Writing All Wrongs (7 page)

In the lodge’s main dining room, Millay and Laurel waved them over to a table with a view of the veranda and, beyond that, the blue smudge of the ocean.

Olivia was admiring the room’s autumnal decorations—pumpkin centerpieces filled with saffron-colored chrysanthemums and branches of bittersweet—when she saw a familiar face. Seated at the table on the raised dais, where Silas Black had adopted a lord-of-the-manor posture, was Charles Wade.

“What’s
he
doing here?” Olivia asked aloud.

The Bayside Book Writers followed Olivia’s gaze and were all just as surprised to see the man with Olivia’s sea-blue eyes.
At sixty-seven, Charles cut a handsome figure, and the waitresses seemed as intrigued by him as they were Silas Black. With Leigh Whitlow glaring at every pretty woman in the room, it was safer for the servers to flirt with Charles.

As Olivia took her seat, she continued to stare at Charles. Though he was her biological father, she didn’t think of him in that way. His twin brother, Willie, had raised her, and she hadn’t known Charles until recently. Now he was living in Oyster Bay. He’d acquired Through the Wardrobe, the town’s only bookstore, and was doing his best to revive the foundering business while also trying to create a relationship with Olivia.

“Why aren’t you marching over to his table?” Millay asked.

Olivia frowned. “I’m not sure I want to know what he’s up to. I’ll find out after the event. Besides, I’m starving.”

As the diners were served bowls of roasted butternut squash soup, the woman who’d managed Emmett Billinger’s presentation stepped up to the lectern to the right of Silas’s table and switched on a cordless microphone.

“Welcome, everyone. Welcome to one of the highlights of the Coastal Carolina Festival. I’m Marjorie Tucker, head librarian, and I’d love to thank everyone who came out to hear Professor Billinger’s fascinating talk on haunted landmarks. Before we get to our program, I’d like to remind you of the afternoon activities. Immediately following our lunch, there will be an extended question-and-answer session with Mr. Black. At five, be at the marina for the Arrival of the Pirates. Finally, we invite you to listen to ghost stories around the bonfire at eight o’clock this evening. Several guests, including our island’s oldest resident, Mr. George Allen, will be sharing spine-tingling tales. As noted in your programs, this will take place on the back veranda. Feel free to bring marshmallows for roasting.”

“Sweet!” Harris whispered and pumped his fist.

Marjorie paused, quickly scanned the room, and then reluctantly continued. “Most of you have probably heard about the unfortunate actions committed by a certain group of people. I must remind everyone that the sale of the Allen’s Creek land has nothing to do with our festival. I also hope that you’ll be reassured by the knowledge that the Riverport Police Department will be patrolling the island for the remainder of the weekend. If you have any concerns, please speak with Officer Peterson after our meal.” She gestured to the back of the room, where Peterson stood, straight-backed and stern, by a plant stand bearing a jack-o’-lantern.

“To return to more pleasant subjects, don’t forget our annual golf cart decorating contest and parade occurs tomorrow. The grand-prize winner will appear in a forthcoming episode of
No Quarter
! Other wonderful prizes—including a basket of novels signed by North Carolina authors like Greg Iles, Lee Smith, Sherryl Woods, and Kathy Reichs, as well as gift certificates to area businesses—will be awarded for specific categories as denoted in your festival program.”

Harris squirmed in his chair. “I have to win. I want to be on
No Quarter
. How could Emily resist me as a pirate?”

Millay smirked. “Not every woman fantasizes about peg-legged men with too much facial hair, noxious body odor, and poor grammar.”

“Isn’t that an accurate description of your last boyfriend?” Harris teased, and Millay kicked him under the table.

“Behave yourselves,” Laurel scolded. “If I wanted to listen to squabbling children, I would have stayed home.”

The soup bowls were cleared and the salads were served. During this time, Marjorie asked George Allen to stand. After briefly introducing George, she surrendered the microphone to Vernon Sherrill, the museum curator. He provided narration for the slide show, which was called
George Allen’s Island
.

The Allens were the only family whose founding father had rowed over from the mainland for a job and had never
left. George’s father had fallen in love with the place, and after he’d put down roots, so had George. Then Boyd. None of them had ever left. Sadly, the landmarks these men had devoted their lives to were gone. George’s father had been captain of the Cape Fear Lifesaving Station. George had kept the beacon of the Cape Fear Lighthouse burning. Boyd had worked at the lumber mill until it closed and then served as a channel pilot, shuttling people from the island to Riverport until the ferry made his job superfluous. The lifesaving station, lighthouse, and lumber mill were gone. Pricey vacation homes had been erected in their places.

