Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Read online

  The camera cut back to Wendy. She snapped the microphone to her mouth. "Lots of unanswered questions remain. Has Winslet the treasure hunter turned rogue pirate? Will he parlay with negotiators, strike his colors, or abandon ship to salvage his reputation? Check back for updates on the continuing saga. Live from Key Largo, I'm Wendy Wheeler, the key to Keys News."

  Vintage Wendy. She could have her own drinking game: a shot for every silly question asked.

  Annoyance morphed into relief. His house was surrounded. It would be hard—perhaps impossible—for him to escape. Winslet would get tired or come to his senses. Even now, he was probably arranging for some high-priced attorney. One thing was certain. She wouldn't be talking to a deputy about the gift on her doorstep anytime soon.

  She picked up the flip phone. Her rational self knew calling Winslet didn't rank as one of her brighter ideas. She set the phone back down and spun it in small circles on the table while she watched the news footage again. Were Talbot and Gina there? It was too dark to tell. She hoped they weren't in the line of fire.

  She spun the phone again. She had a direct line to Winslet Chase. He'd had a reason for giving her the phone. Maybe he'd listen to her. The phone wobbled to a standstill. Before she could stop herself, she flipped open the phone and dialed the number.

  The phone rang, but no one answered. Apparently, the SWAT team had his undivided attention.

  She finished her tea and rinsed the mug, and then dialed the number again. Still no answer. She turned off the light and headed toward the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  A gust of wind rattled her bedroom slider, followed by a crash of wood on the concrete patio. She peeked around the curtain. The mermaid statue still gazed wistfully toward the ocean, but one of the patio chairs had blown over and its cushion was bumping its way across the yard, making a break for the ocean.

  Mer unlocked the slider door and wind howled through the crack. She slid it open and a sharp gust of wind ripped through the curtains and rifled the papers on her desk. She stepped outside and closed the door behind her.

  Clouds skittered across the waning moon and dappled the lawn in ever-changing shadows. The cushion blew into the darkness toward the kayak launch. Mer darted across the lawn, the grass chilly under her bare feet.

  Moonlight broke through the clouds and Mer stopped. Stared.

  The pillow rested against the hull of a beached kayak.

  She had a visitor.

  44

  Mer took an involuntary step backward and retreated into the shadow of the tall hedge. Everything looked sharper. The wind toyed with a sea-grape leaf, tossing the broad oval end-over-end across the lawn in a slow-motion dance. But Mer's mind moved at lightning speed.

  The kayak was empty. No paddle. No life jacket. But its presence meant someone had been in her yard recently. They could be watching her at this very moment. About forty feet of no-man's land yawned between her and the sliding door—a door obscured by shadows.

  She could creep along the hedge, but the prowler might have slipped into her home while she was outside. She shivered. Had the wind really knocked over the patio chair?

  Selkie's home remained dark, and getting to it would require cutting across a moonlit swath of lawn, and then running up the fence line to the driveway. But then what? Her cellphone was on her nightstand.

  The hedge at her back was an impenetrable barrier of woven foliage that hid a cinder block wall. No escape there. She eyed the ocean. The seabed was a combination of coconut-sized rocks, depressions, and sea grass. No problem to kayak over it—provided one had a paddle—but not deep enough to swim in. It would be hell to walk across without breaking an ankle or falling.

  Her best bet would be to shimmy along the shadows as far as she could, and then make a break for the driveway. Run to a neighbor's house to call the police.

  She slid one foot forward and inched her way toward the house.

  The beam of a flashlight bobbed along her driveway, coming from the street. She sucked in her breath and pressed herself against the hedge.

  Three knocks, rapid and authoritative.

  She didn't dare move. The wind filled the ensuing silence.

  Another three knocks. "Monroe County Sheriff's Office," a male voice said loudly.

  Relief made her legs weak. "I'm back here!"

  One of the branches caught in her hair. She yanked it free and stepped into the moonlight, walking toward the driveway. The deputy came around to the patio and trained his flashlight beam on her face. She raised her hand. "Do you mind? I can't see."

