by Don Bruns
“Yeah, sort of.”
“But if the dogs ran you off-”
“Honest to God, Maria, you can’t tell anyone about that.” James’s eyes were wide and he grabbed her hand across the table.
“Because you are afraid you’ll get caught?”
“Because he’s embarrassed that the dogs almost caught up with him.” Em smiled. Always stirring the pot.
“Shut up, Em.” He let go of Maria’s hand and regrouped. “We left our shovels. But due to a boat arriving, we don’t think they paid much attention to the-”
“A boat? At that hour of the morning? Maybe it was a fishing boat.”
I leaned in. “We thought it was strange, too. Thirty-five people were on this boat. They all had suitcases with them.”
Maria frowned, looking out at the water.
“Strange things happen down here. You just never know.”
“Will you go look?”
She shrugged. “Why not? There are some nice cottages on that side of the property. I could just be scoping them out, you know, for possible sales.”
Em had called this one right.
“Of course, I would like to be considered if you find gold coins.”
“Yeah.” James and I both shouted together. We weren’t after gold coins. We were after pounds of gold bars. And this biker babe was going to give us a hand.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
We stayed away, went nowhere near the scene of the crime. Maria met us at a Walgreens drugstore across from the post office.
“You’re right. There are several small clearings where you can see into the property. Your shovels are there, just laying on the ground.”
“And what about the ground?” James said.
“It appears to be dug up where the shovels are laying.”
We sat in the parking lot, Maria on the soft leather seat of her Harley, the three of us on that cracked vinyl bench seat in the truck.
“If they’d sent those dogs in to run you off, they would have searched the area and confiscated those shovels,” Em said. “As it is, they didn’t even check the grounds. The entire emphasis last night was on that boat. Maybe the dogs were to protect whatever cargo they had. You said they all carried suitcases.”
“Again, what time did that boat arrive?” I knew, but wanted to hear it again.
“Three thirty.” Em pointed to her watch.
“So we dig at two thirty tomorrow morning. Just in case there’s another boat at the same time.” I was determined to find what my shovel had hit this morning.
“I won’t be there. That’s past my bedtime, kids.” Maria pointed to her watch. “Speaking of time, I’ve got a house to show. Remember, if you find gold coins-”
She twisted the handle, adjusted the Harley engine to a throaty roar, and pulled out onto Highway 1.
“Think she’ll keep quiet?” I asked.
“I think she likes the idea of being a part of this little scheme.”
“Gold coins and all.”
“We’ll dig tonight, pard, but,” he turned to Em, “I hope we pay more attention to who shows up.”
She bristled.
James drove back to Pelican Cove.
“This time, I’m gonna take a short break, partner. Not much to do till early this morning is there?”
I studied him as we pulled into the parking lot.
“She’s married, James. You do know that.”
“She’s a big girl, Skip.”
Em nudged me and I opened the door and stepped out.
“I’m a big boy,” he said.
“Not necessarily a smart boy,” Em responded as she walked away.
James watched her, then turned to me and shook his head.
“I think it was Will Rodgers who said it best, my friend.”
“What was that, James?”
“He said, ‘Never miss a good chance to shut up.’”
“I never knew the man.”
“Yeah, well, he made sense.”
James walked in the direction of Holiday Isle, and I assumed he’d be occupied for the next several hours.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I left Em at the poolside bar with the popular Bobbie as I headed out to the check-in, a small building at the front of the resort. Our resort.
The girl I’d talked to when we found the body was sitting there staring at her computer screen.
She looked up when I opened the door.
“Oh, wasn’t that creepy?”
“It was.”
Doing a mock shiver, she smiled at me. “I still get goose bumps to think that, you know-and you? You had to see it. Oh, my God. You had to look at the body. Was it gross?”
“It was.”
She shuddered for real.
“I’ve got a question for you. Are you familiar with the water-front suites about a mile and a half down the road called Ocean Air Suites?”
“Sure. I’ve got a friend who cleans rooms there.”
“Really? It’s right next to that vacant lot, right?”
“Uh-huh. The strange lot that’s fenced in.”
“Who owns the suites?”
“You want to know who is her boss?”
“Yeah.”
“Doctor James O’Neill.”
“Really? The same guy who has the chiropractor business?” I don’t know why that surprised me, but I wasn’t expecting it.
She laughed. “He’s an orthopedic surgeon. I think there’s a difference.”
“Something to do with bones.”
She nodded.
“Do you know Doctor O’Neill?”
“Not really. He tends to keep to himself. Jan doesn’t know him either. She says he doesn’t show up very often. I think his practice keeps him busy.”
“She’s met him?”
“I think so. Maybe one time he showed up late in the morning with a group of tourists. Yeah. That was it. They were supposed to come in maybe two a.m. and the boat was delayed. She was cleaning rooms and he showed up with these people at nine in the morning.”
“Okay.”
“But the place is kind of weird. There are days when she’ll get a call and they don’t need her.”
