A Finder's Fee (18 page)

I glanced at the police building. “There’s an easy way to find out, since we’re right here. We can ask Chief Michaels. Sometimes he can be pretty chatty. Or he’ll throw us out.”

“I could help you,” Maggie volunteered. “There were seamen who would do much only to watch the swing of my hips as I set down their ale.”

“Let’s try doing this without seduction.” I hoped I wouldn’t be sorry I was going in with her. What if she asked Chief Michaels for a kiss?

Kevin swung the pickup into a parking place. We got out and went inside, but Chief Michaels wasn’t in one of his chatty moods. He was bent over his desk, his graying brown flattop making him look like an older drill sergeant. His black uniform was immaculate with perfect creases, and his patent leather shoes gleamed.

“Haven’t you two done enough damage to this case already?” He actually got up from his desk to yell at us. “There’s no telling how many facts were lost by you ruining the crime scene.”

I could tell Kevin was taken aback by the chief’s tone. Chief Michaels was never rude or angry with him like he was with me.

“We both know there wasn’t much of a crime scene left after forty years, Ronnie,” Kevin argued. “And what there was would be in worse shape now if that geothermal work would’ve gone through it instead of Dae finding it. Almost all of your evidence is going to be anecdotal after all this time.”

“Look, Brickman,” the chief snarled. “You and Dae are lucky you aren’t facing charges. Leave this alone. Go back to the inn and let the professionals do it. You aren’t in that league anymore.”

I thought that was a little harsh, even for the chief. He and Kevin always seemed to be friends, or at least friendly. The chief had asked for Kevin’s help on cases before because of his work with the FBI. I told Kevin as much in the truck.

Kevin said, “He’s frustrated by the whole thing. Ronnie’s caught between a rock and Sheriff Riley. Not a good place to be. I’m sure he’d also rather not try to build a murder case against one of his old friends.”

“Maybe I should have told him about the badge. I’d like to be a little more sure about Gramps first.”

“You should ask him. Just face him with it. Let him tell you what happened.”

“That’s what they always told us at church,” Maggie recounted. “Tell the truth. Shame the devil.”

I didn’t know if I could do that. Not that I didn’t think he’d tell me the truth—good or bad. Except for a few instances, he and I had a good relationship. Gramps would tell me the truth. I believed that.

I just wasn’t sure if I was ready for it.

K
evin dropped me off at home on his way back to the
Blue Whale. Gramps pulled up in his golf cart as Kevin was backing out of the drive. I watched as they talked for a few minutes before Gramps came inside with two cloth bags full of food and other necessities.

“Hello, stranger.” He grinned as he put down the bags. “Have I got news for you. You’re looking at a man in the pinochle tournament next week. I clobbered Mark Samson last night like he wasn’t even playing. He might as well have stayed home. I think I might be in line for that trophy this year.”

“That’s great. For you, anyway. I don’t know about Mark. We might not be able to eat there anymore.” Mark owned the Rib Shack, one of the few restaurants in town that stayed open during the winter.

“We’ll survive. Think how good that trophy will look on the mantel.”

I stroked Treasure then went to help Gramps put the groceries away. It was probably the best time I’d ever have to ask him about the deputy’s badge.

I couldn’t make myself take it out of my pocket.

I wasn’t sure where to find the words to ask what I needed to know. Despite my fears about him, I couldn’t imagine him hurting anyone.

And what woman would he have been threatening Joe over? It seemed to me that my mother could have been the right age to get in trouble with the racing crowd, but I’d never heard anyone mention it. Surely it wouldn’t have been my grandmother.

“I heard some news about the state’s case against Mad Dog today.” He handed me spinach to put in the fridge.

“What was that?”

“The ME doesn’t think Joe was dead when he was buried in the car. Of course with bones, it’s harder to tell. He’ll have to send the remains to Raleigh for a conclusive report. There was no skull trauma. No fractures or breaks. There was dried blood and sand caked under the fingernails. He thinks that’s a pretty good indication that Joe tried to get out of the car.”

“That’s awful.” I was glad I didn’t pick that up from the race car. I really didn’t want to know what that looked and felt like.

I recalled how Joe’s arm had been sticking out of the car window when we’d dug him up. Poor man.

“And some bad news for Mad Dog’s case. They said the old records show that he was brought to the hospital by an ambulance after his wreck at the track, but he left before he could be examined by a doctor or treated.”

“What does that mean?”

