They all stood, and Jack peered into Cherise’s eyes. “Walk me out?”
She smiled. “Of course.”
They were a quiet group during their stroll to the porte-cochère. The parking attendant brought the rental up and loaded their bags into the trunk. Jack tipped the guy a twenty and he and Robert climbed in.
Cherise leaned on the driver’s door and smiled. “Drive careful, sailor.”
“Piece of cake,” he said.
She leaned in and kissed him.
* * *
Four hours later, Jack parked the Camaro at the Pier House. A cruise ship sat in port. Tourists flocked in Mallory Square. Normally he wouldn’t have given the boat or the crowd of people a second thought. That had changed, and he supposed it would be some time before he could look at either and not think about the past few days.
A brush with death has a way of doing that.
Or so he thought.
“I’m ready for a beer,” he said. “Let’s load the bags in the dinghy and take them out to the boat.”
“We’re out of beer.”
“I’m sure Sloppy Joe’s has plenty.”
“Some lunch, too,” Robert said.
They motored out to the Adeona and carried their bags aboard. Below decks she was hot and stale and damp. Jack fired up the generator, turned on the air conditioner, and set the thermostat to sixty-five.
He stood underneath the vents on the ceiling assembly and let the cold breeze hit his face. The air would have to run a while.
Robert stepped into the salon and asked, “Are you going to stand there all day or are we going?”
“Feels pretty good to me right here.”
“Well, I’m hungry.”
“And let’s not forget thirsty,” Jack added. “We’ll let the air run while we’re having lunch. Give her a chance to cool down and dry out a little.”
“She’ll need to if you expect me to sleep aboard tonight.”
“Quit bellyaching and let’s go.”
They motored the dinghy back to the Pier House and tied her to the wharf. The Camaro sat where they had left it. But they had walked to Sloppy Joe’s enough times that Jack thought it ridiculous to drive the two blocks, even in the hottest part of the day.
“Let’s walk,” he said.
“I’m with you.”
CHAPTER 80
Jack and Robert stepped inside Sloppy Joe’s and scanned the crowd.
“Packed,” Robert said.
“About the same as it was the day Officer Zackary and his partner kicked us out of the place.”
“At least no one’s fighting.”
Jack clapped Robert on the back. “There’re two places at the counter. And we’re in luck. Vicky’s tending bar.”
“Those are the same stools we sat on before,” Robert pointed out. “Do you think she saved them for us?”
“Without a doubt.”
They stepped to the bar with smiles on their faces.
Vicky swiped a damp towel across the counter, and said, “You’re back. I thought you had taken off for good.”
Jack said, “You know what they say about a bad penny, or two pennies in this case.”
She chuckled. “You made my day. What can I get you?”
“A beer and something deep fried and tasty.”
He and Robert slid onto the stools and ordered pints of Island Ale. She stepped away, and Jack pointed at a framed photo on the wall below the menu. “This year’s Hemingway lookalike.”
“Looks just like him,” Robert said. “I forgot the Hemingway Days celebration was last week. Almost sorry we missed the party.”
“I’m afraid we had a more pressing engagement.”
“Didn’t we, though.”
Vicky set their beers in front of them, a question showing in her expression. “Did you guys ever find those documents you were looking for?”
Jack shook his head. “We kind of got sidetracked.”
“There’s still time,” she said.
Jack noticed his friend staring into his beer. “What’s the long face about? You were the one who couldn’t wait to get something to eat.”
“I’m sorry. It’s that I can’t help thinking how much I enjoyed spending time with Lindsey. She’s really a nice person. That deep down sincere kind of nice where you know it’s genuine. I’m glad she got to bring closure to her father’s death.”
“You two did get awfully friendly.”
“I could tell you were concerned.” Robert smiled into his glass. “I felt good just being around her.”
“What you do is your business. Far be it from me to preach morality.”
“But you cared. And I appreciate that. We both love Kazuko—have for a long time—and that’s a fact.”
“Maybe so.” Jack sat thinking, what if? Not about Kazuko. About Cherise. After a few long seconds, he gulped down a couple of swallows and said, “Let’s eat. Then I need to get busy and make arrangements to get the Adeona home. It’s high time you and I were out of here.”
For the next hour, they chatted, ate crab cake sandwiches, and drank beer. And during that time, Jack kept glancing up at the marlin on the wall. He read and reread the engraving on the brass plaque: In Memory of Papa.
He raised his glass to his lips for a sip and squinted at the tiny engraving below the dedication: Rafael Fuentes, 1963.
The first time he had taken particular notice of it.
On the edge of his memory, something Corey said to him materialized out of a fog.
He leaned close to Robert and asked, “Remember what Corey said about the mounted roosterfish?”
“Had something to do with smuggling in a gold relic, didn’t it?”
“That’s right. Concealed it inside the fish.”
“I assume you’re going somewhere with this?”
“Take a look at that marlin on the wall. And check out the name at the bottom of that brass plaque.”
Robert squinted the same way Jack had to. “You’re not thinking—”
“I am,” Jack said. “Think about what Rafael wrote in the note concealed behind that photograph I knocked off the wall.”
