A Treacherous Treasure

by Leighann Dobbs

  Visions of Benjamin Hill’s estate flitted through Dom’s mind. Had Benjamin really amassed that wealth by trading commodities? And then there was Jane’s sudden increase in wealth, not to mention Quentin Crane, who was also one of the treasure-hunting members and now resided right here in the exclusive assisted-living facility. So many suspects, but which one was the killer? Or was it someone else entirely?

  Although gray clouds threatened on the horizon, the day was warm and pleasant, the air lightly scented with the promise of spring rain. Several residents were taking advantage of the calm before the storm by sitting outside, some on the stone benches that dotted the garden and others in white rockers on a large porch to the west.

  Claire stopped suddenly. “That’s Quentin Crane over there.”

  Dom followed her gaze to see two men. One was sitting on a stone bench. He assumed that was Quentin. Though he knew Quentin was in his nineties, he possessed the vim and vigor of a younger man. He sat on the bench, his body erect, his large hand resting atop a mahogany cane with an enormous lion's head at the top, his face eager. Quentin Crane was no frail, senile old man.

  The other man appeared to be in his sixties and was standing with his back to them. As Dom watched them talk, a sinking feeling came over him, and when the man turned, his suspicions were confirmed.

  “Darn! It’s Zambuco,” Claire said.

  “Looks like he’s following the same trail of clues that we are.”

  Just then, Zambuco spotted them, his dark eyes narrowing.

  “Shoot! He’s seen us. We might as well go over and act like we’re here on a regular visit.” Claire started in Zambuco's direction, and Dom followed.

  “What are you two doing here?” Zambuco demanded. Dom was surprised to see the man was once again fairly well dressed. Typically he had crumbs on his tie or stains on his shirt. His clothes were usually rumpled, and the colors always clashed. Today, he was neat as a pin. Dom had noticed the lingering looks between Zambuco and Jane. Was his new attire Jane’s influence?

  “We’re here to visit some of the older islanders,” Claire said. “I like to keep in touch.”

  Zambuco nodded his head slowly, assessing Claire as if he didn’t believe her. “That may be true, but I hope that asking questions about a certain treasure chest that was found with a body in it won't be part of your visit.”

  Claire feigned surprise. “Of course not. Contrary to what you might think, our whole existence isn’t about butting into your investigations.”

  “Really? It sure seems that way.” Zambuco leaned in toward them, his thick brows working up and down like caterpillars munching on a leaf. “I’ll warn you only once this time. You have no authority to be looking into this case.”

  An unexpected voice interrupted him. “It’s okay, Frank. They’re here with me.”

  Dom turned around to see Jane pushing an elderly woman in a wheelchair. A jolt of suspicion ran through his mind. Was it any coincidence she’d decided to visit her mother here at the same exact time he and Claire had planned to visit Quentin? He remembered her coming up on them at Chowders when they were discussing their visit. She must have overheard them. Then again, this time of year, the ferry only made four trips, so it stood to reason Jane would take the same ferry out.

  At the sight of Jane, Zambuco’s face softened. “Hello, Jane.”

  Jane nodded and smiled then bent down to speak in Lila’s ear. “Mom, do you remember Frank?”

  “Oh yes, yes,” Lila said uncertainly.

  From the look on Jane’s face and Lila’s tone and blank look of unrecognition, Dom didn’t think she did remember. He wondered when and why Zambuco would have met Jane’s mom.

  “And you know Claire and Dom,” Jane said.

  Lila’s cloudy eyes showed a dim spark of recognition. “Of course. How are you both?”

  Claire bent down and kissed Lila’s papery cheek. “Very well, Mrs. Kuhn. How are you?”

  Lila smiled. “I can’t complain.”

  Zambuco cleared his throat. “Well, I’ll be on my way. I have lots to do on the official investigation.” At the word “official,” he cast a warning glare at Claire before walking away.

  Jane watched him leave. “It’s just an act, you know. I’m sure he doesn’t really object to you investigating.”

  “Well, it’s a pretty good act, then, because it sure as heck seems like he does,” Claire said.

