A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) (14 page)

“Thanks.”

“I’ll see you later, Dae,” Ann said. “Kevin and I will take care of the big, scary stuff. You can go on with your normal little life. We’ll let you know if there’s anything else you can do.”

I turned down a ride to Missing Pieces. Kevin was right about Ann. She was very good at what she did, finding missing children,
and
needling me. I needed some time to get my thoughts in order.

They were very professional together. It was easy to imagine them working at the FBI, and falling in love. They made a striking couple. It was like they knew what to do and say without even discussing it. It made me feel a little insignificant, even though a lot of my information had led to the new discoveries.

I walked from the Blue Whale toward the downtown area. Kevin waved as he and Ann passed me in the truck. I wasn’t sorry I wasn’t going with them.

I noticed Mad Dog at the corner setting out a few smaller signs, pounding them into the sandy ground. I hoped he wouldn’t notice me, but what were the chances? Even though there was a good crowd of walkers out on Duck Road, I’d never blend in that well.

“Hello, Dae!” he sang out. “It’s a lovely day, isn’t it? How do you like my little poster next to the inn? Very impressive, right?”

“I didn’t notice,” I lied with a pleasant smile. “I do hope you aren’t violating any sign ordinances. You know the public works guys are always on the lookout for that.”

“Speaking of the public works department, I heard the most vicious rumor about you and Chris Slayton. Did the two of you
really
hire our workers to dig for some treasure you’re looking for? Because that would be a total violation of your power as mayor of Duck. I don’t think the other members of the council are happy about it either.”

In other words, he’d heard the rumor and called everyone else on the council.
Digging for treasure.
That’s what happened sometimes when the grapevine went haywire.

“It’s been a while since I dug for any treasure, Councilman. Excuse me. I have to run over to Missing Pieces. I’ll see you later.”

“Indeed you will!” he yelled after me. “I’m going to ask for a special meeting of the council to discuss all of these goings-on. Enjoy being mayor—while you can.”

I guessed Mad Dog was conspiring to become mayor without an election. It was possible. He was the mayor pro tem. Should the council issue a vote of no confidence against me, he would automatically take my place. A special election would have to be held later but not until after he’d been mayor for a while. It was too late for new candidates to file for office. We have an early filing period in Duck.

I hurried by him, through traffic, up the stairs and down the boardwalk. Nancy was outside town hall, smoking, as I went by. “Hey! We need to talk, sweetie. There are some bad things coming down the pipeline that you should know about,” she called out.

“In a few minutes,” I yelled back, already aware of the bad things coming my way. “I’m late!”

I was a little breathless by the time I got to the shop. Trudy and my seller were out on the bench in front. They seemed to be hitting it off.

“Sorry I’m late,” I apologized.

The man beside her stood up and held out his hand. “That’s okay. It gave me a chance to meet your friend and ask her out for dinner.”

I shook his hand and looked into his face. My whole body went cold.

He was the second man Ann had sketched from my thoughts.

Chapter 16

P
eople from across the Southeast frequently contacted
me—usually via the Internet—with items to sell. Buyers looking for specific items did the same. It was nice when they matched up. I got a fee for brokering the sale, or sold the piece outright. Not to mention the thrill of seeing and holding some very old and expensive antiques. Very sweet!

In this case, the buyer who’d contacted me was looking for a single-shot Flobert pistol with an original fruitwood grip. It was very rare, only a few left in good shape. I just so happened to find the Flobert last year at an antique rally in Charleston.

Port Tymov was a nationally known antiques dealer. We’d never met, but we’d spoken on the phone and worked together through the Internet. When I told him I had the Flobert he was looking for, he told me he’d come to the shop with the money.

He was a good-looking man, probably in his early forties, but his features were sharp and his eyes struck me as being greedy. There was a lot of money to be made in antiques. Many dealers weren’t in the business for the thrill of finding the rare items. They just wanted to make money. I didn’t hold it against Port.

After Port had confirmed that Trudy would meet him at Wild Stallions that night, we went into Missing Pieces and I took out the pistol case.

I was still trying to process how Ann had seen him in my thoughts even before I’d seen him—when I noticed him staring at the pistol case. It was emblazoned with a gold swastika. “If it offends you, I can get rid of it.”

“No. I’m just surprised to see it. The buyer will be thrilled to have the original case.”

“Well, you know many people get upset when they see that symbol, some enough not to buy it.”

“I know,” he agreed. “Believe me, my buyer isn’t one of those people.”

