The Ghost from the Sea (9 page)

A
dam had just sat
down in a seat across from Bill Jones at Pier Café when he heard someone shout, “If it belongs to Boatman, I say she can haul it off!”

Adam craned out from the booth to see who was doing all the shouting. The voice was coming from two booths down. He could see the back of one man's head, but the one who was doing all the animated ranting faced Adam. It was Pete Rogers.

Settling back in his seat, Adam looked at Bill, who just shook his head and took a sip of his coffee.

“What's Roger's problem?” Adam asked Bill, just as Carla approached their table with a pot of coffee.

“They've been going at it all morning,” Carla explained as she filled Adam's cup.

“Do you know what they're arguing about? I heard them mention Boatman. Are they talking about Danielle?”

“Isn't Frederickport drama normally centered on Boatman?” Bill asked.

Carla leaned down, her nose just inches from Adam. In a loud whisper she said, “It's that ghost ship that washed up by Danielle's house.” Carla gave a nod and stood back up straight again.

Adam picked up his coffee cup. “Pete expects Danielle to move it?”

“The historical society had an emergency meeting last night,” Carla said in an excited whisper. “When the police finish with the boat, they want it turned over to the historical society.”

Adam frowned. “What for?”

Bill chuckled. “Those idiots want to make some historical exhibit out of it. But Pete's not thrilled with the idea, since it's not that far from his back patio. Can't say I blame him.”

“What does that have to do with Danielle?” Adam asked.

“She inherited the Marlow estate,” Carla explained. “According to this morning's paper, that boat belonged to Walt Marlow.”

“Yeah, I know about that.” Adam sipped his coffee. “So the historical society wants the boat left there?”

“Have you seen it yet?” Bill asked.

“Yeah. I don't see how it'd do much for local property values. The thing's an eye sore,” Adam said.

Carla topped off Bill's cup and set the coffee pot on the table. “I just know Pete's not happy about it.” She pulled her order pad and pen from her apron's pocket. “You guys ready to order yet?”

After Carla took their order and left the table, Bill said, “I sure as hell wouldn't want to be responsible for hauling that monstrosity off. I wonder where it's been.”

“It must have been at sea all this time.”

Bill grabbed a sugar packet from the end of the table and tore it open. As he dumped it into his cup he said, “Can you imagine coming across something like that while out fishing?”

“Have you seen it yet?”

“Yeah, I stopped by this morning. It's all taped off, can't get close to it. I guess they've had a cop down there twenty-four seven.” Bill picked up a spoon and stirred his coffee.

“Considering they found human bones onboard, I imagine they want to see if there're more.”

“I don't think that's why they won't let anyone near it. Probably has something to do with what they found yesterday.”

“What are you talking about?”

Bill tossed the spoon aside and picked up his mug. “I guess it hasn't been on the radio yet. I imagine they're keeping tight lipped about it.”

“Tight lipped about what?”

“The cops found a treasure on board.”

Adam perked up. “A treasure? What kind of treasure?”

“A freaking fortune in jewelry. Maybe not worth as much as the Missing Thorndike, but close.”

“Jewelry?”

“Vintage stuff, all in pristine condition. They called in a jeweler from Astoria to have a look at it. He was there last night. A freaking fortune.”

“I'm surprised there wasn't anything in the newspaper about it.”

“They probably consider this an ongoing investigation. Maybe they don't want the public to know yet. My friend wasn't supposed to say anything. So keep this between us.”

“Ongoing investigation? What for?”

“They think it might be stolen,” Bill explained.

“Stolen? Why would they think that? It probably belonged to some passenger on board the ship when it went down.”

Bill shook his head. “Nope. The metal box it was in was fairly new. From Walmart. It still had a price sticker on the bottom. While I said it was vintage jewelry, I also said it was in pristine condition. According to my friend, the jeweler said there was no way it had been on that boat all those years.”

Adam considered the scenario a moment and then let out a chuckle. “Can you imagine, pulling off some jewel heist and then stashing your loot on an old boat, only to have not only the loot disappear, but the entire damn boat!”

“I suppose this means that boat must have been washed up somewhere all these years, but where?”

“I have no idea.” Adams sipped his coffee. “And now that it's here, I can't believe anyone would want to keep it.”

“If I had a house along that stretch of beach, I wouldn't be too thrilled either.”

“What's the historical society thinking? They don't seriously want to take responsibility for that thing? Can you imagine the liability?”

