Writing All Wrongs (6 page)

Olivia released a mournful sigh. “She died.”

George dipped his chin. “The water at that pool became the color of tea and was no longer safe to drink. Many other misfortunes befell the Croatan Indians after the death of the white doe. It’s a curse to slay a creature that stands for purity.”

“There was a small pool close to the deer I saw last night,” Olivia said, almost to herself. “It’s as though someone tried to re-create the legend. But why?”

Neither George nor Boyd could offer any suggestions, and Olivia decided that she’d taxed George long enough. She thanked him for sharing what he knew about the white deer and made to carry her coffee mug into the kitchen.

“Let me,” Boyd said, taking it from her. He’d just picked up his father’s mug and plate when his entire body jerked. The plate and mugs dropped harmlessly on the carpet, but
Boyd didn’t notice. He had the heels of his palms pressed against his eyes and was doubled over in agony.

“Mr. Allen?” Olivia stared helplessly at Boyd.

“He can’t hear you,” George said matter-of-factly. “He’s getting one of his headaches. It’ll pass, but until it does, nothing exists but the pain.”

Olivia collected the dishes and brought them into the dated but tidy kitchen. She washed the mugs, along with the plates and the frying pan soaking in the sink, and then wiped off the counters.

Everything the Allens owned was worn or damaged in some way, but there was a sense of pride about their tired belongings. Each item had its use and was valued. There were no extraneous objects in their house. As Olivia opened cabinets in order to put the clean dishes away, she realized that there wasn’t much in the way of food either.

When she returned to the living room, George had his arm around Boyd’s waist and was smoothing his son’s sweat-dampened hair. “There now, there now,” he murmured with the tenderness of a mother calming a fussy infant.

Boyd was in his sixties, but at that moment, he looked as ancient and frail as George.

Olivia met George’s eyes, pointed at the front door, and mouthed,
Thank you
.

“Come again, Miss,” the old man said. “I liked having a woman in the house again.”

“I will,” Olivia promised and left the Allens alone in their shadow-filled room.

*   *   *

Still lost in George’s tale of the white doe, Olivia drove her golf cart to the island’s library. Most of the attendees would be at the Land End Lodge for the panel on historic weaponry, but Olivia wanted to support Emmett by listening to his talk on haunted landmarks. She had two hours to kill before the
day’s only ticketed event—a lunchtime lecture and Q&A session with Silas Black. Olivia would see Rawlings again at lunch, and she was feeling an enormous sense of relief that they’d agreed to spend some time apart even though they were on their honeymoon because they were two individuals accustomed to a certain amount of solitude.

It didn’t take Olivia long to reach the library, which was a charming, single-story yellow cottage with cobalt-blue shutters and doors. Palmettos obscured the ocean from view, but Olivia could hear the murmur of waves in the distance. She parked her golf cart, pushed open the gate of a white picket fence, and paused to take a photo of the book-drop bin, which was a replica of the island’s lighthouse.

Like any Southern cottage, the library’s front porch boasted a row of rocking chairs, and Olivia could picture vacationers passing a pleasant hour rocking and reading. Overhead, a breeze coaxed a song with no melody from a set of wind chimes made of shells and silver starfish.

Olivia entered the library and was surprised to find so few people inside. Glancing at her watch, she realized that Emmett’s presentation wouldn’t begin for another twenty minutes, so she decided to browse among the stacks. She was happily meandering through the fiction section when she heard angry whispers coming from the next aisle.

Peering over a row of Jodi Picoult novels, Olivia saw Leigh Whitlow pointing an accusatory finger at Silas Black’s history consultant.

Amy
, Olivia thought, suddenly recalling the young woman’s name.

“I don’t believe you,” Leigh said in a voice that was half whisper, half growl. “I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

“That’s not my fault. I’ve never encouraged him in that way,” Amy replied firmly. Her body was tensed, as though she was on the verge of flight. Considering the waves of anger rolling off Leigh, Olivia couldn’t blame the younger
woman. “I’m here to do a job, Ms. Whitlow, not to steal your boyfriend. And I love this job, so if I could prove that I’m not romantically involved with Silas, I would. No matter what I say, you seem to have your mind set on something that isn’t true.”

