Rick stared at Joe. Cold gripped his heart. There was no way to stop it. All he could think of was poor Marquetta. And what he couldn’t say to her the next time he saw her.
Chapter 24
RICK
A lone seagull’s haunting caw drifted through the open window, breaking the silence inside the cabin of Joe Gray’s houseboat. Tiny wavelets slapping against the sides shushed the air and Rick sensed the boat swaying ever-so-slightly. Treasure—Neal Weiss had died chasing it. Suddenly, Rick understood so much more.
“How old was Marquetta when this happened?”
“Ten.”
Rick’s stomach clenched, unable to shake the vision. He could see her. A little girl. She stood alone. Tears streamed down her cheeks while she watched the sea for a man who would never return. Maybe Devon was right. Why wouldn’t Marquetta leave with that memory haunting her? Seaside Cove held too much pain. “It’s no wonder she’s such a cynic about these treasure hunts.”
Joe nodded first, but shook his head as he spoke. “She’s never really gotten over the loss.” He cleared his throat. “Every now and again, I still see her down here. Though it’s been a lot less lately. Anyway, treasure is how we all make money in Seaside Cove. And Marky’s a tough girl. She’ll push through this, eventually.”
Eventually. Big word, thought Rick. And it had been fifteen years since her father died. Like the moth, Rick had gotten too close to the flame. Of that, he was sure.
He let out a slow breath and glanced at the clock on the wall. Lots of brass. Roman numerals for the hours. Very nautical, like everything else here. It was nine-thirty. Time to make his exit. “That’s a nice clock. And it reminds me I need to be getting back to work.”
“No worries.” Joe reached across the case to shake Rick’s hand. “Hope I’ve helped.”
“Thank you. I’ve learned a lot.”
He waved goodbye and left, but on the walk home, the image of that little girl waiting for her father kept intruding into his thoughts. When he made the turn onto Front Street, he saw Mayor Carter standing on the front porch of the B&B. She would probably tell him she wasn’t happy about Adam’s callout last night. Or chew him out for getting the body moved. There were more possibilities than he could count.
Francine waved when she spotted him and hurried down the stairs. She was still a good ten feet away when she started in. “Rick, there are a number of people in this town who care a great deal about you and your daughter.”
Oh, great, this was going to be a doozy. Francine was in politician mode—start sweet, drive the knife in deep, leave with a compliment. He resisted the urge to call the mayor on her standard device. Instead, he said, “That’s nice to know.”
“I should be mad at you,” she continued. “However, I fully understand why you went above my head. In fact, I respect you for it.”
The mayor? Respected him? What kind of trick was this? Francine never liked being left out of the loop. “We needed to secure the body.”
“No. Enough said. What’s done is done. Last night you did what you thought was right, and that’s what’s important. After all, what life lesson would you be teaching your daughter if she saw you not standing up for yourself?”
“Well, Madame Mayor, thank you, but I’m sure you didn’t walk all the way over here just to tell me that.”
“On this visit, I’m merely Francine Carter, humble proprietor of Scoops & Scones. This morning while opening up, I discovered this lying on the sidewalk in front of my store. Why none of my customers from yesterday mentioned it, I have no idea. Quite likely, it sat out all night long on the sidewalk. However, it belongs to Mr. Richardson. I’m surprised he hasn’t missed it.”
Rick glanced down at a brown leather wallet Francine held out. “Mr. Richardson has been somewhat preoccupied. He’s quite forgetful. If you’d like, I’ll return it to him.”
“Marvelous.” Francine handed the wallet to Rick and chirped, “My customers await!” She left, waving goodbye over her head as she bustled along Front Street.
“What a surprise,” he whispered to himself. The mayor had actually complimented him for doing something right. He looked briefly at the open front door before turning back to the street. Francine might be gone, but her comment about what his actions taught Alex still hung in the air. What would his visit to Joe Gray teach her? It’s okay to go behind someone’s back? It was not a lesson he wanted to teach his daughter.
