“Go away,” I told him. “I have a headache. I don’t feel like talking to you.”
“Bah! You don’t know if you’re up or down. I’m going to have some rum.”
Chapter 44
Gramps coddled and fussed over me the rest of the day. He even skipped his newly restarted pinochle game to stay home. We watched TV together, and I wondered if he’d told everyone to leave us alone that night—the phone didn’t ring once.
It was nice and cozy—a good way to recover from the shock of emotions coming from the gun. Kevin had been right about the extreme passion, anger, hatred and fear.
But I pulled out of it, and the next morning I was fine. I’d slept well—no wisecracking pirates or fatal dreams about the past. I was ready to go to Missing Pieces when Mrs. Euly Stanley called me.
“Dae, you won’t believe it! I think we’ve found the magistrate’s descendant. Come down to the museum and take a look.”
“I’ll be right there,” I told her and closed my cell phone.
“Is this it? Is this the diary?” Rafe demanded as I walked out the front door.
“I don’t know yet. She didn’t mention the diary—just William Astor’s descendant. He or she may not live here anymore. We may have to call or email them to find out if the diary still exists.”
“Go on with ye and your fancy blasted words. Tell me when you know where it is.”
“Since you seem to hang around all the time and listen in on private phone conversations, I don’t think that will be necessary.”
I got a “Bah” for my trouble, but it didn’t bother me. I was almost running along Duck Road—as excited as the pirate ghost that hovered near my shoulder.
Having him with me made me wonder how many ghosts were out there that most of us couldn’t see. Was there a ghost following Luke Helms as he jogged by in the other direction, waving to me as he went? Was Cailey Fargo’s Aunt Twinny whispering in her ear as she drove the fire chief’s SUV to the station? How many ghosts were trying to communicate but we couldn’t hear them?
Marissa was at the Blue Whale’s mailbox at the end of the driveway as I went by—breathlessly walking now. “Morning, Dae! You look like you’re in a hurry.”
“I was until I realized how out of shape I am. How are the repairs coming along?”
We both looked up with our hands shading our eyes against the bright sun. Kevin was silhouetted before the brilliant blue sky, a pack of shingles slung over one shoulder. He waved to both of us, then disappeared over the crest of the roof.
“Pretty good. Another couple of weeks and it will be like the mayor’s conference never happened.” She frowned, her pretty face puckering. “Sorry. Not that it wasn’t a good idea. You couldn’t know there’d be a storm.”
“Or a murder. But that’s okay. I know what you mean. Maybe we’ll try it again someday—if Kevin will ever consider it again.”
“He’d do anything for you. It’s good when a man cares that much. Not many do—at least not in my experience.”
I smiled, recalling that Marissa was divorced after a disastrous marriage. “I think there’s someone for everyone. I hope you find your someone too.”
She didn’t respond, just hugged the mail to her and walked back to the Blue Whale. I hated that terrible sadness I felt from her each time we talked. She was so pretty—it was hard to believe men weren’t beating down her door. But maybe they were all the wrong men. Shayla seemed to have the same problem.
Rafe urged me toward the museum, and I burst in the door as the group was discussing the exciting implications of their new historic find.
“Come on in, Dae,” Mrs. Stanley said, her faded blue eyes sparkling with the thrill of new knowledge. “There are sticky buns from the bakery and coffee on the side table. Help yourself.”
But I wasn’t hungry or thirsty. I sat down and peeked over Mark Samson’s shoulder as he looked at a new family tree.
“This is awesome!” he raved. “Not that we didn’t know there were magistrates that governed the islands during those early times.”
“But many of their names and family histories have been lost down through the years,” Andy Martin continued. “Look here, Dae. You can see where Magistrate William Astor married Mary Smith-Masterson. They had four children—two sons from her previous marriage that he adopted as his own. Mary and William had two more children together in the eight years they were married.”
“What happened to her?” I asked with no prodding from Rafe.
“Not a clue at this point except that she died and Astor remarried and had two more children,” Mark explained.
I felt let down. Mary was such a valiant woman. I wanted to know more about her. I’d have to research her later. “Did any of the Astor children survive?”
“Yes. Two of the six survived—pretty good numbers back then with all the childhood diseases going around,” Andy added. “Magistrates were a pretty big deal in the late 1700s and early 1800s, so they’d have had all the advantages that were possible.”
“Can you tell which two survived and if they have descendants?” I asked, feeling the anxiety in the pit of my stomach.
“One of them was clearly Mary Masterson’s child. It seems he took back his birth father’s name after his mother died. He went on to become a governor in Jamaica. The other was from the second wife. He was hanged for murder. Pretty sweet, huh?” Andy teased.
“Not so fast, boys,” Mrs. Stanley countered. “We have no proof as yet that this Mary Smith-Masterson was indeed married to Rafe Masterson. I’ve never heard that the pirate settled down and had a family—except of course from your perspective, Mark. We need proof before we can consider it history.”
“And? What about now? Are there any descendants left of the son who was the governor of Jamaica, Mary’s child?”
“Yes!” Mark jumped on that. “Thanks to the Internet and the library in Manteo, we know that the magistrate’s descendant is—drum roll—Joseph Endy of Duck, North Carolina.”
I’ve never seen two faces lose their excitement so quickly. Mrs. Stanley sat down and made a modest humphing noise. “Oh, that diary. You’ll never get it from him,” she said. “Odious man! I didn’t know he was involved in all this. We’ve wasted our time.”
I didn’t understand the problem. I knew Joe. He was okay.
“We’ve tried for years to get even a glimpse of it,” Andy confirmed. “He won’t even let us see the diary much less tell us who wrote it.”
“He taunts us with it.” Mrs. Stanley frowned. “He knows how valuable it may be to Duck history. He’s refused all of our efforts to get information about it.”
Mark looked more crestfallen than any of us. “We have to do something about it. This could be definitive. He can’t hide history. Maybe we could appeal to him. He might’ve changed his mind. Why hasn’t anyone told me about this before?”
“You haven’t been a member that long,” Andy told him. “Besides, it hasn’t come up in years. I never thought about the diary Dae was looking for belonging to that old coot.”
“But maybe this is an opportunity,” Mrs. Stanley said in a sly way as she looked at me. “A chance to change his mind. Joe always liked the ladies. I remember when he and Wild Johnny Simpson and Bunk Whitley used to have contests to see who could take out the best-looking girl.”
“Dae isn’t bad looking,” Andy said. “And she has a very winning way about her. She might be able to get a look at the diary.”
“Good idea!” Mark patted me hard on the back in his excitement. “If anyone can do it, our mayor can!”