“I was supposed to meet you at town hall at eight, r emember?”
I suddenly realized what had happened. I glanced at the teapot clock in the shop. It was almost ten thirty. “I fell asleep! What am I going to do?”
“You’re going to go home, take a shower and change clothes,” he said with all the authority his gray suit could muster. “I’ll tell everyone, and we’ll meet you at town hall at eleven. Can you do that?”
“I think so.” My brain was still not functional. Maybe my reasoning was a little fuzzy too, but it occurred to me that there was a long time between eight and ten thirty. “You were late for the SBI meeting too! Even if I’d been there on time, you’d just be getting there now.”
He nodded. “Guilty as charged. When I went back to the inn last night, I got caught up in looking for other secret places, so I overslept this morning too. Oh well, all’s well that ends well. So . . . are you going to change clothes or not?”
I realized he had the right idea. Kevin hadn’t shown up, but neither had I. I could hardly hold that against him. I glanced at Gramps. “Did you bring the golf cart?”
“You know it. Let’s hop to it, Dae. I don’t think you should keep these men waiting again.”
With a murmur of thanks to Kevin for taking care of contacting Chief Michaels and Agent Walker, I left with Gramps, and we drove down to the house in record time. At least record time for the old golf cart.
I grabbed the black suit I usually reserved for important mayoral duties, then jumped in the shower. There was no time to really fix my hair, so I tied it back in a ponytail, put on the black suit, shoved my feet into black sandals and ran back downstairs again. Gramps held out a piece of toast with orange marmalade and a bottle of water. I took it, said thanks and raced out the door.
It was only ten fifty when I reached my office in town hall. Kevin was there with Chief Michaels and Tim. Agent Walker was absent. I didn’t mind getting there first. I took a deep breath, plastered a polite but apologetic smile on my face and sailed behind my desk.
“Gentlemen, I’m sorry I was delayed.”
“Delayed?” Chief Michaels demanded. “You’re almost three hours late. I hope you have a good story to tell Agent Walker. I don’t want Duck to be the laughingstock of the state.”
“I hardly think a late mayor will cause that, Chief.” I tried to calm him down. “I got caught up doing . . . inventory . . . last night and fell asleep in the shop. I don’t know if that’s a good story or not, but it’s what I’ve got.”
While the chief scowled and mumbled, Kevin came up to the front of my desk. “I think you have a little jelly on your mouth,” he whispered, his lips flirting with a smile.
I picked up a tissue from the desk and dabbed at my lips. He nodded when I finished and walked to the corner of the room again. I was beginning to see a pattern in the places he chose to sit and stand. They were always the best vantage point to keep an eye on the room and the door. Maybe something left over from his FBI days?
As Kevin took up his chosen post, Agent Walker and several of his officers walked into the office. I had to give the same speech all over again, minus the marmalade on my mouth. I suggested we all sit down, and Nancy brought in coffee for everyone. I was never so happy to see a cup of coffee in my life.
“I’m glad to see you’re all right after everything that happened last night, Mayor O’Donnell,” Agent Walker said.
“Call her Dae,” Tim offered. “Everybody does. We aren’t too formal here in Duck.”
Agent Walker cleared his throat. “I hope you’re not too uncomfortable, ma’am. I didn’t foresee having such a large audience for our interview.”
I could tell Agent Walker was having a bad day too. I took a sip of Nancy’s awful coffee, then put down the cup before I spilled it and managed to look even more ridiculous. “As I said, Agent Walker, I apologize for the delay in the interview. The audience doesn’t bother me. I guess you can consider them advisors.”
He lifted his eyebrows before he put on his reading glasses but didn’t comment further. “Mayor, if you could describe the attack when you had your purse taken. Include where you were at the time, your reaction and everything that ensued until the arrest of Brian McDonald.”
So that’s the name of the young man. I settled myself in my chair and told him what had happened from the time Brian McDonald had pushed me into the side of Missing Pieces until Tim jumped on him from the boardwalk in the parking lot. “He didn’t have time to take anything.”
Agent Walker scribbled my words into a notebook. “Did you ever notice him around town before that event?”
“Yes. He came to my shop on the Fourth of July and asked about a job. I told him I didn’t have anything.”
“So we know McDonald was hanging around the area, scoping out his prey.” Agent Walker looked up at me. “Was Mrs. Simpson in the habit of walking through town with her purse?”
“I never saw her without it,” I answered. “Not until that night when Mr. Brickman and I found her in the dunes.”
He nodded. “Did you feel threatened by the purse-snatching incident, beyond losing your purse?”
“I suppose so. He shoved me pretty hard. Mostly I was angry and determined to get my purse back.”
“I’m sure Chief Michaels and Officer Mabry have both scolded you for chasing McDonald. It ended well this time, but it could’ve ended badly for you.”
“I know. Several people have mentioned it.” I glanced at Kevin. “More coffee, Agent Walker?”
“No, thanks. Mayor, I’m going to tell you something that can’t leave this room. It would jeopardize our investigation if it got out to the media.”
I sipped my coffee. “I understand. I won’t tell anyone.”
He removed his glasses. “We believe Brian McDonald may be responsible for Mrs. Simpson’s death. Our scenario is that he came upon Mrs. Simpson. She fought him for her purse, and he hit her with something. Then he buried her in the sand.”
“How awful.” I thought about what Shayla had said. “Do you think she was dead when he buried her?”
“We don’t have that information yet,” he admitted. “We found his motel room in Kill Devil Hills. He had a lot of purses stashed in there, hundreds of them. We’re still going through them, hoping we find Mrs. Simpson’s. That would connect him to the crime without a confession. If not, we may have to charge him on the strength of the circumstantial evidence. Either way, we may need you to testify against him.”
I swallowed hard. “Of course. Whatever I can do to help.”
He leaned toward me. His voice dropped to a whisper. “Can you find the purse?”
I wasn’t sure what to say. Obviously he was alluding to my gift. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work that way. I would have to be able to touch Miss Elizabeth to find something she lost.”
“We could drive up to the morgue today.”
That made me uncomfortable. This was definitely not what I’d expected from him. “I think she’d have to be alive. In order for me to find a missing object, the person who’s looking for it has to be thinking about it. I know it seems complicated, but I didn’t make the rules. I think I came with them.”
“Have you ever tried touching someone who wasn’t alive, you know, to experiment?”
“No!”
“Just a thought.” He pulled out another notebook, identical to the first one—black, cheap and a little worn. “As to this new development, I assume Mr. Brickman filled you in on the identity of the dead man found at his establishment.”