If Marquetta didn’t want him to learn about her past, he wouldn’t pry again. He vowed to tread lightly around her and not say another word until she broached the subject. On his way into the house, Rick met Hayden. They exchanged greetings, comments about the lovely day, and then Hayden asked if Rick knew when they’d be free to leave.
“I don’t. That’s up to Deputy Cunningham. But, while I think of it, I do have one question about something Monica said.”
“In that case, why don’t you ask her?”
“Because it concerns you.”
“Oh. What do you want to know?”
“You gave Mr. Gordon CPR when you found the body. Is that correct?”
“I did. Wasn’t easy to do on those rocks, either.”
“Exactly. I’ve been wondering how you accomplished that.”
Hayden fidgeted with the collar of his leather jacket. “I don’t want to make a big deal of it.”
“Then there’s the position of the body.”
Giving a quick shake of his head, Hayden raised both eyebrows and stared at Rick. “Huh?”
“When I got there, the body was face down. But, for you to give CPR it had to be face up.”
Hayden looked stunned.
“Well?” Rick peered at him. “How did you give CPR when the body was in a position that would have made it impossible? Please, Mr. Kalstone, I’d love to hear how you pulled it off.”
There was a long pause during which Hayden closed his eyes and hung his head. “Okay, okay. Monica was mistaken. I wasn’t giving Jim CPR.”
“How did she get the idea you were?”
“I might have…told her that’s what I was doing.”
“And you did that because…”
“I, um, can’t really say.”
“You perpetuated the lie with Deputy Cunningham. Why did you lead him to believe the same thing?”
“Monica told him what I did first. Besides, it’s not like I committed perjury or anything.”
“Actually, you did.”
Hayden groaned, crossed his arms over his chest, and mumbled something to himself.
“What was that, Mr. Kalstone?”
He sighed. “I don’t even know how you do CPR.”
Chapter 25
RICK
Rick dialed Deputy Cunningham’s cell. He watched Hayden’s face as the phone rang. “We’ll need to get the deputy out here so you can give him a new statement. And this time you’ll tell the full truth. Right?”
“Sure thing.” Hayden grimaced. “I’ll correct it with him.”
Rick told the deputy what had happened, then escorted Hayden inside and locked Cadman’s wallet in the house safe. He instructed Hayden to wait in the lobby while he went to see if Marquetta needed help. The aroma of baking cookie dough hung in the air. Was that chocolate he smelled also? He hoped she was making his favorite, chocolate chip cookies.
In the kitchen, Alex stood in front of the oven, her eyes glued to the timer. Robbie was next to Marquetta at the sink. She handed Robbie a wooden spoon to dry. The boy wore a flour-dusted apron smeared with several dark splotches and chocolate smudges around his mouth. Obviously, Robbie wasn’t the neatest little baker, but he appeared to be doing an acceptable job of helping with the cleanup.
“Three minutes,” Alex said as she peeked into the oven.
“And counting,” Marquetta shot back. “Robbie, let’s put you over here.” She guided the boy to one of the barstools and patted the one next to it. “Sweetie, you don’t need to watch those every second. Come sit here with R
obbie.”
Alex’s shoulders slumped, and she glanced at Rick. “Hi, Daddy.” She left her post and positioned herself between the barstool and Marquetta. “I’m your official cookie tester, right?”
“I don’t think so, it’s too close to lunch.” Marquetta put her hands on Alex’s waist and gave her a boost up. She helped straighten the girl’s shorts and pink tank top. “You’re getting way too heavy for me.”
“Please? Just one?”
Robbie raised one finger and grinned from ear-to-ear, too.
Despite Alex’s huge smile, Marquetta resisted with a mild frown. Alex countered with an exaggerated pout. She had her hair pulled back in a ponytail, much like Marquetta’s, and Rick was sure of what would come next. He snickered as Marquetta winced and leaned forward. She kissed Alex on the forehead and glanced at him.
“You’ll have to ask your dad.”
“Can I?” Alex cast her moon eyes in his direction.
