Writing All Wrongs (8 page)

“Oyster Bay has a personality too,” Millay said. “But not like this. Palmetto Island has a
Heart of Darkness
vibe. Not all the time. But we’ve caught glimpses of it.”

“That’s what I’ve been feeling too,” Olivia said. “But I don’t like admitting it.”

The friends packed their gear into their golf carts and walked to the huge tent erected behind the Marina Market. After loading their plates with pulled pork, ribs, brisket, succotash, and slaw, they settled down at a table at the back of the tent.

“The incidents are likely someone’s outlandish way of protesting the land sale,” Laurel began the discussion while smearing butter on a piece of corn bread.

“How does killing a rare deer and burning a boat get that point across?” Millay argued. “These are theatrical demonstrations like you might find in an episode of
No Quarter
.”

Harris stared at her. “Are you implying that Silas Black shot a deer in the heart? Why would he do that? His show is already a hit and he’s making beaucoup bucks off the novels and merchandising. If Black didn’t end up with the Allen’s Creek land, I doubt he’d lose much sleep over it.”

“What about Jan Powell? She was so zealous about her cause that I believe she spurred folks into vandalizing Mr. Black’s beach house. However, she didn’t kill that doe,” Rawlings said. “Let’s list the oddities that have occurred over the past two days. First, there was the deer.” He held up a thumb. “Next, it appears that Mr. Black’s house was searched in addition to being trashed.” He added another finger. “Now we have an unmanned burning boat added to the mix. What do these three acts have in common?”

Harris reached over and uncurled the chief’s ring finger. “You have to count the light on the beach too. The strange light that archaeologist, Dirk, told us about. No one knows where it came from, but someone created a beacon and lured Dirk’s crew member to the shoals, causing him to wreck his motorboat.”

Olivia shook her head in frustration. “The events don’t seem linked at all—other than a general theme of destruction. Killing a helpless animal. Invading a man’s home and trashing his belongings. Misdirecting another man on the water in order to sink his boat and cause the loss of his equipment. And finally, threatening the crew on a tall ship by setting fire to a smaller boat.” She looked at Millay. “You’re right about the theatrical element of these acts. This person wants witnesses. But what is his or her message?”

“Go away?” Laurel suggested. “Leave this place or you’ll get an arrow through the chest, or have your belongings damaged, or your boat sunk?”

Rawlings wiped a dollop of barbecue sauce off his chin with a napkin and then stared down at the stain on the white paper. “You might be on to something, Laurel. But
who
needs to leave? And what else will this person do to drive people away? Because I don’t think he or she will stop. My guess is that the violence will escalate until their message is made perfectly clear.”

“We’d better figure this out quickly. It’s only a matter of time before someone is seriously hurt,” Olivia said.

The friends spent another thirty minutes brainstorming, but came no closer to unraveling the reason behind the strange occurrences.

“I need to go back to our rental house,” Harris declared after draining his glass of sweet tea. “I want to work on my golf cart before tonight’s bonfire.”

“I’ll join you,” Millay said. “I’m running a Facebook contest to drum up preorders of
The Gryphon Rider
, and I’d like to interact with my future readers.”

Laurel stacked their dirty dishes and tossed them in a garbage bin. “I should check in with Steve and see how he’s surviving as a single parent.”

Olivia glanced at Rawlings. “Let’s take Haviland back to Lifesaver. He’s not used to waiting for his supper.”

At the mention of his name, Haviland licked his lips and did his best to look particularly hungry.

Muttering something about coddled canines, Rawlings led the way to his golf cart.

“See you at the bonfire!” Laurel called as she drove out of the lot. Millay saluted them from the passenger seat.

Harris followed behind the two women in his own cart. “Don’t forget your sticks! I bought
tons
of marshmallows.”

Laughing, Rawlings waved. He then leaned against the
frame of Olivia’s golf cart and said, “You go first. You’ll just race past me in your eagerness to feed Haviland, disregarding the speed limit signs or any other traffic laws.”

Olivia turned her ignition key and faced Rawlings with a puzzled expression. “Are there traffic laws on this island?”

But Rawlings’s gaze had wandered to the rear of the market, where a man was feverishly scrubbing his hands under a spigot by the shop’s garbage bins.

