A Spirited Gift (7 page)

I couldn't argue that logic. No matter what I felt from the ruby ring, there was no way to know what happened until we found Sandi.

Chapter 7

Of course, that meant waiting around to hear something after Scott left to ask his friend to call Manteo. I knew it could take hours—if we were lucky enough to get through to someone. And this wouldn't be as much of a priority for the ham radio operators trying to help coordinate medical efforts for people who were injured.

The mayors and their families and associates were bored and restless. They wanted to know what was going on outside the inn. They wanted to talk to their families and find out if their houses were still standing.

I didn't blame them. I wanted to know about my house too. And no matter how much debris was in the roads, I could've walked home easily. But someone had to keep everything together, and this was my town. I wanted everyone stranded here to remember that even though this experience had been bad, the people of Duck handled the situation in a calm, efficient manner.

The first thing I did was create a cleanup brigade for the areas where people were eating and sitting around waiting for news. I got another group into the kitchen to wash some dishes and get ready for a breakfast of some kind in the next few hours. It was almost four thirty A.M. I knew the late-night snack everyone had shared would be wearing off soon.

I made a list of all the possible breakfast foods Kevin had on hand. I couldn't believe how much food he had stored. With these provisions, he could probably feed everyone at the hotel for at least the next few days. Of course, the town would have to help him financially. It would be the least we could do for eating all of his food.

I had games arranged for the older children who were still awake. There was always something on hand for Kevin's guests. It wasn't too long before there was a large, noisy game of Monopoly going on around the big table in the lobby. Adults picked up some cards, and a few played checkers.

I knew everyone was waiting for daylight—like I was. We all wanted a chance to really see the damage, and hopefully the power would be restored by then. We were all anxious to hear the news about our homes and the towns around us. Television, radio and the Internet were still silent when we needed them the most. Civilization could be stripped away very quickly.

I remembered my good friend, Max Caudle, who knew everything about Duck history. He always said it was a miracle that anyone decided to stay here long enough to build homes and lives. Even things that seemed stable could be swept away by the sea and the wind. Yet, here we were—descendants of those people who lived here four hundred years ago.

It was cheating, I know, but I changed back into my shirt and jeans. Everyone else was stuck in their slightly damp evening wear, since Scott said they shouldn't go back upstairs. My clothes were dry, and I was planning on doing some heavy cooking shortly. It seemed like I deserved this little accommodation.

My new dress was bedraggled and had a few pulled places along the hem where I'd walked through the water in the ballroom. There was also every possibility that the white stain on one side was bird poop. The birds I'd shooed out the windows had apparently gotten their revenge. I put the dress in a plastic bag and planned to visit the dry cleaners when they opened up again—whenever that was.

I took off my wet shoes—they were ruined, no help there. The shoes I'd worn over from Shayla's were soaking too. The tennis shoes I'd left here last week when I was helping Kevin move some furniture were dry. They felt good on my cold feet.

The bridal suite was untouched by any of the events of the long night. How quickly things could change! When I'd left here last night, I was worried about my speech. Now I was worried about feeding an army and finding out if the people I cared about were all right.

Something caught my eye as I glanced up after transferring the key chain to the pocket of my jeans. It seemed to be a mote of light, but from where? The only light source was my flashlight (no emergency lighting here), and it was pointed in the opposite direction.

I watched the light drift across the room—like the spirit balls, but much smaller. This was only a pinpoint, like a twinkle from a diamond ring in the sun.

The light turned and began to come toward me. I swallowed hard and glanced away—

If I looked back maybe it would be gone.

No such luck.

I couldn't move, couldn't think, swallow or breathe for a moment as I watched it come closer. My gaze was glued to it—I fought to do something. I didn't know if I wanted to be there when it finally reached me.

Then I did something I never thought I'd do in these circumstances—circumstances I'd waited my whole life for—I ran out of the room and slammed the door behind me.

I forgot the flashlight. I didn't care. I didn't stop running until I reached the kitchen where everyone was busy working.

“Is everything okay, Dae?” Marissa asked, her hands full of clean dishes.

“Fine,” I answered quickly. “Everything is fine.”

I couldn't believe that I had gotten cold feet. Since my mother died, seeing ghosts had become almost an obsession for me. Or I guess seeing
her
ghost had anyway. I didn't know if I wanted to see every ghost on the island. But I realized one might come with the other.

It had been a long night. I made excuses for my cowardice as I took out several pans to start making breakfast. I was exhausted and stressed about finding Sandi. If I'd been my normal self, I would've waited to see what that light brought to me. I hadn't run out of the room when Shayla and I saw the spirit balls after the séance.

Of course, I hadn't been alone in a dark room either. That probably made a difference.

I put butter in two frying pans and began cracking eggs into a bowl. Scrambled eggs and toast would have to do for the crowd I'd be feeding. I could also start some grits and oatmeal in case we needed more than that or someone was allergic to eggs.

