A Touch of Gold (12 page)

Immediately I felt the normal (for me) sensations of being in someone else’s mind. I shook all over and felt a kind of cold detachment as I searched for the cask of wine he was missing. My fingers tingled holding his hands.

It was a lot like walking through someone’s personal attic, looking at everything they found precious and some things they wanted to keep hidden. I’d done it for so long that it was second nature to me.

I opened my eyes when I clearly saw the old wine cask. “It’s in the root cellar around back. The man who delivered it got confused and left it there.”

Kevin smiled and didn’t let go of my hands. “You’ve still got it!”

I considered his words. “I do, don’t I?” I didn’t tell him I already knew my gift was still there.

“Let’s go see if we can find it!”

We walked around back, the quiet night well lit by the moon. Kevin brought a flashlight anyway. “Have you been back here before?” I asked as an owl called from the trees.

“A lot while I was working on the floors. They were in really good shape. Some things were built to last forever.”

“No bones from previous owners?”

“No. If Bunk Whitley is entombed here, I couldn’t find him. Neither could the parade of building inspectors who passed through.”

Bunk Whitley was a legendary figure in Duck. He was the original owner of the Blue Whale. His exploits, and sudden disappearance, were all the stuff of lore. People had speculated that he was killed by one of his enemies and hidden in the old inn somewhere. With the place abandoned for so long, it was easy to imagine it was true. Still, if he wasn’t here, he had to be somewhere. He might wash up someday.

Kevin opened the doors to the root cellar and walked carefully down the stairs until he was swallowed by the blackness below. I followed him, my feet sliding a little on the moss-covered steps.

“There it is!” He panned the flashlight beam across the area. “You’re good, Dae.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t expecting it when he leaned over and kissed me, but I can’t say I didn’t welcome it—kissing Kevin was a lot more fun than looking for a missing cask of wine.

He handed me the flashlight (made at a factory in China where they employed small children), then hoisted the cask on his shoulder before we started back out of the damp cellar.

“You know, this place might not be too bad for storing a few things,” he said.

“Maybe. If you don’t mind it being flooded occasionally.” The place was filled with roly-poly bugs, spiders and probably a snake or two I didn’t see. Not exactly the romantic spot I’d expected to be in.

The flashlight beam shone on something stuck against the side wall of the cellar. I reached for it without thinking and the touch exploded in my brain.

Chapter 8

I
t was a gold coin, a cousin to the one I’d given Chief Michaels. It was from the same chest that had washed up on the beach all those years ago. The one Max claimed to have found and donated to the museum.

But this time I had a clear vision of the man who’d actually found the gold. I saw him as he walked down the beach to retrieve the chest. I knew who he was. I recognized him from the old microfiche versions of the
Duck Gazette
that had been stored at the museum. Gone forever now, except in some of our memories.

“Dae?” Kevin called my name with a fierce concern that brought me back to myself.

“It was Bunk Whitley who found the gold.” I realized I was sitting on wet ground that was oozing moss and other things I didn’t want to think about. “My dress!”

Kevin pulled me to my feet. He must’ve left the wine cask outside already because it occurred to me that he had two free hands. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I brushed the sand and soil from the back of my dress, the dress I wanted to keep forever as a reminder that sometimes you just needed to take a chance.

I showed him the gold coin I’d found in the wall. “It’s like the ones at the museum.”

“I’ve been down here a hundred times in the daylight and didn’t see it.” He examined the coin. “Does it have anything to do with what happened at the museum?”

“Not as far as I can tell. Maybe Bunk Whitley stored the gold here for a while after he found it. I realize now that both times that I handled the coins, he was involved.” I explained about Max’s tale, the only story the town knew, of when he’d found the treasure on the beach. “Why would Max lie? And how did he get the gold?”

“Maybe he didn’t want to be associated with old Bunk. From what you’ve told me, Bunk was a gangster-type figure around here. Or maybe he took it after Bunk disappeared.”

“I’m afraid what I’m seeing when I touch the coin isn’t very helpful. The vision ends with Bunk picking up the chest and walking back down the beach.”

“Maybe that’s all there is from that particular moment in time. Not everything has deeper meaning—at least not that we can see right away,” he said. “Let’s get out of here and crack open this cask upstairs. I might have something dry you can put on.”

I picked up the flashlight again and followed him out of the cellar. I wasn’t as convinced as Kevin seemed to be that the visions I was seeing by touching these items held any special significance. Of course, maybe I was just skeptical because I didn’t have enough experience with this new ability. I was used to being able to tell people right away where their lost treasures were, like I had with the wine cask. This new ability was completely different.

Just a little depressed about the general, seemingly useless information I’d gathered so far, I walked ahead of Kevin to open the back door for him. The moon had gone behind some clouds, leaving the dark night feeling empty. One thing was for sure—I seemed destined to have one of the gold coins. Kevin had insisted I should keep it, not caring when I told him it could be valuable.

He made a fire in the big stone hearth that was the focal point in the drawing room upstairs. I had to pass on one of the old dresses he’d found while working on the Blue Whale. Even as I reached for it, I worried that it might have too much emotional energy attached to it.

It was possible no one had worn any of the dresses since the inn was closed, unlike clothes I had in Missing Pieces that had been bought and sold many times over. Kevin said he’d had everything dry cleaned, but I doubted even a good cleaning would remove the memories those clothes could hold.

I got the gloves from the dining room table where I’d left them and started putting them back on. Kevin stopped me. “What if this new ability is meant to enhance the one you already have?”