  "Sorry." His footsteps neared, but he didn't lower the flashlight.

  The voice sounded familiar. He snapped his chewing gum.

  The gum. Oh, no, no, no! She spun. Deputy Cole grabbed her in a wristlock and drove her face down into the ground. The flashlight landed on the grass beside them. His leather belt creaked as he moved. She twisted. The handle of his gun glinted above the holster.

  "Good to see you again, Doc." He jammed his knee into the small of her back and knelt, his boot close to her face. "Quit resisting. You're under arrest."

  She spit grass out of her mouth. "Bullshit." She tried to buck him off, but he cranked on her wrist until she thought it would break.

  "I figured you'd be too smart to fall for that." He increased the weight on her back until she could barely breathe. "Dumb enough to believe a deputy would be knocking at your door, though."

  He must not know she'd called 9-1-1. She had to stall. No. She had to get away.

  "Think about your career," Mer said. "You don't want to do this."

  "Wrong again." He snapped his gum. "If you're as smart as Talbot says, you'll tell me where the treasure is."

  "There is no treasure."

  He applied more pressure to the twist lock. "Next time you lie, I'm going to break your wrist."

  "I gave it to Bart."

  "You gave him a single coin. Where's the rest of it?"

  One piece of the puzzle clicked into place. "That was you sitting at the helm of the boat." Not Winslet. Cole was the one who'd shot Oscar. "But the boat...the police have Winslet's place surrounded."

  "Who better to take the blame? It was easy enough to leave the boat there. Kayak over here. And when they search his place, what do you suppose the deputies will find?"

  "The coin you stole from the evidence locker."

  "A gold star for the doctor." His weight shifted. He opened something on his belt and metal clinked. "I know the coin you gave Bart isn't the same one I had. That means you found more. I'm only going to ask nicely one time. Where did you find the treasure?"

  Dread pulsed through her body. She had one chance. She had to make it count.

  Overriding every rational impulse, she let the tension drain from her limbs, making it appear that she'd surrendered. "Don't hurt me. I'll tell you what you want to know."

  "Maybe Talbot was right about you after all."

  His grip on her wrist loosened ever so slightly. It would have to be enough. Using the ground as leverage, she tensed every muscle in her body into an explosive twisting buck. The force knocked Cole off balance. His hand landed inches from her face. Wrenching free of his weight, she rolled onto her back and drew both legs toward her chest and kicked. With all the fear-infused power she could muster, she drove her feet into his side, and sent him sprawling. She crab-walked backward and then sprang to her feet and sprinted toward the house.

  With a snarl, Cole barreled into her from behind. The full force of his weight slammed her into the ground and her head barely missed the edge of the concrete patio. Pain erupted in her knee. She kept fighting.

  He yanked her left arm away from her body and slapped a handcuff against her wrist bone and ratcheted it closed. Mer sobbed and drew her other arm under her chest.

  He punched her in the ribs. "Stop fighting. You're under arrest."

  Headlights raked across the driveway. A car door opened. "What the hell? Let go of her!" Selkie commanded.

>   "He's got a gun!" she screamed. "Get down!"

  Selkie charged toward them, his body a clear target silhouetted against the headlights.

  Cole released her arm. He shifted and the gun slid out of his holster with a whisper that roared louder than the wind.

  Mer twisted. Desperate, she windmilled her arm toward the deputy. The empty handcuff bashed into his cheek.

  Cole raised the gun and fired. The muzzle blast burned against the night sky. The retort nearly deafened her.

  Selkie stutter-stepped, but kept coming. He drove his shoulder into the deputy and knocked him away from Mer.

  Both men regained their balance. Selkie lunged forward, and they merged into a tangle of limbs fighting for control of the gun.

  Mer grabbed Cole's shoulder. He snapped his elbow back, striking her in the face. Blinded by tears, she stumbled backward and crashed into the teak table.

  A second gunshot severed the night.

