Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery

by Micki Browning

  "Let's talk outfitting a boat. Gotta have an air compressor, metal detectors, a magnetometer, passive sonar, coolers, buoy markers, anchors—you'll need three of them babies."

  Her heart sank. "Three?"

  "How else you gonna stabilize the boat once you turn on the blowers?"

  "Blowers?"

  "Mailboxes." He set his elbow on the Berdugo photo and leaned into Mer's space. "The things that look like shiny PVC elbows you mount on the stern to swing over the props." He clucked at her confusion. "Acts like a giant leaf blower to clear off the silt and sandy overburden that's hiding what you're trying to find."

  Mer mouthed an "Oh," but no sound came out.

  "You just expect to dive an area with a bucket and find what you're looking for?"

  Add a bucket, and yes, that was a fairly decent summation of her plan.

  He straightened and grabbed a bar rag. "State ain't gonna be too keen on you poking around in their sanctuary, either."

  Finally, something she could refute. "I'm just looking. I don't plan to keep any of it."

  "You say that now, but treasure is trouble. Not the finding of it. What it does to the soul. Turns honest men to cheating. It don't matter on who—his wife, his partners, investors, himself. It's an ugly business. Gold changes people. Just ask Winslet Chase."

  "I'm not doing this for the treasure."

  "Whatcha doing it for then?"

  "To save a man's life. Reclaim my own."

  "That won't pay a crew. Anyone worth their salt's gonna need something that pays the bills."

  She felt as if she was drowning. "What's your price?"

  "Girlie, I ain't for sale."

  Everyone had a price. Not everyone wanted money. Maybe Skipper's price was hidden in his earlier warning.

  "If we don't find it, Winslet Chase will."

  26

  Mer wiped her hands along the sides of her capris. This was no different from any other presentation. She knew her talking points. She'd double-checked her facts in the hours since her visit with Skipper. Learned a few new things.

  Outside, the sun retreated. She switched on the light. Soon the Aquarius training room would be filled with people. Friends. But they'd have questions. Hard questions.

  She'd taken more care with her appearance than usual, wearing white capris and a black-and-white silk tank—the one her mother had chosen for Mer to wear under a business suit when defending her dissertation. Today, she'd even tamed her hair, and it fell in soft curls around her shoulders.

  Maybe she should have prepared a PowerPoint presentation.

  Leroy entered first.

  "Well, don't you look prettier than a pat of butter meltin' on a short stack." The straw in the corner of his mouth waggled as he spoke. "Other than the bruise, that is."

  Her hand automatically touched her face. "Bijoux's always after me to add color to my life."

  "I'd wager she meant something else," he said.

  "Probably." The red had deepened into mottled blues and purples that no amount of powder would hide. She'd tried. "Thanks for coming."

  "Wouldn't miss it." He made an elaborate show of looking around the room. "I was promised pizza."

  Mer stood with her back to the whiteboard and inhaled deeply. "Sadly, you were misinformed."

  "Ah, well. Already here, might as well take a load off." He pulled out a chair and sat.

  Detective Talbot walked in next. He wore tan shorts and a dive T-shirt.

  "Casual Tuesday?" Mer asked.

  "My schedule was adjusted because of the gala."

  "I didn't mean to interfere with your day off."

  He stood in front of a poster of a sandy beach in Bonaire and struck a pose with his hands on his hips. "Justice never sleeps."

  Bijoux stood in the doorway. "But the last I knew, detectives did."

  "True. But I'm hungry, and a little birdie told me there'd be food."

  "According to the boss, that's bad info," Leroy said.

  Talbot found a chair in the back of the room. "'Tis an ill cook that cannot lick her own fingers."

  Leroy crossed his arms, but there was mirth behind his beard. "Now that you mention it, I don't remember much finger licking on Thanksgiving."

  Mer glared at Leroy, but addressed Talbot. "You know you can leave Shakespeare at home when you go out."

  "Quoting Florida statutes isn't nearly as interesting." He slid the chair the remainder of the way across the carpet. "Doesn't impress women nearly as much, either."

  Bijoux asked Mer. "Are you expecting anyone else? If not, I'll lock up."

