A Haunting Dream

by Joyce Lavene

Trudy was more impressed than Shayla by his ominous words. “I’ve got an early appointment, Dae. Just let me know if there’s anything I can do besides”—she glanced at Shayla—“magic or anything.”

  Once we were alone, I told Shayla of the previous night’s occurrences. She ushered me into her shop, Mrs. Roberts, Spiritual Advisor. The name had been there on the shop when she’d arrived in Duck, left behind by a psychic who’d abruptly moved to Wilmington.

  Unlike Missing Pieces, Shayla’s shop, with its red silk curtains, tarot cards and crystal balls, exuded a feeling of mystery and magic. Enigmatic pictures hung on the walls, and unusual statues stared out from shelves—on days when I was in a bad mood, I found them positively frightening.

  “So your powers have changed again.” Shayla took off her dark glasses and smoothed her hand down her coal black hair. Little silver bracelets jingled on her slim, brown arm. “It’s probably this whole emotional problem between you and Kevin.”

  “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Is it?” she demanded. “When did it start happening?”

  “I went outside the coffee shop with Old Man Sweeney after Kevin and Ann left. But that doesn’t mean I’m an emotional basket case. I’m fine.”

  She stared hard at me. It made me feel uncomfortable. “Let me tell you, Dae O’Donnell, you are not fine. Not by a long shot. You love that man, but you’re willing to sacrifice that love to do the right thing. Does that about sum it up?”

  I wanted to deny it, but it was true. Life would never be as good without Kevin to share it. “I still don’t think that would make Chuck Sparks able to see me and talk to me.”

  “That’s because you don’t understand how all of this works.” She spun slowly. “Everything magical works on emotion. The stronger the emotion, the better it works.”

  “This isn’t magic, Shayla,” I scoffed. “This is science. This is something your brain does. What does that have to do with emotion?”

  “Okay. Let’s talk science. A scientist will tell you that your brain chemistry is affected by emotion. You have endorphins flooding through you when you’re happy. God knows what kind of terrible name they have for the bad stuff.”

  “I’m not saying I couldn’t be affected by what happened,” I argued. “But how would that play into Chuck coming back from the dead?”

  “Let’s take a glance in the looking glass.” She sat at the small wicker table and invited me to do the same. “Can you face your demons?”

  Chapter 7

  “Bring it!” I said, sitting down. I was going to prove once and for all that a lot of what Shayla did was hocus-pocus. Some things, admittedly, were something else. “Magic” might be too strong a word. I was trying to make my point and not think about those other things.

  We both looked into the crystal ball. It appeared to be very old, something I might have collected for Missing Pieces. Shayla said it had belonged to her great-grandmother in New Orleans.

  The glass was clear when I first looked into it, but the more I stared, the hazier it got. I looked away then looked back to make sure it wasn’t my imagination. The glass was still cloudy. “Do you have a mini fog machine?” I glanced under the table but saw nothing hidden there.

  “Shh! We’ve made contact.”

  “With who?” And did we want to make contact with whoever it was?

  I studied the crystal a little more carefully. An image began to form—Chuck Sparks in his suit and tie getting into the burgundy Lincoln.

  “Is that him?” Shayla whispered.

  “Yes. How are we seeing this?”

  “Reruns from your vision, no doubt.”

  “I didn’t see this. Maybe you should close it down now.”

  “It’s not a TV, Dae. It sees what it wants to see.”

  I thought about Betsy. Maybe we could use this to our advantage. “I’m looking for a little girl. I think she may be Chuck’s daughter.”

  As soon as I said the words, Chuck looked right up at me from the crystal ball. “Help her.”

  Why does this keep happening? I almost fell over trying to either push back or get out of the wicker chair. “How could he see me?”

  “It’s unusual, that’s for sure.” Shayla lazily got up from her chair. “Not unheard of. I didn’t realize you were so close to him.”

  “I hardly knew him. I don’t know why he decided to give me this message.”

  She shrugged. “The dead keep their own secrets.”

