Coastal Fury Boxset (1-3)

by Matt Lincoln

  I pulled into MBLIS’s secure parking garage and killed the engine. Holm hadn’t lasted the ten-minute drive. Lucky bastard. I still had to drive. I left him alone and grabbed the evidence bag for the lab. Wouldn’t you know? That VW was back in its usual parking spot.

  Sometimes I wondered if Clyde actually lived in the building, but between the lab, the morgue, and the extra-thick basement supports that kept the building from sinking, there couldn’t have been any space left.

  I blinked and slapped at my cheeks. Clyde didn’t live at headquarters. That was ridiculous, and I was too tired for my own good.

  I dragged my sleepy ass down to the lab and scanned my card to get in. Clyde was at his usual perch at the work table and held out his hand for the evidence bag without looking up.

  “I’m not even gonna ask,” I said. “G’night, Clyde.”

  “Oh, hey.” He spun on his stool to face me. “Dumas is here. She started cutting as soon as the bodies were brought in.”

  “What are you people?” I asked. “Vampires?”

  He smirked. “Go see her. She has something for you.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Clyde waved me off and dove into the bag I’d brought. I pushed through the double doors and crossed the hall to the morgue. Ethel Dumas, our one and only medical examiner, was elbow-deep into one of the victim’s body cavities. If she’d allow a partner, she wouldn’t have to come in at all hours. Then again, I do believe she enjoyed it.

  “Ethan, you look like shit,” she announced. “Probably smell like it, too, after going to that scene.” She lived on that VapoRub stuff. Yeah, it was a nice trick.

  “Thank you for that lovely compliment,” I said. “Clyde said you had something for me.”

  She shrugged and pulled off her surgical gloves and gown. Underneath, she wore sweatpants and a tee-shirt, like she’d rolled out of bed and drove right over when she got the call, which she probably had.

  “The cause of death for both is pretty straightforward,” she explained. “Barring any surprises from toxicology, they were beaten to death and dumped into that container.” She pulled on a pair of latex gloves and lifted the victim’s left arm. “This discoloration is post-mortem bruising. My guess is they tossed all three in there shortly after the beatings.”

  I walked over to the girl’s head for a close look at the tattoo. It was definitely the same flower, and its stem was wrapped around a trident. Despite the tattoo’s black ink, I easily imagined the orange-red petals.

  “How old are those tats?” I asked.

  “Fresh. They aren’t even close to being healed.” She laid her finger beside a thick line. Up close, it looked pixelated, like old comics in print. “See the stippling? The ink never got a chance to even out.” She moved her finger up the line a way. “And here is slight scabbing. This was done two or three days before her death, at most.”

  “It’s like they were branded.”

  Dumas nodded. “Exactly like branding.” She circled around to where I stood. “Her internal organs are damned near pulverized. At first, I thought something heavy landed on her, or maybe that she was pushed off a height, but the findings don’t match.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked as I moved closer to the nearest body. “She looked pretty beat up.”

  “She was,” Dumas said. “That’s the thing. It only took a few hits to do this level of damage. I found impressions from large fists. Whoever did this was strong, Ethan. Ridiculously strong.”

  Dumas’s words rang through my mind as I drove home. If it were anyone else, I’d chalk their findings up to hyperbole, but not Dumas. This meant we were looking for some kind of monster and would eventually face him.

  By the time we got to the docks, Holm had woken up enough to haul himself down to the Mariah Jean, the houseboat my grandfather left me. I didn’t have the heart or energy to tell him what I learned, so I decided to save it for the morning. Well, later in the morning. I made sure Holm made it to the bottom bunk in the guest room before I crashed on my bed in the next room.

  As exhausted as I was, the nightmares were worse. I kept dreaming of a giant brute beating the shit out of three young women, and I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

  4

  I slept through my alarm. When I woke, I had forty minutes to get to my appointment with that appraiser. I rushed into the small shower and scrubbed as much of the stink off as I could. By then, I was almost nose blind and had to hope I got it all.

