A Touch of Gold mpm-2 Page 12

  “I’ve told you before, Mayor, no one likes a person messing with their investigation. Sam might be a suspect in our situation, but his disappearance has to be handled by the Corolla police. You and Brickman need to stay out of it before you get in trouble. Walt Peabody isn’t as indulgent as I am.”

  I’d never thought of Chief Michaels as indulgent, but I kind of agreed with him about Chief Peabody, especially given Peabody’s frosty reception of Kevin and me this afternoon. I glanced around the room, looking for Kevin—he seemed to be gone already. I didn’t see Shayla either. Best not to go there.

  Instead, I helped Nancy clean up and put away all the extra chairs as people ambled back to their homes and businesses.

  “Kevin was good tonight, huh?” Nancy asked. “He made people think about something they could do instead of everything they couldn’t do. I’ll have to look through my Duck memorabilia and see what I have. I think this is something we could all get behind.”

  “And maybe the chief will solve the case while we get behind it,” I added.

  Councilman Wilson coughed as he wandered up behind me. “I hope there are no hard feelings, Dae. You know I think the world of you and your grandfather. But politics is a tough business. You had it easy the first time around. It could get ugly this time. Better think before you take me on.”

  It was a mystery to me why Mad Dog Wilson would give up his voting privileges on the council to be the mayor. I didn’t bother asking. I knew I’d find out at some point. Instead, I smiled at him—my big, mayoral smile. “With all respect, Councilman Wilson, you might want to think again before you take me on.”

  Wilson nodded in an absent manner, wandering away as he always did, examining the chairs and tabletops for dust. Clearly he hadn’t expected me to talk back.

  Nancy laughed. “You set him back a peg or two.”

  “The incumbent is hard to beat. At least that’s what I’ve always heard.”

  “That’s the spirit.”

  “Speaking of spirits, I was wondering if you’d be willing to do some research for me?” I told her what I knew about Adelaide and her death.

  “So we’d be looking for someone named Adelaide who drowned on the Atlantic side.” She wrote down the name on a scrap piece of paper. “Any other info you can give me?”

  “No. That’s all I have. I think this would’ve been in the 1950s. But I’m not sure about that either.”

  “I’ll be happy to research that, sweetie. You know how I love a mystery.”

  The parking lot and the streets were mostly empty by the time I finished helping Nancy and left town hall. She offered me a ride home, but I wanted to walk. I waved to her as she pulled out on Duck Road.

  I wasn’t worried about Mad Dog Wilson. I knew Max’s death and the destruction of the museum on my watch probably made him think I was vulnerable. He might be right, and he might even win the election. The one thing I had learned as mayor was that you could order more trucks of sand to build up the dunes, but you couldn’t save Duck from the people who live here. And people were as unpredictable as the Atlantic.

  I walked down to the spot where the museum had been, hoping to find some clue I’d missed that had been left behind by the thorough investigation. Not a single piece of wood, artifact or rock was there. Only the bare concrete pad, blackened by shadows and the fire, remained as mute testimony that the museum had once stood there.

  It would’ve been a good time to contact Max’s ghost—I had no doubt it was hovering close by his favorite spot. Maybe he had some idea about what had happened. Maybe he even knew who’d killed him. If wishing could make it happen, one of those shadows chasing the breeze would be him and he would tell me what I needed to know.

  But I wasn’t Shayla, and even if I were, it wouldn’t necessarily mean I could contact him. The dead seemed to like to keep their own secrets, leaving us to discover them as best we could.

  I walked back home to find Gramps in his chair with his feet up. He was watching Dancing with the Stars—one of his favorite shows. My mother had told me that he and Grandma had loved to dance when they were younger. They had even won several trophies. “Well?” he asked when he saw me.

  I filled him in on what happened during the meeting—and after.

  He laughed. “I guess Mad Dog thought he could get you to give up early before he had to work too hard.”

  “Why does everyone call him Mad Dog? He seems pretty tame to me.”