Olivia’s heart ached for George and Boyd Allen. As both men watched the images flash on the screen, grief darkened their eyes and pinched the corners of their mouths. Olivia realized that the slideshow wasn’t a pleasant trip down memory lane for either of them. It was a scrapbook of loss.

To us, they’re just images of buildings, but to the Allens, they’re the shades of lives they used to live. A past they can never reclaim.

The main course, apple-glazed pork tenderloin with mustard greens and wild rice risotto, was served moments before the slide show came to an end. When the final image disappeared, Marjorie asked George to say a few words.

As he rose unsteadily to his feet, Olivia winced at the sight of his bruise. However, she was even more concerned about Boyd. The younger Allen’s face had a sickly gray cast, and he was leaning against the table as though he might fall forward into his food.

“I haven’t lived a very exciting life,” George began, “but I’d like to think that I gave my best to my Creator, this island, and my family.” He locked eyes with his son, and the loving look exchanged between the two men was so powerful that many audience members were moved to tears. “What we have left, in the end, is our own story. It’s important to tell it while there’s still time. And remember, you don’t always
have to leave your mark on a place. Sometimes, leaving no footprint is the wisest choice. I thank you for this honor.”

For a storyteller, this was a remarkably short speech. While the audience clapped politely, George returned the microphone to Marjorie and eased his body back into his seat. He put a hand on Boyd’s shoulder, and Boyd smiled weakly at his father.

As the applause faded, Olivia glanced at her friends. “George really believes in that message. When Emmett was young, George told him that the island fights back whenever someone tries to leave too deep a footprint.”

“I guess that’s his way of speaking out against the housing development,” Laurel said.

“Or against change in general,” Millay said. “It has to be hard for him. All the places he remembers are gone. I feel sorry for his son too. When George dies, Boyd will be totally alone.”

Harris pushed his plate away. “That whole slide show was a downer. I hope Silas can pump some life back into this event. I’m itching to catch a ferry to the mainland so I can buy supplies for my golf cart.”

It didn’t take long for Silas Black to reverse the dour atmosphere. He was a humorous and engaging speaker. Olivia found this version of Silas far more likable than the man she’d invited back to her rental house. She was also surprised to learn that Silas had grown up in Ocean Isle Beach, which was less than an hour away from Palmetto Island.

“My folks ran a souvenir shop,” he said. “I didn’t mind selling Jolly Roger T-shirts or pirates carved from coconuts, but what I really wanted was to bring the stories of these men—mercenaries, rogues, pirates—to life. I wanted to write about men who could not only navigate these unpredictable and lethal waters, but had the skill to capture
other
vessels in these treacherous settings.”

Silas stepped away from the podium, his eyes glimmering as he warmed to his subject. “Imagine the thrill of this
hunt! The ship heaving in the swells. The shouting and scurrying on deck. The boom of cannon fire and the crack of splintered wood. These men didn’t waste their lives talking on cell phones. They ventured upon the wild waters and took life by the throat.” He closed his fist around empty air. “Can any of us claim such a feat?”

“This is why
No Quarter
is so good,” Harris whispered to Olivia. “Black’s passion comes through in every episode. You should watch it.”

Silas went on to talk about his books and dropped a hint that a ghost of a famous pirate would appear in the next novel. He concluded by giving advice to aspiring writers.

“People say write what you know, but I say write about what makes your blood race. Write about that, and your words will become sails filled with a strong wind. Thank you.”

The crowd rewarded Silas with boisterous applause, and then Marjorie thanked him again and turned off the microphone. The luncheon was officially over.

Silas and his entourage were the first to leave the dining room. Charles Wade stayed where he was, his head bent over the wine list.

“I’m headed to the Q&A,” Millay said. “Anyone else?”

“I think we’re all going.” Rawlings turned to Olivia. “Unless you’d like me to wait here with you?”

Olivia shook her head. “I’d like to speak with Charles.”

When she reached the table on the raised dais, Charles Wade was sniffing the contents of his wineglass. Seeing Olivia, he smiled and got to his feet. After pulling out a chair for her, he gestured at the bottle of pinot bianco. “Would you like a glass?”

“I’d rather know what you’re doing here,” Olivia said, ignoring the chair.

“Nothing nefarious.” Charles patted the chair cushion. “Take a load off, and I’ll tell you how Silas and I were bosom buddies back in college.”

