“Sure. Come in my office.” I glanced at the four people left in the lobby. “We’ll just be a minute.”

Once the door closed behind us, Tim said, “The chief wanted me to remind you about the ribbon cutting tomorrow at the new restaurant across the street. It’s at ten thirty.”

“I know. I have it on my calendar. You brought me in here to remind me about the ribbon cutting?”

He looked down at the floor. “They talked to Miss Mildred today. I heard her crying from out in the hall. She’s losing it, Dae. They’re going to put her away. I don’t think there’s anything any of us can do.”

I put my hand on his arm. “I guess we’ll do the best we can. Thanks for telling me.”

We went back into the lobby where Shayla had convinced Nancy to join us for what had become lasagna and a seance at the Blue Whale. Nancy handed me my messages as she put on her bright yellow rain gear. It didn’t take much to convince Tim that he should come along. Within moments, we were back out in the rain and headed for the Blue Whale.

After the short, wet walk to the ocean side of Duck, we all worked together in the big hotel kitchen. Kevin put Tim and me in front of a table-sized wooden chopping block with instructions to cut vegetables. Nancy and Trudy grated fresh cheese while Kevin and Shayla made the sauce. The sauce making seemed to be more fun than the jobs the rest of us were doing. Shayla kept laughing and saying, “Oh, Kevin! You’re crazy!”

“I hope he remembers that Shayla is my girlfriend,” Tim growled as he chopped carrots.

“If she remembers, you won’t have any problem,” I advised him.

Kevin uncorked a couple of bottles of muscadine wine and told us all about the Mother Vine in Manteo that he visited when he first came to the Outer Banks. “Did you know it’s been there for four hundred years?”

“We’ve lived here all our lives,” Tim told him. “I think we know about the Mother Vine.”

“I haven’t lived here all my life,” Shayla said. “Tell me about the Mother Vine.”

Kevin turned on some late-eighties rock music and poured us all some of the sweet red wine. He talked about the early settlers and growing grapes as though he’d memorized the information from a tour. Nancy and Trudy giggled as they grated. Tim kept setting up pieces of Boston bibb lettuce and chopping them into shreds.

The lasagna noodles were finally in the pan with the appropriate sauce, cheese and vegetables. The kitchen smelled like garlic and herbs. I looked around the room, which was almost as big as the whole downstairs of my house. I could see where Kevin had done renovations to the walls and added a new stove and dishwasher. The room seemed ready for customers, if the Blue Whale ever opened. No telling how long it might be before the SBI was done looking at it. Gramps and I probably added to that by turning over the music box.

“It will be an hour until that’s done,” Kevin said. “What about this seance thing while we’re waiting?”

“I think we could manage that.” Shayla smiled up at him. She handed him her empty wineglass. “I could use a refill. Being a medium is thirsty work.”

Kevin obliged and topped off our glasses too. “This way to the dining room.”

The dining room was ready for visitors as well. It was beautiful with big rosewood tables, two large crystal chandeliers and green velvet drapes adorning the big windows that overlooked the beach. Plenty of local artwork hung on the walls, giving the room a nice, homey feel. Maybe that was because I knew some of the artists personally.

We picked out one of the big round tables, lit a tea candle in the middle of it and sat down. The room seemed very large and empty once we were all in our places. I had expected something different from Kevin. I’m not sure why. He was obviously very traditional, and this room suited him. If it had been mine, I would probably have painted the walls dark blue and tried to make it look like the bottom of the ocean. That was my nontraditional take on it.

“Okay. Everyone, hold hands,” Shayla whispered, probably trying not to echo in the room. “It’s very important to stay in your seat and not let go of the hands you’re holding.”

“Are you sure we should be doing this?” Trudy’s voice had a small squeak in it. “I mean, what if these people want to be left alone?”

“What are the chances? They were both murdered,” Nancy reminded her. “If someone kills me, I hope someone will have a seance. I’d want to tell who did it.”

I agreed with her. It would be nice to know for sure whether it was possible to contact the dead and ask important questions. Or in my case, to apologize to my mother for being an idiot. But I guess having an argument with me wasn’t enough angst to keep her hanging around. Murder, on the other hand, seemed likely to create ghosts.

“What do we do?” Tim asked. “What if we see something?”

“You let me do everything. Unless you see something. Then you ask questions.” Shayla smiled at Kevin, who sat to the right of her. Tim sat on her left side. Leave it to her to hold hands with both men.

With everything set up, Shayla bowed her head and called on the spirits to come forth. We waited around her with quickened breaths, staring into the darkness of the old dining room.

I wondered how many ghosts could be hanging around the Blue Whale. It had been here forever. There could be some flappers, a few pirates and an innkeeper or two waiting to have a conversation with us.

“Miss Elizabeth Simpson!” Shayla called out the name, and I jumped in surprise. Nancy squeezed my hand as though she understood. “Mister Johnny Simpson! We call on both of you to come out and tell us your secrets.”

I felt a cold draft go through the room. I glanced at Nancy to see if she felt it too, but her eyes were closed. Tim was looking around, squirming a little in his chair. Trudy was staring straight ahead as though she were afraid to look to either side.

Kevin was looking at Shayla when that chilly draft blew out the candle on the table. Trudy made a shrieking noise but didn’t let go of my hand. The room was in complete darkness now. My heart thudded uncomfortably in my chest as I wondered if I would finally see a real spirit.

There was a sound. I couldn’t identify what it was. It was like the wind sighing in the eaves when a storm comes up from the Atlantic. But something about it was unnatural. It was almost like a voice. I couldn’t make out what it was saying, but I felt sure it was someone trying to tell us something.

“Is that it?” Tim asked.

“Shh!” Shayla responded. “Someone is near. You’ll scare them away.”

“Is it Johnny?” Trudy wanted to know. She craned her neck to look around the room.

“You have to be quiet!” Shayla said again. “What’s wrong with you people?”

“I don’t think I see a ghost, but I do smell lasagna that needs to come out of the oven,” Kevin said. “Excuse me.”

When he broke contact with the group, I felt the tension in the room ease away. It was like fog melting in the sun. Or in this case, faith in the face of so many nonbelievers. My chance to see a ghost slid away as everyone started moving back from the table.

An image formed in my mind and I realized I was still holding Nancy’s hand. I could see something important she’d lost. It was a slip of daisy-covered Post-it that had fallen down between her desk and the old file cabinet beside it. She was worried about it. I sensed that the chief had asked her about it that afternoon and she’d lied to him. It was only a little lie. She didn’t have any idea what had happened to the note.

I started to reassure her as we all got up and headed for the kitchen, then I decided against it. As much as I wanted her to feel better, I thought it might be for the best if I didn’t tell her in front of everyone and embarrass her.

“Tim and Dae are in charge of salad,” Kevin announced once we reached the kitchen. “The bowls are in that cabinet. I have the lasagna. Nancy, can you get the bread? Shayla and Trudy, you guys take up the slack. Whatever else we need, you’re in charge.”

No surprise, we decided not to eat in the dining room. The area in the bar was smaller but also less drafty and devoid of strange feelings. All the food was great—I was especially impressed by Kevin’s lasagna. I complimented him on it, and he accepted with a grin. “It’s the only dinner food I know how to make. Breakfast, I have covered. I make the best French toast in the world. I haven’t worked on lunch yet, but I’m thinking I need more than grilled cheese sandwiches.”

“I’m sure you can find someone to work here in the summer,” I told him. “Winter help is a little harder to get. Only people who have been here awhile stay when it gets cold.”

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