Unclear as to why the scene had captivated the chief’s interest, Olivia was about to warn him to step away from her cart when she took a longer look at the man. “It’s Emmett,” she whispered.

“I know,” Rawlings said. “He seems very intent on cleaning his hands. I wonder if they smell like gasoline.”

Olivia was about to ask why Rawlings would say such a thing when she saw a red plastic gas container near Emmett’s feet. It was on its side and appeared to be empty, though it was difficult to tell in the waning light.

“The burning boat?” Olivia asked in a very quiet voice. “Could he . . . ?” She shook her head. “No. Why would he do such a thing?”

Rawlings didn’t answer. He stood without moving and observed Emmett Billinger until the professor completed his ablutions, picked up the empty container, and vanished around the corner of the building.

When Rawlings finally met Olivia’s gaze, he didn’t bother to hide the suspicion in his eyes. “He might be your friend, Olivia, but you don’t really know him.”

Though Rawlings spoke the truth, Olivia didn’t want to entertain the idea that Emmett was behind the series of unsettling events.

“I’ll talk to him later tonight,” she told Rawlings. “If he has done these things, I’ll be able to tell.”

“You should only approach him if I’m with you,” the chief answered and retreated, giving Olivia room to drive away.

Olivia headed down the road; glad to be the sole cart beneath the canopy of oak trees. She welcomed the lengthening shadows, for they hid the confusion and unhappiness on her face.

“Nothing on this island is what it seems,” she muttered. “Including the people.”

Those are pearls that were his eyes.

Nothing of him that doth fade,

But doth suffer a sea-change

Into something rich and strange.

Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell.

—F
ROM
W
ILLIAM
S
HAKESPEARE’S
T
HE
T
EMPEST

G
eorge Allen sat in a canvas chair in front of the bonfire wearing the look of an aged ruler who longs to put the heavy crown aside. Boyd was nowhere in sight. It was Marjorie Tucker, the island’s librarian, who fitted George with a headset microphone and tucked a water bottle into the cup holder in the arm of his canvas chair.

Olivia was as eager as the rest of the Bayside Book Writers to hear George’s ghost stories. When he launched into a tale featuring the capture and subsequent hanging of Stede Bonnet and his crew, she was so entranced that she nearly forgot her mission to speak with Emmett.

“The waters of Cape Fear are fickle,” George said, his grizzled voice filling the air. “They can run your enemy aground and split his ships as though they were bits of kindling.” He plucked a twig off the ground, snapped it in half, and tossed it into the fire. “Or the tides can rush in and free his ship from where it’s stuck on a sandbar. That’s what happened to Bonnet. The gentleman pirate never had a
chance. He was outmanned. Outgunned. And he’d lost the luck of the sea.”

Olivia was seated between Rawlings and Harris. Harris was so engrossed that he burned the marshmallow on the end of his stick. As for Rawlings, his gaze was fixed on George Allen’s face, and Olivia guessed that the chief was picturing Stede Bonnet’s capture. She could also imagine the grappling hooks and boarding axes in the raised hands of the conquering crew and hear the shouts of rage and dismay from Bonnet’s men.

Haviland appeared to be listening attentively as well. Sitting tall on his haunches, his ears were lifted and his caramel-colored eyes followed George closely.

“Come on, boy,” Olivia whispered.

Olivia led Haviland into the dunes. The casual observer would assume that Haviland needed a bathroom break, but Olivia knew better than to underestimate Sawyer Rawlings. She needed to move out of Rawlings’s line of sight and quickly locate Emmett.

She found him on the far side of the patio sharing a beach blanket with Caesar and Calpurnia.

“May we join you?” Olivia asked.

“Of course.” Emmett made Caesar scoot to the other side of a picnic basket. Haviland exchanged friendly sniffs and grunts with both greyhounds and then settled down between the pair.

“I don’t have a thing in this basket that could hold a candle to the meal you fed me, but I did bring wine,” Emmett said. “May I offer you a glass?”

Deciding that having a drink with Emmett might help to loosen his tongue, Olivia accepted.

“I respect you too much to dance around a prickly subject,” she said after they’d both taken sips of their wine. “But I overhead Leigh talking with Amy about falsely accusing you of improper advances when you were both at UNC. You
don’t have to tell me what happened, but I’m concerned about you.”