  “He used to be a stock car driver. He was fearless—until his car caught fire after a wreck. He was in pretty bad shape for a while. Never raced again. Maybe that’s why he went into insurance.”

  “Well, I don’t plan to give up. He might beat me, though, if we can’t figure out what happened to Max. You know he’ll use that against me.”

  “Ronnie will figure it out,” he assured me, eyes on the figures dancing across the TV screen again. “You’ll see.”

  “Thanks.” I kissed his cheek. “Good night, Gramps.”

  “Good night, honey. Sleep tight.”

  I had just started up the stairs to my room when there was a loud knock on the front door. Being mayor meant my office moved to my home after hours, giving any resident the opportunity to call or drop by. Mostly to complain. “I’ll get it.”

  I opened the front door to find both Chief Michaels and Chief Peabody on my doorstep, their police cars in the drive. Brad Spitzer, the arson investigator, was with them too. “Better put on some coffee, Gramps,” I said, turning back into the living room. “It looks like it could be a long night.”

  Chapter 11

  The five of us sat around the kitchen table with mugs of coffee and a platter of stale donuts. It was all I had to offer. I didn’t want to run to the grocery store—I was pretty sure they weren’t here to eat.

  Chief Michaels and Chief Peabody glanced at each other as they came in, sat down and put their caps on the table. I noticed, despite the other differences, that both men took their coffee black—and wisely decided against a donut.

  “I’ll get straight to the point,” Chief Peabody started. “I don’t know what you were doing out in Corolla today, Mayor O’Donnell, but we haven’t been able to find any trace of Sam Meacham. There’s been no record of his credit cards being used after he rented the Segway. No trace of him doing anything since the day after the Duck museum blew up.”

  “On the other hand,” Chief Michaels cut in, “we found out today that the cannon from the Corolla Historical Museum is the weapon used to destroy our museum.”

  Both men looked at Brad, who had helped himself to a donut and was dunking it into his coffee, which was heavily laced with cream and sugar. “Sorry,” he muttered with a full mouth.

  He wiped powdered sugar on his napkin. “Yes. The results show that the piece of cannonball we found in the museum here matches the cannonballs used by the Corolla museum. They fire their cannon on holidays and so forth, which gave us a good comparison. The cannon had been fired recently, and the wheel length and size of the carriage match the wheel tracks the police found on the hill overlooking the Duck museum.”

  “That only means the cannon did it, right?” I asked, looking at the two police chiefs. “Not that Sam did it.”

  Chief Peabody slurped his coffee. “What do you know about Meacham?” he asked me. “How did you know he rented those scooters? We went over his place real careful. We didn’t know.”

  Chief Michaels cleared his throat. “The mayor is gifted.”

  “What do you mean gifted?” Chief Peabody demanded, glaring at us. “What the hell does that mean?”

  Gramps poured more coffee. “Dae is psychic. She can see things the rest of us can’t.”

  “Oh well, in that case, we’ll step aside and let her figure out the rest of it.” Chief Peabody sat back from the table and folded his arms across his chest.

  “Gifted?” Brad ruminated over the word between bites of donut. “How does that work?”

  “I touch things and get visions fr
om them. I can also find things by touching the people who lost them.”

  Gramps’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.

  “So you touched something that belongs to Sam and saw him in one of these visions?” Chief Peabody asked, his voice full of disdain.

  “Yes.” I described what I’d seen and felt that had led me to the Wild Horse Preservation Society’s rescue station and the abandoned scooter.

  “Why don’t you have her on the payroll, Ron? You could probably solve this thing in a day.”

  “So you had a vision of where Sam would be?” Brad asked.

  “And a man who was with him. He may have done something to Sam. He could be the one who killed Max too. Maybe Sam knew about the cannon and was going to say something.”

  “That’s a lot of maybe.” Chief Peabody shook his head. “We don’t do police work on visions and maybes. What’s this fella look like who was with Sam?”

