"What can I get you?" His voice had a bit of a rasp, like an engine in need of attention.
"I'm looking for Skipper Biggs."
"I meant, what are you drinking?"
"Oh, a water, please."
"With what?"
"Excuse me?"
"Bourbon, whiskey, what?"
"Ice would be great."
His perpetual squint narrowed further. "You on the job?"
"Which job?"
"Don't play funny with me, girlie. You a cop? FWC?"
It took a moment for her mind to translate the acronym. Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission, which was technically the FFWCC, but the bartender didn't look as if he'd appreciate the distinction. "No. Just here on my own."
"Cost ya a shot a question."
"You're kidding me."
"Take it or not. Makes no never mind to me."
"That's absurd."
He shrugged and turned away.
"Wait."
In all her thirty-three years, Mer had never been drunk, although her brothers gave it a good run on her twenty-first birthday. Two and a half margaritas and a fit of giggles later, they'd relented. But Skipper Biggs was neither a cop nor a priest and at the moment, he wore an expression that clearly conveyed she could take his offer or leave it. She glanced at her watch. Not quite noon. Great.
"Could I have a chardonnay instead?"
"Don't got it."
"Pinot Noir?"
"Ain't that kind of joint."
"What do you have?"
He slammed down a bottle of Jack Daniels.
Great. Best be precise. She pulled on the barstool. It was bolted to the ground. Probably to keep it from being used as a weapon to bludgeon the surly guy behind the bar.
"Are you Skipper Biggs?"
He poured a shot of Jack and slid it in front of her. "Yup."
"I want to ask you about portrait dollars."
"That ain't a question."
This was harder than she expected. "What do you know about 1733 Spanish portrait dollars?"
His eyes cut between her and the shot glass and back again. She brought it to her nose and the fumes cleared her sinuses.
"Best shoot it. I ain't got time for a sipper." The gold earring in his left ear glinted in the light that sputtered from a neon beer sign behind him.
Mer shot the Kentucky bourbon and the bite brought tears to her eyes. "Could I have a Coke, please?"
A glass of questionable cleanliness materialized on the bar. "I'll give you that question on the house." He squirted a dark liquid from a hose into the tall glass and filled the shot glass a second time. "You're a shot behind." He waited for her to tip it back and said, "They're rare."
She was hoping for something she didn't already know. "You ever find any?"
Bourbon splashed into the glass. "Only in books."
The door opened and a slice of light slashed the gloom. A beefy guy with no neck, trailing an odor that didn't originate from a cologne bottle, slid onto the stool next to Mer.
Skipper leaned forward. "Can't you see that stool's taken?"
The man backed off to the other end of the bar. "Sorry, Skip, didn't know she was special."
A warm glow tingled from her toes and took up residency in her lips. She was special.
Skipper pulled a beer from the cooler and in a practiced move, removed the cap and sent it end-over-end into the trash. He placed the bottle in front of the other patron. When he returned, Mer held out her empty glass.
"So where's the rest of them?" She shot the bourbon before he even answered. "Every year, Philip minted thousands of coins. Where are they?"
"Girlie, if I knew the answer to that we wouldn't be having this little set-to."
She beckoned him close and whispered, "I found one."
Skipper set the bottle of Jack behind the bar. "Located the Thirteenth Galleon, did ya?"
Her foot slipped off the foot rail. "You've heard of the Thirteenth Galleon?"
He plunged a glass into soapy water and turned it upside down on a bar rag. "I heard 'bout it. Sure. Heard about El Dorado, Atlantis, and Big Foot, too."
"Tell me about it."
"That ain't a question and it's too early for bedtime stories."
"You think it's true?" Whatever it was.
He leaned against the back counter and crossed his arms, not bothering to refill her glass. "Girlie, some say there's four to five thousand shipwrecks sittin' in Florida waters. Pirate ships, merchants, galleons, transports, and slavers. All just waitin' to be found. Suppose one of them could be the galleon."
"Can you teach me how to find a treasure ship?"
He dragged the bottle out again. "Teaching's easy. Finding's harder."
"You ever find any?"
This time he tipped the bottle. "Treasure paid for the Bilge."
"How?" She shot the glass. "How do you find a ship?" Her words were starting to run into each other.
"You gotta listen. To fishermen. To locals. To those silly-ass tourists combing the beach. You wait for storms to do the heavy lifting for you by stirring things up, throwing it on the shore." He snorted. "What you don't do is listen to some fool blabbering on about a treasure ship. People who really think they're on to something? They keep their pie-holes shut."
The empty glass sat on the bar in front of her in a little puddle. She'd lost count of the number of times he'd filled it, but her lips were numb.
"Will you help me? I drank all your silly shots."
He squinted at her. "If there was a thirteenth ship full of treasure, there'd be records of it in the archives of Seville. Just like all the other ships in the fleet. There ain't. Pretty sure you can figure out my answer from that."
Skipper's answer stoked her curiosity. But he was all wrong about the thirteenth galleon. A fifteenth century legendary ship wouldn't sail with an eighteenth century fleet. Would it? Her brain felt fuzzy. Maybe she could track down Oscar again. Bet he wouldn't even make her drink. She tried to focus. Who had he said he was staying with? Someone smart. No, not smart. "Bart! Do you know where to find Bart Kingston?" she blurted.
