Pirate Gold and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  “Scooping treasure hunts,” I said. “He just gets more delightful, doesn’t he?” Meanwhile, why leave such an important conversation to Martin? Smelled fishy, but I kept that to myself as the young diver responded.

  Anja’s nose wrinkled. “You have no idea.”

  And now, with his death, I guess I never would.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Six

  Morning sunlight streamed into the kitchen at home as the phone rang. I scooped Petunia’s breakfast dessert—no judging—of chopped strawberries and banana on her plate, crouching to hand it to her, cell tucked between my shoulder and jaw as I fought off a yawn. I hadn’t slept much last night but who was counting?

  “Fee.” I recognized Alice’s voice on the other end of the line. “I hear the treasure hunt isn’t going as planned. I’m so sorry.” She hesitated before rushing on. “And about the dead people, of course.”

  I loved that about Alice. Just as awkward about death as I was. Though, since she claimed (and I had no reason to doubt her) to be a medium who could actually sense real ghosts, dealing with the dead wasn’t the same for her as it was for me. Maybe didn’t feel so final…? I’d always meant to ask and never got around to it because, frankly, doing so might mean I had to actually face the fact the apparition I’d seen of Manuel Cortez had been a real live—forgive the term—ghost and not just a creation of her boyfriend Denver’s amazing holographic system.

  It had been two Halloweens ago and the memory still gave me the willies.

  “Thanks, Alice,” I said. “How are things in your world?” Not to deflect or anything, but yeah.

  “Fine, thank you.” She sounded authentic enough, so I didn’t push when she failed to elaborate. “We’re staying busy. Oliver mentioned you needed to talk?”

  “I was hoping to speak to Denver.” Wince. Though Alice didn’t take it personally.

  “Of course, hang on.” I heard her mutter, the sound of the phone thudding against something and then her boyfriend’s soft, gruff voice came through loud and clear.

  “I’m not apologizing for helping my grandfather,” he said.

  I laughed, patted my pug who gulped the last bite of her fruit and licked her lips in anticipation of more. “I wouldn’t dream of asking you to,” I said. “I’m hoping you can help me with something else.”

  He exhaled deeply into the receiver. “Sorry to be defensive,” he said. “You know I can’t say no to him.”

  I got it, I really did. With his grandmother’s death, another despicable human being or not, the loss of Sadie Hatch had left Denver without family. That was, until we uncovered Oliver Watters was his grandfather. I hardly blamed the disconnected young man for his devotion, though the old historian was a bit of a lost cause as far as I was concerned.

  Fee. No judging. Besides, I’d seen a new side of Oliver last night, right? Changed my opinion about him. Hadn’t it?

  Grumble.

  “If I can help, I will,” Denver said.

  I filled him in on Geoffrey’s death, mentioned from what I guessed the murderer had escaped out the back of the building. “I know you’re showing footage you want the powers that be to see,” I said, “but does that mean you’re recording the real deal along with rewriting history?”

  He grunted softly. “I am,” he said. “But it automatically erases itself after a week and repeats the cycle.”

  “We’re well within the week,” I said. “Any way you could get that footage to me?” I knew Jill had to be thinking the same thing. Only problem was, she’d be getting doctored deets instead of what really unfolded.

  “I’d have to come back to Reading,” he said, already sounding resistant. “Alice and I are in the middle of a case. I can’t leave.”

  “You do realize if Sheriff Wagner starts reviewing footage from the camera she’ll figure out pretty quickly someone’s been tampering,” I said. I hated to bully him, but. Come on already.

  Before Denver could protest further, Alice’s voice took over.

  “Of course he’ll come back and get you what you need.” There was a scraping sound, muffled voices, then Alice again. “He’ll be home later this afternoon. Do you need us for anything else, Fee?”

  “No, all good,” I said. Before blurting, “Do you have a minute?”

  “Of course.” She paused, silent, and I seized on the quiet to dump everything that happened on a brand new pair of ears.

  Crew emerged from the bathroom while I was wrapping up, hair damp from the shower, towel around his waist. He raised an eyebrow at me and I winked suggestively back, but held my focus on Alice as he disappeared into the bedroom.

  “Sounds like you have your hands full,” Alice said with the perfect amount of sympathy. “I was so sorry to hear about Petunia’s. I’m not sure if I told you that.”

  “Thanks,” I said, hip against the counter, pug on my feet. “For listening, mostly.” The spinning in my head that had been going on since yesterday—since Gregg’s arrival—had diminished to a manageable pirouette. “It really helped.”

  “My pleasure,” she said. “Maybe we can work together sometime.” Alice inhaled sharply then giggled. “Again, I mean.”

