“What?” I put down my soup and reached for a cheese cube.
“How’s the soup?” he asked.
“Good. Very good.”
“Not quiche, though, huh?”
I glanced at Agnes and her daughters, who’d stopped their conversation to listen to ours. “I’m not much of a quiche eater. These cheese cubes are good too. Who made them?”
Celia laughed. “Happy cows in California via Harris Teeter, I think. I cut them.”
“You did a wonderful job,” I commended.
Agnes said, “I’m on my way to the historical society meeting. We’re talking about a place to put all the donations. I think Mildred Mason is donating her sister’s house to be the new museum. It would be called the Elizabeth Simpson Historical Museum.”
“That would be great,” I answered. “Max always hoped that would happen.”
“I’m sorry it had to take his death to bring it about.” She pushed aside the rest of her soup. “Still, I know you’re right. He’d be thrilled. I know the board will accept it without any problem. All we’ll have to do is fund-raise for the money to pay the taxes and upkeep. It’s a good deal.”
It was all I could do not to tell her about Bunk. But how would I explain it, and why would she believe it? Later, after the others were gone and Kevin and I were cleaning up, I mentioned my reluctance to share Bunk’s claims. “I think it was best not to mention it,” I said.
“I agree,” Kevin replied, reassuring me. “It’s terrible timing for Agnes, and there’s no proof. There may never be any proof, Dae. You might have to live with that secret.”
“I know.”
He took me home a short while later. I still wasn’t done thinking about everything I’d learned on the island. “There must be someway to prove Bunk is Agnes’s father.”
“Paternity tests,” he said. “If both of them were willing. But that opens a whole new can of worms. It wouldn’t really benefit Agnes to know that the man who raised her wasn’t her father. I don’t think that’s something you’d want to know either.”
“I suppose that’s true.” I thought about the questions screaming in my brain about my own father.
“Like knowing that her mother committed suicide because she and Bunk couldn’t be together, some information doesn’t serve the general good. In this case, it might be best to let the past stay buried.”
“I know you’re right.”
“But you want to clear Bunk of Max’s murder.”
“Yes, but only so we can find the real killer. You saw the way the chief went after Sam as a suspect. Now that he knows about Bunk, we may never know the truth.”
“You mean once he can prove that Bunk did anything. Confessing to you is one thing, Dae. Telling Chief Michaels is another. What’s going on here? Is there a party you forgot to tell me about?”
He’d started to pull into my driveway, but it was full of cars—police cars. One other car and a van were parked on the street.
“I don’t know. I know that’s the chief’s car, and I think that one belongs to Walt Peabody. I don’t know about the other ones.”
“I think you’ll find that black Ford belongs to the SBI. Probably Brooks Walker since he’s our local agent.” Kevin parked on the street.
“What do they want?” I wondered out loud.
He grinned as he took my hand. “They want to talk to you. I’m sure they all want reassurances about spending the time and money to go out to the island.”
“Great!”
“There might be an FBI agent too. Bunk was supposed to be in their federal program. They might want to know what happened. They might even want to pull him in for not going along with the plan.”
I wasn’t looking forward to talking with a group of law enforcement people tonight. I wanted to ask Gramps about my father, but not with an audience. Bad timing.
“That looks like the arson investigator’s van.” Kevin nodded at the white van with the Dare County seal on it. “I think I’ll go in with you.”
“I’m not worried about Brad, if that’s what you’re thinking. What’s he going to do? Arrest me in front of all these people?”
“He can’t arrest you at all, Dae. He can only investigate and give his findings to the chief. That’s one reason why it was inappropriate for him to talk to you about the case the way he did. I’m sure his superiors had something to say about it after your grandfather and I pointed it out to them.”
“Gramps said he was only fishing.”
“Yeah. Without much bait either. Come on. Let’s see what’s happening.”
We went inside together. The house smelled like coffee and conflicting aftershaves. The men were sitting around the kitchen table—until they saw me. They all got to their feet at that point.
“Mayor,” they said in unison.
Brad nodded but didn’t speak. I supposed he wasn’t happy that this new turn of events had messed up his theory about me killing Max and Sam. Gramps brought out another chair for Kevin. The doorbell rang and I went to answer it. It was Cailey Fargo on the doorstep. She hugged me. “I’m so glad you’re safe, Dae. Everyone was worried about you.”
“Thanks. Come on in. The party is this way.”
“I knew Brad was all wrong when he told me he considered you a suspect,” she confided in a low voice. “I think he’s a little desperate to find someone to blame. It’s his first investigation, you know. I’m sure he’s worried about doing a good job. People get that way sometimes. He’s kind of wound real tight anyway, if you know what I mean.”
“I appreciate you telling me that. It means a lot.”
Gramps asked us both if we wanted coffee. I turned it down—Cailey took a cup. I sat between her and Kevin, with Brad brooding on the other side of the table. Once everyone was seated, filling our little kitchen, the discussion began.
“I want to say upfront that this whole thing is a waste of taxpayer money.” Brad fired the first salvo right across my bow. “I think we all know this is nothing but a ploy to take the heat off of someone right here in town who’s responsible for everything.”
Chapter 19
“We all have a stake in this,” Brad continued. “We need to find out the truth—not a convenient lie to cover up what really happened.”
He was glaring at me the whole time he spoke. He was accusing me without actually using my name. I didn’t care. He’d find out how wrong he was when we went out to the island.
Kevin had been wrong about the FBI. They were nowhere to be seen. Agent Brooks Walker with the SBI wanted to be part of the group going out to the island. In fact, he wanted the local police to stay out of it entirely. “This should be our case,” he said.
“The man’s been living out there for years and no one knew,” Walt reminded him. “You can’t come in here and take over our case.”
“He’s a suspect in our murder cases.” Chief Michaels piled on the logical reasons he should be allowed to continue with the case. “You can’t claim any jurisdiction here, Agent.”
“All right. It’s against my better judgment, but I guess you’re already involved,” Walker grumbled. “We’ll head out there first thing in the morning. Who has the coordinates for the island?”
They all looked at me. “Bunk’s men gave them to me when we got back to Duck. Whose boat are we going out on?”
“I don’t see any reason you should go out at all,” Walker told me. “You’re neither law enforcement nor an involved party. Give me the coordinates and we’ll take it from here.”
