A Spirited Gift (34 page)

“And? What about now? Are there any descendants left of the son who was the governor of Jamaica, Mary's child?”

“Yes!” Mark jumped on that. “Thanks to the Internet and the library in Manteo, we know that the magistrate's descendant is—drum roll—Joseph Endy of Duck, North Carolina.”

I've never seen two faces lose their excitement so quickly. Mrs. Stanley sat down and made a modest
humphing
noise. “Oh,
that
diary. You'll never get it from him,” she said. “Odious man! I didn't know he was involved in all this. We've wasted our time.”

I didn't understand the problem. I knew Joe. He was okay.

“We've tried for years to get even a glimpse of it,” Andy confirmed. “He won't even let us see the diary much less tell us who wrote it.”

“He taunts us with it.” Mrs. Stanley frowned. “He knows how valuable it may be to Duck history. He's refused all of our efforts to get information about it.”

Mark looked more crestfallen than any of us. “We have to do something about it. This could be definitive. He can't hide history. Maybe we could appeal to him. He might've changed his mind. Why hasn't anyone told me about this before?”

“You haven't been a member that long,” Andy told him. “Besides, it hasn't come up in years. I never thought about the diary Dae was looking for belonging to that old coot.”

“But maybe this is an opportunity,” Mrs. Stanley said in a sly way as she looked at me. “A chance to change his mind. Joe always liked the ladies. I remember when he and Wild Johnny Simpson and Bunk Whitley used to have contests to see who could take out the best-looking girl.”

“Dae isn't bad looking,” Andy said. “And she has a very winning way about her. She might be able to get a look at the diary.”

“Good idea!” Mark patted me hard on the back in his excitement. “If anyone can do it, our mayor can!”

Funny how people loved you when you could get something they wanted.

Chapter 45

So thirty minutes later (after an approved clothing change) I was at Joe Endy's little house off Duck Road on the Currituck Sound side. The three members of the Duck Historical Society had taken me up to the Sunflower Fancy shop and purchased an outfit they felt would win Joe's heart—basically softening him up enough that he'd let me take a look at the diary.

I wasn't so sure about the change, and I had plenty of clothes in my closet at home. The clinging, apricot-colored silk dress wasn't exactly my style, and the extra makeup Mrs. Stanley put on me made me feel even less like myself. But there was no arguing with them. No talking on my part at all for that matter. They spent the whole time telling me what I should and shouldn't say to Joe.

I wasn't thinking about any of their instructions, though, as I knocked on the weather-beaten door. Joe's little house was like so many in Duck that were built in the 1950s, withstanding hurricanes and high tides. It had a little wrought-iron fence around an old flower garden. Weeds had mostly overtaken the late-season roses and mums.

I was trying to get my pirate ghost to back off. Rafe was even more insistent and louder than any of the museum members. I knew he was excited about possibly having the end of his long road in sight. But I wouldn't be able to concentrate with him shouting that way when I spoke with Joe. At least no one else could hear his tirade.

“Come on in,” Joe called. “Door's open.”

I remembered that he'd suffered a stroke a few months back. While there had been sympathy expressed by the town council, members were also relieved not to have him complaining at every meeting.”

“Mr. Endy?” I called as I walked in. “It's Dae O'Donnell. I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute.”

He appeared in his wheelchair, a skeletal remnant of the man he'd been. His gnarled hands were clenched on the big wheels that moved him from place to place. “Mayor! To what do I owe the honor of this visit?”

I took out my next secret weapon that Andy had insisted I bring with me—cookies from the bakery. Chocolate chip was Joe's favorite. “Actually I was headed this way and my grandfather had these extra and asked me if I'd drop them off.”

Joe took the cookies—but never took his eyes off of my cleavage. “Good old Horace! He's always been a good friend. We had some great times fishing out on his boat. Thanks.”

“I'm sure he'd be glad to take you out again. The
Eleanore
is in dry dock for repairs right now, but she'll be up and running again in no time.” I glanced around the tiny house. “I hope the storm didn't affect you too badly.”

“Not at all.” He chomped a few cookies. “I hardly even noticed. Slept right through it.”

“That's good. We've tried to check in with everyone and make sure they're okay.”

“You do a good job, Mayor. Not that I'm surprised. Your family has a history of community service to the town. In a way, not too different from my own family in times past.”

Rafe managed to nudge me, and a few papers flew off the nearby table. “Get on with it! Quit dillydallying.”

“Really?” I smiled and looked interested. “I didn't realize your family was involved with the town.”

“You'd be surprised.” He laughed in a way that made me wonder if I should find some oxygen for him. “They'd all be surprised. Those harpies at the museum with their fine and noble heritages. I've got the best one of all. But no one knows.”

“I'm surprised you don't want them to know. Wouldn't it be fun to see how amazed they'd be?” I was careful not to push too hard.

