Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery

by Micki Browning

  "I'm not a scientist," Talbot replied. "How about we stick to the standard English definition?"

  She fiddled with the heel of one of the shoes in her lap. "This could take a while, and you'll probably want to take notes."

  "We're a bit overdressed for Denny's," he said. "Although, they serve breakfast twenty-four seven."

  The thought of food turned her stomach. "If you don't mind, I'd rather talk at my place."

  "At least give me a tidbit to tide me over."

  "What I'm about to do may break the law, and I'm debating whether or not to tell you."

  "Wow." He rubbed the back of his neck. "You know I have to act upon what you tell me."

  "Hence my reluctance."

  The car hit a bump in the road. Pain stabbed her side and she drew a sharp breath between her teeth.

  He slowed. "Sorry."

  "For what? You didn't hit me."

  His knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. "About that. What the hell were you thinking? Punching a guy packing a gun. He could have killed you."

  The outburst surprised her. "There wasn't a whole lot of thinking going on."

  "That's painfully obvious. One kickboxing class doesn't make you Wonder Woman." He glanced at her, but the interior of the car was dark and she couldn't read his expression. "Gabby told me she'd run into you at the gym," he added.

  "So I gather." The last thing she needed was a lecture. Suddenly, the thought of sharing the same space with a person who doubted her integrity was too much. She needed distance from Talbot. From thoughts of the coin. From everything about this messed up night.

  The Overseas Highway had few traffic lights, but the one that controlled the intersection at Atlantic Boulevard flashed yellow and then red, despite the absence of cross traffic. Talbot stopped at the crosswalk and Mer pushed her shoulder against the door and practically fell from the car before she could maneuver her sore feet under her.

  "Thanks for the ride." She slammed the door, the movement spurring a new round of pain. She'd contemplate the childishness of her behavior later— when she could see out of both eyes, draw a deep breath, and walk without a Quasimodo shuffle.

  Mer ignored the red light and hobbled across the intersection. Talbot activated his emergency lights and followed her, matching her tortured pace.

  He rolled down the window. "Get in the car."

  Every muscle in her body ached, both from squaring off on a punching bag and being used as one. Nothing sounded better than climbing back into the car and letting him drive her the last mile to her home. "Go away, Detective."

  "I can arrest you for jaywalking."

  Mer kept walking. "Don't forget perjury, obstructing an investigation, and misappropriation of found property. Cole will be thrilled."

  "You have to be under oath to perjure yourself."

  She stopped so he could appreciate the full effect of her glare.

  "I don't have time for this." He raised his voice to be heard above the engine. "Please just get in the car. Look, I'm sorry."

  The stilettos bumped her thigh as they dangled from her hand. "For what?"

  He goosed the accelerator and angled the car across the sidewalk, stopping within inches of her and blocking her path. "The remark about kickboxing. That was out of line and I'm sorry. I'm off my game. I got a call earlier. Cops busted up a party. My...Gabby was arrested." He pinched the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache. "'Tis a happy thing to be the father unto many sons."

  Mer wasn't ready to make nice. "Maybe so, Shakespeare, but you've got a daughter." She leaned through the open window. "Apparently one you can't control."

  He grabbed the steering wheel with both hands and stared straight ahead.

  Her head throbbed with shame and she ran her hand over her swollen eye. "That was uncalled for. I'm sorry. She's not my daughter."

  He wore the expression of a child who had lost his dog and his world had ground to a wretched end. "She's not mine, either."

  Surely he didn't mean his words literally? But the rigid set of his shoulders convinced her he had. What little energy Mer's body held in reserve fled, taking all of her anger with it.

  The door handle weighed a ton. She opened the door and sank into the passenger seat. In the dark, she laid her hand on his forearm.

  He shook off her touch and jammed the car into drive. They rode the rest of the way in silence.

  * * *

  The detective's Impala bounced across the driveway gutter.

  "Sorry." Talbot veered to the left side of the dual driveway and parked.

  It was the first word he'd spoken since the bombshell about his daughter.

