A Spirited Gift mpm-3

by Joyce Lavene

He nodded to her. “Nice to meet you, Sandi. I hope you’re enjoying the reception.”

  “I was.” She finished her glass of wine. “Excuse me while I go look for more wine—and someone available to drink it with.”

  “She’s . . . nice,” Kevin said when she’d disappeared back into the crowd. “Have you known her long?”

  “A few years.” I related her history. “She’s a good mayor. I like talking to her. She’s always coming up with new ideas I can steal for Duck.”

  He laughed. “It’s all about taking care of Duck, huh? That’s the only reason you agreed to go out with me—you wanted to make sure I kept the Blue Whale open.”

  “It must be those FBI skills that make you so smart.” I hugged him a little tighter and kissed his chin. “As much fun as you are, I have to mingle. There are ideas to steal.”

  He held me to him a moment longer. “Are you okay? You seem a little worried. Is it the storm?”

  “I’m not worried.”

  “Yes, you are. Your forehead wrinkles up when you’re worried. Don’t try to lie to me. I have formal training spotting liars, you know.”

  “Really? You know, Gramps says the same thing. You two are cut from the same cloth.”

  “In other words, mind my own business. Okay. I can take a hint. I’ll just mingle and try to get people to have other parties here so I can stay in Duck and do what you tell me to do.”

  “You’re so good. See you.”

  I actually began to relax and enjoy myself as I made the rounds of the room and reacquainted myself with the mayors and their families. The whole feeling of dread was just left over from the séance, I decided. Something about trying to call back the dead probably had that effect on most people.

  Just as I was chiding myself about my imagination working overtime, I noticed Chiefs Fargo and Michaels grab for their cell phones at the same time. The devices didn’t make a sound, but I knew there was a problem. I started to reassure myself again that things were all right—they’d let me know when that wasn’t true anymore.

  A loud rumble of thunder cracked over us, followed immediately by the power flickering and dying. Something big was thrown against the two-story window, smashing through it—gusts of rain, wind and some glass following quickly behind. Everyone in the room was soaked.

  “Looks like we’re catching a bigger part of that storm than we originally thought,” Chief Michaels yelled, his voice booming over the shrieks of the frightened crowd and the howling from outside. “We’re going to move everyone to the lobby. No need to panic. We all know storms around here. Just move quickly and no one will get hurt.”

  Chapter 4

  Everyone did as the chief asked. We were escorted to the lobby and asked to sit on the floor. There was only one window. It was another large two-story plateglass window that faced the front entrance. But we were seated well away from it, almost tucked behind the stairs.

  Kevin and the two chiefs walked around handing out towels, making sure everyone was as comfortable as they could be, reminding us to put our heads down and protect them with our arms.

  It was an unusual way to wait out a storm—even for someone who’d been through many of them. All the men and women were in their formal attire, stretched out across the floor. Most were calm about it, trying their cell phones and PDAs to see if they had service. Kevin handed out a few toys to frightened children in the crowd. Some people prayed and urged others to pray with them.

  We were probably one of the best-dressed, least panicked groups across the island. Too bad there was no award in that category. Nearly every adult had attended emergency protocol briefings at one time or another and knew what was expected from them. We’d all worked to keep large groups of residents calm through problem situations. It was part of our jobs as mayors.

  Voices were subdued as the wind moaned and clawed at the inn. I could hear objects hitting the walls and roof as trees and other debris were tossed around like the toys Kevin had given out. I saw him wince as we heard more glass breaking upstairs.

  This storm would probably be costly for residents because we hadn’t realized its severity. The weather service wasn’t a fortune-teller. Storms didn’t always follow the tracks laid out for them. Their unpredictability left people in their paths powerless in the face of fury.

  Maybe this was what I’d been feeling. Not just another storm but something worse. I prayed no one would be hurt. We could repair roofs and windows. It was terrible to lose people.

  “This was a surprise.” Kevin finally came and sat down close to me. “Guess you can’t always trust the weather service to predict which way a storm will go.”

  “You’re better off trusting your bunion, if you have one.” Mayor Barker Whiteside from Corolla laughed. “Wonder if anyone saw one of the warnings?”

  “Warnings?” Kevin asked.

  “Spirits that walk the beaches before a bad storm.” Gramps was sitting next to me on the other side. “Some of them are specific—they only walk if the storm brings death. Some walk for any major storm.”

  “Portents of trouble,” Barker explained. “We have several around here. Of course, we have the horses. They always seem to know.”

  “They’re better than the weather service any day,” Mayor David Manning of Elizabeth City added. “Not much good, though, if you’re not out there with them. But they know what’s happening.”

  “If we had a direct line to Tom Watts’s place, he’d be able to tell us. He lives out there in an old trailer so he can be near the horses. He knows everything about them,” Mayor Whiteside said.

  “We’re always making fun of the newbies who board up at the first sign of a storm.” Gramps chuckled. “Maybe they have the right of it. Living here for a long time might make you careless.”

  “If my new bay window blows out at home, I’ll amen to that, Horace!” David agreed.