  When I went to the kitchen, Holm stumbled out of the guest room still dressed in yesterday’s clothes. Yeah, that’s how exhausted we were when we got in early that morning.

  “Why’re you banging around?” he asked.

  “The coins, remember? If I don’t leave now, I’ll be late for that appraisal.”

  That woke him up. He jumped into my shower and then into workout clothes he kept in the dresser for emergencies. When he was done, he helped himself to a swig of orange juice and a bagel.

  This was why I didn’t like houseguests. Usually. I’d take a Tessa guest visit any time, but buddy or no, Holm was a terrible visitor.

  “I’m coming,” he informed me around a mouthful of bagel. “I’m not miffing thif for the world.”

  We were five minutes late, but William Meyer, proprietor of Coins and Things, didn’t mind. He met us at the door, so it wasn’t like he waited with bated breath or anything. He took a look at the cardboard box I carried and rubbed his hands together, which made me grin at Holm. If we had as much enthusiasm and as few grays as this fair-haired guy at middle age, we’d be doing great.

  “Welcome, welcome!” He brought us into the shop and locked the front door. “I’ve been looking forward to this all week.”

  Holm mouthed at me, All week?

  Somehow, I wasn’t surprised. I admired and appreciated the admiral, but sometimes his meddling was a little too paternal. No wonder Tessa liked getting away from New York when she could.

  We followed Meyer as he wound his way through antique curio cabinets, chairs, and other furniture. I spied several displays of knick-knacks and at least two bookcases filled with aging books. Toward the back was an entire section devoted to silver tea sets and fine china. The “and Things” made up the majority of the first-floor shop. I couldn’t help wondering what he might have stored on the upper level.

  He took us past a pair of enclosed display cases. One half of one held vintage jewelry, and its other half plus its entire twin showed off rows of neatly sorted coins.

  “My wife insisted on the antique side of the business,” Meyer told us. His hazel eyes glimmered for a second. “I would’ve rented a hole in a wall for the coins, but she loved old things. My daughter helps me keep up with the antiques now.”

  “It’s a great shop, Mr. Meyer.” I meant it. My grandfather would’ve loved it. “I might have a few pieces I can bring in later.”

  Meyer smiled with a nod.

  “If you’ll set the box here, we can take a look-see.”

  Meyer was only in his fifties, but his mannerisms reminded me of my grandfather’s brother. My great-uncle loved to entertain and tell stories, and he always had Werther’s Originals for his visitors.

  I set the box where he indicated and opened the top flaps. The coins were in the remains of a canvas bag that had managed to survive centuries in the cave where my ancestor, Lord Jonathan Finch-Hatton, had died.

  Meyer put on a pair of white gloves and gently drew out each coin, one by one, and set them on a tray covered in a blue velvet-like material. With each revelation, his eyes widened and cheeks reddened.

  I glanced at Holm, and my partner winked at me. Yeah, it was fun to make an older guy’s day. Or year.

  I didn’t want to admit it, but seeing Meyer handle all nineteen pieces lit something inside. I’d held back on getting the coins examined partly because it felt like they belonged to my grandfather more than me, and partly because there was the little kid in me who feared bad news. Tessa�
��s call the day before helped put that second feeling to rest.

  “Mr. Marston, what you have here is treasure in the literal and figurative senses.” Meyer looked up from the collection. “You have some guineas and James Triple Unites. All are splendid. The real miracles are the Charles Triple Unites. If you’ll be so kind as to bring that tray, we’ll take these coins upstairs where I’m set up for handling rare finds.”

  Farr trusted this man, but that was a lot of sentimental value, not to mention money, set out on display. After the experiences we had over the years, seeing raw treasure in the open always got my guard up. Still, it came back to Farr. Tessa’s uncle said this was the guy to see.

  I lifted the tray, and Holm stayed at my six. Meyer led us up a back stairway to a locked, metal door. He produced a keycard, waved it before what looked like a wood panel, and the door clicked open.

