A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) (20 page)

He was wearing his usual brown suit and narrow, short tie. His cowboy hat rode easily on the back of his head. When he saw me coming down the stairs, he stood up and smiled. “Morning, Dae. You look great. Thanks for letting me take you to the barbecue.”

I felt a little guilty at using him this way. But we went back forever, and he never seemed to mind—as long as he was between girlfriends.

He was already eating oatmeal. Gramps put out a bowl for me too. I sat down and made polite conversation with both of them while I forced myself to eat a few spoons of hot cereal.

“Thanks for taking me to the barbecue, Tim,” I said, pushing the bowl away. “I know it was short notice.”

“Don’t worry about it. I kind of suspected this would happen when I heard you and Brickman broke up. Who else would want to go with you?”

He grinned at me and winked, as though that would take the sting from his words. My gloomy day got worse.

Gramps drove over to the church in his golf cart. Tim insisted on driving his police car, assuring me that it was worth the cost to the town because a police presence would deter any trouble. Besides, he said, it would look impressive.

Cars and golf carts occupied every parking spot around the church. Dozens of people were walking toward the picnic area. Most of them waved to us as we drove slowly by. It was going to be a good event—no rain in sight—the smell of barbecue floating through the air.

Senator Seeger was indeed present. He was shaking hands and making deals. I’d forgotten he was up for reelection this fall. Dare County Sheriff Tuck Riley was there as well, even though this wasn’t an election year for him. He was wearing his dress officer’s uniform with his flat brimmed hat as he made the rounds of politicians and Duck residents.

“Where do you want to start?” Tim asked as we surveyed the crowd.

“How about with a dark, shady picnic table, far from the biggest part of the group,” I suggested.

He laughed. “I meant the barbecue or the dessert.”

“We just finished eating.”

“Since when did that ever stop me?”

We agreed to split up. Tim found a plate and loaded it up. I mixed and mingled, shaking dozens of hands and listening to hundreds of ways Duck could be improved. I walked slowly through the crowd, stopping occasionally to speak with Shayla and a few other friends.

La Donna Nelson, Chief Michaels’s sister who was on the town council, shared a few words of wisdom on only wearing dresses to these political functions. August Grandin from the Duck General Store nodded to me and moved on without speaking. Apparently I’d done something or said something he hadn’t agreed with.

I saw Chris Slayton trying to move a large trash can from beneath the trees to a more convenient location and offered to help him. “Shouldn’t you be out there impressing the voters, Mayor?” he asked as I grabbed the other side of the can.

“You vote, don’t you?”

He nodded and smiled. “Sure. But you already have my vote.”

Even with the two of us, the trash can was almost too heavy to move. “Did someone fill this up instead of emptying it before the barbecue?” I asked.

“It’s heavier than I expected,” he replied. “Maybe I should empty it before we set it out. It’s probably filled with water from the last rain.”

We put the trash can down, and Chris took off the top. Both of us took a step back.

“Oh my God!” he muttered, his hand against his mouth.

Inside was Port Tymov.

Could the day get any worse?

Chapter 22

P
ort was dead. Someone had killed him and stuffed
his body into the trash can. His wallet was still in my bedroom. I could already feel the weight of the questions Chief Michaels was going to ask bearing down on me.

Chris put the top back on the trash can. He cautioned me to stay with it and keep people from adding drink cups or paper plates while he went to get the sheriff. I stood there waiting and was joined moments later by several sheriff’s deputies and Duck police officers, who formed a ring around me and the trash can.

Had Guthrie been so angry about my unwillingness to sell him the silver bell that he’d killed Port? It was a crazy idea. Surely he hadn’t killed Port for that reason. But Port’s death so soon after my meeting with Guthrie at Missing Pieces was too much of a coincidence to imagine anything else.

I was going to have a lot of explaining to do. Not only was I involved in the pistol deal that had brought Port to Duck, but I might also be one of the last people to have seen him alive—
besides the killer.
My name and number were probably in his cell phone and on his calendar.

I considered that this terrible event
could
work in my favor. Maybe this would make the FBI admit that Guthrie was on some kind of personal killing spree. He might not usually do his own dirty work, according to them, but I was convinced he was doing it now. Maybe I could convince them too.

Again, I had no real proof. Not any more than I had that Guthrie had killed Chuck. Even if the FBI brought Guthrie in, it would be my word, my vision, against his.

Someone had finally found Chief Michaels, along with Sheriff Riley. The two of them broke through the perimeter line of deputies and police officers. I should’ve moved away before they arrived—my presence here was going to complicate my life to no end. But I didn’t want to leave Port with no one to identify him, especially since I was the one who had his ID.

