A Finder's Fee (5 page)

E
veryone from Duck knew the legend of Lightning Joe
Walsh. It came from back in the 1970s when local moonshine runners turned to racing. For a while, there was even a small racetrack in the Outer Banks. Nothing elaborate—just a dirt track and people sitting in lawn chairs watching and cheering local drivers.

The big local name at that time was Mad Dog Wilson. He drove his number twelve race car like a wild thing, uncaring if he rolled the car or skidded off the track to win the race. There was no real competition for him. He was the king.

Lightning Joe appeared out of the blue one day. No one knew who he was or where he came from. They said Mad Dog couldn’t beat him because Joe was even crazier than him. What added insult to injury was that Joe didn’t care about winning—at least not the applause, the trophy or the cash prize. He only seemed intent on being first, and making Mad Dog’s life miserable.

Their final race seemed to bear out this conclusion. Mad Dog wrecked his car. It wasn’t even as bad as other wrecks he’d had, but he was seriously injured. He gave up racing and had to walk with a cane after that. His badly broken leg had healed poorly. Mad Dog’s number twelve car was hauled away by a wrecker and never seen again.

People thought for sure Lightning Joe would stop at the end of that race. His opponent was down and it would have been the sportsmanlike thing to do. He didn’t stop—not for the thousand dollars in prize money or to see if Mad Dog was hurt. His car never returned to the racetrack either. No one ever saw hide nor hair of him again.

“Joe wanted to show up Mad Dog.” Gramps finished his version of the tale for the people who weren’t from Duck. “We always wondered what happened to him, the faceless driver who didn’t care if he won or lost.”

“How did you know his name if he never stopped?” Ann asked.

“It was written on the side of his black car with the number twenty-three,” Gramps answered. “We never found out if he was local or not. He was gone with his car, and so was Mad Dog. Racing died out around here after that.”

“Thank you, Mr. O’Donnell.” Luke stopped the reminiscing. “We believe the skeleton you found in the number twelve car by the town hall may be that of Joe Walsh.”

Gramps scratched his head. “That doesn’t make any sense. Why would he be in Mad Dog’s car instead of his own?”

“You remember the report that was filed when Mad Dog’s car went missing?” Chief Michaels asked him. “Someone stole the car right off of the flatbed. People thought maybe fans did it, because Mad Dog swore he never saw it again. According to the mechanic who looked at it on the track, it was still running and could have been driven.”

“That’s right.” Gramps snapped his fingers. “A lot of people thought Joe had taken it as a souvenir.”

Luke pulled a thin file from his briefcase. “This report has been buried since that time. It’s possible it wasn’t ever received by the sheriff’s department. We found it recently as the old records are being computerized.”

I looked at the yellowed paper. Some of the typewritten words were a little smeared. But it was clearly a missing person’s report filed for Joe Walsh of Manteo by his sister, Pam Walsh.
Six foot three, one hundred and sixty pounds. Black hair. Blue eyes. Anchor tattoo on his upper left arm.

“You can see the report was filed the same night of the race Mr. O’Donnell was talking about, April 12, 1971,” Luke pointed out. “In other words, Mad Dog’s number twelve car and Joe Walsh went missing the same night.”

“That’s when you didn’t have to wait forty-eight hours to report a missing person.” Chief Michaels said it fondly, as though missing those days when he was a sheriff’s deputy.

“I guess no one followed up on it,” Gramps said. “We were overburdened in those days, since we were pretty much the only law enforcement on the island.”

“There were ten subsequent reports filed by Pam Walsh.” Luke pulled out more reports. “Miss Walsh tried to find her brother over the period of the next five years. We only found a few of those reports. No action was taken on any of them.”

I felt bad for Gramps. He wasn’t sheriff back then, but he was a deputy. I didn’t know about the other reports, but the one Luke had given me was signed by Horace O’Donnell, Deputy.