  Seven minutes past the hour. "I don't think they're going to show."

  Over the course of the last several days, she'd lived with changing information, new hypotheses, and downright speculation. She'd sorted through the data and organized it into a possible timeline, simplified the mass of possibilities. She'd tried to find blind spots, and correct errors. Now—

  "You'll never plow the field by turning it over in your mind."

  Ha. Leave it to Leroy.

  She capped and uncapped the dry-erase marker. "This is a tale that starts in 1492," Mer said.

  "Excellent," Talbot said. "I'll understand the vernacular."

  Mer ignored him. "The night of the gala, Oscar said a group of churchmen bribed King Philip to modify the fifteenth century Alhambra Decree that expelled Jews from Spain."

  "It was still in effect two centuries later?" Talbot asked.

  Mer nodded. "Fast forward to the 1730s and a painting by an artist named Berdugo. Originally, my research didn't generate any hits on the man's full name, but the surname belongs to a long line of Sephardic Jews—many of whom went on to become illustrious rabbis during their lives."

  "They're the churchmen?" Leroy asked.

  Mer nodded. "After being forced from their homeland, some of the clan went to Morocco and others relocated in Mexico and became merchants. But most trade routes lead to Europe."

  "A problematic issue if you are not allowed into Spain," Bijoux noted.

  "Precisely. The Berdugos didn't want to change the decree. They wanted to rescind it. And by the eighteenth century, they had the one thing the current King of Spain needed. Cash."

  Mer drew an outline of the Florida Keys and placed an island in the lower right of the whiteboard. "Not to scale."

  "Obviously," Bijoux agreed.

  "Although the exact amount isn't recorded, they amassed a treasure large enough to persuade King Philip to rescind the prohibition against Jews returning to Spain. All they had to do was get the money to him."

  She drew an X on the upper portion of the island. "That's where Cuba comes in—Havana, to be exact. Every year, a fleet of ships traveled to Spain from the New World. Pirates targeted solitary ships, so the Berdugo clan threw in their lot with the 1733 fleet."

  "Not a good summer for sailing," Leroy said.

  "No, it wasn't. The fleet was caught in a hurricane almost immediately. One ship remained afloat, and a few more were refloated after repairs. Most of the ships ran aground on the reefs dotting the Keys."

  "Their locations are all well-documented," Talbot said.

  Someone knocked on the door and Bijoux excused herself.

  "If this galleon was part of the fleet, why hasn't it been discovered?" Leroy asked.

  "No one was looking for it," Mer said. "Since it wasn't salvaged contemporaneously, the ship probably went down in deeper water."

  "Evidence?" Talbot asked.

  "Very little. And unconventional."

  Talbot rocked until the back of his chair touched the wall. "How unconventional?"

  "Well, it's legendary." Mer bolstered her courage with a deep breath. "But here's the thing. There are suddenly a whole lot of people looking for this galleon. Oscar. Bart Kingston. Winslet Chase."

  "Who said in public that the Thirteenth Galleon was hogwash," Talbot reminded her.

  "True, but that very same night he tried to convince me to partner with him. That got me
thinking. Many legends are grounded in truth. A secret galleon filled with gold morphs into a golden ship with clouds for sails. But there's more." Mer circled the X on the board. "Let's start with Oscar, an archivist from Havana who found a very rare coin, a manifest of names, and a note. The coin speaks to the treasure, the manifest confirms the ship, and I have no idea what the note—"

  Bijoux ushered Skipper into the room.

  "Guess it's a good thing I showed up, then. Eh, girlie?"

  Relief coursed through her. "As long as you didn't bring alcohol."

  Skipper sat. "Ain't here to socialize."

  "Then I'll cut to the chase." Mer returned to the front of the room. For all his gruffness, the success of her plan hinged on Skipper's participation. "The Thirteenth Galleon is real and I'm going to find it."

  Talbot leaned forward. "Just for the sake of argument, let's suppose this ship really does exist."

  "It does," Skipper interrupted. "Chase contacted me about a week ago. Claimed new evidence had been found. Wanted me to help him find it."

  Mer could hardly breathe. "What kind of evidence?"

