“It’s a very small town, Dae,” he said, starting the engine. “You’ve told me that before. Everyone knows everything.”
“Maybe. But why didn’t I know, Kevin? They managed to keep my father a secret from me all these years.”
“I don’t know.” He covered my hand with his. “I’m sure they thought they were protecting you from him. You have to admit, your father doesn’t have the best reputation. And you’re talking about lawmen. They tend to get more protective when someone they love gets involved with a criminal.”
“It just makes me wonder what else they know that I don’t.”
“You should tell your grandfather, Dae. If you don’t, you risk all of it blowing up in your face—like it would have at the inn if Horace had recognized Danny.”
“Well, he didn’t recognize him. I think it’s better this way. He’ll only get upset, and we’ll have another big fight. I’m not giving up being with my father because of things he did wrong in the past. And right now, I’m not really sure if Gramps is all that innocent either. He drove Danny away when my mom needed him. That might not make him a convicted felon—but it makes him wrong.”
There was a white SUV parked to the far right of us—almost in the bushes. I recognized the driver. Shawn Foxx. “What is he doing here?”
“Who?” Kevin followed my gaze. “Mayor Foxx’s husband? Maybe he has a police radio.”
“Maybe.” I told him about Shawn’s visit to the Blue Whale.
“I don’t think it’s unnatural for him to want to know what’s going on,” Kevin said. “I’d be following the chief around if I knew he was looking for the person who killed my wife.”
“Maybe,” I agreed. “Should we go and talk to him?”
“I don’t think so,” Kevin answered. “Let’s leave the poor guy alone. He has enough problems.”
We talked about Shawn a little more on the way back to the Blue Whale. Since Kevin didn’t find Shawn’s actions suspicious, I reserved judgment.
Kevin didn’t press me any further about telling Gramps about Danny. I might have sounded hardheaded about my position. I just wanted a chance to get to know my father better before I decided if I should let him into my life and my heart. I wanted to know the truth about him without the outside interference.
Shayla was waiting for us at the Blue Whale. She and Kevin nodded to each other without speaking before he went inside.
“Is the ghost still bothering you?” she asked.
“Bothering her?” Rafe put in an appearance. “I’m helping her solve her lady friend’s murder. I would hardly call that being a bother.”
Shayla rolled her expressive eyes. “I wasn’t talking to you, blowhard. Dae, I think I can get rid of him for you, if you want me to. I found some old text and talked to my Aunt Marie in New Orleans. She thinks we can send him back.”
“Don’t I get a bloody say in all this? You summoned me. I’m not some random spirit ye can call up and put back without so much as a by-your-leave.”
I listened to them bickering. I knew Kevin understood what was going on. I hoped no one else was listening, since it would be a weird conversation to hear on the outside. “I’d like to say something.”
“Well, spit it out, girl,” Rafe said. “We haven’t got all day.”
“I’ve decided to help him,” I told Shayla. “He’s helped me, and I owe him that much. So I guess he stays for right now. Let’s talk about it later if he doesn’t go away once we figure out the truth about his death.”
Rafe pounded the side of the inn with his fists. Birds flew up around us, and several people inside looked out to see what was happening. “It’s about time! Let’s get to work!”
Chapter 31
Since I knew Mark Samson would be my best source for Rafe Masterson lore, I set out for the Rib Shack with Rafe and Shayla on my heels. I explained why I needed to talk to Mark, but when we got to the Rib Shack, it was closed. There were no visible signs of damage to the old, squat building. It had been built out of cinder block in the 1950s. Those old structures like the Rib Shack always seemed to emerge from even the worst storms unscathed. It would probably take a car smashing into it to make a dent.
“He lives a few doors down from here. Let’s try there,” I told my companions. “He’s the one we need.”
“You think he’s the magistrate’s descendant?” Rafe asked.
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “The magistrate’s descendant might not even live here anymore. People move around a lot more now than they did in your time. He could live anywhere in the world.”
“Can’t you do a spell or something, witch?” he asked Shayla. “We could get these answers faster.”
“I’m not a witch,” she protested. “I’m a medium. So unless you want me to contact the magistrate’s spirit, you’re out of luck.”
Rafe didn’t reply—we were at Mark’s little house by then. It looked much like the Rib Shack—pale green-painted cinder block with a dark green roof. I felt pretty sure the two buildings must have gone up at the same time.
Mark was working on his roof, pushing off tree branches and hammering down loose shingles. He waved when he saw us and came down with a smile.
“You know Duck history is my favorite subject,” he said after I’d told him the reason for our visit. “I need to wash my hands. Then we can talk. I’m afraid all I can offer you for refreshments is some warm Coke and a few Twinkies.”
He smiled at us in his warm, friendly way and ushered us into his home. He was a short, older man with gray hair and glasses who looked more like a librarian than someone who roasted pork for a living.
Shayla and I had some warm, flat Coke—it would have been impolite not to. Rafe paced and fumed at the interruption as we all sat in Mark’s tiny living room. There was a big masking tape X on the front window, but the glass was all in one piece.
We talked about all the gossip involving the storm—how the Harris Teeter grocery store was almost empty, and several residents weren’t able to get the prescriptions they needed with the road blocked. Mark knew some things I hadn’t heard, and I gave him some tidbits that surprised him.
When we were all caught up, Mark brought out his research into Rafe Masterson’s life. “Well, like I was telling Dae earlier, Masterson was a pirate—no doubt about it. He was a particularly nasty pirate too. Some historians feel certain he robbed and sank at least twenty ships.”
“That’s a lie!” Rafe roared at the man who couldn’t hear him. “I sank a hundred if I sank one!”
“He probably killed several dozen people too.” Mark leafed through his documentation and cleared his throat. “People around here were scared of him. They had good reason to be.”
“But you said he might have been hanged for something he didn’t do,” I reminded him.
“Oh yes. I have reason to believe from the old records, that he retired—if that’s what pirates called it. He kind of went underground for a few years, and no one knew what happened to him. Many people thought he was dead.”
I thought of the dream I’d had about Rafe’s ship being destroyed. Maybe that was when he disappeared.
“He reappears in a county document.” Mark handed me the copy of the old paper. “He got married. Looks like he tried to start a new life. But I have a feeling he couldn’t get away from his past. He and his wife had two boys in quick succession. I have their birth certificates, of sorts. They’re handwritten notes made by the local midwife who kept glorious records of the children she delivered, bless her soul. Her notes have been invaluable to anyone interested in Duck history.”