  Quentin had gotten up from the bench and was making his way to the entrance of the building. Dom nudged Claire with his elbow and jerked his head in that direction.

  Claire bent down to Lila’s level. “It was lovely to see you, Mrs. Kuhn. I’ll come back and visit with Jane sometime soon.” She straightened and addressed Jane. “Thanks for saving us from Zambuco’s wrath. I’ll let you get on with your visit with your mom. Maybe we can come back together next week?”

  “That would be lovely.” Jane’s smile didn’t quite reach her eyes, and Dom wondered if it was worry over her mother or something else. He didn’t have much time to ponder, though, as Quentin had already disappeared into the building.

  By the time they got inside, Quentin was halfway down the main hall. Dom hurried behind Claire, his investigator’s eye taking note of the interior décor, which could be summed up as lavishly tasteful: large flower arrangements, bulky mahogany furniture, and pleasant muted colors on the walls and rugs.

  It smelled deliciously of roasting meat, which Dom figured must have been the prime rib he’d seen written on the menu board he’d passed on the way in. Not like any nursing home he’d ever been in. Then again, this wasn’t a nursing home. Maybe he should enquire as to the costs in preparation for his own golden years?

  “Please, can I take some of your hours?” The begging voice drifted out from a small library room off the main hallway. Inside, a tall brunette wearing maroon scrubs—perhaps a nurse or an aide that worked at the facility—was pleading with an older bleached blonde. “I didn’t realize how expensive it was going to be to live up here, and if I don’t get a few more hours, I’m afraid I won’t have any place to stay.”

  The girl reminded Dom of his daughter, and he felt a pang of sympathy for her. But her lack of hours was not his problem. He couldn’t solve it for her, and his target was getting away. Dom continued past the room, picking up the pace.

  They finally caught up with the older man, and Claire touched his elbow as they came alongside him.

  “Hey, Quentin?”

  He wheeled around to look at her, the angry frown on his face giving way to a small smile as he recognized her. “Claire Watkins?”

  “Yes, it’s me. How are you?”

  “Just ducky. What brings you here?” Quentin leaned on his cane, facing Claire, his suspicious eyes flicking from her to Dom.

  “We were wondering if we could talk to you,” Claire said.

  Quentin’s eyes narrowed. “To me? What about?”

  “We saw you talking to Zambuco, and we wanted to find out what he was asking.” Dom leaned toward the old man as if sharing a confidence. Claire had once told him that people would usually open up if they thought they were in on a secret. He’d tried it more than a few times and always found it to work. Though he wouldn't admit to her that he'd adopted one of her tactics, he used it quite frequently. “We have our suspicions about him.”

  Quentin mulled it over then nodded his head. “We can talk in there.” He pointed to a large, empty room with the end of his cane.

  They sat in three wingback chairs grouped around a low, round table. The chairs were of good quality, upholstered in a soft tan microfiber. Dom chose the seat farthest away from the roaring fireplace. Who needed a fire in this warm spring weather?

  “So, what’s your beef with Zambuco?” Quentin asked. “I never did like that guy. Arrogant and pushy.”

  Dom nodded. “Yes, he is. We’re a little worried about his questions concerning the treasure-hunting group. We heard you were a member.”

  Quentin looked at th
em suspiciously. “Yeah, what of it?”

  “We just want to make sure Zambuco doesn’t unfairly accuse anyone from that club. We know that Benjamin Hill, Elbert Daniels, Billy Wilkinson, and you were members, but we heard there was a fifth member as well. Do you know who that was?” Claire asked.

  “There was a fifth member, but he didn’t go on the treasure digs or anything. He was a silent partner. Financed us. I don’t know who he was, though. Only Billy Wilkinson knew.”

  “You mean this silent partner bought the equipment that you used for your hunts and that Elbert Daniels kept?”

  Quentin shrugged. “Yep. Elbert had the most space to keep it. But the equipment—metal detectors, shovels, picks, and the like—belonged to the whole group. The silent partner sprang for it, and then we paid him back a little at a time with money from our recoveries.”

  They were interrupted by the same aide Dom had seen begging for more hours as they’d walked down the hallway. A quick glance at her name tag told him her name was Diane Randall. Now that he had a closer look, he could see she didn’t look anything like his daughter other than her height and hair color.

