In the people-and-vet clinic where Every One is Welcome, I sit in the waiting area once again. Only now the place feels different. No barfing cat, for one thing. And Officer Merrimack’s on the defensive. Big time.
“She didn’t tell me anything before tonight,” he says.
Two FBI agents stand opposite him. Their names are—no joke—Green and Black. Agent Black is a rumpled gray-haired man with the stare of unquarried granite. The other agent is a woman with a small face under a short cap of dark hair. She introduced herself to Merrimack as Special Agent Green. But when she walks over to shake my hand, she says, “Hi, I’m Kate. Can I talk with you in private?”
We walk to the other side of the reception area. The exam rooms are directly to my right. The dusty odor of dog dander reeks over here. “Can I check on my aunt?” I ask.
“Of course.”
Agent Green comes with me, standing nearby as I peer through the narrow vertical window in the exam room’s door. I can only see part of Aunt Charlotte. She’s stretched on a table under a huge x-ray machine that looks big enough to zap farm animals.
“We can airlift her to the mainland,” Agent Green says.
I nod.
But I’m not so sure even airlifting will help. Aunt Charlotte’s injuries don’t seem like the kind that get fixed by casts and splints. Her sobbing is about more than physical pain. I know, I’ve cried like that before.
“You must be wondering why the FBI is here.” Agent Green’s eyes are almost as dark as her hair. “Raleigh?”
“Okay, why are you here?”
“We’ve been tracking Bill Brogan for many years.”
“But you never did anything?”
Her mouth drops open. Shocked. But I’m not budging. The guy lied, cheated, broke the law, almost killed two people. And definitely almost ruined my life. I hold her gaze.
“That’s a very good question,” she says.
“Thanks, but what’s the answer?”
She reaches out touching my good arm. “You’re angry.”
“Wouldn’t you be?”
“Yes.” She takes her hand back. “I would. But remember, Bill Brogan did some good work. That’s why our tracking him was so difficult. It was hard for us to know which part was good and which was bad. This contest, for instance, seemed like one of his good deeds, not something nefarious.” She stops. “Do you know what nefarious mea—”
“Evil. Criminal. You want more synonyms?”
“I didn’t mean to insult you.”
“You didn’t.” I move to the next door. The gauze’s threads dig into the raw tissue on my arm. When I press down, it stings. So I keep pressing down. But when I look through the next vertical window, I see Lanette’s head. It’s bowed. A nurse is taking her pulse, two fingers on her wrist, right where the rope was.
“Raleigh,” Agent Green says. “Aren’t you curious why the FBI was watching Bill Brogan?”
“Very curious.” I keep my gaze on Lanette. “But if you haven’t told Officer Merrimack why, I doubt you’ll tell me either.”
Lanette looks up, pushing the glasses back into place on her nose. She sees me in the window, her smile dimples. She gives me a thumbs-up.
“Raleigh, I need you to look at me.”
I look over my shoulder at her.
Agent Green crosses her arms. Her dark gaze doesn’t waver. “We heard you found something in the sand.”
“How did you hear that?”
She reaches into her blazer and takes out a white envelope. No, two envelopes. One’s already open, the flap slit at the top. I can see the address on the front, in block letters. FBI, Charlotte NC Field Office.
“Four days ago,” she says, showing me that open envelope, “we received this note. We probably should’ve paid closer attention. But, we’re a big organization. This note,” she hands me the second envelope, unopened, “arrived last night with a second note for us.”
My name’s on the front, addressed to the same Charlotte Field Office. But with the words: PERSONAL. DO NOT OPEN.
I stare at my name. With the FBI address attached, it doesn’t make sense. “I don’t get it.”
“You can read the contents later. Right now, I’d like you to tell me about the sand.”
I look into her dark eyes. She seems like a nice person. For an FBI agent. But all those years in my dad’s courtroom have taught me how to negotiate information. “I’ll tell you about the sand, if you first tell me why you were watching Brogan.”
