Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery

by Micki Browning

"Let's think about this for a moment," he said.

  "Way ahead of you." She didn't need a lecture on why it wouldn't work. Those reasons had already presented themselves to her in the dark of night. She didn't care.

  He barreled ahead, anyway. "You think the burglars were after the coin."

  "Yes."

  "The only people who knew you had the coin were co-workers, cops, and the smugglers, correct?"

  She nodded.

  "I think we can safely assume neither the cops, nor your co-workers, broke into your home. Agreed?"

  She crossed her arms. "I'm never going to eat, am I?"

  Selkie ignored her. "Process of elimination suggests that the smugglers are also the burglars, ergo, you must want to confront a person who shot at you."

  "Actually, using deductive reasoning, you can only conclude that the smugglers are the burglars. It's a common mistake. If every A is B and this C is A, then—"

  "That's your takeaway?"

  She blinked twice. "I don't want to confront anyone, I just want to learn who they are. Big difference."

  "And it never occurred to you that chasing smugglers is a bad idea?"

  "I thought you'd help me."

  "I am helping you." He flipped the omelet. "You're a scientist. You research things. Study things. You have no tactical training, no protective gear, nothing."

  "But you do."

  Selkie possessed a skill set she lacked. He didn't have to tell her the details of his job for her to know its dangers. She'd first seen his scars twelve years ago, mementos of a helicopter crash. In the ensuing years, he'd added to his collection. It frightened her sometimes—not that he was dangerous, but that someday he wouldn't come back.

  "Smugglers aren't nice people, Mer. As smart as you are, this isn't the kind of fight you'd win."

  "I certainly won't win if I don't try." And she had to try.

  "No."

  "No, you agree, or no, you won't help?" But the set of his jaw had already answered her question.

  "This is Monroe County's jurisdiction, not yours."

  In hindsight, she should have known better than to approach him without something actionable. Once she dug up some information and devised a plan, then she'd ask again. Until then, there was no point in trying to change his mind. "I'm thinking of taking a kickboxing class."

  "Best idea you've had all day."

  She stood behind him and kissed the back of his shoulder. He probably wouldn't think it was such a great idea if he knew the class was more about personal safety and less about fitness. "If I locked myself in a tower you'd think it was a good idea."

  He reached around with his free hand and pressed her closer. "Depends. Stone or ivory? From a security standpoint, one is far superior to the other."

  "I don't need a tower." Although in light of recent events, maybe it wasn't such a bad idea.

  "You should come out to the range with me this morning. Let me teach you how to shoot."

  "I'm pretty good with a flare gun." Her stomach growled. She reached around him and swiped a piece of bacon.

  "I saw that."

  "I wasn't trying to be sneaky."

  Still holding the spatula, he turned to face her. "What am I going to do with you?"

  She batted her eyes, but she'd never mastered the flirt and she knew it came across as if she had something embedded in her cornea.

  He laughed and it eased the tension. "Stay with me."

  "I am with you."

  "I mean permanently." He sobered. "Move in."

  A piece of bacon caught in her throat and she coughed it clear. Move in? She placed her hand on his chest. His heart beat strong and steady. "You can't watch me all the time."

  He had the good grace to look abashed. "True, but that's not the only reason why I'm asking. It's not even the most important reason."

  "What happens when I become a kick-boxing ninja? You could be placing yourself in unnecessary danger."

  "Consider it incentive to keep you happy."

  Mer tipped her head toward the smoking stove. "What would make me happy is a scorch-free breakfast."

  "Shit." He shoved a spatula under the omelet and slid it onto the plate. "Good thing there's bacon." He lifted the edge of the egg to determine the extent of the damage. "I can make you another one."

  "Don't you dare. This one is fine."

  "I'm trying to impress you."

  "Help me then." She shoveled a bite into her mouth. Even slightly well done, the omelet was better than anything she'd be capable of producing at the moment. First off, he had feta cheese. And spinach. Fresh tomatoes. She had two pieces of leftover garlic bread and a slice of Key lime pie.