Skipper pushed away from counter. "We're done here."
"But I've got more questions."
He leaned into her face. "I ain't got more time."
His breath held the scent of toothpaste. Mint. Which didn't really complement Kentucky bourbon. They stared at each other and Mer started giggling.
"What's so funny?"
"That'll cost you a shot." She tried to wink, but ended up closing both eyes, which just made her giggle harder.
He didn't appreciate her joke. Or maybe he just ignored it. "You got a cellphone?"
"Yup." She dug in her wallet and pulled out several bills that landed in a crumpled heap. She sorted through the pile, but the numbers didn't add up in her head. "Will this cover it?"
Skipper plucked a few bills from the pile and pushed the remainder back. "You're drunk. Call someone."
"I'm not drunk." She slid off the barstool and had to hold onto the brass railing until her feet pointed the right direction. "Thank you, for your time." She hiccupped, and then smiled. "You really weren't all that helpful. You act all crusty—which can't be good for business—"
"Hold your beans, girlie."
"But you have a very nice voice," she said, vaguely aware of the interruption.
He wagged his finger in her face. She tried not to laugh, but he looked so serious.
"That mouth of yours is gonna get you in trouble, you don't keep it good 'n tight. Best you forget anything you learnt about that legend. Now git."
17
The sun blinded her as she crossed the parking lot to her car. The effects of the alcohol chased her through the dusty lot and ran circles around her, making her dizzy. Calling someone seemed like a great idea. She was still thirsty. The day was young and she felt fantastic.
A vision of Selkie danced in front of her. Lean, long, hard. Her pulse picked up. That's what this pa
rty needed. A Selkie.
Even with his number on speed dial, it took several tries before she succeeded in placing the call.
"Hey there," he answered.
"You're so sexy."
He laughed. "There's a conversation starter. Where are you?"
"Anywhere you'd like me to be." She toyed with her hair. "Feel free to use your imagination."
"Mer, are you okay?"
"Fabulous." She sang the word. "I think you should take me to bed." So much for filters.
"Are you drunk?"
"Would you take advantage of me if I said yes?"
The line buzzed with what sounded like a sigh. "I can't take advantage of you if I don't know where you are."
She giggled. "Good point. I'm at the Bilge." The line went silent and she held it out in front of her face to hear it better. The seconds ticked on the call, so she put it back to her ear. "Hello?"
"What in the world are you doing there? No, not important. Is Skipper there?"
"Of course he is. Did you know he owns the place?"
"Good. Stay with him, he'll protect you until I get there."
"I don't need protecting. I'm in my car. Waiting. For you. You. You."
"Get out of the car. You're risking a DUI. Walk back to the bar while we talk."
"Which do you want me to do first? Get out of the car or walk in the bar? Hey that reminds me of a joke. A goldfish, a stingray, and a shark walk into a bar..."
"Get out of the car."
A burp built up in her throat and she covered her mouth. "I love it when you get all forceful."
"I'm not being forceful."
"You're so cute. No. You're too tough to be cute. You're gorgeous. But you already know that, right?"
"Are you out of the car yet?"
"Y-e-s..." She fumbled for the door handle and pulled herself off the seat. The horizon jumped, making her body feel like a ship in a storm. She took a heading on the door and launched herself. "If you hurry, I'll make it worth your while."
She tripped on the threshold, but righted herself.
"Are you inside?"
"Yup, Mr. Bossy-pants. Which for the record, I'd like to get into."
"Let me talk to Skipper."
"I already talked to him. He's not all that helpful."
"Just hand him your phone. Please?"
The floor rolled as she bumped toward Skipper. "Since you said 'Please.'"
She leaned one elbow on the bar and her body sagged next to it. "Hey Barkeep. Selkie wants to talk to you."
Skipper gave her a sideways squint, but took the phone. "Yeah." He held the phone to his ear for another thirty seconds, or maybe a couple of minutes. Mer lost count, but he eventually gave her back her cellphone. She set it on the bar. He slid it closer to her. "Put it in your pocket."
"When did everyone become so bossy?"
A stray beam of light squeezed through a dirty window and hit a bottle of vodka. Mer traced the refracted stripes on the bar and tried to recall the order of colors in a rainbow. The next thing she knew, Selkie stood at her side.
"Hey, I know you." Her words slurred. "When'd you get here?"
She rotated her wrist, but couldn't read the watch. Too much effort. She rested her head on the smooth wood and inhaled beer fumes from a generation of spills. She closed her eyes and kept one foot on the floor, hoping it would stop the spinning.
Skipper's gruff voice said, "She came in asking questions."
"You offer her the going rate?"
"Yup."
"Looks like she asked a lot of questions."
Selkie sounded amused, which didn't make any sense. She'd asked very serious questions.
Skipper again. "If I'd know'd she was yours, I would've cut her off about a fifth ago."
"Thanks for looking after her until I got here," Selkie said.
"Girlie needs a shorter leash."
Selkie laughed, deep and sexy. "That'd take more than the two of us."
