A Spirited Gift

“We can’t let the man die in the vehicle,” Luke said. “There must be some way to do it.”

“I have an idea,” Kevin said. “Is there a rescue pole in one of the trucks?”

“Never go out without one,” Barney said. “We’re kind of surrounded by water you know.”

“What do you have in mind, Kevin?” Cailey asked.

Kevin explained that there was a cutoff lever at the top of the pole. “The power company has a tool to shut it down from the ground. I think we could modify the rescue pole to do the same thing.”

“Sounds good,” Cailey said after a brief hesitation. “If the power company doesn’t like it, they can give me a call. What do you need, Kevin?”

It sounded simple until I realized Kevin was going to be the one climbing up on top of one of the EMS trucks and using the makeshift pole.

“Have you ever done anything like this before?” I asked while they got the pole ready.

“The FBI trains agents to think on their feet and come up with alternative scenarios,” he explained.

“In other words—no?”

“In other words—but it will work.”

I watched nervously as Kevin climbed up on the vehicle, sparks from the downed transformer flying around us like thousands of fireflies. Barney handed him the pole when he was in place, and Cailey held the floodlight on the pole so he could see what he was doing.

“Don’t walk too far that way,” Phil said, joking. “We can’t rescue you too.”

There was some pathetic, exhausted, good-humored bantering for a minute or two, then everyone was quiet as we all watched Kevin try to hit the cutoff switch.

I held my breath as he tried to maneuver the long pole into place without losing his balance on the vehicle. A few times, I started to reach up and steady him—Cailey pulled my arm back.

It was dark by then. Even the floodlight seemed useless against the night. I couldn’t see Kevin’s face without getting too close to the transformer. All I could do was pray that everything would be okay.

“Praying never did no one any good, girl,” a voice I was beginning to recognize told me. “Next time, tell the lad not to be such a hero.”

Chapter 12

“I don’t know who you are,” I whispered, “but leave me alone. Go back wherever you came from.”

I wasn’t sure whether that was the proper response to a ghost—if a ghost was what was bothering me. It probably wouldn’t work as an exorcism. But it came from the heart.

“Aw, don’t be that a’way, girl,” the voice continued, mocking me. “He’s a good lad, no doubt. Not too bright, eh? Maybe you should look around a little more. You could do better.”

I spun around and stared into the face of Dwight, the EMS worker from Corolla. There was no one else in sight.

Of course not. It was a ghost. Or something.

“Are you okay, Mayor O’Donnell?” Dwight asked.

“I’m fine—sorry if I—”

“He got it!” Cailey yelled. “Good work, Kevin. You’re not too bad for an outsider.”

“Thanks,” Kevin replied. I could hear the smile in his voice though I couldn’t see his face. “Just how long is somebody considered an outsider here?”

That brought a few chuckles from everyone.

“Probably until you die,” Cailey assured him.

“Yeah,” Phil said. “I’ve been here ten years. Still an outsider.”

The transformer was sparking less and less. Long wires hanging down from the pole were cut away from it. It took four men to lift the transformer away from the van. No one knew what to do with it—there was no truck to transport it. Eventually they put it into a drainage ditch on the side of the road near the pole. Cailey said she would call the power company and tell them where to find it.

Barney Thompson had to use the jaws of life to get the door open so they could reach the man in the vehicle. They shone the floodlight in the opening as Dwight, the only licensed paramedic in the group, came to check out the driver.

“He’s the only one in there,” Phil said after looking through the back of the van. “But he either robbed a liquor store or he was having one hell of a party. There must be at least a dozen cases of whiskey in the back.”

I heard Cailey swear under her breath. “Great! Is he okay?”

“Looks like a bump on the head,” Dwight said. “Could be a concussion, but he’s conscious. We should take him in anyway—just to be sure.”

My hands were tingling as I moved closer to the vehicle. I usually have that kind of reaction when I’ve located a fantastic treasure for Missing Pieces. Lately, it’s been happening a little more often. It struck me that I might know the driver we’d just rescued.

“Who is it?” I asked.

“Don’t know,” Phil said. “I don’t recognize him.”

“Can you tell us your name, sir?” Cailey asked the driver. “Where are you from?”

A shaken, breathless voice replied, “My name is Danny Evans. I live in Duck. Get me out of here, huh?”

Danny Evans—the tingling became a buzzing in my ears. My father.

Chapter 13

No one there knew that I was related to Danny Evans—except me. I’d only recently learned who my father was and that he was alive. My mother, even Gramps, had always told me he was dead. It was only by chance that I found out otherwise.

“Bring in the stretcher,” Dwight yelled back to the others.

“We’d better do a sobriety test on him,” Cailey said.

“Hey! Just because I work at a bar doesn’t mean I’m drunk,” Danny protested.

“I guess that explains the whiskey.” Phil laughed.

“It does since someone already broke into the bar and stole a couple cases. My boss expects me to protect his investment until this is over,” Danny explained.

“It’s just for your own good, sir,” Cailey told him. “The drugs they give you at the hospital might work against any alcohol in your system. Best to know ahead.”

“I haven’t been drinking,” Danny said again. “I don’t drink. Not anymore at least. I’ve been sober six years, five months and seven days. I’m just good at being a bartender.”

“We’ll have to test you anyway, sir,” Cailey repeated. “Sorry.”

He was an alcoholic. I knew from the way he’d said exactly how long he’d been sober. My father was an alcoholic.

I’d followed him around a few times since finding out about him and where he worked. I didn’t want him to know about me. I wouldn’t introduce myself, although I ordered a drink from him once at his bar, the Sailor’s Dream.

Gramps told me that Danny hadn’t wanted me, or my mother. He’d never checked to see what I was like as I was growing up. There was never a card or a phone call. I figured he wouldn’t want me now either.

But every new piece of information I learned about him was like a treasure from Missing Pieces. I’d tuck it away to look at later as I tried to understand him. What had my mother seen in him? How was I like him?

I mentally filed this latest discovery that he was an alcoholic. I’d retrieve it when I had time to scrutinize it