Life, Love and the Pursuit of Happiness

by Sandra Hill

  She realized belatedly that he was heading directly for her with that mischievous, I’ve-got-you-in-my-crosshairs gleam in his eyes. She stood and backed up a bit. “Not again,” she said.

  “Again what?” he asked with the innocence of a cobra about to strike as he strolled to her side of the table.

  She moved, putting the table between them. “You know what? Someone could come down here at any minute.”

  “Not to worry!” He sidled closer, to the end of the table. Pretending to be looking over her notes, but knowing exactly where his target was. Target being her. “I told everyone to stay above so I could have a quickie with my honey.”

  “You did not!”

  He winked at her. “Just kidding.”

  And just like that, he vaulted over the table and had her backed up, face against the wall.

  He nuzzled her neck and said, “Actually, I came down to tell you that I was able to get cell coverage and talk to Harry. No one unusual hanging around. So, the news hasn’t leaked out yet.”

  She sighed and turned in his arms, giving his whiskers a tug. “Any plans when you’ll announce the discovery?”

  “Hopefully, we’ll have a few days to prepare. Bonita and Famosa will do more research on the Falcon to go with the news releases. Maybe a press conference on Thursday or Friday.”

  Her heart skipped a beat at that news—and because he was tracing the outline of her lips with a forefinger. She nipped at his finger and ended up sucking on the tip.

  He groaned and ground his lower body against hers.

  She groaned then and pushed him away. “Stop it! I can’t concentrate when you do that.”

  He grinned.

  Putting some space between them, she went back to the table and began to gather her papers. “I won’t have to be involved in a press conference, will I?”

  “Probably not. But they might want pictures of the full crew.” He was at the open fridge now, scanning the contents, then shut the door for lack of interest.

  “I’d rather not, Merrill.”

  He turned to look at her. “Aren’t you proud of our work?”

  “Sure, but I like my privacy.”

  He narrowed his eyes, studying her for a moment, but then he shrugged. “It’s up to you, but I can’t guarantee anonymity if some newshound digs it up.”

  She shivered inwardly at the prospect.

  “Anyhow, before any of that happens, we first have to notify the state and historical societies of the shipwreck site. Find out exactly what we have in terms of gold recovered so far. Study the pictures of what remains below . . . cannons, portholes, and so on. Anything nondegradable that has survived the elements. Then put together a schedule for working the rest of the site. People in authority get their noses out of joint if they read about artifacts being taken out of the ocean without the salvagers following protocol. So, we need to get our ducks in a row, according to the rules.”

  “Don’t other countries sometimes try to claim the treasure from shipwrecks, even when they haven’t done the work to recover it?”

  “Yes, but that shouldn’t apply here since we’re only five miles out. International waters begin at twelve miles. Of course, sometimes the original owners of a ship try to claim the goods, but the owner of this ship was a conglomerate of factory owners in the 1860s. Proving a claim would be impossible.”

  Since Merrill mentioned phone service resuming, she clicked on her cell phone even as they talked. Her eyes went wide with alarm when she saw a grand total of 48 calls and 66 text messages, many of which seemed to come from Ms. Gardner, her parole officer. Skimming the texts didn’t provide much info, just that she wanted Delilah to return her calls.

  Merrill had gone into his bedroom while she’d been checking her phone. He came back with a leather Dopp kit which he dropped next to his sea bag. Noticing her reaction, he asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “No, just a lot of calls to be handled.”

  “They’re probably like email. A mass delete should take care of them pronto.”

  I wish!

  The engine slowed down noticeably as they approached the wharf at Bell Forge and Merrill prepared to go back up on the deck. Before he did, he walked over to her again and tilted her chin up for a quick kiss. “It’s going to be wildly busy this afternoon, for both of us. Will I see you tonight?”

  He probably meant in his motel room after her grandmother and Maggie were asleep.

  She hesitated and then nodded.

  His kiss then was longer and deeper before he whispered against her mouth, “Good. I can’t wait.”

  She couldn’t, either.

  Dammit!

