by Chris Niles
“What book?”
“I’m not in the mood for games right now. We both know what book. First edition, Treasure Island. The one you stole from us two days ago and nearly killed its rightful owner for.”
“What do you mean, nearly killed him? I just knocked him down.”
“And cracked his skull on the pavement.”
His eyebrows softened a little, then the hardness returned to his beady eyes. “Collateral damage, I guess. What’s it matter, anyway? He’d be fine if he’d just get with the program and do what he’s supposed to do.”
“And what about …” Kate’s voice caught in her throat. Shaking her head, she continued. “What Chuck’s supposed to do is be able to run his business in peace, free of harassment by thugs and criminals.”
“And I’m just doin’ my job, lady. A man’s gotta eat.”
“Your job. Just like any other hardworking fisherman or tour guide or schoolteacher? Come on. You hurt people for a living. Your job is illegal. Your boss is corrupt. How can you even look in the mirror?”
Kate touched a nerve. The man twitched and closed his eyes.
“You can’t, can you? That’s why you’ve got days of scruff on your chin. You step up to the mirror and spread lather over your face, and then you see those little black eyes staring back at you. The only eyes who know everything you’ve done. Everyone you’ve hurt and killed. All for what? Greed? Power?”
She inched closer to him. His body was shifting, tensed muscles releasing and ready to pounce.
Kate circled around, leaned close to his ear, and whispered, “For what? For a crappy little trailer by the dry dock and a beat-up Hyundai? For friends you can drink with, but who disappear into the shadows when—”
“Ma- ma- master suite. Closet.”
She grabbed a rope, strung it between his wrists, then tied it to the ladder. “I’ll be right back.” The rain beat down on Vince’s head, plastering his hair to his forehead and across one eye. “You better not be lying to me.”
He shook the hair from his face and slumped down onto his side.
Three hours later, Vince Holt was tucked into the u-shaped dinette of the Sofia. He wore fresh clothes and had a towel draped around his neck. His hands were still secured with zip ties, but now they rested in front of him on the table. Alejandro sat perched in front of the tall interior helm across the salon, the big Colt in his hand.
Kate stepped out into the cockpit into the afternoon sun. The storm had moved off to the west as they’d motored north, and the clear skies had made the rest of the crossing bearable. Holt had only puked once.
The Mariella lay fifty yards astern, attached to a set of tow lines Steve and William had rigged up. Kate checked the lines then climbed the ladder to the flybridge.
“We’re getting close. Michelle is waiting right here.” William tapped a dot on the radar screen. “She’s got Chuck’s Whaler. We should have her on the horizon in just a minute or so.”
“Great. I’ll be glad to get this book back in his hands so we can get this whole thing over with. How much did you tell her?”
“It was a quick call. Just gave her the GPS numbers.” He paused, choosing his words. “Look, when we get there, I’m gonna need your help. Steve’s a mess, and he needs a little time to sort through everything before he talks with the authorities. We’ll move you all over to the Whaler. I need you to help keep them separated. The boys will tie you all up to the Mariella and work on getting her secured a little better while I run in and refuel the Sofia. Between the main and the reserves, she’ll have enough in the tanks to tow Mariella back home, but it’ll be a slow trip, and it’ll take at least three aboard to keep watch. So I’ll go back to Cozumel with the boys and then fly home tomorrow. You can fill in Michelle while you all wait for us.”
Kate watched the horizon until she spotted a tiny dot that became a little boat, and she wondered how the hell to explain the past two days.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Kate’s shadow stretched behind her as she pulled herself out of the little Boston Whaler and onto the weathered dock. She reached a hand down to Steve, but he turned away and yanked Vince out of the boat by his armpit. While Michelle tied up the Whaler, Vince stumbled over the planks, turning each time Steve pushed him one way or the other until they reached the front door of Chuck’s little house. Steve pounded, and when Chuck opened the door, Steve shoved Vince through it and stalked back down to the docks.
