by C. S. Poe
“Are—we going to break up?”
His eyes narrowed behind his glasses. “No. Unless you….”
“No, I don’t want to!”
“Then no, we aren’t.”
My shoulders slumped under his hold. “Good.”
“But that doesn’t change the fact that you acted completely out of line.”
“It seemed like a better idea in bed. I couldn’t sleep.”
“The next time we’re neck-deep in a murder and you can’t sleep, wake me up. There are plenty of noncriminal activities we can engage in.”
I heard a car door slam and looked toward the parking lot. Detective Tillman was walking toward us. “Quick,” I murmured, tugging Jun down a bit closer after grabbing a fistful of his T-shirt. “Smith’s topographical map was missing from the study.”
Jun glanced sideways at Tillman before back to me. “What does that prove?”
“Nothing. Not a fucking thing, because there’s nothing special about the map.”
“Josh is in jail,” Jun said. “Yet this Smith impersonator came back—to the third floor.”
“There’s something up there. Another clue,” I said fast.
“What?”
“I don’t know!” I glanced at Tillman, who was getting close enough for me to make out the stern, tired expression on his face. “There’s… more than one map, perhaps. But—maybe it’s not a map. Not in the traditional sense. If it took this long to uncover Smith’s secret life as a pirate, we can be certain he was smart about how he hid the treasure.”
“Agent Tanaka,” Tillman called.
Jun looked at Tillman briefly. “We’re looking for someone big, tall. Fairly young and fit enough to outrun me,” he continued. “And someone who knows how to accurately represent Smith. Think, Aubrey.”
“Tanaka!” Tillman called again.
“Th-there’s two people,” I blurted out. “Bob Ricci, who’s really pissed with me regarding the whole closet-skeleton thing yesterday. He’s a big man and a historian. It could be him.”
“And?” Jun prodded.
I swallowed hard. “And… there’s one person who fits the physical description who was with me when I first called the police,” I whispered.
“Adam,” Jun said for me.
I nodded, biting my lip hard. I liked Adam. It hurt to suspect him of anything. He was a good boy, and good boys didn’t fucking kill people. But the evidence that this was an inside job was stacking up fast. The treasure-hunting group must have originally all been involved in the search for One-Eyed Jack’s sweet pot, if our chat at Barnacles was anything to go by. So Josh broke the window latch to provide a convenient way of getting inside without someone having to steal my house keys. Then Cassidy and Adam/Bob went inside, something happened between them, and Cassidy ended up dead. Adam/Bob returned again tonight because the map must not have provided enough information on the treasure. But then Peg was killed. Was—crap. Was Adam/Bob killing off the hunters so he didn’t have to share the bounty?
Josh landing himself in jail, Adam/Bob wouldn’t have planned for, but now that left just him and Curtis Leon. Was Curtis going to be the next body to wash ashore?
“He’ll return to the house,” I said. “There’s no way he’ll give up when he’s this close. We can set a trap. Jun, we have to stop him before another person is—”
Jun grabbed me, kissing me silent.
I could hear Tillman let out sigh close by.
Jun gently broke the kiss, his mouth hovering a breath away from mine. “Don’t say anything,” he whispered.
IT TURNS out that when the police needed to be sweet-talked, I was not the best candidate for the job.
Who knew?
I sat cross-legged on the ground, out of the way of the commotion, police, and first responders. I watched Jun from afar as he talked with Tillman. He held himself like a man in charge, which… considering he’d fired his service weapon, meant he was at least involved a bit now. And for a man in a bloody, wrinkled, punk band T-shirt he wore yesterday, he still came off like a badass G-man.
A few men lifted Peg Hart’s lifeless body from her boat, Mistress, and onto the wharf. Her dyed hair was wet and plastered across her face. She was missing a flip-flop. It was almost too much—I’d spoken to her just yesterday.
I drew my legs up and wrapped my arms around them as I buried my face into my knees. I started to shut everything out so I could sleep, despite my location.
