by Liz Dodwell
“What did you think?”
“Pretty good.”
“Want another one?”
“Alrighty, then.”
The end
AUTHOR’S NOTES
I so hope you enjoyed Black Bart is Dead, because I really worked hard on this story. It may be short but it took a good bit of planning, even moving stick figures around a floor plan to be sure all the suspects could have done the deed. At any rate, dear readers, please consider leaving a review wherever you purchased this book. As an independent author it’s not easy to compete out there and I’d really appreciate your feedback. And please join me sometime at www.facebook.com/LizDodwellAuthor. I’d love to get to know you.
For you treasure-hunting buffs, the Spec was a real opium runner that sank in the Kaulakahi Channel between Kauai and Niihau in 1846, apparently with a chest of $10 gold eagles. In her earlier life the schooner was named Independence. She was 86 foot long, with a beam of 22 feet. In 1838 she was rechristened the Flying Fish and became part of the Wilkes Expedition squadron, exploring the South China Seas for four years until she was declared unseaworthy and condemned. Before being dismantled however, she was purchased and put into service for smuggling. She sank, with the gold, in 700 fathoms (that’s deep; a fathom is six feet). Two crewmen reportedly survived.
The organization SAV is completely an invention of my mind. However, I do want to mention there are some great groups who actually do rescue shelter animals and train them to help wounded warriors. A couple are Paws & Stripes, and K9s for Warriors. They do wonderful things. Why not look them up? And if you know of similar groups, please give them a shout-out on my facebook page.
Once again I want to thank Captain Carl Fismer for his inspiration and friendship these many years. If you want to know anything about shipwreck treasure hunting, he’s your man. Find him here: http://www.carlfismer.com.
Thanks to everyone who gives me ideas and criticism (of the constructive variety); to my invaluable assistant, Dominic Ottaviano; and as always, my husband, Alex Markovich, who thinks everything I write is wonderful (I’m so lucky).
The Gold Doubloon Mystery
A Captain Finn Treasure Mystery
Book 3
LIZ DODWELL
For Dominic,
who is seeking the treasure of his destiny
ONE
The first of the reef sculptures was ready to be lowered into the water. The cremated remains of a woman had been mixed with environmentally-safe concrete and formed into a huge starfish, which now hung over the side of the boat. We hadn’t known the woman in life, nor did we know any of the people who had gathered to watch her take her place amongst the sea life. We were there to memorialize the life of Ned “Guppie” Zawacki, an old-time treasure-hunting friend and mentor of Finn’s. Ned had died without family, and pretty much broke. In fact, Finn and I were about the only people there for him at the end, and it was Finn who had commissioned the bell-shaped tribute that would become part of the artificial reef. By the way, in case you’re wondering about the Guppie moniker, it’s because of the way Ned used to purse his lips when he was thinking hard.
Sea Spirit Reef is about three miles off the coast of Jupiter in Florida. It was loosely modeled after Port Royal, Jamaica, which sank into the ocean back in the late 1600s after a massive earthquake. You might think the theme a bit off-key as a memorial, Port Royal having been notorious for pirates, prostitutes and booze and all. But there are nearly 2,000 of these reefs throughout the country, so having just one for those of us who like things a little quirky is OK in my book.
So, back to the story. We were respectfully waiting our turn to send Ned into the sea that he loved, along with about a dozen other small groups. A couple of divers were in the water, ready to guide the concrete starfish to its final destination. The rope around the sculpture had been crackling with the tension of its weight when, suddenly, it snapped. The starfish plunged into the water, narrowly missing one of the divers. A couple of women screamed, while most of us were momentarily immobilized in surprise.
Finn was the first to recover, rushing to the side to make sure the divers were OK. The rest of us streamed after him and peered into the depths. Two distinct sets of bubbles rose where the two divers were no doubt working to set the sculpture in place. “What’s that?” someone said, pointing to another slight disturbance on the surface; nothing much, just a circular rippling really. Then something broke through the ripples and settled gently into the rhythm of the sea.
