Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery

by Micki Browning

  He emptied his lungs of smoke in a long exhale. "The entrance is around the corner."

  "I lost my invitation. They won't let me in."

  "And you all dressed up with no place to go."

  "I'm just a walking cliché." And not a very good one at that.

  The caterer ground the ash of his cigarette off against the wall. "Nice shoes, by the way."

  "Be happy you're not wearing them," she said. "You guys need help?"

  "How about I just let you in?"

  Mer's heel dragged across a small root and she threw her arms wide to catch herself. "You'd do that for me?"

  "Hate to see someone as beautiful as you, stranded on the outside looking in."

  Her conscience jabbed her. "You should know I never really had an invitation."

  "Makes it all the more fun, now don't it?" He winked and Mer noticed he wore eyeliner. Maybe a touch of rouge.

  "I won't get you in trouble?"

  "My break's about over." He dropped the cigarette stub into the breast pocket of his chef coat. "You want in or not?"

  A smile unfurled across her face. "Yes, please."

  He held the break room door for her. "Good luck."

  She smoothed the curl back into place. "How do I look?"

  "Like you belong. Now go before I change my mind."

  "Thank you." She stepped onto the linoleum of the break-room floor and her foot slid across the slick surface.

  The caterer caught her by the elbow and steadied her. "Honey, you're going to have to own this if you don't want to find yourself right back out the front door. Look, I perform in one of the burlesques in Key West, and if I can pull off being a woman, so can you. Now straighten up. Get your balance and for the love of Cher, smile."

  20

  The museum exhibit hall sparkled with jewels, with crystal, with thousands of white lights winking like stars high above the heads of the hundreds glammed up for the festivities. A string quartet played discreetly in the corner, providing music for the couples twirling on the dance floor. Stoic waiters passed among the guests with trays of canapés and flutes of champagne.

  Mer entered the exhibit room as if she owned the place—shoulders back, chin up, and smile firmly in place. She accepted a crystal flute from a passing server and her hips fell into a natural sway. Nothing could stand in her way.

  Except the exceptionally large lineman working security.

  "Good evening, again, Doctor," he said.

  "Good evening." She tried to peer past him, as if to get someone else's attention, but even with five-feet-nine-inches of natural height and four inches of heels, she still saw only the fabric of his substantial suit jacket. "Excuse me, I see my friend."

  "I still need your invitation."

  "She's with me." Detective Talbot stepped from behind the security guard.

  The man's whole demeanor changed. "Of course, sir." He left in the direction of the door.

  Mer watched the exchange. Or rather she gaped at Detective Josh Talbot. She'd seen him in slacks and dress shirt, and run into him when he'd worn shorts, but nothing prepared her for the figure he cut in a tuxedo. Elegant. Poised. Confident. No doubt about it. The man rocked a suit.

  "Dr. Cavallo, you look radiant." He took her free hand and steered her toward a corner away from the crowd.

  He stood close enough that she could see the flecks of mystery in his hazel eyes, their lightness so striking against his darker skin. Sea grass, she decided. All the colors of sea grass resided in those mesmerizing eyes.

  "I seem to have rendered you speechless," he said.

  "I could say the same about you. I mean, handsome. You look handsome." She mentally slapped her forehead.

  He swept his arm to encompass the exhibit room. "All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players." A mischievous spark lit his words. "And what part are you playing tonight? I didn't notice your name on the guest list—I would have remembered that. So, are you someone's plus one?" He arched an eyebrow. "No, I think not, or I wouldn't have found you engaged in a conversation with a member of the security team. That leaves party crasher."

  Mer studied her toes. Bijoux had painted the nails a deep crimson. Each time she caught sight of one of the violently colored piggies, she thought she was bleeding. A distinct possibility, considering the shoes.

  "Why are you here?" he prodded.

  Stalling, she sipped her champagne. The alcohol soured in her stomach, an unwelcome reminder of her recent visit to the Bilge. She decided to come clean. "I think I might have discovered what's so important about that coin, why someone would destroy my place to recover it. I thought if I cornered Winslet Chase, I could make him answer some questions."

