“Who told you that?”
“Does it matter?”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” she said.
Her comment caught me off guard. “I’m not implying that you did. I’m just trying to figure out why he went to South Carolina.”
“Why would you think I know anything about that?”
“I was told that the two of you were close.”
Standing from the table, she shoved the last of her sandwich into her mouth and followed it with a final gulp of milk before stuffing the remains of her lunch into the bag. “I really can’t talk right now. I have to get back to work and I can’t be late.”
“I understand,” I said. “And I’m not trying to get you in trouble. Like I said, I’m just trying to figure out what happened to my grandfather.”
“I don’t know anything,” she repeated.
“Did you help him harvest the honey?”
“He paid me,” she said, color rising like a stain in her pale cheeks. “I didn’t steal any, if that’s what you’re asking. I didn’t steal anything.”
“I’m sure you didn’t. Why didn’t you tell me that you knew him as well as you did?”
“I don’t know you or anything about you.”
“You knew I was related to him.”
“So?”
“Callie—”
“I didn’t do anything wrong!” she cried again, cutting me off. “I was walking by and he saw me and he asked if I wanted to help him with the honey, so I did. It only took a couple of days and after that, I put the labels on and stacked them on the shelves. Then he paid me. That’s it.”
I tried to imagine my grandfather asking her on a whim for help with the harvest, but for whatever reason, I couldn’t. And based on the conversations we’d had to this point, I couldn’t imagine her agreeing to such a thing, either. At the same time, there was some truth there; she had, by her own admission, helped him harvest the honey. What, I wondered, was she not telling me?
“Did he ever mention that he was going to visit Helen?”
Her eyes suddenly widened and for the first time, I thought I saw a flash of actual fear. As quickly as it came, however, it vanished with an angry shake of her head. “I’m sorry about your grandfather, okay? He was a nice old man. And I was happy to help him with the honey. But I don’t know anything about why he went to South Carolina, and I’d appreciate it if you just left me alone.”
I said nothing. She lifted her chin defiantly, before finally turning around and heading back toward the store. On her way, she tossed the remains of her lunch into a garbage can without breaking stride.
I watched her leave, wondering what it was that I’d said that had upset her so.
*
Back at home, I considered what, if anything, I’d actually learned. Could I trust what Jim had told me? Or Jerrold? Had my grandfather gone to Easley because of a woman named Helen? And what was I to make of my conversation with Callie? What had I said to make her believe she was in trouble?
I didn’t know. And yet, as I continued to reflect on my encounter with Callie, I had the gnawing sensation that she’d said something—or I’d seen something—important. It was the answer to one of my many questions, but the harder I tried to zero in on it, the hazier my thoughts became. It felt like I was trying to grab a handful of smoke.
Chapter 9
On Wednesday, while pondering my maybe-but-not-guaranteed date with Natalie, I decided to take my grandfather’s boat out to try to find the alligators and bald eagles I’d heard about the day before.
I made a quick inspection before untying the lines and starting the motor. There were no other boats in the vicinity, which was fortunate, because I would need to get used to the steering again. I had no desire to participate in a water-based demolition derby or accidentally run aground, so I gently eased the throttle, turning the wheel as I pulled away from the dock. To my surprise, the boat was a lot easier to maneuver than I remembered, which meant my grandfather must have done some work on it, and I was quickly able to get it headed in the proper direction like the highly skilled Naval Academy graduate that I was supposed to be.
As a kid, I always loved going out with my grandfather on the boat, but unlike most people, who preferred the wider Trent and Neuse Rivers, I always favored Brices Creek. Because the creek wound its way through the Croatan National Forest, it probably hadn’t changed since settlers first arrived in the area in the early 1700s. In a way, it felt like traveling back in time, and when my grandfather shut down the engine, we would hear nothing but birdcalls from the trees, while every now and then a fish would jump, making ripples on the otherwise black and silent water.