“Ronnie said it probably means that Mad Dog’s last hope of not being found guilty of this terrible crime is gone. His lawyer was hoping to prove he was too badly injured that night to be able to kill Joe and bury his body. It seems to me we may never know the truth. Ronnie is plenty agitated about that.”

I guessed that was why Chief Michaels was in such a bad mood at the station. He couldn’t find anything to keep his friend from going to prison. I knew he was supposed to be looking for things to prove Mad Dog was guilty. I had a feeling it didn’t always work that way with friends.

I knew the truth about Mad Dog’s injury after experiencing the wreck with him. That wouldn’t help him in court. It was frustrating that my visions wouldn’t mean anything to the case—they never did unless I could convince Chief Michaels to look into something I’d seen.

I was more and more convinced that Mad Dog was innocent, but where was the proof I needed?

“You’re very quiet.” Gramps sat down when we were finished with the groceries. “Something on your mind?”

How could I say it? How could I even ask?

I sat down at the same table I’d eaten at since I was able to sit up. Gramps sat opposite me. He was the man who’d helped me learn to feed myself, walk, and nursed me through colds and the knee I’d dislocated when I was surfing. He was always there for me.

I couldn’t say it. Maggie was the one who took out the badge, wrapped in one of Kevin’s clean white handkerchiefs, and put it on the table. “I found this, Grandfather. I had hopes you might explain.”

He picked it up, after looking at me as though I’d lost my mind, and examined it.

I cleared my throat and followed through. “At the construction site, close to where I found the car.”

“You should give it to Ronnie, honey. It might be something important to the case.”

I got up and took the little glass picture frame from off the wall. Inside was his old deputy’s badge. I put it on the table next to the badge I’d found and sat down again.

I stared into his blue eyes that could be stern or twinkling with laughter. I didn’t say anything.

“Now I see.” He looked at the partial number on the recovered badge. “You think I was there when Joe was killed?”

“No. Not exactly. Gramps—”

“Maybe we could do some kind of memory transfer. Maybe if I hold the badge in one hand and you take my other hand, you won’t need to ask.”

“I already held the badge.”

He put it back down on the table. “And what did you see?”

I described the scene for him, waiting for his reaction.

He got up from the table and paced around the room with his hands behind his back and his head down. “Dae, honey, I am so sorry.”

My heart felt cold like ice in the winter. What did he mean?

“Gramps? Are you saying—”

“I’m sorry I brought you to this place where you’d think I could be capable of something of this nature. I’m not responsible for Joe’s death. The fact that you’d think of it tells me what a mistake I made carrying on with your mother’s lie about your father. You don’t trust me anymore. I blame myself. I should’ve sat you down when she died and told you that your father was still alive.”

I actually hadn’t thought about it that way. It was true that my mother had lied to me about my father and Gramps had continued to lie until I found out my father was living in Duck again. I had been very angry at the time, but I’d put it behind me. To me, this was different and had nothing to do with the other matter.

“I know I made your mother’s life miserable because I believed your father wasn’t good enough for her. I know I was wrong to stand in judgment of him. I would
never
have killed him. I would never kill anyone, Dae.” He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands.

I didn’t know if I should apologize or keep still. I let him keep talking.

“I have always tried to live my life in an honorable way so that my family and friends would be proud of me. So I would never have to see anyone look at me the way you just did.”

“I’m sorry, Gramps. You always taught me that everyone makes mistakes. That was why you said people deserved trials when they’d done something bad.”

“That’s true.” He looked at me again. “And what have I always told you? What have I always tried to do, and told
you
to do, to keep faith with yourself?”

“Own up to my mistakes.” I repeated his words that I’d heard so many times growing up. “Apologize, acknowledge what you’ve done and take your punishment.”

“That’s right. It’s what I did when you told me you knew about your father. I knew I was wrong. I’m not a saint. But I’ve always owned up to my mistakes.”

It was a good answer. An answer that made my heart swell with love and pride. Gramps wouldn’t have buried someone alive, waiting for them to be found forty years later.

Who would?

We ate lunch together and talked the whole time. We walked down to Missing Pieces. Gramps said it wouldn’t be that hard to find out whose badge had been buried with the race car. There were only ten possibilities, including his number.

“I could get you a list of those people and you could look through them to see if anyone jumps out at you from what you know already. I could tell you about a few of them—Blackie Rogers is dead. Marvin Taylor moved away.”

“That would be a big help. Thanks.”

“At the same time, I can check on how many of those deputies lost a badge and had to order a new one.”

“Maybe one of those things, linked with the woman everyone wanted, will help me clear Mad Dog’s name.”