  "Lots of sorries tonight," Mer said. "I'm sorry, too."

  He ran his hand over his shorn hair. His loosened bow tie and rumpled tux erased years from his appearance, and he looked like a morning-after prom date. At least that's how she imagined a prom date would look after spending a night on the beach, waiting for the sun to rise. She hadn't gone to her prom, so it was supposition.

  He cracked open his door, but didn't get out. "I should explain."

  "It's none of my business."

  "She's my daughter." He drew a breath. "I'm just not her father."

  A handful of inches separated them, yet he seemed to be a world away.

  "I don't understand," she said softly.

  "It was my senior year. Gabby's mom and I, we were a fling. Nothing serious, you know? And then..."

  "It got serious."

  "She was pregnant. I wanted to do the right thing. Bought a ring." He glanced at Mer. "Hasty marriage seldom proveth well. So I guess it's a good thing she refused."

  He worried his bowtie and it came off in his hand. He folded the material into a neat square.

  "When Gabriella was born, everything changed. She was my daughter." A ghost of a smile warmed his face and then faded. "The first time I held her I fell in love."

  "She's a wonderful young woman. You've done well."

  "Gabby's a terror on the soccer field." Pride entered his voice. "She's going to Nationals this year with her school." He crumpled the cloth in his hand. "Did you know that hospitals put those plastic identification bracelets on babies, too? They do," he answered for her. "Name, birthday, blood type. Turns out Gabby has type A blood. Funny, since her mom and I are both O positive."

  Mer grasped the implication immediately. Two parents with type O blood could only have a child with the same blood type. Anything else was a genetic impossibility.

  He shook out the material and started to refold it. "I decided then it didn't matter. My dad...well, let's just say I didn't want to be like him." He laughed, but it held no mirth. "Tonight Gabby got picked up at a party. Not the end of the world. She wasn't hurt and the deputy notified me right away. But it's kind of hard to pick up your kid when you're on a special detail, so I called her mother." He paused as if trying to pick the right words. "She went off. Blamed me for not intervening. Asked me what kind of dad I was. I snapped. And for the first time in fifteen years, I flung it in her face."

  "Does Gabriella know?" Mer whispered.

  "God, I hope not." He kicked the door open the rest of the way. "You see, Dr. Cavallo, I do trust you." For a moment it looked as if he wanted to say more. "Let me make sure you get inside okay."

  Ever the gentleman. Even in distress. "This isn't a date," she said gently.

  Some of the tension left his shoulders. "I can assure you, if this were a date, you would have had a better time tonight."

  "You set the bar pretty low."

  He managed a tired smile. "Let's get you inside." He came around to her side of the car and offered her his hand. "For the record, I don't think you swapped the coin."

  She placed her hand in his and allowed him to draw her upward. "Thank you. That means more to me than you know."

  Together they hobbled toward the door. Mer unfastened the jeweled clasp on the evening purse. At least something had remained unscathed. Her key hid under the wadded
piece of paper Oscar had left tucked into the driver's window of her Subaru. "Do you need to take care of things at home? Because I have a story to share with you, if you have the time." She gripped the key.

  "Emotions are too high tonight. Gabby's safe. That's all that matters."

  The porch light next door clicked on and Selkie rounded the corner. "Mer?"

  Her mood lightened. She hadn't expected to see him tonight, especially when his car wasn't in the driveway. He must have parked in the garage.

  In a flash, he was at her side. And just as quickly, he processed her disheveled appearance, swollen face, and torn dress. Without a word, he turned to Talbot. His eyes glanced at the detective's open collar but settled on his hand at Mer's elbow.

  "Am I interrupting?" his voice held a frostiness foreign to the Keys.

  "Not at all," Talbot said. "I was just seeing Dr. Cavallo home from the gala."

  "A gala doesn't explain her injuries."

  She stood between the men and glared at Selkie. "I'm fine. Thanks for asking."

  Selkie spoke around her. "I assume there was security. Who was the incompetent running the operation?" he demanded.

