Mer rubbed the area between her eyebrows. "I feel like such an idiot."
Selkie watched Oscar as he leaned through the opened window into the Corolla. "I want to know where the truck is."
Oscar returned and held out Mer's wallet. "I opened it, to learn of the owner. I found your license, but California is a long drive. No?"
Her parents' address. Maybe it was time to visit the local DMV. She had so many safety nets in place. How could she move forward if everything kept pulling at her like a riptide? She opened the wallet. Her sole credit card remained tucked in its slot, next to her license.
"I have bad news," Oscar said. "The coin. It is gone. Your money, too. I do not want you to think bad of me."
"Nothing's gone. The wallet must have fallen out of the backpack when I slung it over my shoulder." She would have sworn, though, she'd zipped the pocket.
Oscar visibly relaxed. "That is good. I do not want you to think bad of me."
She owed him a reward. The empty bill slot precluded cash. Gratitude didn't buy a meal. A meal. On impulse she blurted, "Tomorrow is Thanksgiving. I'm cooking dinner. Why don't you join us?"
Surprise registered across his face. "Thank you, but I do not want to intrude. This is a family holiday, is it not?"
"Please. It's the least I can do."
Oscar contemplated the invitation and then smiled. "I am honored."
She had to work the morning boat. The shop was running a special sunrise charter in honor of Thanksgiving, but unlike other shops in the area, Bijoux was closing right afterward to allow her employees time to enjoy the holiday. Mer would be home by eleven. "Dinner's at seven."
He bowed like an old world gentleman. "I am anticipating it greatly."
The security gate closed again. She hesitated. Give him the code? He'd just returned her wallet, after all. But she was still shaky from being followed. "When you arrive, scroll through the directory. Look for Orlando—like the city. That's my landlord's name. Press the button and I'll be able to open the gate for you. I'm the second house from the end." She looked at her watch. "I'm sorry, I've really got to go."
7
Selkie insisted on acting as her bodyguard while she retrieved her abandoned groceries. His presence gave her comfort even as his heightened vigilance threatened her composure. It wasn't until the security gate clattered shut behind them on their way home that she drew a normal breath.
The neighborhood was built on a converted twenty-three-hundred-foot airstrip that served double duty as a breakwater between Port Largo Marina and the Atlantic Ocean. Palatial homes backed up to the ocean on one side of the road and overlooked their personal docks on the other side of it.
Mer lived in a not-to-code granny flat on the ground level of a flamingo-pink mansion owned by an international banker she'd yet to meet. The arrangement suited her.
Selkie's home was built at the very end of the defunct runway. Originally, both houses had belonged to one owner. The properties still shared a driveway that forked about six feet from the road. From there, a thick hedge ran the remainder of the property line and ended at the ocean.
Mer pulled into the driveway and veered left. Bougainvillea and a collection of brightly colored bromeliads surrounded the carport that sheltered her front door. Together they shuttled the groceries inside.
Selkie placed the last bags on the crowded counter. "I still don't understand why you won't cook Thanksgiving dinner at my place."
She squeezed past him to open her refrigerator.
Preparing dinner at his house would certainly simplify things. His kitchen had space, modern appliances, and a large counter she could use as a serving buffet. Her apartment had a galley kitchen with enough space to comfortably accommodate a small child. Practicality screamed at her to accept Selkie's offer, but this was her home. Her first Thanksgiving dinner as a hostess should be at a place where she wasn't a guest herself.
She placed a bundle of celery into the refrigerator and held out her hand for more groceries. "Because."
He gave her a package of carrots. "Quite the eloquent argument."
She closed the crisper. "I don't know how to explain it. But it's important to me." She kissed him. "Besides, I thought the way to a man's heart was through his stomach. Isn't it about time I cook something for you?"
"Did you know that Thanksgiving is one of the busiest days at the emergency room?"
She smacked him with the cloth bag. "Remember that when you're giving your compliments to the chef tomorrow."
Mer jigsawed the contents of the fridge until she'd created enough space for the turkey. The shelf sagged, and she wedged a carton of milk sideways to bolster it. Not an inch of space remained. "Can I chill the white wine at your place?"
"Of course. What else do you need?"
A dozen things sprang to mind. "Not a thing. I've got it all under control." She'd organize everything tonight. Bake the pies. Double-check the recipes against her timetable.
"Then can I interest you in an adult beverage? You've earned it after the night you've had."
"You don't know the half of it."
Selkie stopped and gave her his full attention. "What's that mean?"
In all the night's excitement, Mer hadn't had the chance to tell him about her encounter with the pirates. "It means a glass of wine sounds wonderful."
The door closed behind them. They crossed the driveway to Selkie's property and climbed the sweeping staircase that led to his main entry.
He opened the front door. "Is this a conversation for wine or something stronger?" he asked.
She continued to the deck. "Wine for me. You may want to break out the Jameson."
The balcony ringed the upper level of his home. Teak furniture created an outdoor living space replete with conversation nooks, a dining area, and a hammock for lounging. She dragged her hand across the table. Heat from the day still lingered in the smooth wood.
