A Spirited Gift

The front door opened and Marissa came inside, a confused expression on her face. “Dae? What are you doing here?”

I wished I could hide the diary. Maybe if I could take it with me, I could think of some way to use it to prove what had happened that fateful night at the Blue Whale. “Hi, Marissa. I just stopped in to bring your grandfather some cookies. Would you like some?”

She closed the door and looked at the diary I was holding. “I’m sorry. I hope my grandfather hasn’t been boring you with his stories. He can run a little long sometimes.”

“I wasn’t boring anybody,” Joe snapped. “Dae likes history. I’m thinking about giving her that old diary. Nobody in my family wants it anymore. You’re not interested.”

Marissa smiled and smoothed Joe’s silver hair. “Of course I’m interested. But we can’t live in the past.”

“Maybe not.” I tried to tread carefully. I was either seconds from keeping the diary—or possibly never seeing it again. “I’m a member of the historical society. There’s so much information in this that could be helpful in piecing together our past. I’d love to have it. On loan, if nothing else.”

Joe made a spitting sound. “I hate those old biddies at the museum! If I’d known you were involved with them, I wouldn’t have let you in the front door!”

“Simmer down, Grandpa. I’m sure the museum could make better use of the diary than using it to hold up that old cigar box.” Marissa smiled at me. “Take it, Dae. The box too. We need to do some cleaning around here anyway. I hope you all get good use of it.”

“You can’t do that,” Joe charged. “That’s mine.”

“I think Dae should leave now,” Marissa said. “I think you need your nap.”

I didn’t wait to be invited again to take the book. I grabbed the box and stuffed the diary into it, then headed out the door. I felt bad for Joe. It had to be hard to have someone come in and tell you what to do with your possessions.

On the other hand, a man was dead because of Joe. Maybe there was some way to prove it.

I took the box to the Blue Whale. Kevin and I examined both items, then sat and stared at them. “If only the book could talk and its testimony be admissible in court,” I said.

“Tell me again what you saw in the vision,” Kevin instructed. “Even little details.”

I started from the beginning and went through both visions I’d had—the one from the gun that had killed Johnny and the other from the book, which seemed to confirm that my earlier vision had been accurate.

“So Johnny was seated at the desk—just like we found him,” Kevin summed up while he looked at the diary. “He had this box and the old music box on the desk beside him when Joe came to the door and shot him in the back of the head.”

“That’s about it.”

“We should talk to the chief. There could be fingerprints and if we’re lucky, blood spatter from the bullet when it entered Johnny.”

“I don’t think he’d want to do tests on it simply because of what I saw in my vision,” I told him. “Believe me, he and Tuck Riley were not impressed that I knew the gun killed Johnny. They’re only interested in who killed Sandi and Matthew.”

“Nothing on that front, huh?”

“Nope. I know it was a woman. I can feel that much. But—”

“What?” he asked when I paused. “You know it was a woman, go from there.”

“This may sound terrible. I hate to even say it. But Marissa is Joe’s granddaughter. She had access to the gun.”

He shrugged. “That’s saying the gun was at his house and not at some pawnshop for the last twenty years. Why would she be involved with Matthew’s and Mayor Foxx’s deaths?”

“I don’t know.” I looked at the diary again. “It just seems coincidental. Maybe I’m all wrong.”

Kevin put the diary back in the box and put both of them into a plastic bag. “One thing at a time. Before I have to look for another manager, let’s see if we can pin Johnny’s murder on someone.”

“I’m game if you are. I just thought I’d mention that Sheriff Riley and Chief Michaels weren’t very interested in that aspect.”

But Kevin was adamant. We drove to the chief’s house, where he’d just sat down to chicken and dumplings for supper.

“I can’t believe you tracked me down to show me an old book,” he said, not bothering to get up from the table. “Bring it to the police station tomorrow morning. Maybe we can waste some time finding Wild Johnny’s killer before we go out and look for the important killer who’s still walking the streets of Duck.”

“I know you want to collar whoever killed Mayor Foxx and Matthew Wright,” Kevin said. “But Dae risked her life for whatever information she could get from that pistol. She says there’s something that ties this diary to that murder. I think you owe her an investigation.”

Chief Michaels looked painfully at his dinner. “All right. I suppose this chicken can be warmed up. I’ll take your book down to the county and let them have a look at it.”

I reminded Kevin on our way out that I’d never said there was any evidence on the diary or the box. “That was your idea.”