by Bill Noel
The gooey delight was less appealing when I saw Stanley Kremitz in front of the case holding the high-calorie goodies. It became even less appealing when Stanley spotted me.
He looked my way, smiled, flapped his arms like they were wings, and said, “The early bird gets the worm.”
“Hi, Stanley. Worms aren’t my thing. The cinnamon rolls behind you are my weakness.”
“It’s an expression, Chris. An expression. I was about to grab one of those, myself. Told you we were as alike as two peas in a pod.”
I wouldn’t believe it, even if he told me until hell freezes over, I thought in Stanley speak.
He smiled, like he’d convinced me we were alike, then said, “Any word on who killed the relic hunter?”
“No. Have you heard anything?”
“Veronica and I were flapping our lips about it last night. She told me that she heard something at the beauty shop about Abraham Gant, you know, Captain Gant.”
“Heard what?”
“Gant told someone that he knew where treasure was buried, that the money didn’t mean anything to him.”
“Why not?”
“Suppose because he’s hung up on the past staying past.”
“Did the person who told your wife say that was the reason?”
“Don’t think so. I’m picturing the story about what Gant said being shared a few times from one person to another, to another. The story Veronica heard, most likely, ain’t the version that started going around. A chain is only as strong as its weakest link.”
The story may be convoluted although, if most of it’s accurate, it’s further evidence that Gant knew about the treasure map he told Charles and me about.
“Did Veronica specifically say that she’d heard the word treasure and not relics?”
“That’s what she heard. It don’t necessarily mean it’s so.”
“Who told her the story?”
“Maybelle Davis. Maybelle heard it from Francis something or other, who heard it from, umm, Francis didn’t remember who she heard it from.”
I lost track after Maybelle when I realized that following the chain to the initial source would be as successful as catching a seagull with a tablespoon.
“Stanley, let me know if you hear more about Gant.”
“Sure will.” He grabbed a roll out of the case. “Gotta head out. Promised Veronica I’d take her to Walmart.” He shook his head. “She’ll shop ‘til she drops.”
I watched him go, tried to erase several clichés from my mind, grabbed a cinnamon roll, then walked among the aisles long enough for Stanley to leave. Two things stuck with me about the conversation. First, it reinforced what Gant had told us about treasure and why Anthony and Laurie had been exploring the old Coast Guard property. Second, it appeared Stanley was determined to bring Abraham Gant into the discussion about Anthony’s death. This wasn’t the first time he’d pointed a finger at the captain. He’d asked again if I’d learned anything about the murder. Did the cliché king want to deflect suspicion from himself?
I microwaved the roll, paid, then headed home, only to find Chief LaMond’s pickup truck in my drive. She stepped out of the vehicle when she saw me coming across the yard.
Cindy pointed to the house. “You’re not in there.”
I smiled. “Did you use all your chiefly skills to figure that out?”
“Nope. No answer after I pounded on the door gave it away.”
“If I’d been home, what would I have done to receive a visit by the finest of Folly’s finest?”
Instead of answering, Cindy sat on the step leading to my screened-in porch waving for me to join her.
“Well?” I said.
“Being that you’re the second nosiest person I know, I wanted to share an update on the Anthony Fitzsimmons’ murder.”
Charles, of course, was the first, leading the pack by a longshot. “Share away.”
Cindy watched a classic Volkswagen convertible pass and continued to stare at the road. “The update is there’s no update. Or, I should have said the update is there’s nothing new to update. No murder weapon, no forensic evidence, no eyewitnesses except Anthony, who unfortunately is in no condition to identify his killer.”
“What happens now?”
“I talked to Detective Callahan this morning. He’s up to his dimples in that high-profile case plus a couple of others. He said that he was still working it but sounded as optimistic as someone teaching a frog to pilot a helicopter.”
“Does he think Laurie’s telling the truth?”
She shook her head again. “Not really. Short of beating a confession out of her, his hands are tied.”
“What about rumors that Anthony stumbled across a drug deal and paid for it with his life?”
“That’s as good a story as any. Still, no evidence to indicate it’s anything but a story.”
“What about Abraham Gant?”
“Decent alibi, weak motive, no evidence.”
I shared with the chief what Stanley Kremitz had said about Gant then what Laurie had said during supper about a map.
“Chris, I never bought her story about searching for Civil War relics. If she had a map from her grandfather, it would’ve been further proof she was lying. With that said, there’s no map I’ve seen, no evidence, with only my gut reaction that she’s involved. My gut don’t mean squat when it comes to proof.”
“So, you came to tell me that there’s nothing.”
“Frustrating as hell, isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
“Welcome to my world.” She patted me on the knee before heading to her vehicle.
I watched her pull into the line of traffic, took a bite of cinnamon roll, and wondered what I could do to solve one more murder on my little slice of heaven. I may, or may not, succeed, although one thing was clear. The solution must start with Laurie.
I punched Charles’s number in the phone. When he answered, said, “Ready to go?”
“Huh?”
