by May Archer
“His wife’s garden.”
“Yep.”
“But it wasn’t there.”
“Nope. And when Jacob’s relatives heard this tale of missing money, and looked around at the zero dollars they had in the bank and the fact that many of their father’s personal papers were missing, they put two and two together and got twenty-two. They concluded that Resolute had stiffed them. They even claimed that Jacob’s ghost had haunted Resolute and driven him to his death for stealing their father’s part of the treasure.”
Mason looked oddly outraged on behalf of a man he’d never met. “Based on nothing?”
I shrugged. “Sometimes people need someone to blame when they’re unhappy with their lot in life, right? I personally think it’s ironic that Resolute nearly died to get that treasure, and in the end, it drove him crazy.” My hands moved lower, my pinkies coasting beneath his waistband. “Anyway, most of the Godfrey heirs were capital N Not gonna keep living on an island with the Goodmans after that, so they spread the legend of the treasure far and wide, sold off their land—”
“In direct violation of their father’s wishes! Pfft. What a bunch of hypocrites.”
“You’re catching on. And the new owners by and large were speculators or folks who leased the rights for treasure hunters to come in and turn the island into swiss cheese to find the treasure anywhere it might remotely be hidden and lots of places where it couldn’t possibly be. It was a huge draw for tourists, which started up a whole secondary business for the island. You know how some people want to stay in haunted hotels and that kind of thing?” I traced patterns up Mason’s spine, making him shiver.
Mason nodded.
“I guess it was sort of like that. Families would come on vacation because of the beaches, and the concerts in the park, and the carousel, but they’d also have fun watching whoever was heading up the salvage operation that particular year and trying to put the clues together.” I shrugged. “They’d tell ghost stories about Jacob Godfrey haunting the island, looking for his lost treasure. Harmless fun.”
“And then?”
“Then… the speculators drilled too much, too incautiously. It was irresponsible and fucking stupid. They’re supposed to have oversight for these things, you know? The state, the local government, they’re supposed to approve permits.” I shook my head. “This was sixty, seventy years ago, so who knows what the hell was going on? What I do know is that a six-foot sinkhole opened on the upper part of the island, near Godfrey Promontory, and a tourist died.”
Mason gasped. “The ground opened?”
“Caved in, kinda. Yeah. But, of course, the legend said that Jacob Godfrey’s pissed-off ghost caused the sinkhole and killed the man… and then the ghost story wasn’t so harmless or fun anymore.”
Mason froze, his muscles tense. “He just… fell in? It collapsed on top of him?”
Too late, I remembered Mason’s not-irrational concern about dark, enclosed spaces.
Damn it.
“Remember, I explained about erosion?” I soothed, rubbing circles into his upper back. “It’s rare to have a sinkhole large enough to hurt someone, Mason. Data confirms this. We should look up the statistics later so you can see. I think you’ll find them really comforting.”
Mason pulled back to look at me. His mouth twitched at one corner, and his green eyes went soft. “I find you really comforting,” he said… and then he blushed again.
God. How the fuck could I establish boundaries when the man kept saying stuff like that? I couldn’t even manage a cogent response.
“So.” Mason cleared his throat, deliberately attempting to change the subject. “What would you do? If you ever found the treasure?”
“The treasure that probably doesn’t exist?” I kept my voice gentle.
“Play the game,” he insisted. “Would you travel? Buy a sports car? End world hunger? Write a novel? Go back to geology? Mess around with the Charger all day? What?”
“You realize that the first question, if you found the treasure, would be who it belonged to, right? Unless you’ve been buying up land on Whispering Key without telling me, the owner of the land is the one who’d own anything you found on it, and you wouldn’t get more than a small percentage as a thank-you. And then, you’d have to establish how much the treasure is worth. Big Rafe thinks it could be as much as thirteen million, but my dad used to say it was probably closer to three, which means you’re not coming away with more than 1.3 million at the most, assuming the owner is generous and gives you a ten percent cut. And yeah, that’s a very tidy sum, don’t get me wrong, but hardly the kind of money that—”
“You realize that you have no clue how to play this game, right?” Mason shook my shoulders, plainly annoyed. “Daydream, for God’s sake. Be happy, Fenn. Be unrealistic. Yeesh. No one’s gonna smite you down for it.”
