A Haunting Dream (A Missing Pieces Mystery) (19 page)

It was an enormous sum—more money than I had made at Missing Pieces since I’d opened it. More money than most people saw in a lifetime. I gulped
and
swallowed hard.

Port made a face when he saw how much money was involved. “I’ll be glad to stay in contact with Dae, although I have to agree with you, the chances are she’ll never find the other bells.”

Guthrie didn’t even flick a glance in Port’s direction. Port seemed beneath his notice. “You’re not involved with this. This is between me and Dae. And for the record, I believe the bells will come to her. Call me crazy, but I feel something here. Maybe Dae has finding mojo.”

I tried not to panic. This was a
very bad
man. And his offer involved
a lot
of money. I wouldn’t call him when that time came. The bells were worth that much and more on the open market. I’d done my research.

But I was willing to play along for now—anything to get him out of my shop. I knew I was lucky he hadn’t decided to just take what he’d come for.

“All right. You’ve got yourself a deal,” I agreed.

Guthrie got to his feet with a big, triumphant smile on his face. “Shake on it. That’s the way I do business. I always tell everyone that works for me,
A handshake is my bond
. Your bond too, if we do business.”

What was I supposed to do? I wasn’t wearing gloves to protect myself from all the terrible things I might feel from him. I couldn’t excuse myself and rush over to put on gloves. I was going to have to endure his touch.

I tried to prepare for it mentally. My mind was all over the place. No focus, as Ann would say. Maybe I’d be lucky and not feel anything. That was about the best I could hope for.

I had no choice. I put out my hand and shook the hand of the devil. It was warm and firm, holding mine as though it would never let go.

There was no defense. Colors burst into my mind. They surrounded and swallowed me. I opened my eyes and saw Chuck Guthrie and the blond woman from my previous vision.

“I’m just going to the coast for a few days,” Dillon said as he pulled on a dark suit coat and straightened his tie.

“I’d like to come anyway.” She smiled and straightened his tie again. “I just want to look around a little. I won’t get in your way.”

“I’m going to get your birthday present. That little pistol you wanted?”

“Thank you!” She kissed him hard on the mouth. “So I can come? I can take care of my business and you can give me the Flobert.”

“Sure.” He shrugged, wondering what was up, since she hated the coast. “Let’s do it.”

I drew in a deep breath.

Guthrie was still holding my hand, staring, wondering what was wrong.

“Are you all right? You look a little pale. Do you need to sit down?” he asked as I recovered from seeing Chuck’s death again from another perspective.

“I’m fine.” The words came out in a barely audible squeak. I had to repeat them because he couldn’t hear me the first time. I searched for some excuse for my weirdness. “The money. It’s a lot of money.”

He understood
that
,
and laughed at me. “Yes, it is. And worth every penny. Remember—call me. No middleman. I like you, Dae. Let’s keep in touch in case something else turns up in your little shop.”

He let go of my hand and gestured to Port, who followed him outside like a puppy. The shop door closed behind them, and I sank down on the sofa. My knees wouldn’t hold me up any longer.

Chapter 21

I
guess I fell asleep. I heard knocking on the shop
door and looked at my watch. It was after midnight. The lights from the boardwalk had been turned off, and Kevin had come to see if I needed help.

“I was worried about you,” he said when I opened the door. “Did you have trouble with the wallet?”

I was surprised to see him without Ann but didn’t mention it. “I had a surprise visitor.” I told him about Guthrie and Port coming to see the silver bell.

We sat together on the sofa while I explained the vision I’d had when I’d shaken hands with Guthrie. Kevin frowned.

“I don’t like that he was here,” he said, looking around the shop as though Guthrie had contaminated it in some way. “It’s a little too convenient. Maybe while we’ve been finding out information about him, he’s been learning about us. How likely is it that Port just brought him here to see a bell?”

I tried to make him understand the significance of the silver bell. His FBI mind kept seeing a smuggler and killer wandering around my shop for no good reason. He didn’t understand.

“You’ll have to trust me on this,” I said. “I was wrong to leave the bell out. It’s very valuable. But it’s not something my average customer would appreciate or afford. I didn’t think it would matter.”

“So Port brought him here to see the bell—and
you
wouldn’t sell it to him?” Kevin smiled. “That must’ve been a surprise for him. Men like Guthrie are used to getting what they want.”

“I’m pretty good at saying no—especially when it comes to my treasures.”

“Let me run you home. It’s late. I think we’ll have to go to the Sailor’s Dream tomorrow. I’d like to make sure you get home safely. It might not be a bad idea to have Tim do a few extra checks on your shop for a while. Guthrie could change his mind.”

