by Chris Niles
Michelle reached for a half sandwich from the tray. “It’s so nice to see a family stay close.” She glanced over at William, who was dangling a piece of lettuce over the arm of his chair. A huge iguana stood frozen at the edge of the deck, its eyes darting between the tempting lettuce and the danger of humans.
Tina played to Michelle’s family sensibility. “I couldn’t bear to be apart from my precious boy.”
“I see that. So, Lucas and …? I didn’t catch your name.”
“Tina. Tina Ransom.”
“Nice to meet you, Tina. Where are you staying?” Michelle wiped a non-existent crumb on a napkin and held her hand out.
Tina dropped her sandwich on the table and shook Michelle’s hand, smearing it with a glob of mayonnaise and not caring in the slightest. “Well, we haven’t got quite that far yet. We just came down this morning. Figured we’d sleep in the car til we find a cheap place in town.”
Michelle looked past the parking lot and down the narrow lane. “When we docked a couple days ago, the owner showed us around. He mentioned having several open campsites with full facilities — a shower house and even a laundry room. Maybe you could stay here?”
“Ain’t got a camper…”
“I think we might have an extra tent and some sleeping pads. Don’t we, William?”
“Oh, we couldn’t…”
“Nonsense! Of course you can. We’re not using them, and I’d love to see them put to good use. Let me just go check right now. We’ll text the owner, and we can have you all set up in no time. Come on, love.” She tucked the final bit of her sandwich into her mouth and pulled her husband along behind her. As they crossed the deck, William tossed the leaf of lettuce to the iguana, who ambled forward, snatched it up, then scurried back into the shade of the low bushes.
Tina watched the two strangers walk back toward the docs. She couldn’t have planned this better if she’d tried.
Chapter Twenty
Kate struggled to stay perched on the narrow windowsill of Babette’s semi-private hospital room. The warm afternoon sun only served to annoy her further. A thick blue curtain hung in the center of the room, and a low, steady tone beeped from the other side like a dripping faucet.
Chuck sat in the room’s only guest chair, pulled up close to the bed, and held Babette’s hand while she slept. Kate hadn’t yet forgiven him for leaving her trapped between two file cabinets in the restricted area of the Custom House. She might not forgive him for a while.
“You stranded me there. Stuck.” Her harsh whisper hissed through the still room.
Without turning, Chuck whispered softly, “I apologize. You were gone for a long time. I thought you left and I missed you.” He just barely pronounced the word missed. Despite his efforts to be quiet, Babette still stirred.
“Who is watching the restaurant, Charles?”
Her voice was rough. Chuck lifted a small foam cup of ice water from her tray then held the straw to her cracked lips. “It can stay closed as long as it needs to. You’re more important than a late lunch for a couple of boat bums.” He glanced back at Kate. “Besides, the only person we feed regularly is right here, anyway.”
Babette’s bed shook as her body twitched and short breaths turned to coughs. “Oh, it hurts to laugh.”
Kate glanced around the room, her gaze landing on anything that wasn’t Babette. Since she’d arrived at Shark Key, Babette has become about the closest girlfriend she had. But the smell of disinfectant and the buzz of fluorescent lights were unbearable. If Kate had been a better fighter, Babette would be puttering around the kitchen at Shark Key instead of lying in a hospital bed with stitches in her side.
As Chuck and Babette chatted softly, Kate allowed her mind to drift to the sight of Whiskey, frozen on the dock. She had only heard the broad story of why Whiskey was retired. There’d been an incident. Whiskey had been stabbed, and his handler had been killed. She knew the dog had some issues on the job after that, but she had never seen him freeze up that way.
Her attention came back when she heard Chuck’s voice break.
“I’m sorry. All this is my fault.” He looked down at his fingernails. “That guy works for Baumann. He came at me earlier in the day, and Kate’s dog got a good bite on him, and I guess it upset him.”
