“Open the dang thing.”
“Okay.” Jacob nodded. “Open it up, but whatever is in there belongs to me.”
“Or the historical society,” someone muttered.
The workman slowly pushed up on the lid so it was open just a crack. The crowd held its breath as the hinges creaked, and the box groaned as if angry over being disturbed after so many years in the ground.
Claire noticed that her breakfast gang had made their way to the front row, with Norma standing beside her.
Everyone leaned closer to get the first glimpse of the treasure inside. Norma’s cane, with its ivory handle in the shape of a bulldog’s head, rested precariously on the edge of the hole as she craned her wrinkled neck to see into the hole.
The man raised the lid halfway, and Norma gasped, then turned away disgusted. “Well, ain’t that a kick in the pants. There's no treasure in there. It’s just a pile of old pirate bones.”
2
“Pirate bones?”
Claire recognized the voice of Dominic Benedetti as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, circling the hole to look at the scene from all angles.
Probably looking for clues, Claire surmised. As she watched him, she noticed his finger snake up and pat his bushy eyebrow—a behavior she’d noticed many times while they were on a case. Usually it signified a clue or lead, but that couldn’t be the case here.
What could there possibly be of investigatory interest in a pirate skeleton that was over three hundred years old?
Memories of her career as a criminal psychologist in Massachusetts surfaced, and a smile tugged at her lips. She’d loved investigating crimes. The thrill of the chase. The satisfaction of putting a killer behind bars. The only fly in the ointment of her long and illustrious career had been Dominic Benedetti, with whom she’d been teamed on more cases than she cared to remember.
Dom was a highly skilled and successful investigator, but Claire couldn’t really say that she’d enjoyed working with him. Oh, they’d solved a good many cases together, but his insistence on only using physical evidence to form their theories drove her crazy. Claire had proven over and over again that her methods of getting inside the suspects’ heads and studying their body language and facial expressions to figure out who the killer was and why they killed worked. Dom never seemed to want to admit that, though, and so their working relationship down south had been a bit rocky.
She was surprised to discover that he’d moved to Mooseamuck Island and saddened that his wife had died. She, herself, had been away from the island for most of her adult life, returning only a few years ago to care for her dying father. She vaguely remembered Dom mentioning vacations here during their time working together, but she'd never dreamed he’d end up living here.
She had to admit, she’d been a bit annoyed at first. Oh, she liked him well enough as a person but didn’t necessarily want him to be her neighbor. But then, the two murder cases they’d solved on the island had softened her toward him. He seemed gentler now, as if grief had mellowed him and made him more accepting of her ways.
She frowned as she watched him angling his head this way and that. A light sparked in his eyes as if he was about to embark on catching a real killer. But with a three-hundred-year-old victim, the killer would be long dead. That took all the fun out of it for Claire, but maybe Dom was bored and needed another investigation, even if it wouldn’t bring anyone to justice.
She could sympathize. She never felt more alive than when she was running down clues and chasing bad guys. The truth be told, she wouldn’t mind investigating another murder right now, too. But not a three-hundred-year-old one. There would be no living suspects to sharpen her psychological skills on.
Still, if Dom saw something that might be of interest …
She angled her head to inspect the trunk. The side of the trunk was taller than the front, and from her position, she could only see a skeletal hand sticking up over the edge. She assumed the rest of the skeleton was inside. Maybe she should make her way to the front where Dom was and find out for sure.
“I guess this will hold up the building of the pharmacy.” Claire turned to see Jane Kuhn, her best friend since kindergarten.
“Oh, hi, Jane. I hadn’t thought about it, but I suppose you’re right.” Claire and Jane elbowed their way around the hole, trying to get to the front where Dom was. Claire’s suspicious mind immediately wondered if someone had planted the chest there to delay the pharmacy, but then she realized how ridiculous that was. Where would someone get an old trunk with a skeleton in it? And besides, the ground had been undisturbed—it would have been obvious if someone had recently dug here.
