“Thanks.” I swallowed another gulp of water and prepared to disappear back into the pines. I knew he could be the person behind Max’s death, but I’d run out of courage and options to continue. I just wanted to go home.
“Wait!” he called out. “If you’re really lost, you can come back to the house with me and I’ll have someone take you home.”
“No thanks. One of your men is the reason I’m lost. He kidnapped me and brought me here. I don’t need your help.”
“Nonsense. There’s no reason one of my men would bring anyone here—unless you were snooping. Is that the case? Where are you from?”
“I’m from Duck. And I wasn’t snooping—exactly. I was looking for a boat.”
“Duck! My dear young woman, I insist that you stay! What’s your name? I probably know someone in your family. Stay and have lunch with me. I’m sure we can find you a change of clothes. We’ll sort out this kidnapping thing. You’ll see.”
I’d already been here too long. I could see people coming out of the big house on the hill. They were still too far away to do anything, but I wasn’t about to wait around until they reached us.
“Wait!” he called out again as I started back into the pines. “I’d love to talk with you. If you grew up in Duck, you probably know my name. I used to be somewhat of a celebrity. Probably before you were born. I’m Bunk Whitley. I once owned the Blue Whale Inn.”
Chapter 17
Nothing on earth—except that statement—could have made me stay there. I thought about the pictures I’d seen on microfiche from the old Duck Gazette. Old Bunk Whitley. Man about town. A real ladies’ man who caused two sisters in town to feud their whole lives. A mystery man who’d vanished years ago, his past strange and shadowy. It was hard to see the legend in this wrinkled old man.
Of course, just because he was a legend in Duck didn’t mean I could trust him. But I was fascinated that here he sat before me, in the flesh. “Everyone thinks you’re dead,” I said, not immune to the lure of mystery.
“I’m supposed to be dead. But it’s hard to keep a good man down. I’m sure I know you.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re related to Eleanore O’Donnell, aren’t you? Too young to be her daughter. You must be her granddaughter. I never forget a pretty woman.”
The men from the house were running now. I had to make a choice. I wanted to stay and hear all the stories he had to tell. I could only imagine that Max would have risked anything to talk to old Bunk Whitley.
Then it hit me. “You killed Max because he knew you were living out here. You couldn’t risk everyone knowing you were alive. There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You killed Wild Johnny Simpson at the Blue Whale Inn, then left town.”
He laughed. “Don’t be absurd! I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I find money gets more done than guns. But, my young O’Donnell, tell me about your family. Tell me how old Sheriff Horace is doing. I hate that the Gazette closed down. No news anymore except what my men can glean for me.”
I knew he couldn’t be trusted no matter how affable he seemed. I turned to run, but there was a man in my way—and no fire extinguisher to remove him. Too late.
Bunk laughed again. “Come on. You’ll be glad you didn’t run off by yourself. There’s nothing out there, you know. We’ll have lunch and get things straightened out. What did you say your name was again?”
“Dae O’Donnell.” The man in front of me smiled. He wasn’t holding a visible weapon, but I felt pretty sure he wouldn’t let me get past him.
“Mayor Dae O’Donnell? Amazing! I haven’t had lunch with a mayor for years. Nash, make sure our guest is treated well. Have Lacey find her some clean clothes and bring her down for lunch in the sunroom.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Don’t let her leave yet, Nash. I’m afraid she’d hurt herself out there. Eleanore O’Donnell’s granddaughter deserves better.”
It seemed I was a prisoner again—this time because of my own crazy love of Duck lore. Had Max and Sam died for the same reason?
I lost count of the number of rooms as I was shown to a guest suite. From what I saw in the mansion, everything was expensive and larger than life. I didn’t have much chance to linger over anything as Nash kept me moving. The door was locked behind me, reminding me that I was a guest in name only.
I looked out of the panoramic windows, a colorful patio beneath me. It was too far to jump. I was eyeing the elaborate brass four-poster, thinking about using the pink sheets for a rope, when a young woman came into the room.
“Hi. I’m Lacey. Mr. Whitley says you’re staying for lunch and you need clothes.” Her big brown eyes were friendly but probably not unaware of my position.
“Is there a phone? I need to call my grandfather and let him know where I am.”
“I’m sorry. There aren’t any phones up here. Maybe Mr. Whitley will let you use the satellite phone downstairs.”
She walked to the side of the room where a double mirror opened into a closet with a touch of her finger. “There are clothes in different sizes in here. You should be able to find something to wear.”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t worry. Mr. Whitley has many guests who stay here. You’ll be well cared for. I’m sure he’ll send you home before too long.” She smiled at me. She was very young—maybe under twenty. I wondered how she’d managed to find work here. “If you’d like to take a bath or shower, it’s in here.” She pointed to the other side of the room. “Mr. Whitley eats at one, but he said to take your time. He’ll wait for you.”
I thanked her again and she left. I heard the door lock behind her. What now?
I always hate in books and movies when the woman being held captive gets all dressed up for her captor. On the other hand, my clothes were painfully awful. But what difference did it make if he was only going to kill me anyway?
I considered going down for lunch the way I was—damn the consequences. I decided against it. If nothing else, my last hour I’d be clean and well dressed. Maybe that’s why all the captive females agreed to change.
I took a quick shower, forcing myself to ignore a pink marble tub large enough to swim in. It even had a Jacuzzi. The pink marble floors were heated and felt good to my poor abused feet. The bathroom was a thing of beauty that I wished I could take with me to replace our old claw-foot tub and ancient appointments that needed to be replaced years ago.
I found a pair of jeans—even new underwear with the tags still on them, wrapped in tissue paper. The closest thing I could find to a T-shirt was an apricot-colored button-down shirt. I wondered who the guests were who had worn these extra clothes and whether they’d made it home alive.
I rummaged through the bedroom, which included a sitting room with fireplace. The carpet was so soft, I hated to put on the shoes I’d found.
Bunk Whitley had certainly come up in the world from owning the Blue Whale Inn. No wonder he had gold to spare for Max, even if it had come with a price.
I knocked on the inside of the door to let Nash know I was ready. He opened it wide. He didn’t say anything, just kept his distance, and led me back through the house to the sunroom. This time I noticed what were probably real Picassos and Renoirs on the walls. Everything was beautifully decorated and elegantly laid out.
“There you are!” Bunk greeted me in the sunroom, which was almost the size of our whole house. “I hope you’re feeling more comfortable now, and I hope you’re hungry. It’s too cold for a swim this time of year, but I bet it gave you an appetite. Roger tells me you were on the Golden Day when he came back from getting supplies. I apologize for his rude behavior toward you. Sometimes my men get suspicious with strangers. You understand that being from Duck, I’m sure.”