I disliked the way he made it sound as though I were responsible for the murders as well as the storm. After going through an emotional wringer all morning, I was tempted to just walk back out the door.
But I wouldn’t let him get to me. I straightened my black suit, plastered on my mayor’s smile and pushed my way through the crowd that surrounded Mad Dog.
“What I’d like to know, as mayor and as a citizen, is what Councilman Wilson has done about the things that have happened in the last few days. Not once while I’ve been out helping with cleanup after the storm or aiding the Duck Police with these terrible crimes, have I seen Councilman Wilson. Where have you been, Mad Dog?”
“Mad Dog?” The smiling TV personality looked back at him. “That’s an unusual nickname.”
“He got it racing cars around the Outer Banks when he was younger,” I told her.
“So you were one of the infamous moonshine runners, huh, Mad Dog?” she asked with a practiced smile of her own.
“I was a stock car driver,” he corrected her. “I never ran moonshine. Not once. Not in my whole life.”
His words added fuel to the allegation, and the reporter put a match to the whole thing. “Was that during the time of prohibition?”
Mad Dog frowned at me. “I’m not that old. What do you take me for? It’s Dae’s fault—she twists words around.”
The reporter turned away from both of us and laughed as she faced the camera. “Sometimes history gets a little too real down here in the Outer Banks. Reporting from Duck, North Carolina, I’m Christine Thomas and I’m out and about!”
The cameraman lowered the lens, and Christine Thomas put away her microphone.
“Wait a minute!” Mad Dog tried to stop her. “I haven’t finished. There’s more to say about the mayor and all of the mysterious goings-on right here. Maybe we should do an in-depth piece.”
Christine smiled at him and kind of patted him on the shoulder. “Maybe—once Duck gets to be more important. Right now, it was all I could do to get my boss to let me come down here with the Weather Channel. Sorry.”
The expression on Mad Dog’s face reminded me of a hound dog on an old calendar. He shook his head like he couldn’t believe his time on-air had been for nothing. “You know, one day, Dae O’Donnell, the world is going to hear how you and your grandfather manipulated the last election. Then I think you won’t find it so funny.”
I started to tell him that I didn’t think it was funny now, but he made a humphing sound and stormed out of town hall. Really, I couldn’t believe our little election could turn so dirty. Again I thought it might be best to leave the race and let him have it. I didn’t want this to turn into a campaign of dragging each other’s dirty laundry through the streets of Duck.
But I didn’t have time to dwell on it then. The Weather Channel crew wanted me to walk them through some streets that would show off the damage done to Duck. They also wanted to know what it was like the night of the storm, how the cleanup was going and what our normal precautions were during emergency weather.
I was amazed at how thorough their questions were. We had nothing to hide, as far as I was concerned. Our emergency personnel and policies were as good as any other town around here. And I was glad to talk about them.
The pace was rigorous as we drove to some spots for photos and video, then walked to other areas where I answered questions and we talked to Duck residents about their experiences.
I saw Shawn Foxx standing outside Carter Hatley’s Game World and wondered what he was doing there. Given that Kevin had said the police were questioning him about Sandi’s death, I was surprised to see him in town. Was he doing his own investigation? The arcade seemed a strange place to start. But I’d be investigating if I were a suspect in a murder investigation.
There wasn’t time to stop and ask as the Weather Channel van sped by. I was glad to hear that not a single resident thought the town had done less than its best. That made me feel proud even though I certainly couldn’t take all the credit. I told the TV crew the same thing—the aftermath of a few minutes from the hurricane feeder bands would take months for our public works people to take care of. “There aren’t many of us here, but we all pitch in.”
At one stop, I found Kevin working on the roof at Betty’s Boutique and Floral along with a group of volunteers. I pointed out to the TV crew that Kevin—and probably the others as well—was helping out Betty even though his own business needed repair too. Betty’s situation was more urgent, since there had been a dinghy on her roof.
The volunteers all shook hands with the camera crew. Kevin looked across the crowd at me. I smiled and he kind of smiled back. I thought it was a good sign. But I felt pretty sure we wouldn’t get to talk today. Maybe a little space would be good for us.
It was going on evening when the Weather Channel crew finally wrapped up their taping. I suggested going to Wild Stallions on the boardwalk, since they were all hungry and thirsty. We had a good time comparing notes on storms in the Atlantic. One of the crew was from Wilmington, North Carolina, so we had a lot in common.
By the time everyone had eaten all the French fries and seafood they could hold and had plenty of beer (except the cameraman, who lost the toss and became designated driver), it was almost ten P.M. I stood in the Duck Shoppes parking lot and waved to them as they left. The program about the aftermath of storms would air in January.
I had just started walking home, sorry I hadn’t worn more comfortable shoes, when Rafe rejoined me. “It’s not as if I had much choice in the matter,” he said as though we’d never stopped talking from earlier in the day. “You’ve done good work, girl. But we need that diary if I am ever to lay down this blasted existence.”
“I have everyone I know working on it,” I told him with a new feeling of camaraderie. “We’ll find the diary.”
“Aye, I know ye will.”
I kept walking and he stayed beside me. There were so many questions I wanted to ask, but I didn’t want every one of them to be like a dagger to his heart—even though he was dead. “Will you ever see Mary again?”
He looked up at the stars. “I’m hoping so. We’ve been kept apart all these years. But I’m hoping, once I’m free, to be able to join her. My children too, for that matter. It’s been a long, lonely punishment for my crimes.”
“What about William Astor? Will you see him too?”
“I hope so, girl. I’d like to rip off some of his dead flesh and take the pieces—”
“I think that’s how you got here in the first place, Rafe. Maybe you should be forgiving too.”
“And who are ye to give me advice?” he demanded. “You haven’t even lived two score yet and you’re a woman to boot. I think I know what’s best for me.”
Traffic was light this late, and I considered my next question carefully before I asked. “Will I ever see my mother again? I’ve tried to contact her for the last few years. Maybe she doesn’t want to see me.”
“There, there.” His ghostly hand sort of patted my shoulder. “It’s probably nothing to do with you. Maybe yer ma’s not ready yet.”
“Could you ask her for me?”
“I could,” he agreed. “If I had any blasted idea of who she is.”
“She was a Bellamy on my grandmother’s side. Maybe you could look her up.”
He kind of snarled. “It’s not that easy. But I’ll try.”
I could’ve hugged him, but I knew there was nothing really there but hot air and attitude. We reached the turn in Duck Road right before my house. Two police cars and a county sheriff’s vehicle were parked in the street and in the drive.