A Timely Vision (23 page)

I ended up borrowing Nancy’s MP3 player to record what was said at Sea Oats Senior Care. It was small and could hide easily in my pocket. I also borrowed her camera since the pictures my cell phone took were always blurry.

Nancy didn’t comment on my spy-gear requests. She was still basking in praise from the chief after finding his message—the message I kept wishing he’d call and tell me about. I wondered if we’d meet him at the nursing home when we went to see Silas Butler. I hoped not.

When I got back to Missing Pieces, Gramps was manning the front; there was no sign of Mary Lou. I decided to ask him if he’d heard from the chief. “Was I supposed to?” he responded. “Has something else come up, Dae?”

I bit my lip to keep from telling him the truth. Gramps had been a sheriff’s deputy back in 1978 too. I was sure he knew all about Bad Butler’s demise. But if he didn’t, and he got upset about Silas Butler still being alive and called the chief, we might never know what actually happened. “Not really,” I finally lied. “I just thought he might call you before he told me anything.”

“Don’t worry so much.” He hugged me. “Millie will be fine. You’ll see.”

Is he so confident because he knows about Silas Butler too?
It seemed odd to me that he had never mentioned it if he knew Bad Butler was still alive. I couldn’t be sure. It was beginning to look as though I was wrong about there being no secrets in Duck. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“I believe in the truth, Dae. You know that. It will come out, sooner or later. It always does.”

“Like Bad Butler?” I asked quickly. “I was thinking about him the other day. It’s funny how Miss Mildred and Miss Elizabeth didn’t hate the chief for killing their only brother.”

He sighed as he sat down behind the counter with me. “That was a long time ago. I think Millie and Lizzie were angry to begin with. But they got over it.”

“I can’t imagine getting over someone killing a person I loved.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is there something specific you were thinking about Silas Butler? I don’t recall ever mentioning that it was Ronnie who killed him.”

“But it
was
him, wasn’t it?” I shrugged. “I guess I heard someone say it.”

“It was Ronnie who shot Silas. But Silas was in trouble for a long time before it happened. It could’ve been any of us that caught him in that situation. What are you thinking, Dae?”

I realized I was getting into hot water here. I had to think of a way out before I was parboiled. Gramps was too good at reading me. “I heard someone say that it runs in the family. They said Miss Mildred was like Silas.”

“That was a damn stupid thing to say! Millie and Lizzie were nothing like Silas,” he blustered. “Even later when he—”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m going to clean some fish for stew tonight. I’ll see you later.”

Was there a secret about Silas that Gramps and the chief knew? Were Miss Mildred and Miss Elizabeth involved too? It made me even more anxious to go to Kitty Hawk and talk to Silas.

The afternoon dragged by with only a few customers. This would’ve been a good day to be busy, but it never seemed to happen that way. Today, when I had somewhere I wanted to go, Missing Pieces felt like a weight holding me down. But then I looked around at all my treasures, the ones that would stay and the ones that would eventually leave me. This place was my second home. If I could be patient with slow sales, I could be patient until five P.M. when it was time to close.

I ended up closing a
little
early and ran home to change clothes before I had to meet Kevin. Most people, even in Kitty Hawk, knew I was the mayor of Duck. I wanted to look professional as I investigated my own chief of police. I checked in with Nancy for messages one last time, but there was nothing for me. I hoped I was doing the right thing.
Give me a call, Chief!

I walked back into the Duck Shoppes parking lot at about five minutes before five. I saw Kevin leaning against his red Ford pickup and nervously twitched my knee-length white skirt with the embroidered hem. My matching white blouse was cool in the warm air and contrasted nicely with my light tan. I wondered if he’d notice.

He calmly assessed me from head to toe. “You look great! I don’t think I’ve ever known a mayor I could say that about.”

“Thanks.” I felt a little awkward, not sure why. People compliment me on a regular basis. I’m not vain, but I think I’m kind of pretty. His words made me feel beautiful. “You look nice too. Not a bit like an ex-FBI agent.”

He looked at his painfully plain gray suit and shrugged. “This is my
only
suit. I threw the rest of them away at the airport in DC.”

