Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

Nineteen

My bad luck followed me through Monday. Most every place I needed was closed for the holiday. Every call I made resulted in endless button-pushing and voicemails. In desperation, I called Cappy. Diving would clear my head. I invited, okay, begged, him to dive with me. He pled bumpy seas and cold water. Cappy hated cold-water diving. 

I sat at my desk and tried to make sense out of the puzzle. I had too many suspects, each with his or her own motive and too few answers. The forest blinded me to the trees. I figured the only way to winnow down the group was to take a hard look at each of them.

If the only choices were suicide, accident, or murder, given Mike’s skill level, as far as I could see, murder would win out. Everyone else clamored for a suicide, except those that believed his death a tragic accident. Why did I feel an undercurrent of uncertainty that neither scenario made sense?

Tiger Cat jumped on my lap. His furry face rubbed against my chin and his paws paddled my left thigh. Then he jumped down and walked away. Tail high. At my office door, he turned and gave me a plaintive mew. I chuckled.

“Okay, my boy. I’m getting off my butt and doing something else.” Matching action to words, I stood, stretched, and went to the kitchen to feed my willful cat.

I put the food on the tray that held his water bowl. My gaze caught my empty scuba tank propped in the corner. While Tiger chowed down, I grabbed the tank and decided to take it for a fill.

On my way to the Sea Horse, I passed the Filling Station, Mike’s scuba shop of choice. The place was a little larger than a garden shed. A six-foot-high wooden fence attached to both sides of the stucco building encompassed what I figured was a backyard holding the tanks of various gasses. Impulsively, I turned into the parking lot. The sign on the door read “Open.” I got out of the car, debating whether to bring my tank in with me and have it filled. Instead I left it in the car. A tall black man stood behind a makeshift counter inside.

A broad smile split the attendant’s face when I entered. “Haven’t seen you before. Need help getting your tanks in?”

I smiled and shook my head. “Do you do the filling, or does the customer do it?”

Caution touched his green eyes. “We fill them. It can be dangerous work if you don’t understand what you’re doing.” His muscles bunched when he folded his arms across his chest. “Did you want to fill your own?” His chin tucked down with his last words.

The mulish expression on his face told me I wouldn’t get much more out of him. I cursed myself for not bringing in my tank and using that as a conversation starter. Well, too late now. I smiled what I hoped was a disarming smile. “A friend used to fill here. He recommended you, but I thought he said he filled his own—”

“What do you want?”

His tone made it clear he didn’t want any part of a further discussion. Remembering that old legal adage, “when all else fails, tell the truth,” I said, “I want information. About Mike Terry.” The man’s eyes turned hard. I kicked myself and said, “Look, it’s not the way it sounds.”

“Really? You a cop, too? You’re supposed to tell me. If not, I think you better go.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, rubbing my hands up and down my biceps. “Dana Terry is a good friend of mine. She’s lost her son. In a diving accident. She’s looking for comfort.”

“And you think he lost his life because of our air?”

I looked at the floor and shook my head. If my foot got any deeper down my throat, I’d choke. “Can we start over?”

A ripple of muscle and skin tensing ran over his arms. I swallowed hard. He looked dangerous. His stance coiled like some jungle cat. I thought he would leap over the counter at the slightest provocation. It wasn’t a comfortable interview. “Try asking simple questions.”

“I heard Mike filled his own tanks. Never trusted anyone else.” I hoped he would read between the lines. If Mike filled his own tanks, no one could have mistakenly given him the wrong gas.

He relaxed enough to drop his arms to his side and fiddle with something in his pocket. “Yeah. Mike always did that. Under supervision. Nobody goes into the fill area unescorted.” He jerked a thumb towards the “No Admittance” sign over the door. “Insurance regulations.” He paused for a beat. “It was safer for Mike to do it. He knew what he was doing, and he marked his tanks with his own special code. Just a single letter, no yellow and green neon signs for him.” He closed his lips in a straight line. The silence in the little room was so complete it was almost painful.

“I
am
his mother’s friend,” I said into the heavy quiet. “Was anything different the last time you saw him?”

He rested his arms on the counter. His forehead creased, and his gaze seemed to turn inward. “No. Yes.” His fingers drummed the tabletop. “He left his tanks that time after he filled them. Said he had to go someplace.”

My heart quickened. Someone could have tampered with his tanks. Emptied the gas and refilled them with something else. “When did this happen?” I held my breath waiting for his response.

“Thursday. A lady friend of his came on Friday morning first thing and picked them up.” He rocked back on his heels and straightened. His mouth twisted like he’d tasted something bad. “That never happened before. She was waiting at the door when I got here.”

My heart clenched in excitement.

Before I could open my mouth, he said, “I didn’t know he’d taken up with his ex-wife again. Guess things change all the time.”

Twenty

I was speechless. Kristin had picked up Mike’s tanks. That was huge news. My information said she hated him. Hell, she came down here with someone else. Her single goal in life, so far as I knew, was to pull the financial rug out from under Mike. Did the Monroe County Sheriff’s department know about this? Probably not yet. They were used to investigating homicides, but they didn’t know the dive world. It would take them longer.