  “I wish they’d keep them to themselves.”

  “What? You got your answer. Go find that child. He won’t rest until you do. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to see his face behind you in the bathroom mirror next time you brush your teeth.”

  The idea made me shiver. “I don’t understand any of this, and you’re no help,” I said accusingly. “But if he does have a daughter, I’ll find her.”

  Shayla wasn’t that impressed. “You do what you have to do.” Her dark eyes narrowed. “Stay away from that woman with Kevin, Dae. Something bad is coming up in her future. She reeked of it yesterday. That woman will do no good.”

  “Then how am I supposed to fight for Kevin?”

  She brought out a pink bottle. “My passion flower mixture will do it. He loves you. This will make it so he remembers that and doesn’t even think about doing the right thing with her.”

  “No, thanks. Either he loves me and it works out, or not. You don’t think she’d hurt Kevin, do you?”

  “I don’t know. She has problems.”

  “Okay. I’m going home now. See you later.”

  Less than an hour later, I had been home, eaten a little something, changed clothes and was at Duck Elementary School. Every nook and cranny of this place held memories for me. I’d fallen off of the climbing bars trying to impress Robby Maxwell when we were in second grade. I’d accidentally dumped a whole bowl of punch on myself at the fifth-grade dance. I couldn’t exactly remember how that had happened, but people had talked about it for a long time.

  I walked into the principal’s office with a big smile and was greeted by Cathi Connor. She and I had gone through school together here. She’d been a pale, freckled girl—still was—whose mother brought her lunch to school each day. It cemented her reputation as a weird person, like me. My grandfather was the sheriff. That made me weird.

  “It’s good to see you, Dae!” Cathi hugged me. “We haven’t seen you around much. We actually had Reading Aloud Day and you weren’t here. Something up with you? Or were you just busy plotting how to kill Mad Dog?”

  I laughed at that as we sat down. Who would’ve ever thought she’d be behind the school principal’s desk? Or for that matter, that I’d be mayor?

  “It’s been hectic,” I admitted. “You can’t believe what all goes into a political campaign. Last time, no one ran against me. This time, Mad Dog has his posters everywhere.”

  “Well, at least now you won’t have to worry about his smear campaign that was questioning your morals.”

  This was the first I’d heard of that topic. “What kind of morality are we talking about?”

  “Oh, you know. That thing about you and the man from the Blue Whale Inn. Mad Dog was making you sound like a scarlet woman. Since you broke up with what’s-his-name, that should take care of it. You have my vote anyway.”

  That was one way of looking at it. “Mad Dog can say what he wants. I don’t think he’d be a good mayor even if he’s been married and no one questions his morality. He’s got the same old ideas, you know? We’re not the same town anymore. We need new ideas.”

  Cathi applauded. “Brava! Nicely said. Sorry anyway, about the breakup. And right in front of everyone. People have no dignity anymore.”

  A subject change was needed, and since I hadn’t come to discuss morality, or the lack of it, in Duck politics, I smiled and leaned forward a little. “I need your help, Cathi.”

  “What can I do for you?”

  “I’m looking for a little girl who may go to school here. Her
name is Betsy Sparks. Do you know her?”

  “I wouldn’t normally do this for anyone but members of the family, but since you’re the mayor, I guess it’s okay. Sure. Betsy Sparks is in first grade. She seems to be doing very well since the transfer.”

  “Transfer?”

  “She’s not from Duck. She looked at me, suddenly suspicious. “Why are you asking about her, Dae?”

  She obviously hadn’t heard about Chuck’s death. I bit my lip, not wanting to be the one who told her.

  And I didn’t know what the chief had in mind. He might be keeping Chuck’s death a secret to try and find the killer. I knew from being the sheriff’s granddaughter that some information was never given out. But this was Duck—usually it was hard to contain.

  If I told her, and the police were keeping Chuck’s death a secret for whatever reason, I’d never hear the end of it from Chief Michaels. But what else could I say? It seemed to me that finding Betsy, if she was really missing, was more important.

