Not nearly long enough to dissuade the self-proclaimed "key to Keys News."
The smart course of action would be to put as much distance between her and the event as possible. Being the lead story on the local news wouldn't help maintain a low profile. That said, the coconut telegraph—the island's mouth-to-ear network—transmitted gossip more effectively than any news outlet. The smugglers had been close enough to see her. They'd definitely been close enough to note the LunaSea's distinctive hull paint and name. Nothing Wendy put on the air would be new information to the smugglers, but if there were more bales floating around, the news might deter other boaters from pulling them aboard and becoming targets.
The sound of Mer's sigh died in the cacophony of the compressor. Stripping the ear protection off her head, she left the tanks to fill and stepped toward the door.
Wendy signaled her cameraman to follow them. As the compressor noise faded, the reporter pressed her advantage. "I promise. We'll be done before you know it. Then you can tell all your friends and family you'll be on the news."
"You realize most people don't aspire to make the evening news."
The rapid click of Wendy's heels stopped and she spun, the hair of her precise bob falling back into perfect alignment. "Oh, but they do. People clamor to get their face on TV. Fifteen minutes of fame and all."
Mer never broke stride. "You've got two." She stopped in front of the boat. "And no names."
The cameraman lifted the rig to his shoulder in a practiced move and focused on Wendy.
She snapped the microphone beneath her mouth. "Something's fishy in the waters of Key Largo. A high-speed chase almost ended in disaster for the crew of the Aquarius Dive Shop. I'm here with one of the crew members who survived this harrowing ordeal. I understand there was an exchange of gunfire." She shoved the microphone into Mer's face.
"No. They fired at us. We didn't shoot back. We were unarmed."
An annoyed expression flitted across Wendy's face. "Terrifying. How did that make you feel?"
"Scared," Mer admitted.
Wendy waited for her to elaborate. When Mer didn't offer more, the reporter launched into another question. "Word on the dock is you located a bale of contraband drugs. So, tell me. Is this the square grouper that got away?"
That. That right there was why people hated reporters. They spoke in sound bytes and headlines, making puns and jokes out of everything instead of recognizing that someone who just had their wits scared out of her might need a bit more seriousness injected into the moment.
"It was an inanimate object. It was incapable of getting away. I pushed it overboard."
"Well thank goodness for your quick thinking." Treacly sarcasm dripped from the words. "Bold, brainy and brave. The community is lucky to have you. This is Wendy Wheeler, the key to Keys News."
* * *
The day's tasks completed, Mer sat on the top of one of the wooden picnic tables and stared at the canal. A slight sheen of oil floated near the stern of the LunaSea, creating a rainbow slick that faded as dusk fell. She wrapped her arms around her knees and pulled them to her chest. A splinter snagged the fabric of her shorts.
Nothing remained untouched in the Keys. Wood warped. Metal rusted. What was its effect on people?
"You look like someone licked the red off your candy and gave it back to you." Leroy sat on the bench and leaned his back against the table, his elbows splayed behind him for support.
"You ever wonder where you belong?" Mer asked.
"In the grand scheme of things?"
"Geographically."
"Don't think I've ever had that concern," Leroy said. "I figure it's all God's green earth. As long as I'm respectful, I can go where I want."
"But you stay here."
"Haven't worn out my welcome yet."
A green iguana skittered along the concrete retaining wall that ran parallel to the dock, and then disappeared into the parking lot. They didn't belong here, yet they flourished. Locals considered them pests, little more than island gophers that wreaked havoc on their gardens. If they could, they'd send every last one of them back to Central America.
"How long's it been?" Mer swatted at a mosquito on her leg and missed. "I mean since you came to the Keys?"
He scratched his head. "Gotta be coming up on twenty-five years."
"So just a short-timer." Mer resumed her inspection of the canal.
"Maggie's waiting on me to make sure I didn't collect any bullet holes today, so hurry up and get to the tail of the dog."
"Wendy Wheeler said the community is lucky to have me."
