A Touch of Gold (30 page)

“Gramps—”

“Never mind, Dae. You didn’t know. But that’s why we never spoke of it. Your mother got better a little at a time, and we went on raising you the best we could. But that’s it in a clamshell. I asked your mother many times when she was going to tell you about your daddy. She always said she was waiting for the right time. Guess it never came.”

Apparently, all the women in my family died abruptly leaving guilt-ridden children behind. Why hadn’t my mother told me? I wasn’t a kid anymore when she’d died. Was she that afraid my father would corrupt me too? Or was it too embarrassing to admit what she’d done?

I scrubbed my eyes with my hands. “I’m sorry, Gramps. You were right. It wasn’t your story to tell. I wish Mom would’ve told me.”

“Me too, honey.” He moved his hand over his face, then looked up to stare out over the Atlantic. “Maybe I should’ve told you sooner. I don’t know. I hate that you had to find out this way. I just didn’t know how to say all that without hurting you. I guess Bunk helped us out with that, huh?”

 

 

T
hings were quiet for a few days after we got back from the island. I organized and reorganized Missing Pieces. I had a few customers too.

I hated to do it, but I sold my African hand mirror to a woman who admired it. Much as I loved it, I knew I would never use it again. Looking at it was a constant reminder of the terrible sorrow I’d felt from it. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy it, and I figured the woman who bought it would never know the mirror’s past. The shop seemed emptier without it, but I knew it was for the best.

After so much excitement, I felt a little disappointed, even bored, getting back to my normal life. There were no late-night visits from Chief Michaels, no puzzles to solve. I even missed the unhappy frowns from Agent Walker. I could only imagine all of them being very busy dissecting the information they’d found on the island.

They were lucky to have that information. When the museum burned, it destroyed the only copies of the old
Duck Gazette
. A lot of history was lost forever. I wished we’d put it in more than one place. But it was too late for second thoughts, no matter how well intentioned. Everything I ever knew about Bunk Whitley had been in the museum’s microfiche collection. After meeting him, I wished I knew more.

I went out with Shayla and Trudy for what was supposed to be a girls’ night out. It ended up being a chance for Shayla to show off her new boyfriend. He was a navy SEAL with perfect abs and an attitude to match. I was glad she’d moved on after the thing with Kevin. It made me feel less guilty even though Trudy kept assuring me that there was nothing for me to feel guilty about.

Trudy drove me home after the night out. I really wanted to tell her about my newfound father. But the words wouldn’t come. I’d known her all of my life. I really wanted someone else to talk to about it, but I couldn’t tell her.

So I bottled it up inside and glanced through the Outer Banks’ phone listings starting with Duck and working my way around the island. There was no Danny Evans listed.

Maybe it was just as well. Did I really want to contact him after all these years? What would he say? Would he be sorry he kicked me and my mother out when I was a baby?

Somehow I doubted it. He might not even remember me or my mother. Obviously he’d never come to see what happened to us during the last thirty-plus years. I had to assume it was because he didn’t care. We still lived in the same place where he’d met her. How hard would it be to drive by?

I didn’t want to make a fool of myself over the whole thing anyway. I was curious, of course. Who wouldn’t be? But I wasn’t rushing out to hire a private detective either. If Danny Evans wasn’t interested in who his daughter was, she wasn’t interested in him either. At least that’s what I told myself at night before I went to sleep.

The Duck Historical Society met and accepted the gift of Mrs. Elizabeth Simpson’s house as a new museum. The elegant old house on the ocean side had a historical background of its own besides being a great place for a museum. Max would’ve been so proud.

It was also right next door to the Blue Whale Inn, which would make transporting the hundreds of artifacts that were cluttering Kevin’s lobby even easier. I volunteered to help with the move on that Saturday. It was cold and rainy—the icy, driving rain that comes from the ocean and leaves everyone shivering in their homes.

No one stayed home that day, though. Everyone showed up to help. People from Duck knew how to put on a rain poncho and boots better than most.

Gramps was busy in the morning but planned to come by the museum later in the day. I walked over by myself thinking I might open Missing Pieces later if the sun came out for a while. There wouldn’t be many customers looking for treasures in this weather, but I needed every sale I could get.

I held my head down against the rain and wind. I looked up when I noticed a car moving slowly along beside me. Someone was offering me a ride. I wished it were Kevin, though I knew he was busy preparing a huge luncheon for all the volunteers. But any ride in the rain would be welcome, so I stepped up to the car.

Brad Spitzer pushed open the door for me. “Hey! Can I offer you a ride, Mayor?”

I hesitated. I didn’t know him very well, though I’d accepted rides from other people I knew even less about. What I
did
know about him I didn’t like. And what if we got into another discussion about how he thought I killed Max?

On the other hand, it was cold and wet. I felt like icicles were hanging from my poncho. How well did I need to know him to drive the short distance to the Blue Whale? He was a public official, after all.

I climbed in the car and apologized for getting the seat wet. “Thanks for stopping. I’m on my way to the new history museum. Not far.”

“Not a problem.” He started forward, no traffic on either side of Duck Road. “I admit to having an ulterior motive for offering you a lift, Mayor.”

I squeezed closer to the door. He was going pretty slow. I figured I could always jump out. “Oh?”

“I wanted to apologize for the things I said to you about Max Caudle’s death. I’m sorry I insinuated that you might have something to do with it. I don’t know what I was thinking.” He glanced at me and smiled. “I was frustrated, I guess. My first big case since becoming the head arson investigator and I was blowing it.”

“That’s okay.” I smiled back. “People make mistakes.”

“Thanks for understanding.”