Emmett didn’t reply for a long moment. He stared at the bonfire, his expression revealing nothing. However, his right hand drifted from his lap to the top of Caesar’s head. Olivia recognized the gesture. She’d done it herself hundreds of times. Emmett was calming himself by making contact with one of his beloved greyhounds.

Finally, he turned to face Olivia with a frank and open expression. “Amy Holden was one of my most promising graduate students. She had an incredible capacity for recalling facts and data, but she was also able to look at opposing sides of major historical events and find empathy for all those involved. She had a way of seeing into the past as though it were a living thing.”

“That sounds like someone else I know,” Olivia said.

Emmett smiled. “I saw myself in her as well and perhaps that blinded me to her real reasons for seeking me out after class. I was her advisor, so that explained her persistence at first. But eventually, even this clueless academic began to realize that Amy wanted more from our relationship than was proper.”

“She’s very pretty,” Olivia said. “Many men would have been flattered.”

Emmett’s gaze slid to the fire again. “My students are kids in my eyes, so I didn’t take her seriously. That was foolish. I should have addressed her feelings directly, but I figured it was just a crush and she’d get over it. I ignored her flirtatious body language and accidental touches, striving to maintain an air of professionalism. I think my insistence on decorum made her angry. One night, Amy saw me having a late-night dinner with a female colleague, and she was obviously furious. The next day, she went to the dean of students and filed a complaint saying that I’d made sexual advances toward her and that she’d complied in exchange for high marks in my class.”

Olivia felt a surge of hostility toward Amy. “That’s terrible!”

Emmett nodded. “I went through hell. I was subjected to countless interviews. My professional reputation was spotless, but Amy was very convincing. Not only that, but my being a lifelong bachelor worked against me. I went from being the unattached man who’d never found the right lady to a lecherous womanizer in the blink of an eye.”

“Amy said that she recanted. And apologized,” Olivia said. “Not that an apology can restore a tarnished reputation . . .”

Emmett released a long sigh. “She did recant, but things weren’t the same for me afterward. There was a distance between my colleagues and myself. They were cordial, yet aloof. I no longer felt comfortable working in the department, so I took a position at UNC-Wilmington. It ended up being a change for the better because I love it there. I have a house overlooking the Intracoastal Waterway, and I bought a little boat.”

“Come on, Emmett. You were forced to start over again while Amy went on to graduate and land a job as Silas Black’s consultant on one of the most popular shows on television.” Olivia reached for the wine bottle and refilled Emmett’s glass. “And now she’s on this island. She attended your talk. It couldn’t have been easy for you to see her again.”

“It wasn’t,” Emmett admitted. “Especially since I thought she’d do something more meaningful with her love of North Carolina history. She only seems vested in helping Black vilify every well-known figure from the Golden Age of Piracy. I hate to think of how they’ll skew the stories of this place.” He glanced up the beach, and his lips tightened.

Olivia wanted to believe everything Emmett had said about his relationship with Amy Holden. He’d certainly sounded sincere, but Olivia had been fooled by a guileless expression and candid tone before.

“Emmett.” She rested her hand lightly on his arm. “Were you at the docks this afternoon? When the pirates arrived?”

Called back to the moment by Olivia’s touch, Emmett blinked. “I was. Quite a sight, wasn’t it? I try to come to the island for this weekend every year. I rent out my house for the high season because the tourists are willing to pay such a handsome price per week, but I like to spend time here when there’s no one else around. The beach during late autumn to early spring is very different. I like being the only person on this whole stretch.” He made a sweeping gesture to incorporate the shoreline.

Olivia caught the note of possessiveness in Emmett’s voice. “I assume this was the first time the pirate ship plowed through a burning dinghy.”

Emmett shook his head in wonder. “That was really strange, wasn’t it? But it didn’t stop the show, and no one seemed too upset, though I expect the dinghy’s owner isn’t happy. His boat’s now just a bunch of torched kindling.” Emmett shrugged, as though the subject wasn’t worth discussion, and pulled a bag of marshmallows from his picnic basket. “I’m ready for dessert. How are your roasting skills?”

Better than my interrogation skills
, Olivia thought ruefully. This was the moment for her to ask Emmett about his fervent handwashing behind the marina market, but she hesitated. And in that space of silence, Emmett stood up and began sliding marshmallows onto a long metal skewer.

