A Touch of Gold

This new talent was something else. I knew Kevin was right. I had to conquer it or at least get it under some kind of control. I couldn’t go around the rest of my life almost fainting every time I touched a high-energy item like the coin. The manufacturing and distribution I could handle. Even what I felt in Kevin’s truck was okay. The rest would take some time.

Since I was so familiar with everything inside Missing Pieces, I decided to try an experiment. I’d already touched the brocade sofa and the teacup. I’d experienced only a residual kind of awareness from them. I didn’t know for sure how old either one of them was, but maybe age wasn’t a factor as much as intent.

I mean, the gold coin in my pocket was much older and had brought me to my knees. On the other hand, the coffee card was much more recent, but its energy was just as strong. It was confusing—and frustrating.

I tried to focus on other items in the shop. I touched my teapot clock. Nothing much there. The mirror with the delicate carvings I’d found in Cape Cod was barely a buzz. Some clothes held nothing beyond the creators and a little about the people who’d worn them.

I was about to give up when I saw the miniature portrait I’d been harboring for a few years. It was tucked into a quiet corner of the shop, away from the regular traffic. No discerning customer had ever managed to find it.

I’d had it appraised after I got it at an estate sale. The appraiser was unsure about its origin. It was definitely by an early 1800s artist who was renowned locally for painting portraits. No one famous, but everyone from around here recognized his name.

We’d both speculated on who the lady in the portrait was. She was dressed in white with a small white veil on her dark hair. Her eyes were luminous, but her pretty face looked worn.

I’d shown it to Max once, wondering if it could be a lost painting of Theo Burr. I thought it looked like her. Max didn’t. That was the end of that discussion.

I approached the portrait carefully, as though I could sneak up on it—like it wouldn’t notice until it was too late. My hands trembled as I reached for it, uncertain of what I’d feel.

Chapter 5

Touching the portrait brought a bright flood of light and pictures cascading through my brain. It was like newsreel footage on steroids. I could barely keep them straight.

The woman in the picture was sad and tired. She was alone on a dark beach, not sure where she was. She met a man who took her home, and she stayed with him, though she knew she didn’t belong there.

She had another life far away, but she didn’t want to go back. There was too much pain and loss. The man who’d found her was good to her, and they lived together for several years before her death.

I moved my hand away, tears in my eyes. The portrait was of Theo Burr even though she’d used another name while she lived in the Outer Banks. Max had been right about her. She hadn’t died at the hands of pirates. She’d lived a second life here, but not because she didn’t remember who she was and what she’d left behind.

“Max.” I thought of him and how much I wished I could tell him what I’d found. No one else would appreciate it the way he would. I cried when I realized there was no one else to tell. Max was gone forever.

After my complete emotional breakdown, I left the shop and headed home, not up to facing a regular workday. I slept the rest of the day and through the night, despite crazy dreams about Theo Burr, pirates and exploding cannons.

I woke up early the next morning, and I felt a lot better. Maybe I didn’t have all the answers, but I was learning. It was a brand-new day and I was ready to go.

“I’m making pancakes,” Gramps offered from the kitchen as I came downstairs.

“I’ll take some.” I flipped through the newspaper on the table. “Are we in the paper?”

It was kind of a joke in Duck about us making the news. Since the Duck Gazette closed its doors a few years back, there had been only a handful of times when the town was mentioned in any of the surrounding newspapers. We made the TV news a lot less often.

“Yep. We didn’t make the front page, but it’s a good piece about the museum.”

I looked at the article. It was fair and unemotional. The kind of story someone who wasn’t from Duck would write. “I miss the Gazette,” I told him as he brought a huge stack of pancakes to the table.

“We all do.” He kind of hovered there, not sitting down.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He shrugged.

I knew better. While he went back for coffee and syrup, there was a knock at the front door.

“Who could that be this early?” he asked.

“Like you don’t know.”

“I didn’t invite him. You know how people around here show up all the time.”

I went to answer the door while Gramps fiddled with the silverware and got out cups for coffee. It was Kevin, looking freshly showered, his dark, still-wet hair neatly combed. “I’m only here for the pancakes. Your grandfather didn’t call me because he’s worried about you.”

“Thanks for the heads-up. The pancakes and Gramps are in the kitchen.”

Right behind him was Officer Tim Mabry in his Duck Police uniform. “Morning, Dae.”

“Is this an official visit?” I asked him.

“Sort of.” Tim had a sheepish look on his lean face. “The chief wanted me to remind you that they all want to question you sometime today about what happened to the museum.” He smiled at me, waiting until Kevin went into the kitchen to say, “Why didn’t you call me, Dae? I had to hear what happened to you from the chief. I thought we knew each other better than that.”

In actuality, we had no relationship beyond a longtime friendship, but Tim never wanted to hear that. We’d gone to school together since first grade, and he had proposed to me in high school. He’d always thought we should be linked romantically and continued to try and convince me of that through the years. Of course, this was between other girls he dated and proposed to. But he always came back to me.

“Come on in and eat some pancakes. Gramps made a ton of them. I’m sorry no one called you to tell you I was okay. It was very confusing when everything happened. And it all happened so fast.”

He leaned his lanky, six-foot-six frame inside the doorway, a smile on his clean-shaven face below carefully cropped blond hair. “Thanks. I hope you’re feeling better. Did someone call Brickman?”

“I don’t know, Tim. He was there when I stopped at the museum on the way home.” I knew that would make him sulky, but it was no good lying about it. He’d find out one way or another. This was Duck and everyone knew everyone else’s business eventually.

Though Kevin and I had certainly never been linked romantically since he’d come to Duck, Tim thought of him as a rival for my affections. Maybe he was a tad psychic because he was right about my feelings for Kevin. I was glad he didn’t make his assessment common knowledge.

“Of course he was.” Tim’s lips turned down at the corners like when he pulled someone over for speeding. “Why is he always around when things happen, Dae? Have you ever wondered about that? Two murders this year and Kevin has been there for both of them. That must be some kind of record.”

“Are you saying Chief Michaels is calling Max’s death a murder?” I latched on to his words, not their intent.

“Well.” He sniffed and hitched up his pants. “I think it’s likely, don’t you? I mean someone doesn’t get blown up accidentally, right?”

“Did you ever find the cannon or any sign that a cannon had been around before the explosion?” Gramps joined us at the doorway. “Thought I’d see what all the whispering was about. The two of you come in and eat before everything is cold. That way, we can all hear what you’re saying.”

“Not a cannon.” Tim did as he was told and we walked into the kitchen. “But we found some wheel marks