  “And I have something serious I want to discuss with you regarding our future.”

  “Future? What future?” she tried to joke.

  “You know exactly what future, babe.” He didn’t smile, just stared at her, daring her to disagree.

  Double damn dammit!

  For that, she could wait.

  Are secrets a deal breaker among lovers? . . .

  They arrived back at Bell Cove at ten a.m. to a calm and pleasant reception of one. Gabe Conti. Which had to be good news.

  “Is it true? Really? Five, maybe ten million in gold? You are fucking unbelievable! No wonder the Navy didn’t want to let you go.”

  “Shhh! Hold your enthusiasm,” Merrill warned as Gabe alternately clapped him on the back and grinned like an idiot.

  “Yeah. Right,” Gabe said, then continued to grin. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in weeks.”

  Merrill took that to mean that Laura had dumped him again, or maybe he’d dumped her this time. Those two had a relationship much like a roller coaster. One or the other was always jumping off, then climbing back on.

  After the initial unloading of the boat, Charlie drove it off to the pump station. She still insisted on sleeping on board the boat out at the site, which allowed him, Famosa, and K-4 to have their own rooms at the motel.

  Bonita and Famosa went to the university. They would be researching some of the items found and preparing a press release. A list had already been prepared of all the agencies to be contacted once Merrill gave the okay signal.

  K-4 and Gus were planning lunch at the Cracked Crab after a quick shower and shave. There was mention of two Victoria’s Secret models in town that Gus knew from his old football days. They were here—well, in Nags Head—for a photo shoot and a few days’ vacation.

  And Delilah, of course, went home for a happy reunion with her daughter and a not-so-happy lecture for her grandmother regarding her alleged antics of the past ten days. Delilah took his truck with a mountain of laundry. He’d told her that it didn’t have to be done right away since they wouldn’t be returning to the site until after the storm hit and ran its course, which should last at least three days. But knowing her, she’d be at the Laundromat this afternoon. In addition, she’d told him he could have the truck back after today since her grandmother’s station wagon was available for her use. Hah! He questioned how long that big-ass gas guzzler would last.

  Whatever! He wasn’t going to let anyone rain on his parade today. The exhilaration Merrill felt wasn’t unlike what he and his teammates experienced on returning from a successful mission. Adrenaline out the wazoo. Besides, despite the success of their mission, despite his busy schedule for today, Merrill had tonight to look forward to. Life was good. Can anyone say adrenaline sex?

  He and Gabe spent an hour in the storage room going over the coins and artifacts that were laid out on various folding tables. Gold and silver didn’t require any special treatment for preservation, but they did require cleaning and in some cases picking away at the encrustation. Harry had been working on this himself so far, not wanting to bring in any help that might have a flapping tongue.

  “Where is Harry, by the way?” Merrill asked.

  Gabe laughed. “You do not want to know.”

  Merrill arched his brows.

  “We didn’t know for sure
what time you’d get here. So, he stuck around the Patterson house this morning for a hot-cha-cha breakfast. He should be in anytime now.”

  “Is that something else I don’t really want to know about?”

  Gabe grinned. “Delilah’s grandmother has been leading a prebreakfast ‘Wake-Up Exercise Class’ that presumably gets the sap running on even the oldest trees, if you get my meaning.”

  “Good Lord!” And that was a prayer because he knew Delilah would be all upset and too busy keeping an eye on the old lady now to have time for him. Goodbye adrenaline sex! “Even Harry?”

  “Especially Harry. Supposedly, he’s had his first hard-on in five years just from slathering his body with some Avon crap before the morning happy time.”

  “He told you that?” Merrill was shocked. Harry was usually more dignified in his manner and speech.

  “Hell, no! But he implied it. And he’s started wearing cologne.”

  “That’s no proof. I suspect everyone in town is wearing cologne these days, thanks to the Avon Lady who’s perfected ‘The Art of the (Avon) Deal.’”

  “Yep.”

  They grinned at each other. Good ol’ Bell Cove.

  “So, are you done with the site?”

