Chapter 2
I’d brought the golf cart and my umbrella to Shayla’s house for the séance. Neither of them was any good at protecting me from the hard rain and high winds that were sweeping across the island. It was hurricane season—but not anything to panic about.
My storm knee that I’d injured surfing when I was fourteen ached like crazy, telling me that Shayla was right about the tail end of this tropical storm. It would surprise me if it wasn’t upgraded to a hurricane before the end of the day.
Most stores and houses were locked down, windows already boarded up or protected by heavy shutters. Storm debris was being pushed across Duck Road, our major thoroughfare.
But people were still out, dressed in colorful ponchos and boots. A few restaurants and shops were open, including Game World, our gaming arcade. Most people took bad weather for granted. Only the worst of it got our attention.
That made it difficult sometimes to protect the population. Most Bankers flatly refused to evacuate in the face of hurricanes, much less a tropical storm. Even though I was the mayor of Duck and understood the emergency protocols, I was just as bad. I couldn’t imagine what kind of storm would make me and my grandfather leave our home on the Currituck Sound.
As far as I knew, an O’Donnell had never left Duck for something as unimportant as some rain and gale-force winds. My family had lived here for several generations. Stubbornness was bred into our Banker bones.
I turned down the side street that led to the Blue Whale Inn. Rain almost blinded me, but I hunkered down behind the plastic windshield and kept my foot on the accelerator. The battery-powered golf cart responded with its usual sluggish movement. It was lucky to go ten miles an hour. But it was better for the environment than a gas-powered golf cart and cheaper to run. A lot of people here used carts instead of cars.
Though, in times like this, Gramps’s old car might’ve been better.
The Blue Whale Inn sat squarely facing the Atlantic side of Duck. Its three stories, tall turret and sweeping verandah welcomed guests into a wealth of comfort and Southern charm. It had been built in the early 1900s and had been the scene of many major events in Duck—both legal and illegal—down through the years.
It was owned now by ex-FBI agent Kevin Brickman, who’d labored long hours to make the place livable again after it had sat empty for more than thirty years. Between his wonderful cooking and painstaking refurbishing, the Blue Whale was again a hub of activity year-round.
I pulled up through the circle drive and parked by the old hitching post. As I got out of the golf cart, I spotted a set of keys on the ground. I stooped down and picked it up, thinking someone would miss it. There was only a single key—a car key—on the key ring, and a fob—maybe a dolphin?—broken in half.
Immediately, I was swamped with emotions that came from the object. I couldn’t make out the woman’s face as she threw the key ring at someone, but I felt her anger and frustration. Whoever the key ring belonged to was having a very bad day. I pocketed it, then turned to go inside.
“Where have you been?” Nancy Boidyn, the town clerk, demanded in an uncharacteristic tone of panic. She was waiting for me on the verandah. Normally she was an unflappable Banker, unmoved by any outside force. “This place is going crazy! We have to do something.”
I was drenched, and my teeth were chattering. “You have Barbara and Althea helping you. What can I do?”
Nancy’s eyes flared with anger for an instant. Her narrow lips pressed tighter together.
I realized we were all under a lot of stress. I didn’t know what was going on that they couldn’t handle, but I knew Nancy didn’t get upset over just anything. “I’m sorry. I should’ve been here. I’m soaked and freezing. I was with Shayla. It’s October 15.”
Her pretty face softened instantly and she hugged me, totally disregarding my wet clothes and hair. “I’m so sorry, Dae. I completely forgot the date with all this rushing around. Did you hear anything?”
Nancy wasn’t surprised by my attempts to contact my mother. Most people from Duck believed having the dead in your life was part of living. Ghosts weren’t a big deal. Curses and pirates were our daily fare.
“No. Not really.” I didn’t go into the spirit balls. I’d probably tell her about them later. Right now, the living needed attention. “So, what’s going on?”
She took out a large pink notebook. “The mayor from Elizabeth City needs seltzer water with a twist of lemon, not lime. The mayor from Manteo needs a room with a bigger window. The mayor from Virginia Beach needs a bigger room—with a view of the Atlantic. Some of the schedules were blurry. There may not be enough wine, but it’s too late to get any more.”
“Why aren’t Kevin and Marissa handling these problems?” I wiped away streams of water that kept dripping down my face.
“He’s cooking for the reception tonight and getting the ballroom set up. Marissa is in there running back and forth, trying to keep things organized. I thought this was why you assigned me and the girls to the event. Kevin and Marissa can’t do everything.” She smiled in a more Nancy-like fashion. “But whatever Kevin’s cooking smells divine! I can’t wait!”
“Let’s make it to dinner first. Where are Althea and Barbara?”
Nancy walked me into the crowded lobby of the old hotel. I felt a little out of place, dripping water, my clothes plastered to me, and my sun-bleached brown hair hanging in wet rat’s tails all over my head. But I put on my big mayor’s smile and began to put things in order.
The first thing I did was drop off the broken key ring with Marissa at the front desk. She was the new manager Kevin had recently hired. Her parents had moved away from Duck before she was born, but she’d come back to take care of her ailing grandfather, Joe Endy.
She was a beautiful young woman, probably in her late twenties, who dressed well and seemed to have an affinity for getting along with people. But there was a sadness about her—something in her eyes that was unspoken—that made her seem like more than just another pretty face. I didn’t know her well enough to ask questions.
“Do you have any idea who this belongs to?” she asked, swinging her long blond hair out of the way as she handed out Duck brochures to the people attending the conference.
I told her about finding the key ring outside. “I guess someone will need it before they can go home. We’ll see.”
I kept glancing back at the key ring until she put it away. Sometimes, I feel emotions for the things I find—it can be hard to set them aside. I had to focus on something else, like changing clothes before too many people saw me this way.
It was warm and dry inside, with a pleasant fire in the old hearth. I avoided people I recognized who were drinking coffee and talking quietly. The old iron-lace elevator was moving slowly up and down, taking guests from the lobby all the way up to the recently completed third floor.
I’d helped in a lot of the renovation—even helped coat the outside of the old hotel in its original blue color. Most of the work was Kevin’s, though. He’d done a great job restoring the 1930s atmosphere and charm while modernizing everything for his guests.
I was prejudiced, of course, since Kevin and I had been dating for several months. Sometimes it seemed as though he’d lived in Duck forever even though he’d been here less than a year. He’d blended in as a Banker, joined the chamber of commerce and the volunteer fire department.
But he was more than a responsible Duck resident, or even a boyfriend, to me. He understood my gift in ways even my grandfather didn’t. He never seemed to be surprised by anything that happened. Pirate curses and ghost stories left him unphased. He might not have been born in Duck, but he belonged here.