“Is that a fish?” an uncertain voice asked.
We all strained forward a little more to see better. This time, a lot of people screamed, as they realized it was no fish. It was a body.
TWO
For the past couple of weeks we’d been staying at the home of Russ and Viviana Kearns in Fort Pierce, which is just a little north of Jupiter. Russ had been curator at a privately run shipwreck museum in the Florida Keys. Over the years, Finn contributed a number of artifacts to the museum and got to know Russ pretty well. When Russ retired a year ago, he and Viviana left the Keys to be closer to their family. Actually, Russ would have preferred to stay where they were, but the trade-off was that Viviana OK’d the purchase of a boat for treasure hunting. So Russ found himself a great deal; a 1973 42-foot Cris Craft Commander Sports Fisherman for $25,000. He put another $20,000 into it, including a 24-inch mailbox – that’s a blower mounted on the stern that excavates holes in the ocean sediment – and had himself a really sweet treasure boat.
The Kearns had an apartment over the garage and they’d been kind enough to let Finn and me stay there while planning Guppie’s memorial. Our real home is Finn’s 48-foot re-fitted aluminum crew boat, Time Voyager. We have a permanent berth at Mud Bug, a private island off the west coast of Florida. And let me explain, Finn is my mentor, a father figure to me. When things were really bad for me a few years ago, he gave me a chance and got me back on the right path. Ever since then I’ve had the good fortune to share his life and his work.
Finn’s name is actually Rex Finsmer, though everyone calls him Finn, or Captain Finn. He’s been a full-time shipwreck treasure hunter for at least three decades, and is the most amazing person I know. One of my jobs is to book speaking tours for him and I never tire of listening to his stories of shipwrecks, lost treasure or the Spanish Main. Oh, and I’m Phillida Jane Trent, but you can call me Phill.
As I was saying, we’d been at the Kearn’s home for a while and, weather and time permitting, had gone out with Russ searching for artifacts and coin from the 1715 Spanish Plate Fleet. For those of you who don’t know, the Fleet was actually a combined armada of 11 ships. Laden with gold, silver, jewels and treasures of the Orient, they departed Havana, Cuba for the voyage back to Spain. As they followed the east coast of Florida they were struck by a ferocious hurricane. Ten of the galleons were lost, as well as more than a thousand souls. The thing that always amazes me the most, though, is that 1500 survived.
So far, we’d found bones, iron spikes, pottery sherds and a coral-encrusted dead-eye that was definitely very old. It was the dead-eye that excited Finn the most; he said it’s the best clue that we were in the right area.
Anyway, after the memorial fiasco the previous day, Finn thought it best we hang around on dry land for a couple of days. The Coast Guard had closed off the Sea Spirit Reef area pending investigation of a potential crime scene, which meant that Guppie’s service was on hold. We had no idea if the corpse was a murder victim or an accidental death. We were able see it was a man, fully clothed. Obviously, he hadn’t drowned taking an afternoon swim, but he might have fallen from a boat, maybe one of the cruise ships in and out of the eastern Florida ports.
As it turned out, it was a good thing we didn’t go treasure hunting. About mid-morning, Finn got a call from the Palm Beach County constabulary, very nicely asking if he could help them with their inquiries. It was more than an hour’s drive from the Kearns’ home to the Sheriff’s office, assuming the traffic wa
s light, which of course it pretty much never is, so Finn settled on a one o’ clock meeting.
“Is everyone being called in?” I asked.
“You weren’t.”
“Hmm. Good point. Then they must need your expertise for something.”
A successful treasure hunter needs pretty good powers of deductive reasoning. Finn was one of the best, and he’d put those skills to use a few times helping solve crimes in the past. I wondered what the police thought he could do for them now.
We arrived at the police station about 15 minutes ahead of time. I say, “we,” though technically I hadn’t been invited, but I could be really stubborn when I wanted something, and I wanted to know what was going on. The first clue that this was more than an accidental drowning was when we were told we were to see Detective Lisandro Batista of the Homicide Unit. We were shown into a spartan interview room with the obligatory table and four chairs, and told the detective would be with us shortly.
