A Spirited Gift (26 page)

I thought about the gold makeup case and dug it out. Apparently my previous buyer had changed her mind, since I hadn't heard from her. “This belonged to Lady Suzanne Forester, and there is a story that goes with it. She spent some time here off and on with her uncle during the late 1700s and early 1800s. She was a writer too.”

“Murder mysteries?” The woman carefully examined the case.

“No, I'm afraid not. She wrote wonderful journals about her life and the people around her—what it was like to spend time in this area when it was still basically a wilderness then return to England and her life there. She was an early suffragette. She was very accomplished as an artist too. A Renaissance woman. Your sister can probably find some background material about her in books.”

“Really? How fascinating!” She turned the makeup case over, opened it and peered inside at the old mirror. “I think you're right. I think she'll love it.”

The woman had already successfully passed several of my tests for buying my real treasures—like this makeup case. I wanted my important items to go to people who'd really appreciate them. And I charged a steep price when anyone asked how much they cost.

She not only didn't ask before she pulled out her Visa card, she also didn't blink when I told her how much. She was the perfect buyer.

“Can you gift wrap?” she asked.

“Of course.” I pulled out a sheet of pirate-themed wrapping paper. “What do you think?”

“Perfect! Thank you so much.”

I waved to her as she left, amazed and thrilled to make any money at all this week. I was even more pleased to have sold the makeup case to someone like her. As sad as I always was to see my treasures leave, I knew this one was going to a good home. I picked up the dust rag again and hummed as I finished straightening and dusting everything in the shop.

After I was finished, I sat down with a cup of tea and tried to work out what could have happened to Sandi and Matthew. It seemed obvious to me that Sandi's husband made the perfect suspect—like my perfect customer. Unless Shawn Foxx had a remarkable alibi, I knew Chief Michaels would be thinking the same thing. What man would continue looking the other way as his wife had affair after affair?

Of course, that didn't make Shawn a killer. Jealousy and anger were powerful emotions, but it was only two days ago that we thought Matthew Wright had killed Sandi. Not every hypothesis proved true.

But who else could do something like this? I knew from listening to the chief talk that he thought it was possible the two murders were committed with the same gun—the one I'd found at the park. Part of me wished I'd had the opportunity to touch the gun, but most of me was glad I didn't.

My gift of seeing events by touching articles connected to those events came with a terrible price sometimes. Even the gift I was born with—finding missing items by touching people—could be painful. I'd learned to live with these abilities, but it was difficult.

I admired and envied Shayla's calm acceptance of her abilities. She never questioned if what she saw was right or wrong. She never doubted herself. We were raised similarly, with family and friends accepting our abilities. But there the resemblance ended. I don't know why I didn't have her confidence. She was so cool and laid-back about what she could do that I often wondered if it affected her at all.

Finally tired of being alone and realizing that sitting here wasn't getting me any answers at all, I closed up shop around five P.M. and headed back to the Blue Whale. I wasn't ready to spend much quality time with Gramps—another sore point in my life. We were so close. It broke my heart to hide things from him and distrust his word. But that's the way it was, at least for right now. I knew we'd find some way to work it out.

I was surprised to see that town hall was closed as I walked by. Glad, too, because it meant Nancy had gone home. She worked too hard for the small salary we could pay her. She was really too good for us—but I didn't know what we would do without her.

The boardwalk and parking lot seemed strangely empty to me. Even though this time of year was normally quiet, I never really got used to it. After a storm was even worse than normal. Next week, things would be better. Shops would be open again and people would be out walking around, visiting friends and buying. It would stay busy until the Jazz Festival in November. After that, it would be empty again until spring.

Phil De Angelo, who owned the Coffeehouse and Bookstore, was inspecting the damage to his place. The little shop was very popular and sat off to one side in the Duck Shoppes parking lot.

“Mayor.” He nodded when he saw me. “I'm getting too old for this. I don't know how you people go through it all your lives.”

By “you people” he meant people from Duck. Phil was a recent transplant from New York. He'd chosen to retire here after many years serving the city of Buffalo.

“It doesn't look so bad,” I commented. “This wasn't even a real hurricane. There's a lot of damage, but we'll be fine.”

He shook his head. “Not me. I can't keep doing this. I decided yesterday to put the place up for sale. I got a sister who lives in Atlanta. Her husband recently passed, and she needs help keeping her place. I'm moving there. Not much going on there with the weather. And no earthquakes, like my brother in Seattle. I'll miss you people, though.”

I hugged him, and he looked a little embarrassed. “I wish you wouldn't leave. We'll miss you.”

“Thanks.” He sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I really enjoyed being here. But sometimes things don't work out the way we want them to. You take care now.”

I was going to miss Phil—his mochas and his stories about his life. I hoped someone else would reopen the coffee shop. It was a favorite around here.

The day was over for most people by the time I got to the Blue Whale. Most of the cars—police, sheriffs, and guests being questioned—were gone. I hoped that was a good sign. Chief Michaels was too thorough to let everyone leave just because Matthew was found dead. I wondered about his new strategy.

Good smells were emanating from the kitchen as I opened the front door. “Anyone here?”

“He's in the kitchen,” Marissa told me, bustling by. “Thank God the investigation seems to be over. Maybe we can get back to normal now.”

I agreed and felt a little embarrassed when my stomach growled loudly. “I haven't eaten since breakfast,” I explained. “I guess I'm hungry. I hope Kevin made enough for me too.”

