by Tripp Ellis
"Don't hold it against me, but I do have a big yacht.” The subtle double entendre wasn't lost on her.
"I'll bet you do."
In this setting, it seemed fitting to introduce myself as, “Wild, Tyson Wild."
Her silk gloved hand took mine, and we shook.
"Luciana Varga. Scumbag developer,” she said with a piercing glance.
I swallowed hard and did a poor job of containing my surprise.
"It's okay. I stick my foot in my mouth all the time."
I forced an uncomfortable smile. I couldn’t tell if she was amused or annoyed.
"It was nice to meet you, Mr. Wild. I'm sure I'll see you around."
She drifted away and greeted the Mayor. He seemed pleased to see her—and who wouldn’t be?
"Who is that?" JD asked, returning with our drinks.
I finished the last sip of my first drink with a gulp and took the second, finishing it off equally fast. “Trouble.”
"I like trouble," JD said with a mischievous glint in his eyes.
We mingled around and had a few more drinks. The event was in full swing.
"I love your outfit," a woman said to JD.
She was serious too!
She was in her 40s and had her hair in an updo, styled to perfection. She wore a white gown with pearls around her neck. She looked elegant and sophisticated. “I wish I had the balls to dress casual to these stuffy events."
“Why, thank you, ma'am." JD replied with a wide smile.
"Oh, please! Don't ma’am me. My name is Helen."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Helen," JD said.
He introduced us.
"One day I'm tempted to show up to one of these things wearing nothing at all."
“Please let me know when you do,” JD said.
She was well put together.
Helen smiled, enjoying the attention. Then she fished for another compliment. “I’m afraid that might traumatize too many people.”
"I don't know. You don't seem frightening to me.”
Her pupils widened and her eyes sparkled. "You are a charmer, sir."
"I just call them like I see them.” JD grinned.
"Looks like your drink is empty. Shall we find the bar?” Helen suggested.
"We shall."
The two hit it off instantly.
JD and Helen made their way to the bar, her hand clinging to his arm. He glanced over his shoulder and flashed me an optimistic grin as he walked away.
I chuckled and shook my head.
The mayor stepped up on a riser and clanked his wine glass with a spoon. "May I have everyone's attention?"
The crowd settled, and the chatter died down.
"I want to thank you all for coming out this evening. This cause is very near and dear to my heart. As you all know, my daughter Maggie lost her fight earlier this year. Every dollar you spend on the auction this evening will go directly to pediatric cancer research and treatment programs. The auctions are silent, so I urge you to bid, and bid high."
There were giggles among the crowd.
Mayor Styles smiled. "And if you don't win your auction, you are always free to make a direct donation. In that regard, I would like to thank Luciana Varga for the generous contribution made on behalf of the Coconut Key Development Group. In my hand, I am holding a check in the amount of $1 million."
The crowd cheered and clapped as he held the check overhead, flapping it in the breeze.
“I know many of you have a healthy spirit of competition, and I'm sure you don't want to be outdone,” the mayor continued.
There was another round of laughter.
"Once again, thank you all for coming, and enjoy the evening!” He stepped down from the riser to another round of applause.
It was an impressive donation. I wondered how much she had privately donated to the mayor’s campaign?
Luciana was instantly flocked by other guests, looking to chat her up—many of whom were probably seeking donations to their own foundations.
I waited for the vultures to thin out, then made sure I bumped into Luciana again. “Very generous for a scumbag."
She gave me a dry smile. "What did you think? That I'm some meany that clubs baby seals?"
I looked her up and down. "I don't know. I bet you've got a mean streak."
She arched an eyebrow at me. "Have you been talking to my ex? He'll tell you I've got a little bit of a temper. But I keep it in check most of the time.” She shrugged it off. “What can I say? I'm high-performance. Gotta take the good with the bad."
"Obviously there's a lot of good in there, somewhere."
A thin smile curled on her lips. "Don't tell anyone. You'll ruin my reputation."
"Have you met any of the people your project is displacing? I mean, really gotten to know them?"
“Some of them are suing me, trying to get an injunction. So, I’ve gotten to know their attorneys.”
"Some people have built a lot of memories in those homes. Memories that money can't buy."
She sighed. "What if I up my buyout offers and increase my relocation allowance? Would that make you happy?"
"You don't have to make me happy.”
"I'll have my attorney put in a new settlement offer. One that is more than fair. I really think this project is gonna benefit the community as a whole. You should stop by my office sometime and see the plans."
"I'd like that."
"There you are," Styles said, interrupting us. "I just wanted to thank you again for your kindness and compassion."
Luciana flashed me a prideful look before addressing the mayor. "You're more than welcome. Have you met Tyson Wild?"
"I don't think we’ve been formally introduced," Styles said.
We shook hands.
"He's a volunteer deputy sheriff.”
"Excellent. I appreciate all you do to keep the streets and shores of Coconut Key safe." He smiled a politician’s smile. "If you'll excuse me, I have a private matter I'd like to discuss with Miss Varga.”
I excused myself and looked around the venue for JD. A text dinged on my phone. "You're on your own. The Eagle has landed. Catch you tomorrow."
