Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense)

by Jill Winters

  Carefully he set the bin back down. He had to move quickly. The intermittent thrum of voices above him didn't do much to set him at ease. Who knew how long Hyat's lighthouse spiel was? He and Nicole could start making their way down the steps any second.

  Quietly, Michael walked the perimeter of the tower's base, feeling the wall for any loose bricks. He'd swear he felt every Goddamn brick within his reach. Nothing loose. Nothing less than rock-solid. Out of desperation, he looked down, up, and around. Christ, there was nothing here! Patterned with tiny holes, the iron stairs looked like starched black lace, but they might as well have been Swiss cheese. They held no compartments, no hidden depths—no treasure.

  Seeing how vigilantly the Coast Guard watched the grounds, he realized now, it would be impossible for someone to bury anything near the lighthouse without being spotted. Sneaking an item into the actual tower would be the only viable way to hide something here.

  He heard footsteps on the stairs.

  Quickly, Michael assumed a casual, almost bored posture against the wall. “How was it?” he said when Nicole reached the last step.

  “Beautiful...”

  “Too bad you got scared,” Hyat added. “Helluva view up there.” Hate this guy, Michael thought wryly, but mustered a bland smile.

  As they left the tower, Nicole's eyes locked with his. In her gaze was a question. She must have understood his purposeful gaze back, because her mouth pursed and her shoulders slumped. “Nothing?” she said once they were off Coast Guard grounds and walking on a quiet, leaf-covered sidewalk.

  “Nope.”

  “Shoot! So what now?”

  “Not sure,” Michael admitted. “But no one ever said treasure hunting was easy.”

  “Let's stop in here,” Nicole suggested a few minutes later, as they approached a gold-trimmed awning that read, The Coffee Cake Cafe. In the spirit of Halloween, little orange lights twinkled all around the window.

  He pulled open the door for her. “How come? You hungry?”

  “No, but I need to think. And I prefer coffee with my thinking.”

  ***

  “Caleb's Pub.”

  “Who am I speaking with?”

  “Caleb Irish, who's this?”

  “Afternoon, Mr. Irish, my name is Officer Zack Hyat. I'm with the Chatham Coast Guard, Chatham Massachusetts.” Caleb said nothing, just waited. “Sir, are you aware that a boat registered to your name is currently docked on Chatham waters?”

  “Ah, yeah,” Caleb said, then corrected himself. “What I mean is, I loaned it out, so I'm not sure exactly where it is at the moment.”

  “You loaned it,” Officer Hyat repeated.

  “My son loans it out to his friends,” Caleb said simply. “Never had a problem.”

  “I see. And is one of his friends a Michael King?”

  Casually, Caleb replied, “Could be. Sounds familiar. Like I said, the boat's been loaned out. Is there a problem?”

  “No...no problem. But...sometimes when there is a new boat in the area, we just run the ID numbers as a precaution. If anything seems amiss, you know, we follow up to make sure it's not a stolen vessel.”

  “Oh, I see,” Caleb said, though he knew full well. “I certainly appreciate that. But like I said, it's not stolen.”

  “I see.” Officer Hyat sounded kind of stumped. “Well, that's good to hear,” he said finally.

  “Thanks again.”

  The phone hit the receiver with a clatter. “Goddamn it, Mike,” Caleb muttered to himself, as he swiped the bar with a damp cloth. “What are you in now?”

  Chapter Thirty-five

  That afternoon Nicole found herself at Tinsdale, plagued by the feeling that she was missing something obvious. She flipped through Josiah Hardy's diary again, looking for a clue from Aunt Nina that perhaps she had not caught before. After she set the diary aside, she reached for a thick bound folder; she peeled the band off it with an audible snap and began leafing through the papers inside. After re-reading everything that was stacked on the table, she released a sigh and slumped in her chair.

  What was she missing here? Was she chasing a ghost? Believing that her aunt had concocted some message for her—some puzzle for her to decipher—simply because she liked that idea better than the far more prosaic concept that Nina was just gone.

  Depressing.

  But...what if it were true? There had to be a key piece of logic that was eluding her.