“Indy.”
I looked back up. Jun was standing over me. It was a good sign if he was calling me by my nickname. I think. “What?”
He crouched down to be eye level with me. “How long do you think it’ll take to find the other maps?”
I blinked a few times and felt my heart speed up. Jun knew I wasn’t a wimp. He knew I had strengths and skills different from his own, and upset with me or not, he was depending on me like I did him. “I’m—well, I’m not sure. The database on my work computer has a complete inventory of our antiques. I can go through them and look for similarities between the map and other items.”
Jun nodded and helped me to my feet. “I bought you some time.”
“Really?”
Tillman and a uniformed officer were approaching us.
“Open the house. Treat it like an ordinary day.”
“Even with Adam there?” I asked.
Jun nodded. “If it’s him and he believes we don’t suspect him, he’ll be more likely to try again tonight.”
“I should act annoyed,” I suggested. “Like I just want to be on vacation and I don’t plan on coming in tomorrow.”
Jun’s mouth quirked. “There you go. But be careful, Aubrey. If it’s…. Don’t be alone with him, okay?”
“Aubrey,” Tillman interrupted. “You remember Officer Barney?” he asked, motioning to the man at his side. “He’ll give you a lift back to the Smith Home and will stay until your staff arrives.”
“Sure, thanks,” I answered.
Tillman was already moving in the direction of Peg. “If you’ll join me, Agent Tanaka.”
“Call me for anything,” Jun murmured, slipping away from my side.
I caught his hand briefly and squeezed his fingers before he pulled back, made a fist, and knocked it against mine. I grinned widely, watching Jun follow Tillman.
We were a team—albeit a pretty unconventional one.
A special agent and historian.
Uncovering the truth in both the past and present, trying to stop history from repeating itself with more senseless deaths, all in the name of a pirate’s buried treasure.
I mean—we fist-bumped!
Jun Tanaka was happy-ever-after material if there was such a thing.
IT WAS half past five by the time I was back at the Smith property. I yawned, jaw cracking, as I stood beside the perking coffee machine. If I had to readjust the strange life I lived to include murders and deadly races for treasure, then by God I was going to forgo the stimulants that were at home anyway and have some real coffee. I picked up my X-rated coffee mug—what had Jun called it, Tako to ama?—and poured some cream into it from the mini fridge directly behind me in the break room.
My hands were still disgusting. I grunted and went into the adjoining bathroom, wincing and cursing as I washed the scratches and cuts clean with soap and water. I pulled out a small first aid kit from under the sink and sat on the floor, carefully applying medicine and about a dozen boring, adult Band-Aids to my palms. I looked like a kid who was playing pretend doctor or something. I flexed my hands a few times, the Band-Aids crinkling uncomfortably, but it’d do for now.
The coffee was ready in the break room, and I filled my mug. I took a tiny sip and groaned. Nothing hit the spot like caffeine. I walked through the makeshift aisle and turned the corner to my desk.
“Smells good!” Barney called from the gift shop’s main floor.
“You’re welcome to a cup,” I answered, turning on my computer. “There are extra mugs in the break room.”
“No problem.” I smiled as he went to help himself before I turned back to the computer screen.
Once upon a time, the database had been a nightmare on an Excel spreadsheet, created by the guy who had the job before me. It was clear when I took over that, one, he wasn’t all that interested in doing about 80 percent of what this job entailed, and two, he didn’t have a clue how to use Excel. One of the first projects I began at the home was getting real software to input data and photographs, so our inventory was accurate, complete, and at-hand for insurance purposes. This program was pretty cool too, because it was so customizable that I could search by location and narrow it down to everything in a particular area of the home. And since Ghost Smith kept returning to the third floor, that was where the search started.
I brought up a photo of Smith’s topographical map and enlarged it to the size of my screen before sitting back and staring at it. I was trying to figure out what in particular about the map made this group believe the treasure’s location could be ascertained by it, when I noticed the star.
