A Treacherous Treasure

by Leighann Dobbs

  A Treacherous Treasure

  Leighann Dobbs

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  A Note From The Author

  About the Author

  1

  Dominic Benedetti shifted in his seat to avoid the glare of the early-morning sun in his eyes. Settling back in his chair, he focused his attention on the éclair on his plate. The din of the breakfast crowd inside Chowders receded to the background as he concentrated on neatly cutting the éclair in half, exposing the creamy center.

  He speared a small piece with his fork, and his mouth watered with anticipation. The creamy custard and sweet dark chocolate blended on his tongue, conjuring up memories of his Italian roots in Boston’s north end. He leaned back in the seat, a feeling of contentment washing over him.

  Contentment wasn’t something that Dom had ever expected to feel again. Not after his beloved wife Sophia had passed away a few years ago. Her death had nearly killed him, but her dying wish was for him to live a good life. And so he’d retired to Mooseamuck Island off the coast of Maine, a spot where he and Sophia had enjoyed many family vacations.

  He’d been lonely at first, but he’d made friends quickly. They didn’t get many folks who had “made the papers” on the island, and Dom had made them plenty as a consulting detective on high-profile cases down in Massachusetts. His fame had made him somewhat of a celebrity, and before he knew it, people were asking him to find lost keys and errant mittens … not to mention murderers.

  He’d even been accepted into the group of islanders that breakfasted at Chowders every morning. And he’d managed to talk the restaurant owner, Sarah, into adding some Italian dishes to the menu. Naturally, he’d volunteered to taste test each and every one of them.

  “How’s the éclair, Dom?” Sarah passed by the table, her long blond ponytail sliding over her shoulder as she glanced down at his plate.

  Dom pinched his fingers at the corner of his mouth then flung them apart as he said, “Delizioso!”

  The praise earned a smile from Sarah that warmed Dom’s heart. Dom thought of Sarah as a surrogate daughter, and he was glad to see there was no trace of the hint of sadness that had previously dimmed her smile.

  He figured the new happiness was due mostly to the young man, Shane McDonough, whose shoulder her hand now lingered on as she passed his table on her way to the kitchen. But Dom also thought that maybe he could take a little bit of credit for Sarah’s uplifted demeanor.

  If it hadn’t been for his help in solving a murder case the past summer, Sarah’s secret would never have been revealed, and she would not have been free to enjoy life without her past dragging her down. Of course, Dom couldn’t take all the credit for that. Some of that belonged to Claire Watkins, a former colleague he’d been surprised to discover also lived on the island.

  Back in his consulting days, Dom and Claire had worked several cases together. While the cases had been solved successfully, Dom wouldn’t exactly say that he enjoyed working with Claire. He had a much different approach to investigating than she did and, though he had a grudging respect for her methods, he usually preferred to work alone.

  Sure, he had to admit that the last case they’d solved, right here on the island, had been fun. He’d enjoyed seeing her apply her feel-good method of ferreting out people’s motives while he used his strictly logical go-by-the-book method of analyzing the clues.

  The truth was, the two murder cases that had happened on the island since Dom had moved here had added excitement and zest to his life. Claire, not so much. And though Dom didn’t want harm to come to any of his friends or neighbors, he had to admit that he would dearly love to keep his skills sharp by investigating another murder, even if it meant partnering with Claire Watkins.

  Speaking of which, where was Claire?

  Dom frowned at the empty seat on the other side of the Formica table. It wasn’t like Claire to be late.

  Thwack!

  “Isn’t that right, Dom?”

  Dom jumped at the sound of the cane hitting the table and turned to see Norma Hopper, the island’s resident artist and crotchety old lady, looking at him quizzically.

  “Isn’t what right?” Dom asked.

  Norma jerked her head toward the window. “We don’t need a fancy-schmancy pharmacy.”

