“Gifted?” Brad ruminated over the word between bites of donut. “How does that work?”
“I touch things and get visions from them. I can also find things by touching the people who lost them.”
Gramps’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t say anything.
“So you touched something that belongs to Sam and saw him in one of these visions?” Chief Peabody asked, his voice full of disdain.
“Yes.” I described what I’d seen and felt that had led me to the Wild Horse Preservation Society’s rescue station and the abandoned scooter.
“Why don’t you have her on the payroll, Ron? You could probably solve this thing in a day.”
“So you had a vision of where Sam would be?” Brad asked.
“And a man who was with him. He may have done something to Sam. He could be the one who killed Max too. Maybe Sam knew about the cannon and was going to say something.”
“That’s a lot of maybe.” Chief Peabody shook his head. “We don’t do police work on visions and maybes. What’s this fella look like who was with Sam?”
“I don’t know. I never saw his face.” There was nothing more to say. I glanced at Gramps. I knew the look on his face. He wanted to know why I hadn’t told him about my new ability, but he wouldn’t ask until we were alone.
“Is that all you have, Mayor?” Chief Michaels asked me.
“I’m afraid so. It got me to the Segway, but I guess you couldn’t find Sam from that.”
“I don’t know.” Brad finished eating and sat back from the table with a smile on his face. “I think that was pretty good considering neither of you could find even that much.”
“No one asked you,” Chief Peabody snarled. “Go back to Manteo.”
Brad laughed a little—apparently not taking him seriously. Chief Michaels stood and put his hat on. “If you see any other visions about this case, you give me a holler.”
“I will.”
“Maybe you could CC me on that, Your Honor,” Chief Peabody added sarcastically as he shuffled to his feet and picked up his hat. “That way we’d all be in the loop.”
Gramps saw them to the door. I put the coffee cups in the sink and threw away the rest of the donuts. I waited there for him, knowing he’d have plenty to say.
“When did all this happen?” he asked when he returned after locking up.
“Right after the explosion. I can’t explain it. Kevin says he’s heard of things like this happening from trauma. I don’t know much about it beyond that. I’m trying to get some control over it.”
He nodded. “Of course, I wish you would’ve trusted me with the information, but I’m glad you told someone. Kevin seems like he can handle things.”
“I planned to tell you. I wanted to understand it first. You’ve been through so much with me. I didn’t want to worry you.”
He came across the kitchen and hugged me. “You always worry me. And you always will. You feel the same about me. But that doesn’t mean we can’t tell each other things when they happen. Right?”
“Right.” I hugged him back. “Next time I almost get blown up and find I have a new ability, I’ll tell you right away.”
“Get to bed! I don’t know where you got that smart mouth from. You’ve always been sassy. I guess helping you get to be mayor made it even worse.”
“Being your granddaughter is what made it worse,” I teased. “Everyone always said you had a smart mouth while you were sheriff.”
He sobered and looked me in the eyes. “If you have any more visions about this case, come to me before you take them to Ronnie or Walt. Let’s talk about them first. Okay?”
I agreed without questioning why he’d be so serious about it, but I thought about it for a long time before I went to sleep.
The remnants of Tropical Storm Floyd moved in during the night. I heard the heavy rain and gusty winds settle in a little after midnight. The old house creaked and groaned around us, but we’d seen much worse. Even though I’d sat through hurricanes in this house, I’d never once worried about being safe. Maybe it was naïve, but the house had been here for several lifetimes and hundreds of storms. I trusted it to keep me and Gramps from harm.
I lay awake for a long time listening to the symphony nature made, wondering about all the mysteries in the world that seemed to have more questions than answers. I finally fell back asleep, but rain was still drowning the Outer Banks when I got up the next morning.
Gramps was up too—in his yellow rain pants, jacket and boots. He was making breakfast.
“You’re not going out in this weather, are you?” I asked as I sat down to sprinkle brown sugar on my oatmeal.
“The winds mostly died down during the night. You know the fishing will be good today. Besides, I’m chartered and—”
“You never miss a charter.” I added milk to my bowl. “I know. Be careful, huh?”
He kissed the top of my head and put on his matching yellow rain hat. “I will. I love you, Dae. Have a good one.”
I never thought Gramps could love anything the way he’d loved being sheriff. I’d been wrong. He loved taking that old boat out at least as much. Maybe more. It didn’t matter what the weather was like. He didn’t care. Short of a hurricane, he was going out—especially if there was money to be made.
I stirred my oatmeal and wondered where to go from here. I was stumped after talking to the chiefs last night. Sam was nowhere to be found, despite my vision. But where was the connection between Sam and the cannonball that blew up the museum?
I knew Chief Peabody and probably Chief Michaels believed Sam was guilty of killing Max—even though it might’ve been an accident. Both of them had sounded like they thought Sam had fired on the Duck museum out of spite, possibly not with the intention of killing Max.
I couldn’t adequately explain the fear I’d felt when I touched the Segway—maybe the last thing Sam had touched. Even if I could, I doubted they’d understand or appreciate it. To them, Sam was simply trying to escape, which in law enforcement terms meant he was guilty.
I knew I should go to the shop even if there weren’t many customers who’d come out in the bad weather. The people who call the Outer Banks home tend not to take after the town’s namesake (ducks). We are more like turtles, hiding in our shells until the sun comes out. If nothing else, I should check my merchandise, look for UPS packages and make sure there was no damage from the storm. Maybe while I worked, I’d get an idea as to what my next move should be to help find out who’d caused the explosion that killed Max, and why.
I put on my raincoat and boots—I think everyone who lives here has them—and headed toward the Duck Shoppes. Pieces of bushes, sand and trash covered Duck Road, but there was almost no traffic at all. I made a mental note to ask the council for extra cleanup money for public works. It looked like they could have some overtime coming.
Most retail shops were closed, windows boarded against the wind and rain. It seemed drastic to me, but many of the owners weren’t from Duck originally. Sometimes it took a while to learn how to tell the remnants of a storm from the real thing.
Still, that meant no coffee except what I could make at the shop. It was never as good as coffee with steamed milk and some kind of chocolate or hazelnut, but it would have to do.
Nancy was at town hall answering phone calls about the storm. She handed me my messages without missing a beat. There was nothing pressing—unfortunately—but there was a call from Agnes Caudle.
I realized with a strong twinge of guilt that I hadn’t gone to see her since Max died. A lot had happened to me, but that was no excuse. In comparison, she was going through so much more.