Leigh folded her arms across her chest and studied Amy. A malicious gleam surfaced in her eyes. “I told Silas to keep his hands to himself, but it doesn’t hurt to repeat the warning to you. I’ve heard the rumors, okay? If I see a shred of evidence that you two are fooling around, I will act. I’ll feed the media such choice tidbits about you that you’ll want to spend the rest of your life in a cave.”

“I haven’t done anything wrong, so save your threats,” Amy said, her face flushing with indignation.

“Oh? It’s amazing what you can discover by spending a few hundred dollars on a private investigator.” Leigh’s mouth curved into a wicked grin. “I’ve learned the hard way that everyone has a dirty little secret. I believe yours has something to do with that hunky history professor. Billinger. You accused him of making sexual overtures, but later recanted when questioned by the university’s judicial committee.” Leigh made clicking noises with her tongue. “I heard the poor prof had to transfer to a different school because of you.”

Amy’s blush deepened and her posture changed. Instead of preparing to run, she looked ready to lunge at Leigh. “That was years ago! I made a mistake. And I apologized. My past is none of your business!”

“Not just yet,” Leigh said sweetly. “But I’ll make it
everyone’s
business if you cross me. Keep that in mind while you’re doing your
job
.” Leigh pivoted sharply on her high heels, causing her dark hair to billow out behind her like factory smoke, and strode away.

As Amy watched her go, her pretty face took on an expression of naked hatred. She’d barely turned to leave when someone tapped Olivia on the shoulder and she jumped.

“Is this some new tactile method of choosing a book?” Harris whispered, gesturing at Olivia’s hands, which were clamped on to the spines of two Anne Perry novels like a pair of barnacles.

“Actually, I was eavesdropping. I just got a second glimpse of a woman who’d go to extremes to protect her relationship with Silas Black. A woman, as Rawlings said, with a big anger.” Olivia told Harris about the exchange and then recanted Leigh’s behavior at The Crab Pot.

Harris whistled softly. “This is why I hang out with you. For the entertainment value. Besides, none of the weapons they’ll talk about at the lodge are futuristic, and those are the kind I use in my novel.”

“Well, I’m glad you’re here to keep me company,” Olivia said absently, her thoughts still fixed on what Leigh had said about Amy and Emmett Billinger. Had Amy been one of Emmett’s undergrad students? Or a graduate student? And was there any truth behind Amy’s accusations that he’d made advances toward her?

Harris waved at Olivia. “The golf carts are piling up outside, so let’s get a seat.”

In the next room, folding chairs were tightly packed together to accommodate the audience. Harris and Olivia chose seats toward the back and watched as Emmett tested a mini projector.

“I should’ve brought popcorn,” Harris murmured and then cocked his head. “Where’s Haviland?”

“Hopefully, he’s napping at the rental house. I paid a visit to the oldest resident of the island this morning and decided not to take Haviland along. He can survive for an hour or two alone, though he won’t like it. I’ll have to walk him before the luncheon, and he’ll expect me to feed him a five-star meal in exchange for his forced solitude.”

“Oldest resident?” Harris studied Olivia. “The guy who got hit by the rock last night? How’s he doing today?”

Olivia shared her experience at the Allens’. She was just recounting the story of the white doe when Amy entered the room. The young woman’s focus was entirely on Emmett. She nervously worried a loose thread on the hem of her shirt as she approached him.

“Oh boy,” Harris whispered. “I sense a drama storm brewing.”

For his part, Emmett was oblivious to Amy’s presence. Having made the final adjustments to the projector and screen, he walked to the front of the room, placed his note cards on the podium, and was reaching for the microphone when Amy touched his arm.

Emmett stiffened and for a moment seemed at a complete loss. However, he was a true Southern gentleman, so he smiled politely at Amy and extended his hand. Looking extremely relieved, Amy held his hand several seconds too long. She didn’t release it until Emmett apologetically tapped his watch. At that point, Amy retreated. She found an open seat on the end of Olivia’s row and sat down, her eyes never leaving Emmett.