  “I don’t know. I never saw his face.” There was nothing more to say. I glanced at Gramps. I knew the look on his face. He wanted to know why I hadn’t told him about my new ability, but he wouldn’t ask until we were alone.

  “Is that all you have, Mayor?” Chief Michaels asked me.

  “I’m afraid so. It got me to the Segway, but I guess you couldn’t find Sam from that.”

  “I don’t know.” Brad finished eating and sat back from the table with a smile on his face. “I think that was pretty good considering neither of you could find even that much.”

  “No one asked you,” Chief Peabody snarled. “Go back to Manteo.”

  Brad laughed a little—apparently not taking him seriously. Chief Michaels stood and put his hat on. “If you see any other visions about this case, you give me a holler.”

  “I will.”

  “Maybe you could CC me on that, Your Honor,” Chief Peabody added sarcastically as he shuffled to his feet and picked up his hat. “That way we’d all be in the loop.”

  Gramps saw them to the door. I put the coffee cups in the sink and threw away the rest of the donuts. I waited there for him, knowing he’d have plenty to say.

  “When did all this happen?” he asked when he returned after locking up.

  “Right after the explosion. I can’t explain it. Kevin says he’s heard of things like this happening from trauma. I don’t know much about it beyond that. I’m trying to get some control over it.”

  He nodded. “Of course, I wish you would’ve trusted me with the information, but I’m glad you told someone. Kevin seems like he can handle things.”

  “I planned to tell you. I wanted to understand it first. You’ve been through so much with me. I didn’t want to worry you.”

  He came across the kitchen and hugged me. “You always worry me. And you always will. You feel the same about me. But that doesn’t mean we can’t tell each other things when they happen. Right?”

  “Right.” I hugged him back. “Next time I almost get blown up and find I have a new ability, I’ll tell you right away.”

  “Get to bed! I don’t know where you got that smart mouth from. You’ve always been sassy. I guess helping you get to be mayor made it even worse.”

  “Being your granddaughter is what made it worse,” I teased. “Everyone always said you had a smart mouth while you were sheriff.”

  He sobered and looked me in the eyes. “If you have any more visions about this case, come to me before you take them to Ronnie or Walt. Let’s talk about them first. Okay?”

  I agreed without questioning why he’d be so serious about it, but I thought about it for a long time before I went to sleep.

  The remnants of Tropical Storm Floyd moved in during the night. I heard the heavy rain and gusty winds settle in a little after midnight. The old house creaked and groaned around us, but we’d seen much worse. Even though I’d sat through hurricanes in this house, I’d never once worried about being safe. Maybe it was naïve, but the house had been here for several lifetimes and hundreds of storms. I trusted it to keep me and Gramps from harm.

  I lay awake for a long time listening to the symphony nature made, wondering about all the mysteries in the world that seemed to have more questions than answers. I finally fell back asleep, but rain was still drowning the Outer Banks when I got up the next morning.

  Gramps was up too—in his yellow rain pants, jacket and boots. He was making breakfast.

  “You’re not going out in this weather, are you?” I asked as I sat down to sprinkle brown sugar on my oatmeal.

  “The winds mostly died down during the night. You know the fishing will be good today. Besides, I’m chartered and—”

  “You never miss a charter.” I added milk to my bowl. “I know. Be careful, huh?”

  He kissed the top of my head and put on his matching yellow rain hat. “I will. I love you, Dae. Have a good one.”

  I never thought Gramps could love anything the way he’d loved being sheriff. I’d been wrong. He loved taking that old boat out at least as much. Maybe more. It didn’t matter what the weather was like. He didn’t care. Short of a hurricane, he was going out—especially if there was money to be made.

  I stirred my oatmeal and wondered where to go from here. I was stumped after talking to the chiefs last night. Sam was nowhere to be found, despite my vision. But where was the connection between Sam and the cannonball that blew up the museum?

