Nana stuck her fingers into a dish and popped a candy into her mouth. “No, I asked if you wanted a berry. I’m addicted.”
Chapter Six
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I decided it was time to scope out the main action. The closest spot to rent scuba equipment was a place called the Scuba Shack where the owners, Sharon and Joey Tate, rented dive equipment, ran local dive charters to places outside of Bohemian Lake, like the wall and the grotto, and organized international dive holiday packages to warmer climates.
Years ago my father and I had solved a case for them, and in return they’d certified us and paid for us to join them on a trip to Bonaire. Ever since then I tried to get out diving with them at least once or twice a year.
When I parked the corvette in front of the Scuba Shack, it was the Tate’s son Jesse who recognized it and waved. His light blue Levis hung below the waist of his boxers, the whiteness of his underwear contrasting nicely with the brown muscles of his back. When he turned, I noticed he was limping a little. He tugged down his classic Ray-Ban wayfarer sunglasses, revealing bright eyes.
“Trubble! Glad to see you’re still driving black beauty.”
“Wouldn’t trade it in for the world.” I smiled as I pulled myself out of the car. Jesse was nice to look at even with a limp. He was just shy of six feet, in his early twenties, strong and lean, with a nice bright smile. “What happened to your leg? Did you hurt it running from all the pretty young girls in town?”
Jesse grinned back sweetly. “I wouldn’t run from you.”
“That’s cause you know how fast I am.”
He laughed.
“So, what happened?”
“It’s no big deal. I twisted my ankle unloading a boat yesterday. It’s all good though–hazard of the job.” He waved his hands in the August air, the sun shining down on his thick, longish blonde hair.
I returned his smile. “You wouldn’t happen to have any scuba equipment left to rent, would you?”
Jesse winked. “For you, of course we do.”
“Oh phew, I figured with that contest happening, everything might be rented.”
“Most of the serious divers are bringing their own equipment. We’re renting ours out by the hour with a 3 hour maximum limit and mandatory entry-level certification. Dad’s been running non-stop lessons between Wolfe Island and Morrison’s Quarry ever since the story broke.”
“That’s good thinking! That way more people get the chance to try scuba diving and you guys get the added cash from all the training.”
He nodded his head and grabbed my hand. “Yeah, and hopefully no one gets hurt. Let’s go back and get you set up.”
He held the dive shop’s door open for me as I walked through. It was surprisingly modern, with tongue-and-groove knotty pine walls, a sitting area and a long front counter.
There were some old buoyancy compensator vests that controlled a diver’s depth and held the tank, air hoses and regulator, and dive gauges, and a load of wetsuits hanging on ceiling hooks in a damp-looking corner.
The main office was on the other side of the porch. “Just lemme check something real quick.”
“Now there’s a sweet face. What brings you around these parts?” Joey asked as he walked into the front reception area.
I nodded at the tank Jesse was checking over. “I’m just here to rent some equipment. I’m gonna do some treasure hunting on Bohemian.”
“You and the rest of the world, huh?”
“I heard you’ve been busy. You and Sharon should take a break and give the treasure hunt a go. You’ve got to be the best divers around this place, and if anyone can find that coin it’s you.”
“Nah! We’re not allowed to participate. We’re one of the businesses sponsoring the prize.”
“What about looking for the real thing?”
Joey laughed. “You’re funny, Pen, but if dear old dad couldn’t find it back then, I don’t see how we’d fare better now.” Joey stepped over to the computer, clicked a few buttons, and then went out through the back door. I followed him.
“What do you mean, your father searched for the real coin?”
“Yeah, the Vianus called him in when it happened.”
That made sense. The dive shop had not only been around since I was a kid, but had a sign above it that said EST. 1959. Joey’s family had started this place.
“Your dad is still alive, right, Joey?”
“He sure is. That bastard is gonna outlive us all.”
“I’m writing a human-interest piece on the hunt. Do you think I could speak to him?”
“Of course. He loves to chat, especially to the young ladies. You can find him over at the Boho Retirement Centre.”