“Who cares about them? They don't matter. The only people I want to share this with are what's left of my family. My granddaughter moved back here a few months ago. I hope she'll keep the family name alive in Duck. I've left her my property—including the diary those witches at the museum want.”

“Well, I'm glad you have Marissa, Mr. Endy. I'm sure she's a comfort to you. I've met her at the Blue Whale. She's very nice and does a great job.” I smiled even though Rafe was all but dancing a ghostly jig between us. “I'm glad to see you're getting around all right after your illness. Don't be afraid to call if you need anything.”

“I'll do that. Thanks, Dae.” He frowned for a moment, then said, “What would you do with a diary like mine?”

“I don't know. I guess give it to someone who'd appreciate it. It concerns us all, Mr. Endy. If a family had a diary that described early times and people from Duck, it would affect the whole town.”

“You want to see it?”

“The diary? I'd be glad to take a look at it. Whose diary is it?”

“It belonged to one of the original magistrates—lawmen of their day. Back before Duck was a town or anything like that. The magistrates were judge, jury, and in some cases, executioners. This was a lawless place, worse than the Old West ever was. Pirates, cutthroats, press gangs and thieves. The magistrates cleaned up the islands and left their mark so the rest of us could lead decent lives. Kind of like you and Horace. That's why I'd like you to have a look.”

“That sounds really exciting.” My heart was beating hard, and my smile felt a little off center. I felt like Rafe did, but on the inside. I couldn't let my emotions show and scare Joe off.

“Great!” He looked around the cluttered room as I had a few minutes earlier. “Now where did I put that?”

“Blast and hellfire!” Rafe threw his tricorn hat on the floor. “Get on with it, man! If I'd been alive, I'd have skewered your liver by this time.”

“Quiet!” I mumbled.

“What?” Joe looked up at me. “I know it's here somewhere. Could you help me look for it? It's in an old wood box with a crest on it. You can't miss it.”

So we started looking—under beds, in closets, in the tiny attic and behind every door. Nothing.

“It's been here all my life,” Joe said. “I know it has to be here. I just can't remember where I put it.”

“I don't know where else to look.” I was pretty sure the apricot silk dress wouldn't be returnable after all the dust and the grimy smears I'd just added to it.

Joe started to say something, then shook his head. “What am I doing? You're Eleanore's granddaughter! You can tell me where it is, right?” He rolled up close to me and held out his hands. “Not sure how this works exactly. What do I do?”

“You think about what's lost,” I told him, taking his hands. They were cold and leathery. “Close your eyes and let's see if we can find it.”

Being in someone else's mind searching for a lost possession was like looking through an attic full of memories and pictures. Most of them had nothing to do with what was lost. But if the person could hold the thought of the lost item in the front of their minds, the search was as easy as walking up the stairs and finding the item at the front of the crowded attic.

In Joe's case, the attic was so overcrowded, I wasn't sure I could find the old diary he'd hidden. Then suddenly, as he concentrated, there it was. I could see the old, scarred box resting in a pool of sunlight.

I opened my eyes to find him staring at me. “I think I see it.” I glanced around the room again. The box was hidden under a tobacco humidor. “You used to smoke before you had your stroke. I think you left it over here.”

The box and humidor were both near the window where the sunshine was flooding in from the beautiful day outside. I lifted the humidor with one hand and pulled out the box with the other.

On the outside of the box, still intact after so many generations, was the Forester crest. I recognized it from the makeup case William Astor had made for his adopted mother, Suzanne. My dreams seemed to have been right about this. I could hardly wait to see if the magistrate had chronicled his near death at Rafe's hands—and the revenge he'd taken on the pirate.

I sat down again near Joe. He smiled at me as I opened the box. I pulled out the worn, leather-bound diary. In an instant, emotions from the diary flooded through me.

Chapter 46

I came back to myself, slumped in my chair, the diary still in my lap. Joe was staring at me with a horrified expression on his face. I could tell he wasn't sure what to do.

“Are you okay?” he asked finally.

“I'm fine.” I smiled and opened the diary again—Rafe prodding me to hurry.

“Go to the middle or so,” Rafe demanded. “Find where that bastard murdered me.”

But there was so much more. I could've gotten lost in it for days. No wonder the historical society wanted it. The rich history of the area was well chronicled by the urchin saved from death by Lady Suzanne Forester on the beach centuries ago.

She'd educated him—treated him as her son. She had no children of her own and never married. William and his surrogate mother were very close.

She'd died in a fall from a horse. William had been away at the time and though she'd left him a fortune, he never forgave himself.

He never carried her name—her family had forbidden it. But he'd been raised with privileges he'd never dreamed existed when he was surviving on a pirate ship.

After Suzanne's death in England, William had come back to North Carolina and the Outer Banks where he'd grown up.
“Imagine my amazement,”
he wrote in the diary,
“to find that blackguard Rafe Masterson still alive and married to a fetching wench! He has children, no less. My mind is reeling with possibilities.”