  Talbot tilted his head back and laughed. "Make him? Unless you overpower him with your beauty, I don't think you'll be able to make him do anything."

  The laugh pricked her pride. "A compliment and an insult both delivered in the same sentence. I see you haven't lost your charm, Detective."

  He sobered immediately. "This isn't a game."

  "And yet ever since I pulled a smuggled coin out of the sea, I seem to be the pawn in a game of chess with rules that everybody understands except me."

  "Crooks don't follow the rules."

  "Who do you think broke into my house?"

  He hesitated. "With no forensic evidence, we may never know."

  "But..."

  "But..." he drew out the word. "I'm not a huge fan of coincidence and on the heels of finding a gold coin stashed with drugs, I'm fairly certain the incidents are connected."

  "So, I'm in the crosshairs of a smuggler."

  "Which is why you need to let us do our job."

  Her cheeks burned. "Whoever did this is a thug. How smart can he be?"

  "Don't confuse smart with cunning. They are two entirely different traits. One is a level of intelligence. The other is the ability to read human nature and twists things to one's advantage. You are smart. You are not cunning. You don't have that mean streak."

  "I don't know how to take that."

  "It's a beautiful night." He took the glass from her hand and set it down on a cloth-covered high table. "May I have this dance?" He held his hand out, palm up. "I'll do my best not to step on your toes."

  "Literally or metaphorically?"

  "I'll leave that to you to decide."

  "Unless they're playing the Hokey Pokey, I don't think you want me out there."

  "Would you rather I arrest you for trespassing?"

  She placed her hand in his. "What delightful incentive you offer, Detective. Isn't that called bribery?"

  "Bribery works the other way. This is coercion. An almost certain abuse of my power as an officer of the law."

  He led her to the dance floor. The music changed. Slower. Languid. He placed his right hand in the small of her naked back and held out his other hand in invitation. "Relax. This is a waltz, not a cha-cha."

  A waltz, she told herself. Nothing more. She rested her free hand on his shoulder, and the sparkling clutch dangled from her wrist.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  "As if I had a choice."

  "That's the spirit!" He swept her onto the dance floor. Pressure from his hand directed her body and she found herself in step with his movements. The tempo cued her speed.

  "Can you even arrest me when you aren't on duty?"

  "What makes you think I'm not working?"

  "I hardly imagine the county pays its detectives to waltz."

  He pulled her closer and his thighs touched hers. "Maybe I'm undercover. What better way to blend in?"

  She tried to ignore the contact. "So you're using me."

  "Seems to me you should be thanking me. I'm fairly confident my officer was going to escort you to the door."

  Touché. Dammit. They one-two-three-stepped around the dance floor. "Why'd he listen to you?" She said above the strains of the music.

  He shook his head as if coming out of a daze. "You lost me."

>   "Guido. The officer. He couldn't leave us fast enough."

  Confident, controlled, elegant Detective Talbot returned. "Because I wrote the operational plan for this shindig. And I outrank him."

  "Oh."

  "But if it makes you feel better, I could have arrested you even if I weren't on duty." The lines around his eyes deepened as he smiled. "One of the perks of the job."

  * * *

  The music quickened to an ankle-twisting tempo and Detective Talbot swung her to the edge of the dance floor. "Dare I ask?"

  Mer peered past his shoulder. "I don't think Guido's going to let you."

  The large deputy strode toward them like a linebacker in search of a quarterback. "We've got a problem."

  Talbot released Mer's hand. "Don't go anywhere."

  She donned her best Little Bo Peep expression. "And miss all the fun?"

  The detective squinted an unspoken warning, and then excused himself.

  As soon as his back was turned, Mer scanned the crowd, but she didn't recognize a single person. Certainly not Winslet Chase.