“Robbie looks like he’s been working hard. But, you, kiddo—you look like you’ve been hardly working.”
Alex beamed at Rick. “I’ve had more practice than Robbie. I’m experienced, so I’m neat.”
“You are incredibly cute and persuasive. But you heard what Marquetta said, and she’s in charge of the kitchen.”
“Did I get a promotion?” Marquetta arched her eyebrows and smiled.
“How long have you worked here?”
“I started part-time when I was in high school.”
“And how many years has that been?”
Marquetta laughed and shook her head. “Oh, no. Not so fast, mister. If you want to know my age, you’ll have to look it up.”
He had. And rather than buoying his spirits, Marquetta’s cheerful response gave him another reason to be angry with himself—and his grandfather. She’d only been, what—eighteen—when Captain Jack had sent her off to that fancy San Francisco cooking school? Why had he paid for her education? Just like the story about Marquetta’s father, there had to be more than he knew behind the decision. Maybe her father’s death and the cooking school were somehow linked. Again, he was the odd man out, but he would not pry.
“When I first got here, you taught me so much about how this place ran,” Rick said. “You’ve steadily taken on more responsibility. And you never complain. You’re practically running the B&B. How do you do it?”
She sighed and reached out to touch his arm. “Oh, Rick, I love what I do.” She gazed at Alex and smiled as she faced him. “Money isn’t everything.”
The timer dinged and Alex hopped off the stool. Robbie watched from his seat as Alex and Marquetta raced to the oven. They each donned a pair of mitts. Alex’s were a brightly colored children’s size Marquetta had given her at Christmas. Marquetta pulled one cookie sheet, Alex took the other. Pressure built behind Rick’s eyes as they slid cookies off the hot trays and onto cooling racks. Why couldn’t Alex’s mother have been more like that?
Marquetta slipped her spatula under the last cookie, looked at Rick, and winked. “No, you can’t.”
He blinked back tears. Took a deep breath. “Sorry?”
“No, you cannot sample one of my almost famous Seaside Cove Chocolate Chip Cookies, Richard Atwood.”
Sweet, perfectly browned, and dotted with melted chips. Oh, man, those babies were divine—especially right out of the oven. “Right. I shouldn’t spoil my lunch.” He had to admit, even his mouth watered at the thought. “Tell you what, after lunch you kids can each have one. Right now, I have to run into town and talk to Howie Dockham.”
He saw concern cross Marquetta’s face, but he rushed out of the kitchen before she could ask why he was going to see Howie. As he passed through the dining room, he acknowledged Deputy Cunningham and Hayden. The deputy was writing furiously while Hayden appeared to be somewhat queasy.
At the front desk, Rick dialed the number for Reese’s room. When she answered, he asked, “Are you busy?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“Meet me on the front porch. I’d like to take you into town to meet an expert on old documents. Bring your section of the map. And your invitation.” He hung up before she could say no.
Chapter 26
RICK
Rick waited on the front porch for Reese. He spent the time pacing and wondering what he expected to accomplish by asking her to go with him. He could just as easily have asked Monica or one of the others to do this. Why Reese? Honestly, he didn’t know.
“Hey, you sure are deep in thought.”
And there she was, standing before him. Tan sweater. Skinny jeans. Heels. Dark eyeliner accented her blue eyes. It was a look that came straight out of a fashion shoot. Clearly this wasn’t just a trip to meet an old stamp collector like Howie Dockham.
“Stunning,” he murmured.
She smiled and looked down at what she wore. “Thanks.”
He felt his cheeks grow warm and cleared his throat. “You brought the map?”
She hoisted the purse she’d slung over her shoulder. “In here.”
“And the invitation?”
Another nod.
“You sure you’ll be okay in those heels? It’s about a ten-minute walk.”
“Are we going to see some document expert, or did you just want to criticize my wardrobe?”
“Sorry.” He turned, descended the stairs, and spoke over his shoulder. “Hope you can keep up.”