  He wiped the pan with a paper towel in preparation for the next omelet. "So what do you think of the idea?"

  He'd glossed right over her request. She lowered her fork. It wasn't a casual invitation—and it wasn't just about where she laid her head at night. Moving in meant more. A whole lot more. "I'm honored."

  "But."

  She hesitated, but he deserved the truth. "What if it doesn't work out?"

  "We practically live together as it is," he reminded her.

  "But we don't," she said. "I've got a good thing next door. If I move in here and it doesn't work, I'm the one out in the cold."

  "So keep it. Keep it until you feel comfortable giving it up."

  "It's not that easy."

  "Yes, it really is." He kissed her gently on the forehead and turned back to the stove.

  The scent of bacon hung on his clothes and mixed with the last remnants of aftershave. He smelled like happiness. It was intoxicating.

  "You mean the world to me," she whispered to his back and was glad when he didn't turn around. "You know that, right? Even though I couldn't say it the other night?"

  He broke an egg into a bowl, still not looking at her. "I know."

  She set down her plate and her fork clattered onto the granite counter. "So you'll know this isn't about you when I say the time isn't right for me to make this particular decision?"

  "Strikes me as the perfect time. You'll certainly be safer here, with me."

  The omelet congealed into an uncomfortable lump in her belly. "No."

  "You're going to have to elaborate. Because I'm pretty sure you'd be safer." He lobbed the eggshells into the sink.

  Physically maybe, but emotionally? "It's a big decision," she said slowly. "I need some time."

  "Analyze it, ponder it, list the pros and cons on a spreadsheet if you have to." He finally turned around. "It's a standing offer."

  He meant it to be comforting, but in the end, all the analysis in the world wouldn't help make this decision. He'd broken her heart once before. It wasn't her head that needed convincing.

  12

  Ten o'clock in the morning, and already her day wasn't turning out as planned.

  Move in with Selkie?

  The idea had merit—lots of it—but it was too weighty a decision to make when she was feeling vulnerable. Mer wrangled the thought into one of the many compartments inside her brain and firmly pushed it closed.

  Instead, she contemplated the coin. She needed answers, and for that she turned to her old standby—books.

  The Key Largo Library anchored the corner of the Trade Winds Plaza, equidistant between Kmart and Publix, and lost among the usual strip mall fare. It wasn't the voluminous Davidson Library of her student days, but considering her alma mater was located on the other coast, this would do.

  Inside, the smell of books calmed her frayed nerves. She understood books. They encouraged thought, provoked questions, held answers.

  And right now, that was a good thing.

  Today she ignored the Friends of the Library nook to her right and the shell displays on her left, and headed to the main reference counter. Two librarians chatted while they placed books on different trolleys. The older librarian looked to be in her sixties. Rail thin, she sported spiked pink-tipped hair and a short strand of pearls. Her partner looked
fresh out of middle school and had glossy black hair that fell to her waist. Her name tag read Rosa.

  Rosa noticed Mer first. "Hey there. Can I help you?" Her voice held the slightest trace of an accent.

  "I'm looking for information on Spanish coins."

  "Let's see." The librarian consulted her computer. "Numismatics and sigillography are in seven-thirty-seven." She wrote the number on a piece of paper. "Sigillography. There's a great word for you. Sounds like a subject at Hogwarts." Her fingers typed in another search. "Hogwarts. Wouldn't you just love the chance to study there? You may also find some information in the history section. Not on Hogwarts, of course. That'd be literature. Spanish Colonialism." She added more Dewey decimals to the list. "But let's start over here. Follow me."

  Rosa wove through the stacks. "First stop, reference." Her hand grasped a five-inch thick tome and dragged it off the shelf. "A little light reading." She giggled. "Look through that. Coin collecting is in our nonfiction stacks over there." A general sweeping motion of her hand took in nearly three-quarters of the library. "Holler if you need anything."

  Mer found a quiet table in the back and opened The Catalog of World Coins, 1701-1800. The front pages explained how to identify coins: date, method of manufacture, denomination, mint markings, and assayer initials. Five clues that taken together made her realize she'd chosen the right profession. At least octopuses were easy to identify.