She glances over at Agent Black. His flat expression seems to be making Merrimack sweat. The guy’s fat forehead looks like an oil slick. She watches for a moment, then says, “We were watching Brogan for many reasons. But two were tax evasion and stolen antiquities.”
“Pieces of eight, you mean?”
“Bill Brogan was the number one sponsor of illegal marine excavations around the world. He’s brought up all kinds of sunken ships without any legal approval. His partner was a man named Sanjay Sandeeth. The two of them—”
“Sandeeth.” I glance back at Lanette, wishing she was here. “Let me guess. His son is Raju Sandeeth?”
“Correct.” She lifts the opened envelope. “The boy in the contest. Along with another boy, Marcus Conners Brogan.”
“Yeah, I know. Brogan’s son. It’s been a really fun weekend.”
“But Marcus had a change of heart.” She taps the opened envelope against her fingers. Like she’s waiting for me to say something.
I say nothing.
“He told us Brogan moved to Ocracoke five years ago specifically to find Blackbeard’s pieces of eight. They’re legendary coins, rare and irreplaceable. But Brogan didn’t recover many of them because the treasure was scattered and digging was basically illegal. So after paying for the Parks building, he dreamed up this contest. You kids were an ideal cover. The quietest weekend of the year, aside from some birding folks. And birders only go out in the morning. Brogan only dug at night.”
I look back into the exam window. Lanette nods in agreement with the nurse. I want to push open her door.
“Raleigh?”
“I’m listening.”
“Marcus sent us a second note.” She nods at my envelope. “Where he included that letter for you. He told us you’d noticed something about the sand. Whatever you found, he said, it made Brogan nervous. Is that true?”
“The sand wasn’t there. And when it was, it was in the wrong place.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Geology.” I tell her about the differing grains, how at first I was just looking for heavy metals. “But it turns out, Ocracoke has two distinct types of sand. One on the east side, the other on the west. And it’s almost impossible for a large amount of one sand to move to the other side of the island. At least by natural processes. But now we know it didn’t get their naturally. Brogan dug it up and used it to bury that girl.”
“She’s his stepdaughter. Cady Cavendish.”
“Wow.” I blink, trying to digest that information. “The guy’s not exactly Father of the Year.”
She waves the envelope. “Marcus told us everything.”
I look back at Lanette. Because I don’t want Agent Green to see my face. Some tiny voice inside me wants to believe. Maybe Tex—Marcus—wasn’t such a bad guy.
“Raleigh.” She waits until I turn back to her. Then smiles at me. “The FBI’s materials analysis lab has an entire department for geology.”
“What?”
She laughs. “You seem surprised.”
I shrug. Teddy’s told me geology can be used to solve crime. But a whole department in the FBI?
“I’m sure our geologists would like to see your sand.”
I feel almost dizzy. And now I really want to talk to Lanette. “The samples are in my backpack.”
Agent Green stares at me a moment longer. Just by how she acts, I have no doubt she’s a kick-butt law enforcer. But right now she’s looking at me like I’m her kid sister. “Do you have any questions?”
“A million.”
“Let’s start with the most important one.”
“The yacht.”
She tilts her head. “Brogan’s yacht?”
“It blew up, right?”
“Yes.”
“So everyone on board is . . .?”
“We don’t know. We don’t even know who was on board. The Coast Guard is handling the recovery process.” She looks at her wristwatch. “And, speaking of recovery, your sand will help with another kind of recovery. There’s a legal process known as restitut—”
“Restitution, I know. Return of stolen goods.” I stare at the envelope. “And you’re welcome to take my sand. And my notes, too, if they’ll help.”
She reaches out, puts a hand on my shoulder. It weighs nothing. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine,” I lie.
She gives a sharp nod. “We’d like a formal statement. Do you feel like doing that now?”
“Sure,” I lie.