I put on some coffee and took all the juice out of the refrigerator. After this meal, there wouldn't be much fresh food left, but there was plenty of canned and frozen food to fall back on. I couldn't even begin to guess when we'd be able to leave the inn.

“We're done with the dishes,” Marissa said, wiping her hands on a towel. “I wish there were paper plates to use for breakfast. I've always hated washing dishes. Do you need some help over here?”

“Maybe you could look around and find a breadlike substance for toast.” I stirred oatmeal into boiling water. “I'm sorry I got you into this. I really appreciate your help.”

“It's starting to get light outside.” She glanced out of the window at the back of the kitchen. “I'd really like to call my grandfather and make sure he's okay. He's not good at remembering to take his meds. I know everyone would like to go home so we can see what's going on.”

“I know what you mean. But I think we should stay put until we get the all-clear. Officer Randall said it's bad out there.”

“I know.” She sighed. “But how bad? I know I haven't lived here all of my life, but I can take it. I can walk around a car in the road.”

“You know it's not just debris. There are power lines on the ground, ruptured mains of one kind or another. Dangerous stuff. That's why they try to keep people off the streets after a big storm.”

“I know.” She absently stirred the grits that was beginning to bubble in the pot. “I know.”

When the meal was finally put together—buffet style, like earlier—everyone hurried to eat. Watery sunlight was calling us all outside, and no one would be happy staying in playing games now.

Many of the men wanted to volunteer their assistance in the cleanup. The women too, for that matter, although most of them were more concerned with what had happened to their families and homes. After that, they'd be ready to help out the town. I couldn't blame them and I knew I couldn't stop them.

Everyone wolfed down their eggs and grits. Once the food was gone, the front doors were thrown open and everyone rushed outside into the cool morning air.

It was like walking out into a massive, open-air flea market where anything and everything was available—except you might have to climb up a tree for your kitchen table or get some help flipping your car upright. I was certain all of this couldn't have come from Duck. Surely some of the items had blown here from Corolla, Southern Shores and Kill Devil Hills.

Once everyone got over the first glimpse of what the storm had done, anyone who had a car at the inn rushed to see if it was drivable. I cautioned them that they couldn't drive down the streets. I wasn't surprised that no one listened.

I found my little golf cart. It was about two hundred yards away from the hitching post where I'd left it. There was a recliner in it that pretty much made it worthless, since there was no way to reach the controls.

For once, I abdicated my position as mayor. I couldn't force all those mayors and their families to stay—I wouldn't want to anyway. I heard some of their cars starting and knew they would take their chances on the roads, trying to get back home. I'd probably walk home once I got the inn straightened up. It was human nature to want to protect our own.

I heard a whining sound coming from the back of the inn. Worried about the generator giving out or running out of gas, I walked around the structure, picking my way through clothes, furniture and other storm-tossed rubble.

I'd spent enough time here that I knew there were two sheds in the back. One of them, obviously the one left standing, was the shed that housed the generator.

I checked the generator—it was fine. Probably just not used to running for so long. There was plenty of gas in it. Kevin's freezers were good for a while longer. Maybe he wouldn't lose everything.

The other shed was just a place to store tools. Kevin kept his lawnmower and other outside maintenance equipment there. The storm had flattened it—boards and shingles sticking up everywhere.

I was about to go back inside and begin the cleanup when I saw something protruding from one side of the demolished shed. I walked a little closer, At first, I wasn't sure what it was on the soggy ground near the collapsed building. But as I looked down at it, I realized there was still a foot in that pink shoe and it was attached to a leg. I dropped down on the saturated ground, trying to catch my breath.

It seemed I'd finally found Sandi.

Chapter 8

I couldn't bring myself to move. I finally thought—
she might still be alive
. There was that time a few years back when Mr. Fitzroy was trapped under his house after a storm. He was ninety years old, but he'd survived.

I knew it was a long shot with the whole shed blown down on top of her, but I couldn't ignore the chance that I could save Sandi.

“Dae?” Nancy called from the kitchen door. “What are you doing out here?”

“I found Sandi,” I called back as I began throwing the boards that covered her. “Help me, Nancy! She might still be alive!”

“Don't be daft!”
I heard someone say in a very un-Nancy-like voice.

I looked around, but no one else was near. Nancy was still trying to make her way past all the wood and other items that had blown here to the shed where I was working. It must have been the crashing waves hitting the sand as the water churned and spit only a few hundred yards away. Or the raucous call of the gulls above me.

“The lass be long past your earthly ministrations,”
the voice continued.
“Best not bother.”

Okay. This was too weird. But then the entire night had been one long weird fest. “Who's there?” I demanded. “You'd better get back inside with your parents instead of out here playing this stupid game!” I decided it had to be one of the kids staying at the hotel. No adult would be so callous.