The Flobert was like a toy, but I knew it was real. It had belonged to a Nazi officer who’d managed to escape Germany at the end of World War II. It was considered a parlor pistol, pretty and useful, easily tucked into a pocket or a drawer.

“Would you like to hold it?” I asked, stretching it out to him.

Fortunately, this was an occasion when slipping on a pair of gloves didn’t look odd. I wanted to hold the weapon but wouldn’t dare without the gloves to protect me from the memories trapped inside of it. Even so, I shuddered as I picked it up again. Just imagining who it had belonged to was scary enough.

The pistol was very delicate, almost a work of art. It meant a nice sale for me too, and I was excited to work with Port. He could help me broker other sales in the future with his wide range of contacts. Altogether, a very good deal.

He gave back the pistol after examining it for only a minute or two. “It’s in wonderful condition.”

“The daughter of the SS officer who’d owned it took very good care of it for the brief time it was in her possession,” I explained as I put the pistol back in the case. “When the daughter found the pistol and some other Nazi effects in her mother’s attic after her death, she was horrified to learn she had a relative involved in all of that. She got rid of everything at a wholesale price. I scarfed it up.”

“I’m glad you did. It would be a shame for it to be lost, despite the background.”

“I understand her feelings.” I told him about a carved wood mirror I’d had—until I’d learned it had belonged to a slave. “I didn’t feel the same way about it after that, and I let it go for a lot less than it was probably worth.”

He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “It’s one thing to give things away that belonged to your family, Dae. But this is business. You won’t stay around long if you sell things for less than their value. How did you find out about its history anyway? There’s not much left in that category.”

He wasn’t from Duck, and I didn’t feel obliged to make him understand about my gifts. “I don’t remember, but it was a good source. I know the history was accurate.”

“Well, give me a call next time you have something worth that much money that you want to get rid of cheap.” He scanned the shop. “Mind if I take a look around?”

“Please do. I can’t promise a cheap sale, but I’m sure we can work something out.”

“Is this what I think it is?” he asked a few minutes later in an excited tone. “Tell me you don’t have one of the three silver church bells that were buried at St. Augustine to keep them from being taken by the English soldiers.”

“Yes. That’s what it is.” I wondered how he knew. I knew what it was when it came to me via another seller because I’d touched it and was immediately transported to that time. The monks had worked frantically to hide the three silver church bells. They had planned to come back and dig them up, but the English soldiers had killed all of them.

“What do you want for it? And do you have the other two?”

“I only have the one. I’m not going to sell it. At least not until I get the other two,” I told him.

His sharp, thin face, so much like the image Ann had drawn, registered his disbelief. “Are you serious? Do you know what this is worth? You might have to wait a lifetime for the other two bells, if you’re ever lucky enough to see them. I’ll write you a check for this one right now.”

“No thanks. I appreciate the offer, but I know the other two are coming this way. I don’t mind waiting to see all of them together.”

He looked at the bell in his hand and shook his head. “You’re never going to stay in business, Dae. You’re too romantic. I’ve sold off dozens of single treasure parts. Keeping this bell for the reason you describe would be like expecting to gather together all of Blackbeard’s treasure here and intact. Not a good business decision. You can take that from someone who’s been in the business for a lot longer than you.”

“You may be right.” I shrugged. “But I am who I am. I have a lifetime to wait for the two other bells. I’m very patient when it comes to things like that.”

Of course, he didn’t know what I knew from holding the bell. I knew the other two had a resonance with this one. They wouldn’t be separated for long. I didn’t know how they’d come here or who would bring them, but I knew they were on their way.

“I hope you’re well insured.” He put the bell down reluctantly. “I can’t believe you have something this valuable sitting out here like this. I guess I’m going to be here for a while looking at everything else. Who knows what else you have?”

“How did you know about the bell?”

“I research missing treasure like the bells. I study them so I’ll know if I come across one.” He smiled. “It’s intuition too, I have to admit. You develop a sense for these things after a while. Don’t worry. It will be like that for you one day too.”

I returned his smile. “Like I said, I’m patient. I can wait.”

While Port rummaged carefully through Missing Pieces for another treasure he might persuade me to sell, I unfolded the picture of him that Ann had drawn. Either she could see into the future or she had the ability to summon a picture from a name. Port’s name was in my brain. What he looked like had been a mystery to me. But not to her.

Kevin was right—she was very talented. And scary. But maybe between us we would be able to find Betsy.