“Smite me.” I rolled my eyes. Where did the man get his ideas? “I’m trying to be accurate since some people appreciate facts and figures.” I smacked Mason’s ass lightly and he yelped. “Fine. I’d… yeah, maybe I’d mess around with the Charger. When I was younger, I wanted to work on cars. Restoring them.” I scratched at my beard. “I think I got the idea because I knew my dad—my biological dad—was into it, and I thought it’d be something we’d have in common, but I ended up really liking it. I was never into geology. That was just a means to an end and a way to placate my stepfather. There’s something satisfying about making things work the way they’re supposed to, though. So, I guess if I didn’t have to worry about bills and keeping Goodmen Outfitters running… that’s what I’d do. Mess around with old cars and bring them back to life.” Mason was watching me intently, and I resisted the urge to squirm. “Probably sounds kinda stupid. Not quite on the level of practicing medicine, huh?”
“Practicing medicine, the business of making people work the way they’re supposed to? Yeah, no, I totally wouldn’t understand why you’d find that satisfying.”
I snorted. When he put it that way…
“So why don’t you do it?” He shook my shoulder again. “Why not open a shop, or a restoration company, or whatever it’s called?”
“Just like that, huh?” I smirked. “First, I don’t have the money. Second, no money. Third, I’m kind of a hack. I know a lot about a few cars, but I’m hardly an expert in everything. And fourth, and most importantly, there’s the small issue of money. So, unless Resolute’s treasure falls out of a tree and lands on my head…”
“In which case, knowing you, you’d have to figure out who owned the tree…”
I dug my fingers into Mason’s ribs.
“Hey!” He grabbed my hands and held them. “Being serious, though! You could save up the money. Get a loan. Hell, Rafe is handing out money like it’s trick-or-treat and he forgot to buy a bag of Raisinets. Why not ask him—”
“Ask my uncle?” I snorted. “Fuck no. Under no circumstances. It would have to be a matter of life and death. I came here five years ago with nothing, and he helped me out, but he’s made it pretty clear I’m not really a part of his family. I’m his wife’s nephew, the son of a deadbeat brother-in-law he never had much use for. Doesn’t matter how much I work or…” I took a deep breath and stopped my fucking mouth from running. “Besides which, haven’t you noticed that making plans only leads to misery? I had a really nice plan for my life in Texas and got it paid back to me with interest. Planning is like asking for disappointment. If there’s some sentient being out there, some Universe like Beale says—” I waved a hand toward the roof of the cockpit and the sky beyond. “—it loves nothing more than fucking with people’s plans. Otherwise—” I grinned evilly. “—you’d be sipping mai tais at an actual five-star resort with some hot blonde named Tiffani-with-an-i, and not here with me.”
“Huh.” Mason’s expression grew thoughtful.
“What about you, then? Just how many loafers would you buy?”
“Oh. Hmm.” Mason stacked his hands on my chest and rested his chin ther
e. “None. I’d pay off my med school loans. I’d move someplace beautiful where the taxes were low and property values were stable, and I’d find a job with lots of growth potential. Then… I don’t know. Invest the rest of the money, maybe? Something high yield and low risk?”
I laughed out loud. “Of course you would, Loafers.”
“What? What’s wrong with that?”
“I thought we were daydreaming here? I thought we were supposed to be unrealistic and happy?”
“That would make me happy.” He licked his lips. “And I’d bring my Mercedes to you for you to fix, but I wouldn’t let you drive it. Ever.” He raised one eyebrow. “So you’d know how this lack of trust between us feels and finally let me drive the Charger.”
