Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Page 21

  "Thy father slew my father, therefore, die?"

  "She's pregnant by one man and still married to another, so metaphorically-speaking, yes. Now imagine how you'd feel when your new and unwanted sibling arrives and monopolizes your mother's attention. I'm thinking that could create a great deal of animosity and jealousy. To make matters worse, baby brother grows up, becomes a successful treasure hunter, an international sensation, while you—"

  "Join an honorable and noble profession and become a superhero in a green uniform."

  "You're a superhero. He's a jackass."

  "You're letting your personal feelings influence your argument."

  She crossed the patio, stood in the center of the lawn, and curled her toes into the damp grass. "I'll admit, I don't harbor any warm fuzzies for the man, but it makes sense. I think Cole is working both sides."

  "If he's double-crossing his brother, what's his endgame?"

  "Foiling his brother? Finding the treasure? Avenging his father for his mother's duplicity?"

  "That's a lot of possibilities."

  She tilted her head back and stared at the stars, freshly emerged in the wake of the setting moon.

  "It's his time to shine."

  32

  "Treasure hunting sucks," Mer said. "It's not at all like the movies."

  "Be glad." Phoenix dug a stack of Oreos from the bag and extended it to her. "Indiana Jones got mixed up in a lot of shit. Although Lara Croft found Daniel Craig. That wouldn't suck."

  They sat side-by-side wrapped in towels, with their backs against the gunnel, and their faces angled to the sky, trying to capture the sun when it broke through the lowering clouds. The Dock Holiday rocked above their next dive spot.

  "For the record, this is why I didn't pursue archeology," Mer said. "Time is very skilled at hiding things. The ocean is even better. Between the two, they've crushed my innate sense of optimism."

  "That's because you haven't found anything yet." The package rustled as Phoenix grabbed another handful of cookies. "Find a piece of history. You'll be hooked."

  They had already splashed three times, and their surface interval required another forty minutes to pass before they could go back in for a final dive.

  "You know Skipper's never going to forgive us if we find something and he's at the other site."

  "He wanted to be on his own boat." Phoenix stuffed another cookie in her mouth. "Finders Keepers. What kind of a name is that?"

  "Truth in advertising," Mer said.

  "Treasure hunters don't care a fig about history."

  Leroy carried over a length of line and sat on the opposite bench. "It's been my experience that salvors know more about history than most professors."

  "But they don't care about it," Phoenix said. "They learn just enough to figure out where something's located. It's the gold they want. The glory. Not the knowledge."

  "You can't lump all treasure hunters together." Without looking, he twisted the line's ends into a carrick bend. "There's a big difference between Skipper Biggs and Winslet Chase."

  Mentioning the two men's name in one breath reminded Mer. "Did you know they once worked together?"

  Leroy shook out the line. "Winslet made quite a reputation for himself in those days."

  "Another crook," Phoenix said. "Just in a prettier package."

  "What happened?" Mer asked.

  "Short story is Skipper saved his life."

  "And the long one?" she pressed.

  "Back in the day before the State tightened up regulations, Skipper held the lease to a Civil War-era wreck down Marathon way." He double looped the line and swung it absently against his calf. "Winslet was just starting out. Skipper took him under his wing, became partners."

  "They ever find the wreck?"

  Leroy threw the line to Mer and it landed in her lap like a coiled snake.

  "They did. That's when the trouble started."

  She shook out the supple braided-cotton line. Great for practicing knot tying. Not at all like the scratchy polypropylene attached to their floats and tag lines. "What happened?"

  "You remember how to tie a trucker's hitch?"

  Mer secured one end of the line around the leg of the dry table and pulled it taut. "Keep talking."

  "Skipper wanted to do things by the book," Leroy said. "He ran a tight ship. Chase, not so much."

  Mer formed a loop in the middle of the line and twisted it behind, around and back through the loop. "A characteristic he hasn't outgrown." She pulled the knot tight.

  "They'd already collected some artifacts—"

  "You mean stole," Phoenix said.

  "That's not Skipper's style. He had his permits." Leroy's straw spun a couple of rotations before he continued. "He wanted to do things systematically, but it was late. They knocked off for the day. Next morning, his boat was gone."

