A Timely Vision (21 page)

“But wasn’t it exciting?” Shayla asked. “All that cloak-and-dagger, spy rings and late night meetings in smoky nightclubs. It sounds
sexy
to me, baby.”

Kevin laughed. “As I was telling Dae, it gets old. I didn’t want to spend my whole life chasing bad guys. It’s a good game for someone right out of college. I like being an innkeeper. Bad paint and rotten wood are about as exciting as I want nowadays.”

“Not to mention dead men in your upstairs,” Nancy quipped. “Maybe you can leave the job, but it never really leaves you.”

“You might be right,” Kevin conceded. “I hope the dead man upstairs was the only thing left over from the previous owner. By the way, does anyone know anything about him? The previous owner, I mean. Bunk something, wasn’t it?”

Tim laughed. “Of course. That’s like asking if you can find your way from Corolla to Duck! Old Bunk Whitley is a legend in these parts. People say he bought the Blue Whale with smuggling money, like so many other people in this part of the world.”

“But people also say the pirate gold he claimed to have found is what did him in too,” I added. “Gramps swears the ghosts of the pirates came to get old Bunk. That’s why they never found his body.”

Kevin finished his wine and glanced around the room. “I hope we’re not about to find another surprise. If old Bunk Whitley is stuck in some closet, I don’t want to know about it. But it’s a nice ghost story. Maybe I can use that in my brochure.”

Trudy shuddered. “Isn’t one dead body enough? And talk about legends! Everyone around here knows about Wild Johnny Simpson. How he broke Miss Elizabeth’s heart. How he courted both sisters who were equally beautiful, but he only wanted Miss Elizabeth. How Miss Mildred never forgave her sister for taking him from her. Now
that’s
the stuff of legends. Real legends, not some stupid pirate ghost.”

At that moment, there was a loud thump that rattled the windows in the bar. Kevin got to his feet and raced outside. We followed him and stood in the courtyard with the mermaid fountain, staring up at the roof, silhouetted against the dark sky.

“What is it?” Nancy whispered. “I don’t see anything.”

“Is it a pirate ghost come to get Trudy for being so ignorant?” Shayla demanded, nudging Trudy with her elbow.

“I wish it was something that interesting.” Kevin ran his hand through his dark brown hair. “It’s the roof. I was worried about some soft spots yesterday. See that hole up there? Unless we find Bunk Whitley’s body in it, I’m going to have to put a new roof on over there.”

I went into work early the next morning. It was one of those cooler mornings when the fog swirls around the houses and lays across the sound like a blanket. Gramps offered to drive me to Missing Pieces on the golf cart, but I wanted to walk.

I had thought I’d be up all night thinking about everything that happened at the Blue Whale, but I fell asleep two minutes after I climbed into bed. That meant I needed some time to think before I opened the shop. I had promised Kevin I’d come back this afternoon to start painting, if the morning was dry. He planned to continue with his painting on the ground floor despite the new hole in the roof that needed patching.

I walked along Duck Road, glad for the early morning quiet. The bushes and shrubs dripped with the heavy fog. It was like being wrapped in gooey, wet cotton candy. I remember when I was a kid and hid outside under the bushes to keep from being seen. It’s much harder as an adult to hide or even get away for a few minutes to think things through.

But what to think? If there was a ghost at the Blue Whale last night, he or she didn’t give me any answers I could use to help Miss Mildred. We still had no clue who really killed Miss Elizabeth, let alone who killed Wild Johnny thirty years ago. I wondered, as I listened to some birds chirping from inside a thicket, if the two crimes were related. It seemed likely to me. What were the chances that we’d find Wild Johnny’s body right after Miss Elizabeth was killed? On the other hand, no one could guess when Johnny’s body
would
be found. The whole thing was giving me a headache.

The Duck Shoppes and the boardwalk were hazy in the fog, with seagulls folding their wings beneath the clapboard eaves, waiting for the sun. I headed to town hall first to surprise Nancy before she got there. I thought if I returned the note she’d lost to her desk, she’d think it had been misplaced. She could call the chief and tell him what he needed to know.

I slipped my key in the lock, glancing around now since I’d had my purse stolen. I was trying to be more aware of my surroundings, as Chief Michaels always advised. It appeared to be only the seagulls and me. None of the shops were open. I pushed open the door and closed it quickly, locking it behind me.

The Post-it wasn’t hard to find. Of course it helped that I knew exactly where to look. I reached my fingers along the floor beside the file cabinet and snatched it out along with a few dust bunnies. With a flourish, I spread it out flat on Nancy’s desk. She’d be surprised when she came in.

As I flattened the rounded edges and the part that wouldn’t stick anymore, I read the note. It was brief—“I need to talk to you about Millie. Silas Butler. 252- 411-9750.”

I stopped flattening for a moment and looked at the note in disbelief.
Silas Butler?
Everyone knew about Silas Butler. He was Elizabeth and Mildred’s younger brother. A ne’er-do-well who was thrown out of the army. He’d come home to Duck in disgrace only to take up gambling and any other illegal activity he could find. He was legendary for stealing a poor box from the Duck Presbyterian Church in 1964.

The unthinkable had happened after that. He was killed in the 1970s running some kind of scheme or selling drugs. I’d seen his grave marker in Duck Cemetery a hundred times. My mother told me once that there was a song written about the Bad Butler.

This couldn’t be the same person. There were probably plenty of Silas Butlers in the world.
But how many who wanted to talk to the chief about Millie?