“Oooh. I take it back, you do know how to be unrealistic,” I laughed, and then I kissed the outraged look off Mason’s face. When I finally pulled back, the look in his eyes gave me the courage to ask something I’d been wanting to ask for a while now.
“Can I ask you a question?” I held him firmly, just in case he said no and decided to swim for shore.
“Yeah. Anything.”
“How are you so okay with this? With us? That night on the beach, you wanted answers and data. You talked about your dreams and not settling. But everything changed for you all at once, and that’s gotta be a big deal for someone who wants all his ducks in a row.”
“I just… I feel like things are different on Whispering Key,” he said finally. He frowned a little and ran his fingers along the front of my T-shirt collar, thinking. “Like I’m different. Out there, in the real world, I know it’s important to be successful so I never have to worry about money. I know I need to look before I leap and make responsible choices. I know I can’t afford to make mistakes the way I did when I was a kid, and that it’d be selfish to make my family worry. I think, and I think, and I think again. But while I’m here…” He traced the edge of my lips with his finger. “I’m so far removed from all of that. I can do my job and take care of people, and make myself happy, and make you happy… and that’s enough. For right now, that’s enough.”
For right now. That should not have made my gut clench the way it did. It should not have made me want to steer this boat out into the open water and just keep drifting forever.
I tugged at the back of his hair. “What I hear you saying is that you want to make me happy, Loafers.”
Mason snorted. “That would be what you took from all that.”
“What I hear is, I can have whatever I want.” I bit his bottom lip firmly.
“You heard that?” His breathing grew erratic. “How long have you suffered from these delusions?”
“What I hear is… I’m the captain of this boat, and you do what I say.”
Mason laughed out loud. “Oh. My. God. And what is it you want me to do, my captain?”
I bit that laughing mouth, then pushed him off my lap and onto his knees.
“Incentivize me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Mason
“Hello, Taffy! How are you this fine morning?” I strode down the hall of the rec center, coffee in one hand, a pair of white paper bakery bags in the other. “How was your weekend? How’s Max?”
Taffy, who was already sitting at her desk looking way too cool and collected, lifted her head and smiled. “Well. Don’t you look happy for a Monday, Doc!”
“Do I?” I unlocked the door to my office and deposited my coffee and bakery bag on my desk, then turned to hand the other bag to Taffy. “Must be because Bean Me Up is open every morning now.”
It definitely was not because I’d spent the weekend with my boyfriend, including an actual off-island date at a brew pub called the Barrel House, which was owned by Fenn’s friend Luke, where they had an actual menu and where I’d gotten to meet Fenn’s youngest cousin, Gage, for the first time. It was not because Luke had made eyes at Fenn just long enough for me to truly understand the value of public displays of affection, or because I’d then whispered lots of very innocent questions about the anatomical possibility of certain sex acts very hotly in Fenn’s ear, or because Fenn had then kissed me right in the middle of the restaurant, called me a “troublemaker,” and sat with his arm over my shoulders for the rest of the night.
It was certainly not because I was getting blown or jerked off every single evening and most mornings, too, and each time was better than the time before.
It was not because I’d taken Toby’s advice to heart, stopped overthinking, and let myself be happy.
I picked up my coffee and took an appreciative sip. “Don’t tell Lety I said this, but Scotty at the Bean does a better skinny latte than she does, and he remembers I like it with the poison sugar in the colored pack.”
Taffy blinked down at the bag in her hands. “Does Lety do a skinny latte?”
I snorted. “Uh, no. She only serves instant coffee. But the first morning I went in there, that’s what I asked for, so then every morning after that, she’d laugh and hand me a cup of instant and say, ‘I got your skinny latte, Dr. Mason.’” I rolled my eyes as I took my white coat down from the hook on the back of the office door. “I don’t feel too bad about deserting her since Lety was behind me in line at the Bean today, herself.”
“And what’s this?” Taffy asked, looking in the bag.