"I bet the Tremblay family is still thanking their stars you were on the boat today. Well, not Blake. I'm fair certain if he'd had his way, you'd have gone overboard with the drugs."
She couldn't tell if he was smiling behind the beard.
"You should skeedaddle, too," he said. "You got yourself a man waiting on you who's every bit as worried as Maggie."
Selkie. A warm feeling chased away some of her melancholy. He had factored into her decision to stay in the Keys. Not the only reason, but the one that had the most obvious short-term benefits.
"He's on one of his trips. He should be home tomorrow." She waved her hand. "You go on. I'll be right behind you."
"Bad things happen in the Arctic, too, Cavallo." He stood. "You're spooked. We both are. Now's not the time to be making any decisions about geography."
"Give Maggie a hug for me."
"Will do."
Without watching, she tracked his movements. A crunch of gravel, a metallic groan as he wrenched open the door, the three-crank false start before his old truck roared to life. All notes that belonged to the complex music of the Keys. A harmony she hadn't quite mastered.
If she were honest, it wasn't geography that kept her staring at the canal. It was a much larger issue.
Her family was like a dandelion gone to seed, and the breeze had dropped them across the nation. Her brothers occupied opposing coasts; one in New York, the other in California. For as long as her father still taught at the university, her parents would stay in Santa Barbara—but they planned to retire to Sedona, where her mother had been born and raised.
The five of them had tried to maintain holidays together, but colleges, a police academy, a seminary, education abroad programs, and research jaunts practically guaranteed that someone would be absent from the family feasts. This year it was her parents and their long-postponed second honeymoon cruising the Caribbean.
She missed her family. She missed home.
Only she didn't know exactly where home was anymore.
5
The November sun didn't rise until nearly seven, and a patina of silver and gray shrouded the dock when she arrived at work. She'd slept hardly a wink all night. Every time she'd nodded off, an imagined gunshot startled her awake.
Sound traveled easily in the pre-dawn quiet and the wheeze of Leroy's approaching truck placed him about four blocks away from the dive shop.
Together they'd prep the boat for the morning dive. While Leroy checked the engines, she'd handle everything else. Finish on time and they'd leave port just as the sun rose and painted the underside of the clouds with splashes of color.
She'd arrived before Kyle, the equipment tech, and she unlocked the equipment rental cage. Grabbing two tanks by their valves, she set a course for the dock. The bottom of the cylinders bumped against the top of each of the five wooden steps, the dull thud reminding her of a muted church bell. On the dock she readjusted her grip and turned. A man slept on one of the three picnic tables.
She took a step back.
The wide concrete dock ran parallel to the canal and invited strollers. Occasionally a reveler from one of the nearby bars stumbled down to the dock at closing and used the shop's tables as a waypoint. Twice she'd had to roust someone off the boat itself. But after yesterday, the appearance of a stranger put her on high alert.
He snored, the sound remarkably similar to Leroy's truck in both decibels and timb
re.
Mer set the aluminum tanks on the walkway harder than necessary and startled two wild parakeets out of a nearby palm. The man stirred and then bolted into a seated position. A piece of paper fluttered to the ground but she kept her eyes on his hands. Empty.
"Good morning," she greeted him. "Diving with us today?"
Blinking sleep from his eyes, he patted the bench until he hit upon a pair of heavy black frames that he pushed onto his face. The lenses magnified Labrador brown eyes. "No. I am looking for a man named Bijoux?" He spoke with a heavy Cuban accent.
Job candidate. After all the excitement of the day before, she'd forgotten Bijoux had scheduled interviews this morning for a relief deckhand.
"If you're looking for a job—" Mer pointed to the paperwork he held. "You probably don't want to call her a man."
"No." He scrambled to his feet and gave a little bow while smoothing back his hair. "Are you Miss Bijoux?"
Standing, they were similar in height, which placed him at about five-foot-nine. Tall for a woman, not so tall for a man. His brown hair was a shade or two darker than hers, and even though he'd just smoothed it back, the bangs had already fallen into his face. It gave him a youthful appearance despite the faint lines that extended beyond his glasses. He reminded Mer of a friend she'd had in grad school who'd been her favorite lab partner.