  She hobbled her way through the throng and entered the Lignum Vitae room. It had been filled with historical art depicting the horror of the two hurricanes that had devastated the Spanish fleets. Curious, she wandered through the gallery room. The most recent painting had been added to the collection last year to commemorate the three-hundredth anniversary of the 1715 hurricane. Others dated back to the eighteenth century.

  One painting in particular stood out. Painted a mere four years after the event, the artist had captured the angry skies and lashing winds that tormented a galleon. Massive waves buffeted a second ship rendered in ghostly outline in the background. Historians attributed the painting to Berdugo, which might mean something to an art historian, but meant nothing to her. She was more interested in the identities of the two ships: El Infante and the San José. She was even more interested in finding the elusive Mr. Chase—and he wasn't here.

  She crossed under a large arch and entered another gallery, this one designated for the silent auction. Tables laden with objets d'art lined one wall, while easels supporting Wyland and Guy Harvey paintings lined the opposite one. She absently perused the displays, paying more attention to the changing sea of faces that swirled around her than the high-priced pieces. Near the end of the row, a bronze mermaid captured her attention and she paused. Hair floated in a delicate mass around the mermaid's naked torso, her hand raised in greeting. No. The melancholy expression suggested a moment of farewell. Regret. It was compelling, and Mer wished she had the disposable income to purchase it. She brushed her hand along the base of the statue. Unlike the other auction figurines, this one lacked a bid sheet.

  "Art should create a yearning, no?" The words came from a man in a wheelchair behind her. A tribal tattoo emerged from his sun-streaked hairline on the left side of his face, then disappeared under the collar of his impeccably tailored tuxedo. He studied her over the rim of his snifter. Sipped his drink. Smiled.

  In a room full of exquisite items, he was possibly the most breathtaking of them all.

  "It is the same with a beautiful woman." His wheelchair inched forward and he rested his foot against her calf.

  She half-stepped to the side.

  "Art must make your heart race, consume your thoughts, until all you can think about is how you are going to possess it," he finished smoothly.

  Ew. She wished he hadn't spoken. "Isn't it enough to admire it?"

  He laughed. "How parochial you are."

  Mer had been called many things in her life, but parochial wasn't one of them. His assessment left her piqued. "Let me guess. You must be the artist."

  "No." He held out his glove-clad hand. "I'm Winslet Chase."

  Mer gulped. The thumbnail promotional photo she'd seen that depicted him on the bow of a boat had failed to prepare her for meeting the treasure hunter in person. She shook his hand. "I'm sorry I didn't recognize you."

  "It's the chair."

  "Excuse me?"

  "People expect explorers to be taller," he said. "With fewer wheels."

  "Water's buoyancy is more forgiving than earth's gravity."

  "Exactly. Too many people allow their perceptions to limit their abilities."

  Perhaps she had misjudged him. "I'm looking forward to your presentation this evening. I wonder if I might ask you a couple of questions?"

  "Of course."

  "Your success rate for locating shipwrecks is phenomenal. What do you do differently?"

  "Romantics search for Atlantis. I hunt ships that have documented provenance. A historical record of their existence. I know they actually exist before I start looking for them."

  "Interesting stance, considering your keynote."

  "Not if you know where to look. Shipwrecks are found above ground. Then it is merely a matter of retrieving them."

  She relaxed and an ironic smile twisted her lips. "Simple."

  "Simple, yet rarely easy," he agreed. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Dr. Cavallo. You are as charming as I was led to believe."

  Mer's scalp prickled. "You seem to have me at a disadvantage."

  "I was told you'd be here tonight. I said that's impossible. Your name was not on the list. But my friend was adamant." He swept his upturned palm in a dramatic arc in front of him. "And here you are."

  His scrutiny unnerved her. "Who told you I'd be attending?"

  The lights flickered and conversations in the room hushed. From the doorway, a waiter announced that dinner would be served in the Seminole banquet room in ten minutes. Chatter resumed and the crowd surged around Mer and Winslet as couples headed for the dining room. A blink later and the gallery had emptied except for a few lingering art aficionados.