Marissa swung her long blond hair away from her face. “You know him—he makes enough to feed an army. I'm on my way out. See you tomorrow, Dae.”

I said good-bye and went into the kitchen where Kevin was stirring something in a big pot. “I'm glad you're back,” he said with a smile. “I was about to open some wine. Want some?”

“Only after I eat everything in that pot. What is it?”

“Just some leftovers I threw together. After feeding everyone today, I had enough to make some stew.”

“I'll take some of that and some wine, thanks. It's been a long day.”

The wine was a sweet, muscadine blush made from grapes harvested from the Mother Vine in Manteo. The vine, cultivated for more than three hundred years, had almost been killed by power-line workers spraying pesticide on weeds. But it was healthy again now and producing grapes.

“So how did it go?” Kevin asked as he poured the wine.

I told him about my meeting with Mark Samson and my wonderful sale at Missing Pieces. “That's it for me today. I'm going to eat some stew, drink some wine and spend quality time with my favorite person. Then I'm heading home for the night. Gramps texted me on the way over to let me know he wouldn't be home until late.”

“You're going to have to talk to him sometime, Dae.” Kevin ladled the fragrant stew into bowls. “Now that Chief Michaels knows, how long will it be before Horace knows too?”

“I don't have to live with Chief Michaels. And I don't think he means to tell Gramps. I think that's what our secret meeting at the park today was all about.”

“And this from the woman who warned me about the Duck grapevine?”

“Like I said, apparently we can keep secrets from people who are involved in them. Just ask me. I know all about it.” I tasted the stew and smiled. “You are the best cook in Duck! Even when you're only throwing things together.”

“Thanks.” He tasted the stew and added salt to his. “What about the pirate?”

“Still lurking. It wasn't enough that Mark thinks he's innocent. We have to prove it. Probably the only way to do that is to find the magistrate's diary. At least we know his name now. All we have to do is trace down his family tree and hope one of his descendants lives around here. If not, I might have a pirate living with me forever.”

Chapter 33

“Anything new in the murder investigation?” I asked.

“The chief is questioning Shawn Foxx.”

“Seriously? He thinks Sandi's husband killed her? It's a long drive between here and Manteo.”

“It makes sense, unfortunately,” Kevin explained. “Sandi was killed—then her lover. Husbands and wives make good suspects in a case like this. Since Matthew wasn't married, that leaves Shawn Foxx.”

“I understand.” I sipped wine and ate freshly baked crusty bread with my stew. “What about Matthew? I wonder if he had someone special in his life.”

“What do you mean?”

“He was really intent on leaving Sandi. Maybe he wasn't just tired of her and ready to move on. Maybe he'd met someone else.”

“Maybe,” he agreed. “But the chief has Shawn Foxx on his radar right now.”

“Well, we know he was in Manteo with his kids during the storm, right?”

“Apparently not. He'd driven down to some kind of sales meeting in Kitty Hawk. The kids were with their grandmother. When his wife was killed, he was sleeping alone in his car, waiting for the storm to pass. Not much of an alibi.”

“No.”

“It was enough to make the chief drive over to Manteo with the sheriff to question him.”

“Glad I'm not with them. The two of them together are too much.”

He laughed. “That's the way competing law enforcement agencies always are.”

“I hate to think that those two little girls could lose their mother and their father.”

He got up and put his arms around me. “No one wants to think that, Dae. But if he killed her—”

“I know—granddaughter of a sheriff, remember.” I shook my head, glad that he was near. “And daughter of a petty criminal, I guess. Maybe that's what makes me so divided.” I looked into his eyes and asked, “What made you ask me if my father had stolen something?”

He shrugged. “Habit, I guess. For him and me. Did he steal something from you?”

I started to answer, but Danny came into the kitchen. He sniffed appreciatively. “Smells good! Hi, Dae. I mucked out that cellar, Kevin. Most of what's in there—except the whiskey—was probably ruined by the mud and water.”

“I thought so. Thanks, Danny.” Kevin let me go. “Help yourself to some stew. There's bread in the oven too. Don't be shy.”

“Thanks. I feel like I could eat a few wild horses.”

Watching Danny dip stew and cut bread in Kevin's kitchen made me feel guilty. I was being unfair lying to Kevin about Danny stealing from me. What if Danny took something from Kevin too? In all honesty, I didn't know if Danny would have returned the makeup case if I hadn't found him trying to spend the night behind the trash bin. Kevin might not be that lucky.

Since I'd started this quest to get to know my father, I'd told so many lies that I wasn't sure anymore where one began and another ended. I wasn't happy about that, but I had no other choice. Somebody had to give him a break and show him that they cared about him. I wanted to be that person.

Maybe Kevin was right and I should tell Gramps everything too, instead of treating him like the enemy. He'd taken care of me my whole life. I owed him something too. I loved and respected him. I didn't want to lose him while I found my father.

“I'd better get home,” I said, hoping Kevin would take the hint. “Walk me outside?”

“Let me take you home,” he offered.

“Okay. Good night, Danny. I'll probably see you tomorrow.”

“See you, Dae. Thanks again. You know, you're my guardian angel.”

My heart swelled when he said that, and I smiled. And seeing his return smile reminded me that we shared that trait—I had his smile. When I'd first started watching him, I noticed it right away. He might not have been there when I was growing up, but he was still my father. How could I feel any different?