As they reached Dom, a spark of sun glinted off Jane’s necklace, and Claire frowned at her friend. She was sure she knew all of Jane’s jewelry pieces, and this necklace was not one of them. It looked new. And expensive. Claire’s eyes drifted over to Jane’s shiny new Volvo parked in the Chowders parking lot. Jane certainly had a lot of extra money to spend lately. Odd, because Claire knew that Jane was typically worried about money, since her job as postmistress did not pay a lot.
But it seemed Jane had quite a few secrets from Claire lately, not the least of which was some sort of relationship she was apparently having with the detective from the mainland, Frank Zambuco. Had Zambuco bought her the necklace? Claire’s nose wrinkled at the thought. Zambuco was not one of her favorite people. He was obnoxious, abrasive, and overbearing. The thought of him and Jane together made her stomach churn. Good thing she hadn’t just chowed down a big breakfast.
As if reading her thoughts, one of the construction workers said, “I guess we better call Robby. He’ll probably have to call in that detective from the mainland.”
Jane’s face took on a pinched look, her body stiffened, her eyes taking on a faraway look.
“Are you all right?” Claire focused her attention on Jane.
Jane’s brow creased, then her eyes cleared, and she waved her hand dismissively. “Fine. I … just realized that I forgot to pay the check at the diner. I treated today.”
And with that, Jane turned and disappeared through the crowd.
Claire stared after her friend. That seemed like oddly exaggerated behavior for forgetting to pay a restaurant check. Claire thought it might be more than that. Maybe it was the mention of Zambuco’s name … or maybe the sight of the skeleton. Because of her former career, Claire was used to dead bodies, but Jane wasn’t. She imagined the sight of a skeleton—even a three-hundred-year-old one—could be disturbing.
The breakfast regulars had appeared beside Claire, Tom and Mae standing very close together, Alice with two stainless steel knitting needles sticking out of a skein of purple yarn at the top of her bag, and Norma wearing her hat with the wide brim that Claire suspected was more for keeping people out of the cantankerous old woman’s space than for protection from the sun.
Claire glanced at the rest of the crowd to see a variety of looks on their faces, ranging from disgust to interest, before turning her attention to look into the box herself.
From her new position, she had a clear view of the full contents of the chest for the first time. The skeleton looked to be still intact, its legs drawn up to its chest as if it had been folded to fit, which it must have. Surprisingly, the old oak boards of the chest had held together all these years.
Norma gestured toward the chest with her cane. “Well, how do you suppose a pirate got in there? Fell in by accident?”
Claire continued her inspection of the contents. Even though the chest was intact, it must not have been airtight; otherwise there would have been a mummy in there instead of a skeleton. Claire could see the remnants of black pants and a blue plaid flannel shirt. Then her breath caught in her throat as she saw the dark stain on the bottom of the trunk and the dagger lying on top of it.
Dom’s answer to Norma confirmed her sudden realization. His finger came up to smooth his brow, his eyes still fixed on the chest as he said, “A pirate did not fa
ll in here by accident. This was murder.”
* * *
Dom was still busy with his visual assessment of the crime scene when Robby Skinner, current chief of police and Claire’s nephew, pulled up in his car. Dom prided himself on noticing abnormalities and locking in on potential clues in modern crime scenes and was pleased to find that he had those skills with centuries-old scenes, too.
He noticed the lock on the chest, while hanging open, seemed to be newer than the apparently three-hundred-year-old pirate chest. He also noticed the remnants of flannel shirt. Dom was pretty sure pirates didn’t wear flannel. No, this was no pirate murder. This was more contemporary. But when?
Dom knew nothing of skeletons. He didn’t know how to determine how long the body had been buried. Ten years? Thirty years? One hundred years? He had no idea. He made a mental note to call one of his old associates who had expertise in this area.
“Okay, clear on out.” Robby elbowed his way through the crowd, which parted reluctantly to let him up to the front. He glanced at Dom and then Claire.
