Normally, that phrasing would have invited a suggestive comment, but Erik looked equally shaken.
“Yeah, I’m going to need to think about all that for a while,” Erik agreed.
FIVE
ERIK
“Idon’t like the weather forecast.” Susan cradled a hot cup of coffee in her hands. “Do you have plywood to board up the front windows if it really gets bad?”
Susan had insisted on stopping in to check on Ben and Erik, and had brought along a chicken noodle casserole and a pan of sweet rolls for dinner “to keep their spirits up.”
Erik looked up from his computer. “Do you really think it might?”
The rain made for a slow morning. A few people called to schedule appraisals on recent estate purchases, but no one stopped in, and Erik didn’t see any foot traffic on the sidewalk. Then again, walking in this storm would be more like swimming.
“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Susan remarked. “The last big hurricane hit here in the early 1800s, and people still talk about how the town was cut off by a ten-foot storm surge. A Category 2 hit in 1903, and then in 1944, a series of bad storms wiped the whole community of South Cape May right into the ocean. It never rebuilt.”
Erik’s eyebrows rose. “Wow.”
“Old timers still talk about the Nor’easter of 1962. Took out the boardwalk, convention hall, and a bunch of shops,” Susanwent on. “Although Hurricane Sandy mostly missed us, even though we were told to evacuate.”
“I guess we’ve been lucky since I moved here,” Erik admitted. “Do you think there’s plywood in the storage area?”
“Pretty likely,” Susan said. “Go have a look, and I’ll stay here in case some sodden soul wanders in from the storm.”
He thought they were pretty safe from surprise visitors, but then again, Peter Randolph had shown up with his haunted window in a storm.
Erik didn’t often go into that part of Trinkets, unlike the finished storage rooms where they kept stock. The old converted house had an area consistent with trends when it was built, an unfinished space with bare concrete walls that held the furnace and other plumbing and heating essentials. He had been warned by the previous owner not to store anything in the area that would be damaged by humidity or water, so the winter tires for his SUV were the only things he had put there.
Against the far wall, Erik spotted several stained sheets of plywood. They had clearly seen storm water but seemed to be in good enough shape to be nailed in place if necessary.
In all his years of traveling for museums and law enforcement, Erik never worried about storms beyond their impact on his flight schedule. Thinking like the owner of a home and business was new, and he sometimes felt overwhelmed by what he didn’t automatically know. That made Susan’s insights all the more valuable, since she was a lifelong Cape May resident.
“Yep, we’ve got plywood,” Erik announced when he returned. “Hoping we don’t have to use it, but it’s good to know. If things weren’t so high tech now, I’d suspect the radio station’s antennae were getting blown around, considering how the signal keeps going in and out.” Given the weather, Erik had tuned to the local station for updates.
“Happens every time there’s a storm,” Susan agreed with a sigh. “Satellite or antennae, doesn’t matter.”
Static drowned out the weather report, followed by a high-pitched squeal.
“Buccaneer Radio, mayday. I repeat, mayday.” The voice was lost in static again, and then the weather report resumed mid-sentence.
“What was that?” Erik realized Susan had gone pale. “You look like you saw a ghost.”
“Heard one.” She sounded shaky. “Welcome to another Cape May ghost story and storm tradition.”
“What is Buccaneer Radio?” Erik couldn’t help being intrigued.
Susan sat and paused before responding. “The seventies were wild around here, just like they were everywhere. There was a guy who had a lot of opinions on everything that was going on: politics, culture, music, and more. He was quite a showman and could pack speaking engagements. But he couldn’t be on the radio back then because there were stricter rules than there are now about what you could and couldn’t say.
“He bought a decommissioned Navy minesweeper and converted it to an offshore radio station.” She chuckled and shook her head. “Quite the publicity stunt, but folks think he really believed he could make a go of it by bringing in donations and advertisers.”
“What happened?” Erik tried to imagine how the usually staid Cape May society would have reacted.
“A bad storm came in. His equipment failed, the government served notice that they were going to impound the ship, but before they got there, it capsized and sank,” Susan replied. “The way I’ve heard it, by the time the authorities got there, they saw a life preserver but never found his body. Quite the scandal in its day.”
“Give the man credit for originality.” Erik laughed.
Susan sobered. “The thing is, hearing the phantom broadcasts is considered an omen around here. Only ever happens when there’s a big storm in the offing. I know folks who consider it a signal to pack up and leave town.”
