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Paige left the attic room and ran down the stairs. She unlocked the glass case, grabbed the logbook, and carried it up to her room. When she got there, she set the book on her end table and opened it, again being sure to stand back and avoid the worst of the smell and cloying mist that erupted from it.
“Hello, lass. You didn’t put me away for long.” The pirate grinned, and Paige thought he looked pleased to be out and about.
She told him the concerns she had about Jay. He crossed one arm over his ethereal chest and propped the other elbow on it, rubbing his chin. “Aye, that lad might be a scoundrel, I’d say. You’re right to be suspicious.”
“He seems pretty clueless and harmless most of the time. Like a half-asleep surfer dude.”
“Surfer? What’s that?”
How to explain it? “It’s a person who goes out in the ocean and stands on a wooden board and lets the waves push him to shore.” She was pleased with her simple explanation.
“And why in the name of Davy Jones’ locker would anyone want to do that?” His face wrinkled as though smelling something foul.
“Because it’s fun, I suppose.” It hadn’t occurred to her the old seaman would still have a nineteenth-century perspective on the world.
“You call that fun? I’ll tell you what’s fun. Running down a shipload of gold and treasures. Leaping aboard to steal the booty and shoving off with the captain’s women and liquor. Now that’s fun.”
“So you really were a pirate. I don’t suppose you robbed from the rich and gave to the poor, did you?” Paige was growing a bit suspicious of Captain McDougall.
“Aye, lass. But we were the poor. We only stole from the queen’s men or other pirates. But we ran a legitimate business in hauling loads from the old world to the new. Pinching the rake was just a sideways game.”
“I see. It was a side hustle.”
“Call it what you will. Tell me more about this scoundrel Jay.” He reached under his left arm and pulled out an imaginary cutlass. “I’ll run him through if I have to.”
“I doubt that will be necessary, but thanks.” Paige sat down on the bed cross-legged and pulled her stuffed Pooh bear onto her lap. “He’s been pressuring me to sell him the bookshop. Now, he’s trying to get . . . fresh with me.” She hoped the captain would understand her meaning.
By the scowl on his face, he did.
She pursed her lips. “He may seem all ‘Namaste’ and ‘Hey dude,’ but I have seen glimpses of his New York roots.”
Captain McDougall leaned forward. “Until we solve this mystery, trust no one.”
His words sent shivers through her. “I might have muddled thinking because I’m tired, but I just thought it might be nice if you and I spent the evening together. You know, just in case . . .”
“Just in case the rascal with the red paint returns tonight? I like your way of thinking, lass.” He paused and dropped his hands, leaning his shimmering torso toward her. “Your aunt was kind to me, and she provided good company and fine conversation for many a year. I shall help her niece the best I can as a show of my respect for her.”
Paige nodded. “Thank you. I’m not as good a conversationalist as she was, but I’ll try to be interesting.”
As Paige busied herself steaming some broccoli to go with her chicken dinner, she asked Captain McDougall about how he’d come to be a ghost trapped in a ship’s logbook. He recited a story almost identical to the one Horace Bellevue had told the day of Aunt Nora’s memorial service: His ship had been in a terrible storm. All hands made it to shore except him. “I was just plain stubborn. I wouldn’t let go of that sack of treasure for anything. It never occurred to me I could die, and the gold wouldn’t matter anyway.”
Paige shut the oven off and removed the broccoli from the stove. “What happened to the gold?”
The pirate shook his head slowly. “I don’t know.”
“I wish I could offer you some dinner.” Paige sat at the tiny table with her plate of food.
“Ah, no worries. I’m well used to my ghostly ways. It does smell very nice though.”
They chatted while Paige ate. He was a little gruff—rough around the edges as Aunt Nora had been known to describe people. But he was also humorous and had a twinkle in his ghostly eye that made him quite likable.
When the sound of a small thud made its way up the steps to her, Paige’s eyes opened wide and she glanced at Captain McDougall. He’d obviously heard it too because his gaze was on the door. In a raspy whisper, he said, “Do you want me to go see who’s down there, lass?”
She nodded without thinking. Quick as a flash, the pirate accelerated toward the door and disappeared right through it. He wasn’t gone more than thirty seconds. “It’s a man. Should I scare him away for you?”
Paige opened her mouth to say yes but then thought better of it. There was no way she’d get to the bottom of this if she hid and let the ghost pirate handle the intruder. “No.” Her whispered voice was firm, and she stood up and crossed to the door. “I want to see who it is.”