“Off season, when it’s slow?”
“Not necessarily. It’s like that whole group will check in really late, sleep all day, and check out the next night. Not till maybe eleven p.m. So they lay her off for two days and then she’s got to clean every room the next day. Happens once or twice a month. She’s looking at some other job opportunities because this one is shaky. But the economy being what it is-”
“People who check in late and check out late? Ah, tourists. Who can understand them?”
“I just know that we need them.”
She smiled and looked back at her computer.
I joined Em at the bar, my beer already on the counter, light brown and bubbly, sparkling in the late afternoon sun.
Bobbie looked at me and frowned.
“My God, this girl, Amy,” Em said, “with James, she’s having an affair on top of an affair.”
“She’s on vacation, Emily. You can’t have too much fun.”
She smiled and sipped her beer, licking the foam off the top.
“Your good friend seems to have more fun than he should.”
I agreed. But I didn’t want Em telling me that. It was a guy thing. James was James. Em never seemed to get that.
“Hey, I found out something interesting. That motel, excuse me, those suites on the north side of the fence-”
“Yeah?”
“They belong to the orthopedic guy next to the Vein Care Center.”
“So he’s got an investment close to his office. So what?”
“Well, it’s just funny. This Doctor Malhotra owns the boat dock property and Dr. O’Neill owns the suites. And early this morning we see the boat come in and people disappearing at the suites’ side of the property.”
“I think you’re making too much of that.”
“Maybe, but you factor in that there were attack dogs for security.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”
“And the fact that Jan, who works there, says guests sometimes check in very late and check out late the next night. Don’t most motels and hotels have checkout by noon?”
I very seldom stayed in a hotel. I could barely afford the rat hole we lived in outside of Miami.
“That’s the group we saw. The early morning arrivals.” Em looked me in the eyes. “By the way, you’re getting pretty good at this detective business.”
“How’s that?”
“Look at all you’ve learned in the past twenty-four hours.”
“I’m no closer to the gold.”
“You’ve only been here a couple of days, boyfriend.”
I liked it when she called me that.
Standing up, she motioned to me. We walked to the beach, and she took my hand. At that very second, life couldn’t have been any better. Of course, that never lasts.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
We had dinner at the Ocean View Inn and Pub. The place was on the gulf side of the Key and did not overlook the ocean. That didn’t seem to matter. It was still the Ocean View Inn.
“Are you sure you want to eat here?” Em was watching ten guys across the bar, laughing loudly, cussing a blue streak, and slamming down their beers as fast as they could.
The bar/restaurant/inn was directly across the highway from Pelican Cove. It was close, walkable, and Bobbie volunteered that the bar food here was passable and it was cheap. She also said some pro football players owned the place and it was world famous. I sensed a theme in Islamorada.
The sign out front said: OLDEST ESTABLISHED LIQUOR LICENSE IN THE KEYS. Everything seemed to revolve around the Keys and alcohol.
Sitting down, I immediately saw there was something sunken into the dark wood bar. A small plaque was embedded there as well. “Spike from Henry Flagler’s railroad,” it read.
“Em, this is cool. It’s a spike from Flagler’s folly.”
She gave me a suspicious look, then gazed up and down the bar. To her right was a guy who looked like an ex-football player. His curly hair hung in ringlets and his muscle had turned to flab.
Next to him were two older fishermen, the creases in their faces showing the effects of too many days in the sun. Judging by the empty bottles, they were well into their fifth round. Arguing about a football game or player, they went at each other.
“Sum bitch should have stayed a farmer. Never was NFL quality, Danny. Never was.”
“Well I say he has two year, two years to prove his mettle. You just think you know it all and-”
“I’d lay a Benjamin down on that. He’ll be gone in two.”
I signaled the barmaid, a rough-looking woman with a weathered face and her hair pulled back in a knot. She wore a stained white tank top and sported an ugly red scar running down her right cheek.
“Two beers. Yuengling.”
She stared at us sullenly and I thought immediately of Bobbie. Were all the bartenders in Islamorada surly?
We checked out the long bar and the far wall with pictures of fishermen, their catches hanging high, as we ate our fried ocean perch and french fries. Not the healthiest meal in the Keys, but the Ocean View was world famous. And that was something. World famous. It made us proud.
She set two more beers in front of us without asking, apparently signaling there was a two-drink minimum for the atmosphere.
Giving us a suspicious look, she said, “Where you from?”
“Miami,” I replied.
In the din of laughter and conversation she shouted out, “Are you here for the tournament? You don’t look like tournament types.”
“I didn’t even know there was a tournament.”
She squinted her eyes, as if she didn’t know whether to believe me or not.
“Swordfishing. They go out at night, three, four miles offshore where the water’s warm. They fish from seven till lines up.”
“Lines up?” Em asked.
“Three a.m. They pull their lines. Second night the same thing. Whoever has the most weight, wins.”