She extended her hand. "I'm Mer."
He grasped it and then covered their two hands with his free one and gave a single pump. "Oscar Vigil. It is my pleasure to meet you." He indicated the tanks. "Please, you must let me help you. They are heavy."
"Thanks, but I've got them. They don't seem as heavy in the morning as they do at night."
He cocked his head and then smiled. "That is true of many things."
Wrinkles marred his shirt as if he had wrung it out but not smoothed the fabric before it dried. Or perhaps he had slept in it. She didn't remember seeing another car in the parking lot. "Do you have an appointment with Bijoux?"
"No. I just learned of this job. I hope I am not too late. I am a good worker."
Just another job seeker. Mer relaxed. "Are you PADI certified?"
Before he could answer, the crunch of gravel in the parking lot announced Leroy's arrival.
"Excuse me," she said.
Another bow, this time so deep that a gold crucifix slid out from under his T-shirt. "Of course."
Bijoux's red Jeep nipped at the rear wheels of Leroy's truck. She parked in the adjacent spot and slid from the seat, looking as bright as a parrotfish. She paused briefly and spoke to Leroy through his truck window.
Mer looked down at her own khaki shorts and tan T-shirt and wondered if she'd ever have the courage to wear even a fraction of the color palette that resided in Bijoux's closet. Probably not.
Mer hailed her friend. "If you have a moment, I'll introduce you to another applicant. He's on the dock."
Bijoux left Leroy rooting in his truck and fell in beside Mer. "Are you sure you are up to working today?"
"Someone's got to keep Leroy out of trouble."
Bijoux drew Mer to a halt. "Funny, he just said the same thing about you."
Mer worked the toe of her flip-flop against the gravel. "It's better to be busy."
"I understand."
They returned to the dock and found Oscar bent over picking up a discarded soda. His other hand held several more pieces of trash.
Mer cleared her throat. "Oscar."
The man startled upright, dropping the can. It clattered against the cement, overloud amid the morning hush. He colored and stooped to retrieve it. "I do not want such things in the water." He jogged to the trash can.
Years training as a scientist had impressed upon Mer the need to protect the environment. She nudged Bijoux. "He's got my vote."
He hurried back to the women and arrived slightly out of breath.
"Oscar, I'd like to introduce you to Bijoux Fouchard, the owner of the Aquarius Dive Shop."
Oscar swiped his hand across the front of his shirt, staining it with a trail of syrupy cola. A stray bit of paper still clung to his palm and he dropped it to his side. "Perhaps it is best that I only say hello." He inclined his head.
Bijoux gifted him with one of her dazzling smiles, showing the slight gap between her front teeth. "I understand you would like a job. I have interviews scheduled all morning," Bijoux said. "We can talk over lunch. Would you be able to come back at noon?"
"Twelve o'clock. Of course. If you do not mind, I will stay here. Watch. Learn how I can help."
Bijoux considered him. "Why don't you go out on the morning boat? That way you can see how we operate."
Oscar bent at the waist. "That would be very nice. Thank you."
"No working." Bijoux raised a manicured finger in playful admonishment. "Just watching."
Mer stepped forward. "Let me show you the LunaSea."
* * *
Sunlight punched through gathering clouds and speckled the ocean. The wind had picked up steadily throughout the morning, and while a dozen divers enjoyed Molasses Reef, the LunaSea bobbed in four-foot seas.
Leroy, Oscar and Mer had gathered at the stern of the boat. Leroy leaned against the handrail that stepped down from the deck to the swim platform, his arms crossed in front of him, casually chewing his coffee stirrer.
"And no bananas on the boat, either." Leroy instructed Oscar. "It's bad luck."
"A ridiculous prohibition based on supernatural causation that's known in the scientific realm as hooey," Mer said.
"This from the woman who touches a charm for luck before every rescue," Leroy countered.