Olivia complied but regarded Charles warily. Though she’d enjoyed working on the bookstore renovations with him, there was still so much about Charles Wade that she didn’t know. And she didn’t completely trust him. Not yet. He’d built a successful career and amassed a fortune by buying companies, splitting them apart, and selling the pieces. Olivia didn’t want anything in Oyster Bay to be split into pieces.

“Silas and I were similar in many ways,” Charles said. “We were both from small coastal towns. We both had loans and partial scholarships, and we worked in the cafeteria to cover the cost of our room and board. Those four years were the best of my life. Because Silas and I loved all things related to media, we decided to major in communications. After school, I moved to Raleigh to work for a local television station, while Silas landed a job as reporter. We’ve kept in touch through the years, so when I heard he was headlining this festival, I gave him a call.”

Olivia wanted to believe Charles, but a niggling feeling wouldn’t let her accept his words at face value. “Through the Wardrobe’s grand reopening is next weekend. I’m surprised that you left the bookstore at this crucial juncture.”

Charles laughed. “You’ve seen through me, which is why you’re such a good businesswoman. I do have an ulterior motive, and it’s this: I thought I’d spend some quality time with my old friend before he did me a big favor. That’s primarily why I’m here.”

Ignoring the latter remark, which was both cryptic and puzzling, Olivia studied Charles’s face. “What favor?”

“You said it yourself. Our reopening and Millay’s book launch is next weekend. What could draw a huge crowd better than a famous North Carolina author and television producer?” Charles grinned. “That’s right. After this festival is over, Silas Black is coming to Oyster Bay.” He raised his glass. “Millay’s release party will be the most unforgettable event in the town’s history. Mark my words.”

When your heart is broken, your boats are burned.

—G
EORGE
B
ERNARD
S
HAW

O
livia was annoyed with Charles for having made plans for the bookstore’s grand reopening behind her back. She knew Silas Black would draw a large crowd and that his presence would garner tons of media attention, but she didn’t like surprises. She preferred to be made aware of every aspect of her businesses and investments.

However, she wasn’t about to let Charles see that he’d gotten under her skin, so she politely told him that they could discuss the subject in great length some other time.

Feeling out of sorts, she decided to skip the Q&A session. Instead, she drove to the Marina Market. In the privacy of the manager’s cluttered office, Olivia arranged for items such as bread, milk, eggs, cheese, lunch meat, and frozen vegetables to be delivered to the Allens’ cottage on a monthly basis.

“I wish to remain anonymous,” Olivia instructed the manager as she added her signature to an order form. She placed a business card on his desk. “You can reach me at
this number. Please don’t hesitate to call if you think the Allens need additional supplies.”

The manager, a gaunt man with deep-set eyes and the gruff voice of a chain-smoker, stared at Olivia’s check.

“Is that enough to cover several months’ worth of orders?” Olivia asked, confused by the manager’s apparent hesitation.

“More than enough. And you can trust that I’ll make your money stretch as far as it can go,” the manager assured her. “I just have to figure out what to tell the Allens when I drop the stuff off. They’re not keen on charity. They’re not too fond of folks poppin’ by either. We all live on the other side of the river, so the Allens don’t consider us neighbors. Used to be that George would tell stories at the library, but he only does that once in a blue moon now. I guess a man gets tired of talkin’ after so many years.”

Olivia considered the problem of getting the Allens to accept the supplies. “Just leave the box on their doorstep with a note saying that it’s a gift for the island’s oldest resident,” she said. “The Allen men are both proud of George’s resilience.” She paused, recalling how her visit with the Allens had ended. “One more thing. I know it’s none of my business, but is Boyd unwell?”

The manager shrugged. “I couldn’t say, ma’am. Boyd spends most of his time fishin’ and carin’ for his daddy. He buys things from my store, but he doesn’t talk much.” Tucking Olivia’s check and business card into the corner of his desk blotter, the manager tented his fingers. “I don’t mean to pry, but why are you doin’ this, ma’am?”

“I knew a man like George Allen when I was a girl. He told me stories and kept me company when I was lonely,” Olivia said. “I moved away and never had the chance to repay him for his kindness. I want to help the Allens in his name.”

“Don’t you worry, ma’am. I’ll make sure they’re taken care of,” the manager said, apparently satisfied by her explanation.

Olivia left the market in a much better mood and drove back to Lifesaver to walk Haviland. Afterward, she loaded two folding chairs into the golf cart and then gestured for her poodle to hop aboard. “Time to meet the rest of the gang, Captain. We can’t be late for the arrival of the pirates. Rawlings probably used crime scene tape to stake out places for us on the dock.”

