about everything that had gone on before and after the storm. The best thing was to leave them alone and not add to the problem. Gossip wouldn’t help find out what had happened to Sandi.
I looked in the bar after that—Matthew was still there, his head resting against Barker’s shoulder while both men took a nap. I left them alone and looked for other things to do.
I had just started helping Althea with Sandi’s daughters in the lobby when the front door opened and Mrs. Euly Stanley bounded into the inn. She was an older lady with a shock of curly gray hair that almost overwhelmed her fragile face. Mrs. Stanley was a great patron of the Duck Historical Museum.
“Dae, we need help at the museum next door. There’s been some damage, and I think we better get it taken care of in case it rains again. Mildred and I are the only ones over there. Thank God we live close by. Think you could spare a few men for us?”
Althea seemed to have everything in hand with the two little girls. Marissa waved me on when I told her I was going to the museum for a few minutes. I was glad for the chance to get out of the Blue Whale for a while— even if it was on cleanup detail.
The Duck Historical Museum was right next door to the Blue Whale Inn. It held all the treasures of our sometimes checkered past, from pirates to the present day. Before leaving, I rounded up some volunteers from among the hotel guests who were looking for anything to pass the time. A few bored mayors’ assistants came with us, along with a few Duck residents who’d been put out of their homes by the storm.
The museum was one of my favorite places. Not that it mattered much in this case. I just wanted to get away from what had become an impossible atmosphere next door. Something ached inside of me when I thought of Sandi dying alone out in the storm.
Maybe we hadn’t been the closest of friends, but no one should have to die that way. Looking into the faces of her two little girls, I felt heartsick. What a terrible thing for them. At least I’d been an adult when my mother died.
It would be simpler—safer—to think that the strong winds had collapsed the shed on her. And maybe that was exactly what had happened—once she got outside.
But Sandi hadn’t lost her ring outside. She’d lost it while she was still in the ballroom. The fear I’d felt from the ring—Sandi had experienced that fear—while she was inside, relatively safe from the storm.
Maybe I was too emotional about it, I thought as I walked around the museum with Mrs. Stanley, surveying the damage. Maybe I wasn’t seeing clearly. The whole evening had been strange, even for me.
But why had Sandi been outside in the shed while the storm was raging over Duck? Sandi wasn’t exactly a back-to-nature kind of person. I didn’t have to know her well to know that about her. She’d probably been terrified out there.
Rationally, I supposed she could’ve run out of the back door after being with Matthew upstairs. Maybe she was looking for a place to be by herself. It was possible she got outside before she’d realized how bad the storm was. Maybe she’d gone into the shed to get away from wind and rain. People had died from collapsed housing many times. There was no real mystery to it.
I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against the bronze bust of one of our Duck forefathers. I was exhausted. The events of the previous night kept whirling around my head, like the storm had never left. I knew there was no point in going over it again and again. If Sandi was killed by Matthew, the medical examiner would pick up on it. We’d know soon enough.
In the meantime, I helped scoop water out of one of the rooms that housed a collection of clothes worn by generations of Duck families. There were dresses and suits—even baby clothes, some laid out on chairs and others on mannequins. I swept sand that had come in from a broken window on the ground floor. A few of the men were hammering wood slats—from pallets or whatever else they could find—over the broken windows to keep the weather out.
The museum was housed in one of the oldest buildings in Duck—the home of Wild Johnny Simpson. It had been donated for the purpose of holding the ever-growing collection of artifacts that was the museum. People of Duck loved their history, and they were proud of it.
I walked through the rooms filled with paintings, photos, pirate maps, and old letters, seeing all those things I had heard stories about growing up here. I loved the tales of the old Bankers, the pirates and the scallywags. I mourned the hundreds of ships that had gone down in the Graveyard of the Atlantic. They were all a part of me.
I had that strange, fluttering feeling again as I walked by an old mirror. It was a little corroded on the sides, but the gilt edging was still beautiful. The tag said it had once belonged to Bridget Patrick, a Banker woman who raised twenty-three children here after her husband’s death.
Floating along the edge of my vision was that strange pinpoint of light again. Seeing it raised the hairs on the back of my neck, and I thought about the strange voice I’d heard when I found Sandi’s body.
I hastened to remind myself that the voice must have come from the wild, crashing Atlantic and the call of the misplaced seagulls. But only part of me believed that.
I needed to see Shayla and talk to her about the things I’d seen. I wasn’t sure exactly what spirit balls were, but one seemed to have followed me from the seance. And I had a feeling it wasn’t my mother.
Chapter 10
I said my good-byes to Mrs. Stanley quickly so I could get back out into the sunlight and fresh air. Usually the stale air of the museum suited me perfectly—but not today. I had my gifts and they had nothing to do with seeing ghosts or spirit balls. True, I had invited my mother’s spirit to be with me. That didn’t mean I wanted some strange spectral presence to come by for tea.
I couldn’t say why I didn’t think the pinpoint of light was my mother—just a feeling. If that strange voice at the shed was any indication, it most definitely was
As I walked out of the museum, I passed one of the treasures we’d managed to find through the years—a portrait of the pirate Rafe Masterson.
He was the last pirate hanged in Duck. He was said to have cursed the area after being tricked into the custody of the local people he’d pillaged and raided. Three hundred years later, people who were born here still saw his malevolent designs in any unfortunate occurrences. Fires that seemed to start on their own, sometimes even storms, were blamed on him and his curse.
I’d seen this portrait dozens of times, but I never really noticed how lifelike his dark eyes were. They seemed to be looking out at the world around him. His pencil-thin mustache above full lips had obviously been added for drama. He wore a black tricorn hat and a red coat, with heavy black boots on his feet. The cutlass at his side looked deadly.
It was said he was one of the most evil pirates to sail in the area—killing people for sport, stripping merchant ships bare and lighting them on fire—sometimes with the travelers still aboard.
His eyes looked cold and evil as I stared into them. I got an odd feeling that he was judging me too, even thought I saw his lips quirk slightly. I took a step back.
“Easy there, Mayor!” Mark Samson, owner of the Rib Shack, caught me as I walked into him. “Old Rafe give you a scare, did he?”
He laughed, of course. So did I, but I also continued my progress out the door and into the backyard. The storm had spooked me—the storm and the seance—not to mention finding Sandi’s dead body. I felt weird because the last twenty-four hours had been very weird.
Mark had followed me outside. “You know, they say old Rafe had settled down before they trapped him and hanged him. They say he had a wife and a family and that he had given up being a pirate.”
“Maybe so,” I said, not wanting to be rude but needing to get away. “But he must not have changed too much or they wouldn’t have been able to trap him. Thanks for your help. See you later.”
But there didn’t seem to be any way to get out of the situation. I needed a shower and a nap—maybe a good, stiff mocha or something stronger. Everything made me jumpy. Nothing felt normal.