  She watched in horror as Selkie crumpled to his knees. Cole raised the gun and pointed it at Selkie's head. Instinctively, she grabbed the mermaid statue and swung it like a bat. It connected against Cole's skull with a sickening thud. He fell to the ground, senseless.

  Mer dropped the statue and pried the gun from of the deputy's hand. Selkie had collapsed, his eyes closed. His car headlights spotlighted the pulse in his throat. It was beating impossibly fast. She lifted his T-shirt and stifled a gasp. A gaping wound tore through his side.

  "Can you hear me?" She pulled off her own shirt and wadded it against the wound. He didn't move. "I have to call for help. I'll be right back." His stillness and silence frightened her more than the fight had.

  Her legs felt disconnected from her body as she stumbled into the house. The buttons of her phone blurred and it took four tries to enter the emergency number. The call connected, but the dispatcher's voice had an underwater quality to it.

  Mer returned to Selkie within moments. He hadn't moved. Her knees buckled and Mer collapsed next to him. His pulse had grown faint. She couldn't see his chest move. A weight crushed her heart. "Hurry," she whispered, willing the ambulance to arrive.

  Mer tried to staunch the bleeding with pressure. "Don't you dare die on me. You hear me? We've got unfinished business, you and I." Tears dripped off her chin.

  Wind swirled Mer's hair. The headlights burned behind her and her shadow crawled toward the ocean as if trying to escape into the restless water.

  "I love you," she said. But he couldn't hear her.

  45

  Mer sat in the empty waiting room, in a chair pulled beneath the window, with an icepack on her knee. She hadn't bothered to turn on the light. Too many thoughts crowded her mind, all of them screaming for attention.

  "You know you should get your leg looked at." Detective Talbot stood silhouetted in the doorway. He still wore the uniform shorts and polo shirt he'd worn on the boat. Fatigue weathered his face.

  "Not until he's out of surgery." She drew her good leg up to her chest. Her other knee didn't bend. "Not until I know he's going to be okay."

  "It could be hours."

  "It doesn't matter if it's days," she snapped, and then drew a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I..." She rubbed her hand over her face, wishing it were a cloth that would wipe the slate clean. "Did you have more questions?"

  He shook his head. "I didn't want you to wait alone." He pointed to another chair. "May I?"

  He waited until she nodded, and then dragged the dilapidated chair to the window. His gun belt scraped the armrest as he sat.

  They both stared at the window. The darkness outside reflected the light that seeped in from the hallway behind them and transformed the pane into a mirror. Concern etched Talbot's face.

  Mer looked away. "How's Leroy's wife?"

  "She's fine," Talbot said. "It was a bogus call to get Leroy out of the way."

  "Smart," she said. "And Oscar?"

  "He came through the surgery just fine."

  They descended into silence again. Someone was watching television and the sitcom's laugh track bled through the wall.

  "How did you get to the house so fast?" Mer finally asked.

  "Bart."

  She picked at the grass stain on her shorts. "I don't understand."

  "Bart wasn't much for talking. But Gina came in during the interview. A tip had come through Crime Stoppers about the Picuda."

  "Cole reported it to throw everyone off his trail."

  "We didn't know it was a diversion then. Anyway, I used the information against Bart. Told him it was just a matter of time before we had Chase in custody. Then we'd get the real story and any chance he had to cut a deal would disappear."

  "That worked?"

  "Bart turned green. I thought it was because he figured Chase was going to rat him out. Wrong. He realized Cole had set up Chase, and Bart didn't want to be next. After that, I couldn't shut him up."

  "So all along, it was the two of them?"

  "I can't go into the details, but yes. Cole turned a blind eye to Bart's activities in exchange for a kickback."

  "A symbiotic relationship," she said. "One is an apex predator, while the other feeds off the scraps, but both benefit from the interaction."

  "Sounds accurate."

  She readjusted the icepack. "But that still doesn't explain how you beat the medics there."

  "I was en route before you called dispatch." His police radio crackled with a transmission. He paused to listen and then continued. "At the end of the interview, Bart revealed Cole's intentions to murder you. I called. You didn't answer."