  Still I didn’t want to jeopardize anything the chief was working on.

  I decided to make something up. I really just needed to know if Betsy was there or not. “I heard she’s read a lot of books. I was thinking about starting some kind of book club for kids who read a lot. You know, stickers, that kind of thing.”

  She smiled. She doesn’t know about Chuck. “What a great idea! Let’s go talk to her. Why didn’t you just say so instead of sounding so mysterious?”

  We walked down the quiet hallway—all the children were in class. Our shoes clicked on the shiny green tile. I hoped Betsy was in her classroom, though I wasn’t sure what I’d say if she was there. I’d probably have to start a book club and buy stickers. But that would be fine.

  It wasn’t rational that she’d be here. I imagined all kinds of scenarios that would allow her to be at school, despite her father’s death. Perhaps she didn’t yet know that Chuck was dead. Maybe she didn’t even live with him. Maybe she’d been visiting her mother, who’d dropped her off this morning. Anything would work for me.

  Please let her be here.

  “You said Betsy transferred recently,” I said to Cathi.

  “Yes. She came to live with her father. I haven’t met her mom, so I assume she’s out of the day-to-day picture.”

  “Do you know where she transferred from?”

  “Somewhere on the mainland. I don’t remember right now. Chuck didn’t want to talk about it when he enrolled her.”

  We got to a classroom where the little sign card on the door read “Miss Ames—First Grade.” Cathi smiled, knocked and opened the door.

  “Ms. Connor!” Miss Ames looked a little frazzled to see her there. “What can I do for you?”

  “The mayor wants to see Betsy Sparks. Is she here today?”

  Both women and all twenty children in the classroom looked around. There was one empty desk with a nameplate on it that read “Betsy.”

  “No.” Miss Ames frowned. “She wasn’t here yesterday either. I haven’t heard anything from her father. I suppose someone from the office should check on her.”

  Cathi thanked her, and we left the classroom, walking back toward the office. “I really don’t like it when teachers don’t follow our student-absence procedures. She should have called home yesterday. Putting it off on the office isn’t the answer either.”

  I was too stunned, wondering what I should do next, to reply. Help her. Chuck’s words brought fear stealing into my soul. I knew he was talking about Betsy now. Something had happened to her when he’d been killed. Had she been with him that night?

  “Dae, what’s going on?” Cathi demanded.

  It took me a moment to realize that she’d stopped walking. “I’m not sure yet. I’m sorry. I can’t tell you any more right now. I will when I know something definite.”

  I left her there with her mouth compressed into a very thin line. I wanted to tell her what I knew, but Betsy’s disappearance might be the very reason Chief Michaels had kept Chuck’s death quiet. It seemed likely Betsy had been kidnapped.

  Chapter 8

  I called Chief Michaels. He wasn’t at the office. Scott Randall said he’d gone to Manteo to talk with Sheriff Riley about Chuck’s death. I asked if the chief was purposely keeping Chuck’s death a secret. Scott didn’t seem to know anything about that—or about Betsy.

  If the chief didn’t know about Chuck’s daughter, telling him I saw her in a vision wasn’t going to make a big impression. I could use the fact that she hadn’t been at school for two days. I could save the chief some time by seeing what else I could find out.

  There was only one thing to do. I could go and take a look at Chuck’s house. I needed some proof, besides visions and dreams, if I was going to convince Chief Michaels to search for Betsy right away.

  I wasn’t sure what that proof would be. I hoped it would be something obvious. Chuck was dead. Betsy appeared to be missing, though I couldn’t know for sure she wasn’t with her mother. I didn’t how those two things fit together. But if there were any answers, I was sure they’d be at Chuck’s.

  I drove the golf cart up to Chuck’s cozy little brick house on Sand Dollar Lane. There was no car in the driveway, no sign of the burgundy Lincoln—if that was Chuck’s car.

  The yard was neat, grass and bushes carefully trimmed. Everything outside seemed to be in perfect order. The front door was locked, of course. Mail was sticking out of the box, like no one had checked it for a few days. Apparently, the police had left it as they’d found it.