  “Hello.” She smiled at Dom and Claire. “I hope you’re having a nice visit, Quentin. I wanted to remind you about your physical therapy at four. I don’t want you to miss another session. You need to keep your legs strong so you can still go on all your outings.”

  “I won’t forget.” Quentin patted the hand that Diane had resting lightly on his shoulder and smiled up at her then turned to Claire and Dom with a gleam in his eye. “I keep this little lady entertained with all my treasure-hunting stories, now don’t I?”

  “Yes, I always love to hear them,” Diane said with a tight smile. By the look on her face, Dom didn’t think she really did love to hear them. A young girl like her probably found the old man’s ramblings boring. Dom wondered if his daughter thought all of his stories of past cases were boring, too.

  “I’m sure they are fascinating,” Dom said. “But what do you mean your outings? Don’t you have to stay inside the manor?”

  Quentin made a face. “This isn’t a prison. It’s just an assisted living. I get my medication, physical therapy, and meals, but I’m free to come and go as I please. Lucky thing, too, or I'd never know what was going on outside these walls. It's hard enough to stay in touch with the happenings in the real world. I feel disconnected sometimes.”

  “That’s right, Quentin is free to visit his friends, go shopping, do whatever he wants. But if he doesn’t do his physical therapy, his mobility will be severely limited. Especially with those bad knees,” Diane lectured. “Now I’ll let you continue your visit. I have to check on Mrs. McDonald.”

  As Diane walked away, her squeaking shoes drew Dom’s attention. The thick rubber soles screeched on the marble floor, and then he watched in amazement as a small red pebble fell from the bottom of her shoe.

  “What’s that?” His words stopped her, and she turned, frowning down at the pebble which Dom was pointing to.

  “Oh, those are stones from the meditation garden off the east wing. It’s a wonderful and serene place. A lot of the members like to go there and watch the sunrises. But my shoes have such thick tread that the stones get caught in them. Happens to most of the nurses here. There’s stones all over the place.” She leaned in as if sharing a confidence with Dom. “The cleaning people don’t appreciate it very much.”

  “I’ll bet they don’t,” Dom said, still staring down at the rock as Diane bent to pick it up. He glanced over at Claire. “I think we need to visit this meditation garden.”

  Claire was already up out of her seat. “Me too. I love meditating.” She looked back down at Quentin. “Well, it was nice talking to you, Quentin, enjoy your therapy.”

  “Oh, I will.” Quentin had a wide smile on his face as he watched them leave, but as Dom turned away, he thought he detected a note of unfriendliness in that smile. Maybe Quentin didn’t appreciate them dredging up memories of the old treasure-hunting club.

  They walked down the east wing and through the glass doors to a beautiful garden area that opened to a view of the Atlantic Ocean. The garden was circular, with granite benches in the center and rows of flowers on the edge. Paths paved with red pebbles meandered through the flowers. Dom bent down and scooped up some of the pebbles then took the one out of his pocket and compared them. They were an exact match.

  He looked up at Claire then out across the ocean, where the dark-gray clouds rolling toward them indicated a storm was brewing. “These pebbles may not have been left in the storage unit from the sixty-year-old equipment, like we first thought. They may have been left by whoever it was that took the equipment more recently. Someone who didn't want anyone else to see what was in there.”

  9

  Dom wanted to get back to the island before the rain started. It was no fun riding the ferry in a thunderstorm. From the passenger seat of Claire's Fiat, he stared out the windshield, watching the boat pull into the dock and wondering what their next step should be.

  “We can't be sure those rocks came from Greenbriar Manor,” Claire said. “There must be plenty of other places that use those rocks.”

  “I’m sure there are. Maybe we can find that place that sells those rocks and find out if they have sold to any other place near or on the island,” Dom suggested.

  “Right, because otherwise it would mean that someone from Greenbriar might be connected to Elbert’s death. I mean assuming they cleaned out the storage unit to get rid of evidence.” Claire turned to Dom. “Do you think it’s someone that lives there, like Quentin?”