“Dom. Auntie. Fancy seeing you two at a crime scene.” Robby looked into the hole, his face screwing up. “What is going on here?”
“Well, as you can see, we dug up a treasure chest with a skeleton in it,” Norma cut in from the crowd, which Robby’s two deputies were now trying to push back.
Robby looked around at the backhoe. Jacob stood next to it with his hands on his hips. The workmen lined up next to him, watching.
“And just how did this happen?” Robby asked.
“It’s the groundbreaking for the new pharmacy,” Claire said.
“I know that,” Robby said with an exasperated sigh. “How did this treasure chest get here?”
Claire shrugged. “They dug it up. Apparently it’s been buried here for hundreds of years.”
“I told you you’d be sorry!” Benjamin Hill yelled out from the middle of the crowd.
Jacob turned his scowling face in Benjamin’s direction then stomped over to Robby. “Look, this thing is hundreds of years old. It’s got nothing to do with my project, so I hope you aren’t going to stop construction because of this old skeleton.”
Robby rubbed his hand across his face. “Truth is, I’m not sure what to do. Was there a crime? How would we even investigate it? Everyone involved is likely long dead. But I do have to stop digging for now. I already put in a call to the mainland, and we’ll have to wait and see what they say about it.”
Jacob threw his hands up in the air. “I didn’t think this day could get any worse. You realize this is costing me a lot of money, don’t you?”
“Sorry, Jacob. There’s not much I can do about it.” Robby turned to the crowd. “Okay, everybody, go home. There’s nothing more to see here.”
“Robby, I don’t think—”
Dominic was interrupted by Robby. “That includes you.” Robby turned to Claire. “And you, Auntie Claire. I can’t very well let you guys hang around crime scenes when I make everyone else leave. I can’t play favorites, or no one in town will listen to me.”
Dom shrugged. He had been about to tell Robby his observations, but if the young man didn’t want to listen … Dom glanced over at Chowders to see most everyone had retreated to the restaurant and were angling for position by the large picture window.
Dom heard the whistle that indicated the ferry was pulling in. That meant Zambuco would be coming shortly. Dom had no desire to match wits with the aggravating detective.
He raised a brow at Claire and tilted his head toward Chowders. Claire nodded, and they started in that direction. In front of them, Allen Hill escorted Benjamin to their shiny black Cadillac coupe, opening the passenger door and waiting for his grandfather to step in. As they passed them, Dom heard Benjamin say, “This is all going to end badly, boy, I tell you. Should’ve left well enough alone.”
They were just getting settled at their table inside Chowders when Zambuco pulled up. Dom, a fastidious dresser himself who prided himself on staying in good shape, noticed that Zambuco did not appear as slovenly as usual. Not that he was dressing any better, but at least he didn’t have stains on his shirt today.
Chowders was abuzz with talk of pirates, treasure, and murder. Sarah hustled orders out from behind the counter. Claire ate her bowl of oatmeal as they watched out the window.
“Looks like we dodged a bullet there.” Claire nodded toward Zambuco. In the previous two island murders, Zambuco had taken a dim view of finding Claire and Dom at the crime scene. He didn’t like the retired detectives butting in on his cases.
“Zambuco can’t really fault you for being here on the scene. Half the town was here. Besides, he only gets upset when you guys are going to investigate, and there is nothing to investigate … is there?” Tom Landry asked.
“Right. Who cares about an old pirate that died hundreds of years ago?” Alice crossed the yarn over her needle then pulled it down through the previous stitch.
Dom pressed his lips together and looked out the window. “That’s the thing. The person in that trunk may not have died hundreds of years ago.”
Mae sucked in a breath. “What do you mean?”
Dom saw a knowing look in Claire’s eye. So she had caught on to the fact that the flannel shirt was more modern. Dom felt a swell of pride. He’d been trying to teach Claire how to be more observant about the physical evidence, and it looked like maybe his teachings were finally starting to work. Perhaps it would not be so disagreeable to work with her on another case after all.