  "Me," Talbot replied. "May I?" He took the key from Mer's hand and opened the door.

  "Congratulations. A stellar job."

  Talbot faced Selkie. The absolute stillness in his stance belied the tension that fairly crackled between the two men.

  It was the final straw. Oscar kidnapped. A black eye, hurt ribs. Two slashed tires. One dress worth more than her college education, torn. And now she had Talbot and Selkie acting like tomcats scrapping over a piece of fish.

  "Enough!"

  Both men looked at her.

  "I'm going to change clothes. Then I'm going to sit in the backyard and talk about treasure. If you don't want to be there, fine. If you do, try not to kill each other before I come outside."

  She shuffled into her apartment and slammed the door.

  Men.

  She unfolded the paper from her purse and reread the copy of the manifest she'd transcribed the night before Thanksgiving. The name was there.

  Berdugo. Mateo Eques de Soto y Berdugo.

  * * *

  When she reemerged, she wore sweats and a T-shirt and carried a half-full bottle of wine, two salvaged coffee mugs, and a water bottle for herself. The Adirondack chairs had been pulled into a circle.

  Mer handed the wine bottle and mugs to Selkie. He poured a mug and then offered the bottle to the detective.

  Talbot waved it away. "I'm still on duty." He locked eyes with Mer in warning as he took out his cellphone and selected a recorder app.

  Settling into her chair, she drew a deep breath and winced. "I don't have proof for everything, but I've been piecing together this puzzle and I think it started in Cuba. With Oscar." Her hands trembled as she raised the water bottle and took a small sip while she gathered her thoughts. "He told me tonight that he had found proof to support that another ship had joined the 1733 fleet that left Havana and wrecked along the Florida Keys. A ship that local legend called the Thirteenth Galleon."

  "Chase said it didn't exist," Talbot said.

  Selkie glared at Talbot. "Don't interrupt."

  She'd be grateful for Selkie's support if she didn't suspect his comment was more a dig at the detective than a show of support for her. "Oscar worked in a government archive. He said he'd found the coin, the manifest, and a note hidden in the binding of an old ship log. I never saw the note, but Oscar believes it points to the true clue."

  "The coin?" Selkie asked.

  Mer dug into her sweats pocket, and then unfolded a piece of paper. "The manifest." She looked at Talbot. "After Bart and Oscar fled, I went back to my car. This piece of paper was shoved into the window of my driver's door. It's the list that was stolen off my desk. But I'm getting ahead of myself."

  The sloping Adirondack offered no respite for her aching ribs, but she was too tired to get out of the chair. "Oscar said he'd come to the Keys by boat. I think that boat belonged to Bart Kingston and that somehow Bart got hold of the coin and the manifest."

  "And the note?"

  "I have no idea how the note fits in—or if it still exists." Mer tilted her head back. The moon outlined a sky full of clouds. "There was a squall the night before Leroy and I pulled the drugs out of the water. They lost the bale and that's when Bart's scheme began to unravel."

  "Wouldn't it be Oscar's scheme?" Talbot asked.

  "I don't think so. Maybe originally, but Bart is definitely calling the shots now."

  "And you know this how?"

  "Oscar had been badly beaten." Images of his mangled hand and the sound of the gun striking his head sent a chill down her spine. "But he was too scared to try to escape. He told me they—whoever they are—believe the coin is the key. But that was false information that he'd fed them to throw them off the trail. He said that I was the key—"

  Selkie slammed down his cup. "You?"

  "Not me per se, but because I had the actual clue. The manifest. Which Oscar stole from my home, but never shared with Bart. The real manifest was almost completely destroyed. But if they thought it had any value, they would have gotten it at the same time they stole the real coin."

  "I'm confused," Selkie said.

  "The coin in evidence was replaced by a fake one—I'm investigating how that happened," Talbot clarified.

  "But Mer's a suspect."

  Talbot shrugged. "It was found property to begin with. It really doesn't matter what she turned in. The importance is how it relates to the bigger story." He shot out of his chair and started pacing in a small circle. "But I'm missing something."