  Just then Ginger stepped upstairs, hugging two heavy volumes, close to her bosom. Hopping to her feet, Nicole called after her, “Ginger, wait up...” As Nicole jogged to her, Ginger managed a hesitant smile that appeared a bit like a dent in a squishy ball. “Do you have a second?”

  “Yes, I suppose so,” Ginger replied, though she sounded uncomfortable, almost trapped. “How's the research going?”

  “Fine. Listen, I was wondering...”

  “I don't want to pressure you, but Hazel's getting concerned—since the Harvest Parade is tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Hazel's three phone messages to that effect made the point. But please don't worry, because I’m going to drop off my part of the time line by lunchtime today. I'll leave it in your mailbox?”

  “Oh, wonderful!”

  “No problem, I'm actually done but I've been...preoccupied. I'm sorry.” Ginger started to turn, but Nicole reached to still her arm—then pulled back so as not to scare the woman. “Um, but I was wondering,” Nicole began again, “did my aunt specifically ask Hazel to pass this project on to me?”

  “Yes, I think so. Hazel said they spoke about it a couple of months ago. Nina had mentioned that she was feeling a bit weak, and she hoped to have you down for a visit soon anyway, so you would probably help her finish. I'm not really sure what she had in mind.”

  Same here, thought Nicole. “Right, that makes sense...but one question. When I started this, you said I was finishing what Nina had already started—that the materials left for me were items that Nina had not gone through yet.”

  “I tried to separate as best I could, so you wouldn't be doing double work...”

  Impatiently, Nicole cut her off. “Do you still have the research materials that Nina went through before I came?”

  Thoughtfully, Ginger scrunched her pudgy brow. “You know, it's funny you mention it. Most of the items your aunt used were on interlibrary loan and were already returned. But there was one book that was part of our collection here. I re-shelved it. Truthfully, I'm not sure why it was on the table; it didn't seem to have anything to do with the lighthouse.”

  “Could you show me?”

  Sucking in a breath, Nicole tried not to betray her anxiousness as Ginger led the way, deep in the stacks. She set down the volumes she'd been carrying, and reached up on her toes to pull down a hefty red book. The title was imprinted across it in bold cursive: The Mary Celeste & Other Mysteries of the Bottomless Sea. “Thanks!” Nicole said, reaching for it, her stomach tight.

  But Ginger held onto it. “Nicole...can I talk to you?”

  Now? “Oh...sure...about what?”

  “About what you saw the other day.”

  “Okay...” Nicole managed, trying to be supportive—even as her fingers itched to take the book. She didn't want to be like a snapping turtle and snatch the book right from Ginger's hand. “But what specifically are you talking about?”

  “You know, in the office. Me...Betna...” Ginger dropped her gaze, looking a bit guilty.

  “Oh. But I really didn't see anything,” Nicole assured her. It was true anyway. What had even happened? She tried to recall exactly. Let's see, Betna had bolted out of the office and Ginger had hurried after her. For some reason, Nicole hadn't thought too much about it. (Either self-absorption or puzzle fever.)

  “Betna and I are extremely close, as you can probably tell,” Ginger explained.

  “Sure, I understand,” Nicole said, nodding, eying the book, trying not to be too obvious that her interest lay there, and not with Ginger and Betna. “She see
ms nice,” Nicole added insipidly.

  “She is! She's a wonderful person, Nicole.” Ginger's gentle voice nearly oozed the words, and then she added, “I hope you understand...”

  Understand what? Wait, was she trying to tell her that she and Betna were more than friends? Was that what all this was about? Oh, please—who cared? Nicole needed to look at that book!

  Unfortunately, at the moment, Ginger was hugging it like a teddy bear and continuing her musings. “I've known Betna for about five years now. She's the best friend I could ever ask for.”

  “Mmm-hmm, well that's great...um...do you mind if I look at that book?”

  “Do you have a friend like that?” Ginger went on, obliviously. “A best friend? Someone who means the world to you? Who you would do anything for?”

  “Um, my sisters,” Nicole answered honestly. “I'd do anything they needed me to do.”