“It wasn’t Chuck’s fault. If anything, it was mine.” Kate shifted on the windowsill. “He was sitting on my boat last night when I got home. Whiskey froze when he pulled a knife on me. I got rid of him, but I could have done more. I should have done more.”
“Both of you, stop—”
The door opened. Steve and Susan tiptoed past the blue curtains then crowded around Babette’s bed. Susan rested a huge vase of bright red and yellow native blanket flowers on Babette’s tiny side table before giving her an awkward hug.
The injured woman winced.
“I’m sorry, hon. How bad is it?”
“Doctor says I’ll be sore for a while, and I can’t lift anything or drive for a few weeks, but they should let me out in a couple of days, as long as Chuck can help keep an eye on me.”
Susan perched on the end of the bed and rubbed Babette’s feet. “We all will.”
“I just hate being a burden on y’all.”
“You’re never a burden. You take care of all of us all the time. It’s our turn now.” Susan turned to Chuck. “So, how did it go at the Custom House?”
Babette raised an eyebrow. “The Custom House?”
“Yeah. Kate and I went to try to see if we could get our hands on some of my grandfather’s old documents. I might have a way to get Baumann off our backs. Kate?”
Everyone turned just as Kate slipped off the windowsill for the thirteenth time. She gave up trying to perch on the little slab and began pacing the tiny space between the bed and the wall.
“Not great, if I’m honest. I got up into the archive area without being spotted, but I couldn’t find anything in their database. Then I got trapped holding my breath between two file cabinets for an hour while two curators stood ten feet away. Chuck, on the other hand, left me there and had a leisurely stroll back over here.” She glared at him.
“I said I’m sorry. But the big picture is that we’re at kind of a dead end again.”
The rough sound of a clearing throat shot through the blue curtain.
All five of them jumped.
“If you wanna get into the Custom House, I know just the girl to help.”
Steve pulled back the curtain. On the next bed, propped up on pillows and peeking from a blanket pulled all the way up to her chin was a huge black face, topped with a Dolly Parton-level platinum blonde wig.
“I’m Kara. Sorry, I couldn’t help but overhear your problem. Monty Baumann has been preying on any Conch landowner he can get his claws into since I still thought I was a little boy, and honey, that’s a long-ass time. He took one of my best dancers for all she had and then some. Anything I can do to help you stick it to that greedy bastard, I’m your girl.”
Steve burst out laughing and held out his hand. Kara shook it.
“We didn’t realize …” Kate started again. “Why would you put yourself out like that?”
“Oh, don’t be silly, little one. You must not be from ’round here. We stick together. When one of us needs help, all of us help. ‘One Human Family’ is more than just a bumper sticker, you see. I may be stuck in a hospital bed, but I’ll do what I can from here to help. And when I get out? That piece of rooster dropping’s gonna have to watch out for Kara Quinn.”
She winked and reached for her phone.
Chapter Twenty-One
Just past sunset, Kate pulled the parking brake on her ancient Civic in the tiny parking lot behind the historical society.
Chuck reached between the seats and his seat belt snapped back against the window. “If I’d have realized it would be this easy, I never would have asked you to—”
“Don’t. It’s all good. We don’t actually know what it is your grandfather hid, but if i
t’s real, you’re still going to need help locating it and getting it moved someplace safe. So, let’s take this one step at a time. The first step is getting in there to find his notes. Kara said her friend would be here to meet us, but I don’t see any cars in the lot.”
“Right … you never come into town. No one ever drives down here if they can help it.” The two climbed the back steps of the Custom House and rapped on the door.
Despite the lingering heat, the hairs on Kate’s arms stood straight out. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Chuck.”
“Relax. You got in and out of the archives this afternoon, and you weren’t supposed to be there. Now, we’re just a generous donor and his friend, picking up a personal item that is rightfully his at the appointed time.”
“Still.” Kate rubbed her arms and waited while Chuck rapped again.
