Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) (15 page)

Twenty-Six

Janice sketched rapidly on an underwater slate. She glanced at her gauges and wrote depth and placement. My first impulse had been to scoop up the goodies. Janice, ever the cop, took inventory.

The sound of an engine whined above us. As one we headed back for the anchor line. Both of us knew better than to overstay Cappy’s warning. I glanced at my dive gauge. He called us five minutes too early. I showed the gauge to Janice. She shrugged and signed we must have gone into what he considered too-deep water. I shrugged in return. We pulled up the auger and I wrapped the line back up and shoved it in my pocket. Then we started up the anchor line for the boat. At sixty feet, we both stopped for three minutes to start the process of purging nitrogen from our bodies.

This time, I was grateful the rapture of the deep failed to find me. I gazed up to see if the bottom of Cappy’s boat was visible yet. The water clouded the lines of the twenty-three footer somewhat but not too badly. A second boat lay bow to bow with Cappy’s. Janice was looking down, surveying the bottom. I tugged at her arm and pointed up. Her body went on the alert. She motioned to me to stay in place and began a slow upward ascent. I watched for a moment then followed her.

At fifteen feet we stopped again or risked the bends. Through the water I saw Cappy in his bow pulpit, his balled fist shaking in the air. The other boat’s prop idled. We were trapped.

We couldn’t surface until the idling boat left. If the boat started unexpectedly and came our way, we’d be cut to shreds.

I checked my air gauge and Janice’s. We both had more than half a tank. At this depth, both of us could easily get forty-five minutes more down time.

Sound travels well underwater. We couldn’t hear voices, but we did hear another boat in the distance. Without warning, the idling boat started its engine and peeled away. Janice and I waited below the surface trying to see the new boat. It stopped and waited a safe distance from Cappy’s. The prop stopped turning. Whoever drove the boat respected the diver-down flag on Cappy’s boat. We glanced at each other and gave a simultaneous up sign.

Our heads broke the water. Cappy helped Janice up first and then me. The cold air struck me as I climbed to the swim step. Cappy hoisted the tank from my shaking back and stowed it. My numb fingers struggled to grip the long ribbon that unzipped my wetsuit. Finally able to pull the wet neoprene down around my waist, I grabbed the dry beach towel he handed me and wrapped it twice around my trembling body. A boat approached as soon as Cappy doffed the diver down flag.

The rotating blue strobe lights of a Monroe County Sheriff’s boat made patterns on Janice’s face. Officer Barton stood behind the center console. She eased the boat alongside Cappy’s and tossed him a line. He tied the line onto a cleat, effectively joining the two boats at the hip.

“You’re on a permitted site.” Officer Barton’s voice faltered when Janice stood to face her.

“We wanted to discover why a boat anchored here last night.”

“Whose boat?” Barton asked. She plucked a notebook from her dry pack and made notes.

“That’s the problem.” The towel muffled Janice’s voice as she rubbed it over her wet face and hair. “I saw it here, but couldn’t stop.”

“The missing night diver call?” Barton clearly knew about the incident.

Janice nodded. Then she shot me a look.

I nodded back, agreeing to let her tell the story of what we found below.

“Someone has been treasure hunting,” Janice said.

Cappy crossed his arms and leaned back against the Captain’s chair. I wondered if he wanted to add something about the visitor that peeled away before Barton approached. I opened my mouth to ask, but he gave me a look that would freeze saltwater. I shut my mouth and devoted my attention to Barton instead.

Barton’s face tightened. “Are you sure? There’s a moratorium on salvage on the site until the permit ownership is clarified.”

That was news to me. Mike owned a valid permit; I’d held a copy of it at my office. The State wouldn’t be involved in a will contest. Not at this point. I filed the information away.

“It’s going to be an impossible scene to secure,” Janice said. “Wave action will soon conceal everything exposed. I sketched what I could. Then we were called back to the boat.”

Barton gave Janice a questioning glance and settled her gaze on Cappy. “Is that why you fired the flare? Did you need assistance with your divers?”

Penalties for firing a flare without an emergency reason were harsh. “No one on this boat fired a flare.” Cappy’s face hardened and his cheeks looked cut from stone. I’d seen him like that before. You couldn’t move him. He’d stick to his story, no matter what.

Barton’s face went blank. Her expression said she realized he was lying to her. “Someone fired a flare. I saw it. Now, what I need to find out is, did you fire the flare gun, or do I go after the other boat?”

Cappy turned and flipped open the watertight box in the console. He pulled his flare gun out and handed it butt first to the officer.

She broke the barrel, checked that it was unloaded, sniffed the breach, and stuck her finger inside. The finger came away clean. She handed the flare gun back.