  "Supposedly some super-secret squirrel message from a spy on one of the other ships." He dug a note from his pocket. "I quote, 'The seas rose, night fell. Our brother now guards Neptune's gifts. All lost, but hope.' Knowing Chase, there's more, but that was the bait he dangled."

  "If Chase knows about the note." She tapped her pen against her palm. "There's a good chance he knows about the Berdugo."

  "Not necessarily," Bijoux said. "He claimed the entire exhibit. That hardly seems to suggest he knew of a single painting's significance."

  "Because he doesn't have the manifest," Talbot said.

  "Because Oscar risked his life to steer them in the wrong direction," Mer corrected. She paced in front of the whiteboard. Finally, she uncapped the pen and wrote several names on the board. "Oscar found proof of the ship. But to actually find the wreck, he had to get to the States."

  "Enter a smuggler." She drew a line between Oscar and Bart. "Bart transported a Cuban archivist to the Keys and somewhere along the line, he figured out that Oscar had a coin—and had clues to find more. But locating treasure is hard work. All Bart really had to do was sell the information to someone who could find it."

  "Winslet Chase." Talbot approached the board and grabbed another pen from the tray. "But Bart couldn't produce the goods. The bale fell into the ocean—maybe during the transfer from a mother ship, maybe it just bounced out in the storm—doesn't matter. What matters is everyone thinks Mer is the go-to gal to find this wreck."

  Skipper crossed his arms. "So what's the plan?"

  "Simple," Mer said. "Find it."

  Leroy stroked his beard. "Seems a bit lacking in detail."

  Mer retrieved the photo of the Berdugo painting from her backpack and Talbot held it up while she taped the paper to the white board. Something about the painting bothered her. "Skipper, you said the seas rose as night fell, right?"

  "The seas rose, night fell. No 'as.' Least that's how Chase told me."

  "Something got lost in translation." She tapped the pen against the board, leaving a trail of small dots. She paused mid-tap and grinned. She wrote NIGHT in big letters along the crooked coast she'd drawn of Key Largo. "It's not night." She added a K. "Chase said knight. This explains why I couldn't find any record of Mateo Eques de Soto y Berdugo. He's not the artist. He's the knight—Eques in Latin. He was on the treasure galleon, but it sank and presumably took him with it." She shuddered. "He couldn't have painted the ships."

  Talbot leaned against the front of one of the tables. "Then who did?"

  Mer practically danced with excitement. "I bet if we examine the manifest of the El Infante, you'll find another Berdugo. Heck, there was probably a Berdugo on every ship. They weren't spies. They were insurance."

  Someone else knocked on the door and Bijoux excused herself again.

  Mer kept talking. "If something happened to the treasure, chances were at least one of them would know the details. And figure out a way to retrieve it later."

  Phoenix swept into the room like a gale, her topknot slightly askew. "Sorry I'm late. Your message came in while I was underwater. And traffic on the stretch sucked." She dropped her bag, took a seat, and kicked up her feet onto the table.

  "Everyone," Mer said. "This is Phoenix. She's an underwater archeologist and professor at the University of Miami."

  Skipper pushed himself up. "Girlie, before you go off half-cocked, a word?"

  Bijoux stepped in. "I'll complete the introductions."

  As soon as the two were out of the classroom, Skipper spun on her. "You can't include her."

  "I already have," Mer replied.

  "Then you're gonna be shut down before you even start." He leaned into her space. "Where's your buddy Oscar gonna find himself then? Huh?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "She's an archeologist."

  "And a professor," Mer said. "What's the problem?"

  "For starters, what you're planning to do is south of what the state considers legal. You got an exploration permit?"

  "No."

  "State ain't gonna give you one either. Leases for the waters 'round the Keys have been divvied out for years. Poking around a Marine Sanctuary? That's governed by federal statutes. You think some professor's gonna risk her position 'cause you've got a treasure itch you gotta scratch?"

  "Why did you come today?" Mer asked.

  "I don't mind getting a little dirty if the cause is good. Not everyone has my sensibilities."

  "You know there's a cop in there, right?"