“Well, at least we haven’t been chained to the desk.”
Finn just rolled his eyes at my lame joke. Truth to tell, I was a little uncomfortable. The atmosphere reminded me of too many places I’d been in when I was getting shuffled round the foster care system as a kid.
The door opened and Adam Rodriguez walked in. Well, not really, but this guy was practically a ringer for the hunky actor. If you know me, you know I’m not the type of woman who worries about her hair or the clothes she wears, but damn, I wished I’d paid attention to my appearance that day. The best I could do was suck my stomach in and thrust my chest out, ‘cause it was the primary asset I had.
“Detective Lisandro Batista. Thank you for coming in.” He held out his hand to Finn. “And you need no introduction, Captain Finn. I’ve followed your adventures for some years. It’s an honor to meet you.”
They shook briefly, then Batista turned to me, hand out and eyes raised in question. Oh, my god, those eyes were like deep rich carnelians.
“She’s Phillida Trent,” Finn coughed discreetly.
“What? Oh…right. That’s me, um, call me Phill.” Good lord, I sounded like a blithering idiot. I grabbed Batista’s hand and shook with way too much gusto, and felt pathetically grateful when he didn’t show the slightest reaction to my awkwardness. Woman probably swooned over him all the time, anyway.
Without a word, he then pulled something from his pocket and set it on the table in front of Finn. When he lifted his hand away, a gold coin was revealed.
“What can you tell me about this?”
Finn weighed it in his hand. “It’s certainly gold.” He keeps a small jeweler’s loupe on his keychain – a loupe is a magnifier for up-close viewing – with which he scrutinized the coin.
“It’s a 1714 J, Philip V, Mexico Mint 8 escudo cob.”
“Can you explain that?”
“The capital ‘M’ with the small ‘o’ to the left of the shield tells us this is from the Mexico mint. The ‘J’ is the assayer’s mark. You can clearly see the date, which was during the reign of Philip V of Spain; and the roman numerals, ‘VIII,’ refer to the coin’s denomination. It appears to have some sand-washing, so I’d say it’s a shipwreck coin, but in remarkably good condition.”
“What is a ‘cob’ coin?”
“It’s the gold doubloon of pirate treasure stories. The coins were struck by hand and very carefully weighed by the assayer, who snipped any excess gold from the edges. That’s why no two are the same shape.”
“And the Mexico Mint?”
“The Spanish had a dozen mints throughout the New World, but only a few of them struck gold coins – Mexico, Lima, Bogota and Cuzco.”
Batista looked thoughtful as he digested the information. “Is there anything else you can tell me about this particular coin? Anything unusual, perhaps?”
“I’m afraid not. Though I wouldn’t be at all surprised if it came from the 1715 Fleet.”
“And what would its value be?”
Finn paused for a few moments. “I would say up to $8,000.”
Batista rose. “Thank you, Captain. This has been most educational.”
Whoa! We were being dismissed when we hadn’t learned anything new. I raised my eyebrows at Finn but he was already on his feet.
“You’re welcome, detective. I’m glad to help any time, though it’s always good to know what I’m helping with.”
“Ah.” Batista tapped his finger to his lips. “As I’m sure you know, Captain, I am not at liberty to divulge details of an ongoing investigation,” I snorted loudly; Batista chose to ignore me, “but I see no harm in giving you the dead man’s identification. It will be public knowledge by tomorrow, anyway. He is Rick Marchand, owner of a small and moderately successful insurance agency, who has a loving wife and two nice teenage kids.”
“How long had he been under?”
“I’m still awaiting the coroner’s report, but we’re guessing just a couple of days.”
“Did he drown?”
“Aaah. No.” Batista hesitated a moment, then continued. “He was shot in the back of the head.”
“And the coin?”
The detective shook his head. “Sorry. You understand.” He then escorted us back to the entrance where we said our goodbyes. As we reached the sidewalk we heard a shout, “Captain! Wait!” and Batista strode to us.