  I studied the window in the front of the lobby as they spoke. It was at least twenty feet high and a dozen feet wide. It had been there since I was a kid. We used to sneak down and hang out at the old Blue Whale, never guessing it would be occupied again someday. The window faced away from the ocean, so it was probably a little more sheltered from damage. But there was no way to know. It would be expensive to replace. I hoped Kevin had good storm insurance.

  Of course, with a group like this, it was a good chance to talk about all the terrible storms we’d lived through. There were tall tales of hurricanes that had lasted weeks, tidal waves three hundred feet high, hail as big as soccer balls and lightning that went on for days.

  Flooding was always a problem here because we were caught between several large bodies of water that rose up regularly around us. The whole hundred-mile-long series of islands was well below sea level. We lost coastline every year. We added sand, put in plants to hold it, but it was a constant struggle. It had always been this way for residents of Duck. I didn’t see any way it would change in the future either.

  “Storm’s passing,” someone said from across the packed room. “It’s getting lighter.”

  “Or it’s the eye,” an assistant supervisor from Kitty Hawk said.

  “That’s no hurricane out there, folks,” Chief Michaels told everyone. “We just got some feeder bands from Hurricane Kelly. The weather service says it’s moving away from the North Carolina coast. We’ll hole up here a little while longer, then take a peek outside.”

  Everyone tried their cell phones again, but there was still no service. That was one of the first things we always lost out here—one reason the ham radio club was so popular. They always communicated the latest updates to Chief Michaels and other emergency workers.

  I hoped everyone was safe and that property damage was minimal. It was all I could do. The Blue Whale was still standing around us. We were blessed to be here.

  The crowd was starting to get restless—the chief said he didn’t feel comfortable letting anyone go to the next room and use the bathrooms. Most of the kids had been complaining about it fo
r a while. When we finally got the all-clear notice, a large group ran for the facilities. I hoped the water was still working. There had been times after a storm when it wasn’t.

  “Well, that wasn’t so bad,” Kevin said as he helped me off the floor. “We seem to be in good shape.”

  Anyone who didn’t go to the bathroom headed out the front door, including me, Kevin and Gramps. Outside, the bright moonlight made the devastation more apparent. There was a car in what was left of Kevin’s mermaid fountain in front of the inn. Several picnic tables were in the driveway—undamaged—as if someone were about to eat lunch at them.

  Trees, bushes and plants were tossed across the landscape. There was a tree on top of the roof. I realized as I looked up that all the windows were gone from the top floor on this side of the inn.

  “I was a little quick to judge,” Kevin commented.

  Gramps patted him on the shoulder. “Don’t feel too bad. It’s easy to misjudge. I’ve done it before. You get used to it.”

  Kevin left us to make his way behind the inn so he could turn on the generator. People walked around outside, looking dazed and continuing to try and reach family and friends with their cell phones. A few guests started for their cars. Chief Michaels stopped them—the roads out of Duck were blocked by debris.

  “Everyone calm down.” His loud voice got attention. “We’re safe here for now. There’s plenty to eat and drink and the bathrooms are working. Let’s give the cleanup crews a chance to get started. No reason to make matters worse.”

  Despite close acquaintance with past storms, most people grumbled and complained that they weren’t happy about being trapped here, even though they would have been here for the conference anyway. People seemed to be that way about most things.

  I got Nancy, Barbara and Althea together. We ushered everyone back into the hotel, promising food and drinks to ease the pain.

  Emergency calls for workers were going out across the island. Kevin had been called—along with Gramps—to join the volunteer firefighters who would act as the cleanup crew for Duck. Marissa, still trying to dry her long blond hair, promised to look after the guests and the Blue Whale while he was gone. I promised to help her.

  While Marissa tried to get everyone settled down, I went to the ballroom to lock the door so none of the children could wander in and get cut on the broken glass from the shattered window.

  The room was a wreck—but the emergency lighting was working. Once the window had broken, torrents of rain had flooded the beautiful wood floor. All kinds of debris had followed, including some confused seagulls that were flapping their wet wings and trying to fly.

  I grabbed some towels from the kitchen and managed to get the birds back outside before they caused too much damage. It was still going to be a mess to clean up. I didn’t want to think what that big window would cost to replace.

  As I was sloshing through the water to reach the door (in my good shoes—there was glass on the floor, so I couldn’t go barefoot), something caught my attention. It glittered in the water with the sand and tree limbs, like pirate treasure. I stooped down—it was a diamond and ruby ring. Fear flooded through me.

  She’d meant to have the ring sized—it had always been too big. When the rain broke into the ballroom, it had slipped from her finger. She walked through the water looking for it, finally finding it. She dropped it when she saw the gun pointed at her.

  “Dae? Are you all right?” Nancy shook me and broke the emotional tie that bound me to the ring. “What are you doing in here? You could get hurt on all this glass.”

  I took a deep breath and released the feelings from the ring. Kevin had taught me that. After all the years I’d had a gift of finding things, I didn’t think there was anything else to learn. I was wrong.

  “I know,” I answered her, putting the ring on my thumb—it was still too big even for that digit. “I was trying to close off the room so no one would get hurt. But there were birds in here. I didn’t want Kevin to have to clean that up too.”