  With a hint of amusement—or was it bitterness?—Ginger gave a brief laugh and shook her head. “I wish I could say that. But I can't. I may have sisters, technically. But all I really have, close to my heart, is Betna.” Jeez, this was getting heavy. Nicole didn't want to be unkind by demanding Ginger release the book already and go continue this conversation with someone else.

  At the same time—how much more unburdening was the woman planning to do? The book was mere inches away. Impatiently, Nicole tried not to look as distracted as she felt.

  “Do you understand what I am trying to say?” Ginger pressed. “I'm not that good at expressing myself.”

  “No, no—I mean, no, you're fine—and yes, I understand.” Ginger waited, it seemed, for more elaboration. “I'm surprised, though, only because you and Hazel seem close…”

  “Yes, I suppose after all these years we complement each other well enough. Of course I love her dearly. But Hazel is a very strong-willed individual, as you can probably tell.” While Nicole always enjoyed a good euphemism for the B-word, now just wasn’t the time. “And Hazel is far from the most understanding woman,” Ginger droned on. “So many nights I’ve gone up to the attic and just paced. Thought how I can enjoy life and please Hazel at the same time. If she knew how close Betna and I really were...”

  Nodding, Nicole swallowed a sigh. “Okay, well, look—I mean, Ginger it's your life. You can be close with, or love, whoever you want.”

  “I do love her,” Ginger admitted, clutching the book with feeling. “Betna's husband divorced her several years ago and I never married. Our friendship blossomed and...other people might understand but Hazel of all people...”

  Finally, Nicole's patience snapped. Enough was enough. Life was short and she was on a mission. “Look, Ginger, let's face it. Hazel's an uptight bitch who has too much to say about everything and everyone and it's never anything good. You need to live for you. If you want to live with Hazel, that's fine. But you can't live for her. Now, if you want to know more what I mean, come over some night and we'll play poker. In the meantime—I really need to look at that book!”

  With obvious surprise, Ginger handed over the volume. “Oh. Here.” A strange smile crept over her face then. “Maybe I'll give it some thought,” she said.

  Before Nicole flipped open the book, she added, “Honestly, I think you worry too much.” The dent in the squishy ball grew deeper and wider.

  Once Ginger left the stacks, Nicole turned her full attention to The Mary Celeste & Other Mysteries of the Bottomless Sea. Leaning it on the shelf, she started whipping through the pages, looking for marked passages, handwritten clues, anything—until suddenly the book fell open where a folded piece of paper was stuck in the center.

  With nervous fingers, Nicole pulled out the paper, unfolded it. Her heart began to pound hard and fast in her chest when she saw, written in purple pencil:

  S

  R

  E

  Abruptly, she slammed the book shut and carried it to her table. She dug inside her bag and pulled out an index card she had written the other letters on. If the second batch of letters did in fact spell out, BEHIND YOU, then there was still the first batch of letters that were incomplete. She studied those now. O W L F. She factored in the new letters: S R E. Eagerly, she scrambled them around, trying to piece together something coherent, a complete word or phrase.

  With her breath hitched in her throat, she scribbled out this letter combination:

  F L O W E R S

  Her pulse quickened. Could it be what she was thinking?

  Clutching her hands together, she could barely calm herself as the idea took root in her mind. She felt so close now, her heart threatened to race right out of her chest. Unless she was very much mistaken—the treasure was hidden in Nina's garden.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Michael veered his car onto an inroad off Tremont Street, and slid it into the narrow parking lot of Caleb’s Pub. There were only five slots behind the building, three of which were marked “Reserved,” but he wouldn't be long. After the whole letdown with the lighthouse this morning, he had grabbed a bus to Boston and then taken the T to his townhouse. There he'd brought in the mail, collected the stacked newspapers outside the door, opened a window and basically looked over the place. Found it exactly as he'd left it. Logically, he couldn't believe he had been gone nearly two weeks already. Yet, by the nature of his relationship with Nicole, it seemed longer than that.