“Let me help with this, Dae.” We’d stopped to talk in the Duck Shoppes parking lot. “I know I’m retired, but I can be a valuable asset. We used to talk all the time. I know you share a lot with Kevin now, but don’t forget about me. You’re all I have in this world.”

I hugged him. “I’m sorry. I love you, Gramps. I’ll try harder to keep you in the loop.”

The boardwalk was busy when I opened the shop. Gramps had gone on to his meeting with a few other volunteer firemen. He’d been a volunteer for as long as I could remember. The group of close to one hundred was essential to getting the town back on its feet after every storm that swept over us. They fought fires too, and handled many emergencies that we couldn’t have paid personnel for.

Gramps had given me a lot to think about. Once he got the information about the badge holders, I could make a list of them and crossmatch those names with the badges that had been lost. It seemed that could be the answer I was looking for. I hoped he could have them by dinner.

I wasn’t planning on spending all day at the store. I wanted to interview Joe’s sister, Pam, at some point. If anyone knew what girl he was interested in, it would be her.

Thanks to the town’s newfound popularity—mostly due to the election-murder scandal all over TV—stores and restaurants in Duck were crowded. I couldn’t afford not to take advantage of all the potential customers who were waiting to get into Missing Pieces. That interview with David Engel didn’t seem so bad now.

Most of the shoppers were from Newport News, Portsmouth, and the Virginia Beach area. One woman wanted to have her picture taken with me. That was fine. The crowd bought a lot of cheap souvenirs like T-shirts, postcards and maps. They wanted me to make a red X on the maps where I’d found the car.

A few were more serious shoppers. They were at Missing Pieces because they were looking for a special piece to add to a collection. I had that too.

For instance, I’d recently received an old cashbox used by Lucian Smith, one of the first merchants in the area to actually open a permanent store. Lucian Smith was interesting because he was educated to be an engineer. He went to school in England then settled on the Outer Banks. He was one of the first people to think about building a bridge from the mainland. He may have been the first to draw up blueprints for it. That was in the early 1800s.

I’d been given a whole group of his belongings when his great-great-granddaughter, Alice, had died. I donated a lot of the items to the Duck Historical Museum and gave the old Duck bridge blueprints to Chris, our town manager.

I thought Chris would appreciate them more than anyone else. He was the town’s liaison with the state in our battle to have another bridge built to the mainland. It wouldn’t happen anytime soon, but another bridge would ease the summer congestion when crowds swelled the island from a few thousand to over a hundred thousand.

Lucian Smith’s cashbox was a prize even without knowing who he was and what he did. It was made of brass and had lovely detail put into it. All the intricate scrollwork was done by hand. It wasn’t only a box to hold money, as some cashboxes were. It was a work of art that showed how important the details were to him.

I knew from touching the box that Lucian was indeed the good, decent man we’d learned he was from our forefathers. He was a man who worked hard and tried to help his neighbors in the struggling Banker community at that time.

So when a customer, an older woman with gray hair wearing a nice black suit and expensive shoes, picked it up and looked at it, I was happy. When she put it down only to circle back and look at it again, I was thrilled. I hoped she’d be willing to pay my price for it.

She finally brought it up to the counter where I patiently waited. I knew she was coming my way.

“I love this piece.” She put it on the counter. “What can you tell me about it?”

I told her Lucian’s story and showed her pictures I’d taken of the blueprints I’d given Chris. She and I talked about Duck’s past and the people like Lucian who’d helped the area to grow.

“My great-great-granduncle was a pirate who supposedly visited this area. He sailed around the Graveyard of the Atlantic, looking for prey.” She smiled. “At least that’s what my grandmother always told us when we were kids. I grew up in Portsmouth. I guess I’ll never know if it was true.”

“What was his name?” I was always eager to learn new legends.

“She called him Sam Spit.” She laughed self-consciously. “I can’t imagine a person really having a name like that, can you?”

“I knew Sam Spit!” Maggie jumped in with all the eagerness of a child waiting to be acknowledged by her teacher. “He was a vile, filthy creature. No woman would spend time with him unless he paid her in gold first!”

“You mean you know of him?” My customer tried to understand what I was talking about.

“Pirates were usually running from something.” I squared my shoulders and continued as if Maggie hadn’t spoken through me. “Most didn’t use their family names. They had all kinds of crazy nicknames. Most of those came from something they did, treasure they’d found or unique physical characteristics. I know of pirates named Bowlegs, One Eye, Fairweather and Topsail. One of my friends has a pirate ancestor named One Eye Tom.”