Kate peeked around the hedge as he boarded the Island Hopper. He slowly ran his hand along the rail until he collapsed in tears on the dive deck. Kate started toward the boat, then she stopped.
When Danny died, people had crowded around her for days, never giving her a moment alone to wrap her head around what had just happened. How her life would never be the same. How the one person she counted on to always be there would never be there again.
The best gift she could give Steve now was privacy.
Kate turned and slipped back through the hedge toward the north point of the island. There would be plenty of time later to console her friend. Now he needed a quiet moment to let down his guard and feel.
She wouldn’t mind a moment to herself, either.
As she climbed the deck, she spotted Whiskey. His ears perked forward, his entire body motionless except for his tail thumping the thick boards of the deck. Beside him, Babette was settled in a sturdy chair with pillows and beach towels tucked all around her. Her roommate from the hospital and the woman from the Historical Society fawned around her like a queen.
Whiskey quivered next to Babette, his eyes on Kate.
“Okay, c’mere boy!” Kate snapped her fingers at her side, then the dog bolted to her and jumped up, his enormous paws on her shoulders, licking her face. His strong tail knocked a chair over as it wagged.
Kate hugged him back and finally pushed him back to the ground.
“Kate.” Babette’s hand barely reached her shoulder, but the wave beckoned Kate to the chair beside her. The other two women disappeared into the kitchen. “William called. Where’s Steve?”
Kate cocked her head toward the Hopper’s slip. “He needs a little time to himself right now.”
“Yeah. When my husband died, I couldn’t get a moment alone. I just wanted to wail and scream and swear at God for taking him so early. But I couldn’t do that in front of everyone. I had to hold it together. I know they were all just trying to help, and I’m so grateful they were there. But …”
Kate squeezed Babette’s hand, and the two sat together and watched the sun drop closer to the horizon.
A few minutes later, the other two women emerged from the kitchen with a tray covered in red plastic baskets and a couple of galvanized buckets filled with ice and beer and bottled water. The shorter woman with the red glasses set the tray on a nearby table.
“Kate, do you remember Amy and Kara?”
“Of course.” Kate pushed herself out of the chair and stretched her hand out to the broad-shouldered woman first. “Kara, it’s good to see you up and about. I hope you’re feeling better?”
“Still a bit tender in spots, but I’m getting by, thanks for asking.” She glanced around the deck.
Amy reached forward and shook Kate’s hand. “Good to see you again. I hope we’re not overstepping by being here. After everything that happened, I felt like I could use a couple days off. Kara told me Babette was getting discharged. I figured, how better to spend my free days than by coming out here, giving her a hand, and getting a taste of what we’re trying to save. And then when the phone call came in…”
“Oh, not at all. I’m sure Chuck is glad you’re here. We’ve all got a lot to deal with right now.” Kate glanced at the table. “Wait. Babette, are those your grouper bites and island tartar? You gave these two your secret recipe?”
Babette grabbed her side and winced, but kept laughing. “Who says I gave it away?”
Kara came to her rescue. “She had us help her to the kitchen and set up a stoo
l for her to lean on. Then she ordered us out long enough for her to mix up the batter. After that, she left us to do the dirty work of coating them and watching the fryer.”
Michelle crossed the deck to join them as Amy passed the baskets and bottles around, then they all watched as Babette tested the first bite and nodded her approval. Kate popped a chunk of fish in her mouth. She closed her eyes, savoring the flavor of fresh fish and nutty fryer oil. “Babette, how are you feeling?”
She smiled and waved at the darkening sky. “I’m alive, I’m not trapped in that grungy old hospital, the sky is clear, and the sun is setting in the west. All things considered, I’m great. Sure, it’ll be better when this hurts a little less. I’m still pretty bloated from where they patched me back up, but that’ll pass. Literally.” She laughed at her own joke, grabbing her side and leaning into the pain.
“Do they have you on good pain control?”