  “I think I’ll pass on the paranormal,” I said, “but if you ever need me, don’t hesitate.”

  She seemed like she wanted to say more, but signed off instead, promising to visit when she made it back to Reading in a few weeks. I let her go, knowing it was selfish. She obviously had something she wanted to run by me like I’d just dumped my cases on her. And if I really was a good friend? I’d call her back and make her go through it. Instead, I set aside my phone and joined my husband in our room, arriving just in time to watch him tug a t-shirt over his head and run both hands through his black waves.

  “Getting long again,” he grinned at me when I took my turn, fingers sliding over the softness of his hair. “Maybe I’ll shave it this time. Grow a beard.” He dodged my attempt to poke him in the ribs.

  “Don’t you dare,” I said. “I love you just the way you are.”

  There was nothing more satisfying than a Crew Turner kiss.

  We spent the rest of the morning researching the doubloons and I had to finally admit Oliver had been 100% right and not just about the fact they couldn’t possibly have been part of the treasure thanks to their age. I hung up the phone from a rather short-tempered woman in the United Kingdom’s National Archives who informed me in no uncertain terms she was not, in fact, missing anything and no, dear, no such captain existed as she told the rather unpleasant man who’d written the terribly edited book he’d insisted on sending her a copy of.

  Okay then.

  When Crew received a call from Dad, I didn’t argue about him leaving me behind, instead harnessing up my pug for her walk and heading for the annex. Head down, thoughts far away, I missed the approaching car and jumped more than I should have when it pulled to a halt next to me. Since I’d almost been run over last December in a murder attempt perpetuated by Ruth and Peggy, maybe I shouldn’t have judged my reaction to the incident. Anyone would be gun shy after something like that, right?

  Thing was, while it might not have been either of those horrific woman who threatened me, I certainly wasn’t safe, if the expression on Robert’s face was any indicator. Surely he would have loved to plough me down with his sedan, if the expression he fixed me with told me his state of mind.

  He was out of the still-running vehicle and in my face before I could stop walking or catch my breath, rocking me back on my heels. “Give it back,” he snarled, index finger jabbing me in the shoulder.

  Petunia growled. She rarely reacted with anger, but her dislike of Robert had become legendary. Maybe she remembered him kicking her into the water and leaving her to drown. Or maybe the cumulative hurts she’d endured had been gathered into a seed of canine logic that tied Robert to everything. Or, more likely, she simply sensed his animosity and, in light of the past, was eager to protect the both of us from him. Whatever her reason,
her reaction snapped me out of the shock of his assault and woke my protective redhead.

  I slapped his hand away, shaking with anger and the course of adrenaline now controlling me. “How dare you,” I snapped back. “Don’t touch me.”

  He seemed shocked by his own behavior before that darkness I’d come to recognize in him surfaced in those dead and empty eyes. “You stole it from me,” he said, voice now flat and more frightening for the lack of anything in it, including the anger he’d originally leveled on me. “I want it back.”

  The hairpin. Grandmother Iris’s pin. “It was never yours to begin with,” I said, mimicking his level nothingness. “It belonged to our grandmother, Robert, and you know it. You stole it first.” There was a twitch, like guilt. Justified, I raised my chin, maybe unable to look down my nose at him, but doing my best. “So back off.”

  He did, to my surprise, after a long, hesitant moment when I wasn’t sure if he was going to attack me, burst into tears or… who knew what? Something was horribly broken inside Robert Carlisle and there was no healing it. He drove off then, squealing his tires, ineffectual and leaving me cold, if only because I honestly had no idea what he was capable of anymore.

  It was an uncomfortable moment before I was able to continue my walk, Petunia subdued beside me. I was halfway to the annex when I spotted Martin crossing the street and heading for the back door through the parking lot. Grateful for the distraction, I hurried our pace as much as I could, catching up with him before he could slip in the back, my pug huffing in my arms when I was forced to heave her into my embrace to make the last dash to reach him in time.

  Martin didn’t look happy to see me, but his tears had dried up at least. “I don’t have anything to say to you,” he said.

  I really wanted to ask why Gregg had him blackmail Anja but figured I’d have to go about it in a way that had him on my side first. My second question seemed more likely to get his attention and hold it, if only to defend his dead boss’s honor, what little he’d had. “I just want to know if Gregg would have tried to fake a treasure find.” That got his attention. The documentarian looked shocked enough his headshake of denial had to be real. I filled him in on the fake doubloons while Martin listened, hands on his hips, frown deepening into a concerned scowl.

  “That’s not Gregg’s way of doing business,” he said. