"It's a beautiful evening," the deputy said, diplomatically. She held the door for Mer. "Be careful."
Music followed Mer into the night. The warm ocean breeze wrapped around her bare shoulders. Tiki torches illuminated the pathway but did nothing to obscure the star-filled sky. Paradise.
She lifted the hem of her dress so it didn't drag across the gravel as she picked her way around the museum to where she'd abandoned her car. Each step tortured her already pained feet.
How long had Oscar been waiting, and how did he know she'd be inside? She slowed. Bijoux was the sole person who knew Mer's whereabouts. Had she told Oscar? But who had told Winslet Chase? He said he'd been "accosted." That certainly didn't give the impression he knew Oscar. She considered the possibilities. Talbot hadn't known she'd be there until he had saved her from being unceremoniously ejected. Selkie had been activated for duty earlier that morning and didn't know of her plans.
So how had Winslet Chase known she'd be at the gala?
A dark shape leaned against her car. A man, clutching his ribs and taking short, shallow breaths.
"Oscar." Gathering her dress in both hands, she hurried to his side. "You're hurt."
Pain darkened his brown eyes. "I'm sorry, Meredith."
"Sorry?" She fumbled with her purse. Grabbed her cellphone. "You need medics."
Oscar put a mangled hand over hers and stopped her from dialing. "No. You must not. Please. Listen."
"You need—"
Oscar yanked the phone from her grasp and slid it across the roof of the Subaru. "He will kill me." He collapsed against the car again and cradled his broken hand. "And you, as well."
A chill that had nothing to do with the breeze trickled down her spine. She dared not breathe. Didn't move or blink. But her mind whirled. She tried to slow it down, to make sense of the chaos. Without moving her head, she swept her eyes across the landscape, tried to locate the threat that darkness and night noise hid.
She lowered her voice. "Can you walk? We need to get inside."
"We cannot. He watches."
"Who does? I don't understand."
Oscar winced. "Bart." He half-turned and lifted his chin toward the hardwood hammock that lined the edge of the property. A figure emerged from the shadows. His arm hung by his side, but he held something that glinted in the moonlight.
"He has a gun," Oscar said. "You must listen to me."
Mer grabbed his arm. "No, you listen to me. There are deputies inside. Undercover officers. All we have to do is get to the other side of the car. Yell. They'll come running."
"The music. They will not hear us."
She opened her purse and rummaged for her car key. "We've got to get out of here!"
"Stop!" He crumpled to the ground, dragging her with him.
Both driver-side tires had been slashed. She kicked away from him, her heels skidding across the gravel.
He held up his good hand, as if trying to calm a spooked animal. "They will not hurt you if you do as I say. The coin." His voice sounded dull. Defeated. "You must get it."
It didn't make sense. "The coin?"
"They think it is the key to the Thirteenth Galleon."
She rolled onto her knees and heard the dress tear. "Why do they think that?"
"I told them so. To protect you."
She forced herself to remain still while every instinct screamed at her to get as far away as possible. Common sense told her she'd get three feet and either trip or get shot. Could she trust Oscar? He'd just dragged her to the ground—but he was trying to help her. Or so he said. Mer stared up at the stars. Oscar was not the gentle academic she had imagined. "Oscar. What the hell is the Thirteenth Galleon?"
"A bribe. To King Philip. Sent by a group of churchmen to convince him to—" he struggled to find the right word. "Change for the better the Alhambra Decree. But that is not important. The ship! It is real."
Real. Nothing about this evening felt real—except the fear roiling in her gut.
"In the archives. I found an old ship record book." His words gathered speed. "It is buried with papers of no consequence. The binding, it is old. Cracked. Under the leather, hidden, are three things—a note, a list of names, and a coin. The galleon is real."
"If the coin isn't the key, what is?"
"You."
She gasped. "Me? You found it!"
"I found proof of the Thirteenth Galleon, but you, you have the clue."
"I don't have anything."
A sharp whistle sliced through the music.
