A Watery Death (A Missing Pieces Mystery Book 7) (3 page)

I wanted to marry Kevin, but I felt bad leaving Gramps alone at the house. I knew he could take care of himself, but he’d never lived alone. He was born and raised there. My mother hadn’t left home when she’d found out she was pregnant with me. Then my grandmother died, and my mom and I lived there with him. Now there was only him and me.

“I don’t have to be gifted to know that you’re not telling me everything,” Kevin half joked. “What’s wrong, Dae?”

“It’s nothing,” I told him with a big kiss. “I should get back to the shop. This is my biggest weekend, you know. I don’t want to miss an important sale.”

Kevin walked back to Missing Pieces with me but didn’t bring up anything else about us getting married or moving in together. I was glad, since I had no ready answers to why I was troubled about leaving Gramps.

It was probably just pre-wedding jitters. Trudy had been worried about all kinds of crazy things while we’d been planning her wedding.

We parted with another kiss and a long hug at the open door, until a customer brushed by us and went into the shop.

“I’ll see you later. I love you, Dae.”

“I love you too, Kevin.” I watched him walk down the boardwalk, troubled by our conversation and something more. I could feel a prickling of something about to happen between my shoulder blades.

It was hot, and the air-conditioning was on, but I wished I could leave the door open as I did spring, fall, and winter. The breezes from the sound were always pleasant, but the back of the shop got hot and humid if the door stayed open too long. Most customers didn’t like lingering to look things over in that kind of environment.

A few customers came and went in quick succession. I was alone again and sorry that I’d sent Kevin away. Maybe we could’ve talked out the problem about the wedding. There might be an answer that I wasn’t seeing about Gramps. But I knew Kevin was busy at the inn too. We’d talk later.

Since I wasn’t busy, I lifted the coral horn that I’d stashed in the locked glass case until I could put it away. I didn’t want any other children, or adults for that matter, blowing into it again.

I realized where that odd feeling had begun—the horn. I also hadn’t put on my gloves to handle it. Big mistake as the memories and feelings trapped in it hit me like a tidal wave.

Deep in the deepest parts of the sea. Swimming through the cool water.

Her heart belonged only to one man. Where was he? Why didn’t he call her?

She was so alone. There were many others of her kind, but her mind saw only him.

If she could find him again, she would never let him go.

“Excuse me, miss?” An older gentleman was staring at me. He held a pirate carving in his hand. “Are you all right? Could I get a price on this?”

I shook myself out of the place I had gone.

A mermaid’s heart.

“I’m sorry.” I staggered and slurred my words like a drunken woman. “Of course. That’s a carving of our most famous pirate, Rafe Masterson, Scourge of Duck.” I named a price.

The man in the green-checkered shorts whistled and hastily put the figure down. “Too high for me. Thanks.”

Sinking down on the stool behind the cash register and case, I took a few deep breaths. I could feel every beat of the mermaid’s heart. Her sorrow was terrible. I could see the water around her, the sunlit ocean with thousands of fish swimming through it.

I flexed my feet, still feeling her tail.

Quickly, I put on my gloves and got the velvet bag to put the horn away. It was real. There were seafolk, just as the legends had claimed.

While I was letting that sink in, something hit the floor—keys—a house key and a car key.

Captain Lucky’s keys?

They had to be. I knew he lived on the ship. Maybe it was the key to his stateroom and his car.

Everyone in Duck had Captain Lucky’s cell phone number. I looked up his cell number in my phone and gave him a call. No answer. The phone rang until it finally went to voicemail.

I tried texting him, but there was no response to that either. I looked at the time. He must not have noticed that he’d left his keys. He’d probably come here in the ship’s golf cart or walked. That was how most people in Duck traveled.

He’d said he was leaving. I drummed my fingers on the glass cabinet. He’d probably need his keys. Whatever he was trying to get away from hadn’t sounded like it could wait. I knew I’d have to take his keys to him.

Gramps arrived at just the right moment.

“Hi, honey. Just stopping to let you know I won’t be home for supper. I’ve got a hot charter in thirty minutes. Should be good money to put into the fund for repairing the back porch.”