I thanked Joey and searched for Jesse, and soon found him standing next to my car holding a scuba cylinder and a blue skin suit, the sun kissing his rippling, sweat-glistened biceps.
“You’re all set, Penelope. I found my little sister’s suit–it might be snug, but it’s all we got and our buoyancy compensator vests were all booked up so I set you up with mine. Just bring it back when you’re done with it, if you don’t mind.”
“Sure. You been diving lately?”
“No, not for a while.”
I picked up the vest to put it in my trunk. Its regulator hoses and gauges slapped around like wet octopus tentacles. “You sure you haven’t been diving for a while?” I asked as droplets of water ran off.
Jesse smiled. “Sorry. It was stored with the wet stuff so must have just gotten a little damp. I’ll dry it off... we can’t put it in black beauty that way, now can we?”
Damp? It was dripping, I thought to myself.
“You’ve dived Bohemian Lake before, so do you think there’s any chance the real coin is down there?”
Jesse tossed his shaggy blond hair out of his eyes as we wiped down the equipment. “I’ve never seen it, but then again we weren’t looking for it. A coin is awful small, and the lake has an abundance of hiding places.”
“Bummer!” I said. Call me greedy, but it would be nice to find the real nickel, as well as the fake.
He finished packing the rest of the gear into my tiny trunk–the compass, diving knife, fins, mask and snorkel, as well as the air tank. It just fit.
I decided to visit the little beach after returning home to the cabin. The sun broke free from the clouds and warmed me as I walked the road that led from the cabin to Gypsy Caravan Manor. The lake was peppered with boats, even for a Thursday, and I could see the Manor’s parking lot was nearly full. Everyone was getting a jumpstart to the long weekend. At least most of the boats were concentrated on the east side of the lake, closer to Gypsy Caravan Manor than to me. I wondered if they had found something.
I turned to see a white and grey motor home pull up towing a pontoon boat. A shirtless guy with shorts and mirrored sunglasses got out. He cracked a can of beer and took a sip before starting to pull his gear out onto the beach.
“Hey there,” he said offering me his hand. “Brett Arnold.”
I shook. “Penelope Trouble.”
Brett tapped my water bottle in a cheers motion as if it were also alcohol. “A pleasure.” He took a long pull from the beer and glanced back at the lake. “What’s a pretty girl like you doing in the middle of no-man's-land? You in town for the contest?”
“I’m a local, but yes, I’m planning to dive for the treasure.”
“Nice. Nice. Nice. It beats sitting around with your thumb up your butt, right?”
“Right,” I said, doing my best not to wrinkle my forehead in distaste.
“Can I offer you a beer? We got them girly coolers too if you prefer them.”
“I’m good, thanks. I don’t drink before I dive.”
“Ah, smart. So, what’s it like living in such a dinky little place like this? Bohemian Lake, I mean. You’re a real looker, but I doubt you get much action here, huh? If you know what I mean.” He ribbed me with his elbow and I barely resisted the urge to elbow his face.
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Instead I raised my eyebrows in an obvious “watch yourself” fashion.
He shrugged. “I mean some people like the slower pace of life and all that. My wife’s cousin lives here, maybe you know her? Sally Snaub?”
Oh, I knew Sally, alright. She was one of Kaitlyn’s posse and I liked her about as much as I liked a wedgie at the beach. “I think we went to school together, yes.”
“Real pretty thing, she is—a little plump for my taste, but she’s got a nice rack.”
Wow. This guy was something else. Poor Sally for having to be related to him.
“Anyway, we come here to the country to visit her once a year, but me...” He pointed a thumb over his shoulder as if there were something there other than trees. “... I like the buzz of the city. There's nothing like it.” He chuckled to himself. “Course every now and then you’ve got to get away from it. That’s why we bought this baby. We’re gonna do even more travelling now.” He lifted his sunglasses and stared at me as if he was waiting for me to comment on his motor home.