“Be careful, lass. I’ll come along.”
She crept down the stairs, avoiding the creaky spot. When she got to the bottom, she slowly peeked her head past the frame until she could see out into the room. A dark shape stood near the bookshelves just across from her, back turned. She squinted, trying to discern anything familiar about the figure. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness, she saw that it was a man with dark hair. He pulled a few books off the shelf, put them back, and turned to head further into the shop. When she caught a view of the man’s profile, Paige’s jaw dropped, and she popped out of the staircase into the room, hands on hips. “Marco!” she cried. “What are you doing?”
He spun around to face her. Even in the dim lighting, and in spite of his dark complexion, Paige could see his face flush. “Bella! Why are you here? It’s not safe for you here at night.”
Paige almost screamed in frustration. She was so tired of hearing that same line from so many supposedly well-meaning men in her life. She gritted her teeth and forced words out between them in a staccato tempo. “What. Are. You. Doing. In. My. Shop?”
Marco lowered his head and kicked a foot out in front of himself. “I picked at the lock.”
Of course. She hadn’t installed the new deadbolt yet. “Why?”
He sighed and then spoke in a rush of words, as though he was glad to get them out of his mouth. “My uncle Frank made me. He said I needed to come in here and find the gold booty. I didn’t know you’d be here. I figured I could come in, look around, not find anything, and go. Then maybe he would be satisfied and get off my head and shoulders about it.”
“Off your back,” Paige corrected automatically.
Marco nodded furiously, sending his lovely curls to bouncing. “Yes, that too. I’m sorry, bella.”
“Were you here last night too?” Paige watched his face closely.
He shook his head. “No, no. Not yesterday. Only today.” His eyes met hers easily, without shifting.
“And Frank thinks the gold is somewhere in my shop, huh? Captain McDougall’s gold?”
“Si. He thinks it’s his because our family owned this store before. They could never find it while they possessed the building, but Uncle Frank thinks your aunt did find it. That’s all I know. He is pestering me night and day when all I want to do is cook, eat, and visit with the beach hares.”
“Bunnies.” Paige shook her head irritably to clear it of the Italian’s crazy English mistakes. She caught a glimpse of the ghost behind her, his black hat bobbing slightly as he hovered in the air. Luckily, the Italian didn’t so much as glance in the pirate’s direction. “Marco, there is no gold here. It’s just a legend. Are you going to leave my shop and never come back, or do I need to call my brother and have him come arrest you? They will probably send you packing.”
Marco immediately began moving toward the door, and Paige intercepted him. “You have to promise never to come back into my shop before I’ll let you leave. At least not during times when you have to pick a lock to come in.”
“I promise, bella. Of course I do.”
When he flashed that almost irresistible smile, she sighed. She liked to think she was immune to his charm, but the adorable little boy look he used hit her right in the feminine heartstrings.
“Okay. Go on, then.”
Marco rushed out, and Paige locked the door again. “I don’t know why I even bother to lock this,” she muttered to herself. “People seem to just waltz on in here whenever they darn well feel like it anyway.”
“That lad is a smarmy rat, but he doesn’t look dangerous to me.” McDougall floated in front of Paige.
“Yeah, smarmy’s a pretty good word. He’s a nice guy at heart, though. Just doesn’t have a lot of depth to him.”
They went back up to the attic together. Paige watched her feet as she climbed the stairs. Catching Marco in the shop hadn’t really answered too many questions. She believed him when he said he wasn’t the person who came and spray-painted the “Get Out” message on the counter. And he hadn’t stolen the shop’s rare books because he wasn’t even in Comfort Cove then. Same with poisoning Aunt Nora—Marco had been in Italy with Paige when that happened. But Frank hadn’t. Had he poisoned Nora in an attempt to get the missing gold somehow? The list of suspects was longer than she originally thought.
Bidding the pirate goodnight, she closed his book. As she got ready for bed, more questions than answers swirled in her head. Why had Marco not been able to see the ghost but Neal had? Was Neal being honest about why he got the logbook out of the case? Were people after Nora’s beachfront property or did they think she was hiding the gold coins? And the drugs. Had Neal really seen some in the attic?
Paige decided all the questions would have to wait until morning. She’d be happy to get eight hours of sleep uninterrupted by break-ins and threats.