We climbed into the pickup, and he headed toward Kitty Hawk. “I always thought FBI agents only wore plain brown suits,” I said.

“I think you have FBI agents confused with police detectives. Our dress code wasn’t that strict. Most of the time, I wore jeans and T-shirts while I was working.”

“Undercover, right?”

“Right.”

The conversation died there, and I tried to revive it with a mention of what we were doing. “I have a list of questions we can ask, if you think that would help.”

“Such as?”

“Is he really Silas Butler? If he is, where has he been? Does anyone else know he isn’t dead? Has he seen his sisters recently?”

“Those are right to the point. What makes you think he saw his sisters if no one else knows he’s alive?”

“They never acted like they hated the chief for killing their brother. That strikes me as being a little odd. I asked Gramps about it, and I think he almost said too much. Maybe they all
knew
he was still alive. If this man is
really
Bad Butler, of course.”

He laughed. “Does everyone have a nickname like Wild Johnny and Bad Butler? I wonder what mine will be in a few years. Do you have a nickname, Dae?”

“I did once,” I replied. “But that was a long time ago. I’ve changed.”

“Really? Sounds bad. What was it?”

“It’s not something I want to talk about.” I carefully folded my list of questions and put them back in my purse.

“Were you Bad Dae O’Donnell at some point?” he joked. “It’s hard for me to imagine you that way.”

“We all have our dark days.” I sat back against the seat. He wasn’t getting an answer to that question from
me
.

“I’m sure Horace would be glad to tell me. Or maybe Tim.” He glanced my way. “You might as well tell me.”

“Not happening. Let’s keep focused on what we’re doing. I can’t believe they didn’t teach you that in the FBI academy.”

“All right. I’ll focus on our undead man for now. But you know I’ll find out what your nickname was sometime. We live in Duck, right? Everyone knows everything.”

We drove through the start of early evening traffic, bumper-to-bumper with RVs, open-top Jeeps and Cadillac convertibles. Many tourists would be headed home to shower and change for a night on the town. It was standard operating procedure for a visit to the Outer Banks.

“What did you think about the séance last night?” Kevin changed the subject (thankfully) as we stopped at another traffic light.

“It was all right. Nancy thought she heard someone speaking but couldn’t make out what they were saying.”

“What about you?”

“Old buildings make strange sounds. I heard something, but I don’t know if it was a ghost or not.”

“A skeptic?”

“Not at all.” I folded my arms across my chest. “I’d love to see a ghost. I tried my best to talk to my mom after she died. It never happened. But that doesn’t mean I don’t believe. How about you?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen a ghost either, but I’ve heard some weird stories from otherwise normal people. I had a partner in the FBI who swore his dead father was at the foot of his bed every night when he went to sleep. He wasn’t the kind of guy you’d think would believe something like that either.”

“Out here, people know that ghosts are real, like pirates. They’re part of our heritage. It amazes me that a judge would rule Miss Mildred incompetent because she says she saw her dead sister.”

“I’m sure it’s because the judge thinks Miss Mildred
killed
her dead sister. Otherwise, it might be different.”

“I guess you’re right.” I glanced at his profile as he drove. “What about you? Do you have someone you’d like to speak to on the other side?”

Was it my imagination or did his mouth tighten up a bit? “I don’t think so,” he answered. “I don’t think there’s anything to be gained by talking to someone dead.”

Before I could respond, he turned the pickup into the Sea Oats Senior Care parking lot. I wanted to know what he was hiding. I’m pretty good at guessing when someone has a secret. There was a dead person Kevin wanted to see or talk to again. He just wasn’t sure if it was possible.

“So we play this simple and laid back,” I confirmed.

“Exactly.”

The smell of baking pavement added to the diesel and other exhaust coming from the overcrowded street. From somewhere close by, the scent of fried chicken added to the mix. People were coming and going out of the squat old building with the Sea Oats logo on it. The parking lot was half full, but I suspected most of the cars belonged to employees.