The spotlight was on him now. As much as I hated everyone looking at me, I would’ve taken it back to give him some breathing room if I could.

No one said anything. It had all happened a long time ago—except that we found the number twelve car tonight.

“The medical examiner is doing tests on the remains as we speak.” Luke put away his paperwork. “We hope to have a preliminary identification of the body very soon. As Chief Michaels mentioned, I’ll need statements from each of you about what happened this evening. If the body in the car turns out to be Joe Walsh, you may each be part of a murder investigation.”

“Has anyone spoken to Mad Dog?” Gramps asked.

“No,” Luke answered. “And we’d appreciate it if none of you try to go around this process and contact him. My office, and Chief Michaels, will take care of that when the time is right.”

Luke gave us each a sheet of paper and asked us to write our statements and sign them. I could only imagine what Flourine’s statement would read—
Came here looking for a witch and found a dead man in a race car.
Would she go on to tell them about her own magical abilities?

I managed to put down what I’d told the chief in a neat paragraph, then signed and dated it. I knew what governmental bodies were looking for.

Everyone finally went home around midnight. I had a few stern looks from Shayla and Ann as well as a flutter of feathers from Flourine. Kevin hugged me before he left and said he’d call in the morning. Luke left with Chief Michaels.

Gramps collapsed into his recliner, exhausted. “That was quite a workout.”

I sat on the sofa across from him. “Your name was on that report. I guess they won’t hold it against you, huh?”

“Don’t worry so much. Like I said, there was a lot going on back then. That’s why most of the towns got their own police force. We didn’t have the money or the manpower to keep up. We probably got hundreds of reports like that every week. It’s a shame it had to be that way, but there wasn’t much we could do about it.”

“I’m guessing that was Luke’s casual way of saying Mad Dog could be a suspect in Joe Walsh’s death?”

“Sounds like it to me. I’m surprised Sheriff Riley wasn’t out here with them. It was a case originally brought to the sheriff’s department, which he could take to be in his jurisdiction, even though it happened before he was sheriff. Finding the car in Duck makes it Ronnie’s case now.”

“Do you think Mad Dog killed Joe Walsh? Could he have been that angry about him constantly winning?”

“I don’t know, honey.” He picked up the TV remote. He usually slept in the recliner with the TV on. “You should go up to bed and get some sleep. You’ve had a big day. Who knows what tomorrow will bring.”

I told him good night and headed upstairs. Treasure was waiting for me on the bed. He yawned when he saw me and made room as I got changed. With his head settled against my shoulder, he started purring loudly.

Until Maggie decided to make her presence known.

“You meet as many young men as I did, but you don’t have to serve them rum. Why don’t you take advantage of it? Luke likes you. I could tell.”

At that point, Treasure jumped and screeched before he ran downstairs.

“I don’t want to take advantage of it. I love Kevin.”

“I love Thomas too, but there’s always time for a small dalliance, don’t you think?” Maggie giggled.

“No. Not really. I need to go to sleep now. I’m exhausted.”

She rubbed “our” hand across the sheets and my flannel pajamas. “These are so soft—like goose down. You are a fortunate woman, Dae O’Donnell, to be so wealthy.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t go into the fact that I wasn’t wealthy at all, except by her four-hundred-year-old standards. “Good night, Maggie. Mayhap we will have good fortune locating Thomas’s grave soon.”

Maggie subsided and I stared up at the ceiling.
Mayhap?
I had to do something about this blending between us or people wouldn’t be able to understand me, although it did make it easier for me to understand Maggie.

Finding Thomas’s grave might prove to be much harder than finding Maggie’s resting spot, I realized. I had some idea where Maggie’s bones were. But her ship captain, Thomas, could be buried anywhere along the hundred-mile span of the Outer Banks. I hoped I could keep my promise to reunite the lovers.