The thought of Rawlings waiting for the first glimpse of a schooner and its black flag made Olivia smile. For the moment, she forgot about the violence from that morning—the tension between Leigh and Amy, Amy’s disconcerting connection to Emmett, and the appearance of Charles Wade. Olivia had come to Palmetto Island to make new memories, and the look of wonder on Rawlings’s face as the pirates landed was certain to be memorable.

*   *   *

As it turned out, Rawlings had commandeered a large portion of the dock for the Bayside Book Writers. He’d spread two picnic blankets over the rough wood and had adopted the stiff and vigilant posture of a secret service agent. Harris had helped claim the area by stretching his long, lean body across one of the blankets. With his sunglasses on, it was hard to tell if he was awake or had been lulled to sleep by the warmth of the afternoon sun. Either way, Haviland decided to emulate Harris. He stretched out beside Harris and laid his head on his paws.

“I bought refreshments,” Rawlings said, coming forward to relieve Olivia of a chair. “Nothing Michel would approve of, but I couldn’t resist buying a jar of spiced rum. Check out the pewter mugs.” He pointed at a group of five mugs on the picnic blanket. “We get discounts on drinks with these.”

Olivia examined the label hanging from the jug of spiced rum. “How to make spiced rum. Place rum, allspice, cloves, cardamom, star anise, cinnamon, nutmeg, orange peel, and one
vanilla bean—split lengthwise—in a jar and store in a dark place for 2 days. Strain rum using cheesecloth. Pour and enjoy.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harris said, sitting up.

Olivia uncorked the jar, inhaled the pleasant aroma of the spiced rum, and filled a cup for Harris. “Where are Laurel and Millay?”

“Hopefully, on that ferry.” Harris waved at the incoming vessel. “They decided to participate in the golf cart parade too, and while I did most of my shopping in the hardware store—and don’t ask me what I bought, because that’s classified—they wanted to visit, like, a billion stores.”

“If they miss the pirates, they’ll be sorry.” Rawlings glanced at his watch.

Rawlings needn’t have worried. The ferry docked, disgorged several hundred passengers, including Laurel and Millay, and shut off its engines. Clearly, no one was leaving the island by ferry anytime soon.

Laurel and Millay dropped a handful of shopping bags at the edge of the picnic blanket and gratefully accepted mugs of spiced rum from Rawlings.

“I’m parched!” Laurel declared happily and took a swallow. “Whoa, this stuff has a big kick.”

“Better go easy, Mama Bear,” Millay teased. “After the pirates entertain us with a few choreographed swordfights and a bunch of lame jokes told in super-bad accents, we’ll have a huge barbecue feast. Then, we can finally look forward to the best part of today’s events: ghost stories around the bonfire.”

Olivia smiled at her friend. Millay was too cool to admit that she was as excited about the arrival of the pirates as Rawlings. “What did you think of the Q&A session? Did you get anything out of it?”

Millay nodded. “Yeah. In fact, Silas gave me a bunch of ideas to promote the next book. It’s too late in the game for
The Gryphon Rider
, but what he told me was really useful.
Here’s the weirdest part. He also said that he’d be at my inaugural signing.” She shrugged. “The guy must have had too much wine at lunch.”

“He’s probably referring to your Through the Wardrobe launch party,” Olivia said. “It looks like you’ll be sharing the limelight with Silas Black.”

Harris’s mug froze halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“Apparently, Charles and Silas were college buddies,” Olivia explained. “Charles has somehow convinced Silas to appear at the bookstore’s grand reopening.”

“But he’ll steal Millay’s thunder,” Laurel protested. “This is supposed to be
her
big debut!
Her
moment in the sun.”

Millay held out her hand. “Hold on to your idioms, lady. This is good news. Do you know how many more people will come to Oyster Bay, and thus
see
my book, because Black will be there?” She smiled. “This is actually pretty freaking awesome.”

“I guess . . .” Laurel trailed off, her attention diverted by the sight of a tall ship on the horizon.

Rawlings sucked in his breath. His face glowed with wonder, and he suddenly seemed decades younger. “She’s magnificent,” he murmured, and Olivia had to agree.

Under full sail, the tall ship entered the channel leading to the harbor with incredible grace. From its mermaid figurehead to its stern, the frigate was easily one hundred and eight feet long. Its three masts were festooned with billowing linen-colored sails, and the Jolly Roger flapped proudly from the tallest mast. A pirate standing a hundred feet from the deck, his feet planted on the main crosstrees, raised his sword and released a wild howl.