“I don’t care. I don’t think I want it.”

“What if I can help you control it?” The words hung between us like a sail puffed up with wind that had nowhere to go.

“I know you think this is a good thing, Kevin. And I understand about your girlfriend, but—”

“I didn’t say Ann was my girlfriend,” he countered. “Is that something you picked up from me when you were looking for the wine?”

I shrugged. “Only intuition. I don’t see people’s memories, at least not right now. Or I guess I should say I didn’t see any memories in your head. You talked about her like the two of you were involved.”

He sat down on the sofa and poked the fire, the light emphasizing grim lines in his face. “She and I were going to be married.”

I would’ve sat down on the sofa next to him and offered whatever words of comfort I could dredge up, but I was conscious of my dirty dress. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you of bad memories.”

“That’s okay.” He smiled at me. “You were right. You’ve got some great intuition too. Maybe you should work for the FBI.”

“Thanks. But I don’t think so.” I sighed and held the gloves, looking at them. “How would I learn to control it?”

“Sit down, Dae,” he said, and when I wouldn’t, he fetched a towel for me to sit on.

We were close together, facing each other, the firelight throwing shadows across the room. He took my hands in his and told me to focus.

“The only thing we can control about the things that happen to us is our reaction. I learned that at the beginning of my FBI career. In your case, the only thing you can control is your reaction to what you touch. You have to get ready for it mentally, then keep it from affecting you on a deeper level.”

“And how do I do that?” It sounded hopeless to me.

“Close your eyes and concentrate. Know that you’re going to be affected and be ready for it. Did you ever play softball?”

“A little in school.”

“It’s like that. You mentally prepare yourself to catch the ball as it comes toward you. You know it’s coming, and your brain gets ready to catch it by working out its trajectory and speed.”

“Okay. I think for me that might be more like riding a wave,” I explained. “When I used to surf, I’d watch and wait for the right wave, then get ready for it as it came at me.”

“That’s it exactly! Prepare yourself in that same way for the feeling that’s going to come at you from something you touch,” he said. “Then when it happens, you won’t be so thrown by it.”

My eyes popped open. I was feeling a little silly and very vulnerable discussing my inner workings with him. I also couldn’t help wondering if this was something he had suggested to Ann to help her. “That’s a great idea, Kevin. I’ll try it right now with this dress.”

“Are you sure?” He picked up the strawberry-colored dress he’d brought out for me. “Maybe you should practice on a few of your own things first.”

I looked at the pretty red dress. It was made in a style from the 1940s, maybe even earlier. Wide shoulders, narrow waist, it was satin covered in a delicate lacework. “I think I can do it.”

“All right. If you’re sure. Think of it like the next wave,” he encouraged. “You’re prepared for it. You know what’s going to happen when you touch it. Create a space between you and the outside emotions.”

I was determined to best this new ability. I had prepared mentally my whole life to handle this kind of thing. I never knew for sure what would happen when I went into someone’s head to help them find something they’d lost.

I swallowed hard on my fear, tried to think about controlling what I’d feel from the dress, and reached out to touch it.

It would be so simple. Close your eyes and walk into the water. No more pain.
I gasped as emotions flooded through me.

The dress was handmade for a woman named Adelaide. Her nickname was Addie. She met here frequently with Bunk Whitley. The two shared a clandestine love affair. Addie was married and had a child. She was happy sometimes, but there was too much heartache.

Her sorrow swallowed me, drowning me in a wave I couldn’t swim out of.

“Dae!” Kevin called my name several times with urgency. “Get out of it! Control it!”

One minute I was drowning and the next I was sitting on the floor, gasping for air. “I think she was wearing this dress right before she killed herself. She was standing at the window over there thinking about drowning herself.” I tried to breathe and talk at the same time. I ended up coughing. “She killed herself because of Bunk Whitley.”

Kevin put his arms around me and held me for a long time, both of us sitting on the floor in front of the fire that crackled and steamed as it burned down. “Never mind. Forget what I said about controlling it.” He kissed the top of my head. “Maybe you should just wear the damn gloves. That was too much. I thought I’d lost you.”

I leaned my head on his shoulder, recovering from the feelings left in the dress from so many years ago. Glad I hadn’t actually put it on. “There was no way to know what would happen. I had to try it. I wonder if anyone knows what happened to Adelaide.”

Kevin offered but I decided against any more wine. My head was starting to ache. He drove me home in the moonlight, the back roads without streetlights strangely illuminated. Shadows of the past played in the darkness, refusing to come out where they could be seen and understood. Duck’s sometimes strange past would always haunt this place, even if someday people finally forgot Rafe the pirate.

Kevin kissed me good night at the door to the house. “Lunch tomorrow? I can’t make breakfast. I have a delivery.”

“Sure. I’ll call you if anything comes up.”

“Be careful, Dae.” He touched my face and smiled. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” I promised before I went inside. I locked the door and faced Gramps. He was grinning like a Jolly Roger as he played with his white beard.

“So? You’re awfully late, young woman. What have you been up to?”

“Like you weren’t watching through the peephole!” I hugged him, glad to be home despite the excitement of the evening. “What a night.”

“Care to share over some hot cocoa?”

“Not tonight.” I smiled and headed up to my room. “It’s been a long day and I’m too tired to think. Can we talk in the morning?”

“Sure, honey. Sleep well.”

But I didn’t sleep, at least not for a while. I crept up to the old widow’s walk on the roof and looked out over the sound. From here, above the trees and most of the other houses, I could even glimpse the moonlit ocean.