Bill shrugged. “I doubt they've gotten that far.”

“Obviously not.”

“That reminds me, is it true about Boatman donating an emerald to the museum?”

“Didn't you read the article in the newspaper?” Adam asked.

“Yes, but it didn't make any sense. Something about an emerald from the Missing Thorndike. Why would she take one of the emeralds out of the necklace?”

Adam leaned back in his seat. “She's not taking one of the emeralds out of the necklace. That would be crazy, considering what that thing's worth.”

Bill frowned, shaking his head. “Then why did they say she was donating an emerald from it?”

“Don't you ever read?”

“Obviously I didn't read about this. Are you going to tell me, or are you just going to be a jerk?” Bill snapped.

“The original diamonds and emeralds were stolen from the necklace, before it went missing, and replaced with fakes. Eva Thorndike's parents found out and had the fakes replaced, before Walt Marlow stole it.”

“Yeah, yeah, I remember all that. But what does it have to do with the emerald Boatman's giving to the museum?”

“You know who Heather Donovan is?” Adam asked.

“The woman with the mold?”

“Yeah. She's also the one who inherited Presley House. I guess her great grandfather—the one who built Presley House—was involved in the original Thorndike jewel heist. One of the missing emeralds was passed down in her family.”

“So why does Boatman have it?”

“Heather returned the emerald to Danielle.”

“Returned it to Boatman? Why in the hell would she do that?”

Adam shrugged. “I guess she figured the emerald belonged to her.”

“Why? She's not related to Eva Thorndike. Why would Donovan give Boatman the emerald? Hell, it's not as if she needs the money. Danielle Boatman is loaded. And from what I know about Heather Donovan, she can't afford to be giving away precious gems.”

“If it was me, I wouldn't have given it to Danielle.”

Bill laughed. “And you consider yourself Danielle's friend.”

Adam smiled. “True. But as you said, it isn't as if Danielle needs the money, and I doubt she cares that much about the emerald. Hell, she's donating it to the museum.”

“I still don't get why Donovan gave it to her.”

“Because Walt Marlow inherited the Missing Thorndike, and Danielle inherited his estate through her aunt. I guess Heather considered Danielle the rightful owner.”

Bill silently fidgeted with the handle of his coffee mug as he considered the facts of the Missing Thorndike. Finally, he looked up at Adam and said, “Donavon was a fool; that emerald didn't belong to Marlow, so there was no reason to give it to Boatman, even if she was the rightful owner of the Missing Thorndike.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Think about it. The Thorndike necklace had three sets of stones: real diamonds and emeralds, fake stones, and a second set of diamonds and emeralds. The first set of real gems was stolen. That's where Donovan's emerald came from. The fakes were removed and given to the jeweler. We know that, because Hayman had them.”

“So?”

“The second set of diamonds and emeralds are in the necklace today. The original setting and the second set of precious stones is what Walt Marlow inherited. The stolen stones, if they belong to anyone else, would belong to the Thorndike family, or their heir. Marlow just inherited the necklace with the second set of stones. He didn't inherit the first set of stones, the ones that were originally stolen.”

Adam stared at Bill a moment, a blank expression on his face. He then started to laugh. “Damn, you're right. I wonder if Heather will ever realize she gave the emerald to the wrong person.”

“Considering how she was bitching about what it was going to cost to get rid of the mold in her house, I have a feeling she's already regretted her generosity.” Bill reached for the pack of cigarettes in his blue work shirt pocket and stood up.

“You can't sit for fifteen minutes without a smoke?”

“I'm just having a quick one, before Carla brings our breakfast. Stupid smoking laws.” Bill walked outside to have a cigarette, leaving Adam alone.

In the adjacent booth, Kurt Jefferson sat alone, quietly finishing his breakfast while processing the conversation he had just overheard. The urge to hit someone—anyone—was overwhelming.

After washing down the last of his bacon and eggs with the now cold cup of coffee, he shoved his mug and plate aside and stood. Digging one hand into a front pocket of his jeans, he pulled out several bills and angrily tossed them onto the table.

K
urt Jefferson hadn't planned
to spend his fortieth birthday in Frederickport. Last year, his ex-wife had invited him over for a birthday breakfast, so he could spend the morning with his son. It was a gracious offer, yet one she hadn't extended for this year. They were no longer on the best of terms, which was partially attributed to the fact that his last two child support payments had been late.

