A Touch of Gold mpm-2 Page 4

  “Brad, this is Dae O’Donnell, the mayor of Duck,” Cailey said. “She was here at the time of the blast yesterday.”

  “Mayor O’Donnell.” Brad held out his hand. He was a very ordinary-looking man: brown hair, brown eyes, no distinguishing features. He had a touch of gray at his temples that probably put him in his forties. He was only about as tall as me, not muscular, but medium build.

  “Mr. Spitzer.” I acknowledged him, forgoing the handshake he offered. I didn’t know how far I could push the insulating quality of the gloves.

  “I know you’re not feeling quite right yet, Mayor,” Chief Michaels said in his usual abrupt manner. He always reminded me of an old marine drill sergeant with his flat-top haircut and immaculate police uniform.

  There was an awkward moment as Brad put his hand back at his side after I declined to shake it. Chief Michaels humphed and cleared his throat. “I think I should debrief you as soon as possible. You may have seen something important and not realized it. When you’re feeling better, that is.”

  “I’d like to be there as well, Chief,” Brad added. “It would save us a lot of time on the investigation if all of us knew what the mayor saw yesterday before she was injured.”

  Cailey agreed this was an excellent idea. Great! I really needed to think about an audience wanting to hear how I was thrown into the road and left with an odd backlash that made me able to glimpse how everything in the world was manufactured and shipped to stores and warehouses.

  “Sure,” I said, hoping they wouldn’t notice my lack of enthusiasm. I raised as much of a smile as I could muster.

  No one said anything for a few seconds. I could feel them all looking at me and wondering if something was wrong that hadn’t been made right by my brief hospital stay.

  I knew I had to say something or I’d end up going home without any information and all of this would have been for nothing. “So, what do we know so far?”

  Cailey blinked a few times, adjusted her helmet and looked at Gramps before she said, “Dae, maybe we should talk about this later, honey.”

  Sometimes it’s hard when your fellow town officials remember when you learned to ride a bicycle. It’s not that they don’t respect me, but they get this protective, parental attitude that drives me crazy. I had to assert myself. I was the mayor of Duck, and I deserved answers. “I’d like to know what you have so far,” I told her. “I’m sure you’ll have more later and we’ll talk again. But I need some answers for our citizens right now.”

  I could see my tone reassured them a little. Cailey took out her notes, hastily scribbled in a tiny, sooty notebook. “We found some human remains that we assume belong to Max. We can’t find any record of him having had an X-ray in the past that we could use for comparison. We won’t know for sure until the DNA tests are finished.”

  “That could take a while since we’ll have to send it to the state lab,” Brad explained. “It could be weeks before we know for sure.”

  Chief Michaels agreed. “Depends how far they’re backed up right now.”

  I swallowed hard on their objective details of Max’s death and held a little tighter to Kevin’s arm. “What do we know for sure right now?”

  Brad cleared his throat. I thought for a minute he might be a little irritated by my demand. But he resumed his smile and nodded toward where the museum building had been. “If you’d like to come this way, Mayor, we’ll take a look at the epicenter of the blast.”

  We followed Brad as a group even though I felt sure Chief Michaels and Cailey had already been given this information. Everyone was careful to walk around or over debris waiting to be collected by the firefighters. There were pieces of chairs and tables, shattered glass from the showcases that had once held Duck’s treasured past, and an old microfiche machine that had essentially melted as if it was made of wax.

  A few things seemed to have been left intact—one of the old cannons, some musket balls, the anchor from the Helena, a ship that went down off the coast in the early 1900s.

  I noticed two firemen carefully bagging a charred tennis shoe and thought about Max dying here. I fought back tears, reminding myself that I could cry later. I was pretty sure the whole group would cheerfully drive me back to the hospital in Kill Devil Hills if I became emotional.

  “We believe this is where the actual blast occurred,” Brad explained, pointing to an area right outside of where the building had been. The old concrete was now blackened and buckled. “You can see the concussion marks here. We think this is where the cannonball hit the large propane gas tank that fed the stove in the museum.”