  “Well, you’ve done your good deed for the day.” She smiled and hugged me. “Let’s get out of here. Thank goodness the kitchen is still in one piece and there are leftovers that don’t need to be cooked. Something about living through storms makes everyone hungry. I’m thinking a buffet in the lobby. What do you think?”

  It was hard for me to think about anything after touching the ring. It seemed to me like I should look for its owner—she was in trouble.

  But there was so much to do to take care of almost a hundred people—I couldn’t just abandon Nancy, Marissa and the other two women I’d asked to be here.

  While I put out cups and plates, and located forks and knives for the buffet, I hoped that what I’d felt wasn’t as bad as it had seemed.

  Sometimes my gift exaggerated things—made the emotions or events tied to them seem bigger or more important than they were. Sometimes the things I saw were unclear. They made sense only later, after I’d found out what had really happened. But deciphering my visions that way was confusing.

  The fear I’d felt from the ring still made me shiver. The images chased around in my head as I smiled and asked people if they wanted a wheat or white roll. I believed someone might need help—but where or how, or even when, was hard to say.

  That thought made me begin watching the faces as they went by the serving table heaping food on plates and filling cups with tea or coffee. Was anyone missing?

  There were too many people. I tried to get a head count, but everyone was wandering around, sitting in spots on the stairs and in the lobby eating their food. How could I find out if anyone was missing without drawing too much attention to the fact?

  I finally came up with an idea and got some paper and a clipboard from behind the check-in desk. I asked everyone to write down their names and home contact numbers.

  “We might need to contact you later for insurance purposes,” I explained in what I hoped was a rational way. I didn’t want to cause a panic.

  Apparently my request made sense—or people just didn’t want to argue about it. They scribbled their names and numbers on the paper. I kept looking around, trying to see if I could spot anyone who should’ve been there and wasn’t.

  “What’s up?” Marissa asked when I got to her.

  I didn’t tell her about the ring I’d found in the ballroom. She was new to Duck—it would require too much explanation. “I’m worried someone might have wandered off. Just trying to keep up with everyone.”

  “Great! And we just got them calmed down with food.” She sighed. “Well, let me give you a hand. It will look more natural if we both do it.”

  I had about fifty people on my list. Marissa was getting the names of the people in the lobby. I walked across the foyer toward the bar and looked back.

  A shaft of moonlight came through the undamaged picture window and fell across the carpeted floor in the lobby, creating a haze of dust motes spinning through the air. The motes seemed to move together—as though creating an image.

  I couldn’t make out what it was, and an instant later it was gone. I shook my head to clear it and went on to the bar. Maybe the storm had done something to me. I kept thinking that someone was watching me—even in the deserted ballroom. Maybe all those storm ions were fooling around with my normal energy.

  I talked with the fifteen people eating in the bar area, got their names and numbers. Everyone asked when they could leave. I didn’t have an answer for them.

  One of the younger men—I recognized him but couldn’t recall his name—was insistent about it. He put his information on the paper and demanded to know when he could leave. I gave him my stock answer. He got more upset than the rest of the guests.

  “It’s stupid to keep us here,” he said. “We can find our own ways home. We’re not prisoners.”

  I started to answer and dropped the clipboard. He handed it back to me when he caught it. Our hands held for a moment. I felt that same strange sensation I experienced whenever I
looked into someone’s mind to help them find something they’d lost.

  And I realized this man and I had something in common—we’d lost the same person—Sandi Foxx.

  Chapter 5

  “Someone’s missing from the group,” I told him, hoping the blunt admission would make him forthcoming with his information.

  He was probably in his twenties, with a dark, full head of hair and a ruddy complexion. His brown eyes shifted away from mine, and his hands moved restlessly in and out of his pockets. “I don’t know what you mean. Who’s missing?”

  “I think you know.” I studied his face. “You came here with Sandi Foxx, didn’t you? Where is she?”

  “I don’t know. We got separated when they moved everybody in here.”

  “You work with her?”

  “Yeah. I’m her personal assistant.”

  I didn’t have to be psychic to hear some guilt in his voice and the emphasis on “personal.” He was probably too personal with Sandi—maybe the man she was talking about breaking up with.

  “Is this her ring?” I asked him, showing him the ruby.

  “Yes. Where did you find it?”

  “Probably where she lost it.” I didn’t know what else to say to him. Obviously he was hiding something. Was it more than the two of them sneaking away together for this conference?

  She was lost, at least in his mind. My gift for finding missing things worked only when the lost item was in the forefront of the “seeker’s” thoughts. I had to have physical contact with that person to get an image from them.

  I looked at his name on the list. “Matthew Wright. You came with Sandi but now you can’t find her. Is that right?”

  “That’s right. I thought she’d be in here with the rest of us, but I haven’t seen her. I tried to go back in the ballroom, but the doors were locked. I don’t know where she is.”

  “She’s not in the ballroom. All I found there was her ring.” I looked up the stairs—no elevator without electricity. The generator produced only enough power for the lights and refrigeration. I realized we might have to search the inn for Sandi.