Waves crashed against the rocks below and drew Mer to the rail. The crescent moon sat low in the sky and a ribbon of light shimmered across the water.
Selkie rejoined her. "So?" He handed her a glass of Pinot Gris and clinked his tumbler of whiskey against her glass.
Mer took a quick sip of wine and recounted her high seas adventure.
Selkie interrupted her. "What do you mean, they shot at you?"
"Technically, only one did."
He plucked the glass from her hand, placed it next to his, and gathered her into his arms. "You seem remarkably calm about this."
"I was scared witless. Which is probably why I freaked out about the truck."
"Fear is a defense mechanism." He drew back to be able to see her face. "Don't ever discount how something makes you feel."
She nodded.
"Talk to me about this Oscar person," Selkie said. "What do you know about him?"
"He's from Havana. Used to be an archivist. Quiet. He spent the morning on the boat with me and Leroy. He impressed us both."
"I see."
Mer broke free of his embrace. "Stop."
"What?"
She swept her hand toward the ocean and almost knocked over her wineglass. "It's a beautiful night. Can't we talk about something else?"
Selkie rescued the glass, but it was a long moment before he handed it to her. "You should report this."
"I'm going home now."
He wrapped his other arm around her waist. "I can't believe it's already Thanksgiving."
She leaned her back against his chest. "I have so much to be thankful for." Recent events notwithstanding.
He nuzzled her ear. "I'm thankful for you."
His voice, low pitched and smooth, gave her goosebumps. "Even after tonight?" she asked.
"You definitely make life interesting." He rested his chin against the top of her head.
"That's a nice way to put it." They stood together swaying slightly. She was acutely aware of the pressure of his hand against her belly. She nestled closer.
"I worry about you
, though," he said.
Warmth flooded her body. She wasn't used to having someone worry about her—at least not someone within a three-thousand-mile radius. Her mother had worried about her the entire two years she spent conducting research in the Arctic. But this was different. "Can't have you getting bored."
"No need to worry on that account." He grabbed her hand and kissed her fingertips. "I love you."
Mer froze. Love. He loved her.
She drew her hand back. She'd spoken those words to him years ago. Before everything had changed.
Selkie squeezed her hand.
Her mind snapped back into operation. "I don't know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything. I just thought you should know."
"It's too soon," she mumbled.
He spun her around. "Technically, we've known each other twelve years." His voice remained gentle. Light. "That hardly qualifies as too soon."
She'd been a smitten undergrad and he'd been her older brother's friend. Theirs had been a summer fling. Nothing more. At least that's what she'd tried to convince herself at the time. After he left.
"I'm not sure bringing that up helps your case." The wineglass shook in her hand and she tightened her grip so he wouldn't notice.
"It's okay to be scared, Mer. I get it."
Her chin came up. "I'm not scared." But they both knew she was lying.
The only thing Mer was privy to regarding Selkie's career was the education that qualified him for it. He'd attended the U.S. Naval Academy in Annapolis as an undergrad. Then came the Naval Post Graduate School in Monterey. His master's degree was in Defense Analysis and he'd written his thesis on psychological operations and deception. His ability to discern her thoughts unnerved her more than a little. She gulped the last of her wine in three swallows. "I should go. Get some things prepped."
Selkie puffed out his cheeks and released his breath in a rush. "Need any help?"
She shook her head. "I can handle it."
"That was never in doubt."
She hesitated. "Are we good?"
He took her empty glass. "Better than."
"Be prepared to be wowed tomorrow."
"I wouldn't miss it for the world."
Mer kissed him goodnight and hurried down the steps.
There were times Mer wished she could read his expression with the ease he read hers. Selkie had said he loved her and she'd acted like a dolt. He wasn't the problem. She was the one who couldn't get over the fear that history would repeat itself.
Not the falling in love part; the ending of it.
Once inside, the familiarity of her apartment soothed her. A framed photograph of her family anchored the corner of her walnut desk. Her parents wore the beleaguered expression common to adults who wondered exactly when they'd lost control of their children. For their part, Mer and her older brothers had grown into a trio of overachievers. A priest, a cop, and a scientist. Add a bar and they'd have the setup for a bad joke.
The rest of the apartment was furnished in white wicker provided by the landlord. The only other thing that belonged to Mer was her aquarium and it served as a partition between the tiny living room and her bedroom. She walked over to the tank and pinched some flakes into the water. Small mollies and bright damsels darted around the large tank, hiding within the live rock. She never tired of watching them. Their presence conditioned the tank for its next occupant—an octopus. A symbol of her commitment to stay in the Keys.
Best not to trip down that particular lane at the moment.
And watching fish didn't get the Thanksgiving prep work done. She'd promised everyone a perfect dinner and that was exactly what she planned to deliver.
Food covered every inch of available counter space in the tiny galley. She drew a deep breath, determined to conquer the chaos. Once the mess had been tamed, she grabbed the pie recipes.
Despite the new order, it took several minutes to locate the can of pureed pumpkin. Personally, she'd never found pumpkin pie particularly appealing, but it was Selkie's favorite and she wanted to impress him. Maybe he was still awake. She peered out her kitchen window, but the hedge blocked her view of the house and she couldn't tell if any lights were still on.