Again, Robert stared into his beer. Only this time Jack knew what his friend was thinking.
“I can picture the note in my mind,” Robert said.
“And what did he write?”
“He said it’s only right that the photo belongs in the bar Hemingway spent so much time in.”
“And the last line?”
Robert peered up at the marlin. Jack saw resolve in his friend’s eyes.
As does so much more.
CHAPTER 81
That evening, back aboard the Adeona, Jack sipped a Red Stripe and watched the sun sink into the Gulf. Robert sat in a deck chair a few feet away, talking to Kazuko on the phone. His bottle of beer sat next to him on the deck.
Jack stepped to the railing and scanned the broad expanse of ocean. He listened to the music from town and saw a fish swirl the surface of the water twenty feet away from the boat. He felt the air under the topside awning stir with a breeze blowing inland, bringing with it a strong scent of the sea. He embraced a sky filled with an artist’s palette of color.
Another glorious Key West sunset.
His favorite time of day. That and sunrise.
Here, or on Oahu, or on the open ocean.
One signals the end of what was; the other, a fresh beginning.
Each new day, the first day of the rest of his life. Free of mistakes. Only those that have been made and those that are yet to be made.
Each cycle the same.
A time of reflection.
This sunset was no different. And he’d had a long drive and all afternoon to reflect on it.
To think about Cherise and validate the decision he had already made.
He was tired of shallow women, superficial love affairs, and meaningless deaths. His own damned empty life included.
Robert and Kazuko were every bit as much his
family as his brother in California. And it saddened him to know he had readily come to rely on them to enrich his salty existence with what he didn’t have on his own.
Some things in a person’s life need changing. The status quo no longer good enough.
The trick, he realized, is being able to recognize that special moment when it comes.
And embracing it, even with no guarantees.
The way he was now.
He heard Robert say goodbye to Kazuko and end the call. With his back to his friend, he asked, “All good on the home front?”
Robert joined him at the rail and stood at his side, beer in hand. “She misses me.”
“That’s a good thing, I think.”
“I miss her, too.”
“Love does that.”
“Speaking of love, do you feel like you’ve maneuvered yourself into a corner with Cherise?”
“Not at all. And the more I think about it, the better I like it.”
“Welcome to the club. Have you figured out how we’re going to get Hemingway’s manuscript out of that marlin?”
“I’ve come to a conclusion. Who are we to question Rafael Fuentes’ motive?”
“Meaning?”
“The man was right. Those manuscript notes belong here.”
“So we leave them where they are?”
“That’s what I’m saying.”
“And never know if we guessed correctly or not?”
Jack turned to his long-time friend and hoisted his bottle. “Some questions are better left unanswered.”
EPILOGUE
On a warm Oahu Wednesday afternoon in late October, Jack stood next to Robert and Kazuko on the dock at their home on Kaneohe Bay. Freshly painted and renamed Pono II, the Adeona tugged at her mooring lines, the hull no longer bearing the name the boat had been christened with.
“She’s beautiful,” Robert said. “Appears her freighter ride across the Pacific didn’t do her any harm.”
“Not a bit. Course the paint job helps.” Jack pointed at the large scrawling green letters with gold shadow. “Personally, I think the name does her justice.”
Robert clapped him on the back. “Ol’ buddy, I do believe you’re right.”
Jack continued to admire his boat. Imagining the modifications he had in mind to convert it into a floating lab. The name change had only been the beginning.
He asked, “Think Cherise will like it?”
“Of course. And that reminds me.” Robert dug an envelope from his pocket and held it out. “I almost forgot to give you this. The letter arrived yesterday when you were gone. It’s from her. Too bad she isn’t here to take part in this.”
Jack took the sealed envelope and looked at it.
He’d read it later.
“She wanted to join us,” he said. “But she’s off on some super-secret assignment she couldn’t talk about.”
“And she didn’t invite you to join her?”
Jack laughed. “Not this time. Did I tell you I received a reply from Salvatore Vincente? Ms. Faggini wants us to keep the novella, but she would like to have the journal. I’ll send it to her, of course.”
“And the book?”
“That’s going in my collection.”
Kazuko joined them. “What’s going in your collection?”
“The book I showed you. Ms. Faggini wants me to keep it.”
“That’s extremely nice of her.” Concern pinched her brow. “You’re sure Kimo and his uncle are going to make it over?”
“They’ll make it,” Jack assured her. “Our friend was extremely pleased I asked Keoni to perform the blessing. And thankful when I told him I’d arrange to have them flown over.”
“I hope so. The luau is all planned.”
He hugged her. “Relax, you’ve done a wonderful job putting everything together.”
The distinctive wop, wop, wop drew their eyes skyward. The black dot, like a single gnat bearing down on them, approached from the south.
Jack eased away from her and pointed. “Perfect timing.”
They followed the dock back to the slope of grass leading up to the house, the sound growing louder overhead.
Rebel abandoned her patch of shade beneath the flowering ginger plants and trotted over to join them. Jack bent and gave the Basset’s head and ears a pat for luck, before watching the helicopter land on the sprawling expanse of lawn.