“Hot for teacher,” Harris whispered.

Olivia elbowed him in the ribs and then spent a moment wondering why Amy had come to the lecture in the first place. If she was in Silas’s employ, then why wasn’t she assisting him instead of fawning over her former professor?

Before Olivia could dwell on this thought, a woman with turquoise reading glasses Olivia recognized from the opening ceremony as the librarian, Marjorie Tucker, dimmed the lights. The audience fell quiet. Emmett introduced himself and began a slide-show presentation featuring the haunted landmarks of the North Carolina coast. The talk encompassed several antebellum homes, two cemeteries, a stretch of forest, an area of swampland, a theater, and a library.

“One of the most famous hauntings occurs on Palmetto Island,” Emmett went on to say. The audience, Harris and
Olivia included, was already engrossed. But now, they sat up a little straighter, eager to hear what the professor knew about the local ghost.

The projector flickered and an oil painting of a young woman appeared on screen. She had creamy white skin, dark hair pulled into a tight bun, and large, golden-brown eyes. Her rosebud lips and the delicate fringe of curls around her face were dainty, but her Roman nose and jaw were too pronounced, making her handsome rather than beautiful. Olivia liked the self-possession she saw in the young woman’s face.

“She looks like Silas Black’s girlfriend dressed as a Jane Austen character,” Harris said under his breath.

Olivia nodded in amazement. Leigh Whitlow was a dead ringer for the woman on the screen.

“This is Theodosia Burr Alston, daughter of Aaron Burr. Some of you might recall that Aaron Burr was arrested in 1807 for treason. He was later acquitted and spent several years in Europe.” Emmett pushed a button and an image of an early nineteenth-century schooner replaced Theodosia’s portrait. “Theodosia took care of her father’s affairs while he was abroad. A very well educated and accomplished young woman, she managed to secure safe passage to New York for her father. He asked her to meet him there for a reunion. However, she was delayed by an unfortunate circumstance.”

“Didn’t her son die?” someone sitting close to Emmett asked.

“That’s right. Her son, who was named after his grandfather, died of a fever in June. Grief-stricken, Theodosia wasn’t well enough to travel until December of that same year.”

Emmett brought up the next image. This one was a photograph of a woman in a pale green dress walking on a beach. It had been taken at twilight from a distance, so the image of the woman was blurry and almost translucent. “Theodosia boarded a schooner called
Patriot
, which sailed from Georgetown, South Carolina. Legend has it that the
ship foundered on the Frying Pan Shoals and sank. Another version of the tale blames the ship’s disappearance on pirates. Either way, all hands were lost.” He indicated the photograph on-screen. “Since then, more than a dozen witnesses claim to have seen a woman of Theodosia’s description walking along the beach near Cape Fear. Some think she is looking for her father. Others believe she is searching for her husband or her son. There have been no sightings since the Cape Fear Lighthouse was demolished in 1958. Perhaps the spirit of Theodosia Burr followed that light to shore, and once its beacon was no longer visible, no longer had anything to hold her to this place.”

Emmett concluded by encouraging people to visit the maritime museum and was about to take questions when Jan Powell burst into the room. Her eyes raked the crowd until her gaze landed on Amy. Barreling her way down the row, heedless of shouts of protest as people’s feet were trampled, Jan grabbed Amy by the shoulders and shook her.

“That son of a bitch bought the land!” Jan shrieked. “He and the seller closed last night while the rest of us were traumatized by the death of the white deer. Did he do it? Did he kill that deer as a distraction?
Tell me!
You tell me so I can—”

Two men pulled Jan off Amy. Jan fought them for a moment and then collapsed into an empty chair and began to sob. “We
are
cursed!
All of us!
This whole
ruined
island.” Her voice carried such despair that Olivia felt a rush of pity for the woman. “A thousand years of natural history are about to be filled in, dug up, and paved over. It’s all over. Everything I care about will soon be gone. The island is about to become a place none of us will recognize. Its best parts will exist only in our memories.”