He pulled his Jeep up behind the squad car and parked. He sat there a moment, still thinking of what he had overheard at the diner. Pulling his key from the ignition and grabbing his cellphone from the center console, he exited the vehicle. It was breezy out, with temperatures in the mid-fifties. He had dressed casually that day, denims, long sleeved T-shirt, and his windbreaker with the name of his company embossed on the back:
Jefferson Diving and Salvage
.

Stuffing the keys in his front pocket, and the phone in his back one, he made his way to the beach. Once he reached the sidewalk, he paused and looked out toward the ocean. There it was, the Eva Aphrodite. He couldn't tell from this angle if it was indeed the same boat, but considering what he had just overheard at the diner, he was fairly certain it was.

Stepping onto the sand, he walked toward the boat. It looked larger somehow, perched up on the beach, crowding the area. Space seemed greater on the bottom of the ocean, and the boat smaller. Silently, he approached, looking up at the name on the boat's bow.
Eva Aphrodite
—the lettering was the same. Yet he couldn't even imagine how the yacht—or what was left of it—got here.

“That's far enough,” Kurt heard someone yell out. Looking to his left, he watched as a police officer walked in his direction.

“I'm just looking,” Kurt called back.

The cop pointed down to the portion of yellow tape under Kurt's feet. Looking down, Kurt abruptly stepped back. He hadn't even noticed the tape surrounding the boat, or the fact he was standing on it. On closer inspection, he realized one reason he hadn't noticed: much of the tape was covered by sand.

When the officer reached him, Kurt read his name tag. “Sorry Officer…Henderson. I didn't even notice the tape.”

“No problem.” Officer Brian Henderson turned to face the boat. “It's really something, isn't it?”

“Any idea how it got here?” Kurt asked.

Brian shook his head. “That's the current mystery.” Under his breath he added, “One of them.”

“I'd love to have a closer look. Do you think it would be possible for me to take a look inside?”

“Sorry. We can't let anyone on her just yet.”

“What are the plans for it?”

Brian shrugged. “I know there're some who'd like her to stay here.”

“Like the Peter Iredale?” Kurt asked.

“Exactly. But I've been hearing from a few of the local property owners. They aren't thrilled with the idea.”

Kurt stared up at the wreckage. “No. I can't imagine they are.”

“Is this your first time seeing it?”

“Yes. I'm from Astoria. I own a diving and salvaging company, heard about this on the news, was curious to see it in person.”

“Any chance you've ever seen this before?” Brian asked with a chuckle. “We'd sure like to figure out where she came from.”

“Sorry, I can't help you there.”

“Well, go have a look around. Just stay on this side of the tape. I have to go make a call.”

“Sure. No problem.” Kurt stood silently, looking up at the Eva Aphrodite as the officer walked toward the street. After a moment, Kurt began walking the boat's perimeter. He had never seen it from this angle before—looking up at it as opposed to looking down from the upper deck. He studied the wreckage. When he came to its stern and the gaping hole, Kurt froze. There was no mistake—it was the same boat.

He could feel his hand tremble as he pulled the cellphone from his back pocket to make the call. After two rings, she answered.

“Hey, what's going on?”

“I'm down here,” Kurt told her.

“Down here where?” she asked.

“Standing on the beach looking up at the Eva Aphrodite. It's the same boat.”

“I told you it was.”

“This is impossible.”

“Anything's possible,” she countered.

Holding the cellphone by his ear, Kurt walked slowly around the boat as he talked on the phone. “I found out something interesting this morning.”

“What was that?”

“I know what was in the box.”

Silence.

“Why did you do it?” he asked.

“That's really none of your business.”

“What do you mean it's none of my business? You do know the cops have it now, don't you?”

“That doesn't surprise me, considering they've been going through the boat since it washed up on shore.”

“Is this what you wanted, for them to find it?”

She laughed before saying, “Don't be ridiculous. How did I know the damn boat was going to find its way back here?”

“You don't sound very upset.”

“What am I going to do about it now?”

“You put a fortune in that damn box. How do you plan to get it back?” he asked.

“I don't plan to get it back.”

“This is insane.”

“What do you expect me to do, march up to the cops and say,
excuse me, I left a little something on that boat, and I want to pick it up
.”

He didn't think she sounded upset. “If you'll remember, I'm the one who put that box on the boat.”

“It's not yours,” she reminded. “This is for the best. It's not what I originally planned, but perhaps this is how it's supposed to be.”

