A Timely Vision

I bit my lip to keep from telling him the truth. Gramps had been a sheriff’s deputy back in 1978 too. I was sure he knew all about Bad Butler’s demise. But if he didn’t, and he got upset about Silas Butler still being alive and called the chief, we might never know what actually happened. “Not really,” I finally lied. “I just thought he might call you before he told me anything.”

“Don’t worry so much.” He hugged me. “Millie will be fine. You’ll see.”

Is he so confident because he knows about Silas Butler too? It seemed odd to me that he had never mentioned it if he knew Bad Butler was still alive. I couldn’t be sure. It was beginning to look as though I was wrong about there being no secrets in Duck. “Sorry, I can’t help it. I wish there was something I could do to help.”

“I believe in the truth, Dae. You know that. It will come out, sooner or later. It always does.”

“Like Bad Butler?” I asked quickly. “I was thinking about him the other day. It’s funny how Miss Mildred and Miss Elizabeth didn’t hate the chief for killing their only brother.”

He sighed as he sat down behind the counter with me. “That was a long time ago. I think Millie and Lizzie were angry to begin with. But they got over it.”

“I can’t imagine getting over someone killing a person I loved.”

His eyes narrowed. “Is there something specific you were thinking about Silas Butler? I don’t recall ever mentioning that it was Ronnie who killed him.”

“But it was him, wasn’t it?” I shrugged. “I guess I heard someone say it.”

“It was Ronnie who shot Silas. But Silas was in trouble for a long time before it happened. It could’ve been any of us that caught him in that situation. What are you thinking, Dae?”

I realized I was getting into hot water here. I had to think of a way out before I was parboiled. Gramps was too good at reading me. “I heard someone say that it runs in the family. They said Miss Mildred was like Silas.”

“That was a damn stupid thing to say! Millie and Lizzie were nothing like Silas,” he blustered. “Even later when he—”

“Yes?”

“Nothing.” He shook his head. “I’m going to clean some fish for stew tonight. I’ll see you later.”

Was there a secret about Silas that Gramps and the chief knew? Were Miss Mildred and Miss Elizabeth involved too? It made me even more anxious to go to Kitty Hawk and talk to Silas.

The afternoon dragged by with only a few customers. This would’ve been a good day to be busy, but it never seemed to happen that way. Today, when I had somewhere I wanted to go, Missing Pieces felt like a weight holding me down. But then I looked around at all my treasures, the ones that would stay and the ones that would eventually leave me. This place was my second home. If I could be patient with slow sales, I could be patient until five P.M. when it was time to close.

I ended up closing a little early and ran home to change clothes before I had to meet Kevin. Most people, even in Kitty Hawk, knew I was the mayor of Duck. I wanted to look professional as I investigated my own chief of police. I checked in with Nancy for messages one last time, but there was nothing for me. I hoped I was doing the right thing. Give me a call, Chief!

I walked back into the Duck Shoppes parking lot at about five minutes before five. I saw Kevin leaning against his red Ford pickup and nervously twitched my knee-length white skirt with the embroidered hem. My matching white blouse was cool in the warm air and contrasted nicely with my light tan. I wondered if he’d notice.

He calmly assessed me from head to toe. “You look great! I don’t think I’ve ever known a mayor I could say that about.”

“Thanks.” I felt a little awkward, not sure why. People compliment me on a regular basis. I’m not vain, but I think I’m kind of pretty. His words made me feel beautiful. “You look nice too. Not a bit like an ex-FBI agent.”

He looked at his painfully plain gray suit and shrugged. “This is my only suit. I threw the rest of them away at the airport in DC.”

We climbed into the pickup, and he headed toward Kitty Hawk. “I always thought FBI agents only wore plain brown suits,” I said.

“I think you have FBI agents confused with police detectives. Our dress code wasn’t that strict. Most of the time, I wore jeans and T-shirts while I was working.”

“Undercover, right?”

“Right.”

The conversation died there, and I tried to revive it with a mention of what we were doing. “I have a list of questions we can ask, if you think that would help.”

“Such as?”

“Is he really Silas Butler? If he is, where has he been? Does anyone else know he isn’t dead? Has he seen his sisters recently?”

“Those are right to the point. What makes you think he saw his sisters if no one else knows he’s alive?”