Swept Away (4 page)

In an instant, Tucker’s brain was more than creative. A red flush crept up his chest staining his cheeks a blood red. Thankfully, Josie didn’t seem to notice his embarrassment. With a slight tip of her head, she said, “I better get busy. I’ll see you later.”

Tucker was more than disappointed she didn’t take him up on his offer of help. He stood, frozen to his spot on the porch until she was long gone. Thoughts of a girl he hardly knew completely distracted him from his original purpose. Mad Mags. And Maddy. He came for Maddy. Sort of.

Phoning the lady Ella suggested, Tucker was told to come on over to her home.

Jane Carson met him at the door of her small bungalow’s screened-in front porch. Dressed in white from her flowing skirt to linen blouse, she seemed to be channeling the ghost she was a reported expert on. “Tucker Boone, I assume?” she asked holding the door open for him. Tucker nodded, offering the appropriate greetings and small talk.

“Come on inside. I’ll get us some iced tea, and we’ll chat.”

“Sounds good.” He followed her inside. Her home, like so many houses on the island, was built by amateurs using scrap materials and imagination rather than blue prints. The ceilings were so low, he had to lower his head to maneuver past hanging light fixtures. Shelves and shelves of books lined the walls on their walk to the long, narrow kitchen at the back of the house. This room greeted him with light that poured in from a line of windows overlooking the smooth, grey waters of the Ocracoke Inlet.

Jane moved past the view with barely a glance. Tucker came to a halt, his attention drawn to a Coast Guard cutter passing through the channel.

“So, you’re from Ohio, huh?” Jane asked as she pulled glasses from her cupboard and filled them with ice and tea.

He pulled himself away from the window sat at the table. “Yes, ma’am. From a little town on the Great Lakes.”

“I’ve never been any farther north than Roanoke. How do the lakes compare to our ocean?”

Tucker thought a minute. “The lakes are more like small models of the real thing.”

“I see,” she said, handing him his drink before sitting cross-legged across from him. “It sounds like you’ve caught the ocean bug. It happens to some. Salt water has a primordial lure, much like returning to the womb.”

Tucker scratched at his ear. He had zero interest in returning to the womb, but he did like it here. He said politely, “It is pretty here.”

“Oh, I love it. I’ve no desire to even look around other places. Ocracoke has history, beauty, nature, and crazy-assed people galore. Have you been to Springer’s Point? Seen the grave of Sam Jones and his horse? That looney buzzard loved the beast so much, he had it buried in the family plot.”

Tucker shook his head. “No, I just got here today.”

“Did you really come all this way to find out about Mad Mags?”

“I was mostly looking for a change of scenery, and found the story of Mags intriguing. Especially since she seems to be linked to a mystery in my own family. You see, I have a sister who ran away, years ago, and the only clue she left behind was this note.” Tucker pulled the note from the file folder and handed it to her. Jane pulled a set of glasses from on top of her head and looked the note over.

“Hmm. She did capitalize both M’s. I suppose that could mean our Mags.”

“It’s the only connection I can make. Her mother swears she knows no one named Mags and doesn’t have a clue what the note means. I found the ghost story on the net, so I thought I’d check it out.”

“I’m surprised you found anything on her at all. Blackbeard gets all the press. Even ghosts suffer from gender bias. But trust me, Mags’s story is just as bloody and sexy as that beastly villain with the midnight hair.”

“Ella said it was like most lady in white stories?”

“Pah. What does Ella know? Bait and propane are her specialties.”

“I’m sure she meant no—“

Jane ignored him with an eye roll and a hand in the air. “Ella fails to see because of her own practicality. I take no
real
offense, though Mags
is
special. She’s hardly
just
a ghost story. In life, Mad Mags was Margaret Eaton. A beautiful young girl, with a countenance so lovely, she drew suitors like stars to the moon. Men swooned on sight. Can you imagine?”