They heard a rattle. A blind in the adjacent window twitched, then a moment later, the heavy steel door swung wide. A short woman in her late forties with red glasses and a twinkle in her eye stood there, her arms laden with file folders, her short hair ruffled and dotted with dust and cobwebs. “Come in, come in. You must be Charles Miller. And …” she shifted the weight of her load to stretch a hand out.
“Kate. Kate Kingsbury.”
“Nice to meet you, Kate. I’m Amy. Kara told me you needed to liberate an item of yours that’s on loan here, Mr. Miller?”
“Chuck, please. And yes, some of my grandfather’s effects are here for the Early Keys exhibit. I need to see his books and most likely take one back with me.”
“Normally there’s an avalanche of paperwork involved in returning items on loan. In fact, this is why we try not to take items on loan at all anymore. But Kara called and filled me in on a little bit of your current situation, and let’s just say I’m sympathetic.” She winked. “This adventure can just be our little secret!”
Chuck nodded.
“I pulled the catalog files from the basement for your grandfather’s items. We’re still gradually adding our older archived items to the computer, but we’re only about a quarter of the way through them all. Most of your items haven’t made it in there yet.” She wiggled the pile of files in her arms. “Let’s spread out on one of the work tables upstairs and start through them. I’ll ask you to stop in the restroom in the hall and wash and dry your hands thoroughly, please.” She skipped through the little vestibule then used the tip of her elbow to press the elevator call button.
Once in the archive room, they divided the file folders among them then began to sort through the information. Each artifact, down to the individual letter, had its own file, with photographs and descriptions detailing the contents and condition as well as a sheet cross-referencing it to other items in the collection. On the inside of each folder, a log indicated the item’s current location and everywhere it had been.
Kate skimmed through folder after folder. Letters between Chuck’s grandparents. His grandfather’s World War I army uniform. A ukulele with worn spot on the body just below the sound hole. A small wooden recipe box.
Her stomach rumbled, and she glanced at the clock. It was past nine. She hadn’t expected this to take quite so long.
“Mr. Mil— I mean, Chuck,” Amy said. “Is this the book you’re looking for?”
Chuck leaned over her shoulder to see a photo of a small, dark gray bound book, its pages jagged and yellow with age. He could barely make out the title, Treasure Island, embossed on the front cover. The photo below showed straight lines of faded, crooked writing on the inside cover.
“Looks like a good start.”
“Great. It’s in cabinet 405, and it looks like the other books are stored with it.” Amy led them to a tall fireproof cabinet at the opposite side of the room. She pulled her keys from the pocket of her flouncy white floral skirt, slid a small one into the lock, then popped the heavy door open with a flourish.
Amy paused and sniffed the air inside the cabinet. “Maybe I’m crazy, but I love the smell of history.” She pulled several antique books from the cabinet then laid them side by side on a nearby table.
“Dang, Chuck! These must be worth a fortune.” The words burst from Kate’s mouth before she could stop them.
He shrugged. “Maybe, but it seemed wrong to sell them to the highest bidder.” He gently opened the cover of a first edition copy of Treasure Island. The brittle, yellow pages crackled as he turned them. He flipped to the back cover, its inside surface covered with cryptic symbols, numbers, and notes in small, scratchy cursive. “Hey, come look at this.”
She rounded the table to stand beside him then pointed at one of the notations. “That symbol was on the map in your dad’s room. Could the numbers be dates?”
“Yes. Dates, and a note of what he built.” His finger skimmed down the page. “Look at this first one. ’46 e dock ext. – 26. And here’s another one. ’60 wed - 25, house – 320. That’s the year my parents got married. Wed could be wedding? And he’s got to be talking about my house. He built it the same summer, so my mom and dad could have a place of their own. If I didn’t know better, I’d think this looks like a bank book — his log of what he took out and what he used it for.”
“If that’s true, it looks like over the years, he used a lot. How much do you think could be left?”