“It’s cold and clean. So who else tied up here?”

“Some snowbird. Wanted to fish. I gave him grief. He didn’t show the least bit of concern about my divers.”

He crossed his arms, each hard palm grasping his sinewy forearms just below the elbows. Both officers kept a careful eye on Cappy. Barton let the silence hang for an uncomfortably long time. Finally she said, “And he fired the flare?”

Cappy didn’t answer. I silently begged him to say something. If the other guy didn’t fire the flare and the officer saw a flare, and the officer didn’t see anyone else on the water in proximity to the flare—I didn’t want to think about the ticket and fine that entailed. Who was he trying to protect?

His throat worked. He swiveled and took a slug of his ever-present “rooty” beer as he called it. He cleared his throat. “The guy on the other boat fired by accident.”

Barton cocked her head and waited. A sudden rush of cold breeze rocked the boat. My shivering reached a new crescendo. Janice’s lips were blue, but she handled the cold more stoically than I did. Standing straight, her weight balanced to compensate for the rocking of the boat, she appeared comfortable, like she belonged there.

“I told him to turn his engine off if he stayed. Invited him to tie on to me until my divers came up. He spouted some drivel about my not owning the seas and tossing his anchor where ever he wanted. The language got colorful.”

“The flare,” Barton prompted.

“He was pulling stuff from his dry box. Searching for something. He picked up the flare gun, his finger on the trigger. I don’t think he realized the thing was loaded. It went off.”

“Did you get the FL number?”

Cappy shook his head.

“No. I was more worried about my divers. They were overdue. He peeled off, and I hope he sinks.” Cappy thrust his chin forward. Barton’s expression told me she didn’t buy the entire story, but it must have been close enough to what she saw to register as partially true. Her face softened a bit, her expression still blank. “Type of boat?”

“Boston Whaler. About sixteen feet.” He untied her line and handed it back.

Barton started her engine and putted away at a little better than idle speed. She dug in her console dry box and pulled out a set of binoculars. We watched while she scanned the horizon. Then she picked up the transmitter for her radio. Her boat picked up speed and she headed toward the horizon and open water.

Cappy pulled his anchor and started his own engine. We drove back to the dock in silence. This time our route took us under the Seven Mile Bridge. I glanced up at the expanse of roadway over our heads and cringed. We passed under the spot where my parents died. Memories overtook me. I dropped my chin to my chest. A mixture of feelings washed over me. As we entered the bright sunlight marking the alley between the old and new bridge, my mind cleared. If Cappy kept secrets about the driver of the boat who fired the flare, that was okay. He’d tell me when he was ready. Everyone had secrets, even me.

A gentle tap announced our arrival at the wooden dock. Cappy offloaded Janice’s tanks. I started to take mine off, but he threw out an arm and stopped me. Confused, I helped him carry Janice’s gear to her car. I gave Janice a hug and told her to let me know what, if anything, she found out about the permit and the disarray underwater. The wreck lay outside of the Monroe County limit in Janice’s jurisdiction, but not Officer Barton’s. I itched to question Janice further. Something told me she wouldn’t open up any more than she already had. Had she really meant it about Dana being a murder suspect? I wasn’t sure whether to be worried or amused.

I followed Cappy back to the boat. “What was that all about?”

He hauled my tanks over the gunnels with an easy tug. “The other boat.” His watery blue eyes fixed on me. “Jake Patterson’s. He tried to get me off his salvage site. When I wouldn’t move, he threatened me.”

“The flare gun?”

“Yep. Passed right by my head.”

Twenty-Seven

I didn’t understand why Cappy withheld the information from Janice and Officer Barton. What good did telling me do? I gave him a squinty-eyed look and he smiled in response.

“You don’t get it, do you?”

“Jake didn’t miss,” I whispered. An image of the skeet trophies in The Petard celebrating Jake’s wins sprang to mind.

“Bingo. It was a warning. What happened, happened. Between us.” Cappy’s stern expression told me he meant what he said. I swallowed hard to avoid arguing with him.

Jake’s threat renewed my belief that Jake had killed Mike. All I needed was proof I could document. Not hearsay. I needed to talk to him. The thought frightened me, but I had to do it or give up all my theories. I’d given my information to Officer Barton the day she delivered the restraining order. Heat rose to my cheeks at the memory. Neither Deputy Diego, nor any detective, called me back. In spite of what Janice told me, should I have shared my speculation about all the motives?

“He told you the permit site was his?”

“Yeah. Isn’t that right?”

My mind ranged over the information I knew about the salvage permit, the wills, and the liquor license.

“No.” The second will gave him a temporary share of the profits, but no ownership. That was Devon’s.

Cappy arched me a look and walked me to my car.