  I walked around the back, hoping to find the back door open or an easily accessible window. I didn’t relish the idea of climbing up a trellis in my suit and heels to access a window, but I was going to get into Chuck’s house no matter what.

  The back door was locked too. No matter how much I shook the handle and threw myself against it, the portal wouldn’t budge. I was fairly sure I’d injured my shoulder, though, from the way it hurt. Who knew they made doors so solid?

  There were also no windows conveniently left open to catch the sweet morning breeze from the ocean. It took me about ten seconds to decide if I should break one of the windows. It seemed like it was the only way I was getting inside.

  I picked up a decorative rock from the garden and wrapped it in my scarf, preparing to pitch the whole thing through the glass. As I put my arm back in throwing position, a hand stopped me.

  “You know, this is how we first met—with you breaking into someone’s house.”

  Kevin’s voice and his hand on mine made me drop the rock. My heart zoomed up into my throat. “I wasn’t planning on breaking into Miss Elizabeth’s house that day. We didn’t know for sure what had happened to her. I was going to call the chief for help, which I did.”

  “So what makes this different?”

  I didn’t have an answer. I was very glad to see him. He looked so tall and handsome standing there. Still this was an investigation. “Why are you here?” I asked, falling back on that time-honored tradition of answering a question with a question—even though Gramps had once told me that was a surefire way to tell if someone was guilty of something.

  “I saw your golf cart in the driveway as I was going by. I thought you or Horace might need some help. But you haven’t answered my question. What brings the mayor of Duck out on a nice day like this to engage in breaking and entering?”

  I knew he wasn’t going to go away until I explained, so I gave him the basic information I had. “That’s why this is different. We know Chuck is dead, and I’m pretty sure his daughter is missing. I need some proof.”

  “I guess that makes sense.” He shrugged and looked at the window I was going to break. “Let’s see if we can find a way inside without breaking anything.”

  I tried not to look at him or admire his dark hair and ocean blue eyes. I tried not to remember that he tanned easily and he’d had sunburn only once while he was replacing the roof on the Blue Whale Inn.

  “This door doesn’t look too sturdy,�
�� he decided. With a quick jab of his shoulder against the wood, it swung open. I massaged my shoulder, which had obviously loosened it up for him.

  I started to go in, but he held me back. “Are you armed?” he asked.

  “No. I’m just looking around. You know I don’t carry a gun.”

  He pulled a pistol out from beneath his blue hoodie. “We don’t know if anyone is in there. Chuck is dead. His killer could be living in here, for all we know. I’ll go in first.”

  “Won’t that just scare them back at me?”

  “If it does, I’ll turn around and shoot them. But usually people run the other way when they see a gun.”

  As soon as we entered the house, it was easy to tell something was up. Everything inside had been trashed. Dishes, forks and glasses were thrown everywhere. Tables and chairs were overturned.

  “Someone was looking for something,” Kevin whispered. “Keep your eyes open, Dae.”

  He didn’t have to tell me. I picked up a broken chair leg and brandished it before me like a club.

  “No blood. No signs of a struggle. What are we looking for?” Kevin stood in the middle of the room.

  “I don’t know. Something that proves Betsy Sparks was here and that something happened to her when her father was killed.”

  “Okay. That’s a tall order.”

  “I know.”

  We went slowly from room to room. Every room was demolished, like a hurricane had blown through. We went carefully across the living room and into Chuck’s bedroom. Kevin paused and examined a laptop thrown on the bed. “They took the hard drive. That might be a clue about what happened to Chuck.”

  “There has to be something else.”

  “Not to put too fine a point on it, Dae, but you’re the one who finds things. I’m just backup.”

  “My amazing finding abilities seem to be on vacation right now.”

  We finally reached a little pink and white room that I guessed was Betsy’s. Even this was ripped apart—bedclothes tossed around and stuffed animals torn to pieces. “What were they looking for in her teddy bears?”