“I bet,” I said, slightly appalled at the type of information he was sharing with me, a virtual stranger. “It looks... very nice,” I managed.
“We normally stay at Sally’s on–oh jeez, what’s the name of that street?” He turned back toward the box on wheels and let loose an ear-splitting call. “Sasha! Get your big behind out here right now!”
Sasha surprisingly responded to that call and not with a shove like I would have. She appeared on the steps of the big bus, wearing a horizontal striped dress two sizes too small for her shapely curves. Her dyed blonde hair was curled and she, too, was holding a beverage, hers the girly vodka cooler.
She frowned at her husband as she made her way toward us, her wedge flip flops kicking up a spray of gravel as she walked. “What’s up?”
“What took you so long?” her husband said.
“I was talking to my cousin,” she repeated.
“Well, you can call her back,” he said dismissively. He waved a hand at me. “This here is another local, Penelope.”
She gave me the once over as if she was inspecting a used lipstick. She turned to her husband as if I were her competition and suddenly stood straighter, thrusting her boobs in his direction. She patted her hair and smiled. “Well, aren't you just the cutest little ginger?”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Brett said. “Tell the girl where Sally lives. I can’t remember.”
“Oh yeah,” Sasha said, nodding. “That street, that’s off the other one.” Then she smiled at me. “You know, by the grocery store.”
“Oh yeah, I know right where you’re talking about,” I told her. I didn’t have a clue and didn’t really care, but for the sake of shutting these obnoxious people up, I would play along.
“Anyway, we normally stay over there with her, but this year we bought this beauty.”
“Well, I hope you both have a great time in town. Say hello to Sally for me,” I said. I picked up my scuba gear. “I need to get going, though. Need to find that coin.”
“Oh?” Brett's radar went up. He took another long drink from the can of beer and adjusted his sunglasses again. “I'm not sure there's much point.”
“Why's that?”
Brett raised his chin and thrust out his chest. “I've got this competition in the bag. I’m an expert diver.”
“We,” Sasha corrected, patting her hair, “go snorkeling every year in Mexico.”
“Right, sure, whatever,” Brett said. I couldn't see his eyes behind his sunglasses but I'm sure he was rolling them. “We.”
“Mexico, huh?” I said.
Brett nodded. “Most people I’ve talked to have just given up on trying after hearing how good I am.” He tapped his temple. “I’ve already got an idea where this fake treasure is.” He leaned in as if confiding a secret. “We’ve got the inside scoop.”
“Do you, now? Well, good luck,” I said. “Of course, they don’t call me Lucky Penny for nothing.” I gave him a sweet smile.
Brett froze, then slowly pushed his sunglasses up so they sat on top of his head. His eyes were a pale, almost colorless blue. “You think you can beat me?”
“Beat you?” I chuckled. “This isn’t a fight.” ‘Cause if it were I’d really kick your ass, I thought to myself.
Brett stared at me, his mouth set in a thin line. “Well, good luck right back at you. You’re going to need it.” He lowered his glasses again.
I ignored him and pulled on my wet suit and buoyancy vest. A couple tugs set the facemask at the right pressure. The BC was old but functional, and I had it attached to the tank in under four minutes. He was far from dressed and far from my thoughts by the time I waded into the lake.
Despite the poor company on the beach, the company below the water was delightful–that is once you got used to the sound of your Darth Vader breathing, your wetsuit filled and warmed with your body temperature, and you reached neutral buoyancy. I started off with a few ballerina twirls, enjoying the break from gravity, then kicked with my fins, descending deeper into Bohemian Lake like the pitch on a roof.
For the most part, Bohemian Lake is a pristine, spring-fed lake with fifteen-foot-plus visibility on a good day, but it has its murky spots. This section of lake wasn’t too bad but some air bubbles released and foiled my attempt to sneak up on a few perch. Sadly they muddied the water as they darted away.
Once I’d found my bearings with my compass, my plan was to swim generally southeast, which would land me in front of Gypsy Caravan Manor.
