A Spirited Gift

I took out my next secret weapon that Andy had insisted I bring with me—cookies from the bakery. Chocolate chip was Joe’s favorite. “Actually I was headed this way and my grandfather had these extra and asked me if I’d drop them off.”

Joe took the cookies—but never took his eyes off of my cleavage. “Good old Horace! He’s always been a good friend. We had some great times fishing out on his boat. Thanks.”

“I’m sure he’d be glad to take you out again. The Eleanore is in dry dock for repairs right now, but she’ll be up and running again in no time.” I glanced around the tiny house. “I hope the storm didn’t affect you too badly.”

“Not at all.” He chomped a few cookies. “I hardly even noticed. Slept right through it.”

“That’s good. We’ve tried to check in with everyone and make sure they’re okay.”

“You do a good job, Mayor. Not that I’m surprised. Your family has a history of community service to the town. In a way, not too different from my own family in times past.”

Rafe managed to nudge me, and a few papers flew off the nearby table. “Get on with it! Quit dillydallying.”

“Really?” I smiled and looked interested. “I didn’t realize your family was involved with the town.”

“You’d be surprised.” He laughed in a way that made me wonder if I should find some oxygen for him. “They’d all be surprised. Those harpies at the museum with their fine and noble heritages. I’ve got the best one of all. But no one knows.”

“I’m surprised you don’t want them to know. Wouldn’t it be fun to see how amazed they’d be?” I was careful not to push too hard.

“Who cares about them? They don’t matter. The only people I want to share this with are what’s left of my family. My granddaughter moved back here a few months ago. I hope she’ll keep the family name alive in Duck. I’ve left her my property—including the diary those witches at the museum want.”

“Well, I’m glad you have Marissa, Mr. Endy. I’m sure she’s a comfort to you. I’ve met her at the Blue Whale. She’s very nice and does a great job.” I smiled even though Rafe was all but dancing a ghostly jig between us. “I’m glad to see you’re getting around all right after your illness. Don’t be afraid to call if you need anything.”

“I’ll do that. Thanks, Dae.” He frowned for a moment, then said, “What would you do with a diary like mine?”

“I don’t know. I guess give it to someone who’d appreciate it. It concerns us all, Mr. Endy. If a family had a diary that described early times and people from Duck, it would affect the whole town.”

“You want to see it?”

“The diary? I’d be glad to take a look at it. Whose diary is it?”

“It belonged to one of the original magistrates—lawmen of their day. Back before Duck was a town or anything like that. The magistrates were judge, jury, and in some cases, executioners. This was a lawless place, worse than the Old West ever was. Pirates, cutthroats, press gangs and thieves. The magistrates cleaned up the islands and left their mark so the rest of us could lead decent lives. Kind of like you and Horace. That’s why I’d like you to have a look.”

“That sounds really exciting.” My heart was beating hard, and my smile felt a little off center. I felt like Rafe did, but on the inside. I couldn’t let my emotions show and scare Joe off.

“Great!” He looked around the cluttered room as I had a few minutes earlier. “Now where did I put that?”

“Blast and hellfire!” Rafe threw his tricorn hat on the floor. “Get on with it, man! If I’d been alive, I’d have skewered your liver by this time.”

“Quiet!” I mumbled.

“What?” Joe looked up at me. “I know it’s here somewhere. Could you help me look for it? It’s in an old wood box with a crest on it. You can’t miss it.”

So we started looking—under beds, in closets, in the tiny attic and behind every door. Nothing.

“It’s been here all my life,” Joe said. “I know it has to be here. I just can’t remember where I put it.”

“I don’t know where else to look.” I was pretty sure the apricot silk dress wouldn’t be returnable after all the dust and the grimy smears I’d just added to it.

Joe started to say something, then shook his head. “What am I doing? You’re Eleanore’s granddaughter! You can tell me where it is, right?” He rolled up close to me and held out his hands. “Not sure how this works exactly. What do I do?”

“You think about what’s lost,” I told him, taking his hands. They were cold and leathery. “Close your eyes and let’s see if we can find it.”

Being in someone else’s mind searching for a lost possession was like looking through an attic full of memories and pictures. Most of them had nothing to do with what was lost. But if the person could hold the thought of the lost item in the front of their minds, the search was as easy as walking up the stairs and finding the item at the front of the crowded attic.

In Joe’s case, the attic was so overcrowded, I wasn’t sure I could find the old diary he’d hidden. Then suddenly, as he concentrated, there it was. I could see the old, scarred box resting in a pool of sunlight.