A Spirited Gift

He grinned. “But the chief doesn’t feel guilty about what happened to me. He was willing to listen, since he still feels bad about asking you to hold the gun. Which, by the way, was a really bad idea.”

“I know. But somebody had to do it. And I don’t know anyone else around here who does that kind of thing—except me.”

He put his arm around my shoulder as we walked away from the chief’s house. “Next time, there might not be anyone who does that kind of thing.”

“Maybe. But holding the diary was almost as bad. I wouldn’t have expected it—and neither would you.”

“That’s true enough. I don’t have anyone staying at the inn tonight. Let’s go grab some dinner at Wild Stallions. You get to buy since you ignored my important warnings about the gun.”

“Is that how it works?” I laughed at him. “I think our relationship might be a little one sided in that case.”

Chapter 47

Three days later, the ME in Manteo had compared Wild Johnny’s blood sample to the bloodstains left on the diary and the box. Not only was it a match, but when the sheriff picked up Joe Endy, his fingerprints were actually sealed in the blood on the box. Joe’s fingerprints were also on the music box that had become police evidence after we’d found Johnny’s body last year.

It was an old murder, but once it was solved, Chief Michaels and Sheriff Riley were glad to take credit for putting the pieces together. I heard they’d held a press conference and a few TV reporters had shown up for it. They had to end the press conference abruptly, however, when one of the reporters started asking rude questions about the recent murders and why the law enforcement team had been unable to solve them.

Gramps told me Chief Michaels had questioned Marissa about Sandi’s murder, since she was at the Blue Whale the night of the storm and presumably had access to the pistol. But Joe signed a sworn statement that he’d sold the gun to a friend who’d died a few years back. He said he hadn’t seen it since then. He also vouched for Marissa—saying she was with him when Matthew was killed. Marissa also passed a polygraph test. She was cleared of any wrongdoing.

I had to admit I was glad she wasn’t the killer. She continued working as Kevin’s manager, though she wasn’t as friendly toward me. The coldness I saw when I looked in her eyes made an arctic blast seem warm in comparison.

I didn’t blame her. Her grandfather was going to prison—if he survived the county jail until then. He was an old, sick man. I regretted that I’d been the one to learn his most desperate secret. Justice was hard to understand sometimes. Gramps said that was the pirate in my nature talking.

The town of Duck held its monthly town council meeting. The room was packed since three weeks had passed since the murders and the police had yet to arrest a suspect. Shawn Foxx and his girlfriend, Judy Starnes, were still under investigation, but Chief Michaels wasn’t able to make anything stick.

The chief gave a full report, which was met with a few rude remarks from otherwise polite Duck citizens. I had to call for order in the room. It seemed ironic to me that the council’s biggest heckler, Joe Endy, was missing this particular meeting because he was behind bars. I could only wonder what he’d have to say about inept police work.

I introduced a motion to reimburse Kevin for the money he’d spent housing and feeding so many people after the storm. The rest of the council agreed with me and passed a motion to give him the money and the town’s thanks. The only dissenting voice belonged to Mad Dog. I was pretty sure that was more to disagree with me than anything else.

Mad Dog had argued that we should wait for the county to pay Kevin. We all knew this could take a lot longer. Even Mad Dog agreed with that. But we had a precedent for helping town businesses through similar circumstances and that’s what got us through.

We began getting more phone calls at town hall regarding the closed coffee shop and bookstore than we had about storm cleanup. Nancy said that was a good thing because it meant the town was getting back to normal.

I happened to be friends with Phil’s sister on Facebook. We chatted about him closing the coffee shop for good. She was surprised, since she’d been planning to move away from Atlanta anyway. Her suggestion—that she might like to help run the bookstore—was met with relief from Phil, who’d dreaded leaving but had seen no other way. They were already working together on remodeling and swore I’d saved the day. It couldn’t hurt my reelection campaign.