“Listen, maybe you can walk away from a fortune like that, but I can't. I need the money."

“We had a deal, Kurt. You were paid well.”

“Not well enough to walk away from this,” he hissed.

“There's nothing you can do now.”

“If you can afford to just walk away from a fortune, then you can afford to pay me more.”

“Fortune? Who said it was worth a fortune?” she asked.

“That's what the guy said.”

“What guy? Where are you getting all this, Kurt?”

“When I went to breakfast this morning. I heard some guys talking. One of them knew all about the vintage jewelry you stashed in that box. They even had some jeweler from Astoria come check it out.”

She laughed. “So, now you're picking up your intel at the local diner?”

“Was it wrong?”

“I can't give you any more money.” She was no longer laughing.

“Yes you can. Or I go to the police.”

“We have a contract. You signed a confidentiality agreement. If you tell anyone, I'll sue you.”

J
ack thought
there was something familiar about the man. It wasn't until he said, “
I'm the one who put that box on the boat
,” did he know who he was. He was about the right height and size. Of course, the more he thought about it, he wondered why he hadn't figured it out sooner. After all, it had been almost a hundred years since he had seen anyone, and everyone he once knew had long since died. In his defense, he had never seen the man's face.

Jack had returned to the beach the night before, after meeting with Walt for the second time since his return to Frederickport. The meeting had not ended well. After telling Danielle and Walt what Howard had said before leaving the ship, Walt called him a liar and vanished. Danielle wanted him to stay; she had more questions. Jack had nothing else he wanted to say to Danielle, so he followed Walt's cue and vanished. He didn't go far, just up the street, back to the Eva Aphrodite.

The man he recognized carried a telephone in his hand, and continued to talk into it. Jack couldn't understand how the phone worked without a cord. So much had changed in the last ninety plus years.

When Danielle had taken him over to Marlow House the previous day, she had pulled one of those gadgets from her pocket and looked at it. When he had asked her what she was doing, she explained she was reading a text message on her cellphone.

“What's a cellphone?” he had asked.

“It's a telephone, but unlike the phone from your era, it does more and it doesn't need to be plugged in. Lily just sent me a message, and I guess we should stop talking out here. People are starting to watch.”

Jack had a few questions of his own for Danielle. There was so much about this new world he didn't understand. Yet he was anxious to leave Marlow House and put some distance between him and Walt. Perhaps if Jack could remember what had happened those many years ago, he would be more willing to stick around, and convince his old friend to listen to him. Unfortunately, he couldn't remember, and it was entirely possible Walt was right. Perhaps he had stolen the money.

Jack remembered he had moved the money from its hiding place in his room at George's—but it wasn't to take it to Marlow House. Back then, perhaps he should have talked to Walt, explained what was going on, that he was in trouble. But he had wanted to handle it himself. What he had finally decided to do, Jack couldn't quite wrap his mind around. Those last days were lost in a distant fog.

Focusing his attention back on the man talking on the cellphone, Jack moved closer to him. Maybe he couldn't remember what had happened during his final days, but that didn't mean he couldn't try and figure out why this man had left the box on the boat and what it all meant—if it meant anything at all.

K
urt stood
by the stern of the wreckage and shoved his cellphone into his back pocket. He could see the police officer walking toward the other side of the boat, talking into his cellphone.

Turning from the ship, Kurt walked toward the ocean, stopping just a few feet from where the waves washed up on shore. He looked out, wondering how the Eva Aphrodite managed to get from its former home to this site. None of it made sense.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder, startling him. Turning abruptly to face whoever it was, he was surprised to discover he was still alone. The officer remained a good distance from him, still talking on his cellphone. Reaching up and touching his right shoulder, Kurt glanced around quickly.

“I could swear someone just touched me,” he muttered.

Shaking it off, he turned back to face the ocean. He felt it again, yet this time it felt more like a finger poking his right shoulder.

“What the…” Kurt said with a shout as he abruptly swung around to face whoever was playing tricks on him. Yet he was still alone. Again, he looked up and down the beach. Still holding his shoulder, he absently massaged it and glanced around nervously.

After a few moments, Kurt convinced himself it must have been the wind, or perhaps a seagull dive bombed him and escaped undetected. No longer rubbing his shoulder, he dropped his hand to his side and was about to leave when something abruptly shoved him in the back. Again turning, and finding nothing, Kurt let out a curse and took off in a run, heading for his Jeep.