Her hand rose to the seahorse that dangled from her neck, but she otherwise ignored his jab. What could she say? He was right. "Used to be considered bad luck to have a woman aboard, too."
Leroy swung the red stirrer to the side of his mouth. "Based on yesterday, I'd say it still is."
"Yesterday?" Oscar asked.
"A highly unusual situation," Mer said, wanting to close the discussion before it began. Still, she couldn't help but squint at the horizon. Just in case.
"I could hedge my bet. Throw you overboard," Leroy added.
Mer moved to the cooler. It squeaked as she lifted the lid. "Again?" Pushing aside cans of soda, she selected two oranges, and then removed a scratched cutting board and a serrated knife.
Oscar's attention seesawed between the two and finally settled on Leroy. "You have a history of this?"
"She's as smart as a tree full of owls, but occasionally one or two of them need to be knocked down to earth."
Oscar's brow furrowed. "I do not understand."
"She has a tendency of getting too big for her britches," Leroy said.
Mer placed the cutting board on the camera table, then worked her thumb into her waistband and held out the loose fabric. "I don't think that's the criteria you're using."
"Sure hope you brought a towel," Leroy replied.
Oscar grabbed the rail around the table to steady himself against the growing chop. "This is not a good day to swim."
Leroy glowered but it fell somewhat short of fierce. "That's because you were whistling earlier."
Oscar pushed his glasses higher up his nose.
Mer took pity on him. "For those silly enough to believe in superstitious nonsense, whistling into the wind is a challenge that conjures storms."
"Exhibit A." Leroy pointed to the steel band of clouds on the horizon racing toward them.
"As long as it doesn't delay us getting back in from the afternoon charter," Mer said. "I have to get out of here on time tonight."
"Hot date?"
"Only if you consider grocery shopping at Winn Dixie a good time."
Leroy tightened the line securing the ladder. "A bit behind the curve, aren't you?"
The knife sliced through the orange and released a sharp citrus scent. "Thanksgiving isn't until tomorrow."
"No sense rushing things." His beard twitched. "I'll add sweet potatoes to the
list of what we're bringing."
"You'll do no such thing. I've got things well under control," she said. As long as one didn't count the weather.
A curtain of gray fell from black clouds. The divers would be coming up in the rain, and the dry table would no longer be dry. Mer lifted the cutting board and moved it back to the cooler. No one liked soggy oranges.
The massive Coleman was secured to the cabin floor, its flat surface perfect for an impromptu table. A large swell hit the LunaSea broadside as Mer leaned over, and she jammed her knee against the ice chest to absorb the shock. The knife teetered at the edge of the board and then fell to the deck and slid to a stop with its point wedged under the plastic corner. Setting down the board, she leaned over. Something gold glinted.
The hair on the back of her neck prickled. She used the knife blade to leverage the cooler up an inch and created enough space to hook the item with her fingernail. The missing gold coin slid into view.
"Wisdom begins with the fear of God," she whispered. The coin looked remarkably similar to an old silver dollar her father carried in his pocket for luck. Both had letters circling a portrait and lines scoring their edges.
"King Philip the Fifth of Spain."
Oscar's voice startled her with its nearness and she almost dropped the coin. "How do you know that?"
"It is marked on the coin." Pushing his glasses up, he leaned closer. "Seventeen thirty-three." He pursed his lips as if to whistle, but then glanced at Leroy and stopped. "That is a very old coin."
"Hey, Cap'n," Mer raised her voice to be heard over the burgeoning wind. "The prodigal coin returns."
"You have seen this coin before?" Oscar asked.
"Yesterday," she answered absently. She flipped it and studied the crown-topped coat of arms and the Latin words on the reverse side.
"King Philip. He is the first king to have his portrait on a New World coin," Oscar said.
Leroy joined the duo. "Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle."
"Guess you should rethink how lucky it is to have me aboard," Mer said.
"Luck comes in two flavors, Cavallo."
"I'm holding a gold coin in my hand. I think we can all agree what kind of luck that requires."
Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Page 3