never said as much.
“I’m fine, Kevin, really.” I held the dustpan for him to brush glass shards into it.
He stopped sweeping. “You look guilty. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I looked at my watch—I needed to leave if I was going to find out if what Rafe had said was true. “You might not believe it.”
He sighed. “Try me. I think I’ve proven that it takes a lot to surprise me.”
“There’s a ghost,” I whispered, glancing around—more for the living who might overhear us than for Rafe, who I suspected was always listening. “The ghost of my dead pirate ancestor, Rafe Masterson.”
Chapter 29
“Are you talking about the scourge-of-the-Outer-Banks-pirate Rafe Masterson? The one who cursed Duck with his dying breath?” Kevin asked. “I didn’t know you were related to him.”
“I didn’t either.” I explained from the beginning, wondering why I even tried to keep secrets from him, since he always ended up knowing anyway.
“He’s too addlepated to understand,” Rafe inserted, showing himself to me.
“You’re violating our agreement,” I told him.
“He’s here now?” Kevin looked around the empty ballroom.
“He wants to know about me. What better way than to hear it from me personally,” Rafe insisted. “Besides, you told him about me. That breaks our agreement.”
“He can’t hear you or see you,” I reminded the pirate. “Remember—he’s not related.”
“What’s he saying?” Kevin wondered, giving up trying to find him hovering close by.
“He’s not saying anything else—unless he doesn’t want my help anymore.”
Rafe vanished, but his leaving was like a sudden surge of air blasting through the ballroom. It rattled the chandelier and made the pieces of glass on the floor dance.
“Was that him?” Kevin asked.
“He’s kind of a show-off.”
“So this ghost is helping you solve Mayor Foxx’s murder?”
“Not exactly—he thinks he is. He told me Matthew Wright has crossed over. I was on my way to see if it’s true.”
“Can I tag along?”
“Sure. I don’t see why not.” I smiled at him and took his hand in mine. “Trying to make sure I haven’t lost it?”
He wrapped his arms around me and held me close. I could hear his heart beating against my ear. “The world you’re part of can be dangerous. I worry about you. But I’d also like to know if he’s right.”
“I can live with that. Thanks.” We kissed briefly, then started out of the Blue Whale. I could hear Rafe chuckling, but he didn’t make another appearance.
I told Kevin that Chief Michaels and Gramps may have been called to the scene already. “Rafe can’t tell me exactly where we’re going. He said the area has changed too much.”
“Is he here now?” Kevin asked as we got in the pickup parked outside the back entrance.
“I don’t see him, if that’s what you mean. But I think he’s lurking. What are you worried about?”
“Not that you’re crazy,” he assured me as he started the engine. “How much do you know about spirits pretending to be someone we might want to see?”
“Absolutely nothing—except the little bit of gibberish Shayla shared with me when she found out about Rafe. But there are two things that don’t make sense about that. First of all, why would any ghost pretend to be Rafe Masterson? It’s not like I would’ve summoned him to help me. You’ve heard all the terrible stories about him. And second, what could he hope to gain?”
“Your trust—your help in whatever he wants to do. Spirits can’t do things for themselves on this plane. They need human help.”
“I told you he wants his name cleared. But even Shayla agreed he could only appear to me since we’re related. It’s not like I go around seeing ghosts everywhere like she does. Helping him with that doesn’t seem so terrible, since he’s my great-great-something or other. I’ve been trying to do some research at the museum, but things keep getting in the way.”
“Just be careful. Don’t let him talk you into anything that doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay.” I wasn’t sure what else I could say. He sounded very ominous about the whole thing.
“He’s daft!” Rafe suddenly appeared between us. “The poor sot has no idea what he’s blabbering about. What matter of conveyance is this?”
I told Kevin that Rafe was with us. “He thinks you’re crazy.”
“I’m sure he does.” Kevin kept his eyes on the road. “Just have him tell us where we’re supposed to go—unless Matthew Wright is out in the middle of Duck Road.”
I realized he’d been at the stop sign for a few minutes. Rafe blustered and complained but finally gave me directions. “Follow the road to the right,” he instructed. I relayed the information to Kevin. “There’s a place on the sound—gad, how amazing that some things stay the same for so long, eh? I had a friend—One Finger Joe—who lived right on that spot. Good fishing there.”