"Not at the moment."
A hand grabbed her wrist and the next thing she knew her body was doubled over Selkie's shoulder and her face was bouncing against his back. "Nice view." She giggled.
Skipper's gruff voice followed them through the bar. "Careful now she don't puke. Least not in here."
* * *
Selkie drew the curtain with a flourish and sunshine poured into his bedroom.
Mer squinted, but too much light seeped under her lids and attacked her brain. "Is that necessary?"
"Probably not, but after babysitting you all night and rebuffing your amorous invitations, I have to admit, it's kind of satisfying."
Struggling to a seated position, she noticed her clothes weren't on her body the way she'd left them. "And my clothes just happened to come off?"
"No, that was during your striptease." A dreamy expression settled on his face. "I didn't stop that."
Mer flushed to the roots of her hair, which at the moment, hurt. "This is not the way to convince me to move in."
He sobered. "Skipper told me you were asking after Bart Kingston. He's bad news, Mer."
"Who?" The whole memory of the Bilge replayed out of focus.
"Never mind, we can talk about it later." He handed her a frothy drink that smelled like old socks. "Here, drink this."
"What is it?"
"Better you don't know."
The pulse in her temple struggled to break free of her skin. "Smells like revenge."
"I promise you'll feel better."
She brought it to her nose and her stomach lurched. "I'd rather wallow in my misery."
"Suit yourself." He opened another curtain.
She cringed. "I don't think I like you right now." Gripping the glass with trembling hands, she drank the potion in a series of gulps, afraid if she stopped, she'd never have the courage to take another swallow. It slid down her throat like mucus.
Selkie crossed the room, opened the bathroom door, turned on the light, and then stepped aside. He studied his watch.
Mer's stomach rumbled. "You poisoned me."
He continued to study his watch. "Nope. You did that to yourself."
Another ominous growl rose up from her belly. Her eyes widened. She threw back the sheets and sprinted a jagged path to the bathroom, slamming the door behind her. She barely made the toilet before she retched.
"Seventeen seconds. That may be a new record," he spoke through the door.
"Go away."
"I promised you'd feel better. There's a pitcher of coconut water on the counter. When you're finished doing—" He waited while she heaved again. "What you're doing. Drink that."
"My days of listening to you are over."
"I recommend drinking all of it," he said. "You're dehydrated. It'll help replenish your electrolytes."
"I need to borrow your gun."
"Trust me. The worst is over."
"Not for you, it isn't," she promised.
"Take your time. When you're ready. I'll have eggs for you. You need the amino acids."
"When did you become a doctor?"
He laughed. "I just have more experience with this than you do."
Mer swiped her hair off her face and twisted it into a loose knot at the base of her neck. The least he could have done after provoking this bit of porcelain worship was hold her hair.
The tile floor cooled her skin. She eyed the pitcher on the counter above her, not sure of her ability to reach it without triggering another round of veneration. Still, the throbbing in her temple had subsided some, and the light no longer seemed to stab into her brain like an urchin spine.
She grabbed the vanity and pulled herself upright. The earth continued on its axis with no discernible deviation. A crystal tumbler sat by the pitcher. He probably should have put out a plastic one. She poured a glass.
Light shone through the crystal and illuminated the pulp in the coconut water. The thought of drinking another Selkie concoction left her somewhat less than enthusiastic. She sniffed the brim and waited for
a stomach lurch that never came. Tentatively, she sipped the water, then refilled the glass, and drank that, too.
The heft of the tumbler felt heavier than the delicately etched glass should, and she was surprised her earlier tremors had disappeared. She still wasn't inclined to give Selkie props, but she did feel a bit better.
Better enough to figure out why the mere mention of Bart Kingston set everyone on edge.
18
The shower did wonders for her disposition. Brushing her teeth elevated her status to almost human. Her clothes still smelled of the Bilge, so she swiped one of Selkie's button-down shirts from the closet. Blue. Bijoux would be proud.
She wandered into the kitchen. Selkie had changed into cargo pants and a T-shirt. A black duffle sat by the door.
"I got a page while you were showering," he said. "I don't know how long I'll be gone. There's a key on the table. Stay as long as you want."
The sick feeling came back. She knew very few details of Selkie's job beyond that he was an instructor at the Naval Air Station in Key West. Those duty days were planned in advance. It was the random times his pager went off that worried her. Sometimes he left for days at a time. He always returned tired and quiet from those trips. Other times, he was gone for a matter of hours. He tended to come back from those trips amped, as if too much activity had been crammed into too little time, and the adrenaline hadn't had a chance to dissipate.
She pushed the key in a small circle on the table. "Why won't you tell me what agency you work for?"
"I work for the Navy."
"Yes, but what do you do for them?"
"Things I can't talk about." He hefted the duffle and the items inside shifted with a metallic clank. "You know that."
She looked him in the eyes. "You probably shouldn't have taken up with an inquisitive woman, then."
"Probably not, but I'm really glad I did."
She placed her hand over his heart. "Be careful."
"Always." He leaned over to kiss her. "You should wear blue more often. That shirt never looked so good on me."
"Hurry back," she said.
Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Page 11