Beached_A Mer Cavallo Mystery

by Micki Browning

  "I don't think I've ever been accused of being sensitive."

  "A Scotch bonnet pepper is hotter than a habanero."

  "Who knew I was so delicate?"

  Bijoux smiled. "May I put it there?" She used her foot to point toward the outdoor dining table.

  The table looked empty without the mermaid statue. For the unforeseeable future, the Sheriff's Office considered it evidence.

  "Sure." Mer pulled herself out of the sloping deck chair. "I'll get plates."

  "Sit. I'll get them."

  Before Mer could argue, her friend disappeared around the corner.

  The scent of the dish flavored the air, at once sweet and spicy. Her mouth began to water.

  When Bijoux returned, she held a box overflowing with decorative paper plates, cups, and napkins. Leroy and his wife, Maggie, dogged her heels. Each of them bore pie totes.

  Maggie bustled forward and claimed a portion of the table. "I hope you like cherry. But if not, I've baked a Key lime, too. Oh, and of course, pumpkin. Two actually."

  Gabby flounced into the backyard and dropped an aluminum foil-covered dish on the table. She threw her arms around Mer in an enthusiastic hug that nearly knocked Mer off her good foot. "Hey, Dr. Badass."

  Gabby's father followed at a more sedate pace.

  Mer looked from one face to another. "Would somebody please tell me what's going on?"

  Josh Talbot raised a wine-carrier containing six bottles. "Isn't it obvious?" He set them down and then looked toward her neighbor's house. "Selkie upstairs? I should check the score."

  "The game hasn't started yet," she shouted to his retreating back. But then the sound of even more cars in the driveway distracted her.

  "Hey, Seahorse. Look who I ran into at the airport."

  Her brother's voice made it into the yard before he did.

  "Franky!" Mer hobbled forward and then froze. "Mom? Pops? What—" Tears filled her eyes and she couldn't finish before she found herself enveloped in the arms of her family.

  "We were in the neighborhood," her father said. "Thought we'd drop by for dinner."

  Mer felt dizzy as if she'd somehow found herself back at the Bilge and had two shots warming her belly. "How did you—?"

  "I made your favorite," her mother said.

  The aroma of caramelized honey took Mer back to family holidays. "When did you have time to make candied yams?" She squinted at her mother. "How long have you been here?"

  "Honey," her mother lovingly smoothed an errant curl out of Mer's face. "We just got here."

  "We got into town, though, late last night," her father added and winked. He put a breadbasket on the crowded table.

  Her mom turned to her dad. "Dean, honey, do you mind going back to the car? I left the cranberries and the relish plate in the backseat."

  Bijoux arranged the plates, utensils, and napkins to one side, creating a buffet. Dishes crowded the edge of the table, leaving room in the center. "Your mother told me all kinds of stories about you while we cooked this morning."

  "Oh, really?" Mer raised her eyebrows at her mother.

  "One of the perks of motherhood, sweetheart." She patted her daughter's arm, not the least bit contrite.

  "This has to be the place. I can hear them all the way from the street!" Phoenix entered the yard wearing a Santa hat and holding the hand of a pudgy brunette with a dazzling smile. "Hey everyone, this is my wife, Amanda."

  Amanda raised her hand shyly.

  Phoenix handed Mer a small gift. "I promise it's not a phone. Ha! Skipper here yet?"

  "Not yet." She shook her head. "Wait, who else is supposed to be here?"

  Bijoux swept by on her way to the kitchen. "He'll be here in about a half hour. His relief bartender called in sick."

  Gabby tapped a playlist on her phone and propped it on the windowsill. The patio pulsed with activity and the holiday music blended with laughter and chatter as her friends and family introduced themselves to each other.

  Franky scrutinized the feast. "Looks like we're missing something." He tapped his index finger against his chin. "Something big."

  "A turkey, perhaps?" Selkie said. He leaned on a cane as he slowly walked down the driveway. Talbot followed, carrying a roasting pan so big it made his biceps pop.

  "The bird needs to rest about ten more minutes," Selkie added. "Trust me when I say you don't want me to make the gravy."

  "That's my cue." Mer's mother disappeared into the kitchen behind Talbot.

  Franky bumped his shoulder against Mer's. "Surprised?"

  "Surprised?" She narrowed her eyes. "How long have you been planning this?"

  Her brother shrugged. He pulled his cellphone from his shorts pocket.

  "Aren't you supposed to wear your habit everywhere?" Mer asked.