I glanced at the clock on the wall. It was one of those standard round clocks, black and white with hands that crawl from one number to the next when you’re bored. I had at least an hour before Nancy came in. I dialed the number on the Post-it and waited for someone to pick up.

“Sea Oats Senior Care.” The voice at the other end of the line was cheerful for this hour of the morning.

At first I couldn’t think what to say, and she repeated her opening line. I gave myself a hard mental slap and said, “I’m sorry. Where are you located?”

“We’re in Kitty Hawk.” She gave me the address. “Do you need directions?”

“No, thanks. I was thinking about visiting Silas Butler later today. I hope he’s feeling all right.”

“As far as I know. He’s been popular here lately. Lots of visitors. That’s a good thing, though.”

I thanked her again and hung up.
Silas Butler
. It couldn’t be coincidence. But
what
could it be?

I went and sat down in my office and considered the possibilities. Silas Butler was dead. Nancy probably wouldn’t have realized the importance of this when she took the message because she had only lived in Duck for a few years. The Bad Butler was mostly forgotten now. Even we can’t recall
all
our folklore. But Chief Michaels would know.

I turned on my computer and looked through the old files. Most of them had been slowly but surely put into the computer database. I typed in “Silas Butler” and his file came up. Silas had been shot and killed on Monday, June 8, 1978. The day after Wild Johnny Simpson’s arrival at the Blue Whale!

I looked at the notes on his death. Silas was suspected of “illegal trafficking,” which I’d learned from Gramps could mean anything from smuggled drugs to cigarettes. It was kind of a catch-all phrase used by the sheriff’s department. I read further into the file:

The chief had shot and killed Silas Butler! No one had ever mentioned
that
part of the folklore. It never failed that in telling these tales, long-time Duck residents left out some facts and embellished others all in the name of making a better story.

I’d been only about five at the time Butler was killed, so naturally I couldn’t recall anything about the death. But I had to wonder why Miss Elizabeth and Miss Mildred didn’t hate the chief for his role in their brother’s death. Finding that Post-it had led to more questions I couldn’t answer.

I trusted Chief Michaels. But what did this Post-it mean? Was the public record wrong? Had Chief Michaels not actually killed Silas Butler all those years ago? Was it possible Bad Butler was still alive? And if so, why hadn’t the chief said something about it? He wouldn’t keep something like this to himself, would he? There had to be some mistake. Or I was misinterpreting what I’d read. One phone call could’ve cleared everything up. I didn’t make that call.

I thought about it but argued that I would see the chief at the ribbon cutting for the new Mexican restaurant. I could ask him then. It couldn’t be dead Silas Butler in Kitty Hawk at that nursing home anyway. It could wait.

But the morning dragged. I went and got coffee and talked to Phil for a while before I opened Missing Pieces. Of course it
would
be a slow day on the boardwalk. A lot of customers would’ve taken my mind off my worries. I watched the teapot clock in my shop crawl along until ten fifteen. I couldn’t stand it anymore. I put out the “Closed” sign and locked the door.

Ribbon cuttings in Duck bring out the usual suspects. There’s Barney from the jewelry store and Mark Samson from the Rib Shack. Both of them are members of the Duck Chamber of Commerce. Carter Hatley from Game World was president. He brought the big wooden scissors to cut the bright red ribbon. The ribbon is always provided by Betty’s Boutique and Floral. Betty attends, enjoying the compliments on her elaborate ribbon design.

Once in a while, one of the other town council members comes by to show support. Usually, this happens when there’s food involved. But today, even though there was food, it was only me representing the town. No sign of the chief. I held the scissors and stood next to the red ribbon with everyone else behind me. The chamber of commerce secretary took a few pictures for the town’s website and archives.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a newspaper or TV reporter at one of these events. But that’s okay. It’s a nice welcome to a new business. The owners all smile and shake my hand. I give them a small, gold plastic key that says “Duck” on it. It’s exciting for everyone.

I saw Luke Helms in the sparse crowd right before the ribbon cutting. He came up to me after it was over and said, “I thought I might find you here. Do you have a minute to talk?”

“Of course. Do you want to go back to town hall?”

“No. This is fine. It’s about Mrs. Mason.”

I felt a terrible weight in my chest even as the sun finally broke through the heavy fog. It looked as if the day would clear up, probably be warm and sunny.

We walked over to the side of the road near a large purple horse decorated with sparkly stars. I wished I could jump up on it and ride to the hospital to rescue Miss Mildred. I knew it wouldn’t happen, even if it were a real horse, but the urge to do
something
was overpowering.

“I’m afraid it’s not going well for her. Yesterday, the judge found her incompetent to stand trial. I don’t really know why. She’s as sharp as a tack, except for this ghost thing. It’s not something a judge wants to hear when he thinks you’ve killed your sister. It sounds like she invented a fantasy to block out what she did.”

I knitted my fingers together, not sure what to say. “I know you did what you could for her. I think she really
believes
the purse came from her sister. Someone is setting her up. They planted the purse and made it seem like it was Miss Elizabeth bringing it to her. Then they planted the shovel that killed her sister. It’s a terrible thing.”

Luke scratched his spiky, sandy-colored hair. “I wish I could do more. I’m not giving up yet. Not by a long shot. But she won’t listen to reason, and I can’t prove what you just said. It may be true, but without proof, she’s a crazy old lady who killed her sister after years of feuding with her.”

“Yeah. We all know about the feud. I suppose that didn’t help either.”

“I can tell you it didn’t help when Chief Michaels testified about how calm she was when the two of you went to tell her Miss Elizabeth was dead. I know he’s supposed to tell the truth, but it seemed to me that he went out of his way to make it sound worse than it was.”