“I can’t really say too much,” Dom answered Mae’s question. “Not until the police have a look at it.”
Across the street, the police removed the skeleton carefully from the chest and laid it on a stretcher. As they did, something fell from the body. Dom’s brow began to tingle. He squinted, practically pressing his face against the glass to see what it was—a metal buckle from a pair of suspenders. That definitely had not existed in the sixteen hundreds.
Zambuco held up his hand to stop them. He bent to look at the buckle then gestured for one of his minions to bag it as evidence.
Once the skeleton and chest were loaded into the ambulance, there was not much to watch. Everyone who had been clustered around the window now retreated to their tables.
“Well, that’s that. I guess the show is over.” Chester pulled his wallet out of his back pocket, peeled out some bills, and tossed them onto the table. Most of the other patrons did the same.
Mae scooted her chair closer to Dom. “What do you mean, the person didn’t die three hundred years ago? And if not, then how did he get buried in a pirate chest and who put him there?”
3
Claire sat on the stone bench in her garden, drinking in the bird’s-eye view of the sapphire-blue Atlantic Ocean. The large garden was Claire’s pride and joy, a respite from the stresses of everyday life. Located on the east side of the stone cottage that had been her childhood home, it offered spectacular sunrise views from its vantage point three quarters of the way up on Israel Head Hill.
Her mother had designed the garden, carefully mapping out the layout and planting the flowers. Her father had built planters, installed the stone benches, and made the sturdy fence at the east edge of the yard that kept one from falling down the steep cliff onto the scenic road that wound around directly below. Her mother had died decades ago, and the garden had fallen into disrepair in Claire’s father’s later years. Claire had spent the last two years restoring it after having cared for her father in his final year.
Early-spring greenery sprouted from the shrubs and flowers. The daffodils and tulips had already bloomed. The thought of the garden poised to come to life with colorful flowers and lush leaves lifted Claire’s spirits.
She was too far up the hill to hear the soothing sounds of the ocean, but she could hear the seagulls calling and smell the salty sea air. It was just past noon, and the sun was at its strongest. It warmed her shoulders, soothing and relaxing her.
But eve
n in her beloved garden with the soothing sun and tranquil view, something picked at Claire. She was still disturbed about the grim discovery earlier that morning. Not because of the sight of a skeleton; that didn’t bother her at all. What did bother her was that she suspected the murder was more recent than three hundred years. Much more recent. Which meant one of the islanders may have been involved.
Claire did not feel confident about Zambuco investigating it, either. He was an outsider who did not have the interests of the islanders at heart. Well, except maybe Jane.
In any event, she couldn’t very well let him take control of the case and pin it on an islander just to satisfy his higher-ups with quick closure. The happenings on Mooseamuck Island didn’t seem to be as important to the mainland police, and she was afraid they’d be too hasty in their eagerness to close the case swiftly. They’d done that before and almost incarcerated the wrong person—one of her dearest friends. She wasn’t about to let something like that happen again.
“Meow!”
Claire looked down to see the fluffy Maine Coon cat she called Porch Cat winding around her azalea bush.
“Hey, Porch Cat.” Claire greeted the cat by extending her fingers, and the animal came over to sniff. Probably looking for one of the treats that Claire often left out for the wandering cat. Though Porch Cat had a home, she preferred to spend her days meandering around the island, visiting various homes and businesses. Claire didn’t know if the cat got a treat at every house, but Claire usually tried to provide something at hers. But Claire had been too deep in thought to think about putting anything out for the cat this afternoon.
“Sorry, buddy, I don’t have anything.”
Porch Cat gazed up at her with brilliant green eyes.
“Meow.” She trotted over to a mound of peonies and started digging, looking up at Claire expectantly as if trying to convey some sort of message.
“Digging. Yes I need to be digging into this case, I know.”
A Treacherous Treasure Page 2