“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.”