Oscar whispered. "There is no more time. Please." Tears filled his eyes. "You must find it."
She leaned against the side of the car. "I don't know how to find a sunken ship."
"You know someone who does."
Winslet Chase. Her new business partner. The thought filled her with more fear than Bart in the bushes.
Oscar reached for the window jamb and struggled to stand. "This is my fault," he said. "I am very sorry I brought this trouble to you. Look for the clue. You will see it when you return. Now, you must walk me back."
She almost laughed, but her mouth was too dry. "Back to Bart Kingston? Not a chance in hell."
"Do what he says. He will not hurt you."
"Right. Because a smuggler always keeps his word."
"He will not hurt the key." He offered Mer his hand.
She refused. "But he may want to keep it."
Two more short whistles rent the night.
Oscar grabbed her by the arm and roughly pulled her upright. "We must hurry. The patrol will return in two minutes."
"I'm not going anywhere." She wrenched free of his grip. "Not with you. Not to Bart."
His whole body trembled. "Please forgive me."
Cold metal pressed into her naked side.
"You must walk with me," he said.
Tears formed but she blinked them away before they could spill. "Who are you?"
"I am who I said." He prodded her toward the darkness. "I am Oscar Vigil. I am an archivist. Now, you must trust me."
Fight or flight. The gun in her side took away the choice. Her heart raced. With any luck, she'd pass out before she got to the mangrove. Then what would they do?
A ghost materialized from the shadows. Thin. Wiry. Wearing a ball cap. She'd seen this guy before. But where? Her heel scraped against a sprinkler head and she stutter-stepped forward. Close enough to recognize the Met's logo on the cap. The guy from the grocery store.
"You're Bart Kingston?"
"Safety tip. You shouldn't keep your wallet in an outside pocket."
"How do you know...?" Dots connected in her head. She whirled on Oscar. "You've been in this since the beginning."
Rage clouded her judgment. She widened her stance and cocked her arm.
Bart laughed. "Don't be too hard on him. He didn't have much choice."
Oscar lowered his hands. The pipe he'd held against her side dropped to the ground with a dull thud. He closed his eyes and waited for the blow.
No gun. The implication registered before her mind even processed the sight. Bart. The threat was Bart.
She twisted, throwing all her weight into the punch. Bart's nose crunched under her fist.
Then all the stars in the sky rained down behind her eyes in a burst of pain.
Mer struggled to her hands and knees. Swayed. Spit grass from her mouth, unsure how it got there.
"Stupid woman." Bart rubbed his knuckles against the thigh of his jeans. He towered over her and drew his leg back.
Oscar grabbed his arm. "No. The patrol. There is no time."
Bart backhanded Oscar with the butt of the gun and sent him reeling against a coco-plum tree. "Don't touch me again."
He leveled the gun at Mer. "Get the coin." His foot shot out.
The blow drove the breath from her body. She clutched her belly and retched.
"Get the coin, or your friend's a dead man."
22
Mer held an icepack against her right eye as
she sat on the bumper of the ambulance. Red and blue light danced against the museum walls and made the crystals of her dress shimmer purple. She shut her good eye. "I need a ride home."
"I still think you should go to the hospital. Let them check you out," Talbot said.
It had been nearly two hours since the attack. Two fun-filled hours recounting the betrayal of a friend, the attack of a madman, and what? A business proposition to go into treasure hunting?
She lifted the icepack off her swollen eye. "Are we through?"
He sighed. "Give me a minute. I'll drive you home." He hailed the female detective. "Get with the curator. I'm going to need the surveillance video."
Guido lumbered over to the ambulance. "The K-9 tracked Kingston and Vigil to the road. Found some overlapping tire tracks. CSI's snapping photos, but no way to tell if they're the right ones."
"Bart Kingston drives a black Ford pickup truck," Mer said. The memory of headlights drilling into her mirror from the Thanksgiving pursuit filled her mind. "Lifted."
Guido flipped through his notebook. "That jives with motor vehicle records. Patrol's en route to the address on file. It's in Marathon."