I agreed, although I knew there was no way to stop Guthrie if he really wanted to take the bell. Kevin looked at the bell in its midnight blue velvet but didn’t really understand what the fuss was all about.

I dropped Port’s wallet into a protective velvet bag I usually used for jewelry. I didn’t want to leave it here and thought I might try holding it again later at home. We closed the shop and walked down the quiet stairs from the boardwalk to the empty parking lot.

As I settled into the passenger seat of the blue golf cart, I said, “The thing that really bothers me about this—and I’ve experienced it enough times to be really bothered by it—I haven’t actually seen Guthrie’s face in the visions with Chuck. It’s dark. A gunshot rings out and Chuck falls to the ground. I thought it might be that I wasn’t sure what Guthrie looked like. Then after I saw him in the vision with his girlfriend, I thought it might be because I hadn’t met him. But why would I see the vision with him and his girlfriend making plans to come here together? What did that have to do with anything?”

Kevin started the engine and headed out of the parking lot toward Duck Road. “I don’t know. He didn’t say anything about Chuck?”

“No. They talked about the pistol I had for him and that she wanted to come here with him. He was surprised because she normally didn’t want to come.”

“I don’t know, Dae. Maybe it will come to you.”

Duck Road was empty, making the short ride to my house even faster. Clouds had pressed in from the ocean, and the night had begun to feel like rain.

Kevin pulled into the driveway and turned off the golf cart. “Have you tried holding the wallet again?”

“I did. There wasn’t anything.” I pulled it out of the velvet pouch. “Let’s do it again.”

I closed my eyes and waited. Nothing happened.

“I don’t get it. It’s not like I’ve lost my gift. Guthrie came through loud and clear. Why can’t I pick up anything from Port’s wallet?”

“You know these things aren’t made to order. Maybe you need a rest. Give yourself a break on this, Dae. You’ll see more clearly if you let your mind relax.”

“And Betsy gets to spend another night alone and scared. This just isn’t working, Kevin. There has to be a better way.”

“If there is, be sure to tell the FBI. They’re not doing any better than we are. It’s complicated—in a way, none of us is seeing what we need to right now. Later we’ll all wonder why we didn’t get it sooner.”

I got out of the golf cart with the wallet and wished him good night. “There has to be a break in this soon. I don’t know how long Betsy can hold out. I don’t know how long
I
can hold out.”

Kevin got out and stood beside me. When he put his arms around me, I didn’t pull away. I ignored the inner voice telling me that he belonged to someone else, that he and Ann needed time to make everything work out. I didn’t care. We stood together for several long moments until the front door opened and Gramps called my name.

“Good night, Dae.” Kevin’s voice was husky.

“Good night. I’ll call you if anything comes to me.”

Gramps was waiting at the front door when I walked up, like he used to when I was a kid. “Is Kevin coming in?”

“I don’t think so.”

“You know, just because you two aren’t dating doesn’t mean I can’t be friends with him.” Gramps scratched the kitten’s ear as it rubbed up against him. “How’s it going with his old girlfriend anyway? The two of you looked kind of tight out there.”

I didn’t have the energy to complain about him spying on us. “I don’t know how it’s going right now, Gramps. I’m exhausted. I’ll see you in the morning.”

The black kitten followed me upstairs and jumped on my bed. I put Port’s wallet on the bedside table, wondering how I was going to get it back to him without him thinking I took it from him. I ignored the kitten while I got undressed and put on a summer Duck T-shirt then curled up beside him. He purred and rubbed against me.

I spent the rest of the night with insubstantial arms wrapped around Betsy’s trembling body. We lay together on the damp ground, and I promised that I’d find her.

But when morning came, I was no closer to the truth than I had been the night before.

Today, I was scheduled—no,
obligated
—to attend the Duck Chamber of Commerce Barbecue. It had been held every year for as long as anyone could remember—a political event that attracted officials from as far away as Raleigh, sometimes even Washington, DC.

This year, as in years past, candidates would meet and greet over a slab of roasted pig, slaw, and sweet iced tea. The Duck Historical Society always provided desserts—pecan pie, banana pudding and my favorite, blackberry cobbler with homemade ice cream.

The event was usually held at Duck Municipal Park, but that area had been cordoned off since the last big storm because of damage. It probably wouldn’t open again as the same park, since it wouldn’t take long to get moving on the town hall plans now that the money was in place.

The official groundbreaking ceremony would happen quickly, probably in the next few weeks, but it would be a lot longer before the real work began on the project.