Now that he revealed his secret, the man seemed eager to talk. He’d seen Kristin at The Filling Station a few times. Mostly with another man and once with Mike. The description of the other man matched that of Rutger, Kristin’s current traveling companion and supposed new honey.

“Mike brought her in to introduce her. She wanted her tanks filled. It was clear they weren’t friends. At least not then. She and a short guy came back a few times. Always tech stuff. Technical diving setups.”

My mouth dropped open in shock. “Both of them?”

At that moment, the door opened and another diver walked in, pushing six tanks ahead of him in a wheel cart. The new arrival broke the spell. The friendly expression faded from the tall man’s face. He glanced over at me. “Yeah. Her too.”

Dismissed, I went out to my car and sat behind the wheel. Where did this leave my theory that Kristin and Mike hated each other? I tried to peel back the layers of my confusion.

What angle were the two—no, the three—of them playing? Kristin, Mike, and Rutger. An odd trio. An ex-husband, an ex-wife, and an ex-boss.

I opened my car door and then shut it. I wanted to ask when Mike had brought Kristin in. Ruth said she met Kristin before the media circus in our office. Maybe Mike harbored thoughts of getting back with Kristin. Was that why he pulled back from Lisa? Then he found out about Kristin’s boyfriend—discovered he was his ex-boss…I touched the starter button on the Subaru. I needed to pay Kristin a visit at the Sea Farer Resort. A pretty danged high-end resort for a supposedly financially needy woman and her nearly bankrupt boyfriend.

I pulled up in front of the Sea Farer Resort and waited in my car for a valet to bounce his way down the steps from his perch inside the front door.

He handed me a ticket and took my key. I pointed out the scuba tank in the back and asked if he could park the car both close and in the shade.

A look of terror crossed his face. “Oh yeah. Don’t worry. My friend had a tank explode in his trunk. The valve went right through the rear seats and dashboard.”

I mounted the steps to the front lobby. The original hotel had consisted of a series of circular buildings on stilts—very 1950s. A visual ode to the Jetsons. The new owners built the hotel as an incarnation of a rich sea captain’s house. They removed the modernistic-looking pods and built this huge, rambling Victorian. The gardens surrounding the property were gorgeous, and there was a private marina for guests. Posh. The rumored four hundred dollars a night room base rate put it way above my salary level.

The mahogany reception desk shone from frequent polishing. A woman in a mustard and white uniform stood behind the counter. She smiled eagerly as I approached. I asked for Kristin and Rutger Ellis. She tapped a few keys on a computer and asked me to wait as she touched a few numbers on her computer screen. She murmured a few words into the microphone she wore near her ear and turned to face me. “Mr. Ellis will be down in a few moments.” She pointed me in the direction of a plush sofa and chair arrangement at the far side of the lobby. I walked over and took a seat, sinking into one of the most comfortable chairs that ever wrapped around my butt.

A short, solid man appeared. The same one I’d seen on the rental boat. Well, that answered another question.

His hard hand briefly enveloped mine. A shiny gold doubloon winked at me from his pinky ring. “I think you need to understand,” he began, not even bothering to sit. “You need to leave us alone. We have nothing to say to you.”

I had remained standing after the greeting, if you could call it that. He pressed his fingers into my elbow and moved, forcing me to face the exit before he dropped his grip. “Nothing personal. It’s business.” He offered me a winning smile and a slight push in the direction of the door. I tried to dig my heels in, but my efforts were rewarded with his guiding hand on my elbow, again.

Slick. Talk about controlling an encounter.

I tipped the valet who brought my car and slid behind the wheel.

Annoyance and frustration bubbled up in me like bad champagne. My mind filled with unasked questions about Kristin and Rutger. I needed to talk to someone. I called Janice. Luck was with me, and she answered on the first ring. Less than a minute later, while the tropic sights of the Florida Keys flew past my windshield, I’d brought her up to date.

“Okay, Hayden. You need to let Monroe County know about the tanks and the self-fills. What else is bothering you?”

“Motives. They seem to be everywhere, but when I touch them, they fall apart like spider webs.” I rushed my words before Janice could interrupt. “It wasn’t a suicide. I’m convinced of that much.”

“I’ll give you that for the sake of argument only, not because I agree. The ME doesn’t guess. You haven’t come right out and said it yet, but it sounds like you’re suggesting murder.”

I sucked in a deep breath and evaded a car changing lanes without a blinker. “I don’t know. Too much doesn’t add up. Mike’s estate was on the hook for the balance of the marital settlement. The obligation didn’t die with him.”

“That’s a win/win for Kristin. Why kill him? She doesn’t gain anything.”

“The salvage claim. She filed for half of his interest.” My mind cast around for more while the scenery slipped by.

“So she needed him alive to make the claim worthwhile,” Janice said. “They’re divorced. She has no legal rights to his after-divorce bounty.”

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?” I allowed myself a chuckle. Rights after death were my specialty. It was true, Kristin couldn’t fight a dead Mike for half the salvage claim. Or could she? “If Mike did something to breach the Marital Settlement Agreement, then—”

“Dead horse, stop beating. Come on, Hayden. You know you’re reaching.”