Talbot nodded. "Good."
"Oscar was in an old Corolla. White. Pretty beat up," Mer said.
Talbot addressed Guido. "Wasn't there a Corolla stolen in Stock Island about a week ago? Maybe we'll get lucky with a plate."
"On it." The deputy retreated.
"What about Winslet Chase?" Mer asked.
Talbot answered, "He's being interviewed now."
"He's in this up to his neck." Fatigue overwhelmed her. "There's no way Oscar would approach him." Unless they were all in this together.
Deputy Cole materialized from the shadows, and before she could stop herself, she spat out, "What's he doing here?"
Talbot glanced up. "He's been here all evening. Part of the perimeter team."
Cole walked over to Talbot. "I finished interviewing Chase. He said some guy approached him in the parking lot and asked him to pass a message to this one," he said, pointing at Mer. "Chase thought he was a gardener or something and didn't think anything more of it until he was speaking to the Doc here and realized she was the one the guy was talking about."
"Where's Chase now?" Talbot asked.
"Probably on his way home. He gave a description of the guy, but didn't know anything else. I let him go."
"Of course you did." Mer rolled her good eye and her swollen one valiantly tried to follow. "Did it occur to you to ask him about the Thirteenth Galleon?"
Cole turned his back on her and continued to talk to Talbot. "Chase said he was bidding on silent auction items when Dr. Cavallo came up to him. Started hitting on him."
"Bullshit," Mer said. "He approached me."
Cole ignored her outburst. "He wasn't interested, but she wouldn't take no for an answer. That's when he remembered the gardener, made the connection, and sent her outside."
Mer spoke over Cole's shoulder to Talbot. "I'll wait for you over there." She gathered Bijoux's shoes in her hand and walked barefoot across the grass and waited at the edge of the parking lot. The last thing she wanted to do was listen to Deputy Cole and Detective Talbot discuss her fictional flirting.
Her thoughts ran to Oscar. At the church he had looked bewildered. Lost. She stitched together his words, trying to weave them into a semblance of truth. America was the land of opportunity, of adventure. It would take finding the Thirteenth Galleon to redeem himself in his father's eyes. At the time, she thought it was hyperbole, but Oscar's only reason for being in the Keys was to find the galleon. After realizing the coin was gone, his sole purpose in asking Bijoux for a job was to get close to the woman who had found the bale. Her.
She'd been so grateful when Oscar returned her wallet, not realizing that he'd been in league with Bart Kingston to steal it in the first place. When Bart had discovered the coin wasn't inside, they must have quickly devised a Plan B—and Mer had voluntarily told Oscar where she lived. Invited him to dinner. He knew she was working the sunrise charter. Hell, she did everything but help the two of them ransack her apartment.
The icepack's chill had leached into her skin and settled in her heart. Oscar had betrayed her. It was stupid, but she'd trusted him. He was an academic—and in her world, that meant something. He'd capitalized on her idiocy, and his actions tonight had drawn her further into danger.
The crunch of gravel announced Talbot's arrival in his dark colored Impala. Mer opened the door, but he dashed to her side and helped her into the passenger seat. She leaned her head against the window, reveling in the coolness.
The car dipped as he took his seat. "Are you certain I can't take you to the hospital. What if you have a cracked rib? A concussion?"
"Nothing the doctors can do about either one." And she didn't want to think about what a hospital bill would cost. The repair bill for a torn and grass-stained designer dress was worrisome enough.
He placed the car in gear and eased down the museum driveway.
Twenty-odd miles and she'd be home. Twenty miles to screw up her courage and tell him what she'd held back earlier. What she hadn't wanted to disclose in front of other people. But she had to tell him. A life was at stake. Maybe even her own.
Mer broke the silence. "There's more." She studied her reflection in the passenger window. The woman who stared back was nearly unrecognizable. She had a choice. Continue hurtling herself headfirst in a game where there were no rules, or trust Talbot and come clean with what she'd learned tonight.
"More what?" He turned north on Overseas Highway.
