A Touch of Gold (25 page)

“Wait!” he called out again as I started back into the pines. “I’d love to talk with you. If you grew up in Duck, you probably know my name. I used to be somewhat of a celebrity. Probably before you were born. I’m Bunk Whitley. I once owned the Blue Whale Inn.”

Chapter 17

N
othing on earth—except that statement—could have made me stay there. I thought about the pictures I’d seen on microfiche from the old
Duck Gazette
. Old Bunk Whitley. Man about town. A real ladies’ man who caused two sisters in town to feud their whole lives. A mystery man who’d vanished years ago, his past strange and shadowy. It was hard to see the legend in this wrinkled old man.

Of course, just because he was a legend in Duck didn’t mean I could trust him. But I was fascinated that here he sat before me, in the flesh. “Everyone thinks you’re dead,” I said, not immune to the lure of mystery.

“I’m supposed to be dead. But it’s hard to keep a good man down. I’m sure I know you.” His eyes narrowed. “You’re related to Eleanore O’Donnell, aren’t you? Too young to be her daughter. You must be her granddaughter. I never forget a pretty woman.”

The men from the house were running now. I had to make a choice. I wanted to stay and hear all the stories he had to tell. I could only imagine that Max would have risked anything to talk to old Bunk Whitley.

Then it hit me. “You killed Max because he knew you were living out here. You couldn’t risk everyone knowing you were alive. There’s a warrant out for your arrest. You killed Wild Johnny Simpson at the Blue Whale Inn, then left town.”

He laughed. “Don’t be absurd! I’ve never killed anyone in my life. I’m a lover, not a fighter. I find money gets more done than guns. But, my young O’Donnell, tell me about your family. Tell me how old Sheriff Horace is doing. I hate that the
Gazette
closed down. No news anymore except what my men can glean for me.”

I knew he couldn’t be trusted no matter how affable he seemed. I turned to run, but there was a man in my way—and no fire extinguisher to remove him. Too late.

Bunk laughed again. “Come on. You’ll be glad you didn’t run off by yourself. There’s nothing out there, you know. We’ll have lunch and get things straightened out. What did you say your name was again?”

“Dae O’Donnell.” The man in front of me smiled. He wasn’t holding a visible weapon, but I felt pretty sure he wouldn’t let me get past him.

“
Mayor
Dae O’Donnell? Amazing! I haven’t had lunch with a mayor for years. Nash, make sure our guest is treated well. Have Lacey find her some clean clothes and bring her down for lunch in the sunroom.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Don’t let her leave yet, Nash. I’m afraid she’d hurt herself out there. Eleanore O’Donnell’s granddaughter deserves better.”

It seemed I was a prisoner again—this time because of my own crazy love of Duck lore. Had Max and Sam died for the same reason?

 

 

I
lost count of the number of rooms as I was shown to a guest suite. From what I saw in the mansion, everything was expensive and larger than life. I didn’t have much chance to linger over anything as Nash kept me moving. The door was locked behind me, reminding me that I was a guest in name only.

I looked out of the panoramic windows, a colorful patio beneath me. It was too far to jump. I was eyeing the elaborate brass four-poster, thinking about using the pink sheets for a rope, when a young woman came into the room.

“Hi. I’m Lacey. Mr. Whitley says you’re staying for lunch and you need clothes.” Her big brown eyes were friendly but probably not unaware of my position.

“Is there a phone? I need to call my grandfather and let him know where I am.”

“I’m sorry. There aren’t any phones up here. Maybe Mr. Whitley will let you use the satellite phone downstairs.”

She walked to the side of the room where a double mirror opened into a closet with a touch of her finger. “There are clothes in different sizes in here. You should be able to find something to wear.”

“Thanks.”