  “Cannonball?” Gramps, Chief Michaels and I asked at the same time. Kevin looked surprised but didn’t say anything.

  Brad nodded, a bewildered expression on his face as though he hadn’t considered until now that we would all think this was odd. “There’s no doubt about it. We have the pieces of the ball right over here.”

  “But there were dozens of cannonballs in the museum,” Chief Michaels said. “It probably got in the way of what really blew this place up. A cannonball couldn’t lob in here and cause an explosion. Anybody seen any pirate ships that might be attacking Duck?”

  Chief Michaels was obviously making a joke, but Gramps looked serious. “Are you saying a cannonball was dropped or thrown into the propane tank?”

  “No, sir.” Brad cleared his throat. “I’m saying a cannonball was fired into the propane from a few hundreds yards away.” He looked to the south of the museum site. “Maybe from that hill over there. There’s a residue on the surviving pieces of the cannonball suggesting it was fired from a device.”

  “You mean a cannon?” I pitched in.

  “Exactly, Mayor,” he concluded. “It would take that kind of firepower to make the gas tank explode.”

  “I don’t want to second-guess you, son.” Chief Michaels looked at Brad and Cailey. “But are you sure about this? Isn’t it possible the tank blew up because of the fire and whatever caused the explosion? Have you checked this out, Ms. Fargo?”

  Cailey shrugged, almost apologetically. “I know it sounds unbelievable, Chief, but I agree with Brad’s assessment. We won’t know absolutely until the tests come back from the lab. For right now, this is our working hypothesis.”

  I was having a hard time believing it too. Or maybe I didn’t want to believe it. How was I going to tell people that a cannonball had been blasted into the museum? “Chief Michaels, has anyone been up there yet to look for a cannon?”

  “No, Mayor,” he answered smartly. “This is the first I’ve heard of it. But I promise we’ll look into it.” He got on his radio as he walked away from the group, probably calling for a few of Duck’s finest to come and take a look.

  I turned back to Cailey and Brad. “You’re saying someone purposely shot a cannonball into the museum and blew it up?”

  Brad kind of glanced at Cailey. “All we can really say at this point, Mayor, is that it appears that a cannonball was fired at the museum, which caused the propane tank to explode. This is only our preliminary finding. We don’t know if there was intent to do harm as yet. Maybe it was an accident.”

  “If it turns out someone did it, one way or another, that makes Max’s death a homicide,” Gramps said.

  “It would,” Cailey agreed, pushing back her graying brown hair.

  “Are there any working cannons around here?” Kevin asked. “It seems to me that most of these old weapons I’ve seen are rusted and unusable.”

  “I don’t know,” Cailey answered. “I’ve never even considered it. Max would know—”

  There was no way any of us could finish that statement. Max would know, no doubt. The only expert around here was dead.

  “What now?” I had to clench my teeth to keep them from chattering as I asked the question. I was freezing.

  “We investigate,” Cailey said. “Chief Michaels looks for the cannon or maybe tracks of some kind that show a cannon could’ve been there. When we have more answers, we’ll l
et you know. My guys have been out here all night, Dae, and not because I told them they had to be here. We’re doing the best we can with the situation.”

  “I know you are.” I put my hand on her sooty shoulder, glad the gloves prevented me from getting impressions from her jacket. “You know people are going to want answers right away. The idea of someone blowing up the museum is going to be hard to swallow.”

  As if to punctuate my words, two TV crews rushed up to the curb and began heckling the firefighters who wouldn’t let them on the crime scene. Duck police officers probably should have been on the job, but something this big was going to be hard for our handful of officers to cope with, even if we called in the part-time officers.

  “I know.” She shook her head and had to adjust her helmet again. “I’m sorry we can’t do more. We all loved Max.”

  “No good jumping to bad conclusions anyway,” Gramps added. “We’ll have to let the investigation run its course.”