“Which way now?” Kevin questioned as we were driving down the road. “There are a lot of places on the sound.”
“There is something sticking up out of the water—a quay of some sort. It’s beyond a grassy area with walkways of stone.” Rafe shook his head. “Beyond that, I cannot tell you.”
“The park!” I interpreted. “I think he’s talking about Duck Park.” There was a small cove at the edge of the park where we’d built a pier for walkers that jutted out into the Currituck Sound.
Kevin pulled the pickup into the parking lot, and we ran down the trails toward the water side of the park. Rafe stayed visibly ahead of us, floating above the path. I felt like I was in an episode of Scooby-Doo—pirate ghost and all.
A few Duck residents waved as we went by. A senior group was meeting there for their weekly walk. I smiled and waved back, thinking all the time that the park would become a crime scene if Matthew was found here. Cleanup from the storm would have to be postponed.
The cove was beside the stairs heading up to the long pier, which had such great views of the sound. A few mangled bicycles, a tire and a baby stroller languished in the water.
“I don’t see anything—at least not a dead body,” Kevin said after a moment. “I’ll check from the pier.”
“He’s down there, girl,” Rafe assured me. “Might be weighted down. That’s the way we did it. Look hard. You’ll see him.”
I did as he suggested, as best I could from the shore anyway. I was leery of jumping into the water unless I had to. There was no telling what all was beneath the surface, aside from a dead body.
“I don’t see anything,” Kevin said again, coming back down the stairs. “I think your ghost might have some bad intel.”
“He’s here, blast your hides! You’re looking all wrong.” Rafe paced up and down the shoreline.
“Or you’re all wrong,” I answered.
“Maybe he’s being held down underwater with something,” Kevin said. “There’s a lot of debris. I wouldn’t go in there without some kind of safety equipment. We should call the fire department.”
“What will we tell them?” I worried the problem—and my lip. “I can’t tell them a ghost told me to come here.”
“I don’t know why.” Kevin shrugged. “People here believe in ghosts. I don’t think they’d be that surprised.”
“Because I’m the mayor, and people know I have a gift—I find things. Shayla sees ghosts. Mrs. Anson in Southern Shores sees ghosts. Not me. I was really hoping Chief Michaels would be here and I could quietly creep away knowing Rafe was right.”
“One of you lily-livered cods jump in!” Rafe yelled, causing the bushes beside us to stir as though a strong wind had co
me up from the sound. “I’d do it myself, but it wouldn’t do no good.”
“I left my cell phone in the truck,” Kevin said. “I’ll call the fire department and tell them we saw something hazardous down here. We won’t use your story. Then we’ll know if your ghost is telling the truth.”
I looked back toward the water and saw something lying on top of the tire. It gleamed in the sunlight. I knew I’d seen it before. “Matthew’s car key.” I called Kevin back, but he was already too far gone. “I guess you must be right,” I said to the pirate. “That’s the key I found at the Blue Whale.”
“I told you so,” Rafe raved. “Now do you believe?”
But there was something else. I walked to the edge of the water, the toes of my shoes getting wet in the process. There was something stuck on the handle of the baby stroller.
I looked around for something to drag the stroller closer to me—even as I heard sirens coming from the direction of the fire station at the other end of Duck.
“What’s that you have there?” Rafe came closer, angling to see what I was doing.
I found a stick of some sort—maybe a broken broom handle—and used it to snag the stroller. It took a few tries to get it close enough so I could grab it from the water.
I knew I shouldn’t touch whatever was attached to the stroller handle, so I pushed with the stick, trying to see what it was. I reasoned that it could get lost when the fire department arrived. They would be looking for Matthew, not for debris that might have nothing to do with his death.
My chest felt cold as I brought it closer—it was a small gun. It didn’t look real, more like a toy. But I knew it was lethal, probably the .22-caliber the police were looking for. I wasn’t the sheriff’s granddaughter for nothing.
“What did you find?” Kevin came back, cell phone in hand.
“A gun. Don’t worry. I didn’t touch it. It looks like whoever killed Matthew threw his keys and a gun in after him.”
“I’m sure the chief will give you a hard time for messing with the crime scene anyway,” he said. “I guess your pirate was right.”