“I’ve spent decades perfecting my technique,” Emmett said, grinning down at her. “Let’s get closer to the fire. I have chocolate and graham crackers if you’d care to make a giant s’more.”

He offered her his hand.

“I’d better get back,” she said, ashamed by how easily Emmett disarmed her. He always seemed so sincere and amiable, and she was reluctant to jeopardize their friendship by asking him the one question she needed to ask. And yet she was annoyed with herself for not speaking up. “Maybe I’ll see you and the dogs on the beach tomorrow morning.”

“Maybe,” Emmett said. “I hope you find something special. Something that will make your visit to this place unforgettable.”

With a wave and a smile, Emmett carried his loaded skewer over to the fire.

By the time Olivia returned to her seat, George Allen had finished his story and was taking a minute to rest and drink from his water bottle.

Rawlings turned to Olivia. “What did the professor have to say?”

“I bungled the whole thing,” Olivia confessed. “Instead of asking him directly about what you and I saw at the marina, I raised the subject of Amy Holden.”

Rawlings winced. “You went straight for the jugular, eh? Not quite the trust-building interview technique I’d recommend, but did you learn anything?”

Relieved that Rawlings wasn’t angry with her for sneaking off, she repeated her entire conversation with Emmett.

“I guess the only way to confirm his version of events is to have a chat with Miss Holden,” Rawlings said when she was done.

“Which I’m
not
going to do,” Olivia replied tersely. “First of all, it’s none of my business. Second, what happened in Emmett’s past has nothing to do with a dead deer or a burning boat.” But even as she spoke, Olivia wondered if that were true. Could Emmett be trying to exact revenge on Amy by framing her employer? As Harris pointed out, the theatricality of the incidents had a Hollywood feel. If Silas took the blame, he might pack his bags and move to another location before he started filming the next season of
No Quarter
.

That’s pretty far-fetched
, Olivia thought and settled back in her chair to listen to George Allen’s next story. When he mentioned the Lost Colony, Olivia knew he was about to tell the tale of the white doe. At the story’s end, she scanned
the faces around the bonfire to see if anyone reacted to the manner in which the white deer was killed. Though several people were surprised, no one acted suspicious or looked guilt-ridden.

After George was done, Boyd materialized from inside the lodge to escort his father to a golf cart. The second storyteller, Vernon Sherrill, took George’s seat and began to speak of Blackbeard’s ghost.

The sky darkened.

Olivia ate several warm, sticky, and perfectly toasted marshmallows, and then told Rawlings she was going to walk Haviland by the water’s edge.

Away from the bonfire, the night air was crisp and cold. Olivia folded her arms over her chest and stared out over the inky water.

Suddenly, she felt the weight of a warm blanket around her shoulders.

“I picked this place. I’m the one who decided we should spend our honeymoon here,” Rawlings said from behind her. “I’m not sure if I chose well.”

Olivia leaned back against his chest. “This island has personality. It has depth. And a colorful history. In a way, it’s just like us.” Rawlings slid his arms around her waist. “Besides, you were looking for inspiration for your book, and this place fires the imagination. Did you get any ideas today?”

“I wrote close to five pages of notes after the panel and Q&A session, and I think the festival is just what I needed to fix the problems with my manuscript,” Rawlings said. “Though I have to admit, I enjoyed our time alone more. The last two days have felt . . . crowded. Between our friends, your father, and Professor Billinger, I haven’t had you to myself enough.”

Olivia was more than ready to retreat to Lifesaver. “Come on, then. We can creep away without a word to anyone.”

“And leave our chairs behind?” Rawlings asked in mock horror. “I’ve stored those things in my garage for years in hopes of using them. I finally get the chance and you want me to abandon them?”

Olivia turned, wrapped her arms around Rawlings’s neck, and kissed him.

“Yeah, screw the chairs,” Rawlings whispered.

With Haviland loping along behind, the pair headed away from the fire, letting the brilliant moon and a legion of stars light their way home.

*   *   *

Several hours later, Olivia was roused from sleep by the sound of a clanging bell. It wasn’t loud, but it was persistent. She sat up in bed and saw that Haviland was awake too. The poodle was staring out the window with such intensity that he didn’t hear Olivia approach. When she touched his head, he flinched.

“What is it, Captain?” she whispered.

Haviland whined and continued to gaze down at the beach. He licked his lips and shifted his weight, signs of agitation.