Of course now I couldn’t go to sleep. I kept thinking about everything that had happened. Gramps just thought being caught digging without a permit would be a bad thing for the upcoming election. If Mad Dog was accused of murder, it would make him unable to continue. I would be the next mayor by default.

I didn’t want to win that way, but I might not have any choice. Mad Dog and I had never been friends, but I hated to see him go down this way. If nothing else, it was a black spot on Duck’s history. Despite the easy win, I hoped it wasn’t true.

• • •

I
woke early the next morning feeling like my old self.
There were no unusual dreams, and I got dressed in warm clothes and went downstairs for breakfast. There was a brief moment when Maggie admired my blue sweater, but we quickly changed places. It was getting easier to go back and forth. I wasn’t sure if that was good or bad.

Gramps was already gone. There was no sign that he’d eaten. The coffeepot was cold. It was unusual behavior for him. I tried not to worry about it though. He could’ve had an early charter.

“Looks like we’re going out for breakfast.” I grabbed Treasure and put him in the cloth carry-all I’d made. It was bright blue and had ducks all over it and a flap over the top, like a messenger bag, to keep him from jumping out. Not that he ever acted like he wanted to. He seemed to enjoy riding in it and liked being at Missing Pieces with me.

A pang of longing rose in me as I thought of how many days I had been away from the shop. I hardly ever went that long between visits, even if I wasn’t working. I loved the shop and everything in it.

I walked quickly down the road to the Duck Shoppes on the Boardwalk. Cars honked at me and people waved. Most people here knew me. I waved back, happy to be going about my normal daily routine. The weather had turned warm again. The sun was shining down from a clear blue sky.

And a giant photo of me was smiling down from the side of the big, blue Duck water tower.

I stopped walking to stare up at it. I’d never seen anything else besides the town name on the tower. Sure, it was occasionally decorated for the jazz festival or Christmas.

But this was a political ad. I couldn’t believe the town had okayed it.

How had it happened? I hadn’t asked for it to be done, certainly hadn’t paid for it. I felt sure the town hadn’t meant it as an endorsement. I needed to ask a few discreet questions of the right people.

I stopped to pick up coffee and a cinnamon roll at the Coffee House and Bookstore in the parking lot of the Duck Shoppes. Jamie and Chris Slayton—they were married last spring—asked me about finding the race car. Duck had a fast-acting grapevine.

I couldn’t tell them everything about finding the car or who the police thought might be in it, since Chief Michaels and Luke had asked us not to. They’d probably find out anyway, but it wouldn’t be from me.

I sort of explained that I had been looking for something historical at the town hall site. I didn’t go into detail. I didn’t have to since people knew I was always looking around for something, usually inspired by my “gift.”

Chris was our brilliant town manager. He wasn’t happy about the news. “This will cost us another few months getting the town hall built. What artifact was so important, Mayor? I know you’ve been as excited as I have about finishing this project. We’ve had so many setbacks. Couldn’t it have waited? I wish you’d come to me first.”

“I didn’t want you to be involved. I know you’ve tried to help me before and it didn’t end well for you. I couldn’t risk your job to find—the thing. It was better if it was all on me.”

“I had to fine Kevin Brickman for operating that equipment on town property without a permit. There could even be legal ramifications. Councilman Wilson already contacted the town’s lawyer to look into it. Kevin’s my friend, Mayor. Or at least he
was
my friend.”

I bit my lip, not happy about Kevin being fined. “If it had been the easy in-and-out project I’d imagined, none of this would’ve happened. But at least you weren’t out there, Chris, and you didn’t lose your job. We can’t afford to lose you.”

He continued scowling at me while Jamie held his hand. They were such a great couple.

“I guess you’re right. I hated to send the fine out to Kevin. I know it’s part of my job, but he’s been so much help around town and he’s a volunteer on almost every committee, not to mention working with the volunteer fire department.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll reimburse him. He’ll be fine.”

“It’s five thousand dollars. That’s kind of hefty.”