The star—like the ceiling paper. Exactly like it. I knew I’d seen it before!
I leaned forward, zooming in even more on the picture. The star had been drawn on after the fact. The ink was a different shade than the hand-drawn map, and compared to the notes Smith had written on the map, it appeared to have been added by another individual. Smith had a shaky hand—even in his younger years, there was always a small tremor in his writing—but whoever drew the star was sure and strong in their motions.
So… there was a star on Smith’s map, made by someone else, that matched the paper in the closet, added by someone nearly ten years after Smith had passed. The only person living in the home at that time was Mrs. Smith, who by all accounts had lost her touch with reality upon her husband’s passing and remained in mourning the rest of her life. But Captain Edward Rogers was still alive, living in St. Augustine.
A single heartbreaking thought occurred to me just then.
What if Rogers had put Smith in the wall? Smith vanished in 1871, no one found his body, and he was proclaimed dead. But his lover… what if Rogers never stopped looking for Smith? And somehow found him and maybe the treasure he’d likely been killed trying to protect.
It was too much conjecture—but that message in the nook? An X on my heart. Smith certainly didn’t write that about his own heart.
Regardless of the bittersweet romance that I both did and didn’t want to be true, the fact remained that Smith’s body was put into the wall (because I didn’t need a medical examiner to confirm it, call it my gut instinct), and it had to have been well after he died. His wife would have noticed a decomposing body. And this star on the map matching the paper was too coincidental.
Except—why put Smith in a wall and cover it over, meaning to hide him away forever?
Was Rogers afraid of something happening to the remains?
I zoomed out on the map and hit the print button. I swiveled around and grabbed the paper from the printer, holding it out to look at. The star was located in the middle of the water. That must have been why Peg was murdered. Whoever was behind this, be it Josh, Adam, Bob, or a real Ghost Smith—they must have mistaken the star as the location of the treasure. Peg brought them out on the ocean, and then she was killed so she couldn’t demand her fair share, only for the murderer to realize the star didn’t mean what they’d thought. They returned with the intention of taking another look in the Smith Home, and here we ended up.
I picked up my mug and took another sip of coffee. I nearly set the printout aside when my eyes caught something. A second star. Diagonal from the star in the ocean, near the opposite bottom. It was located directly on top of the Smith Home. And then suddenly it all sort of clicked.
Smith hadn’t brilliantly hidden his untold riches from the world.
Rogers had. And he’d even laid out their entire story—now someone simply had to assemble the clues.
The stars were the Xs.
And X always, always marks the spot.
Chapter Fourteen
I REALLY hadn’t planned on napping, but between the Mallory Square fistfight last night, followed by the best sex I’ve ever had, a gunfight before sunrise, and scrutinizing every single little artifact in my database before we even opened the doors for the morning rush—who the fuck could blame me? And I crashed hard. We’re talking drool on the pillow and tongue hanging out of my mouth like a dog, hard.
I grunted when a finger prodded my chest.
“Aubs.”
“Uhn.”
“Aubs, wake up.”
I rolled away, putting my back to the intrusion.
A sigh. “Aubrey! Wake up!”
I startled and jumped, nearly hitting my head on the desk I was sleeping under. “What?” I asked, rubbing the sleep from one eye and turning to stare at Adam. Oh crap. Be cool.
“You alive?” he asked, giving me a less than patient expression.
“Er—yes. Thank you for that. I think my eardrums are still intact too.”
Adam scooted back a bit so I had room to get out from under the desk. “Your alarm went off twice and you didn’t get up. I had to take drastic measures.”
I crawled out on my knees before climbing to my feet, back popping as I straightened. I yawned and picked up my phone, which I’d apparently ignored, to check the time. “It’s already nine?”
“What happened to your face?” Adam asked suddenly, voice low and harsh. “And your neck? Did Jun do that?” He sounded outraged.
“Huh? No. No! Well, the neck, yeah—but that was consensual,” I said, touching the remnants of the bite mark Jun had left yesterday morning. “Some drunk dickwad punched me at Mallory Square last night,” I continued, keeping my answer vague as I motioned to the bruise on my jaw.