Josie popped into his head, and Tucker couldn’t stop the heat that moved up his neck. Yesterday, the idea of falling for a girl based on a look would have sounded insane, but not today. Though, it wasn’t simply a pretty face that compelled him. There was something in Josie’s eyes…her smile…he couldn’t quite put a finger on it, but when she looked at him, he recognized a sensitivity, an understanding…

“Hello? I’m taking that far-off look as agreement that you can imagine a face that could launch a thousand ships, so to speak?”

Tucker squirmed in his chair and cleared his throat. “Yeah, I guess I can imagine that.”

“Good. Well, that face was young Margaret’s gift and her curse.”

Settling into his seat, Tucker reached for his iced tea, cleared his mind of the girl next door, and listened.

“Margaret Eaton was originally from a port town in Maine.  She was smart and talented, with a big heart and a spirit that just seemed to glow from within. I’m sure poor Mags thought she’d live a happily-ever-after. I mean, she could pick a rich man, or a sweet man. They were hers for the asking.”

Jane’s voice went from excited to hushed. She leaned closer to Tucker, placing a cool hand on his warm arm. “But sadly, she caught the attention of a much older ship captain. And when I say older, I mean older by decades. Mags was probably fifteen and he was over fifty. I’m sure to a girl that age, he just seemed ancient. So, the captain asked for her hand, but Mags’s father was quick to say no. He sent the sea captain on his way. Now, most men would have sailed away, broken-hearted. But not the captain. He was an arrogant lout. Probably a bastard child of a pirate, or in the very least, one aligned with their take-what-they-want thinking. He wanted the girl, so he snuck into her room in the middle of the night, and he stole her.”

“He kidnapped her?”

Jane nodded. “Yes, he did. Dragged her onboard his ship and sailed back to Ocracoke. He told everyone she was his wife…that she was a little crazy…and they accepted it.”

“She didn’t tell anyone she was kidnapped? Get help from someone?”

“Nope. From what I hear, she didn’t exactly make friends with the islanders. Personally? I think the girl was too ashamed.  And who knows, even if she had asked for help, who would have gone against Captain Howard? He was a very prominent man in the Ocracoke Village. If you haven’t noticed how many things are named after the Howard family on this island, well, you haven’t been reading anything. If Captain Howard said the girl was his wife, the girl was his wife.”

“That’s awful. How could they—“

“Oh, now, imagine it from an 1800’s perspective. This island was barely settled. It was a wild spot that harbored pirates and miscreants galore. And by the time Mags made it to the island, she was acting more than a little off. I suppose the isolated voyage, the homesickness, and probably the revulsion of being
married
to a man against her will, drove the girl crazy. Folks say she chopped off her toe with a meat clever and branded her own forehead with a hot iron. And then, there’s the story of her cooking her new husband his beloved cat for dinner.”

“That definitely qualifies as crazy.”

“It sure does. And every year, she got a little crazier and crazier. As an old woman, she wore a long white dress and wandered the sandy lanes of the town, often ending up in the graveyard where she would stand for hours.”

“Did she ever make it back to Maine? Maybe after the captain died?”

Jane shook her head. “No. She died here, but never moved on. She wanders some nights. You might mistake her ghost for a bit of fog, but if you look closely, it’s shaped like a woman. And you can hear her shells tinkling. That’s when you know Mags is visiting you.”

“What’s up with the shells?”

Jane shrugged. “A lot of people made necklaces out of them, stringing together pretty things they found along the beach. Perhaps she just wanted some beauty in her life.”

“If I wanted to find this ghost, where would I look?”

“Paddy’s Holler. You said you’re staying at Murray’s?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Why, that’s smack dab in the middle of Paddy’s Holler. As a matter of fact, at the end of Murray’s Lane, is Mags’s favorite graveyard, as of late.”

“Of late?”

Jane nodded. “She’s been seen all over Paddy’s Holler, and there are more graveyards on this island than there are tourist stops, so she has plenty to visit. But for the last couple of years, she’s mostly been spotted near that graveyard.”