The mid-afternoon sun did little to cut the chill as I drove back to my house to change clothes. Now warm and comfortably dressed in jeans and a red sweater, I sat at my desk and logged onto my computer. If treasure was the motive and Jake killed Mike, he might be planning to kill Devon too. I dialed Grant’s number. I blurted out the true story of the day’s events. He listened without interrupting.

“What are you going to do?”

My fingers tapped out a tuneless song on my desktop while I considered my answer. What could I do? I had nothing concrete to bring to Deputy Diego. I had no idea if Devon had a will. If he died without a will, intestate, would Jake inherit? Did Jake adopt Devon? Devon used the last name Rutherford, not Patterson. Another question without an answer. I opened my mouth to ask Grant, but he read my mind.

“Devon took back his natural father’s name after his mother died.”

“There’s something familiar in that. I don’t remember the details though. Do you?”

“Yes, we were in high school together. Devon turned eighteen before graduation. His mother died during his senior year. He made a big thing of having Rutherford on his diploma. Teenage angst. At the time, he wanted to honor his father. I don’t think Devon ever met him. Jake was good about it, even helped him do the name change. Didn’t affect the adoption, of course.”

It was a long speech for Grant. Whatever happened at the time impressed him. It also settled the question of intestate inheritance for Jake.

“Hayden.” Grant’s voice held a note of caution. “Remember, if the first will is proved, none of this matters. Mike’s son gets everything. Wasn’t he clear enough? That’s what he wanted.”

I thought about that for a few minutes. Grant’s ability to cut through the static of a case amazed me. I counted to ten before I replied.

“Thanks for the warning. We need to nail down the timing of the wills before I go jumping to conclusions.”

He signed off after he updated me on some cases and gave me an assignment for the next day. I itched to get him off the phone and go to Buddy’s for information about how he got the second will. Even if he didn’t tell me what I needed to know, I figured he’d tell me enough to point me in the right direction.

I stripped off my jeans, changed, applied makeup, and raced out the door in under fifteen minutes. The clock was closing in on four, and I wanted to be sure I caught Buddy at his office.

Buddy drove a Rolls Royce. The car rested under corrugated metal carport-type arrangement in the office parking lot, constructed to protect it from the sun. “James ‘Buddy’ Smith” adorned the fascia, painted in the same burgundy as the car. Relief rushed through me seeing it still there.

Cars filled the lot. I drove twice around the closest parking areas before I spotted an empty space near the back of the building. I powerwalked to the entrance and hit the elevator button two or three times in a row trying to entice the clunky thing to move faster. A placard next to the button controls pointed to an exit sign and the international symbol for stairs around the corner. Frustrated, I followed the arrow to a red exit sign over a heavy door with a push rail. The door opened easily and my booted feet took the stairs two at a time. Buddy had the reputation of leaving his office early. I didn’t want to miss him.

I pulled the door open on the second floor and turned to round the corner to the elevators and Buddy’s office beyond. The man I now knew to be Rutger Ellis, Kristin’s boyfriend, stood facing the open door to the office. From my vantage point, I saw Buddy framed in the doorway. I ducked back around the corner to the stairwell.

In my hiding place, I heard Rutger say, “Lisa appreciates everything you are doing for her and her son. My niece would be lost without your help.”

“Give my best to her,” Buddy responded. “Sorry about your fiancée.”

What? Niece? Lisa was Rutger’s niece? How did that figure in? Giving up on the visit to Buddy, I quietly pulled the door to the stairwell open and tiptoed down the flights. The elevator motor whirled and came to a stop on the ground floor. I waited inside the stairwell until I figured Rutger had left.

My head spun as I walked to my car. Faces popped up in my mind’s eye one after the other. Mike, Rutger, Lisa, Buddy, and Kristin all knew each other. The connection between Rutger and Lisa explained how Kristin knew about the salvage claim and the treasure find.

Rutger had the skill and the training. Lisa knew about the change in Mike’s will. Now that I knew Rutger was her uncle, I wondered if she vented to him. Did she unwittingly arrange for Mike’s murder to stop him from signing the will he drew up in our office? If Rutger killed Mike before he signed the new will, Lisa would get part of the treasure.

I drove on autopilot. Rutger killing Mike made perfect sense if Lisa was going to cut him in on the bounty. And Lisa could provide the keys and access to Mike’s boat. Even Rutger renting a boat made sense now. He took the rental to Lisa’s and picked up Mike’s boat. It gave him both alibi and opportunity. If you knew enough to put the entire story together. The thought brought me full circle back to Lisa.

