“Kevin Brickman, sir.” He put out his hand toward Mr. Artiz. “I’m here with Dae. We’re looking for Sam.”
Mr. Artiz put down the gun. He wore a red cap on his grizzled head. “Join the crowd. So’s everyone else.”
“You mean the police?” I asked, calmer now that a gun wasn’t pointed at me.
“I guess. One or two of them said who they were with. The others didn’t. That’s why I brought old Betsy out here with me.”
“I understand,” I said, although I didn’t. “Would you mind if we have a look around?”
“You might as well. There can’t be much in there that they haven’t looked at.”
Each lighthouse in the Outer Banks is painted a different color or pattern. The Currituck Beach lighthouse, as it’s known, is the only red brick lighthouse on the East Coast. It still flashes at twenty-second intervals to warn of shallow water.
The lighthouse and the keeper’s home at its base aren’t technically a part of the museum, but both are open to the public. I knew Sam and Mr. Artiz had been friends forever. I wasn’t surprised when he followed us into the museum.
“I haven’t seen Sam since the day after your museum blew up,” the old caretaker told us. “What a terrible thing that was. I hope you find out what happened.” He walked us back to Sam’s office at the side of the Corolla museum, which was much larger than Duck’s had been. “The place looks like a hurricane hit it, I’ll tell you that much, Dae.”
He was right. There were papers, boxes and photos scattered everywhere from the desk to the dusty file cabinets and the floor. But no sign of Sam.
“Do the police think something like that could happen here?” he asked me. “Is that why they’re making such a fuss?”
I glanced at Kevin, who shrugged. I interpreted that to mean I should go for it. “The police think Sam killed Max by blowing him up in the Duck museum,” I told him. I couldn’t say it any plainer than that.
“That’s crazy talk! Sam and Max were like brothers.”
“Brothers who argued violently all the time,” Kevin reminded him.
“Maybe they argued, but they wouldn’t hurt each other. The police are climbing up the wrong mast.” He looked around the office. “You think Sam left quick once he heard?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I guess I was hoping I could figure that out.”
“Well, you take your time. I don’t know if the police or those other fellas left anything useful behind in this mess. But you’re welcome to it if they did. Say hello to Horace for me.”
“You don’t have any idea who the other
Mr. Artiz shrugged his bony shoulders beneath a blue overall. “I never seen them before. They didn’t introduce themselves.”
He left us alone in the maelstrom that was Sam’s office. I didn’t know where to start. Everything was such a mess. How would we ever find something useful that might lead us to Sam?
“What kind of things did Sam do outside the office?” Kevin started sorting through the papers on a chair.
“He liked to fish. I remember hearing him and Gramps talk about that a lot. He chartered Gramps’s boat once. Otherwise I don’t know. Everything I know about him was through seeing him with Max or Max telling me things about him.”
I looked around the room, letting my eyes play on everything without focusing too hard on any of it. I was thinking about the way I’d found the gold coin in Kevin’s cellar last night. Maybe there was something here, however remote, that could lead us to Sam.
It occurred to me as I swept the room that everything seemed to be out of place except for one item—a horse statue on one of the old file cabinets. Once I saw it, I couldn’t look away. My gaze was constantly drawn back to it.
I wished I could go out and grab the lightkeeper’s hands to find out where Sam was, but I suspected the link between them wouldn’t be strong enough. A person had to have a strong desire to find something in order for me to see it in their head. That meant there was only one thing left to do.
As I continued looking at the horse figure, I was conscious of Kevin moving around the room, trying to help. I slowly removed one of my gloves and reached for the little statue, ignoring its place of origin and other nonproductive impressions.
“I know where he is!” I was pleased that the contact might make some difference. And that I hadn’t ended up on the floor.
Kevin looked at the statue in my hand. “Are you all right?”
“I think so. Maybe the impression wasn’t as forceful as touching pirate gold that people have died for. This little horse has probably been sold in every gift shop in the Outer Banks, although it wasn’t made in China.”
He smiled. “Where do you think he is?”
“With the mustangs.”
The wild Spanish mustangs were a must-see for every tourist who came to the Outer Banks. Like the lighthouses, they were a legacy of our past that seemed to endlessly fascinate people.
Unlike the lighthouses, the mustangs didn’t stay in one place. For those willing to pay ridiculously high prices, tour companies
The mustangs were said to be descendants of Spanish horses that had made it to shore following a sixteenth-century shipwreck. They roamed the Outer Banks freely for centuries, providing working partners for the Bankers, until development came and the horses became endangered. Now they were managed and taken care of, but never tamed.
“Sam could be anywhere along thirty miles of coastline,” I explained to Kevin.
“We could ask around. See if one of the tour guides took him out.”
“He knows the area too well to ask for help.”
“Tell me what you saw.”
I told him about Sam shaking hands with a man who was close to the horses and the beach. “But that could be anywhere.”
“Would he be likely to hike out there?”
“Probably not.” I smiled. “He’s as physically challenged as Max. Neither one of them ever walked where they could drive. But as far as I know, he doesn’t have an SUV or a Jeep. A regular car would have a hard time going in to look for the horses.”
“How else could he get there?”
“Maybe he got a ride from someone. Maybe Mr. Artiz knows who that could be.”
We went to find him. He was sitting on the lighthouse stairs, cleaning his shotgun. He glanced up and frowned when he saw us coming. “Now what?”
“How would Sam go out to see the horses?” I asked.
“I don’t know. How does anyone get out there?”
“Does he know anyone with an SUV or some other four-wheeler?” Kevin asked with a little more authority in his voice.
It didn’t matter. “I don’t keep tabs on Sam.”
“Thanks anyway.” Either he didn’t know or he didn’t want to say.
As Kevin and I began walking away, the lighthouse keeper called out, “Could be one of those mall-cop things, like in the movies.”
“Mall-cop thing?” Kevin wondered aloud.
“Segway!” I knew exactly what he meant. “I saw the ads for them on TV. Thanks, Mr. Artiz!”
We got back in Kevin’s truck. He was still mystified. I explained. “They’re those tall motorized scooters you balance on. I’ll show you. There’s a place out here that rents them.”
We parked at the outfitters place, and I rented two Segways, complete with helmets and maps to the wild