  “Oh, hell no! We haven’t begun to bring up the big guns, and I mean that literally. Cannon, cannonballs, other weapons, heavy stuff. We’ll probably have to let some of the historical preservationists come down to look things over before we disturb the wreck any more than we have.”

  “Weeks? Months?”

  “No longer than winter. If someone else wants to salvage the site more, like next spring, they can buy the license from us.”

  “And then what?”

  “Man! Give me a break. Maybe I’ll go to Hawaii for a year.” He was smiling as he protested.

  “I just meant, do we give up on the Three Saints?”

  “No, but it will take some research . . . a lot of research . . . to see where our calculations went wrong. And then, if we have a better idea of location, go through the whole process of applying for another license to salvage.”

  “Harry thinks we should dig for emeralds up in the mountains.”

  “Hmpfh! I like the way you say ‘we’ and then stay all warm and snuggly back here in your McMansion.”

  “I’d be glad to sell you that McMonstrosity I call home, if you’re interested.”

  “No thanks.” He knew Gabe wasn’t serious anyhow. Chimes was a family heirloom, sort of.

  “Now that you’re about to reap a few million, you can afford it.”

  “I was a millionaire before.”

  “Are you saying you don’t need thirteen bathrooms?”

  “When I go to the head, one toilet, one sink, and one shower are all I need.”

  “Yeah, but if you and Delilah get married and have a dozen kids, you might need a McAnnie-sion, Daddy Warbucks. Might even turn it into an orphanage.”

  “Harry talks too much,” Merrill said. “Listen, speaking of bathrooms, I’ve gotta go take a shower and shave.” He rubbed a hand over his bristly chin. “I’m starting to itch.” Plus, he had enough salt encrusted on his skin and hair from diving to fill a salt shaker.

  “You can go to my place if you want.”

  “Nah! I’ll use the shower in my motel unit. I have clean clothes there. If Harry gets here while I’m gone, tell him to hold down the fort. I know he has a lot of business to go over with me. And tell him to stop gossiping about me.”

  “I think it’s the grandmother who’s been filling Harry’s ear with ideas.”

  He rolled his eyes. “As long as that’s the only cavity being filled.”

  “You’ve been too long at sea, my friend,” Gabe observed with a chuckle.

  When he got to the motel, he saw that his pickup truck was missing, as he’d predicted. Delilah’s grandmother, who was the only one there, affirmed his suspicion.

  “Lilah and Maggie went to the Laundromat and the grocery store.” She narrowed her heavily mascaraed eyes at him. “Lilah seemed awful happy. Did something happen?”

  Well, that answered that question. Delilah hadn’t mentioned the treasure or their relationship.

  “No idea,” he said. “She’s probably just glad to be with her daughter again.”

  “Uh-huh,” the grandmother said, skeptically. She was looking him over like he was a prime steak, meanwhile puffing on one of those ridiculous flavor vapor cigarettes. Apple this time, he would guess.

  “I’ve gotta go shower and get back to the office,” he said then. Really, his eyes were starting to burn with his effort not to go googly-eyed at the sight that Salome Jones presented.

  The sixty-something person had her forty-something body squeezed into a pair of figure-hugging short shorts and a stretch T-shirt that showed off her cleavage almost to her waist. Long, shapely legs led to a pair of high-wedge-heeled sandals, exposing neon pink toenails. Bottom line, a woman her age had no business having a butt like that. And her boobs!

  I. Am. Not. Looking.

  Harry was at the office when he got there about noon. Right off the bat, Merrill noticed that Harry had a new hairstyle, parted on the side. And his eyebrows looked different. Didn’t he have a unibrow before?

  Not my business!

  Harry had ordered pizzas and cold sodas for lunch. Glancing at the huge pile of papers on the desk waiting for his action, Merrill almost turned around and left. With a sigh, he dug in, to both the food and the work.

  An hour later and only halfway through the pile of paperwork, all hell broke loose. News had broken about the treasure.