  “In here, please.”

  The door opened into a cozy office with a ceiling fan going half speed. The windows at either end of the room had vertical bars that would keep most burglars out, and a padded HVAC pipe pumped cool air into the space. In the middle of the room was an antique, hardwood dining table. Stacks of paperwork cluttered the ends, but the middle was kept clear. At his urging, I set the tray in that empty area.

  Meyer rolled a cart over with tools and a laptop.

  “I need to do a few small tests to prove they aren’t counterfeit before I can proceed,” he said.

  “We’re the good guys,” Holm protested. “Why would we bring counterfeit treasure?”

  “Of course you wouldn’t,” Meyer said with a chuckle. “However, it’s quite common to come across excellent counterfeiting attempts that could fool even the likes of you. In your line of work, you ought to know this.”

  “Right.” I cut a glance at Holm, and he shrugged. “Do what you gotta do.”

  “Indeed,” Meyer responded.

  He assessed all nineteen coins to ensure their gold purity, and he studied minute details I never would’ve thought about. In our line of work, we processed fake money and coins, and we didn’t inspect them beyond the most blatant markings. Those were the cases when we had to involve the Secret Service. Today, no special investigation units were necessary.

  “I’ll be damned,” Meyer finally breathed. “I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but you boys got the real things here. How did you come across such a find?”

  I didn’t like sharing the story with outsiders. Too many treasure hunters had their eyes on missing pirate ships, including the Dragon’s Rogue. It wasn’t that I didn’t trust Meyer… I didn’t trust anyone but the people nearest me. Still, I needed to give the man something.

  “I’ve been following clues to a sunken ship since I was a kid.” And for his entire life, my grandfather followed what clues he had. After my parents’ deaths, it was how we bonded as he raised me. “I found these coins along with a new clue.”

  Meyer didn’t need to know that new clue was the remains of my ancestor near a murder scene in a seaside cave. The chances of such a thing were so slim that it was like my grandfather had pointed the way. I didn’t like magical thinking, but I also didn’t like coincidences.

  “Well, they are quite the find,” Meyer said. “Quite valuable.”

  “How much are they worth?” Holm asked. When I gave him the stink eye, he put his hands up. “It’s why we’re here. If it were up to you, they’d stay on your houseboat.”

  Meyer blanched. “Oh, dear, no. They’re much too valuable.”

  “He’s joking,” I said. “Mostly. Seriously, though, what d’you think?”

  “I have to compare to recent sales.” He pulled up an auction website. “Not listings, mind you, because anyone can list a coin at a price they like. Part of what determines the value is what their counterparts actually sell for. That, their weight, and grade.”

  Meyer adjusted his glasses and went to work on the website. Soon, he switched to another site and repeated the process. While he did the same at a third site, a text came in to my phone. It was from Diane, and it was absolutely in Director tone.

  When are you going to grace us with your presence? I assume Holm is with you. You both have paperwork on your desks.

  Holm’s phone chimed, presumably with the same message. I pointed at him and raised my brow. He groaned and texted her back. It chimed again.

  “How long?” he asked.

  Meyer looked up and blinked. “Oh, yes, I almost have it.” He scratched some figures on his notepad, did a little math, double-checked, and then smiled. “This should make you quite happy.”

  He handed the sheet over. I about pissed my pants. I handed the sheet to Holm. He let out a long, low whistle.

  “Just over a million,” he breathed. “Wow. Told ya this made you rich.”

  He began to type something on his phone.

  “Don’t tell Ramsey,” I said. “We’ll be there in thirty.”

  Holm nodded and resumed his message.

  “Agent Marston, you have a few options,” Meyer explained. “I recommend you put them up for auction. Even with a twenty percent commission to an auction house, it’s a hefty sum. Who knows? You might get lucky with a bidding war.”

  “My other options?”

  “Insure them for their replacement value and then store them in a safe deposit box.” He frowned over the rim of his glasses. “Or, of course, you could store them on your houseboat, but I hardly recommend that.”

