I took my spot at the head of the council table and looked at my nameplate. I chose the small, wood gavel that bore the name of the town. I was the first person to use the gavel—the first mayor since incorporation. It was an awesome responsibility sometimes. Not all ribbon cuttings and public appearances at the Jaycees’. There were times, like tonight, when a big smile wouldn’t suffice.
I knew people wanted words of comfort. I could give them those words, but something about the set of Chief Michaels’s mouth told me he’d be more to the point. I guessed we each had our duty to do.
When the room couldn’t hold any more and the sound of so many people talking at once made my head feel like it was going to explode, I called the meeting to order. Residents sat down politely and stopped talking. Reverend Lisa gave the invocation, which included words of memorial for Max.
The room got very quiet after that. Because it wasn’t a regular meeting of the town council, there were no minutes to read or town business to talk about. I started to speak, but Councilman Wilson cut me off. “We need to know what’s being done about the museum and Max Caudle’s death. No fancy words are going to take care of the problem.”
Even for Randal “Mad Dog” Wilson, this was abrupt and bordering on rude. I’d heard rumors that he planned to challenge me for mayor in next year’s election. I hadn’t expected he’d start so soon. On the other hand, when would he ever have another audience like this one?
“I don’t have any fancy words for what’s happened.” I got to my feet and addressed all the people I knew so well. “This has been a terrible time for Duck and for all of us. The police are doing everything they can to find out who’s responsible for the explosion.”
“If Chief Michaels was really doing his job, this wouldn’t have happened,” Councilman Wilson continued. “I checked today while Mayor O’Donnell was out gallivanting around with a certain innkeeper and found out that we don’t even have a plan for a terrorist attack. What kind of preparation is that?”
“I can’t speak for Chief Michaels, and I won’t defend how I spent my day. But I would like to remind the councilman that he’s been in elected office as long as I have. It seems odd to me that he only recently realized there were any problems in Duck.”
Councilman Wilson lumbered to his feet. He was a large man—easily six-four and three hundred pounds. “In answer to the mayor’s challenge—”
“Are we here to talk about what happened at the museum or to listen to politics?” Chief Michaels demanded. His words were met with applause from residents. “That’s what I thought. I’m here to tell all of you what I know about the explosion. You may not like what I have to say, but I promise you it will be the truth.”
I felt a little embarrassed, even though I was only defending myself against Councilman Wilson’s attacks. I realized then the election wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. I was the only one who’d run for mayor in our first municipal election. Now that I’d been mayor for two years, I was going to have to defend all my actions to everyone. Was that something I was prepared to do?
Chief Michaels was explaining what happened at the museum to the rapt audience. “We located what we believe are Mr. Caudle’s remains in the building after the explosion. We’re currently waiting for DNA reports to come back and confirm what we found.”
“What about the pirate curse?” Joe Endy asked, raising his raspy voice to be heard in the room. “Rafe Masterson paid Max a visit, I’ll be bound. He took his gold back too. Nothing much you can do about it, Chief.”
“And I wouldn’t even try, Mr. Endy,” Chief Michaels told him. “Folks, I’m here to tell you that no pirate ghost is responsible for what happened to Max. I know all of you, some since you were kids. I like a good yarn as much as the next one, but that’s all Rafe Masterson is. A real flesh-and-blood killer is responsible for Max’s death and the mayor being injured. That scares me a hell of a lot more than any pirate ghost.”
Mr. Endy didn’t look too pleased with the chief’s statement. People usually humored the ninety-year-old around here. The chief had been a little blunt by Duck standards.
“So if it’s a real person responsible,” began Cody Baucum, one of the owners of the Wild Stallions bar and grill on the boardwalk, “do we have any leads about who it is?”
“We’re checking out every aspect of the situation,” Chief Michaels replied.
“In other words, no,” August Grandin said. He owned the General Store. “That’s police speak for we don’t know, right, Chief?”
The room kind of got out of control for a minute. I banged my gavel a few times and people began to settle down. I noticed Agnes Caudle in the back of the room as she slowly got to her feet. Seeing her there, the crowd quieted.
“I’d like to thank Chief Michaels and his officers as well as the members of the Duck Volunteer Fire Department for everything they’ve done. Max is gone, but he believed in this town. He wouldn’t want what happened to tear us apart. We have good people here, and they do the best job they can. Shame on any of you who don’t support them. That’s all I came to say.”
Agnes sat back down, wiping her eyes. She and Max had two daughters, who now sat on either side of their mother. I knew both of them from school. One was a little older than me and the other a little younger. I didn’t get along with either one of them.
“Thank you, Agnes,” Chief Michaels said, acknowledging her. “That means a lot to me and the rest of the department. We’ll find out what happened to the museum, but it’s gonna take some time. You all are gonna have to be patient and let the procedures work.”
Kevin got to his feet. I hadn’t noticed him there. “I believe you’re doing what you can, Chief. I’d like to suggest we begin thinking of ways to rebuild the museum. If we really want to do something for Max, it seems like that would be what he’d want.”
Everyone seemed to agree with his idea. Kevin offered to let the town use free space he had at the Blue Whale to store donations for the new museum. Vergie Smith, Duck’s postmaster, volunteered to collect donations to be used for a new building that would house the artifacts.
We all agreed to hold a memorial for Max at a time and date to be announced. I called the meeting to an end, and people began to leave, slowly since they had plenty to say to their neighbors and wanted to wish Agnes well.
Everyone seemed in better spirits now that there was something concrete and positive to do rather than just waiting to hear what was going on in the investigation. People always feel better when they have a plan of action. I thought the chief had done a good job of dispelling the pirate-ghost theory and I told him so.
“Thanks, ma’am. But you know there’ll be somebody who brings it up again. I think it’s easier for folks around here to accept that ghosts are responsible than it is for them to accept that a real person could’ve done this. By the way, I got an interesting call from Chief Peabody out in Corolla today. Seems he thinks you and Brickman were down there snooping around. Were you looking for Sam?”
“Something’s happened,” I confessed a little. “We didn’t find Sam, but we found a scooter he rented to go out and see the wild horses. He had someone with him when he left on the trip, but there was no sign of either of them near where we found the scooter. I asked Chief Peabody to check it out. He didn’t seem too happy about it.”
“I’ve told you before, Mayor, no one likes a person messing with their investigation. Sam might be a suspect in our situation, but his disappearance has to be handled by the Corolla police. You and Brickman need to stay out of it before you get in trouble. Walt Peabody isn’t as indulgent as I am.”