  Mer loosened the line. "Let me guess..."

  "Skipper borrowed a friend's boat and set out. Sure enough, he found his boat anchored over the top of the wreck. The mailboxes were in the water and Chase had already blown the site clean."

  Phoenix snorted. "So much for systematic." She wadded up the empty cookie package.

  "No one was on deck. After a while, Skipper decided to strap on a tank and check things out for himself. That's when he found Chase. Pinned."

  "Pinned?" Phoenix's hand hovered over the trashcan.

  "Fool had blown so much away from the wreck that he uncovered some of the ironclad structure. While he was exploring it, the surge shifted. It collapsed. Caught Chase like a rat in a trap."

  Mer shuddered. "Good thing Skipper came along when he did." Drowning was something she wouldn't wish on anyone. Not even Winslet Chase.

  Leroy's typically merry face darkened. "You'd think that would earn him some gratitude. Chase was a breath away from empty. Skipper gave him his tank. Made a thirty-foot free ascent."

  "Right on," Phoenix said.

  "Grabbed another tank, came back down with a crow bar. Managed to unpin Chase. He was bleeding pretty badly. Caught the interest of a bull shark. Skipper made a choice and blew through his safety stop."

  Recreational diving always suggested a safety stop, but a diver could spend a lot of time at thirty feet before nitrogen built up in his body to the point of detriment. But add in a free ascent, exertion, and stress, and sometimes bad things happened. "He got bent."

  "Yeah. He took a hit. More important, he got Chase to the surface and onto the boat. Saved his life."

  "But?"

  "Chase saw dollar signs. Sued. It was Skipper's boat."

  "That Chase stole!" Phoenix said, indignant.

  "Courts didn't see it that way. They were partners. Unsafe business practices and other nonsense. Chase lost the use of his legs. Skipper lost everything. His house, the boat." Leroy spit over the side. "The insurance settlement set Chase up pretty good, though."

  "What about the Bilge?" Mer coiled the line and wrapped it with a couple of turns.

  "That came later. Skipper's a stubborn one. Rebuilt everything. Even bought his boat back."

  "The Finders Keepers?" Phoenix asked. "I wouldn't have thought he'd want it after all that."

  Mer thought back to Skipper's grim expression in the Bilge when they spoke about his ex-business partner. "It was more than the boat," she said. Reaching into the coil, she selected a loop from the running end and pulled it up and over the mass. Cinched it tight. Finished, it resembled a noose. "Skipper didn't want Winslet Chase to have his boat."

  The wind freshened. Mer tasted the metallic heaviness of impending rain.

  Leroy eyed the horizon. "It'll be close."

  The increased wind shortened the period between swells and the seas seemed confused, attacking the small boat from all sides.

  One more dive.

  Truth was, she was ready to go home. Instead of finding the Thirteenth Galleon, the whole day had been dedicated to determining where it was not. Statistically speaking, their next dive had little hope for a m
ore exciting outcome.

  "It's going to be rough by the time you come up," Leroy said. "Sure you ladies want to do another dive?"

  "Doesn't matter to me," Phoenix answered.

  The repetitive diving had taken a toll on Mer. Her side hurt. The thought of heading in, getting warm, and calling it a day held enormous appeal. But with the deteriorating weather, their prospects for diving tomorrow dwindled—along with her ability to help Oscar.

  "We're going to get wet either way." Mer threw the line back to Leroy. "Let's finish what we started."

  Time was running out.

  33

  The next morning, Mer stood in her living room with the broom cocked over her shoulder like a baseball bat. Her senses strained. She'd thought she'd seen something—and it moved. She edged closer to the kitchen and forced herself to breathe.

  Rain slid off the carport and pounded the driveway. It had fallen nonstop since yesterday evening. The noise filled her apartment with discord.

  Every impulse was to run. Create distance. But then what? Call Selkie? No. She wasn't a damsel waiting to be rescued. She could do this.

  A rap on the door startled a squeak from her. She backed to the door, never taking her eyes off the intruder.

  "Who is it?" she called.