Adam furrowed his brows, staring hard before he eventually changed the subject. “Bob Ricci is here.”
I dropped my phone. “He’s what?”
Adam jutted a thumb toward the gift shop’s main floor.
Fuck me sideways. What now?
I was in the funny position of being alone with two dudes who might or might not have killed some people. Frankly, if it had to be one over the other, why not Bob? Fucking asshole. I actually disliked him. Please let him be Mr. Baddie.
“When did he get here?”
“Last night,” Adam answered.
“Last—what?”
Adam narrowed his eyes a bit and pressed both of his big hands to my cheeks. “Are you sure you’re okay? You feel warm.”
“Whoa! Yes, fine! Thank you,” I said quickly, slithering out of his hold.
Adam awkwardly lowered his hands. “Sorry. Uh, Bob said he stayed at Turtle Bay Inn. He came in just a minute ago asking for you. Want me to tell him you’re busy or… something?”
“No, no. I can talk to him,” I said. I cleared my throat and finger-combed my wild hair.
“Your shirt’s inside out,” Adam whispered just as I started walking toward the doorway.
I stopped and looked at him, then down. Yes, sure enough, that’s what I got for dressing myself in the dark. “For Christ’s sake.” I yanked it over my head, not in a state of mind to care if someone besides Jun saw my body bling, before righting the shirt and putting it back on. What was I wearing? A cartoon octopus with a top hat and monocle, holding a cup of tea. Naturally.
“Aubrey…. Get into a fight with a feral cat?” Bob asked as I walked into the main room. He was an intimidating guy, even without the constant bad attitude. Nearly as tall as Jun but with none of the warmth or sense of safety. He hit the gym on a regular basis, judging from the slightly too-bulky muscles that were pulling at the seams of his polo shirt. And he always had a five-o’clock shadow, regardless of how recently he’d shaved. Bob Ricci was the kind of manly man who probably beat up guys like me back in high school to prove his testosterone lev
els.
“Good morning, Bob,” I said, ignoring the question. “I wasn’t expecting you here.”
“The same can be said about you,” he replied, crossing his arms over his barrel chest in some kind of macho-man intimidation tactic. “But I saw that scooter of yours in the driveway.”
“It’s a Vespa,” I corrected. Be respectful of the Italian wasp.
Bob didn’t respond immediately. “Let’s go talk somewhere.”
“Here’s fine,” I answered, because I wasn’t supposed to be alone—not that Adam as my backup was what Jun wanted.
Bob shook his head and walked to the door that brought tourists into the garden. “Let’s go,” he said again.
What else could I do? I begrudgingly followed. This Friday morning was turning out to be another picture-perfect March day in the Keys. The sun was shining bright through the canopy of trees. Birds tweeted and whistled above us, and butterflies fluttered here and there in the warm air. Bob walked along one of the back paths, away from the home and in the direction of a small koi pond. He stopped once he entered the opening, sliding his hands into his pockets as he stared at the sun’s reflection on the water.
I skirted around him to a tiny case beside the water pump and removed a bag of fish food. “So?” I ventured as I tossed a handful into the water and the otherwise lazy koi began jumping for their breakfast.
“I thought I said you weren’t to be on the grounds until I spoke with Price?”
I calmly closed the bag and put it away. “Yeah, about that…. We had the house closed because of a pesky murder investigation and no one from the board came down to help me. So when I was told I could open today by police….” I paused and looked at him from my crouched position. “Someone had to do their job.”
“Weren’t you supposed to be on vacation anyway?” Bob asked tersely.
I squinted a bit as the sun peeked out from behind a small puff of clouds. It was hard to read any sort of expression on Bob’s face. “Yup. My boyfriend’s visiting.”
His jaw tightened in the corners. Oh, well okay, that I could decipher. Bob didn’t like the idea of me slobbering on a dick.