I smiled at the reversal of what normally happens. “You home?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.” I hit end call.
I was beginning to see why he had so much fun doing the same thing to me. It was time to do what the police appeared to have a tough time doing.
Chapter Thirty-Two
I met Charles standing in front of his apartment, ignored his asking, several ways, where we were going, drove to Laurie’s house, and pulled in behind her MINI.
“Did you forget something?” Laurie said as she opened the door. She jumped back when she saw us. “Oh, sorry. I thought you were Gail. She just left for the grocery.” She looked at Charles. “Did I know you were coming?”
Charles pivoted to me.
I said, “We were nearby, so we thought we’d see if you were doing okay. I hope we’re not interrupting anything.”
“I think I’m okay. Umm, come in. Would you like coffee?”
Laurie wore tattered navy-blue shorts, a loose-fitting PINK T-shirt, and was barefoot. I felt a tinge of guilt for interrupting her morning. My guilt was short-lived. I said we’d love some.
We followed her to the kitchen, where she poured our drinks then pointed to the table. She surprised me when she chuckled. “Actually, I’m glad you stopped by. I sent Gail to the grocery to get her out of the house.”
Charles said, “Why?”
“That woman’s driving me crazy.”
Charles looked toward the front door like he expected Gail to appear. “How?”
Laurie followed Charles’s gaze. “After Anthony left us, this is the first time Gail and I’ve been together this long. Don’t get me wrong, I love her.”
She looked at Charles like she expected him to respond. He didn’t disappoint.
“You’re great friends.”
She smiled at Charles. “We are.” The smile disappeared. “Have you ever known someone who wouldn’t stop talking, unless they’re asleep or food’s stuffed in their
mouth?”
Charles wasn’t that bad, although he came to mind. I responded, “Yes.”
“I swear, guys, I can’t complete a two-word sentence without her finishing it or she’s veering off in another direction before I finish.” She blinked twice then shook her head.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
Laurie bit her lower lip, stared in her mug, and mumbled, “Sorry, hearing me bitch isn’t why you’re here.”
Charles leaned forward. “That’s okay. We don’t mind.”
She was right, that wasn’t the reason we were here. I said, “Laurie, the other night at Snapper Jack’s, you were talking about being with Anthony at the old Coast Guard station.”
She nodded as she looked up from her drink.
“You said something about a map. I was wondering—”
She interrupted, “Map?”
“You and Gail were talking when you mentioned a map.”
“Don’t think so.”
Okay, Charles, it’s time that you stepped in to add you heard it.
No such luck, so I continued, “Gail said something about you all finding the treasure. You said map.”
The look on Laurie’s face screamed either confusion or that she was hiding something.
“Oh,” Laurie said. “I must’ve been talking about that map beside the entrance to the Preserve. You know, the one where you donate a dollar to help protect the area.”
I knew the map she was referring to. I also knew it wasn’t the one she’d alluded to at supper.
Charles finally chipped in. “I hadn’t thought of that one. That could’ve been it.” He rubbed his hand through his three-day-old whiskers. “But, honest to Pete, I had the impression you were talking about a map you and Anthony had.”
She hopped out of her chair, grabbed the coffee pot, and refilled our mugs. She then looked out the repaired window.
She paced the room as I reminded myself that I could be talking to Anthony’s murderer. If she was guilty, I’ll be walking in dangerous territory; if innocent, I wanted her to know that we cared. Either way, I wanted her to understand that I knew there was something about a map, not the one posted at the entrance to the Preserve. Besides, Stanley Kremitz had already told me about his experience with Harnell Levi, who’d talked about a map.
“Laurie, Charles, and I want to help. If there’s something you aren’t sharing, then it makes it hard for us to figure out what’s going on. If you’re afraid of going to the police, we could go with you.”
She returned to her chair, took a sip, and in a faint voice said, “I’ve told you some about Granddad Levi, how I spent time here with him. He was a funny old bird. He could be cranky as a screech owl. Other times, he could spin tall tales with the best storytellers. Sadly, he could guzzle more alcohol than anyone I’ve ever known.”
That was consistent with what Kremitz had said.
“I know people like that here,” Charles added, hopefully not stopping Laurie’s story.
She nodded at Charles. “During one of the calmer, sober moments, he took me in his den. He folded back a god-awful colored area rug and pried up a floorboard. I never would’ve seen it if he didn’t show me. Under the floor was a tin container the size of a cigar box. Granddad got this big grin on his face, opened the box, took out a stack of cash. I’d never seen so much money in my life. Under the cash was a folded piece of paper.” She smiled as she relived the memory. “He held the paper by the edges then unfolded it like it was the original Declaration of Independence. Know what he told me?”
Charles smiled. “Said it was a treasure map?”
Laurie shrugged. “Granddad put his arm around me. ‘Laurie,’ he said, ‘this here’s the most important piece of paper you’ll ever see.’ I remember it like it was yesterday because I thought the cash was as important as anything gets. He said the crinkly old map was to a treasure buried on Folly more than two hundred years ago, buried by pirates. He said he wanted me to have it. I was in my teens, no expert to say the least. To me, the map looked old, although not old enough to have been drawn by a pirate two hundred years earlier.”