This must have been a signal for the band at the end of the dock to strike up a tune and the jaunty strains of a sea shanty burst across the water. The crowd cheered and a dozen couples began to dance.

When the ship reached the middle of the harbor, the
spectators were treated to the loud report of cannon fire. Colored smoke billowed from the portholes and flares erupted in the sky above the pirate flag. Haviland, who disliked loud noises of any kind, pressed his head against Olivia’s leg, and she soothed him until the brief display ended.

Now that the ship was closing in on the marina, the people lining the docks whooped and hollered. Groups of small children raced about, jabbing at one another with plastic cutlasses. The children wore eye patches and red bandanas, and several had even affixed fake parrots to their shoulders.

“My boys would love this,” Laurel said. “I’ll have to bring them next year.”

There was so much commotion on the dock that Olivia was tempted to back away from the edge, but something off the starboard side of the tall ship’s bow caught her eye. A small craft, which looked as insubstantial as one of the dugout canoes she’d seen in the museum, was headed for the frigate.

Rawlings had spotted the smaller boat too.

“A dinghy,” he murmured as if to himself.

The afternoon sun was waning, and the luxury motorboats and big yachts moored in the harbor cast shadows across the darkening water.

“It’s unmanned,” Olivia said, pointing.

Suddenly, the little craft began to glow. It looked as though it was filled with gold. Within seconds, the golden light expanded. It became a bright spot on the water, and Olivia couldn’t look away. As she and Rawlings squinted intently, fingers of flame clawed at the air, and the sides of the boat turned black as the fire chewed through the wood.

By now, other spectators were pointing at the boat and shaking their heads in confusion.

“It’s headed right for the tall ship,” Rawlings said. A deep crease appeared between his brows. “I don’t think this is part of the show.”

Harris stood on his tiptoes. He had one hand on
Haviland’s head and had raised the other to shield his eyes against the glare of the waning sun. “That dinghy is about to get crushed. There’s no way the bigger ship can turn aside in time. It’s hemmed in on both sides by moored boats.”

The shouting on board the tall ship changed. Gone were the lively bellows of the pirates in the rigging. The clipped commands of a captain directing his crew reached the ears of those watching in silent fascination. But the sailors’ efforts were in vain. The bow of the tall ship split the flaming dinghy with a loud crack of splintering wood. The ruined boat sank within seconds, leaving behind plumes of smoke and a few pieces of flotsam.

“What the hell?” Millay glanced around. “There was a motor attached to the back of the boat that just sank, and I think the tiller was tied so that it would stay on course. Was someone trying to blow up the tall ship?”

Rawlings squinted in the direction from which the small craft had come. “Damn it. I can’t see that far. I wish I had binoculars.”

“There’s nothing to see,” Laurel said. “A bunch of moored sailboats. No one’s moving around on the decks either.”

“That boat had to have come from somewhere,” Olivia said. “What we saw was a deliberate action.”

The five friends silently watched the tall ship ease into the second ferry berth. One of the pirates leapt onto the dock, brandishing a pistol and sneering with feigned malice, and secured the bowline to a cleat.

A second pirate tied the stern line while four crew members pushed a wooden boarding ramp over the frigate’s side. It hit the dock with a thud, and the pirates streamed off the boat. Several women appeared from behind the vendor booths dressed in laced bodices and full skirts. The pirates paired off with the women, and within moments, the couples were dancing down the dock, encouraging members of the crowd to join in.

Soon, the entire marina reverberated with the sounds of music and merriment.

“Would you care for a dance?” A swarthy pirate in a red waistcoat performed a rakish bow and then extended his hand to Millay. “You’re the prettiest wench I’ve seen since we left Barbados.”

“Thanks for the tempting offer, but this wench is going to sink her teeth into some barbecued ribs.” Millay gave the pirate a dismissive smile and then turned to Harris. “Are you ready to get your pig on? This music is making my head hurt.”

Harris looked surprised. “Seriously? How can a fiddle and fife give you a headache when you listen to punk rock to relax?”

“I just want to step away from everything for a few minutes,” Millay said. “I feel like we’ve seen some weird crap since we got here, and I want to take a break to process it.”

Olivia couldn’t have agreed more.

“But what about the sword fights?” Harris protested. “I heard one of the reenactors had too much rum last year and forgot his choreography. He attacked when he was supposed to feint and nearly skewered his opponent. Ended up nicking the other guy in the side. This place”—he waved with his free arm, encompassing the whole island—“is so unpredictable. To use book talk, it acts more like a character than a setting. It has its own personality.”