Jan buried her face in her hands and
cried.

One need not be a chamber to be haunted;

One not need be a house;

—E
MILY
D
ICKINSON

T
he library was thrown into chaos by Jan’s announcement and her subsequent hysterics. Half the patrons were either crying or shouting, and Olivia decided that it was time to go.

“I wanted to say hello to Emmett, but I can catch up with him later.” Olivia pulled Harris out of his seat. “The conservancy people in attendance have every right to be upset, and I don’t think they feel particularly warm and fuzzy toward outsiders at the moment.”

In the parking area, Olivia pointed at her golf cart and frowned. “I’m penned in.”

“This is why you should play video games,” Harris said. “One of the lessons you learn while gaming is to always park your getaway vehicle in an accessible spot. Tanks, Ferraris, Apache helicopters, golf carts—it doesn’t matter. Be ready to leave in a hurry.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Olivia said, hopping into Harris’s cart.

Harris had just merged onto the narrow strip of road when
people began pouring out of the library. As they raced to their golf carts, Olivia heard one man yell, “Let’s get him!”

“I wouldn’t want to be in Silas Black’s shoes,” Olivia said, gesturing at the throng. “They don’t look like the peaceful protestors from last night’s nature walk, do they?”

Harris glanced over his shoulder. “With those angry expressions, they remind me more of an army of Klingons.”

“Can this thing go any faster?” Olivia asked. “They’re following us.
All
of them.”

“Us?” Harris’s eyes widened. “No. Not us. They’re going to the lodge in search of Silas. I just hope there aren’t any loose torches or pitchforks lying around.”

When none of the drivers turned off at Land End Lodge, Olivia’s anxiety increased. “They’re still behind us.”

Harris tapped the rearview mirror. “I know. If this weren’t so weird, it would be funny. What kind of mob travels by golf cart? What’s next? Clown cars? Ice cream trucks?”

Olivia saw no humor in their situation. She steeled herself as Harris turned down the driveway leading to Lifesaver, and then exhaled noisily in relief when the rest of the golf carts drove by.

After parking his cart, Harris cocked his head to the side and listened intently. “They’re going to your neighbor’s house. Is Black staying next door?”

Olivia shrugged. “I have no idea. It’s a huge contemporary with floor-to-ceiling windows. Someone must be in residence because I’ve seen beach towels on the chaise lounges, but I haven’t run into anyone on the beach.”

“We should approach from that direction. From the beach, I mean.” Harris jumped out of the cart. “We need to warn whoever might be inside.”

“Can you text Rawlings while I get Haviland? He’ll want to know what’s happening.” Olivia unlocked the side door and whistled for Haviland. She heard the click of his nails on the floor as he rushed toward her and smiled inwardly.
It was a sound she never tired of. “Are you ready for some fresh air?” she asked her poodle.

Harris, Olivia, and Haviland hurried down to the beach. The ocean glittered in the late morning light, and the tide was out, revealing a seemingly endless pathway of shells.

“Looks like we’re not alone,” Olivia said and pointed at the stretch of sand in front of the enormous house next door. Two men stood facing the water. One appeared to be speaking into a cell phone while the other idly traced designs in the sand with a stick.

As Olivia and Harris drew closer, the man with the stick grinned at Haviland and said, “I bet you’d have fun with this, wouldn’t you, boy?” He stood up and smiled at Olivia and Harris. “Nice day for a walk. What’s your dog’s name?”

Olivia told him and then quickly introduced herself and Harris.

“I’m Dirk Johansson.” Dirk, who was around Harris’s age, had fair hair, glacier-blue eyes, and deep dimples. He jerked a thumb at Silas Black. “I’m named after a fictional character, but this man creates them.”

“Were your parents Clive Cussler fans?” Harris asked after a sideways glance at Silas. The novelist and television writer was so engrossed in his conversation that he didn’t even look their way.