  Besides giving his cars a run and getting his mail, he also had business reasons for coming back to the city. As an investor in both Caleb's Pub and Gold Rush Grill, he liked to put in some face time. Not that he had his hands in the daily operations, but it was good practice to remind the owners that he was watchful—unlike some investors, who waited for a check and monthly statement, but otherwise remained unaware.

  Caleb Irish and Michael went back, having met at a poker game about eight years ago. Caleb had seen how Michael played and went on to bankroll him for a percentage on several games after that. Michael had eventually bought into Caleb's place, as well as picking up shares of Gold Rush, a bar and grill owned by Caleb's fishing buddy, Tom Mahoney.

  The pub was pretty empty right now. It was only four in the afternoon, which usually meant a handful of early barflies and late lunchers. Michael walked straight to the back and down a few steps, then rapped his knuckles on Caleb's office door.

  “Yeah—come in.” The older man's voice was gruff, almost a bark, a voice that had been shaped at least in part by a cigar habit. Michael turned the knob, and let the door swing open to reveal his old friend, a man in his late fifties with half a face of white whiskers. His son sat on top of the opposite desk, his skinny limbs a gangle and his feet perched on the arms of the desk chair. Caleb had been divorced twice, both times from the same woman, with five kids between them.

  “Hey,” Michael said.

  “Corso,” Caleb said with a smile. “Is it payday already?”

  “Better be. Hi, Jake.”

  “Hey,” Caleb's son said, offering his usual affable smile.

  “Okay. Here you go,” Caleb said, pulling open a drawer and taking out two large sealed envelopes. One was from him, Michael knew, and the other was on Tom Mahoney's behalf. Statements of each restaurant's monthly earnings and a check.

  “Thank you.”

  “So where have you been? We needed a fifth for cards last week.”

  “Been busy.”

  “Busy ruffling feathers in Chatham? Someone from the Coast Guard down there called today about the boat.”

  “Shit, really? Who was it—Hyat?”

  “Sounds right,” Caleb said. “Where is the boat now? Is it back?”

  “Not yet,” Michael said. “It's...I'll have it back soon, no worries.” At that Caleb gave him a long look. It was hard to say if it was assessing or disapproving; either way, Michael ignored it. “What did you tell him?”

  “Just that I loaned it to my son's friend.”

  “Me?” Jake asked.

  “No, I didn't name anyone,” Caleb replied. “It would never have come
to that, though even if it did, I got four sons to choose from—but it wouldn't come to that because the boat is my legal property and hasn't been reported stolen. The guy was just checking up. Probably bored. There can't be a lot of excitement down on the Cape this time of year.”

  Relieved, Michael sighed, nodded. “Okay. Well—thanks. Like I said, I'll have it back to you soon.” Again, a hard look from Caleb.

  “So they won't be pinching you for taking a boat anyway.”

  Michael scoffed. “Who says anyone's pinching me for anything? I'm a legitimate business man.” Caleb shot him a look that said: Sometimes. Then he shifted in his chair and ran his hand over his white whiskers, appeared hesitant. “Something else?”

  “Yeah. Ah...well...truth is, Mahoney's had kind of a rough month again. What with Legal Seafood opening up across the street. You know how it is...”

  Narrowing his eyes, Michael stopped to notice the one sealed envelope that was the lighter of the two. He peeled it open, pulled out its enclosures. Screwing up his face, Michael said, “Man...you've gotta be kidding me with this...”

  “It'll pick up. You know how these things are.” Caleb rose from his chair, which creaked and bounced a few times from the release of his weight. Implicitly he seemed to invite his son to leave then, and Jake silently understood, pulling his lanky form off the desktop.

  “I’ll go unload the wine bottles,” he said.

  Once the door shut, Michael said, “Uh, listen Caleb, I wanted to let you know that I'm going to get that money back for you.”

  “I know you will,” Caleb interrupted, but Michael pressed on, “No, but I mean soon. You'll have it for Mary’s school...”

  “We're looking into student loans now—”

  “I'm really sorry,” Michael said and not for the first time.

  “Mike, it's business. I took a chance with the money, I put it on a game—”

  “That I lost—”