She picked up her cellphone to call him, but the camera icon distracted her. The photos.
In all the recent excitement, she'd forgotten about them.
Opening the app, she navigated to her saved images. The last one showed the list of names she'd retrieved from the contraband bale—taken on the LunaSea before the wind from their getaway tore the brittle page to bits.
The small phone screen and the feathery handwritten scrawl thwarted her efforts to read the words. She attached the images to a message and emailed them to herself.
The photos were waiting in her inbox by the time her laptop booted up, and she deleted them from her phone. The photo filled the screen, large enough that she could decipher the tortured script. Nearly all the names were Hispanic.
Pushing aside a stack of holiday recipes, she pulled out a legal pad and then paused. She'd planned on completing some of the cooking prep tonight. The individual dishes seemed easy enough; it was the timing that worried her.
She leaned back in her chair and stared beyond the walls of her little home and her mind slid back to the list. Who was she kidding? The pies could wait.
By the time she finished transcribing the names, the wall clock above her desk read eleven o'clock. She should shut off the computer and call it a night. After all, her day started earlier than normal tomorrow with the holiday sunrise charter.
She prepared for bed, but her mind wouldn't abandon the task. Who were these people, and why were their names hidden in a bale of contraband drugs? Discovering their identity seemed a straightforward proposition. After all, she had their names. Waiting until tomorrow to investigate would only ensure she'd have a restless night. She started at the top and typed the first name into her search engine. Within seconds she had a list linking to Spanish language sites.
Growing up in California, Mer had learned Spanish by osmosis. Enough to get by, but nowhere near fluency. In school she'd studied Latin for taxonomy and French because she'd always wanted to know something about romance, even if it was just the language.
Fat lot of good that did her tonight.
Had she screwed up? Selkie was a puzzle with so many pieces she didn't know where to start. The one constant was that she loved him, even if she couldn't manage to spit it out and tell him. She rolled her shoulders back in a stretch and a vertebra popped into place. She should have called him earlier. Now it was too late.
She typed another name. Nothing.
The next one gave her too many results to contemplate.
Frustrated, she picked up her pencil and scanned the list looking for a distinctive name. Lots of Josés, Dons, Franciscos, and Josephs. Very few women's names, and the ones that were recorded shared the same surname with at least one other person. The logical assumption would be that they belonged to the same family. But she hated to make assumptions without something more substantial to support it.
She tapped the eraser of her mechanical pencil against the pad and contemplated the list.
Mateo Eques de Soto y Berdugo. That was a distinctive name. She dropped the pencil. Using quotes, she typed the entire name into the search engine.
Nothing.
The first two words she recognized. Mateo was Spanish for Mathew. Eques meant a horseman or rider in Latin. Based on the "de" that preceded it, she suspected Soto referred to a place, although it could be a family name.
This was getting her nowhere. She had plenty of data and yet nothing lent itself to a conclusion.
She dug out the coin.
Like any specialized field of study, she figured coinage would have its own vocabulary and hierarchy of categorization. Thankfully, Google spoke the vernacular.
She typed gold King Philip V 1733 coin and hit the return key.
Less than a second later, she ha
d a staggering amount of results.
She yawned. Research would have to wait. Morning had technically arrived and in a few hours, she'd be on the LunaSea with a boatload of divers welcoming the sunrise.
Tomorrow, she'd call the police and give them the coin, mention the truck—although what good would that do? How many black trucks were there in the Keys?
She snapped several photos of Philip and his heraldry, and then tucked the gold disk into an envelope from her desk and stashed it in her backpack.
After tomorrow's dinner, she'd try again to identify the coin. Satisfy her curiosity. Be done with this whole curious affair.
8
The sunrise charter ran without a hitch. Fourteen divers from a scuba club in Pennsylvania had escaped snow to take advantage of the warm weather and clear water of Key Largo. They'd even tipped well— a welcome holiday bonus that helped defray the cost of today's feast. Now it was time to cook.
Lost in thought, Mer strode nearly to her front door before she realized it stood ajar. She stopped mid-step and slowly lowered her foot. Pry marks dented the doorjamb near the bolt, exposing fresh, splintered wood.
She scanned around her, half expecting someone to jump out of the bushes. Not even an iguana moved. She held her breath and listened at the door, but only heard her own pulse beating loud in her ears.
Poised to bolt, Mer pushed against the door. It banged against something inside. She pushed harder and poked her head around. An upended wicker chair scraped across the tile.
For a moment, she could only stare, her mind processing the chaos in small increments, as if that made it easier to comprehend.
Every drawer, every cabinet, every single thing had been upended. Strewn across the apartment. Even the refrigerator had been emptied, food tossed, bottles and jars broken—their guts seeping across the floor.
Mer entered. Glass crunched under her feet and she almost slipped in a puddle.
"No!" Her eyes sought the aquarium and found the damselfishes and mollies on the floor among the rubble of rock.
Her throat tightened and she slowly turned circles in the center of her home.
Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Page 5