  “We’ll do our best, Mayor O’Donnell,” Brad assured me. “I know this isn’t easy for anyone.”

  I don’t know why exactly, but I lost it then. Maybe it was these hardworking firefighters that had been out there working all night. I knew Cailey was as close to Max, or closer, than I was. I knew all of these people loved Max. No one wanted to think his death and the destruction of the museum could be anything but a terrible accident.

  I took my hand from Kevin’s arm. He started to walk with me when I moved, but I shook my head. I couldn’t stop the tears from streaming down my face. I left abruptly and went toward where the side of the museum had been. I stripped off the dirty gloves to wipe the tears away.

  I needed a few minutes alone. If that looked crazy or weak, so be it. Max was dead. He had always been there for the town and for me. The horrific truth of it settled on me like a cloud of the greasy black soot from the fire.

  I kicked something and looked at it. It was the trash can I’d helped Agnes with yesterday. Somehow it was still in one piece. All of its contents were on the ground, but that appeared to be the result of someone accidentally knocking it over. It didn’t look like the fallout from a cannonball ripping into a propane tank and blowing up the museum.

  Even through my tears that strange twist hit me as amazing. It was like that time a bad hurricane blew through Duck, demolishing one house while leaving the one right next door completely untouched.

  “Are you okay?” Kevin came up behind me anyway. “I could take you home if your grandfather wants to stay.”

  “I’m fine, except that Max is dead. The whole museum is gone. But this stupid trash can is still here. Someone could take it home and use it. What a world, huh?”

  I could tell by the look on his face that he wasn’t really getting what I was saying. That was okay. It actually made me feel a little better saying it.

  I reached down without thinking and picked up the coffee card I’d put into the trash yesterday. I don’t know what possessed me to touch it after my recent experiences.

  It was dripping wet, probably soaked by the high-power fire hoses. For a second, I didn’t feel anything from it. I thought maybe my new ability had left me, gone as fast as it had come, like a storm at sea.

  Then suddenly it all rushed in, filling my mind with information that choked me. I dropped to the wet ground as I heard Kevin call my name.

  Chapter 4

  It was as though I was standing at the end of a long tunnel. I was engulfed by the vision from the card. I could still hear Kevin calling me but I couldn’t answer.

  I saw Max arguing with the man who had the coffee card in his pocket. The man slammed the door to the museum when he went outside. He glanced at the coffee card as he took it out. All of the numbers were punched on it. He shrugged and hurled it toward the trash can before he got in his car and drove away.

  I couldn’t really tell anything about what was said. It was enough to know that he and Max were both extremely angry. That didn’t surprise me once I realized that Max was speaking to Sam Meacham from the Corolla Historic Museum.

  The intense feeling from the argument between the two men dissipated as rapidly as it had come to me. I gasped for breath and found Kevin with both arms around me, holding me up.

  “Someone call 911,” I heard him yell. “Get an ambulance over here!”

  “No!” I put my hands on his chest, feeling the familiar energy from his jacket. “I’m okay. Really.”

  “The hell you are,” he growled.

  “It’s not what you think.”

  His eyes stared into mine. “Then what is it? What’s going on, Dae?”

  I showed him the soggy coffee card. “Something’s happened. I feel—some kind of energy from things since the explosion. Everything I touch: my clothes, your jacket, everything. I don’t know what to do about it.”

  There! I’d said it out loud. It was a relief.

  Two firemen I recognized as paramedics ran over to us, emergency medical bags in hand. They both looked bone weary, the kind of exhaustion where your eyes are dull and your skin looks gray. “What’s wrong? You need help?”

  “No. I guess not.” Kevin shrugged. “It’s fine. Sorry. Thanks.”

  Surprised, I moved away from him as the paramedics gave us an annoying glare before returning to their grunt work sifting through the debris that had been the museum. “You believe me?”

  “Of course.” His tone was matter-of-fact. “Your abilities probably changed when you underwent the shock from the explosion. I’ve seen it before.”