  I looked away and cleared my throat.

  “Oh, dear. That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?”

  I stood and reached for the cardboard box. Meyer held out a hand.

  “If I may, let’s treat them a little more kindly,” he suggested. “We can place them in protective sleeves until you decide what to do with them.”

  I watched in amusement as Meyer moved without waiting for my answer. He handled the coins deftly and had them securely stored in a velvet-lined wooden box he fetched from the other side of the room. All that was left out was the original, frayed bag that once held them. With a delicate touch, he folded acid-free paper around it.

  “This will keep it safe until you decide what to do with it,” Meyer told me. “It doesn’t hold the worth of the coins, but a historian might cherish it.”

  I looked at the neat package with doubts. A little cloth might be cool to some people, but I couldn’t imagine it’d mean much beyond sentimental value.

  “Thanks, Mr. Meyer,” I said. “If I meet a historian, I’ll ask.”

  Meyer lit up, and the look on his face felt like trouble.

  “As a matter of fact, I know a historian who would love nothing more than to learn about this treasure of yours. My daughter, Emily, is an expert in Caribbean history. She’s based out of Miami.”

  Holm chuckled behind me. I saw where this was going because it always went there.

  “Is she, now?” I asked in a wry tone.

  “I believe she is free tonight.” He leaned forward and half-whispered. “She messaged me this morning that a date had canceled on her. You should meet with her for dinner and tell your story. Show her the bag.”

  I had no wish to be set up on a blind date with someone’s daughter. Call it what he wanted, what Meyer was suggesting still reeked of a date. On the other hand, it was possible her knowledge could go a long way toward helping me find the Dragon’s Rogue.

  “Send her my number,” I said. Holm barely stifled his laughter. If Meyer noticed my partner’s reactions, he didn’t let on. “We’ll see what she has to offer.” Holm snorted, and I caught myself. Barely. “What history she knows, you know, that can help.”

  I lurched from the solid wood chair and grabbed the wooden box. Meyer gave me an odd look. This time I was the one who pretended not to notice.

  “How much do I owe you for the appraisal?” I asked, ready to wince. This one was going to hurt. Appraisals were always a percentage of the total. “I can put it on a card.”

  “No, no.” Meyer waved me
off. “It’s been my pleasure. Besides, I owed an old friend a favor. No charge.”

  Farr, no doubt. I smiled for Meyer’s benefit, but inside, I wondered how often Donald Farr intended to step in to help. Was his interest purely brotherhood and family, or was there something else? Or maybe it was Tessa. My smile turned real. Yeah, she probably conned her uncle into helping.

  Back at the car, I secured the box in the trunk. I was quiet as we got underway to the office.

  “Are you going to sell them?” Holm eventually asked.

  “Don’t know.”

  Where he saw dollar signs, I saw my grandfather’s face. Gramps would’ve been over the moon and out to sea, as he liked to say. He wouldn’t have sold them, not until he had all the treasure. He was like that. Patient, forward-thinking. I like to think I got some common sense from the man, but probably not. Those dollar signs were tempting, but I couldn’t stop seeing Gramps’s face.

  “I would’ve had them up for auction by lunchtime and then thrown a party at Mike’s.” Holm stretched with a yawn. “That’s serious money.”

  “I know, Robbie,” I snapped. “I just don’t know what I want to do.”

  His injured expression made me flinch. God, I could be a bastard when pushed. Then again, he knew that, and he was the one pushing.

  “I’ll drop it,” he said.

  Fortunately, we got to headquarters right then. Holm went in ahead of me, and I grabbed the box from my trunk. Meyer had been right about one thing. My houseboat was no place to store the coins. One of the most secure buildings in Miami, however, wasn’t a bad choice. I had an idea, but I didn’t make it past Diane’s office.

  “Marston! Holm!” she barked. “My office. Now.”

  Holm was halfway to our desks when we heard the summons. He swung around in a tidy little arc, and I turned on my heel. There was no avoiding a report to the boss.