“Mayor.” The chief tipped his hat to me.

“Mayor O’Donnell.” Sheriff Riley shared his white-toothed smile. “You can leave now. We’ll take it from here, ma’am.”

Somehow Riley always managed to sound condescending even while he was smiling. Maybe he thought he was being solicitous, or at least appearing to be sympathetic. He needed to work on his people skills, as far as I was concerned.

I wished I
could
leave. I didn’t want to be here, but someone had to answer questions about Port. “You may need my help identifying the man in the trash can,” I said. “He’s from out of town. I may be the only one here who knows him.”

Except for Trudy
. But there was no reason to involve her. She’d barely had any contact with him, thanks to me, Kevin and Guthrie. Maybe if Port had spent more time with Trudy, he’d still be alive.

“Don’t worry about it, ma’am.” Sheriff Riley’s tone set my teeth on edge. “If we need your help, we know where to find you. You just run along now and let us do our job.”

I started to argue with him, but he was too irritating.
Fine.
Let them call me when they couldn’t figure it out. “Okay. I’ll be at home. The chief has my cell phone number.”

I thought that would also give me time to retrieve Port’s wallet. Without it, they probably wouldn’t believe me when I told them who he was anyway. I saw Tim in the ring of officers around me. He wouldn’t be going anywhere for a while. I’d have to find Gramps to get home.

The barbecue was cancelled. Bo Huneycutt and Chris Slayton walked around, quietly explaining the situation to everyone. After hearing what had happened, people began to clear out quickly. The event would probably be rescheduled for some future date. It was too important to be canceled completely.

I saw Senator Seeger slip quietly into the backseat of his limo. He waved to me as his driver eased the big car out of the crowded parking lot. The exit had become a wild mix of cars and golf carts all trying to leave at the same time. The police were all too busy investigating the crime scene to direct traffic.

I noticed that Mad Dog had arrived just as everyone else was going home. He was still in the process of getting out of his golf cart, arms loaded with flyers and buttons to give away to the crowd.

“What happened?” he demanded when he met me and Gramps.

Gramps replied, “Dead man in a trash barrel. Doesn’t look too good for the church.”

“Dead man?
Another
one?” Mad Dog’s bloodshot eyes narrowed. “That’s two dead men in a very short time, Mayor—that’s a lot—even for you and your administration.”

I hadn’t realized it, but Chris Slayton was right behind us. He’d put on an orange vest, probably to help out with the traffic.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Mr. Wilson. Mayor O’Donnell couldn’t have known anything like this would happen. If you want to blame someone, blame the older people like yourself who have known for a hundred years that illegal smuggling was going on in Duck but didn’t do anything to stop it.”

It was a mouthful, especially for Chris, who was usually so quiet. Mad Dog fixed his eyes on the town manager and fired back. “Young man, you aren’t even
from
Duck. Besides all that, you work for the town. Don’t get high and mighty with me or you’ll find yourself looking for work at one of the lighthouses. Do I make myself clear?”

I didn’t want to jump in, but Chris was one of the best things that had happened to Duck in recent years. “He has a right to his opinion, Councilman. And we both know he’s right about the smuggling. Just because our ancestors survived that way doesn’t mean we should continue to condone it.”

“I think you should stay out of this, Mayor,” Mad Dog said. “You’re in enough hot water for now. Don’t drag him into the pot with you.”

And with those words of wisdom, Mad Dog continued into the church park, probably to find out for himself what was going on. He was going to love it when he learned I was doing business with Port before he was killed.

“Sorry, Mayor,” Chris said. “I shouldn’t have gotten involved. It just burns me up when I hear him talk to you that way. Someone should teach him some respect.”

I didn’t reply. We shouldn’t have been out here arguing in front of hundreds of pairs of interested eyes.

Chris nodded, as though he understood without me saying it, and walked down to Duck Road where he started trying to clear the intersection of the dozens of vehicles rushing to escape the parking lot. There was a lot of horn blowing and cursing at Chris, but eventually, everyone paid attention to him and began exiting safely.

“Don’t worry about it, Dae,” Gramps said as we walked to our golf cart, parked under the trees. “There wasn’t anything you could do about this. Chris was right. And I think he might have a little crush on you. He was like a knight slaying Mad Dog’s dragon, don’t you think?”

I hadn’t thought of it that way. Chris and I were friends who worked together to do what was best for Duck—nothing more.

“You don’t know the whole story about Port yet,” I admitted and then told him what had happened at Missing Pieces last night.