Yet these moments were leading into hours and days. How much longer would Betsy’s kidnapper keep her alive? He wasn’t asking for a ransom—probably realized that Betsy’s mother didn’t have the resources to provide anything worthwhile. It was surprising that he hadn’t already killed her. Maybe if we understood that part, we might understand it all.

Port left Missing Pieces about an hour later, after perusing everything in the shop except for my Duck souvenir collection. And leaving me a nice fat check. He didn’t remark on anything else the way he had the silver bell. He did ask about a brass scale weight used for weighing real silver coins, but didn’t offer to buy it. A scale weight had been a business necessity in the distant past, when silver coins were the common currency—the scale prevented a buyer from filing down the coins and thus cheating the seller.

I shook Port’s hand again when he left. I saw an image of the woman I thought was Chuck’s killer’s girlfriend—the woman who’d cleaned the blood from the killer’s tie. I didn’t understand the connection between Chuck, Betsy and Port.

Was it possible Port was involved with the killer’s girlfriend? Maybe that was the connection Ann had sensed, enabling her to draw his face. But even if there
was
a connection, I had no way of knowing the nature of the relationship—the girlfriend could be Port’s sister, or maybe they were lovers. I certainly couldn’t ask Port about the woman—I didn’t even know her name.

I was going to have to be that patient person I’d told Port I was. In this case, that was a very difficult thing.

A while later, Ann and Kevin came in, between customers. I thought it was more important for me to stay at Missing Pieces and try to make some money. They could handle the FBI and the search for Chuck’s killer.

I’d managed to sell a nice Spanish porcelain statue of a Madonna and child that had been taken from a shipwreck in the 1800s. The treasure finders who’d located the shipwreck had been interested in the Spanish gold and nothing else. But the Madonna statue was worth a pretty penny too. They’d kept it as a souvenir and passed it down through several generations, until a descendant decided to do some spring cleaning. It was a consignment piece, so I didn’t make as much on the sale as usual, but I was sure the seller would be as happy as I was with the price.

“Looks like you’ve been busy,” Kevin said.

“Yes. It was a surprise. There’s not much going on during the week right now.”

Ann had already taken a spot on the burgundy brocade sofa. I decided I’d stay where I was, behind the counter.

“How did it go with the sketch?” I finally asked.

“Fine if you count the fact that the man’s face was recognizable, so we know who he is,” Ann said. “Not so good because Agent Kowalski doesn’t believe he’s involved.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “If you told them everything and the man is a criminal, what’s the problem?”

“The problem is that the man in the sketch is Dillon Guthrie.” Kevin grabbed a Sun Drop from the mini-fridge, as he always did. “He’s a well-known smuggler who has trafficked everything from drugs to cars, art and antiques. He’s been around a long time and has never been arrested for anything. No one has been able to touch him.”

“That makes him the perfect suspect, right?” I didn’t like what I was hearing.

“Too perfect.” Ann took a bottle of water from Kevin, who’d joined her on the sofa. “The FBI doesn’t believe a big player like Guthrie would be out here in Duck killing a nobody like your real estate broker. He’s never been known to have anything to do with kids, so no reason to kidnap the girl. In short, they probably won’t even bother questioning him.”

“What?” I got down from the stool behind the counter and, despite my earlier reluctance, went to sit with them on the sofa. “That’s ridiculous. He’s a bad guy. Wouldn’t he be capable of doing anything bad?”

“I’m afraid the FBI doesn’t work like that,” Kevin explained. “No profiler would believe that Guthrie would suddenly change professions and start kidnapping little girls. Criminals don’t work that way. They follow their own set of rules. That’s what eventually gets them caught. They’re slaves to their own routines.”

“Plus, Agent Kowalski reminded us twice that even if Guthrie killed Chuck, that isn’t their mission. He’s only here to find the little girl. Because Guthrie doesn’t track for this type of crime, he won’t even discuss him.” Ann took a long sip from her water. She looked pale and exhausted.

“So we’re on our own,” I surmised. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know about the two of you, but I quit.” Ann got up from the sofa. “I don’t know how you people live down here with all the sand and the salt air. It drains me.”

“But I had something happen to me while you were busy.” I pulled out the sketch she’d given me. “This is Port Tymov. I’ve never met him before today. He came to buy a piece I found in Charleston. This is the sketch you did of him, Ann.”

She yawned. “So?”

“When I shook his hand, I saw Guthrie’s girlfriend from the other visions. They’re connected somehow.”

I thought she might be excited about the news, but Ann just stared at me.

“His connection to Guthrie’s girlfriend doesn’t seem to matter much since the FBI won’t go after Guthrie,” she reminded me.