“That’s a Florida Sunrise Muffin, with oranges, pineapple, pecans, and coconut.”
“In a muffin?” She took a cautious sniff.
“It’s either going to be glorious or horrifying, Taff. Either way, I decided we should experience it together.”
Taffy laughed and shook her head, folding the bag closed. “Mr. Goodman called a few minutes ago to see if you could squeeze him in this morning. You’ve got Ms. Beecham coming at 9:30, but you might just have time now. Or, if not, you could see him after Ms. Frye comes at 10:00.”
I hesitated. Over the past couple of weeks, I’d gotten even more convinced that Gloria and Big Rafe were a thing, but it was also pretty clear she wasn’t sharing her health concerns with him for whatever reason.
“Better make it now, Taff, if he can get here fast. Is he coming for a checkup?”
Big Rafe seemed like the sort of person who’d rather die than admit to his own mortality by visiting a doctor.
“Don’t think so. He said a consultation.” She shrugged. “Whatever that means. If I were a betting woman, I’d say he was coming to ask you to do something for the Labor Day Extravaganza.”
“Oh.” I nodded. “Like, being on call or running a medical tent?”
“Maybe that, too. But you know there’s gonna be a talent show the Friday night before the big concert, right?”
“This sounds vaguely familiar from one of the planning meetings Fenn dragged me to. It’s still months and months away, though!”
Time on Whispering Key moved fast and slow all at once. July had seemed ages away when Mr. Wynott first asked me to watch Topaz, and now it was just six weeks away. I didn’t want to think about Labor Day in September and where I might be by then. Leaving the island was becoming harder and harder to think about, yet staying here seemed impossible, and thinking about any kind of change made me vaguely jittery.
“I know, but it’s the most exciting thing to happen here this millennium, so folks are pretty excited, and they’re having a time trying to find an impartial judge. Bubba Irvine wanted to do it, but he and Scott Blanchard had words a couple years back over a dog Scott wanted to buy—”
“Wait, Scotty who makes my coffee?”
“You’re so cute, Doc.” She laughed. “Yeah, that Scotty. He and Bubba are friendly enough these days, but you can bet if one of them says the sky is blue, the other’s gonna say it’s purple. So, last night at the Concha, Scotty said he didn’t trust Bubba to judge impartially. And Bubba said good luck finding someone more impartial, and he wasn’t gonna be okay with any of Scotty’s friends doing the judging.” Her head ticked from side to side like a metronome as she recounted each side of
the conversation. “And Scotty said what about Dr. Bloom, and Bubba couldn’t think of a darn thing to say because he trusts you, too.” She shrugged. “So, you’re it.”
“Ah. Because I don’t know anyone and haven’t heard about their feuds, so I’m impartial.”
“No, silly! Because you know everyone, and you’re friendly with them all. All of them think you like them best. You’re good at that.”
I frowned. Was I? The idea made my chest feel warm.
“Anyway! I’ll let Mr. Goodman know. And I’ll try to get him to fill out a new patient form when he gets here.”
Taffy strode out of the office, and I grinned at her retreating back as I took a bite of my surprisingly yummy muffin. After a couple of weeks where the woman couldn’t speak without ending everything as a question, she’d settled down into one of the most competent, intuitive medical office managers I’d ever worked with.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, already smiling because I knew who it would be. My boyfriend—and yeah, that was still a mindfuck to think about—must have just gotten back into a cell service area.
Fenn: Loafers, what the hell is this list you sent me?
I grinned and bit my lip.
Me: Hey! How’s your fishing trip?”
Fenn: Fine. The tourists are enjoying themselves. Now answer the question.
Me: Missed you this morning.
The three dots on the bottom of my phone appeared and disappeared for a long while. I’d noticed he had the most conflicted reaction whenever I said stuff like that—pleased, but mistrustful, but pleased—and I could just picture him trying to figure out how to respond to honest, straightforward emotion. It was kind of adorable.