Tucker rubbed his head. None of this helped a damn bit. He was beginning to question whether or not the letter meant anything. If Mad Mags was supposed to help him find Maddy, he didn’t know how.

“Well, ma’am, I appreciate the information. It’s been real interesting.”

“I hope it’s been at least a little helpful. I mean if a runaway was hiding here, I suppose it’d be easy enough to go unnoticed during the in season. But during the off season, it’s pretty quiet here. Hardly anything goes unnoticed by folks.”

“And you’ve not noticed any northern girls in their early twenties hiding out here?”

Jane laughed. “No. No, I can’t say that I have. Murray’s niece, Josie, and a Korean girl named Susan are the only ones who are recent additions to our permanent young population in the last few years.”

Tucker left with an uneasy feeling. Josie did fit the bill perfectly. She arrived at the right time, and he couldn’t help but admit, she looked a bit like Maddy. No, Murray promised. Hell, he practically approved of him showing an interest in his niece. If there was even the slightest chance—no, it was a coincidence. Josie was Murray Banks’s niece.

Thanking the woman, he left. Back at his cottage, he looked through his clippings, focusing on the newspaper picture of the two girls. 

Comparing them side by side, he could see why Gloria said Ariel Stone and Maddy could pass for twins. They both had similar features, though Ariel had lighter hair and was a little heavier than Maddy. It was tough to tell them apart, especially in a newspaper photo, heavily shadowed and pixilated. Tossing the pictures on the table, he wondered what Maddy expected someone to find here. If anything. Why did she send that note?

Tucker didn’t know.  But then a thought occurred to him—what if she wasn’t leading him to a place? What if she wanted to let someone know what was happening to her?

If Stone was abusing his own stepdaughter, what would’ve stopped him from doing the same to Maddy? What if he had kidnapped her?

Tucker sat up straighter. He read through the clippings trying to make out a timeline. The night Maddy disappeared, Ariel attempted suicide. That was two weeks before Ariel was murdered. The letter arrived a week after Ariel’s death. That would also have been a week after Stone was arrested.

If Maddy had been kidnapped, what the hell could he do to help her? He didn’t know anything about law enforcement. Where the hell would he start?

David Santos.

Aside from Ash, Santos was the best friend Tucker ever had, and he left the service for a job as a sheriff’s deputy.

Santos answered on the first ring. “If it isn’t my favorite cracker.”

“Cracker?” Tucker laughed. “What the hell?”

“I’m living in the deep south now. I’m trying to pick up the lingo.”

“Racist prick. Someone will grab your fajita-eating ass and use you as a piñata.”

“Fajita eater? Did you get your smack talk from a Taco Bell packet, or what?”

Tucker laughed. It felt good. He hadn’t laughed in months. “Where you at now?”

“Alabama. Got a transfer from Galveston to Birmingham.”

“Wasn’t hot enough for you in Texas?”

“You could say that. No, it was part personal, part better career move. Here, I get to be full-fledged detective.”

“I see there’s no damned standards what-so-ever in Alabama.”

“Ha ha. Well, screw you. What are you into, lately?”

“That’s actually why I called.” Tucker squeezed his eyes closed as he imagined how stupid this was going to sound. “You near a computer?”

“Yeah, always.”

“Still haven’t beaten that porn addiction?”

“Hey, why fight it? It’s not a problem until I get carpal tunnel.”

“You’re such a freak. Look up Ariel Stone. A-R-I-E-L Stone, like the rock.”

“Okay.” Tucker could hear keys clicking. “Murdered girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn shame. What the hell’s wrong with these sick bastards? I’d like to say this shit hardly ever happens, but it happens way too often. Here’s a video clip. Have you watched it?”

“No, I don’t have any net access. I have to use my cell data, so I’ve been keeping it to email and websites.”

Santos clicked and Tucker could hear a woman talking. She had a silky-sexy voice that sounded like a porn star trying her hand at drama. “Who is that?” Tucker asked.