  I knew Chief Peabody and probably Chief Michaels believed Sam was guilty of killing Max—even though it might’ve been an accident. Both of them had sounded like they thought Sam had fired on the Duck museum out of spite, possibly not with the intention of killing Max.

  I couldn’t adequately explain the fear I’d felt when I touched the Segway—maybe the last thing Sam had touched. Even if I could, I doubted they’d understand or appreciate it. To them, Sam was simply trying to escape, which in law enforcement terms meant he was guilty.

  I knew I should go to the shop even if there weren’t many customers who’d come out in the bad weather. The people who call the Outer Banks home tend not to take after the town’s namesake (ducks). We are more like turtles, hiding in our shells until the sun comes out. If nothing else, I should check my merchandise, look for UPS packages and make sure there was no damage from the storm. Maybe while I worked, I’d get an idea as to what my next move should be to help find out who’d caused the explosion that killed Max, and why.

  I put on my raincoat and boots—I think everyone who lives here has them—and headed toward the Duck Shoppes. Pieces of bushes, sand and trash covered Duck Road, but there was almost no traffic at all. I made a mental note to ask the council for extra cleanup money for public works. It looked like they could have some overtime coming.

  Most retail shops were closed, windows boarded against the wind and rain. It seemed drastic to me, but many of the owners weren’t from Duck originally. Sometimes it took a while to learn how to tell the remnants of a storm from the real thing.

  Still, that meant no coffee except what I could make at the shop. It was never as good as coffee with steamed milk and some kind of chocolate or hazelnut, but it would have to do.

  Nancy was at town hall answering phone calls about the storm. She handed me my messages without missing a beat. There was nothing pressing—unfortunately—but there was a call from Agnes Caudle.

  I realized with a strong twinge of guilt that I hadn’t gone to see her since Max died. A lot had happened to me, but that was no excuse. In comparison, she was going through so much more.

  Nancy was still on the phone when I left, talking to someone about a downed power line. She waved and I did the same, pocketing Agnes’s note and heading for Missing Pieces. Once I got everything checked out there, I’d pick up a few things and go to see her. It was the least I could do as a longtime friend and the mayor.

  I hoped other people hadn’t been as forgetful. I knew it was unlikely. People here stuck together when bad things happened. Her kitchen and dining room were probably littered with cakes and casser
oles, while her answering machine would be filled with offers to take her places she needed to go. Of course, there were always flowers and cards.

  The Currituck Sound was ragged looking as I followed the gray boardwalk past Curves and Curls, Trudy’s shop, and reached Missing Pieces. Nothing seemed to be damaged outside. There were also no UPS packages. I let myself in the shop and turned to close the door, almost shutting it in Kevin’s face.

  “I thought I might find you here,” he said with a smile. “It looks like damage was minimal on this side of Duck. We’re a little more beaten up on the Atlantic side. I lost a couple windows when a lawn chair blew into them. On a positive note, the roof didn’t leak.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” I continued into the shop, not quite sure how I should react to him. I didn’t ask if he’d left the town meeting with Shayla, but it was hard not to.

  “Your house made it through okay?”

  “Yeah. It was fine. It’s been through a lot worse. Of course, I’m sure the Blue Whale has seen a lot worse too.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “No. I told you the house is okay. I think the shop is okay too. The storm was only a lot of rain and wind. We’re lucky it blew itself out in the ocean before it got here.”

  “I’m talking about you personally, Dae. Has something else happened?”

  I thought about it. “The chief came by last night. Well, actually, both chiefs came by with the arson investigator. I was surprised to see them, but—”

  “I’m not talking about that either.” He came up close to me. “I’m talking about you. Did you encounter another problem with your abilities? You seem remote this morning.”

  I looked into his ocean-gray eyes. “You left with Shayla last night. Do you have something you want to tell me?”

  He seemed a little bewildered. “I didn’t leave with Shayla. I didn’t even know she was there. I started to wait for you, but you were talking with Councilman Wilson and I didn’t want to interrupt.”