“Dad loved Cussler’s books. With a name like mine, I almost
had
to become an archaeologist.” Dirk held up the stick and grinned at Haviland. “Ready to fetch, boy?”

Dirk threw the stick, and Haviland charged after it.

Harris gestured at a series of yellow buoys bobbing in the ocean. “How’s it going out there? Are you finding cool stuff in that shipwreck?”

“I believe we will,” Dirk said. “We’ve had some odd setbacks, though. Last week, we lost a small boat—a Boston Whaler—when one of our guys ran into a shoal and split the keel. The thing sank in seconds.”

“These waters aren’t easy to navigate,” Olivia said, staring impatiently at Silas. She wanted to catch his eye so she could tell him about the uninvited guests gathering in his front yard.

“True, but this guy thought he was being safely guided in by someone onshore. Someone with a light. My colleague was the last person to leave the wreck site, and by the time he motored in, it was dark.” Dirk spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “He thought the light was leading him to the house Mr. Black rented for us on the west beach. Instead, it led him to the reef. We wasted hours recovering our equipment the next day.”

“A strange light. A white deer shot in the heart with a crossbow bolt. This is not your typical vacationer’s paradise,” Harris said.

Dirk tossed the stick for Haviland again and then looked at Harris. “A white deer?”

Harris was about to reply when Silas finally put his phone in his pocket and turned to examine the newcomers. Slapping Dirk on the back, he said, “I see you found a mermaid.” Silas gazed appreciatively at Olivia, clearly expecting her to be charmed.

She wasn’t. In a cool voice, she said, “You may have a lynch mob forming in your front yard. Jan Powell announced your land purchase in a rather dramatic fashion at the library. More than half of the attendees are on the other side of your house as we speak. And they looked very angry.”

Silas shrugged. “What are they going to do? Make me give the land back? I purchased it fair and square. People were able to voice their opinions during not one, but two town hall meetings, but the buyer decided to sell to me anyway. Privately. And he didn’t need anyone’s permission to do so. Now, I’ll make sure the project manager protects as much natural space as he can, but I won’t be intimidated into halting this project. Not by the conservancy people. Not by anyone. I didn’t get this far by—”

The rest of his monologue was interrupted by the sound of glass shattering.

“What the hell?” Silas whipped his head around to face his house.

Haviland barked in alarm, and Olivia called him to her side and ordered him to be silent. She didn’t want him to give away their position. Four humans and a poodle were no match for an enraged gang.

“I think you should both come with us,” Harris said. “Olivia’s renting a place next door. You can wait inside until help arrives.”

Silas shook his fists in the air. “Giving them leave to destroy my house—which is
not
a rental? Not a chance!”

They heard multiple crashes, more glass shattering.

“Don’t be stupid,” Olivia snapped. “They’re throwing rocks at your windows. Who’s to say they won’t hurl one at your head next? You can fix the windows. A broken skull isn’t so easily repaired.”

Obviously unaccustomed to being addressed so directly, Silas rounded on Olivia, his dark eyes lit with annoyance. However, he bit back whatever acerbic reply he’d been on the verge of speaking and nodded. “You’re right. Dirk and I are grateful for the offer.”

Inside Lifesaver, Olivia told the men to make themselves comfortable in the living room. In the kitchen, she filled Haviland’s water bowl and prepared some refreshments for her guests.

She was just pouring coffee when Rawlings entered the house.

“Officer Peterson’s en route.” He pointed to the east, toward Silas’s house. “Seeing as you wisely removed Mr. Black from harm’s way, I’ll wait for the local boys to arrive before heading over myself. It was my hope that the mob’s fury would be spent smashing windows, but the noises have changed. I believe the group has moved beyond property
damage and is now engaging in home invasion. Peterson needs to arrive before someone decides to instigate an even more violent act, such as arson.”

“I’m glad you decided not to ride in on your golf cart and save the day.” Olivia gave Rawlings a small smile and loaded the iced coffee onto a tray.

He returned the smile. “I’ve gotten wiser in my old age. I married you, didn’t I?”