Charles asked, “What’d it look like?”
“I couldn’t make hide nor hair of it. It had all these lines, squiggles, round things that I suppose were trees.” Laurie hesitated.
Hesitated too long for Charles. “What’d he say?”
“I was right. He said it wasn’t the original. Whoever got it first must’ve made a copy so that they could carry it around with them without ruining the original. Granddad said it didn’t matter. He knew it was accurate.”
I asked, “How’d he know?”
“He didn’t say.”
“Where’d he get it?” Charles asked.
“Funny thing. Granddad wouldn’t tell me. All he said was he knew it was exactly like the original.”
Charles said, “Had he looked for the treasure?”
Laurie nodded. “For years. The problem was according to the map, the treasure was buried on the Coast Guard property. For most of his years looking, it was under control of the military so he couldn’t snoop around. Another problem was that over the years weather changed the face of the beach, maybe even most of the island.
“Landmarks from when the pirates buried the treasure had washed away by the tides, been blown away by hurricanes, trees grew, trees died, most everything changed. When the Coast Guard built the station, much of the landscape changed, buildings built, roads added. In other words, the map led him to the general area, but no closer.”
“Why’d he give it to you?” I asked.
“It was one of the few times I saw him sober. He was in poor health. I think he knew he was too ill to keep looking.” She shook her head. “He passed away two months after giving me the map.”
Charles said, “What’d you do with it?”
“To tell the truth, I thought it was another of his tall tales. He was always talking about strange things happening on Folly. He told me, I think he believed it, that a spaceship landed behind what’s now the Oceanfront Villas. He was also convinced, during World War II, a German submarine parked off the island sending three spies ashore in a small boat. I put his so-called treasure map in my keepsake box and went on with life, going to school, going to college, teaching, marrying Anthony.”
“What changed?” I asked.
“We were moving to a new house about four years ago. I found my old keepsake box in the bottom of a carton of clothes. I remember laughing when I showed Anthony Granddad’s map. I told him it was the key to our fortune. I was joking. Anthony wasn’t. He didn’t know Granddad, so he didn’t know how quirky he was. Anthony said we needed to look for the treasure. That’s what we did.
“Whenever we came here before retiring, we walked through the Preserve, looking for anything looking like what was marked on the map. A couple of times, we thought something could be like it was on the map, although we never felt we were close enough to dig. All we knew for certain was that the squiggles on the map represented the ocean. It was impossible to tell distances between the circles that looked like trees. Plus, the shoreline wasn’t where it was when the map was drawn.”
When we found her at the Preserve, she’d told us it was their first time exploring the property. “Laurie, didn’t you tell us you’d never been at the Coast Guard property before the night Anthony was killed?”
She looked at the floor. “That was sort of a fib. You were strangers so I didn’t want to tell you too much.”
I let it go. “What about the night of Anthony’s death?”
“The day before we’d been snooping around and found what we thought was one of the landmarks from the map. It wasn’t exactly like the map, but close enough to try. There were a lot of people in the area. It was illegal to dig, so we decided to wait until the next day. Hoped for fewer people. That’s when…”
She put her head down on the table. Tears streamed down her face. Charles and I sat in silence. What seemed like an eternity later, she
wiped the tears away. “That’s about it.”
“Where’s the map?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Don’t know. Anthony had it. He had more pockets and didn’t want to be walking around with it in his hands in case someone saw us. When the police said that I could pick up his personal effects, all they had was his wallet, watch, and clothes.”
“The map was gone,” said Charles, stating the obvious.
Laurie nodded.
We sipped our drinks in silence. Laurie started looking at the door every few seconds. I figured she was worried that Gail would return and for some reason didn’t want us to be here. I took the hint. I thanked her for sharing the story of the map then said we’d better be going. She didn’t protest.
Chapter Thirty-Three
I was backing out of Laurie’s drive when Charles said, “What do you think about her story?”
“I have trouble with a story about a treasure map. It sounds more like the myths that’ve been around for eons. Someone finds a map with an X on it, supposedly the location of buried treasure. Then, a bunch of people go on a wild goose chase. It makes an interesting television show. Great fiction.”
“Your skeptic gene is showing.”
“What do you think?”
“If she made it up, she inherited her granddad’s storytelling skill.”
“Okay, assume there was a map, that is, a copy of another map, let’s say treasure was buried on the Preserve; what are the odds it’d be there after all these years? Most of the land had been occupied by the Coast Guard. They build numerous structures and had hundreds of coasties, guardians, or whatever you call Coast Guard members who were stationed there traipsing over every square foot of land. I find it hard to believe if there was treasure it wouldn’t have been found.”
“That may be true, although don’t you think that if someone found a treasure chest filled with doubloons, it would’ve been big news?”
“If they told anyone.”