  “It could be. Or it could be one of the staff members.”

  “Right, or even a visitor…”

  Like Jane.

  “It’s too bad only Bill Wilkinson knew who the silent partner was. That might be a better angle to pursue than those rocks,” Dom said as the ferry staff lowered the ramp and Claire navigated the Fiat off the boat. “I wonder if he would have told his wife who it was. Spouses often share confidences.”

  Claire snapped on the wipers, peering out the windshield. “He might have … the Wilkinson place is on the way to your condo.”

  “And it’s a nice rainy day for a visit.”

  Claire turned up Israel Head Hill Road. Mari Wilkinson lived in one of the original cottages near the bottom of the hill. The cottage was old but had been updated over the years and was neat as a pin. They knocked on the cheerful yellow door and were greeted by Mari, a petite white-haired woman in her early eighties. She’d been much younger than Bill, and though she looked like a wind could blow her away, Dom noticed she still seemed quite chipper.

  She looked pleased to see them and invited them in, leading them to a kitchen with gleaming stainless steel appliances and granite counters. They sat at the antique oak table and listened to the rain pelt the windows as she put on water for tea.

  “So much excitement lately. I’m getting so many visitors,” Mari said.

  “Really? Like who?” Claire asked with a sideways glance at Dom.

  Marie looked up at the ceiling. “Well, Jane Kuhn just visited me, and then there was that nice detective…”

  Dom's brow twitched at the words “nice detective,” but he kept his mouth shut and accepted the dainty tea cup from Mari.

  “…and Ben and Quentin, of course. They’re so good to keep coming to visit even though Bill is long gone.”

  Claire reached out to lay her hand on Mari’s arm. “I know how hard it is to lose a loved one. If you ever need someone to talk to …”

  Mari settled into one of the chairs, her small hand around her own steaming teacup. “Thank you, but I'm okay. He's been gone a long time.”

  Dom hated to capitalize on talking about a dead loved one, but he saw his chance to turn the conversation to Bill and, hopefully, the treasure-hunting club. “I didn’t have the chance to know Bill. I understand he was sick for several years?”

  “Oh, yes. Old age, you know. It gets the be
st of us,” Mari said.

  Dom frowned at her pointed look. Did she think he was old? He was only in his late sixties.

  “I heard he was something of an adventurer in his youth,” Dom continued.

  Mari laughed. “If you can call it that. He always thought he would make a big discovery. Was even part of a treasure-hunting club here on the island.”

  “You don’t sound like you approve,” Claire said.

  “Well, he spent a lot of time and money and never did find any treasure. Only a grubby old brooch, and he refused to let me clean it. I must have it around here somewhere … oh dear, I can’t remember where I put it. Maybe in my jewelry box …”

  “It’s okay. We don’t need to see it,” Claire said, obviously trying to soothe the flustered Mari.

  Dom raised his eyebrows at Claire in an unspoken, We don’t?, but she ignored him.

  Mari settled back in her chair, a faraway look in her eye. “I think it broke his heart when they disbanded the group. He was a dreamer, always thought his ship was about to come in. Oh, don’t get me wrong. He was a good worker too. Made a nice living with his crabbing business after that, but he wasn’t the same. The spark went out of him when he wasn’t on the hunt for treasure.”

  “I heard about that club.” Dom leaned back in his chair and sipped the tea. “It was Benjamin Hill, Elbert Daniels, Quentin Crane, Billy, and wasn’t there a fifth person—a silent partner?”

  “Fifth person. Now you know, I’m not sure. My memory gets a bit foggy, and that was long ago. I think I have some photographs, though …” Mari pushed up from the table eagerly, but then she wobbled and almost fell back. Dom put out a hand to steady her.

  “Are you okay?” Claire jumped from her seat to help Mari back into her chair.

  Mari waved her off. “I’m fine. Just a dizzy spell. It’s nothing. I just need to rest a bit.”

  “Oh, then perhaps we should leave,” Dom said reluctantly. He was eager to see the picture in case the silent partner was in it, but not at the expense of Mari’s health. It would just have to wait, and maybe if they gave her some time, she would remember the name of the silent partner.