Babette flapped her hand in the air. “They offered it, but fresh air and some Tylenol is really enough. Conchs come from tough stock. Besides, I need my faculties about me to decide what kind of beer I want.” She raised her Kalik, and tipped the top toward the group. “To Susan.”
“Susan.” They all slowly clinked their bottles against Babette’s. Babette took a tiny sip while the other three women drank in unison.
A few minutes later, Whiskey’s head jerked toward the stairs. His hips slowly rose up, his hair on end, a low growl rumbling in his chest.
“Whiskey, no. Sit.” He obeyed Kate’s stern command, but his unblinking eyes never left the man who’d just climbed the steps.
Chuck led the new arrival to the table amid horrified looks and angry glares. Then he squeezed Babette around the shoulders before settling into a spot beside her. He took a beer from one of the buckets, clinked his bottle against hers, then paused to watch the sun slip under the horizon. Then he picked up a conch shell from an empty table and blew into it, playing a lingering mournful note.
As its low wail bid the day farewell, Kate could just barely see the rocking radio mast on the Island Hopper.
Chuck sat a little straighter and looked at the newcomer, who squirmed a bit in his seat. “You all know about Vince by now, but just to get the formality out of the way, this is Vince Holt.” Heads around the table nodded, but no one shook Vince’s hand. “Vince has been working for Marty Baumann.”
Kate looked at the other women. Michelle held a neutral expression, but Babette, Amy, and Kara’s eyes all narrowed at hearing Baumann’s name. It seemed a common reaction among the locals.
Chuck continued. “Recent events have led him to seek opportunities outside Baumann’s organization.” He nodded to Vince.
“Miss Wilcox?”
Babette glanced down at her bandaged abdomen, then leveled her glare back at Vince. “We’ve met.”
“Babette.”
She swiveled to face Chuck. “How can you let it go? How can you let him get away with what he did? To both of us! To Susan?”
“He’s not going to get away with it. But right now, we have a common interest. He can help us if we help him. We’ll deal with the rest later.”
“Every day he spends out in the sun is a day he should be in a cell. Or worse.”
Vince broke in. “Miss Wilcox, I am truly sorry for what I did to you. I’ve been thinking about leaving this … job for a while, and I just … what happened with you and with Mr. Miller … it was just … I’m sorry. I’m glad you’re recovering, and I’d like to try to make it up to you.”
“Babette,” Kate started. “None of us has a good reason to trust this guy. No offense, Vince.”
“None taken.”
“But I can tell you that what happened to Susan wasn’t his fault. He jumped in and tried to help. I saw it.” She paused. “I still don’t trust him, but he’s offering his help in return for a chance to get out and start over. I think most of us can appreciate that, even if we aren’t sure about him yet. So for now, that’ll have to be enough.”
“It’s enough for me, and I’m the one who has the final say,” Chuck announced as Amy deposited several more baskets of grouper on the table. “As much as we’d like to press pause for a few days, the clock is still ticking. Baumann smells blood, and he will exploit every weakness he can find.”
He turned to Kate. “Do you have it?”
She pulled the battered archive box from her bag then set it on the table.
Chuck continued. “Vince here is in the unique position to be able to feed Baumann information to keep him off our backs while we go through this to find the place where Gramps hid Capone’s loot. He can buy me the time I need to save this place for all of us. Amy, I can’t thank you enough for helping me get this book in the first place, and I promise we’ll return it as soon as my business with it is done.”
Kate looked across the table. “Michelle, your husband is a bit of a badass.”
“Yes. Yes, he is. I think I’ll keep him.” She grinned. “You’d better fill me in on all of his accomplishments because he’ll never tell me for fear I’ll never let him go on any more adventures.”
“Someday. Suffice it to say, William was amazing, and we never could have gotten the book back without him.”
Chuck handed her a fresh bottle of water. “I know you two don’t really have a dog in this hunt. We appreciate William’s help, and yours, too. But I’ll understand when the two of you are ready to move on.”
“We’ve already talked about this, and we’re not going anywhere. We haven’t been here long, but we know home when we see it and Shark Key is it. You can count on us, Chuck.”