I set off, and after ten minutes I popped up to make sure I was on the right track. I was approximately thirty-eight feet from the Gypsy Caravan Manor beach, directly in front. Good. Surprisingly, there didn’t seem to be any divers in the immediate vicinity, though I counted five boats dotting the far side of the small lake and I could see a group of divers ready to set off from the public access on the south side, their diving flag slapping at the wind.
I let myself drift back down and continued to search, running my bare fingers through the loose silt on the bottom. A few feet away, I noticed something white and yellowish peeking out from the weeds. The weeds were long here, and it was kind of icky to get down among them, but I kicked my way closer to explore. Depth perception is different underwater, so it took me a minute. They couldn’t be clams because clams were darker and yet whatever it was looked hard. Maybe the committee had marked the fake coin site with something. Wouldn’t that be convenient if I found the treasure on my first dive. Hello, ten thousand dollars.
I scurried across the bottom of the lake trying to draw closer to the mound. It was half buried and my bare fingers had only just grazed the pile when I realized that the part sticking out of the sand was an eye socket. My throat constricted, and I took an involuntary breath through my nose, forcing the airless mask tighter to my face and giving me a temporary feeling of suffocation.
Bones.
Chapter Seven
_____________
W hose bones were these? I pulled my hand back and attempted to look around, cursing the lack of vision afforded to me by my dive mask. I swam hard for the surface, telling myself to calm down with every stroke–not that I was taking my own advice.
After what felt like forever but couldn’t have been long at all, I popped up above the water. My erratic kicks had brought me close to the public access, and before I knew it the bloody Arnolds–yes, that was all I needed–had helped me aboard their pontoon boat and taken me ashore. Of course, Brett couldn’t resist calling me Lucky Penny as he pulled me from the water.
I absorbed the heat of the sand through Sasha’s towel on the beach. Judging from the angle of the sun, it was pushing late afternoon. It truly was a beautiful day, and I had a new appreciation for the warm summer air and the buzz of the leopard frogs.
By the time the officer in charge made his way over to me, half of the Manor’s inhabitants had descended on the beach and were watching what was going on. The Arnolds stood off to the side of th
e beach, watching carefully. Brett shook hands with the officer at one point as if they were old friends.
The officer approached me, his expression more serious than dour. “Miss Trubble, I'm Cody Lumos. I apologize for taking so long to get to you.”
I was sitting with my knees to my chest and my arms locked around them when he motioned back toward his car.
“You mind if I ask you a few questions?”
He’d only been on the BLPD for a little over a month, but I had heard of the thirty-eight-year-old detective from Olivia, who’d been impressed with not only his charm but his physique. He seemed nice enough. I followed him over to his car and away from the crowd so we could have a little more privacy. He was about Jesse’s size and the tight-fitting uniform he wore promised a body packed with muscle. Short wisps of dark hair poked out from beneath the hat and his chin and cheeks were smooth, like he'd just shaved before coming down the trail. There wasn't a wrinkle on him and even his boots maintained their shine on the sandy beach.
“So,” he said, taking out a notepad. His green eyes were small but bright. “I hear you had the misfortune of finding a skeleton instead of the silver.”
I nodded. I wanted to crack a smile. He was attempting to lighten the mood, but I just didn’t have it in me at that moment. “Yes. I came down here looking for the coin. I spotted something white on the lake’s floor. I thought maybe it had to do with the contest so I went down to take a closer look and I’d almost touched it when I realized I was looking at bones.”
“So you didn’t actually touch anything? Don’t leave out any details, even if you think they might be irrelevant.”
“Not really... maybe a little. I panicked and surfaced without really inspecting.”
He kept writing after I’d finished. When he finally snapped his notebook shut, he looked at me for ten long seconds, his expression unreadable. “Are you okay? Do you need a ride home?”
“No. I can walk. I live right there.” I pointed to the cabin across the lake. It was less than two miles to the cabin, and even though I was wearing a wetsuit it would be a welcome trek. Brett and Sasha had offered to drop my equipment at the cabin when they headed home.
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