“Dae.” He sighed and shook his head. “How do you get involved in these things? Never mind. I know it’s your gift. Eleanore was the same way. Your grandmother was always into things that worried me. It was especially hard since I was sheriff at the time.”

“I guess I should’ve sold the silver bell to Guthrie. It wasn’t worth Port’s life for me to keep it.”

“Or you should’ve called the FBI after he was there. If they knew he was in town, they might’ve been able to prevent this. You can’t do everything yourself.”

“But they kicked me out of the investigation and acted like I was a crazy woman. Not to mention they wouldn’t even
question
Guthrie about Chuck’s murder. I didn’t even think about calling them. I know you’re right, though. I should’ve told someone. Maybe the chief. Maybe Port would still be alive.”

“Do you still have the man’s wallet?”

“Back at the house.”

“Let’s go get it. I’ll take it in and tell them that I found it on the boardwalk yesterday. No one will question me about it, and you won’t have to be involved.”

I knew this was a huge concession for him. Normally, he would never consider such a thing. “You can’t do that! I wouldn’t ask it of you. You may not be sheriff anymore, but you have a reputation for doing what’s right. And it won’t work anyway. They’ll know I’m involved with him and you’re just covering up. I might as well take it in and explain everything.”

“My plan is better. My career is over. You have your whole life ahead of you. You might be governor someday.”

“Thanks, Gramps.” I hugged him. “But you can’t protect me forever. I’ll handle this.”

When we got home, I went upstairs and found the wallet where I’d left it on my bedside table. I stared at it for a while, wondering if Port’s imminent death was the reason I’d been unable to sense anything from the wallet last night. That was a scary thought. Finding other people’s lost treasures was one thing. Being able to predict who was going to die was quite another. I didn’t plan on mentioning that fact to anyone. I didn’t want to pursue it.

I snatched up the wallet and sat down on the bed, hoping my luck had changed now that Port was actually dead. I didn’t want to experience a dead Port talking to me, like I had dead Chuck, but I thought perhaps I might be able to see Guthrie kill him. It’d be better than nothing.

But again, I had no reaction to the wallet. My mind was a blank. The wallet wasn’t going to help me catch Port’s killer.

I knew my fingerprints were all over the wallet. I had to turn it in. Maybe the wallet wouldn’t trigger a vision, but it wouldn’t hurt to go through it and see if it held any useful information.

Port’s California driver’s license was in there, along with a one-hundred-dollar bill, a few credit cards and my business card. The police would love that. I could take it out now and save myself some grief. On the other hand, it didn’t really matter, since I planned to tell them about our relationship anyway.

There was also a piece of paper, torn away from a larger sheet. Someone had written the words “Sailor’s Dream” and the phone number for the bar, as well as my father’s name.

That caused me to bite my lip. I took the paper out and put it to the side.

What good would it do to implicate my father in all of this? It would only add to the problem when they saw that he had a police record. He could be an easy scapegoat for everything that had happened in the last few days.

I knew Gramps would have a fit if he knew what I was thinking. And maybe I couldn’t totally cover up for my father, but I could beat the police to it and talk to him first.

If not for last night’s activities at Wild Stallions and then at Missing Pieces, I rationalized, I would’ve been at the bar looking for Derek Johnson before this had happened. As much as I disliked it, the bar was involved somehow.

Please don’t let my father have had any part in what happened to Chuck, Port and Betsy.

I could hear Gramps telling me that he’d warned me about my father. He’d been in and out of jail his whole life. But that didn’t make him guilty of anything now. It had taken a long time for Gramps to trust him. I hoped it hadn’t been in vain.

I flew down the stairs and out the front door without a word of good-bye. It wasn’t a long walk to the bar. If I went straight there, I could get answers quickly, before the police got involved.

Tim’s patrol car pulled up in the driveway right in front of me. He leaned lazily out the window. “Chief wants to see you, Dae. It’s about the dead man in the trash can. You said you know him, right?”

“I only know him because we worked together on an antique sale.” I started skirting along the edge of the driveway to make my way to the road. What was I thinking? Tim would certainly follow me down Duck Road if he had to.

“Turns out the chief didn’t need your help identifying him. He had fingerprints on file. He’s wanted for burglary, making fake IDs. You name it. How’d you link up with him?”

“I don’t mind answering those questions, Tim, but there’s something really important I have to do right now. Could you pretend you couldn’t find me for about an hour? I’ll call you when I’m done and you can pick me up.”

“That’s kind of asking a lot, since you told the chief you were at home.” He shrugged and glanced around as though he thought someone might be looking. “I’ll really catch it from him if I’m not back in a few minutes.”