  It started with the mayor, Doreen Ferguson, rushing into the office, without knocking. “I just heard. I just heard. Oh, my God! You found the treasure!”

  “What? Who told you that?”

  “I was having my roots done at Styles & Smiles. That’s my daughter’s hair salon,” she said, pausing to catch her breath. Just then, he noticed that half her hair was wet and had some reddish-brown substance plastered on it. The other half was brown and dry with a one-inch line of gray at the roots. This was not good. Even he knew that. “And Maisie Dolan . . . she gets a shampoo and blow-dry every Monday, when Francine runs a half-price sale . . . Maisie said she heard from her cousin Bruce who works at Bell Forge that you guys have been hauling gold in here by the wheelbarrow loads.”

  “Do we own a wheelbarrow?” he asked Harry. Before he had a chance to respond to Doreen’s statement, the sound of screeching wheels could be heard in the parking lot. Looking out the window, he saw that two news vehicles had arrived, a van with a satellite dish on its roof and the logo, NBX-TV, and a black sedan with the logo, “The Bell, Where Local News Is Celebrated.” Annie Fox and Sam Castile from The Morning Show were fighting to get past Laura Atler at the entrance.

  “Where’s the gold?” all three of them yelled once they got inside and noticed Merrill and Harry through the doorway that Doreen had left open.

  Laura gave Doreen’s half-dyed head a double take, then turned to Gabe, who’d joined the fray by now, having heard the commotion from the other side of the building. “You promised me, Gabe. You said I would get a scoop when they found the sunken ships.”

  Merrill and Harry glared at Gabe, who was looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  “Um, I was in an, um, vulnerable position at the time.”

  Merrill assumed he meant in the sack with his cookies exposed.

  “Hah! We were having dinner at the Cracked Crab at the time.”

  “Yeah, but there was the prospect of . . . you know?” He waggled his eyebrows at her.

  Laura was not amused.

  Merrill assumed he meant the prospect of cookies.

  “That is so unprofessional,” Annie said to Laura. “Trading sex for a news story.”

  Laura inhaled sharply and reached for a stapler sitting on the desk. “I’ll show you unprofessional, you crazy bitch. How about that time you were caught having sex with a fireman in a boat dur
ing Hurricane Florence, and Sam was pretending to drown in two feet of water? You and Sam here are the joke of the Outer Banks.”

  “Hey!” Sam protested. “There were snakes in that water. Probably.”

  Merrill grabbed the stapler out of Laura’s hand and yelled, “Shut the hell up! All of you!” In the silence, he then said, “Sit down, everyone.”

  Gabe brought in some folding chairs to accommodate everyone.

  Merrill explained everything to them then, in general, but he said there would be no details until a press conference in two days, on Wednesday at two p.m. And definitely no look-see at any of the gold coins until then. It wasn’t the Three Saints, though, he disclosed that much, but the Falcon, an 1860s era French blockade runner. Merrill had originally planned to hold a press conference on Thursday or Friday, but it was hopeless to think they could hold out that long now.

  “Oh, good! That will give us two days to bring out the decorations,” Doreen said.

  Merrill groaned.

  “Will there be room enough for us to do it here? Maybe we should use your place, Gabe.”

  Gabe groaned.

  Merrill was further alarmed by Doreen’s use of the word “us” and “we,” especially when she added, “The whole town will want to come.”

  “Ooh, ooh, ooh, I have a great idea. If you wait until the weekend for the big reveal, we could have a Dress Like a Pirate Day in Bell Cove. Tourists will love it.”

  More we’s! “We’re not pirates. We recovered our treasure by legal means,” Merrill emphasized.

  Doreen waved a hand dismissively. “Same thing. Bet we could find some big pirate chests on the Internet. Exactly how much gold are we talking about here, Merrill?”

  The sly woman! Thought she could get the deets by the back door.

  “That is a wonderful idea, Doreen,” Laura said.

  “No, no, no, it is not a wonderful idea,” Merrill protested.

  No one paid any attention to him.

  “Do you still have any of those wild animals at your place, Gabe?” Doreen wanted to know.