My grandfather, Horace O’Donnell, owned a charter fishing boat. He took tourists out on expeditions in the sound almost every day, except Sunday. It was a far cry from his previous job as Dare County Sheriff, but I was glad he’d decided to retire. Being sheriff had taken its toll on him. I could see it in his faded blue eyes and thinning white hair.

Now instead of wearing his brown sheriff’s hat, he wore a green fisherman’s cap with hooks caught in it. He usually wore a red rag around his neck, brown shorts with dozens of pockets, and a brown T-shirt that advertised for his charter service.

“You’re a life saver.” I picked up Captain Lucky’s keys as I put the horn away again. “I have to run these over to the Andalusia. Can you watch the shop for me? Is the golf cart in the parking lot?”

“Sure.” He didn’t sound sure. “I could just take them over there for you.”

“You could,” I agreed. “But I don’t want Captain Lucky to think I told everyone about his keys and our business together. You know how it is.”

Everyone who had ever lived in Duck knew that it was a hive of gossip. Sometimes it could be hurtful. Captain Lucky might be down on his luck. Everyone didn’t need to know.

“Okay. You’re right. But what do I say when people ask where you are?”

“Make something up,” I told him.

“You know I’m the world’s worst liar, Dae. Tell me what to say.”

I thought a minute. “Tell them I had to go help Kevin with some shrimp. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Gramps scratched his head. “Just don’t make me late for my charter.”

Several customers streamed through the door. It was all I could do not to go back and take care of them. But Gramps knew what to do. He’d substituted for me plenty of times.

I left the boardwalk quickly, pleased to see plenty of cars parked in the lot behind the shops. There was a full crowd at the coffeehouse and bookstore in the parking lot too. It was great to have thousands of tourists show up for our Fourth of July celebration.

Gramps’s golf cart was parked close to the stairs. There wasn’t any designated parking for golf carts, even though there were probably more golf carts in Duck than cars. Dozens were jammed together in a knot that was going to make it difficult to get out for the two carts at the center of it.

Of course it was easy to find Gramps’s cart because it wasn’t one of the plain, open ones. His had a roof on it and sides that could be closed in case of rain. It was also squarely parked in an open parking space—taking up one of the limited spaces for cars—no doubt an issue that would be brought before the town council at some point.

I got in and started it up. There were several unhappy frowns from car drivers who didn’t like golf carts taking their spaces. I waved and pulled out quickly. Everyone had a right to a safe place to park as far as I was concerned.

Duck Road separated the Shoppes on the Boardwalk from the road that ran to the Atlantic Ocean on the other side of town. The road dead-ended at the Blue Whale Inn and the house that had been donated for the Duck Historical Society by Miss Elizabeth Simpson.

There were hundreds of people in bathing suits and shorts walking the main roads. Traffic was snarled as always on the barely two-lane streets that ran through town. I had to wait ten minutes to get across and then had to zigzag through the walkers and runners.

This was peak season for us—which meant very few vacancies in vacation home rentals. In the other three seasons, this road would be empty most of the time. Even the gambling ship hadn’t come close to bringing in as many people as hot summer days and the promise of a golden beach.

Kevin waved as I passed the loading area behind the Blue Whale. I’d helped him paint the old inn when he’d first arrived. He’d done significant upgrades to the three-story building that had stood empty for a generation. Now it was popular with visitors and people in town again. Kevin had put in a gorgeous arbor by the sea where Trudy and Tim were going to be married.

I could see the tall masts of the Andalusia II long before I reached the impressive pier and waiting area a few blocks down from the Blue Whale. The company had gone to great expense to accommodate gamblers who came from all over the world.

The waiting spot was a quaint tavern that was designed to resemble something from the 1600s, only with air conditioning, heat, and Wi-Fi. There were snacks and drinks available with an entire wall of glass to get a good view of the ocean and the magnificent ship. The pier went out seven-hundred feet into the gray/blue water. The ship was berthed here between journeys out to the legal limit where guests could gamble.

But the whole enterprise was anchored by the impressive replica of the Spanish treasure ship that went down in a fierce storm in 1720 with all hands lost.  The people of Duck—known as Bankers—had lived off its spoils for years. Not all the treasure had been retrieved, even though hundreds of people, through present day treasure hunters, had searched for it.

“Hi, Dae!” Barney Thompson’s daughter, Celia, worked at the ticket office. “What brings you down here?”

“Is Captain Lucky on the ship? He left his car keys at my shop this morning.” I knew how that was going to sound before I said it, but I had to explain why I wanted to see him.

Celia’s deep brown eyes grew wide in her round face. “You and Captain Lucky? What happened to Kevin Brickman?”

“Captain Lucky and I aren’t dating,” I explained. “It was just a fluke. He was at Missing Pieces and dropped his keys. I want to return them before he needs them.”

“I can’t believe you’d abandon Kevin. Weren’t you guys going to get married?”

There was no pretty way out of this. “We
are
getting married, Celia. Right after Trudy and Tim. Captain Lucky was at the shop. That’s all.”

“Really?” She lowered her voice suggestively—as if I hadn’t said anything. “So you’re just fooling around with Captain Lucky, right? I never pictured him as the type to settle down. You’re right to have him as your boy-toy. Kevin is handsome and stable, even if he is a little old.”

Celia was eighteen, just out of high school. At that age, Kevin approaching forty looked ancient. Me too, probably.

“So is it all right if I take Captain Lucky’s keys out to him?” I tried to get the conversation back to my original question.

“Oh, sure. There isn’t another tour until four. You should be able to catch the courier going out there with supplies and hitch a ride. See you later, Dae. I hope you’re inviting me to your wedding. And don’t worry about Kevin. He won’t hear anything about Captain Lucky from me.”

“Thanks, Celia.” But I didn’t believe a word of it. At least everyone would only be talking about me and Kevin, not about Captain Lucky’s need to get out of town for a few days.

She was right about the courier. He was on a golf cart and pulling a wagon with sides behind him. The cart was full of liquor boxes and the driver explained that their order at the local ABC liquor store had been shorted.

“I don’t want to be at sea with a bunch of people losing money and no alcohol,” he joked.

He said his name was Jet. He wasn’t from Duck but was there for the summer to work. He was a handsome young man with bronze shoulders barely covered in a tight, white tank top.

“I like this area, even though it’s small.” He looked out at the horizon where the sky was clear. “I can’t imagine living here. My friend who invited me down for the summer grew up in Duck. I don’t know if he plans on staying now that he’s out of school.”

“I suppose if you like big towns, this would be disappointing,” I agreed as we went quickly down the pier to approach the boarding ramp that led up to the ship. “Who’s your friend who grew up here?”

“Dale Fargo. You know him?” Jet smiled at me, one hand on the wheel.

“Sure. His mother is the fire chief. I remember Dale.”

He backed the cart up to the ramp, a plain word for an elaborate, wide, entry that went to the Andalusia II. It was decorated with pirate paraphernalia, which had seemed odd to me on the replica of a Spanish treasure ship. The Spanish hated the pirates as much as anyone else. But the pirate theme—including Captain Lucky’s outfit—was prevalent onboard.

The gambling company that had built the ship probably found the pirate look more interesting and didn’t care about the history.

I helped Jet with a few of the liquor boxes. He called for other crew members to help with the rest. The first mate, an interesting man wearing 17
^th
century Spanish garb, greeted me as I went onboard.

“Mayor O’Donnell.” The handsome first mate did a sweeping bow in front of me with his feathered hat in hand. He wasn’t as charismatic as Captain Lucky, which was probably why he was first mate.

“Mr. Lynch.” I shook his hand. Carl Lynch was a new member of our community. He’d moved to Duck expressly to be on the ship. “It’s good to see you.”

He kissed my hand, his dark head hovering over my arm for several minutes, making the other crew members walk around us as they moved boxes of liquor to the bar area.

“To what do we owe this pleasure? Will you be sailing with us, ma’am?”

“No. I came to see Captain Lucky. They told me he was here.”

“Of course. Come right this way.” He tucked my arm into his and smiled. “May I offer you refreshment?”

“I’m kind of in a hurry, thanks. The captain’s quarters are this way, if I remember correctly. I can go by myself. I’m sure you have better things to do.”