Obviously things were progressing well with Helen.
She was about two decades out of his usual target range. I was looking forward to a full after action report in the morning.
11
JD showed up bright and early the next morning, fully caffeinated. He stomped on board, making a ruckus, rattling the bulkheads. "Rise and shine, Princess."
I peeled open my eyes, wiped away the sleep, and crawled out of bed.
"You would not believe what happened last night," JD shouted through the hatch.
"I'm sure you'll tell me all about it." I got dressed and staggered up to the salon and started making myself breakfast.
"What the hell is this?" JD asked as his eyes got stuck on a bag of puppy food.
I shrugged, sheepishly. "Madison's getting a puppy."
He didn't ask any further questions, and I left it at that.
"So tell me… How was it?"
A wide grin tugged at JD's lips. "That woman is something else. First, she's loaded. And when I say loaded, I mean loaded. Her ex-husband is some tech billionaire, and she made out like a bandit in the split."
"So, you’ve got a new sugar mama?"
"Hey now," JD said, taking offense. "I don't need no sugar mama. But it doesn't suck to date rich women."
"So, you're dating now?"
JD shrugged. "We're getting to know each other. We got to know each other really well last night. And let me tell you, that girl has got a body on her. Mmm, mmm. Pilates and plyometrics payoff. She had serious hidden talent under that gown. I mean, I thought I was gonna have a heart attack just trying to keep up."
"Isn't she a little old for you," I said, taunting him.
"Age is just a number. Besides, she gets my references when I mention bands from the 80s."
"Oh. Don't tell me you actually li
ke her?"
"Like I said. We're getting to know each other."
"So, you're going to see her again?"
"I would hope so."
JD reached into his pocket and pulled out a pill bottle. He popped a few hydrocodone into his mouth and washed them down with a swig of bottled water.
I gave him a curious glance. "You're still on those?"
"Just here and there. A little lingering pain from my injury. I was shot, remember? While I was helping you, I might add.”
I raised my hands in surrender. "Just checking.”
The room was silent a moment.
"How many of those are you taking a day?"
"Just a few."
"Isn't your prescription out?"
"I had to finagle a few extra."
I frowned at him. “You’re buying these off the street?”
"Newsflash. There's an opioid crackdown. You know how hard this stuff is to come by?"
I let out a disapproving sigh. “You're a grown man. You can make your own decisions. But I think you should start tapering off those."
"I've only been on them for two weeks now. Lighten up."
I dropped it, but I was growing mildly concerned.
After breakfast, we prepped the boat and filled the tanks. JD planned our course.
Our clients, Ted and Charlotte, were from Texas. They were experienced divers and had said they were looking for a leisurely afternoon of swimming the reefs, taking pictures, and enjoying a little fun in the sun. But they had something else planned when they arrived.
Ted was in his 60s, but didn't look it. He had a full head of deep black hair, and the only traces of gray were specs in his goatee. He had tanned skin, and a gravelly voice. I could tell he used to be a little heavier, but had taken off some weight. His clothes were slightly baggy. The guy always had a smile on his face.
Charlotte was blonde, maybe 15 years younger. She had gorgeous bone structure and stunning blue eyes. If you met them separately, you'd never figure the two of them as a couple, but together, they seemed to fit perfectly.
Charlotte handed me a specific set of coordinates that pointed to a location just north of Angelfish Key Island.
JD and I exchanged a curious glance.
"Why do you want to go there?" I asked. "There's nothing to see. No reefs. No shipwrecks."
A sly grin curled on Charlotte's lips. "That's where I believe you are wrong."
The couple exchanged a glance that was full of possibilities. There was a secret behind their eyes, and they were contemplating whether to spill the beans. But like all good secrets, they have to escape some time.
"Are you familiar with the Santa Paquita De Cádiz?” Charlotte asked.
I shrugged and exchanged a glance with JD, but he didn't know either.
"It's a Spanish galleon. It was in route to Spain in the 1700s and sunk somewhere in the mid Atlantic. It never made it to its destination and has never been found."
“Interesting, but we are nowhere near the mid-Atlantic," I said, stating the obvious.
"Rumor has it the Santa Paquita was raided by pirates, and most of her treasure stolen. We believe the pirate ship, the Black Rose, sank during a hurricane and is somewhere north of Angelfish Key island."
"I know they pull Spanish gold out of these waters every now and again, but that story seems a little far-fetched, don't you think?" JD said in a doubtful tone.
Charlotte shrugged. "The hunt is half the fun, isn't it?"
I couldn't disagree with her.
“The galleon was said to have been carrying over $500 million worth of gold," Charlotte added.
That was enough to pique my interest.
“I’ve got a proposition for you,” Charlotte said. “How about you take us out and let us dive the area, no charge? In exchange, you get 50% of anything we find? And you keep this whole thing between us.”
I looked to JD, and we both contemplated her offer.
12
It sounded intriguing, and what did we really have to lose?
“Even if you find the Santa Piña Colada, you realize the state is going to claim ownership of anything you bring up,” JD said. “In the past they’ve let the salvors keep 75% of the intrinsic value, but there are no guarantees.”