  Dom glanced across the road, where a backhoe was getting ready to break ground for the new pharmacy. The pharmacy had been a bone of contention on the island for several months. Some of the islanders hated the idea of a big, boxy concrete building, thinking it would ruin the quaint charm of the island. Others liked the convenience of being able to get their prescriptions here instead of going to the mainland for those the local small-time pharmacy did not carry.

  “I don’t know,” Dom said. “It would be a lot more convenient.”

  “Pfftt. We can get anything we want at McDougal’s. We don’t need a big boxy goliath to ruin the look of the island,” Norma persisted.

  Next to Norma, Tom Landry nodded his head. “I agree, Norma. I don’t like the way this town is changing. It’s becoming more like the mainland every day.”

  “That’s right,” Mae Bidderford chimed in. “Pretty soon there’ll be a strip mall and drive-thrus on every corner.”

  Tom clucked and patted her hand. “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen.”

  Mae’s cheeks flushed, and her eyes sparked. The two octogenarians had grown up on the island. Their families had been engaged in a feud since Tom and Mae were in kindergarten, and the two of them had always disagreed just to spite each other. The corners of Dom’s lips ticked up as he noted they were in agreement on this subject. In fact, they had been in agreement on practically everything since they’d discovered their true feelings for one another the previous summer.

  “I don’t know, I think it could be convenient, too. McDougal doesn’t carry everything, and a lot of us have to ferry to the mainland for medicine.” Jane Kuhn, the island’s postmistress, spoke up from the end of the table.

  “Yeah, it can be a pain,” Alice James said without looking up from her knitting. The needles clacked together with a metallic beat as she stitched the fuzzy purple yarn. Alice was always knitting something … most of which she traded or gave as unwanted gifts. Dom hoped the purple scarf—or whatever it was—was not slated for him.

  “Well, Benjamin Hill doesn’t think it will be convenient.” Mae squinted at the window, and Dom followed her gaze.

  Outside, the rusty yellow shovel of the bulldozer hung poised in the air, waiting to bite down into the earth. Clyde Hubbel sat in the driver’s seat, a splash of red from his flannel shirt visible through the dirty glass. In front of the backhoe, an elderly man—Benjamin Hill—gestured wildly. Beside him, his grandson, Allen, made futile attempts to calm him. A handful of islanders stood around in a circle sipping steaming coffee from Styrofoam mugs, watching the show.

  “That’s no surprise. Benjamin protests everything,” Jane said.

  “Uh oh, here comes Matheson. He’ll probably kick Benjamin out,” Tom said.

  A white pickup truck driven by the owner of the land, Jacob Matheson, pulled onto the lot. Dom's right brow twitched as he watched the man get out and stomp towar
d Benjamin. His finger flew up to the bushy brow, patting it down. Must have just been an itch, Dom thought. His famous eyebrow tingles usually signified some sort of mystery or clue was present, and there was no mystery here.

  “I’ll lay right down and you’ll have to dig through me.” Benjamin’s voice—unusually strong for such an old man—could be heard clearly from across the street.

  “He should give it up. It’s a lost cause,” Hiram Moody said from the corner table, his spoon poised halfway to his mouth.

  “Yeah, looks like Jacob’s not going to stop,” someone else added as the backhoe started up.

  Dom looked out again. Benjamin’s gesturing was becoming more animated as he paced behind Jacob. Allen followed them, apparently trying to calm his grandfather down.

  “You know, I heard that might be one of the sites where Captain Kidd buried his treasure,” Alice said, her needles still clacking.

  Dom swiveled his attention in her direction. “Really? Has there been pirate treasure found on the island?”

  “No, but it’s a known fact he buried treasure in Maine. Why, some of it’s been found in Portland, in Biddeford, and on Richmond Island.”

  “That’s right.” Mae nodded then leaned into the table and lowered her voice. “Rumor has it that Mooseamuck Island was where he stashed most of his booty, though.”

  “You don’t say.” Dom’s eyebrow twitched again as he turned back to the scene going on outside the window. More onlookers had arrived outside, and by now most everyone in the diner had one eye on their breakfast and the other on the lot across the street. Even Alice’s knitting needles had stopped clacking.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Dom saw Claire’s little brown Fiat. Though she pulled it into the Chowders parking lot, her attention was riveted on the backhoe. Dom figured she wouldn’t be able to resist getting into the middle of whatever was going on over there. She’d want to use her human behavior skills to try to analyze Benjamin’s motivations and attempt to smooth out the situation. Good luck to her. Benjamin was becoming more distraught as the backhoe inched forward to a spot Jacob Matheson indicated.

  Claire got out of her car.

  The backhoe stopped on the spot, its gears grinding as Clyde readied the shovel.

  Dom’s eyebrow twitched again.

  Benjamin Hill ran in front of the shovel, his cane held high, his voice threatening. “Stop! I’m warning you, if you dig here, you’ll be sorry!”

  * * *

  Claire Watkins stood beside her Fiat and stretched, breathing in the sharp saltiness of the crisp ocean air. She snugged her lightweight canvas jacket around her. It was early spring, and the morning still had a chill.

  The sound of heavy machinery distracted her, and she looked across the street to see a small crowd watching Benjamin Hill wave his cane in the air as he gestured wildly in front of the backhoe.

  Ahh yes, today was the groundbreaking for the new pharmacy, Claire remembered.

  Benjamin was causing quite a ruckus, and she couldn’t say she blamed him. A longtime island resident, he was in his early nineties and one of the islanders who had been most vocal about his opinions on new construction. Like many of the old-timers, Benjamin resisted change.

  All of the island residents, no matter what their age, were careful about new development, though. The island drew thousands of tourists in the summer and, since many of the businesses relied on tourist dollars to survive, no one wanted to ruin its quaint, old-fashioned look.

  But some things were necessities. The current pharmacy had been built in the 1950s and run by two generations of the McDougal family. It didn’t have the facilities to carry all of the medicines that the island residents, and sometimes the tourists, needed. After many heated arguments, a new pharmacy was approved, and today construction had begun.

  Claire let out a sigh. She supposed the new pharmacy was progress, but like Benjamin, she hated to see the landscape of the island she’d grown up on changing.

  The smell of bacon made her stomach grumble, and her eyes drifted over to Chowders, where she could see the regulars she breakfasted with sitting at the table by the window. She hadn’t eaten yet, only taken her medicinal tea of apple cider vinegar and lemon in warm water—part of her strict natural health regimen.

  Claire considered herself fortunate to enjoy amazingly good health for a woman in her seventies. She was spry, slim, and, most importantly, still had all her wits about her. But the medicinal tea, however healthy it was, was no substitute for a good breakfast of oatmeal or poached eggs, and Claire was hungry.

  She'd just started toward the restaurant when another shout from Benjamin Hill caught her attention.

  “Stop! I’m warning you, if you dig here, you’ll be sorry!”

  My, he was being overly dramatic. Claire had known there would be some opposition to the groundbreaking, but she hadn’t expected Benjamin to be so passionate about it.

  Claire’s attention hovered between her breakfast waiting inside Chowders and checking out the ruckus across the street.

  “Listen, Benjamin, you have no right to obstruct construction. I could have you arrested.” Jacob Matheson, his fists clenched at his sides, faced Benjamin, only about six inches of space between them.

  “Arrested! Don’t threaten me, young man.” Benjamin’s voice sounded nearly hysterical.

  Claire’s stomach nagged her. She glanced back at Chowders.

  Breakfast or ruckus?

  “Move it, old man.”

  The harsh words had Claire swiveling her head back toward the ruckus. Jacob was right up in Benjamin’s face, which was turning a shade of red deep enough to have Claire’s heart twisting in concern. Benjamin was not a young man, and all this commotion couldn’t be good for him. Benjamin’s grandson, Allen, fluttered around trying to defuse the situation, but his attempts were largely ignored.