I rolled to a stop at the traffic light on U.S. 1. Ahead of me on the right flashed the neon sign on top of The Petard. Devon might know something about Mike’s boat and who had access. The lot was empty at this time of day. It wouldn’t start to fill until five or later. That gave me a good half hour, at least. I slotted my car into a space in the front and hopped out. I said a quick prayer that Devon was working today, not Jake. I didn’t want to face Jake. Not after what he did to Cappy. My questions for Jake would need more planning.

The Spanish bartender, Caridad, stood alone behind the bar polishing glasses. I walked over and took a seat. She approached me, and I asked for Devon and a glass of chardonnay. She brought the wine and set the goblet carefully on a coaster.

“Devon is not here. Mr. Jake will be back around five when we get a little busier.”

She turned and went back to wiping the glasses.

I considered paying my tab, leaving a big tip, and abandoning my wine. I wanted information, not alcohol.

Something about the way the woman kept looking at me made me wait and take sips from my glass, one that was definitely not from Devon’s private stash. I studied the trophies on the back of the bar and let my mind wander over Jake taking a shot at Cappy. After about five minutes, she came over.

“You been here before.” Her accent flowed thick as syrup and her words were a little hard to understand. I got the gist and nodded. “Do you remember me? I hear you talking to Devon.”

Uncertain where this conversation was going, I nodded. “Yes, you have a good memory.” I ran my fingers up and down the wineglass stem. “Do you like working here?”

For some reason she took the question as a challenge. Her face closed. “
Sí
.” She ran her hands down the side of her jeans and went back to her prep work, this time cutting lemons and limes. Her glance bored into the side of my head. Without warning, she drove the knife into the cutting board and marched down to where I sat.

“You knew Mr. Mike.” It wasn’t a question.

I remembered the disgusted expression she gave to the men who celebrated his death. “Yes. His mother is like a mother to me.” From the look on her face, I couldn’t be sure how much I said translated.

“Mr. Mike was good to me. He let me keep this job. Even after I told him I didn’t have papers.”

I nodded. It dawned on me that Mike had put his liquor license at risk by keeping her. Was this the wedge between him and his former partners?

“He came here. The last day I saw him.” Her face showed her struggle. Whether with the language or the story, I wasn’t sure. Her expression begged me to ask questions.

“Did he come for the boat?” Janice told me the sheriff’s office recovered The Petard’s boat at the treasure site after Mike’s last dive.

“His was broke…fixed.” Her hand waved back and forth, and she muttered something in Spanish while she tried to settle on a word. “He put the keys on the board after they made his boat work.” She pointed to a row of hooks set near the office door. “Mr. Mike and the other two
hombres
went back into the little office.” She jerked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of the door.

My eyes followed and widened when I spotted two shadowboxes on the walls flanking the office door, each holding five doubloons in the shape of a smile.

Caridad didn’t notice my lapse. “He didn’t tell me why he did in there.”

“Devon and Jake?” I asked. My eagerness to have my suspicions validated drove all thought of the doubloons from my mind. “Were they the other two men?”

She glanced around again. Then she rested both arms on the bar and leaned in close. “No. Mr. Jake and someone else. Tall and handsome, in a suit. The bookkeeper and another bartender, they went in later. Mr. Mike came out alone. He looked…mad. Gave me an envelope. One with a big red seal.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. Her hands painted pictures in the air. “
Cómo se dice…
secret.” Her hands flapped again in disgust.

My heart raced. “Confidential,” I supplied.

“
Sí
. Confidential.
Bueno
.” Her face lit with a smile. “He slapped the envelope on the bar. Said it would make everyone happy. He told me to keep it until he came back.”

She shook her head. Unshed tears watered her eyes.

My breath caught in my throat. I willed her to finish her story.

“He left. He never came back.”

My jaw hurt from holding back my words. Unable to hold out any longer, I blurted, “What happened to the envelope?”

She stared at her feet. I thought she wasn’t going to tell me. Her shoulders straightened and she stared at me full in the face. “Mr. Jake and the handsome man took the envelope from me. Right after Mike left.”

“Have you seen the handsome man in here before, or since he took the envelope?”

She shook her head. It occurred to me that one person was missing from this cast of characters. “Where was Devon?”

“Miami…”

The door opened behind me. In the mirror, I saw two men enter. They greeted the barmaid. The five o’clock rush was about to begin. I had one more question. “What time was Mike here?” The bar opened at eight. Mike came to our office at nine. It didn’t leave much time if he made this will first.

She shrugged. “In the morning.”

“Early?”

Her hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. “Please, don’t tell. They will send me back to Ecuador.”

My heart broke. I couldn’t keep her secret.

Jake knew about the will. Grant needed to know that.

Jake threatened Cappy. Jake had been like a father to Mike.

And the keys to Mike’s boat were at the bar.