It was easy to get in the building. A smiling doctor held the door open, and we stepped inside the heavily shaded lobby. The antiseptic smell quickly destroyed any lingering odors from the street. It was like being wrapped in a Lysol bubble.

A heavy-set black woman dressed in a blue uniform smiled at us when we asked about Silas Butler. “You’ll have to sign in first. Have you ever been here before? If not, I’ll have someone take you down to the sunroom. Everyone usually gathers there after supper to watch TV and play games.”

Kevin and I admitted we’d never been there as we signed in. Leticia (her name was on her shirt)
tsked.
“You know, that’s part of the problem with these old folks. You come to a place like this, and your family writes you off. People need to
care
a little more. Is Silas your father?”

We glanced at each other, and I thought fast. “No. He’s our uncle. We didn’t even realize he was here until yesterday. Our mother died recently, and we found some information about him. It’s terrible that she kept it from us all these years. I think it was the bad blood between Uncle Silas and our grandfather.” I smiled in what I hoped was a pathetic way and leaned toward Kevin.

“That’s awful. You know, families should stay close.” Leticia sniffed a little, then pushed a buzzer for someone to take us to the sunroom.

“That was kind of elaborate,” Kevin whispered as we followed the attendant down the long hall from the lobby. “I thought we were going to keep it simple.”

“It’s simple in
my
mind,” I explained. “We’re Miss Elizabeth’s kids who didn’t know her brother was still alive.”

“Not that we know Silas
is
her brother yet. He might not be a relation at all.”

We’d reached the sunroom, which was crowded with older folks playing Monopoly and Ping-Pong, and watching TV. A few gentlemen were sitting off to themselves, obviously engaged in a poker game for pennies.

“That’s him over there.” The attendant pointed to a skeleton-thin man hunched over a checkerboard, his blue Sun City T-shirt making a definite statement in the blue room.

We thanked the attendant and went to question our “uncle.”

“Uncle Silas!” I made a show of calling him by name and hugging his wispy body. “I bet you thought everyone had forgotten you!”

Silas looked at me through his thick glasses as though I was a bug under a microscope. “Get out of here! You’re not my niece. I don’t even have a niece. If I did, she’d be a lot older, I can tell you that. Who are you two?”

“I’m Kevin Brickman, sir.” Kevin extended his hand to the old man. “We wanted to ask you a few questions about Elizabeth and Mildred Butler. Can we have a few minutes?”

“Are you the stupid police? I know Lizzie is dead. You can’t con me into anything. I don’t have control of my money anymore, so don’t waste my time.”

Kevin nodded toward the bright orange chairs next to us, and we both sat down. Silas’s checker partner wandered off, leaving us alone to talk. “So you
are
related to them,” Kevin surmised. “That must’ve been quite a shock to hear your sister was murdered.”

“You’re Bad Butler, aren’t you?” I asked. “You’re supposed to be dead.”

“You must be from Duck. Trust me, honey, not everyone is what they seem.” He sat back in his chair and gazed at the ceiling. “Lizzie and Millie didn’t know I was back. I left Duck a long time ago, thirty years. We had a falling out. I didn’t think they wanted me in their lives anymore.”

“I’m Dae O’Donnell. The mayor of Duck. You came back in time for one of them to die and the other to be charged with her murder,” I said accusingly, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was accusing him of.

“I came back to the Outer Banks to die, little girl. I only have a few months. Lung cancer.” He coughed long and hard, gasping for air. “I never believed those stupid cigarettes would kill me.”

“What happened? I mean, I read the police report. It said Ronnie Michaels shot you. I’ve seen your grave in Duck Cemetery.”

He grimaced. “Nothing to do with all you nosy busybodies in Duck. Why do you think I had to leave? Nobody can keep
anything
a secret.”

“Anything like what?” I demanded. “What kind of secret makes a man fake his own death?”

“Never mind me,” he wheezed, picking up an oxygen mask that was close at hand. “What are you doing to help Millie? You want to snoop around? Do something for her! She needs you. I don’t. She shouldn’t go to jail for what happened. She’d
never
hurt Lizzie.”

“We’re trying to help her,” I assured him. “I could probably arrange for you to see her, if you like.”