  Claire sighed and reluctantly turned away from Chowders. Someone had to go over there and calm Benjamin down, and with her skills as a psychologist, she was well suited to do it. She wouldn’t be able to forgive herself if something happened to Benjamin and she didn’t do anything to stop him from getting even more worked up.

  The onlookers spread apart to make room as Claire approached the group.

  “Hey, Benjamin, what’s going on?” she asked, hoping her matter-of-fact tone would distract him from his anger.

  “This young whippersnapper here means to dig up the site! Why, it’s a historical landmark. We can’t let him do that, Claire,” Benjamin pleaded.

  Jacob stepped back from Benjamin, resting his hands on his hips. “That’s where you’re wrong. I have the permits from the town to build here. Therefore this is not an officially recognized historical site. I’m here legally, and you are obstructing.”

  “Legal schmegel. Don’t you have any respect for island history?”

  Claire ventured forward and put a soothing hand on Benjamin’s arm. “Come on, Benjamin, those rumors about pirate treasure buried here are just that—rumors.”

  “T’aint no truth to them. Else if there was, you’d a seen them burying it with yer own eyes. Weren’t you around three hundred years ago?” Chester O’Grady teased from the crowd. Chester and Benjamin were friends, about the same age, and Claire knew the teasing was done with good intentions. It was likely that Chester wanted to calm Benjamin down as well.

  The crowd laughed, and Claire was relieved to see that the joke did soothe Benjamin somewhat.

  He shot Jacob an angry glare. “You mainlanders are ruining the island.”

  “Now Benjamin, you know we had much debate about this, and we voted. The majority of the people wanted this pharmacy,” Claire soothed.

  “That's right, Grandfather. Now relax. This isn’t good for you.” Allen tried to put his arms around the old man’s shoulders, but Benjamin shook him off.

  “I know what’s good for me and what isn’t. And what isn’t is this young galoot digging up this site!” Benjamin gestured violently at Jacob with his
cane but reluctantly let Allen lead him away from the backhoe.

  Jacob nodded to Clyde, and the backhoe revved up, the shovel rising high in the air, its claw opening as it descended toward the earth.

  The show now over, the crowd started to disperse as the backhoe bit into the earth, eating up scoops of dirt and depositing them in a pile.

  “Come on now, Benjamin, I’ll buy you breakfast.” Claire tugged him toward Chowders.

  The old man resisted stubbornly. “I don’t want breakfast. We need to stop them.”

  Allen looked ruefully at the backhoe as it took another bite. “It’s a lost cause, I’m afrai—”

  Thunk.

  Claire stopped in her tracks.

  “That didn’t sound good,” Allen echoed her thoughts.

  They turned to see the construction workers peering into the hole.

  “I knew it!” Benjamin broke free and started back to the site, where the workers were now pointing excitedly.

  The other onlookers had rushed back, and a crowd now ringed the hole. One of the workers had jumped down inside and was shoveling dirt out by hand. Claire pushed her way to the front, vaguely aware of people rushing over from Chowders adding to the growing crowd.

  Inside the hole, a worker brushed dirt off a large honey-colored oak box. It was rectangular, about two feet by three feet, and encrusted with centuries of dirt. The oversized, curly black iron hinges were dark with rust, and there was a thin edging around the box that glinted like gold in the sunlight.

  “Well, will ya fancy that,” Chester said. “There really is a dang pirate treasure buried here.”

  The crowd erupted in whispered speculation, everyone wondering what would be in the chest. Golden doubloons? Gemstones? Silver? The men dug carefully around the box to expose the latch, from which a broken iron lock dangled.

  One of the workmen grasped the edge of the lid then looked up at Jacob. “Should we open it?”

  Jacob pursed his lips in thought as the crowd chimed in.

  “Yes.”

  “Of course.”