Page 23 of Camino Ghosts

“No.”

“I don’t either.”

Gifford had been quiet long enough. He asked, “Has anyone been to Dark Isle?”

For the first time in hours the room was instantly quiet. Total silence, then some squirming. Bruce looked around the table and said, “I suppose I’ve lived here longer than anyone else, and I’ve never heard of anyone going to the island.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, it’s uninhabitable. There’s nothing there but thick woods and wildlife. Hurricane Leo did a lot of damage, I’m told.”

Bob Cobb said, “Plus there’s plenty of sand around here. If you want a beach, they’re not hard to find.”

Gifford said, “I want to go see it. I may sail out day after tomorrow and have a look. Anybody up for a boat ride?”

More silence. Bruce finally said, “A sailboat won’t get there. It’s too shallow.”

“Okay. I’ll find another rig. Nobody wants to go?”

“That’s not a good idea, Gifford,” Mercer said. “There are a lot of bad stories about people who ventured onto the island. Few, if any, returned. You should read Lovely Jackson’s book about Dark Isle. It’s frightening.”

“And this is the book you want to write too?”

“I’m seriously considering it, from a different angle, of course.”

“Okay. Here’s my offer. When you are ready to explore the island, let me know. I’m not afraid of ghosts and spirits and legends and stuff like that. We’ll put together a little patrol, boat out to the island, and have a look around. Deal?”

“I don’t know. We’ll see. Until then, read Lovely’s book. It’s fascinating.”

3.

The first obstacle was cajoling a “yes” out of Lovely. For two weeks she was not responsive to the invitation to sit down and talk. And since all communications had to go through Miss Naomi, progress was slow.

The second obstacle was where to meet. Mercer was quick to offer the hospitality of her beach cottage. She would be delighted to welcome Lovely for a long conversation and maybe even lunch, with complete privacy. Two days later the answer came back—no thanks. She suggested the bookstore, since Lovely seemed to be comfortable there. Two days later there was another no. Mercer really wanted to see Lovely’s home in The Docks. She dropped a few hints and waited for the invitation, but it never came. What about the county library, where there was plenty of room and privacy? Two days later Miss Naomi called to report that Lovely wouldn’t go there. She had been turned away from the library when she was a teenager, back when it was for whites only.

After three strikes, Mercer was out of suggestions and wondering if they would ever meet again. She was also mildly discouraged that their collaboration, or whatever it was to be called, was off to such a labored start. Given what had already been written, and what was brewing over Dark Isle now, she could certainly write the story in 100,000 words and publish a compelling work of nonfiction. But she would not do that. It would put her in the position of being accused of exploiting Lovely’s past. If Lovely chose not to cooperate, Mercer would move on.

Miss Naomi finally called with the news that Lovely would agree to have a brief chat at a church in The Docks—the World Harvest Tabernacle Temple. With such a spectacular name, Mercer envisioned a sprawling megachurch with thousands of members. A glance at the website, though, revealed a modest redbrick building with a leaning steeple and two converted school buses in the parking lot. It was the domain of Reverend Samuel and his wife, Reverend Betty. In the photo they wore matching burgundy robes with gold trim and offered matching kilowatt smiles.

Robeless, they greeted Mercer and Thomas at the door to the Fellowship Center, an aging metal building stuck to the rear of the church. “Welcome to Harvest,” Reverend Samuel beamed. Everyone shook hands warmly and went inside to a long dining room next to a kitchen. Reverend Betty frowned when Mercer and Thomas declined beverages. She said, “In this weather, you must have some sweet tea.”

They acquiesced and she served them tea in quart fruit jars. One sip, and Mercer knew that she held in her hand more calories than a chocolate milkshake. As they waited for Lovely, they talked about the church—“Harvest”—and its ministries in the community. Trolling for details, Mercer asked how long Lovely had been a member. The two Reverends glanced at each other before he said, “Well, she’s not officially a member, you see. But she comes occasionally.”

It was obvious she rarely came at all and that this was possibly a sore subject. Then she arrived with her entourage—Miss Naomi and the granddaughters. Lovely wore a long flowing dress that was bright orange and topped it off with a matching orange turban wrapped fiercely on top of her head. Mercer, in jeans, sandals, and a loose cotton blouse, wondered if Lovely ever left the house dressed as anything but an African queen. She looked spectacular, with bangles on both wrists and oversized necklaces around her neck.

They settled into folding chairs at the end of a long table and everyone sipped sweet tea. It quickly became apparent that both Reverends, along with Miss Naomi and her granddaughters, planned to participate in, or at least listen to, whatever conversation was to follow. The room was muggy and not well air-conditioned. Miss Naomi commented on the current heat wave and the weather was batted around. Everyone agreed that it was indeed hot. Lovely said nothing. She smiled and listened and seemed to ignore the meaningless prattling around her.

Conversation lagged and things grew even more awkward. Mercer was not going to start asking serious questions with an audience, but as a guest herself, she was not in position to ask anyone to leave.

Thomas finally took the hint and asked Reverend Samuel if he would show him the sanctuary, said he was fascinated by the architecture of small Southern churches. It was a lame effort—one glance at the building and you knew its builders had not bothered to fool with an architect—but it worked. Though it was an unusual request, both Reverends stood and left the room with Thomas.

Lovely asked Mercer, “How long do you want to talk today?”

Mercer looked at Miss Naomi and said, “Oh, we should wrap things up in about an hour.” It was almost a direct command to leave and return in an hour, but Miss Naomi didn’t take it that way. She and the girls hung around as Mercer fiddled with her recorder, then her pen and notebook.

“What’s that?” Lovely asked, nodding at the table.

“It’s a small recorder. I hope to use it if you don’t mind.”

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