He sat still for a moment, then reached up and scratched his eye. Kate was pretty sure she spotted a tear, but the old salt would never admit to feeling sentimental.
“Okay, let’s get down to business here.” Chuck pulled the small leather-bound book from the box and opened it flat on the table.
Vince squirmed in his seat. “I don’t want to be a downer on my first day on the team, but all’s in there is a bunch of notes about fish and tides scribbled in all the margins. I stared at it for hours after—”
“It’s a fishing journal, Vince. There are supposed to be notes about fish and tides.” Babette’s sharp tone told everyone she wasn’t ready to forgive him just yet.
“How about we take a deeper look.” Chuck flipped a few pages. “Like here.” He pointed to one of the notations.
12.7.39 — Storm blew in from the southwest. Baby cried all night. Gigi took the car into town to get medicine for him and didn’t come back.
“That’s from about six months before she disappeared for good.”
Babette rested her hand on Chuck’s arm. He flipped page after page, reading the rare personal notes to the group.
3.28.60 — Winds still high, viz 20 at KK.
4.9.60 — Wedding.
“That’s my mama and daddy’s wedding date. Then there are a bunch about fishing … then, here.” He pointed.
8.2.60 — Finished house.
He pointed to the roof of his house just beyond the restaurant. “My house. He built it for them as a wedding gift.”
Chuck turned back to the front of the book and read.
8.24.40: Alone with P two months now. Offered a Negro widow and her children to live in the bunkhouse. James 1:27.
4.17.41: Visited KK. Planning a dock with rental slips for next tourist season.
12.5.41: Rental slips sold for the whole season.
“They go on like this. Fishing notes and tides several times a week. Little notes every few months.” He closed the book, his finger tucked between its pages to hold his place. “I remember Daddy talking about Ophelia when I was little. It was during the war. Her boys were a few years older ’n him, and he worshipped them like they were older brothers. I think she married a man from the mainland and moved off the Key not long after Daddy started school.” He flipped deeper into the book. “Yeah here’s one from a few years later.
5.2.43: Wedding of
Ophelia and Curtis. Paul was ring bearer. KK set them up in Montgomery.
“Your grandfather may have been a man of few words, but it sounds like he had a big heart.” Michelle sighed. “Not many white men would help a black woman in that time, even down here.”
“Just doin’ what’s right.”
Kate glared at Vince. He seemed engrossed in the history, but she wasn’t convinced he was worthy of the fresh start Chuck was offering him. “What else does it say?”
“A lot more of the same,” Chuck said.
Her shoulders sagged as the last shred of hope abandoned her. She glanced around the group. Their furrowed brows and downturned lips mirrored her own mood. She felt her own fresh start slipping away.
Time was running out fast, and they had no idea where to look for the treasure.
Chapter Forty
Kate stepped down off the dock onto the aft deck of Serenity. She slid the door free and a gust of chilled air enveloped her.
“What do you think, Whiskey? I hear the right words, but he looks like the type who would say whatever he needed to say to get out of hot water.” Kate scratched the dog’s head. “I’m all for fresh starts and second chances, sure, but I’m not buying his story.”
Look at me, trying to have an in-depth conversation with a dog.
The curtains swayed with the gentle movement of the water. Through a narrow gap, the dock lights cast an amber strip of light across the dark room.
Kate flopped over the length of the couch, body aching from the stress of the past two days. Whiskey squeezed into the narrow gap between her and the cushions. She fell asleep on the couch to the soft sound of water lapping against Serenity’s flat hull.
Kate leaned far out over the polished port rail, the sky above her ablaze with purple and green light. She watched the blue sun climb higher in the sky. Something pressing into the small of her back told her the sun wasn’t supposed to be blue, but it looked simultaneously ordinary and stunning. It captivated her, so she didn’t notice the massive swell until it slammed the starboard side of the hull, sending her flying over the railing toward the roiling water eight decks below.