“Don’t worry. Mr. Whitley has many guests who stay here. You’ll be well cared for. I’m sure he’ll send you home before too long.” She smiled at me. She was very young—maybe under twenty. I wondered how she’d managed to find work here. “If you’d like to take a bath or shower, it’s in here.” She pointed to the other side of the room. “Mr. Whitley eats at one, but he said to take your time. He’ll wait for you.”

I thanked her again and she left. I heard the door lock behind her. What now?

I always hate in books and movies when the woman being held captive gets all dressed up for her captor. On the other hand, my clothes were painfully awful. But what difference did it make if he was only going to kill me anyway?

I considered going down for lunch the way I was—damn the consequences. I decided against it. If nothing else, my last hour I’d be clean and well dressed. Maybe that’s why all the captive females agreed to change.

I took a quick shower, forcing myself to ignore a pink marble tub large enough to swim in. It even had a Jacuzzi. The pink marble floors were heated and felt good to my poor abused feet. The bathroom was a thing of beauty that I wished I could take with me to replace our old claw-foot tub and ancient appointments that needed to be replaced years ago.

I found a pair of jeans—even new underwear with the tags still on them, wrapped in tissue paper. The closest thing I could find to a T-shirt was an apricot-colored button-down shirt. I wondered who the guests were who had worn these extra clothes and whether they’d made it home alive.

I rummaged through the bedroom, which included a sitting room with fireplace. The carpet was so soft, I hated to put on the shoes I’d found.

Bunk Whitley had certainly come up in the world from owning the Blue Whale Inn. No wonder he had gold to spare for Max, even if it had come with a price.

I knocked on the inside of the door to let Nash know I was ready. He opened it wide. He didn’t say anything, just kept his distance, and led me back through the house to the sunroom. This time I noticed what were probably real Picassos and Renoirs on the walls. Everything was beautifully decorated and elegantly laid out.

“There you are!” Bunk greeted me in the sunroom, which was almost the size of our whole house. “I hope you’re feeling more comfortable now, and I hope you’re hungry. It’s too cold for a swim this time of year, but I bet it gave you an appetite. Roger tells me you were on the
Golden Day
when he came back from getting supplies. I apologize for his rude behavior toward you. Sometimes my men get suspicious with strangers. You understand that being from Duck, I’m sure.”

I sat down at the large glass table, the room full of plants and water features. There was fruit, wine and cheese out already with a white-jacketed waiter standing nearby. “Apology accepted. May I go home now?”

“But my dear mayor, I’m so looking forward to having lunch with you. And there are some—discrepancies we should discuss before you go running back to get Chief Michaels out here.”

“What discrepancies?”

“Please, have some fruit. Pablo, my chef, is making us a wonderful quiche with fresh-baked bread. The wine is made from muscadines. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

“I’m not really hungry.”

He stopped pandering and sighed. “You drive a hard bargain, Ms. O’Donnell. You’re just like your grandmother. Eleanore was a force to be reckoned with. I mourned her passing. She was so young. Is your mother like her?”

“My mother died a long time ago. I guess the women in my family don’t live long.”

“What a pity!” He shook his grizzled head. “As to those discrepancies, I’m not responsible for Max Caudle’s death. I can’t even imagine someone firing a cannon in this day and age. What an odd way to kill someone.”

“And Sam Meacham?”

“I’m afraid I had something to do with that, but not what you’re thinking. It happened with the best of intentions. I sent Roger to offer Sam someplace to hide until Max’s killer was found. He knew Roger since he’d been on the island with Max. Unfortunately, he took it the wrong way and jumped off the boat I’d sent for him. He had this odd notion that I wanted to kill him.”

He took a sip of the red wine in his glass. “My men tried to bring him back, but he swam away and they lost him. I heard his body washed up. Terrible thing. I truly meant him no harm.”

“Mr. Whitley, doesn’t it strike you as odd that your men meant no harm, but they kidnapped me? And they
accidentally
lost Sam at sea? I think there may be more going on than you think. Maybe you didn’t fire that cannon, but maybe one of your men did.”