“Look, I could use some help with this case so I’m going to go out on a limb here, but I need your assurance this will go no further.” He looked pointedly at me. Of all the nerve.
“You’ve got it,” Finn said.
“The gold cob had been shoved into Marchand’s throat. I figure it’s a message of some sort, but I don’t know what. Does that have any meaning to you?”
“Nothing I can think of right now. I’ll look into it, though.” Batista gave a look of some alarm and Finn raised his hand, “Discreetly, of course.”
“Much appreciated. Here’s my card; my cell number is on it. Call any time.”
This time when we said our goodbyes, that was the end of it.
THREE
“OK, now you can tell me. What’s the significance of the coin?”
“I’ve no idea.”
We were driving back to the Kearn’s home, and I expected Finn to have solved the puzzle already, so I was taken aback at his response.
“Come on! Do the numbers add up to anything? Is there anything special about the year 1714? Maybe our attention is being directed to a shipwreck. Oh, maybe someone found another big treasure trove, like the Atocha.” I was getting excited now. Nuestra Senora de Atocha held a 450 million dollar cache of silver, gold, emeralds and artifacts. The Spanish galleon was discovered by Mel Fisher, and is the dream of treasure hunters everywhere. “Seriously, Finn, this could be big.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
I ground my teeth. I hated when Finn was in one of his contrary moods.
“What if there’s some secret society, or even a serial killer and this is his trademark?”
“That’s a pretty expensive trademark.”
“Well, it must mean something!”
“I expect it must.”
“You know, you can be so aggravating… I need a drink.”
When we got back, Russ was outside with another, younger, guy. There was a definite family resemblance, so I was guessing this was his son. Sure enough, he introduced him as Russell, Jr.
“To avoid confusion, though, he goes by RJ.”
RJ was the kind of guy who should be in a health club commercial. Not an ounce of body fat on him and a tan that said he spent a lot of time outdoors. I asked what he did for a living.
“I’m a private trainer.”
“My son has a pretty nice life up in St. Augustine,” Russ added. “He’s able to set his own schedule and make time to go treasure diving in between.” Bingo.
“Had any success?” Finn asked.
Russ butted in. “Why don’t we head inside. Viv is fixing one of her Colombian specialties; chicken empanadas.
She fries them rather than baking them, and we can talk over a cold beer.”
“Works for me,” said Finn, “and we swung by the liquor store so Phill can create one of her specialty cocktails.”
“Well, that will work for me,” R. J. smiled.
He had a pretty sexy smile, I noticed… and a wedding ring.
The sun was disappearing with the promise of another beautiful day to come. We were all sated with Viviana’s feast, and my version of a stinger cocktail had received accolades. I called it, “Shiver me Stinger,” and simply made a frozen drink with the brandy and white crème de menthe, then added a splash of white rum on top.
Now we were relaxing on the porch with coffee. I don’t usually like coffee after dinner but figured Viviana was fixing some special Colombian variety she’d grown up with. When I asked her about it she laughed. Said that she only started drinking coffee after coming to America because the stuff they drank in her home country was like dishwater. The quality coffee beans were all exported, the bad beans left for local consumption.
The guys were talking about treasure, of course. I realized Finn had managed to bring the subject around to gold coins. The sly fox.
“There’s a rumor going around that someone found a fleet coin recently; an 8 escudo.”
“Not that I’ve heard,” RJ said. “From which site?”
Known 1715 Fleet shipwreck site locations are given names such as “Cabin Wreck,” “Corrigan’s Wreck,” and “Colored Beach Wreck.” To work within three miles of the coast a permit is required from the state. It’s easy to buy a research permit but exploration and recovery permits can get expensive, if you can get one at all. The idea behind this is that shipwrecks won’t be wantonly destroyed. Sounds good, but it becomes too expensive for professional salvors to work these sites, so less honorable ones just take what they can get away with. Meanwhile, treasures that could be saved for posterity are simply left to be buried deeper into the sand, never to be seen or appreciated.