  Bijoux's voice carried through the door. "I come bearing gifts."

  Mer balanced the broom against her shoulder and unlocked the deadbolt.

  Bijoux entered, but stopped when she saw Mer. "You know they work better when the bristles are pointed down."

  "Not for this job."

  Florida was home to an abundance of insects. Mer understood the role they played in a healthy ecosystem, but she didn't particularly enjoy sharing her living space with them. Especially ones that had four times as many legs as she did. The glossy black spider in the upper corner of her kitchen peered down at her like an eight-legged overlord. She didn't want to squish it, but one of them had to go.

  "Did you know you have a package by your door?" Bijoux said.

  Mer sidled closer to the spider. "I'm not expecting anything."

  "That does not negate the fact that you have a package by your door." Bijoux held a brightly wrapped and slightly soggy gift, and she set it on the table.

  Mer swept the broom across the ceiling. The spider dropped onto the counter and Mer jumped backward.

  "Impressive. I did not know you could fly," Bijoux said.

  The spider scurried behind a wooden pepper mill and disappeared under a copy of the local Free Press. Mer swore under her breath. "Shouldn't you be at work?"

  "It is a stormy Saturday. No one is at work." Bijoux said. "I'll get your other package. You appear otherwise engaged."

  Steeling herself for a vicious counter-attack, Mer lifted the edge of the paper.

  Bijoux returned and hefted a large rain-splattered box onto the kitchen counter. It landed with a thud. "They both have eight legs. How can a woman who studies octopuses be so afraid of spiders?"

  "You can contemplate the irony later."

  "Would you like some help?"

  More than life itself. "I've got it." Mer gingerly dragged the paper away from the wall.

  Bijoux snorted and bumped Mer out of the way, and then picked up the paper. A full-page advertisement for Keys News covered the back cover and the spider clung to Wendy Wheeler's face like a freakish mole. "Sink or outside?"

  "Outside." Goosebumps pebbled Mer's arms and she rubbed them away.

  "You probably shouldn't visit Haiti," Bijoux called over her shoulder as she opened the door. The tumult of rain filled the apartment, and she flicked the newspaper to rid it of the stowaway. "You would not like the tarantulas. Or the banana spiders." She came back inside. "I suspect you would not enjoy the centipedes, either."

  The goosebumps returned.

  Bijoux tossed the paper onto the table. "Since I already know what I got you, you should open your mystery box first."

  The carton was large enough to hold half her belongings. "That's odd," Mer said. "There's no shipping label."

  "Has your landlord returned from London?"

  "No."

  "Maybe you should call the handsome detective."

  They stared at the box.

  "It's not ticking." Mer grabbed a paring knife and sliced the tape. The flaps popped open, exposing a sea of packing peanuts. Mer reached in.

  Bijoux stopped her. "Let me. You shouldn't be lifting heavy objects." She removed a bubble-wrapped figurine. Styrofoam peanuts clung to the plastic and fell to the floor.

  Mer slid the box aside, and picked at the packing tape with the paring knife.

  "It is not surgery, Madame Scientist."

  Mer worked a corner free and pulled. The plastic fell away in sheets until only a soft flannel drawstring bag remained around the item. Mer released the tension and the bag dropped, pooling around the base of the mermaid from the silent auction.

  Bijoux sucked in her breath. "She is exquisite."

  Mer tore her attention from the statue and rifled through the peanuts, searching for a note. Nothing.

  "Who is your admirer?" Bijoux asked.

  Mer answered without hesitation, "Winslet Chase." The statue was taller than Mer remembered. Gracefully balanced. Bijoux was right. The artistry was exquisite. She pushed the bronze away from her as if it were the man himself and it bonked against the cabinet. "He told me the mermaid reminded him of me."

  Bijoux tapped her chin with a manicured nail. "Not so much physically." She waved her hand in the air as if to spin her thoughts into words. "More of a posture, an attitude. She is beautiful."

  "I don't see the resemblance," Mer said flatly. But she did. Not anatomically—for one thing, Mer had legs—rather it was the yearning captured in the mermaid's outstretched arm. So many things beyond reach. "I need coffee."