  "Other than a coin?" Selkie asked.

  "We keep saying they—Bart and his compadres. Up until tonight, I thought he was a suspect in somehow stealing the coin. But if he thinks Mer stole it—"

  She held up her finger. "For the record—"

  Talbot waved away the rest. "That means he had nothing to do with the switch."

  "Which means there's someone else involved," she said.

  Selkie broke in. "Someone with their own endgame."

  "After tonight, I'd add Winslet Chase to the list," Mer said. "He asked me about the Thirteenth Galleon, so I find it completely disingenuous that he told a crowd of people it didn't exist."

  "How would he switch the coin?" Talbot asked.

  Good question. "Cole?" It came out as a whisper. She didn't like the man, but accusing a police officer of illegal conduct didn't sit well. The media made it sound as if they were all corrupt, but she knew better. Her brother and Talbot proved it.

  "God, I hope not."

  "But it's a possibility," she added.

  The detective looked miserable. "I can't rule it out."

  "Oscar had the manifest. Could he have palmed the coin, too?" Selkie asked.

  "I turned in the coin after the burglary," Mer said. "No. I think Oscar is being coerced to help, and he's trying to foil them. Bart stole my wallet at the grocery store. And it was Bart and Oscar who burglarized my home. Oscar found the page of names I'd transcribed from the manifest photo, and he tucked it away before Bart noticed."

  An uncomfortable thought occurred to her and she shifted in the chair. She'd accomplished what she'd set out to do. She'd discovered who burglarized her home. She knew the reason behind it and the value of the coin. Yet she also knew there was more to learn. And the remaining secret loomed larger than her little world. If Oscar was right, it involved the Church, a king, and a treasure.

  If she weren't in so much pain, she'd acknowledge that solving the mystery sounded intriguing. "There's one more thing. I may have figured out the clue Oscar hinted at."

  Talbot stopped pacing and Selkie leaned forward. "Why do you say that?"

  Knowing the link and understanding the clue were two very different things, but there had to be a connection. It was too coincidental. The canvas had been painted a mere four years after the hurricane.

  "There's a
painting in the museum by an artist named Berdugo. I'm pretty sure he's on the manifest."

  24

  Rain sluiced off the balcony that sheltered her patio and hammered the Adirondack chairs they'd sat in last night. She'd slept in fits. Every time Mer moved, something hurt, so she tried to lie still. And while her limbs obeyed, her mind refused to quiet. It raced through possibilities, spun arguments, and jumped to conclusions—a triathlon of shoddy reasoning.

  Over the past few days, she'd unearthed a trove of information that left her far better informed about the importance of the coin and manifest, but no better equipped to extradite herself from their continued intrigue.

  By ten a.m., and after hours spent squinting at information on her phone, she'd learned one thing: coffee made from brown-colored crystals sucked.

  Mer closed the browser, dragged a comb through her unruly curls, and grabbed her keys. She cursed. A critical component of her plan to get good coffee was still in Islamorada with two slashed tires and decorated with evidence tape. A glance at her phone confirmed that Talbot hadn't called to release it yet.

  Her to-do list kept growing: save Oscar, foil Bart Kingston, avoid Winslet Chase, solve the riddle of Berdugo, find the Thirteenth Galleon, rebuild her home, retrieve her car, buy new tires, and get a decent cup of coffee. She rubbed the back of her sore neck. Her ability to accomplish anything on the list hinged on coffee.

  Desperate times called for desperate measures. She swapped her flip-flops for running shoes, although in her current condition, the closest she'd come to a run would be an aggressive shuffle. Even factoring in a margin of error, she calculated the mile walk to the gas station would take about three days.

  She opened the door and came face to face with Bijoux's raised fist. Both women took a startled step backward.

  Bijoux recovered first. "I heard." Her hand dropped to her side and her eyes filled with concern. "Should you be up?"

  "I need coffee."

  "Why do you not brew your own?"

  "I don't have a coffee grinder, coffeemaker, or coffee."