“Sure. Thanks for not thinking I killed anyone.”

He laughed a little. “I didn’t have a chance to tell you the other night, but what you did out on the island was really brave. A notorious racketeer like Bunk Whitley had to be hard to face down.”

I didn’t think any of my actions had been particularly courageous. “It wasn’t so bad. And it was almost unbelievable to meet old Bunk Whitley. He’s a legend in Duck.”

“Yeah. I’m not from Duck and I’ve heard of him.”

“Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. If he was hoping to hear interesting exploits from the adventure, he was doomed to disappointment.

“I’m curious about what exactly Bunk said to you. You didn’t go into details at the meeting. You had lunch with him. He must’ve talked. Did he give you any clues to his past crimes?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer that. I didn’t want to tell him about my father. “Not really. We mostly talked about general stuff.” I decided lying was my best course. Like I said, I didn’t know him very well. I wasn’t going to discuss Agnes, her mother’s suicide or any other sensitive subjects.

“Really.” He glanced at me as though trying to verify that I was telling the truth. Probably one of those law enforcement techniques they teach. “As I understand it, Bunk discussed Max Caudle and Sam Meacham’s death with you. Old Bunk even took responsibility for Meacham’s death. Is that right?”

“Sort of.” By this time we were parked in the Blue Whale’s driveway. It would’ve been easy to step out of the car with a fast good-bye and make for the shelter of Kevin’s inn. But Brad had given me a ride here. I didn’t want to be rude.

“That’s fine if you’d rather not talk about it,” he conceded to my great relief. “But I have another question for you.”

“Oh?” My skin prickled, and I glanced out the window through the cold rain to the bright blue building in front of us.

“The chief says you have a gift, Mayor. That you’re psychic. He says you can help people find things they’ve lost by holding their hands. Is that true?”

He seemed sincere—his eyes were worried and his voice wavered slightly, as though this really meant something to him. It wasn’t a secret that I could find lost things. Maybe I’d prejudged him because we’d gotten off on the wrong foot. “Yes. Sometimes that’s true.”

“Could you—would you be willing to help me? I’ve been looking for something for a long time. It belonged to my father. He and I are strangers. It’s the only thing I have of his. I’d take it as a personal favor if you could help me find it again.”

Going through my own struggle with an unknown father, how could I say no? I wanted to help him if I could. “I’d be glad to. We just need a quiet place to sit for a few minutes.”

I could see Kevin (I thought it was Kevin, hard to tell in a poncho and boots) walking out of the Blue Whale and headed our way. This wouldn’t be a good time or place. “I’m going to be here for the rest of the day, but maybe later tonight or tomorrow would work out.”

“That would be great! Whenever you can do it, Mayor. I’ve waited a long time. I can wait a little longer.” He scribbled down his cell phone number and handed it to me.

“Call me Dae, please, everyone does. I’ll give you a call and we can meet somewhere.”

“Thank you, Dae.” He smiled—it was like the sun coming out after the rain. Proof, I guessed, of how much this meant to him. “I’ve never believed in anything like this, you understand. But I want to. I really want to believe this can be the answer for me.”

By this time, the hooded figure had reached us and it was Kevin. He rapped on the passenger-side window, peeking out at me from under the hood of his brown raincoat. I rolled down my window.

“Dae? Are you okay?” He gave Brad a significant stare.

“Sorry!” Brad smiled at him. “I didn’t mean to keep her so long, Brickman.”

“That’s okay,” Kevin said, though he didn’t seem to mean it.

“Thanks again,” Brad said to me before I got out of the car. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Okay. See you.” I closed the car door and ran up to the Blue Whale with Kevin.

“What was that all about?” he asked. “I thought the last time you talked with him he accused you of killing Max.”

“Anyone can make a mistake.” I sniffed the air, avoiding several anonymous people in ponchos, their arms filled with Duck history. “Lunch smells great! I guess I’d better get started if I’m going to earn my seat at the table.”

I
t was hard to believe a town as small as Duck could have so much history to share. There were dozens of old dresses, suits and kids’ outfits worn by Duck residents from the 1800s through the 1950s. There were antique writing desks and chairs that had graced sea captains’ quarters. Not to mention hundreds of boat parts, from lanterns to anchors.

Many people said they’d been waiting, holding these items until Duck got another, larger, museum. Of course, no one had dreamed it would happen this way. There was an air of regret that it had taken so long to move the museum out of the tiny building Max had overseen for so many years.

The members of the Duck Historical Society made a special announcement during the luncheon of orange salad, fresh-baked bread and twice-stuffed ravioli I’d watched Kevin prepare. They told us that a bronze plaque was being made to honor Max and his contributions to the community. It was supposed to be ready midmonth, in time for the ribbon cutting on the new museum. His memorial would also be held at the same time.

There was a spontaneous burst of applause. Agnes, Celia and Vicky were there, crying as they listened to the appreciative remarks about Max. Agnes said a few words about her husband’s love of history, which were followed by another round of applause.

The Duck Historical Society members thanked Kevin profusely for his wonderful lunch. The dining room in the Blue Whale was completely filled with volunteers. I was amazed to see how many people were willing to give their time for the move.

I could imagine how the dining room had looked in Bunk Whitley’s day. Probably not that different. Kevin had added some modern lighting and decoration, but the crystal, sterling and china were older, reflecting a more elegant, graceful time.

By midafternoon everything that had been stored at the Blue Whale was in the Simpson house. It wasn’t in any order. Portraits of old Bunk and Banker relatives were pushed against chamber pots, old photos of fishing boats and jewelry from the early 1800s made from shells.