me that there could be other people living out here—many times without power or any other necessity. Gramps had a friend who’d lived like that for years. Tourists sometimes stopped off at these spots, never knowing that the island was private property.
Between these hopes and the fear still churning in my belly lay a whole world of possibilities, some not as good as others. I couldn’t stay in the water much longer, and I hadn’t been lucky enough to spot a Coast Guard vessel. At this point, that would be the only group with a boat I’d trust.
There were only trees, rocks and sand as far as I could see. My numb limbs told me I had to take my chances. I paddled carefully toward the shore, mindful of anyone spotting me. It was quiet when I reached the rocky beach and crept up, shivering. Water ran from my clothes in noisy fountains. Not wanting the sound to alert my captors, I sat down between some trees to dry off while I formulated my next move.
In the distance, I could hear people shouting and the sound of several boat engines starting up at the same time. They were bound to conclude that I had stayed close to shore. Only a fool would swim out to sea with no source of rescue close by.
I forced myself to my feet and moved further into the young stand of pine trees. They were barely taller than me but better than no cover at all. I figured if they didn’t see me from the boats, they might give up and believe I’d drowned. That was my best hope.
I didn’t want to think about how worried Gramps was going to be. I’d given up on this being a short-term adventure. It might be days before I got back to Duck. In the meantime, Chief Michaels and others would be looking for me. With any luck, they’d be able to track me to the docks. Maybe they’d send the Coast Guard out to look for me. But I wasn’t sure how long that would take.
I had to force myself to stop thinking that way. I tried to focus on what my plan for survival should be. My first concern was obviously dry clothes (if possible) and shelter. Then I needed to think about food and how I’d get back home.
I waited in the trees, surrounded by the piney aroma, letting the sun warm and dry me. At long last, I couldn’t hear anyone shouting and the sound of engines had faded into the distance.
I had no idea what time it was—I couldn’t recall how to tell time by the position of the sun. I’d learned one year in Girl Scouts, but that was a long time ago.
Phase two meant getting up and moving my poor frozen body. Every part of me rebelled at the idea. Most of my clothes had dried, but I was still chilled to the bone. All my joints popped when I finally gritted my teeth and pushed to my feet. I really needed a latte and a nice almond biscotti. And a warm fire. I urged myself forward, farther into the pines. And a warm fuzzy robe.
I thought about all these things, promised myself those and more if I kept moving. Somewhere out here there was warmth, food, and a telephone. I could call Gramps and he’d come and get me. He’d be angry but relieved to hear from me. Kevin would say I told you so. My adventure, which was turning out to be a nightmare, would be over and I’d be home again.
“If I get home, I’m never investigating anything again,” I swore out loud for good measure. “I’m never leaving my room again except to go to the shop.”
I trudged through the pine trees, which seemed to stretch on forever. The sun was almost directly overhead. Even I knew that meant it was around noon. My stomach gurgled accordingly, letting me know that the rest of my body knew what time it was too.
My dried clothes were itchy and full of sand—my feet hurt from walking over pinecones and rocks. I was as miserable as I could ever recall being. But at least I was free.
The trees finally thinned and ended, leaving me in a huge open space with newly cut grass and a large fountain. In the center of the fountain was a large horse standing on its back legs, like the ones at the entrance to Brookgreen Gardens near Myrtle Beach. I wasn’t sure how clean the water was, but I was really thirsty. I reached in and took a handful. It was cool and clear—easing the ache in my throat.
“Ha! A water thief! I knew it would come to this!” An old man in a motorized wheelchair came at me full tilt with a pearl-headed cane. “Get your own water!”
I knew him at once. He was the man from the vision about the gold. I had managed to escape the boats and the men at the docks only to find myself in the garden with Max’s benefactor. He didn’t seem like much of a threat.
“What do you want?” he yelled again. “How did you get here?”
“Take it easy.” I tried to reassure him as I glanced around. No one else seemed to be with him. “I was thirsty. I’m lost.”
“You’re on my property,” he proclaimed. “Head that way.” He pointed with his cane. “Keep walking until you reach the ocean.”
“Thanks.” I swallowed another gulp of water and prepared to disappear back into the pines. I knew he could be the person behind Max’s death, but I’d run out of courage and options to continue. I just wanted to go home.
“Wait!” he called out. “If you’re really lost, you can come back to the house with me and I’ll have someone take you home.”
“No thanks. One of your men is the reason I’m lost. He kidnapped me and brought me here. I don’t need your help.”
“Nonsense. There’s no reason one of my men would bring anyone here—unless you were snooping. Is that the case? Where are you from?”
“I’m from Duck. And I wasn’t snooping—exactly. I was looking for a boat.”
“Duck! My dear young woman, I insist that you stay! What’s your name? I probably know someone in your family. Stay and have lunch with me. I’m sure we can find you a change of clothes. We’ll sort out this kidnapping thing. You’ll see.”
I’d already been here too long. I could see people coming out of the big house on the hill. They were still too far away to do anything, but I wasn’t about to wait around until they reached us.
“Wait!” he called out again as I started back into the pines. “I’d love to talk with you. If you grew up in Duck, you probably know my name. I used to be somewhat of a celebrity. Probably before you were born. I’m Bunk Whitley. I once owned the Blue Whale Inn.”
Chapter 17
Nothing on earth—except that statement—could have made me stay there. I thought about the pictures I’d seen on microfiche from the old
Of course, just because he was a legend in Duck didn’t mean I could trust him. But I was fascinated that here he sat before me, in the flesh. “Everyone thinks you’re dead,” I said, not immune to the lure of mystery.
“I’m supposed to be dead. But it’s hard to keep a good man down. I’m sure I know you.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re related to Eleanore O’Donnell, aren’t you? Too young to be her daughter. You must be her granddaughter. I never forget a pretty woman.”
The men from the house were running now. I had to make a choice. I wanted to stay and hear all the stories he had to tell. I could only imagine that Max would have risked anything to talk to old Bunk Whitley.
Then it hit me. “You killed Max because he knew you were living out here. You couldn’t risk everyone knowing you were alive. There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You killed Wild Johnny Simpson at the Blue Whale Inn, then left town.”
He laughed. “Don’t be absurd! I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I find money gets more done than guns. But, my young O’Donnell, tell me about your family. Tell me how old Sheriff Horace is doing. I hate that the