“I don’t believe that’s true. But I’ll tell you what I know and we’ll see what comes of it—if you’ll have lunch with me and share Duck news. There’s a price to be paid for everything. This one isn’t too steep, I think.”

I agreed to lunch. What choice did I have? Maybe something he said would make sense and I’d be able to take it back to Chief Michaels. I grabbed a peach and cut a slice off with my knife. “All right. I’d like to meet the man who lost Sam at sea.”

“Of course.” He nodded at the waiter. “Roger has worked for me for years. He’d never kill anyone—unless it was an absolute necessity. And then never without my permission.”

Roger was summoned to our table, where he repeated the story—almost word for word—that Bunk had told me about Sam’s death being an accident. Both men looked at me, and Bunk asked me if I had any other questions. Only a fool wouldn’t know when they were caught between a cutlass and a dagger. I wasn’t going to get anything useful from them.

“A lot of bad things happen around you, Mr. Whitley. Like Wild Johnny’s death.”

“Please call me Bunk.” He stared off for a few seconds and smiled. “Wild Johnny Simpson. I haven’t thought of him in a
very
long time. I left him at the Blue Whale that night, completely alive, I assure you. He was going to take care of the property for me since the FBI had convinced me to leave town.”

“The FBI?”

“No. Not another question until I ask one of mine—what is Kevin Brickman like? I know a little about him. I would, of course, since I sold him the Blue Whale. But that was through my agent. Does he seem like the type to run an inn? I can’t imagine an ex-FBI agent cooking and cleaning.”

I told him about Kevin and all the work he’d done on the Blue Whale. “He’s even taking in all the historical items for the new museum. I think he makes a good innkeeper. You should try his lasagna sometime.”

“That’s right. The little museum blew up. Remind me before you leave to give you a handful of coins for the collection. I never got rid of the rest of the gold I found when I was young. There’s not much market for pirate gold, you know.”

“So the FBI asked you to leave Duck,” I said, reminding him where we were.

“Yes. They offered me a new name and a place to live for information I gave them about a gang of smugglers working in the area. I was small potatoes compared to them. I took them up on it for a while, but I could never live under the radar that way. I traveled to Europe and around the world a few times. I finally came back here. I want to die close to home, you see. I knew I couldn’t actually live in Duck again—no one would leave me in peace. Being here is very much like being at home.”

“And you gave Max more recent gold for his wife’s surgery a few years back.”

“It’s my turn.” He smiled at me like a kid waiting for ice cream. “How’s Millie doing? I hated when I heard Lizzie was killed. Is Millie still the ‘it’ girl she always was? That woman knew how to get under my skin.”

“I’m not sure about the ‘it’ part, but she’s doing fine. I thought you were in love with Miss Elizabeth, not Miss Mildred.”

He laughed and I could see something of the ladies’ man he had been all his life. “I loved them both. Never could choose between them.”

“And the gold for Agnes’s surgery?”

“You have it all wrong, Mayor. I gave Max gold for my
daughter’s
open-heart surgery. Max was a good man. He took good care of Agnes—better than I did. I wouldn’t have harmed a hair on his head.”

Now that was a story I’d never heard before. “Agnes Caudle is your daughter?”

Pablo served the cheese quiche and fragrant, homemade bread with little flower-shaped pats of butter. Bunk thanked him, then smiled as he buttered some bread and handed it to me. “Wait until you try this. You won’t believe how good it is.”

I waited impatiently for his answer to my question. The quiche set before me smelled almost as good as the bread.

“Agnes is my biological daughter. She doesn’t know it. When I heard she and Max were having trouble finding the money for her surgery, I brought him out here and gave him the gold. I wasn’t there for her when she was growing up. Not entirely my fault, but I wanted to do this thing for her.”

“How can she not know you’re her father?” I knew Floyd Reynolds, Agnes’s father. Did he know Agnes wasn’t his daughter?