In the living room, Dirk was telling Harris about his most unusual underwater finds while Silas paced near the windows like a caged panther. With his dark hair, tanned skin, and sinewy body, he bore a strong resemblance to the big cat.

When Olivia introduced him to Rawlings, Silas shook Rawlings’s hand with obvious relief. “A police chief? Excellent. With an armed escort, I should have no trouble reaching the lodge. If we don’t leave soon, I’ll be late.”

“Better late than dead,” Rawlings replied evenly. “And I don’t have my gun belt, sir. I’m on vacation.”

Silas glanced at Harris and then at Dirk. “What about you? Can you get a spear gun or shark prod from the rental house?”

“That’s not the way to handle this,” Rawlings said before Dirk had a chance to respond. “The local cops are on the way. Once they’ve successfully diffused the situation next door, I’d be glad to take you to the lodge.”

Making no attempt to disguise his irritation, Silas took out his phone and began to type.

“Where are Laurel and Millay?” Harris asked Rawlings.

“I told them to stay at the lodge,” Rawlings said. “Millay was inspired by something she heard in the panel, so she’s scribbling in a notebook like a madwoman. As for Laurel, she’s in reporter mode. When I left, she was conducting an informal interview with George Allen. He’s being honored at today’s luncheon as the island’s oldest resident, and the
curator of the maritime museum is surprising him with a slide show. Mr. Sherrill has collected photographs that span nearly one hundred years of Palmetto Island history.”

Olivia was pleased to hear that George was being honored. “I hope Boyd’s well enough to accompany his father. He had some sort of attack while I was visiting. A migraine, maybe. It seemed pretty severe, and I doubt he can afford medical care. They barely had any food in the house.”

“I know that look,” Rawlings said gently. “Tread carefully, Olivia. Like the men who supported the land sale because it gave them hope of securing employment, the Allens have their pride.”

“I can handle that kind of pride.” Olivia gestured covertly at Silas. “It’s that kind I can’t tolerate.”

*   *   *

Officer Peterson and two other officers drove Silas Black to the lodge in a delivery truck. As soon as they were gone, Olivia, Rawlings, and Harris walked to the house next door. Thinking of all the broken glass they were sure to encounter, Olivia left Haviland behind.

While Rawlings exchanged courtesies with the pair of officers assigned guard duty, Olivia and Harris surveyed the damage through the nearest window frame.

“They wrecked the place,” Harris said with a trace of admiration. “This could be a cut scene from
Den of Thieves 4
. It took me weeks to create this much virtual detritus.”

Olivia took in the slashed oil paintings and the splayed books scattered across the floor. “For a spontaneous, emotionally charged crime, this room looks thoroughly worked over. The contents of the drawers have been dumped out and the bookcases have been emptied.” She put a hand on Harris’s arm. “Let’s see if the sight through that far window is the same.”

The next window provided them with a view of a ruined
media room. The leather sectional was cut in a dozen places, and beige foam poked through the rents like cartilage. Several pairs of woman’s pumps—Leigh’s, Olivia assumed—had been trampled until they were almost unrecognizable.

“Leigh’s not going to be happy,” Olivia murmured. “No woman likes to see her Christian Louboutin or Stuart Weitzman heels turned into ballet flats.”

Ignoring her comment about designer footwear, Harris pointed at the far wall. “Whoa. Do you see that framed
No Quarter
poster that was once encased in glass?” Harris said. “It’s signed by the entire cast
thanking
Silas Black.”

“No wonder he was upset.” Olivia stared at the hundreds of DVDs spread over the rug. Most of the jewel cases were cracked or crushed. “Things are in such disarray that it’ll be difficult to tell what’s been stolen.”

Rawlings rejoined them a few minutes later. “According to those officers, the whole place has been turned over. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a robbery from the get-go.” He gazed around the media room, assessing every detail. “It’s been an unusual twenty-four hours, hasn’t it?”

Harris tapped his watch. “We should go. If lunch is as unforgettable as the rest of the morning, then I don’t want to be late.”