“How do you know?” His voice was gruff and demanding, the southern gentleman falling away and revealing the darker side of him. “I’ve seen the sheriff’s report. Adelaide had a little too much wine. There was no mention of suicide.”
I realized I’d said too much. I wasn’t willing to talk to him about my abilities. All this terrific reminiscing about the past and the lives of people I’d only heard about had caused me to let down my guard. Talking about what had happened was one thing—admitting how I knew about Adelaide was another. How did I know what he’d do with that knowledge?
“Wait!” He laughed. “Of course! You’re Eleanore’s granddaughter. You inherited her gift, didn’t you? You can see things the rest of us can’t. But what brought you to this discovery? If I recall correctly, Eleanore had to be in direct physical contact with a person to learn things about them.”
That was the first time I’d ever heard it put that way. Had my grandmother been able to do more with her gift than simply help people locate their lost items? I realized this wasn’t the best time or person to ask.
There really were no secrets in Duck, or apparently outside of Duck, if you’d ever lived there. I gave him a brief idea of how it happened that I tried on one of Adelaide’s old dresses. “She wasn’t out for a swim, drunk or not. She walked out into the ocean, not planning on coming out again. You know that’s what the medical examiner is going to rule about Sam’s death. Everyone thinks that he killed Max and then took his own life out of guilt. We have to let his family know that it isn’t true.”
“Yes. That’s terribly wrong. Nothing could be further from the truth. I believe Sam was trying to save his life.”
“You have to tell Chief Michaels or the sheriff what happened.”
He seemed suddenly out of it, still trapped in the past thinking about Adelaide. “Things never work out exactly the way you plan, Mayor. I wish I could take so much back and change so many things that happened. I can’t, you know.”
“Maybe not—but you can make this thing right, Bunk. What about Max? You said you keep an eye on things. You knew Agnes needed surgery. Why was Max killed and the museum blown up? Who set the fire that almost killed your daughter?”
“I don’t know.”
“But you have some theories since you thought Sam was next. What made you think that?”
He stared off through the big windows that made a panoramic portrait of his little kingdom. “I do have an idea about why this happened.”
“And?”
His gaze came suddenly back to mine with great clarity. “Sam came out here to talk to me once. He came with Max. It was a mistake. There were some things going on at the time. Suffice it to say, it was a matter of being in the wrong place at a very bad time.”
“Are you saying someone wanted to murder Sam and Max to get back at you?”
“Not exactly. His target was never Sam or Max. They were collateral damage.”
“I don’t understand. Can you make that plainer?” My mind was buzzing with all kinds of possibilities.
Bunk moved back from the table with a touch of the controls on his wheelchair. “I’m saying I think that it’s time you should go back home. It was very pleasant talking with you, Mayor—may I call you Dae? But for the grace of Horace getting there first, this could be a very different conversation. I held your grandmother in very high regard.”
That threw me off balance. I realized that it was meant to. I was being dismissed as rapidly as I’d been brought here. I hadn’t even finished my quiche. “Now what?” I tried to stay focused despite the eww factor in thinking of Bunk being my grandfather. Although I would have had a very nice bathroom.
“Now I think I need to speak with Chief Michaels. Do you think you could get him to come back out here with you?”
I nodded, completely amazed in his turnaround. “Definitely.” I wondered, though, if it would be the sheriff who would need to handle all of this. No matter what, Chief Michaels would be a good start.
Then that was it. Game over. I was whisked out of the mansion with Nash and Roger faster than an eel can slip out of a net. Bunk was as good as his word, however, and met me at the dock with a red box full of old gold coins like the ones that had been in the museum.
“It seems a lifetime ago that I found these on the beach. I built the Blue Whale with them.”
I looked at the gold, then at him. “You know, Max always said he found these.”
He shrugged. “It never mattered.”
“Thanks for telling me about all those other things. I feel like I know more about Duck history than I did when I got here.”
“You had a right to know. Thank you for sharing that information about your remarkable abilities. Use them wisely.” He nodded then added, “How’s your father, by the way? Is he still working his boat or has he moved on?”
If learning that Agnes was Bunk’s daughter jolted me, a question about my father was like a lightning strike. “My father died before I was born.”
Bunk grinned. “Did he? It seems we have other history to talk about when you come back, Dae. There are some other things you need to know.”
Chapter 18
“My father is alive?” I yelled at him as his wheelchair began to glide away. The boat I stood on was slipping back from the dock. “Who is he?”
“All in good time,” he shouted as he waved. “I enjoyed our lunch too much not to give you another reason to come back. Bring Horace with you too!”
My father? He was more a mythological figure than old Bunk Whitley. My mother had always told me that he died before I was born. Theirs was a brief, passionate meeting that had taken place out of the blue—resulting in me. My father died before he even knew I’d been conceived in their one night together. It was a scandal at the time as my mother’s pregnancy began to show and there was no father. Because they were never married, I carried my mother’s name.
My family weathered the scandal. My mother was very quiet about my father, never mentioning him unless I asked. I didn’t do so very often because I could see the pain it caused her. I never needed him. I had my mother and my grandfather. We were always enough.
But now, realizing I could have a secret of my own as large as Bunk Whitley being Agnes’s father, I urged the Golden Day faster toward Duck. Only Gramps would know the answer to my questions. I couldn’t imagine any reason for wily old Bunk to lie. He wouldn’t gain anything by saying my father was alive.
My brain was lit up like a Christmas tree. It was stuffed so full of information, I felt ready to explode. I looked at Roger, who stood at the helm, and wondered what really happened to Sam. Bunk seemed to believe what Roger had told us. But I saw the green-blue ring on his finger and felt again the fear Sam had left on the Segway. I knew I’d have to tell Chief Michaels about everything—not just my meeting with Bunk. There were a lot of questions to be answered.
I thought about Bunk’s insinuation that knowing he was alive had killed Sam and Max, but not by his hand. He didn’t ask me to keep it quiet that he was out here on the island. Maybe it wouldn’t matter anymore after he talked to the chief.
One of Duck’s greatest mysteries—what became of old Bunk Whitley—was about to be solved. But it appeared that Bunk was bringing a whole new set of mysteries with him.
Roger and Nash dropped me off at the Duck docks with the coordinates to find Bunk’s island for the return trip. There was no pleasant chitchat between us while I was on the boat or as they left me. Just as well since I didn’t trust either of them.