  Bijoux spun and retrieved the damp, gaily wrapped package she had brought with her and extended it to Mer. "Merry Christmas."

  "You're two and a half weeks early."

  "Happy Hanukkah."

  "Closer, but still two weeks away," Mer pointed out.

  Undeterred, Bijoux tried again. "Housewarming."

  Mer contemplated that option, but shook her head. "I've been here too long."

  "Consider it an après-burglary, last-chance-before-I-take-it-back, gift."

  "Ooh." Mer accepted the gift. "I've never received an après-burglary gift." She held it next to her ear and gave it a shake. "I wonder what it could be."

  "Fair warning. I used plenty of tape, so if you are your usual meticulous self, I'm going to make myself comfortable."

  An explosion of damp red and green curls cascaded down the sides of the package and hid massive amounts of cellophane tape.

  "You did that on purpose," Mer said.

  "Of course. You are lucky. I considered duct tape. Merry Christmas."

  Mer set the gift down and threw her arms around her friend. Bijoux's tight spirals of shoulder-length hair smelled of coconut and something musky. Exotic. "Thank you."

  "It is not so beautiful as your statue."

  Mer broke free. "Perhaps not, but you are." She bent over the package to hide the flush that rose to her face. Sliding her fingernail into the fold, she picked at the tape. Bijoux sighed, but Mer ignored her. At last, she had a small pile of shredded tape. She peeled away the heavy paper and revealed a French press.

  "I took the liberty of opening it and placing a bag of ground organic Haitian blue coffee inside." Bijoux picked up the discarded ribbon and ran a curl through her fingers. "For the future, you will need to get a grinder. Life is too short for poor coffee."

  A coffee pot. The thoughtfulness made Mer smile. She filled the kettle and set it on the stove, then washed the press. "May I interest you in a cup?"

  "What a silly question. Why do you think I gave you Haitian coffee?"

  The coffee bag crinkled as she opened it. Mer held it to her nose and inhaled deeply. Rich and earthy. The kettle bubbled and hissed and fina
lly whistled. She poured the water over the grounds and the scent filled her small apartment.

  Mer pulled two chipped ceramic cups from the cupboard. One had the eagle and anchor of the U.S. Navy on it and her heart clenched. "Unfortunately, I don't have any cream. Or sugar."

  "Up until a moment ago, you didn't have coffee or the means to make it either."

  "Life is looking up." Mer pressed the coffee and poured, then handed Bijoux her Gryffindor mug. Selkie's mug warmed her hand, but failed to chase the cold feeling from her gut. "Why would Winslet Chase give me the mermaid statue?"

  "He's trying to intimidate you in a way that would sound ridiculous if you complained." Bijoux dropped her voice to mimic a man's, but only succeeded in adding a sultry note to her silky voice. "All I did was give her a gift. Since when did that become illegal?"

  "Maybe I'm going about this all wrong and I should become his business partner. Convince him he doesn't need Oscar."

  "Do you honestly think that would work?"

  "No." Mer stared into her coffee. "But what if we don't find the galleon? What if they decide keeping Oscar alive is riskier than killing him?"

  "You are not responsible for the decisions made by others."

  The rain continued unabated. Mer caught herself drumming her fingers against the mug and she set it down. She needed to get back in the water. Do something.

  "Oscar believes I'm smart enough to unravel this legend. What if I'm not?" Before Bijoux could answer, Mer drew the bag around the mermaid and pulled the drawstrings tight. "I'll contact the museum and have them return the statue."

  "You will not." Bijoux loosened the bag again. "For one thing, you don't know for certain who gave it to you. Perhaps it is from Selkie."

  The thought saddened her. No. It wasn't from Selkie. They had avoided each other since their blowout. It was as if neither of them knew how to bridge the chasm. The one that spanned twelve years, new love, and old hurts.

  "Then she's going outside." Mer lifted the statue. It weighed less than a dive tank, but still pulled on her muscles. She went through the sliding door by her bed to avoid walking in the rain and placed the mermaid on the teak patio table. Stepping back, she regarded the placement, and then turned the statue so she faced the ocean. Wistful. Perhaps they were kindred spirits.