The rear door of the cabin opened and Jack spotted his old friend. He ducked under the spinning blades and stepped to the chopper to greet him.
Kimo climbed out, a little grayer on top, a few more wrinkles around the eyes. His smile broad as ever.
They clasped hands.
“How’s Maui?” Jack asked.
“Rainy. Nice here, though.”
“That’s the islands for you. I trust Keoni is feeling well?”
Kimo turned and held the cabin door open. “See for yourself.”
Jack stood back, giving Kimo’s uncle ample room to step out onto the grass. It appeared the priest had dressed for the occasion.
The elderly kahuna wore a multi-colored tapa-cloth kihei slung over his left shoulder and tied at the right side of his waist. And a bright red sash. A lei of feathers—most of them red, a few yellow—crowned his head. The Hawaiian had aged dramatically since they’d last seen each other, but not so much that Jack didn’t recognize Keoni immediately.
The people of Maui and other islands held the kahuna in high regard. Jack shared the native people’s sentiment. So did Robert and Kazuko.
He grasped Keoni’s hand, leaned close and touched foreheads in the ancient custom of the islands. “It’s good to see you, my friend. Thank you for coming.”
Keoni tightened his grip. “I’m happy you asked me.”
They stepped clear of the blades, and Robert and Kazuko joined in the greeting. Smiles were exchanged. As were hugs and handshakes. Kazuko gave Kimo and Keoni a kiss on the cheek. And at last, they wandered onto the dock, Keoni in the lead.
Jack paused and glanced around, half expecting to see Cherise running to catch up to them. Of course, she was nowhere to be seen.
He swallowed his disappointment.
At least he had the letter.
Stealing a moment longer, he tore open the flap on the envelope and removed the contents. A cashier’s check and a two-page handwritten note. He scanned enough of the first page to learn she had sold two of the idols to a dealer in New York and divided the money accordingly to cover everyone’s out-of-pocket expenses, with an extra ten grand to him. The third idol, she turned over to Pacal Balam, the professor of Central American History she met at the museum.
Professor Balam promised her the artifact would be returned to the Mayan people.
A noble gesture.
The amount of the check would replenish the remaining ten thousand of the money he had withdrawn from his bank account. The remainder would come close to covering the cost of having the Adeona shipped to Honolulu.
He refolded the note and returned it and the check to the envelope.
You’ll get no complaint from me.
Robert called his name and waved for him to join them. Kimo had his arms raised, ready to begin the blessing.
He tucked the envelope into his pocket and walked toward his friends.
Some letters are meant to be read over a drink at sunset.
* * *
From the side of the road a hundred yards away, Cherise gazed over the roof of the dark blue sedan at the helicopter perched on the grass. She’d seen Jack duck under the spinning rotors and greet the Hawaiian’s he’d told her would be performing the blessing. Robert and Kazuko were there, too. And she’d watched them all walk onto the dock. Except Jack. He’d paused and read a letter he pulled from an envelope. Possibly the one she’d sent.
It comforted her to think so.
She wished she could hear her friends’ voices, and peer into Jack’s beguiling blue eyes. But drew a degree of comfort being able to see them admire
his boat.
She would have been there as well, had it been possible for her to join them.
Pono II . . . to put things right.
Perfect.
“I’m sorry we can’t stay here longer, Ms. Venetta,” the driver of the car said. “I got a text from Susan. We need to get back to the base.”
“One second, Sergeant.” She cast a long-distance smile at Jack.
Soon.
With that, she climbed back into the car. “We definitely don’t want to keep the admiral waiting.”
*
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William Nikkel is the author of nine Jack Ferrell novels and two steampunk, westerns featuring his latest hero Max Traver. A former homicide detective and S.W.A.T. team member for the Kern County Sheriff’s Department in Bakersfield, California, William is an amateur scuba enthusiast, gold prospector, and wildlife artist who can be found just about anywhere. He and his wife Karen divide their time between Northern California and Maui, Hawaii.
GLIMMER OF GOLD
A JACK FERRELL ADVENTURE
The Discovery of WWII West Point Class Ring
Leads to Sex, Murder and Revenge
Jack Ferrell is engaged to a rich drop-dead gorgeous blonde Ellery Seaport and living rent-free in the guest cottage at her parent’s house on Maui. Most men would consider him one of the luckiest guys alive.
But is he?
Free diving on a reef off the south coast of Maui, Jack spies something small and round—like a golden eye gleaming at him from the coral—and makes a grab for it. Back aboard his Zodiac, he discovers he’s found a 1941 West Point class ring with the initials C. W. M. inscribed on inside of the band.
While struggling with his failing relationship and his new job working for his fiancée’s father, an unscrupulous developer, Jack sets out to find the soldier who lost the ring—a quest that leads him to Charles William McIntyre. But it’s not until he gets a phone call from McIntyre’s twenty-seven-year-old granddaughter Katie that he learns the ring’s secret.
“This proves my dad was telling the truth,” she says. “He didn’t kill my mother.”
Hostile Waters Page 27