Chuck gently flipped through the book’s brittle pages. Thomas Miller had scratched notes in nearly every margin. Chuck shook his head, closed the book, and set it off to the side. He quickly checked through the remaining books, looking for any additional notes, but they were all pristine.
Amy slipped Treasure Island into a sturdy little box with metal reinforcements on the corners, then gathered the remaining books and reverently returned them to storage. “It is kind of a shame that they’re just hidden away in here…”
“It is. Maybe you could put them back on display?” Kate brushed her fingers across the leather of another book.
She nodded. “I’ll definitely be adding them to the potential exhibits list for our next review.”
Chuck looked at the flat gray box. “We can take this, though, right?”
She pulled a set of forms from a yellow folder sitting on the end of the work table. “You can take the book. You just need to sign here. And here. And here, here, and here.” She handed Chuck a pen and flipped through a stack of forms and releases, pointing at each place his signature was required.
“Thank you.”
“Of course. Anything to keep more land in the family around here.” Amy stacked the reference files together, heaved the pile onto her hip, then escorted them to the exit.
The door closed behind them with a heavy thunk. Kate glanced at her watch. “How were we in there that long?” She paused to tug her keys out of her pocket, and Chuck continued down the steps.
“It was a little surreal, seeing all his things catalogued like that. When they were at home, they were just random stuff. Now they’re a part of history.” He held up the book. “This—”
Out of what felt like nowhere, a tall form burst from behind the bushes and tackled him. Chuck’s leg folded beneath him at an unnatural angle. The man pinned him on his back then delivered a sharp right hook to the chin, slamming his head into the pavement. He grabbed the book from the concrete beside the unconscious Chuck.
As he spun up, Kate recognized the bruised nose as the one she’d broken the night before.
He ran across the lawn, hurdled the short bushes, sprinted toward the water.
Kate bolted down the stairs, watching the garish floral shirt round the corner at the pier. She was torn between giving chase and tending to Chuck, but it was really no contest. She returned to her friend then crouched by his side. “Chuck! Chuck!”
A hand on her shoulder made her jump. She looked up to find Amy pointing down the pier. “I’ll call for help. You go after him.”
Kate nodded and sprinted toward the docks. Rounding the turn, she saw the man slow to a jog in front of the cruise ship. The loud blast of the
vessel’s horn vibrated in her chest. She charged for the water.
The man with the pointed, bruised nose swiped a card then stepped aboard the cruise ship.
Its hatch slammed shut behind him before Kate could reach him.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Vince jumped at the sound of the ship’s hatch banging shut. The crew members scrambled around him, shouting orders and making preparations.
“Security to bridge. Last passenger aboard. Clear for departure.”
A passing deckhand pointed him toward the bank of elevators off to the left, then fell in with the other crew. Vince punched the elevator button and cradled the box against his gut, trying to catch his breath.
A sunburned man in a red floral shirt and white tennis shoes climbed onto the elevator with him. “You okay, buddy? Do you need a doctor?”
Vince shook his head.
“You sure?”
“Yeah. Just … thought … late …”
“You just barely made it, for sure. The ship is pulling out, but it’s not worth an asthma attack, man.”
The elevator dinged. Deck Five. Vince stumbled out into the crowded lobby, crossed the main promenade deck, then found his way outside to the railing. He clutched the little gray box and watched the city slowly drift into the distance.
His breath began to return to his lungs as he explored the ship deck by deck, finally finding a quiet corner and a soft chair. He opened the box, pulled out the book, and thumbed through the pages.
“What the hell is so important about an old book?” The pages flaked as he rifled through them, tiny bits of brittle hundred-fifty-year-old paper dusting his lap. He flipped to the back cover and ran his finger under the first line of scrawled notes.
“What are you reading?”
Vince jumped. A middle-aged woman held a hardback novel in the crook of her arm. Glasses. Pale skin. Polyester kimono covering up god-knows-what. He shook his head and returned to the book.