  "You thought the worst."

  "I feared the worst, but I should have known better," he said. "Cole seriously underestimated you."

  The thud of the statue hitting his skull shivered up her arms, the memory as sickening as when it had actually happened. "He's dead, isn't he?" But she knew the answer.

  "Yes."

  She locked eyes with him in the window's reflection. "Please let me see Selkie before you arrest me."

  The air conditioner clicked on for another cycle and a muted phone rang at the nurses' station. Finally, he cleared his throat. "I'm not here to arrest you, Mer."

  It was the first time he'd called her by name.

  "There are a lot of moving parts to this investigation, and it's going to take some time to wrap up, but no. Cole was a dangerous man who was going to kill you. You're not the bad guy here."

  Relief stripped her of her ability to speak for a moment, but then she noticed his stricken face. "I'm sorry. This must be hard for you. You worked with him."

  "He betrayed a lot of people who trusted him." His jaw hardened. "No one hates a dirty cop more than the cops who wear the same badge."

  "Cole pointed the gun at..." Mer said. "He was going to kill..." The image of the gun at Selkie's head overwhelmed her. Tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. "Selkie saved my life."

  "You repaid the favor."

  She ached. "I never got to tell him I love him."

  "He knows."

  "How can you say that?"

  Talbot broke eye contact. "Because I told him." He cleared his throat. "You're shivering. I'll go get us some coffee." Without waiting for her response, he rose and headed for the door.

  "Josh?" She whispered.

  He stopped in the threshold.

  "Thank you," she said.

  46

  Mer stuck a pencil down the air splint on her leg in a futile search for the itch that was robbing her of her last vestiges of sanity. After everything else that had happened over the last several weeks, going crazy just seemed like the cherry on a demented multi-tiered cake. Or was that icing? She repositioned the pencil and rammed it down for another try. Non-itch splint, my ass.

  Limping, she'd dragged the Adirondack chair into the shade of the palm. It was an uncharacteristically cool day. Selkie would be wearing his Annapolis sweatshirt. Navy was playing in the Armed Forces Bowl. Of course, blazing heat wouldn't prevent him from showing support for h
is alma mater.

  The game started in a few hours. Until then, Selkie had said he needed to catch up on some business.

  Which left her staring at the Atlantic.

  Their relationship had entered a new stage. Time would tell what that meant, exactly. In the short term, he would try to protect her, as he was wont to do, and she would remind him she was self-sufficient, as she was wont. Meanwhile their guardian angels would get together and drink.

  A large wave hit the boulders and spray shot into the air. Somewhere in that vast ocean the Thirteenth Galleon lay hidden.

  The sea had reclaimed her treasure. At least for now. Both known coins had been recovered. One from Bart and the other from Winslet Chase. Phoenix had told Mer that the State had revoked the exploration permit for Conch Reef in order to evaluate the galleon's cultural and archeological significance. She'd used air quotes around the reason. In theory, Mer had a stake in the coins she'd found. But Mer agreed with Oscar. They needed to be in a museum. For now, the Monroe County Sheriff's Office was again the portrait dollars' custodian.

  The Cuban government had already petitioned to have the original coin returned—along with their disgraced archivist. Oscar hadn't yet learned whether the current immigration laws would allow him to remain in the States, nor the legal repercussions of his actions. Regardless, he was still recuperating in Miami, and in no condition to travel.

  She'd never forget the yearning she'd seen on his face the day they'd spoken at the church. All he'd wanted to do was make his father proud. Instead, he'd jeopardized his ability to ever return home.

  A car door slammed. The slap of flip-flops grew louder, and then ceased. Someone knocked on her door. "Mer?"

  She recognized Bijoux's voice and relaxed. "Back here."

  Bijoux rounded the corner wearing a rainbow-hued caftan, an armful of bangles, and oven mitts. She carried a casserole dish. "I figured you were home. I brought over some of my famous poulet creole. It's a Haitian stewed-chicken dish. I put the Scotch bonnet on the side for you sensitive types."