"More than what I told the other deputy earlier." She held the tattered edge of her dress together and wished she could gather her frayed thoughts as easily. "I need the coin back."
He laughed. "And you expect me to hand it over to you just because you asked for it?"
"No." Her fingers brushed the hollow of her throat before she remembered she wasn't wearing her seahorse pendant. "I hope you'll hand it over to save a life. Bart told me to get him the coin."
"And if you didn't?"
"He'd kill Oscar."
Talbot straightened. "Did he tell you how to contact him when you got it?"
Mer shook her head and then realized he couldn't see her in the dark interior. "No. Maybe he doesn't really expect me to be able to get it."
"Yes, he does."
"I think we can both agree that my covert infiltration skills need work. Even Bart should realize that breaking into the sheriff's evidence locker is beyond my ability."
"It's not in the locker."
"The safe, vault, whatever you put it. That's not the point."
"It is the point," Talbot said. "The coin in the property room is fake."
"Why would there be a fake coin in a bundle of drugs?"
"Oh, I suspect that coin was real enough."
"I'm confused." Fatigue robbed her of her ability to follow the conversation. "Are you saying that the coin I gave you wasn't the coin Cole booked into evidence?"
"That's the million dollar question."
"You can't be serious." She shifted in the seat, ignoring the pain the movement provoked in her side. "Isn't there a system or procedures or something? How could this happen?"
"Cole said he booked the gold coin. The property tech confirmed that he received a gold coin. After you informed me of the value, I arranged to have an expert evaluate it. He laughed when he saw it, said he could go into any souvenir shop in the Keys that sold pirate toys and buy the same doubloon."
"It wasn't a doubloon. I gave you a gold, 1733, eight escudos, milled portrait dollar."
"And I gave the coin you handed me to Deputy Cole."
"So Cole switched it?"
"He swears he booked the coin I gave him."
"Which means he thinks I gave you a fake."
"Bingo."
"But you know I didn't." Her voice climbed with outrage.
"I believe you didn't, but I never examined the coin
before I gave it to him."
"So you have doubts." A heavy feeling pressed against her chest. She'd thought they had moved beyond that. It made telling him the rest more complicated.
"What I know is that the coin in evidence is fake. Either Cole booked a phony coin or someone gained access to the evidence locker and swapped it out. So the real question is did Cole know the coin he booked was fake? He says no."
"Why would I give him a fake coin? The coin was lost. I didn't have to admit I'd found it again."
"Plausible deniability."
She blew the stray curl off her face. "Now you sound like Cole."
"It's his theory. On the surface, it appears that you turned in the coin. In reality, you're a whole lot richer and your business partners are none the wiser."
Business partners. The phrase echoed in her head in Winslet Chase's voice. "If that's the case, how does Bart know the coin was swapped?"
"Good question."
"Here's an even better one. Where's the real coin?"
"Tonight's antics indicate that Bart thinks you have it," Talbot said. "Or at the very least you know how to get it."
Her mind circled back to another question. "Who is Bart Kingston?"
"A mid-level smuggler. His mother lives in Marathon, though I doubt he's stupid enough to be there when the deputies arrive."
A hollow feeling started in her stomach. "What kind of smuggler?"
"He's not discriminating. Anything that will turn a profit. Drugs, people, you name it."
The hollow feeling spread and threatened to swallow her. "Mid-level?"
"Smuggling is a hierarchy," Talbot said. "Bart's in the middle and that makes him more dangerous. He has to keep those below him in line and impress the higher-ups."
"He's got a plan to impress the boss, all right," she said. "He's bucking to deliver the treasure of the Thirteenth Galleon."
"You missed the keynote, but according to Winslet Chase, there's no such thing."
Her doubt vanished. "There is, and I have the proof."
23
"I have a theory. Actually, it's more of a hypothesis," Mer said.
The Overseas Highway forked in Tavernier and a wall of densely woven foliage rose up on either side of the road as they continued to drive toward Mer's home.
Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery Page 14