  In an act of self-preservation, she skipped to the pictures. The book was truly a catalog. Divided by country, each coin was presented with an actual sized photograph of both sides followed by a description and the estimated number of existing coins.

  The photo on her cellphone provided the information she needed. Within minutes, she'd found a match. A Spanish eight escudos. The book listed several mint locations and she ran her finger down the list. Madrid. That explained the mystery M stamped on the coin.

  The same letters that surrounded the king's portrait graced several other coins. Curious, she flipped to the legend index. It proclaimed Philip the fifth king of Spain and the Indies by the grace of God. No wonder it was abbreviated.

  She returned to the coin listing. Not a lot of them were still floating around. Most of the other coins had availability stated in millions. These escudos listed their mintage in the thousands. Sure, the one she'd held was in good condition, but it hardly seemed worthy of destroying her apartment.

  A loud bang made Mer flinch and she spun out of her chair, poised to run. A woman picked up the book her toddler had dragged from a shelf. Embarrassed, Mer smoothed her shirt, sat back down, and closed her book.

  Identifying the coin gave her a sense of satisfaction, but still left her unsettled. She was no closer to learning the connection between the coin and the list—and why both were in the clutches of a smuggler.

  She needed more information, something to put things in context.

  Maybe Oscar could shed some light on the coin. He was an archivist. More importantly, he'd known that Philip was the first monarch to have his face on a New World coin. No telling what else he knew.

  * * *

  Oscar wasn't at the dock, but then again, neither was the LunaSea.

  Mer rounded the corner to the rental cage, expecting to see Kyle, the equipment tech. Instead, Taylor, the captain of the Dock Holiday, leaned against the lower half of the Dutch door, staring wistfully at the water. She'd twisted her blonde hair into a messy bun and the escaping strands made a starburst behind her head.

  "Where's Kyle?" Mer asked.

  "Upstairs. Bijoux wanted to cross-train him to help out in the shop."

  "Bet he's loving that."

  "About as much as you'd expect for an equipment tech who wants to earn his captain's license." Taylor noisily sipped the last of her iced coffee. "What are you doing here?"

  "Looking for Oscar. Is he out on the boat?"

  "I haven't met him yet." She rattled the ice as if to confirm there wasn't a sip hiding at the bottom. "You'll have to ask the boss."

  The boss. The same woman who had ordered her to take a day off. Relax. But every time Mer slowed down, her thoughts slid back to topics she wasn't ready to revisit.

  Reluctantly, Mer climbed the steps to the shop. She wanted to find Oscar and Bijoux would know where he was. She'd be in and out in a flash.

  The blended scent of neoprene and coffee tickled her nose the moment she opened the door. Wetsuits and equipment lined two of the walls of the shop. A large armoire displayed T-shirts. Rounders of postcards and dive maps flanked the counter, which held the more expensive knives, watches and jewelry.

  Kyle peeked at Mer from behind a mound of T-shirts piled on the counter. "Have you come to rescue me?" He sounded hopeful.

  "The new shipment came in, I see," Mer said.

  He raised the plastic shirt folder. "A mere sixty-five more to go."

  Bijoux's voice drifted from the back. "You're not supposed to be here."

  Mer walked to the office and stopped on the threshold. "I work here."

  "I distinctly remember telling you to take some time off." Bijoux made a point of looking at her watch. "Congratulations, you lasted three hours."

  "Nearly a whole shift."

  Bijoux arched a delicate brow. "And why has Madame Scientist decided to ignore my wishes?"

  Selkie's invitation to accompany him to the gun range flashed through her mind. "It was either this or shoot something."

  "Go home."

  A wooden yo-yo acted as a paperweight on Bijoux's desk. Mer grabbed it and threaded the string around her middle finger. "When does Oscar start? I was hoping to catch him today."

  "I was not able to hire him after all." Bijoux leaned back in her chair. "He has no paperwork."