  "Jesus, Mary, and Joseph! Why don't you buy yourself a pair of handcuffs and save everyone the trouble?" He stomped back into the training room.

  Mer lingered in the shop. Skipper was right. She had no right to drag her friends and colleagues into something that endangered their livelihoods or safety.

  The people in the classroom looked at her expectantly as she walked in. She still had the dry-erase pen in her hand and she placed it on the tray.

  "I don't have an exploration permit." She cleared her throat and spoke louder. "I'm going to search for a treasure galleon that most people think doesn't exist. I'm not searching for the gold, but to save a man's life. Maybe get my own life back." She pulled out a chair and collapsed in it. "I have no right to ask any of you for help. My intentions are good, but..." She looked at Skipper. "Not everyone has my sensibilities."

  No one moved.

  "That's it? I drove all this way for a speech?" Phoenix craned to look at the other people in the room. "I mean it was a nice speech and all, but I'm pretty sure I can make up my own mind about whether to participate. So if you don't mind, get on with it."

  "I'm serious. There could be significant consequences," Mer said.

  "Amateurs." Phoenix pulled her feet off the table and strode from the room.

  How long would it be before the others followed?

  "She'll be back," Bijoux said and dipped her head toward the professor's bag. "She only took her phone."

  "We all have our reasons for being here, Dr. Cavallo. I want to catch a crook," Talbot said. "There may be a way we can combine forces. A way that keeps everything aboveboard."

  "We're dealing with smugglers, burglars and kidnappers." Her voice lowered. "They shot at us. I can't ask you guys to face that."

  Leroy snorted. "You're as tough as a one-eared alley cat, but you aren't going to be able to do this on your own." He dug out his phone and dialed. After a short pause he growled, "I'd like to order some pizzas."

  The room erupted in chatter as everyone suggested toppings. Mer took it all in. She was the little fish in a big ocean of amazing people. This was her school.

  She retrieved her wallet and slapped her credit card on the table. Leroy waved his hand over the card as if he could generate enough wind to push it away. Mer set her jaw and slid the plastic closer.

  He scowled, but read off her number int
o the phone. "Don't forget the anchovies." He gave the dive shop's address and hung up. "Now." He handed Mer her credit card. "You were saying?"

  From the first day she'd met Leroy, he'd taken her under his wing. He could be blunt and crotchety, but she never once doubted his integrity. Her throat felt tight. "Right." She leaned over, picked up the pen, and refocused. "I'm under surveillance. Bart knew when I was grocery shopping and on the boat. Winston knew I'd be at the gala. What we need is a decoy."

  "Two boats, two crews," Talbot said. "One that's really searching. The other one floating on top of a false site."

  "At this point, how do we know which is which?" Bijoux asked.

  "The answer is in the painting." Mer unrolled a nautical chart across the front table and pinned it open with her wallet and a reef-fish identification book. "The El Infante is in the foreground of the painting, already bilged on the reef. Historically, we know that occurred here." Mer pointed to spot on the chart marking Little Conch reef. "She lies in fifteen, sixteen feet of water. Seaward, the reef drops fairly quickly—within a half nautical mile or so, you're in a hundred feet of water." She went back to the painting. "The ship off the El Infante's starboard side is the Thirteenth Galleon."

  "Loaded with treasure, she'd sit pretty low," Skipper said. He squinted at the painting. "She's built like a galleon I salvaged in the Marquesas. Drew eighteen feet. Even if the waves ranged twelve to fifteen feet, that means there's a whole lot of reef this one could've kissed."

  "She had to have sunk in deeper water," Mer said. "Otherwise, there would have been survivors, and salvage efforts."

  Skipper sidled between two tables to get to the front of the room and stopped when his nose was about a foot from the photo of the painting. "She's already going down."

  Leroy joined him at the whiteboard. "Well, if that don't beat a hog flying."

  The chart forgotten, they all clustered around the Berdugo.

  Bijoux tapped her manicured finger against her lips. "Wouldn't that mean the galleon sank in shallow water after all?"

  "Ever been in a car wreck?" Skipper asked.

  Talbot elaborated. "The involved vehicles end up in all kinds of positions, depending on the angle of the strike, the velocity of travel, and things like friction."