The Duck Presbyterian Church had offered their picnic grove as an alternate location. I’d have to write them a letter on my mayoral stationary, officially thanking them for their civic-mindedness.

The picnic grove was a parklike setting equipped with about thirty neatly arrayed picnic tables, a playground for children, and a large fire pit in the middle for campfires during the church summer camp. A podium had been added near the fire pit for anyone who wanted to make a speech or two. The venue would be a fine place to hold the barbecue.

I knew the pig had been roasting for several days already. It always took a few days to get the hickory chips just right. The president of the chamber, Bo Huneycutt, and the president of the Duck Business Association, John Poole, had been working on the event and the barbecue for weeks.

It was an important day in Duck that brought hundreds of people out—rain or shine. It was a day for officials to get together and talk over the events of the past year with every Duck resident who chose to be there. It was a day for handshakes, for campaign promises—and for hats.

Everyone who came to the barbecue wore a hat—the bigger and crazier, the better. Men wore fishing hats, golf hats, top hats and every other kind of hat imaginable. Women wore pillbox hats with veils, large, poofy
Gone with the Wind
hats, and slinky city hats that rode on the sides of their heads like spiders. The hat tradition had been with the event since old Bunk Whitley wore the first top hat to the barbecue. Back then, the people of the town had expected he’d be the first mayor of Duck, but he’d been missing for years before the first mayor—
me
—was elected right after incorporation.

I’d attended the Chamber of Commerce Barbecue all my life. When I was a kid, Gramps would have me hand out flyers in support of his reelection as sheriff. In nonelection years, I’d go just so he could show me off, he always said. Now that I was mayor, my attendance was mandatory.

But this morning I wanted to skip the whole thing. It had been a ragged night followed by a worse dawn. My eyes were swollen from crying, and my heart just wasn’t in it.

It didn’t matter to Gramps. He was up and dressed in his finest—a gray morning suit, his matching top hat on the table, ready to go. I knew from past years that he would wear gloves as well and take a cane to complete the picture. Like everyone else, he went all out for the event.

I got up late and stumbled down to the kitchen with the black kitten at my heels. Every time I’d woken up during the night, the kitten had been there, licking my face. His rough little tongue was somehow soothing.

Gramps was whistling and stirring oatmeal with raisins. He grinned at me when I sat down. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to be late for the barbecue. You look tired. Bad night?”

The possibility that I wouldn’t go to the barbecue had not even crossed his mind. My being late was the worst-case scenario he could think of. I so wished I could avoid what promised to be a long day of shaking hands and listening to people promise me their support for the election. I didn’t want to talk about sidewalks or tell anyone that things would get better—if they voted for me. I wanted to go back to sleep. It was the only time I felt like I was able to help Betsy, when I could be with her, even if we were both dreaming.

“I’m not feeling very well, Gramps. I may not be able to go.”

His face turned ten shades of red, contrasting starkly with his white hair and beard. “You
have
to go. No politician who misses the barbecue will ever get elected in Duck. You know that. Do you think Mad Dog will skip this opportunity? Hell, no. You’ve been going since you were a kid and I was running for office. You have to go if you want to be mayor again. I hear Senator Seeger is supposed to be there today. Good photo op!”

None of that motivated me. It just didn’t mean anything. Added to that, I had no escort. Kevin had gone with me last year, wearing a dashing formal tux. No hat, but that hadn’t mattered.

“If you’re thinking you’ll have to go alone, or with me, don’t worry about it. I’ve got it all set up.” The doorbell rang, as if on cue. Gramps put down his spoon and turned off the oatmeal. “And that should be your date. Run upstairs and get ready. You don’t want him to turn around and run back out the door when he sees you looking like a zombie, do you?”

He waited—stubborn and unmoving—until I finally dragged myself out of the chair and up the stairs. I knew he was right. I wanted to be mayor again. It was just hard to feel inspired this morning.

I had a dress that had come into Missing Pieces a few months ago with a group of other formal wear. It was long and slinky, the color of the ocean on a sunny day. I’d found a hat for it that clung to the side of my head—all matching sequins and a shoulder-length veil. I’d planned to wear lots of eye makeup and dazzle my local audience.

But the more I looked at the outfit, the more I knew it would have to wait until next year. It was too cheerful, too filled with promise and important plans, for me to wear it today.

Instead, I wore a plain black pantsuit, and in keeping with the event’s custom, I pinned on a black velvet hat that had belonged to my grandmother. With the veil stretched across my face, I thought I might be able to handle the event. The question was, who had Gramps found to escort me?

That question was quickly answered—Tim. I should have known.