I wasn’t much of a fisherman. “How much does a swordfish weigh?”
“Hundred, hundred ten. Wouldn’t you say, Willie?” She motioned to an old leather-skinned man down the bar.
He grunted.
She put down our check, and I handed her the debit card. It’s amazing how fast a thousand dollars can slip away. A nice resort, a few good meals, oil and gas for the truck.
“If you’re not here for the tournament, what are you here for?”
“Just, you know, vacationing.”
She stared at me for a moment. “Don’t look much like vacationers either.”
Just then a cheer erupted on the other side of the bar, and a couple of men started singing off-key and loudly.
We walked out into the humid evening.
“Did you catch that, Skip?”
Walking across the deserted highway, she grabbed my arm.
“Big fish?”
“That’s not what I was referring to.”
“Then what?”
“She said lines up at three a.m., and we saw the boat at three thirty.”
“You think?”
“Timing is suspect.”
“Sure didn’t look like a fishing boat. And I don’t think you’d have thirty-five people out there. It just doesn’t seem right.”
“Seems funny they pull in their lines at about the same time you saw the boat.”
My girlfriend is right more than she’s wrong. I pondered the thought, and I was certain that was no fishing boat.
I heard the throbbing engine before I saw the headlight. A Harley-Davidson came roaring around the bend, and we both ran for the grass. I turned to look and couldn’t make out much, except the driver was helmeted. Whoever it was, was riding like the wind. That bike blew by us and disappeared down the road.
“Could have been the gold fender,” I gasped when we got to the other side.
“Could have been Maria Sanko.” Em wasn’t winded at all.
“Could have been our lives if we hadn’t picked up our speed.”
It was still early and Holiday Isle was cooking, the music and noise drifting across the water.
“Want to go?” Em was making the suggestion.
So we walked to Rumrunners and there were James and Amy, cuddling at the bar.
“Tell me, Skip, would you fool around with a married woman?” Em studied them for a moment.
“Doesn’t every situation depend on the moment?”
She put her hands on my cheeks and stared into my eyes. “I don’t know if I like that answer.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
We met up in the parking lot at two fifteen. James and I both had smiles on our faces. I only guessed at his reason.
“What we have is a committed relationship, Skip,” Em whispered. “Don’t forget that word committed. Okay?”
I nodded. Em walked in and out of our relationship at her discretion. I felt I was lucky to have what was left.
“We can only hope that our shovels are still where we left them,” James said as he pushed the pedal to the metal and hit fifty miles per hour.
We parked in a small lot a block and a half away, far enough from the vacant property, but close enough to make an immediate escape if things turned sour. And things already had a history of turning sour.
“Pray that Malhotra and O’Neill don’t show up in a boat at this hour.” Em closed her eyes as if in prayer.
Cupping my hands, I offered James the first chance to vault the fence. He cleared easily.
Em lifted me and I grabbed the top rail, awkwardly straddling, then jumping off the metal bar.
“You guys be really careful. Please.”
The moon was muted behind a thin layer of clouds as we walked softly across the dew-dampened grass.
“Over there.” James pointed to my shovel.
It was amazing that no one had checked up on our digging. They must have been used to having trespassers, those skinny dippers and the make-out artists. And apparently no one had ever done more than that-trespass. So no one was looking for trespassers who would dig the place up. It never occurred to them.
“You want to continue what you were doing yesterday morning?”
Picking up the shovel, I pushed it into the soft earth. There it was again. The sharp clink of metal on metal. It wasn’t a stone. It didn’t feel like concrete. I spaded out the sand, now digging deeper and out a little. I was about two feet into the soft sandy soil when I hit something else. This time it felt like a rock. Kneeling down, I buried my hand almost elbow deep.
“What do you have?”
“Concrete, James. It’s flat and smooth.”
“That’s what you hit? Well, at least we’ve discovered the foundation.”
“There’s something else. Just give me a minute.”
I thrust the blade into the ground and pried upward. Whatever the metal piece was, it gave just a little and I slipped the head of the shovel under an edge. Not enough to dislodge it, but it was a start.
“Got something?” He could sense it.
“Just hold tight.”
Prying, I felt it give a little more, still covered with too much earth.
“No sign of any boats, pard. And we haven’t heard a peep from our lookout. Keep digging.”
Shifting my position, I started wedging the shovel around the piece of metal. I could see it was small, maybe five by eight inches, and I pried again. It moved, and I was able to slip more of the shovel under the piece, carefully lifting it. Cradling it in the curved blade, I eased it out of the hole.
“A box. An old metal box.” James removed it from its steel bed, brushing away at the dirt that covered the top.
I tugged hard on the top of the box, but it was either locked or corroded shut. Maybe both.
“Is this it? The information?” I studied the object.
“We could dig some more. Personally, I think we’re damned lucky to have found anything, you know?”
I knew. It was a big area.
“Let’s kick some of this sand back in the hole.”