The clacking of high heels grew louder until Reese strode next to Rick. She cocked one eyebrow in a way that made him want to apologize for having walked away so quickly.
“You’re not a very trusting man, are you?”
“I’m working on it. There are people I thought I could trust, but—what am I doing? I’m whining. Nobody likes a whiner.” He took the left onto Main Street, surprised she was keeping up so easily. What did he care? She was merely another guest. An attractive one, but as the saying went, they were two ships passing.
Howie’s Collectibles was located one store down from the southwest corner of Whale Avenue and Main Street. Like many of the other stores in town, this was an old home long ago converted to business use. Now painted a bright yellow with red and purple trim, Howie’s might have stood out in a less colorful town, but this was Seaside Cove, where gaudy was just part of the ambience.
When Rick held the door open for Reese, she narrowed her gaze at him. “Are you kidding me? An antique dealer? I thought we were going to see a document expert.”
“He is.”
Rick gestured for Reese to enter with a tilt of his head. As she passed, her eyes locked onto his. A hint of floral perfume hung in the air. She brushed away a lock of hair.
“You do that a lot, don’t you?” Rick said.
The heels brought her almost to eye level. Inches away. She whispered, “Do what?”
“Push your hair back.” His heart hammered in his chest.
“Observant, aren’t you?” She licked her lips.
Good God, what was he doing? He had a daughter. A business to run. With a hard swallow, he said, “It’s cute.”
She gave him a lopsided grin and mouthed, “Oh.”
When she slipped away, he allowed himself a moment to breathe a final wisp of perfume. Not until she glanced at him over her shoulder and tilted her head toward the back of the store did he step inside.
The interior of Howie’s was a jungle of antiques ranging from large to small. Display cases containing coins and stamps filled the store. Barely a nook or cranny had been left open.
Reese seemed to have little interest in the store inventory, but wended her way through the maze to a counter where a man sat in a wheelchair. Rick recognized him immediately.
They introduced themselves and Howie explained that Joe Gray had already informed him Rick might be coming. Howie asked to see the map. Reese agreed, pulled it from her purse, and smoothed it out on the countertop. Howie donned a pair of white cotton gloves before handling it.
“A precaution.” He pulled d
own the jeweler’s loupe affixed to his glasses and inspected the scrap of paper. “Well, well. Good calligraphy, quill pen. That bodes well.” He spent another minute examining the map section, then raised the loupe and peered at Reese. “How old did you say this was?”
“Sixteenth century.”
“At first glance, it appears that it could be. Paper’s no longer white—like it’s stained in some way. It has an odd odor I can’t place. There’s a chance it’s genuine, or the paper may have been aged artificially.”
“Can you tell?” Rick asked.
Howie shook his head. “We’d have to send it off for testing. You can stain paper in any number of ways to make it appear older than it is. Would you allow me to send it to a friend of mine? He has a lab and is quite meticulous. I can assure you he’ll do no damage.”
Reese shook her head. “Absolutely no way. I can’t take a chance. I’m not letting this out of my sight. ”
“You could make a copy of it,” Rick said.
She shook her head.
“Young lady,” Howie said, “Joe Gray has told me how skeptical he is about this San Manuel treasure. Also, you’ve been carrying this around in your purse as though it were spare change. There’s something quite unusual going on here. Aren’t you interested in learning the truth about this piece of paper?”
“I am, but there are other ways to handle it,” Reese said. “Even if it’s not sixteenth century, my gut tells me it’s old.”
“With one possible exception.” Howie lowered the jeweler’s loupe and rubbed his gloved finger over the paper. “This is machine-made. The process was unknown prior to the nineteenth century.”
Rick shot a glance at Reese, who smiled politely and pocketed the scrap. What was she pulling? Howie was right. Reese hadn’t treated the map like it was five-hundred years old. Nor was she being rational about checking its legitimacy. For that matter, he’d seen tourists be more careful with their Seaside Cove Visitor Maps.
A Treasure to Die For (A Seaside Cove Bed & Breakfast Mystery Book 1) Page 9