  "You can verify his certification online." She flicked her wrist and sent the yo-yo toward the floor where it stalled in a spin.

  "I'm not speaking of his scuba credentials."

  "Oh." Mer bounced the string and the toy returned to her hand.

  Scuba instructors were a transient lot. Often young, they chose the profession as a way to travel the world. The Keys were a popular jumping off point for the Caribbean, and many of the instructors in the area spoke with an accent. But despite their disparate nationalities, they all had one thing in common. A work permit.

  Oscar was at least Mer's age, maybe even late thirties. He had an established career as an archivist. She didn't know much about Cuba, but employment in any government usually offered benefits and job security that the private sector lacked. Was he here on a travel visa? Restrictions between the U.S. and Cuba had eased. Surely he could obtain the necessary permits.

  "Do you know where he's staying?" Mer asked.

  "His car, I suspect. I gave him the address of St. Justin Martyr Church. They operate a food bank."

  Mer unwound the string from her finger and set the yo-yo back in its place. "He's not here legally, is he?"

  Bijoux lifted a shoulder. "I did not ask. He strikes me as a proud man. I am an employer. That entitles me to confirm he has a current work permit. Nothing more."

  "So, that's that." Mer resumed pacing.

  "I run Coast Guard-inspected vessels. He cannot work the boats. But that does not mean there is nothing I can do. The bougainvillea in the parking lot requires trimming and the picnic tables need to be sanded and refinished. I told him I could pay him cash as a day laborer."

  Mer rubbed her necklace. "Will he?"

  "That is his decision." Concern softened her words. "You really should go home."

  To what? She'd already gleaned everything the library offered about the coin. She'd hoped Oscar's insight would help plot her next step. Now she didn't even know where to find him. If she went home, she'd be surrounded by an apartment full of reminders that she wasn't as safe as she'd thought herself to be.

  Mer spun from the office. "Kyle needs me." She swept up an armful of shirts and set them on the adjacent counter.

  Bijoux followed. "I'm quite sure Kyle is capa
ble of folding T-shirts without assistance."

  "I don't mind help," Kyle said.

  Bijoux ignored him. "Have you seen the Winchester yet?" she asked Mer.

  "The rifle?"

  Bijoux ducked behind the counter, and deposited the shirts back in front of Kyle. "It's a wreck north of us."

  The Winchester. Mer wracked her brain. Most dive shops in the Keys had set dive sites that they visited repeatedly. In the months that she'd been working in Key Largo, Mer had familiarized herself with the sites on Molasses and French Reefs. She'd dived all the local wrecks. Occasionally, they motored up to the City of Washington shipwreck above North Dry Rocks, but fuel costs cut into the bottom line when you were pushing a boat as big as the LunaSea.

  And the Winchester? Mer shook her head. The name meant nothing to her.

  "Good. Grab your gear. If you won't go home, at least go diving." Bijoux unfolded the waterproof map of the Florida Keys and spread it on the cleared counter. Her finger traced a path north of Elbow Reef and stopped. "A group of students from Miami chartered the Dock Holiday this afternoon to go to the Winchester." She tapped the map to show Mer the site. "I called in Taylor and Tom to take them out, but there is an empty seat. Take it. Listen to the briefing, explore the wreck."

  Mer opened her mouth to protest.

  "And then report back to me," Bijoux continued. "Let me know if we should consider the site for special charters."

  Why argue? Bijoux needed her. Mer got to dive a new site.

  And it beat going home.

  13

  At one o'clock, five people in University of Miami T-shirts arrived at the dock, carrying their gear in brightly colored mesh bags. An androgynous figure wearing loose cargo shorts broke from the group and it wasn't until Mer saw the string of a bikini top around her neck that she realized it was a woman. The hair on both sides of her head had been shorn, and geometric patterns shaved into it. She'd fashioned the remaining hair into a samurai-worthy topknot. The effect added fierce inches to her tiny frame.

  Mer stepped forward and held out her hand. "Welcome to the Aquarius Dive Shop. I'm Mer."