  Of course, my inner critic mocked him, it’s rather commonplace . “Great! Maybe you can tell me what to do about it.” I was being sarcastic. How would he possibly know what to do?

  He glanced around. “Not here. I know your abilities aren’t a secret, but maybe now isn’t the right time to talk about them with the media.”

  I followed his gaze and noticed the TV crews fanning out around the debris field, trying to find someone to pounce on for information.

  I wasn’t ready to be recognized and go through an interrogation about what happened. Maybe it was a nonmayorlike attitude, but I didn’t want to blurt out something that I’d regret later. I needed time to decide what my statement was going to be.

  “Missing Pieces.” I put the coffee card into my pocket with the gold coin. “Let’s go there. I don’t want to tell Gramps about this yet. I don’t want to worry him any more than I have already.”

  Gramps didn’t protest the fact that Kevin was taking me to the store. He was surprised but recovered quickly with a pleased expression on his face. He loved the idea of me having a relationship with almost any local man. Kevin was icing on the cake since Gramps liked and respected him.

  Kevin and I managed to skirt around the reporters as Cailey took off her helmet and walked toward them as if she was going to give them a statement. The reporters moved toward her like sharks to a chum bucket. Maybe she did it on purpose. As soon as we were away from the scene, she left them angrily demanding to know what was going on.

  Kevin helped me into his pickup. I cursed my awkward, injured storm knee for making me look like an old lady. Then I dealt with the new sensations of manufacturing and distribution coming from the truck. I rubbed my hand on the worn red seat.

  “What are you seeing?”

  “You got this truck at an auction. Before you had it, a man in Virginia used it to haul tobacco and, occasionally, moonshine.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “I knew he was a farmer. I didn’t know about the other part.”

  Sensations like those I felt from the truck were already becoming almost second nature. How something was manufactured—even how it was used—was easy to absorb and ignore.

  But the coffee card and the gold coin, the pink wheelchair at the hospital were so excruciatingly different. It had to be the emotional quality to the items. I could feel the strong emotions like they were my own. A second aspect to this new and scary ability.

  The coffee card emotions felt new, as
though the argument between Max and Sam had happened yesterday. “I’ve been completely crazed by all of this,” I said as he started the truck. “I tell you and it’s no big deal. Why aren’t you upset about it? Why don’t you think it’s crazy?”

  “I told you I knew people like you when I was with the FBI.” He pulled the truck out into traffic. “One of them was a psychic who was able to track down kidnapped children. She found them in half the time we could with conventional means.”

  “And she was blown up?”

  “No. She was shot by a kidnapper and almost died. It changed her. She started hearing the children’s voices as well as being able to tell where they were. She could hear their cries for help when they were being tortured. It made her even more effective at her job. It also drove her crazy.”

  We’d reached the parking lot for the Duck Shoppes on the boardwalk, where Missing Pieces was located conveniently close to town hall. Everything looked so normal, as if, a quarter mile down the road, the museum was still there and Max was still busy sorting artifacts.

  “I don’t know why, but I sense a lesson here.” I turned to him as he parked the truck. “What happened to your friend?”

  He shrugged as though it didn’t matter, but I didn’t have to be a psychic to see it did. “She lost herself. When I finally quit last year, she was being transferred to a psychiatric facility. She couldn’t cope with all of it. It was too much.”

  “She was your partner, wasn’t she?”

  “Is that from your new ability?”

  “Nope. A lucky guess. I’m sorry. Is that what made you quit the FBI?”

  “It was the end of twelve years of events that made me realize it was time to leave,” he admitted. “Sometimes, it’s just time to go.”

  I unbuckled my seat belt and urged my sore knee out of the truck. I hoped this was a cautionary tale because it didn’t make me feel any better. On the other hand, I knew a little more about Kevin. It seemed to come in small bursts. He obviously didn’t like talking about his time in the FBI. “So this is where you get your insight into what’s wrong with me?”