  "Shall we?" he asked Mer. "I'd be delighted if you'd dine with me."

  "I believe you were going to tell me who said I'd be present tonight."

  He sighed. "Suffice it to say we have a mutual acquaintance, Dr. Cavallo." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his lapel. "And apparently, a mutual interest."

  "I don't think we do."

  His gaze hardened. "Don't play coy, Meredith. It's beneath you."

  "This conversation is over."

  He blocked her path with his chair. "It's over when I say it is."

  Her legs trembled under the heavy dress. Wheelchair or not, the man frightened her. Unless she ripped off her stilettos, she wasn't capable of outrunning him—and even then her damaged feet might not be up for the challenge. She scanned the room, hoping to see Talbot. Hell, she'd settle for Guido. Neither deputy was among the stragglers drifting off toward the dining room.

  "How much truth do you ascribe to the Legend of the Thirteenth Galleon?" he asked.

  She swallowed a gasp. Her goal for the evening had been to meet and speak with Winslet Chase. Ask him that very question. In her mind, it had been a very different encounter. "How—?"

  "Do you think the legend is grounded in truth?" he pressed.

  He obviously thought she knew more about the legend than she did. No sense dispelling the illusion. "By definition, legends are unauthenticated. Otherwise they'd be history."

  "That's a dodge."

  "What do you care?" Heat pulsed through her body, but she preferred that to the cold fear it replaced. "Legends don't interest you, remember?"

  "What if I told you that there's proof of its existence in this very museum?"

  "I'd say if that were true, the ship would have been found a long time ago."

  "And I would have agreed with you, if it weren't for the recent discovery of the ship's manifest. I believe that particular treasure is residing in an evidence locker in the Monroe County Sheriff's Office."

  The room tilted. Mer put her hand on the table to steady herself. "You can't possibly suggest that someone stuffed the long-lost manifest of a legendary treasure ship into a bale of drugs and tossed it into the sea?" But she knew that was exactly what happened. The brittle paper. The multiple Dons. They we
ren't names. They were Spanish titles.

  "Who am I to say?" he answered.

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's your role in all this?"

  "I'm a treasure hunter. The obvious answer is I seek treasure."

  "Indulge me. What am I missing?"

  "The ocean is a dangerous place, Dr. Cavallo. But you know that."

  "Are you threatening me?"

  "Don't be ridiculous. I would never do something so cavalier. We're just getting to know each other. I wouldn't expect you to enter into a business relationship with someone whom you know nothing about."

  "I'm a scientist and I teach scuba. I don't need a business partner for either endeavor."

  "Piffle. What you want doesn't really enter into the equation." He placed his empty glass next to the mermaid statue. "She reminds me of you. That wistful look, wanting something beyond her reach." He grasped the hand rims of his wheelchair. "Now if you'll excuse me, I believe there is a white-wine-poached lionfish waiting for me in the dining room. Are you sure you won't join me?"

  "Positive."

  He smiled and it dazzled with danger. "I said I'd share something about myself. I'm the kind of person who doesn't let obstacles prevent me from getting what I want." He wheeled several feet, before he spun. "Oh, dear. I almost forgot. Some chap named Oscar accosted me in the parking lot. He asked me to tell you that he needed to talk to you. He'll be waiting by your car."

  21

  Mer limped toward the museum entrance. Most of the gala attendees were dining in the banquet hall. In another forty-five minutes, Winslet Chase would address the audience.

  The kewpie doll gatekeeper had abandoned her post and a female deputy manned the front door. It had been such an ordeal to get in, Mer was hesitant to step out. Did A-list soirees require a hand stamp for reentry? She had no experience to draw on.

  But Oscar waited and damn if she didn't have a slew of questions to ask him.

  The deputy smiled as Mer approached. "Leaving us so soon?"

  Mer shook her head. "I'm finding the company a bit stuffy. Just popping out for a breath of fresh air."