Was my promise to Dana clouding my judgment? I didn’t think so. My gut told me something more was going on. Even without Dana, we were handling the estate. We had a responsibility to the beneficiaries. And in Florida, a murderer could not be a beneficiary.

“Rutger? I don’t think he filed another appeal of the accident claim. We haven’t gotten a copy at least. He’s a tech diver though, and a well-trained Navy SEAL. Mike bankrupted his company with the excess claim. How far would Rutger go for revenge? He’s already taken up with Mike’s ex-wife.” My mouth crooked in a smile. Now that I said the words out loud, my case against the two of them sounded flimsy. “Don’t say it, Janice. I know what you are thinking. What a lovely list of coincidences and suppositions.”

“Get evidence then. You won’t convince Monroe County, and you’re not convincing me. Bring them something more than gut feeling. Do you feel better?”

“I feel silly. And maybe I’m overlooking the obvious. From a legal standpoint, Mike’s death hurt Lisa the most. They never married, so no spousal share. If he changed his will after a fight, well—”

Janice’s voice broke into my words. “Couples fight. So what? They also make up. Mike’s death precluded making up.”

I slowed my car as another thought struck.

Mike’s old will, written before his son was born, gave Lisa half his estate outright. The balance went to Dana, unless he had children. Then Lisa and Dana got a quarter, and the children divided half. The new will may have been nothing more than a threat. A flexing of economic muscle. Lose me, lose this.

That explained the second will too. Show Lisa the first, sign it to let her know he was in charge of her financial future, and then cover himself with a second will, just in case something did happen. But what if she didn’t know he actually signed the will in our office? Much less the second will. Would she kill him to stop him from writing her out? Especially now, with recovery from a treasure ship on the horizon. How far would greed take someone? Did Mike die for doubloons?

The static sound of a hand-held radio broke over the line. “Gotta go, Hayd. Seriously, share the hard facts with the sheriff. Nothing else.”

Still not willing to give up, I pulled over and typed “Lisa Freeman” into my cell phone browser. An address about a mile from where I sat came up. My finger hovered over the direction icon. Unable to stop myself, I fingered the button and listened as the slightly British voice gave me directions.

Lisa had lived with Mike in a newer building on an old block. Most of the houses were still at street level. Mike’s place sat up on stilts. Judging by the size, I guessed the residence held three or four bedrooms. Not cheap. I made a mental note to check the public records and find out if he owned it. The roof and radar dome of Mike’s Mako boat was visible behind the house.

As I slotted my car into a space, I saw Lisa come out and close the front door behind her. She balanced an infant over her shoulder, a baby bag suspended from her elbow. With her free hand, she inserted a key into the door lock.

The sound of my door closing caught her attention. Leaving the key dangling, she looked over the railing of the catwalk. She clearly knew me. Something about her looked familiar. Putting her free hand up to stabilize the baby’s head, she leaned over the banister. “You’re that paralegal, the one asking all those questions at The Petard. Devon told me. I have nothing to say to you. Or to Mike’s mother through you.” Her face twisted into a mask of disgust. “Mike is dead. Leave us alone.”

“I am so sorry for your loss. I’m not here from Mike’s mother. I work for the attorney who represents his estate.”

The disgust on her face morphed into something just this side of hatred. I couldn’t figure out what offended her. The baby fussed. Her face softened as she soothed him. When she turned her attention back to me, I held a faint hope that she would agree to see me. Instead, she spat out, “Don’t ever come back here again. You’re a ghoul.”

Her last words rang in my ears. Shaken by her attitude, I retraced the path to my car. I wondered what Devon had told her that caused her to dislike me so much. My only crime was doing my job. Did she hate the idea of me, or was it my association with Dana? I decided to get my tanks filled and go home. At least that would be one productive result of this misbegotten day. On my way to the dive shop, I remembered where I’d seen Lisa before. At the marina where Grant keeps his boat.

I ended up spending a good couple of hours chatting with the employees in the dive shop, the friendly conversation a balm to my battered ego. By the time I left, billowing pink clouds announced the end of the day. The lights on my dashboard increased in intensity as I drove.

A sheriff’s office patrol car sat in front of my house. Did Janice notify them? That would save me a trip or a call. When I pulled up and drove around the patrol car to park in my driveway, I noticed Officer Barton sitting behind the wheel. I opened the door of my car and stepped out.

“Hi, I’m so glad you got my messages. I’m never sure.” I strode towards the patrol vehicle, talking loudly to be heard through her open window. “I thought you were off today. It’s been…” My voice trailed off. The stern expression on the woman’s face told me this was no social call. I searched my memory for any transgressions I’d committed and came up empty.

The tall woman got out of the patrol car and walked around to the passenger side. Her patent leather duty oxfords shot gleaming sparks in the fading day. For one heart-stopping moment, I thought she was going to open the rear door and usher me inside. Instead, she reached into a portfolio she carried and pulled out a document.

“I have a restraining order here. Filed by Lisa Freeman.”