A Timely Vision

“He was a man about town.” I settled back for the trip home. It was hard not to be anxious about finding the power of attorney, but the truck could only go so fast. As Gramps was fond of saying, we’d get there when we got there. “And don’t make it sound like it’s my fault we haven’t painted. You haven’t painted either.”

“But that could change if the rain ever stops. I hope you’re prepared for that.”

“Do you think Bunk killed Johnny, like Max suggested, then skipped town?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me. If so, it turned out to be a good plan. Since it took thirty years for someone to buy the Blue Whale and find Johnny, it seems likely that Bunk, or whoever killed him, will get off without consequences.”

“Or someone else will get the blame.”

“There may still be a way to pin this on Bunk. If they can’t match DNA, they might be able to match fingerprints. It occurs to me that they may be able to get a look at his fingerprints from his military records.”

“But would fingerprints be enough to convince a jury he was responsible for Johnny’s death? Because it seems to me Bunk’s fingerprints would be all over the inn.”

He smiled at me as we approached the bridge to the Outer Banks. “You know, you’re pretty good at this. I’m surprised you didn’t follow in your grandfather’s footsteps.”

“Me, in law enforcement? Can you imagine me shooting someone?”

“Sometimes people go their whole career and never shoot anyone. Did your grandfather ever shoot anyone?”

“Yes. I remember him talking about it when I was in high school. It was very traumatic for him. But I guess you’re right. As far as I know, that’s the only time.” I looked at his profile as he concentrated on the bridge. “How about you? Ever shoot anyone?”

I saw the change in his face right away. It was a terrible sight. He didn’t look at me. His eyes didn’t move from the road, but I could feel the regret coming from him. “Too many times.” His voice was bleak and hollow. “I knew it was time to leave when it began to keep me up at night. You can’t do that job and worry about it.”

The clouds and rain had moved away from the sound, making it easier to see where we were going. Hoping to dispel the tension my question had caused, I rambled on without stop, telling funny stories about the bridge and the Outer Banks. By the time we got to the island, that awful feeling was gone. I knew I would never bring up that subject again. Kevin was entitled to the secrets in his past.

I called Gramps when we got to Southern Shores and told him about our plan to search Miss Mildred’s house. He agreed to meet us there and bring Mary Lou with him. “Don’t tell her what I said about the turtle sanctuary, will you? I don’t want to go through that with her yet. If we can’t find the will, there’s nothing there for the turtles anyway.”

“I won’t mention it. But she’s not obsessed with the turtles, Dae. She’s only interested in their welfare,” Gramps explained.

“All right. I’ll take your word for that, but let’s not push it right now, huh?”

He agreed, and Kevin maneuvered through the heavy traffic that always comes out after the rain. Not that there’s much room to maneuver. It’s a two-lane road, and traffic usually moves slowly, thanks to the many summer tourists who generally don’t know where they’re going.

“What is it with Mary Lou and those turtles?” Kevin asked as we got behind a pink convertible full of middle- aged women in bathing suits and hats.

“I don’t know. I guess everybody needs a hobby. Mary Lou makes quilts in the winter, but once it gets warm, she’s all about the turtles. She’s been cited a couple of times for running kids off from the turtle area. A turtle sanctuary would be good for her and the community.”

We finally reached the turnoff for Miss Mildred’s house. I thought about her plan to donate the land to the town. I supposed the town council would probably decide to sell at least part of the land so we could use the cash to finish the park and a few other projects. But the town might be able to use Miss Mildred’s house, which would be adjacent to the turtle sanctuary, for something else.

But not yet. I pulled my thoughts back from where they were going. Miss Mildred was coming home. Someday her land might belong to the town, but not yet.

The lazy red roses nodded in the sun beside her drive as we pulled in behind Gramps’s golf cart. We were barely out of the truck before Gramps and Mary Lou walked out of the house. I could tell from their faces that something was wrong.

“Someone broke in,” Gramps said. “It’s a mess in there, Dae. I don’t know if we can find anything. I need to call Chief Michaels.”

He took out his cell phone, but I stopped him. “Don’t call him yet. Let me take a look around and at least try to find the power of attorney papers. Once the police take over, I won’t have a chance.”

He frowned. “I know you and the chief are having some issues. But he’s been my friend all of my life. I don’t believe he’s done anything wrong, and I think he’d help you if he knew what was going on.”

“Please. Just a few minutes. Then you can call him. You know if anybody can find this document, it’s me.”

He agreed, and the three of us went into the house. Mary Lou had left us to it, going down to the beachfront to scope out the best place for a turtle sanctuary sign.

Gramps was right. The house was completely torn apart. Someone had been here looking for something, probably the same thing we were looking for. “I’ll bet Jerry Richards heard what we were saying and called ahead.” I carefully picked my way through ripped upholstery and shattered china.

“What a mess,” Kevin said. “This is definitely a search, not a random break-in. Whoever came through here destroyed things they could have pawned or sold. No one would do that unless they had something specific in mind.”

“I hope we can find the power of attorney in all this,” Gramps said. “What kind of container did you say you saw it in, Dae?”

I lifted an empty, broken blue and white Chinese vase from the floor. It had been on a shelf near the piano. As soon as I’d spotted it, I knew it was where Miss Mildred had stored the documents she’d retrieved from behind the piano. “It was here. I think Jerry beat us to it.”

Chapter 17

“We’re down for the count,” Gramps said. “I’ll call Ronnie now. He should know about this.”

A weird idea popped into my head. “What if we act like we found the power of attorney?”

“What would that accomplish?” Kevin asked.

“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Maybe if Jerry thought we could stop the auction, he’d make some move that would incriminate him. That could work, right, Gramps?”

“Maybe,” Gramps said. “I suppose it could buy you some time. But you’ll have to be careful, Dae, or the whole thing will backfire on you.”

“What kind of backfire?” Since I assumed I’d be taking all of the risk, I thought I should know.

“Lawsuits. Maybe fraud charges,” Kevin counted out for me. “If you could keep from putting anything in writing and be really careful how you word it, you might be able to get away with it.”

“Right now I only need to get away with something for a couple of days,” I reminded him. “I guess either they take the bait or not.”

“You could be in danger,” Gramps pointed out. “If Jerry was willing to hire someone to kill Lizzie, or whatever happened, he won’t think twice about getting rid of a small-town mayor.”

I hadn’t thought of that. It was a valid point. Who knew what Jerry was capable of if he were desperate enough? I’d be taking on the risk that he might send someone after me. I pushed aside my reservations. “Okay. Let’s do it. Where do you think we should start?”

Gramps laughed. “Probably with Mary Lou. Besides loving turtles, she has an uncommon love for gossip. She makes a good lemon meringue pie too. And she likes to cuddle.”