  Franky selected a number and dialed. "Nuns wear habits. Priests wear cassocks. Or jeans. Hey, we're here. Hold on." He handed the phone to Mer.

  Dazed, she held it to her ear. "Hello?"

  "What's up, Doc?"

  Mer smiled despite her other brother's hokey greeting. "Hey, Vito."

  "Sorry I'm not there for the shindig. I'm working a pretty big investigation at the moment. I could use your help if you want to come back to California, though. Help me crack the case."

  Mer perused her backyard. It overflowed with happy people. Her people.

  Loved ones, all of them.

  She reached for Selkie's hand. "No, thanks. I think I'll stick it out here."

  Acknowledgments

  I discovered something about myself while writing Beached: I enjoyed blurring the lines between fact and fiction.

  For the curious, here are some facts:

  King Philip V’s ill-fated Spanish treasure fleet left Havana on Friday, July 13, 1733, and within days was overtaken by a hurricane. The shipwrecks dot the Atlantic edge of the Florida Keys and their locations are historically well documented.

  Likewise, the Alhambra Decree of 1492 is an actual expulsion order that commanded Jews to either convert to Catholicism or leave Spain.

  The 8 escudos gold “portrait dollar” is an extremely rare coin—so rare it made me wonder where the rest of the cache was and how I could go about finding it.

  Here’s where the facts get murky:

  Sources say in 1492 Rabbi Don Isaac Abravanel offered King Ferdinand II and Queen Isabella I a bribe to rescind the expulsion order. This offer was supposedly overheard by the Spanish Inquisitor-General who burst in on the meeting and accused the monarchs of selling their souls for a few pieces of silver. The comparison to Judas Iscariot so shamed the monarchs, they nixed the deal.

  And so began the What-if game. What if I added three hundred years, chose a new monarch, and mixed in a pinch of colonialism? A bit of fine-tuning and the Legend of the Thirteenth Galleon coalesced.

  Now that I had a legend, I needed help making it a reality.

  Commercial salvage rights in Florida waters are strictly regulated and new permits are exceedingly rare. I’m indebted to Tommy Vawter, the Director of Operations at TreasureWorks, for graciously identifying the major lease holders and explaining how the process works. Lest anyone think I wasn’t paying attention, please note I took considerable liberties to make Mer’s operation legal.

  Thank you to J.T. Coyne, CAPTAIN, USN (Ret), for sharing his insight on helicopter rescues and the dangers such operations entail.

  The value of a person willing to brainstorm, proofread, dispense advice, lend support, or simply share a glass of wine should never be underestimated. A toast to Autumn Blum, Dr. Deidre Chang, Lisa and Gerry Carroll, Lynn Prince, Norma Hansen, and a couple of folks who were too shy to be named. You all rock.

  A continued debt of gratitude is owed to my agent, Helen Breitwieser of Cornerstone Literary. Her encouragement and guidance has set me on a new and exciting path.

  My deepest appreciation to Mandy Mikulencak, for her unwavering support, critical feedback, wicked grammar skills, and good humor. No one could ask for a better c
ritique partner or friend.

  I may work in isolation, but I am never alone. I am blessed to have an amazing family that stretches from California to Colorado. My husband, David, may be the last person on this list, but he’s the first person in my heart. Thank you. For everything.

  I hope you enjoyed Beached. There is no greater honor for a writer than to have readers who come back for more. If you liked Beached, please share the news with others. A review is a powerful way to show your support and I would be truly grateful.

  About the Author

  An FBI National Academy graduate, Micki Browning worked in municipal law enforcement for more than two decades, retiring as a division commander. Now a full-time writer, she won the Daphne du Maurier Award for Excellence and the Royal Palm Literary Awards for her debut mystery, Adrift. Browning lives in South Florida with her partner in crime and a vast array of scuba equipment she uses for “research.“

  To learn more about Micki, visit her website—and while you’re there, join her newsletter for the most up-to-date info about events, new releases, and behind-the-scene peeks!

  www.MickiBrowning.com

  Also by Micki Browning

  Adrift ~ The first Mer Cavallo Mystery

  Copyright © 2017 by Micki Browning

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Published by Blue Shadow Mysteries ~ PO Box 1346, Port Salerno, FL 34992-1346

  Paperback ISBN: 978-0-993806-1-1

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9993806-0-4

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2017960545

  Printed in the United States of America

  Beached is a work of fiction. Names, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.