“What happens if we don’t tell the state?” Charlotte asked.
“Try selling a historic object without raising a few eyebrows,” JD said, flatly. “You’ll be charged with fraud and countless other felonies. If you find the wreckage, register a claim with the state, and get a contract for the salvage rights.”
The prospect hung in the air for a few moments.
“So, what do you say?” Charlotte asked.
JD paused for a long moment. “Let's go hunt some treasure!”
We disconnected the shore power and water, cast off the lines, and Jack took the helm.
The engine burbled as we idled out of the marina. Once we reached open water, Jack throttled up the engines and brought the boat on plane. We raced across the water, carving through the waves like a knife through icing on a cake.
I chatted with Ted and Christine as we made our way to the dive site. "How did you put all this together?"
"I'm a data analyst. My brain sees trends and connections. I read about the demise of the Santa Paquita and filed it away in my memory bank somewhere. Then, a year later, I read a memoir written by Jacques De La Fontaine. He was a former commander in the French Navy in the late 1600s. Then he decided to branch out on his own. See, the French actually authorized piracy during that time as a way to harass Spanish and British fleets. He was a dreaded and feared marauder on the water in the Caribbean. When the Black Rose went down, he survived with a handful of the crew. They were stranded on an island before being rescued by a merchant vessel. In his book he describes numerous incidents on the high seas. While he didn't specifically mention the Santa Paquita, the description, and the timing of events, coincides."
"So this is all speculation on your part?”
"Very well researched speculation."
“Jacques De La Fontaine had amassed an enormous amount of wealth. And he had in his possession a handful of Spanish doubloons that could only have come from the Santa Paquita.”
I didn't know what to make of her story, but it was interesting, and provided the couple with an adventurous quest. Though, it all seemed like a stretch.
We reached the dive site and dropped anchor. Jack flew the diver down flag, and the couple donned their dive gear.
"Be careful down there, and watch your time,” I said. “You're going pretty deep. The depth meter says it's 112 feet. Including your descent, you'll only have a few minutes at the bottom before you'll have to begin your ascent. Don’t forget your safety stop.”
Charlotte smiled. "I know. This isn’t our first rodeo."
The two divers plunged into the water, and bubbles rose to the surface. I took a seat at the settee in the mezzanine.
At the depth they were diving, they'd have to work fast. Once they surfaced, there would be a long surface interval to reduce the nitrogen buildup in their blood.
If nitrogen bubbles form in your bloodstream, you're in a world of hurt, doubled over with the bends. In severe cases, without the proper treatment, it can be fatal.
The tricky thing about diving in greater depths is the stress factors that many people don't often account for. You can be calm, cool, and collected while diving near the surface. In 20 feet of water you can easily reach fresh air on a breath-hold. It becomes a little more challenging at 112 feet. The heightened adrenaline can increase heartbeat and respiration, and a diver can burn through oxygen more quickly than anticipated. Throw in an equipment malfunction, and a leisurely dive becomes a death sentence.
JD joined me in the cockpit and took a seat on the gunwale as the boat gently rocked with the waves.
“We should run up to Miami tomorrow and talk to Nick Phelps,” I said. “I was going over Scott Kingston’s ledgers. I tracked my parents’ b
oat. It was re-titled and given a new HIN. It’s currently registered to Rory Tilman in Miami. I thought we might stop by and ask him a few questions.”
“Don’t get your hopes up,” JD said. “This guy probably has no information about the origin of the vessel. He probably doesn’t know the boat was stolen. I’m sure he doesn’t know two people were murdered on it.”
“Right now, it’s the only lead I’ve got. That, and the initials, XC. That’s who sold the boat to Kingston in the first place.”
Jack let out a grim sigh. “We’ll find out who killed your parents. I promise.”
I frowned. “You know the odds with cold cases.”
“Fuck the odds.”
“If XC didn’t kill my parents, maybe he can lead us to who did?”
We sat in silence for a moment.
“I need a beer,” JD said. “How long do you think we’re into this treasure hunt for?”
I glanced at my watch. “They should be coming up soon. With an hour surface interval, that will put them into pressure group C. Two hours puts them into pressure group A.”
A flurry of bubbles rose to the surface, and the divers emerged from the water. They climbed onto the swim platform, and I helped them scale the transom into the cockpit. “Are we rich yet?"
My tongue was planted firmly in my cheek.
Judging by the disappointed looks on their faces I wasn't surprised by their answer.
"We didn't see anything," Charlotte said. "But it doesn't mean it's not nearby somewhere. I'd like to make another trip down."
"I'd recommend against it. With the surface interval of an hour, you're only going to have six minutes of downtime." Better safe than sorry. Neither of you want to get bent."
The couple thought about it for a moment, then agreed. Instead, we took them to a nearby reef where they could make a few more dives in shallow water without compromising their safety.
It was late afternoon by the time we returned to the marina.
"Sorry we didn't find anything," Charlotte said. “We planned a quick trip this vacation, but we would like to come back in a few months. We'll be in touch then."
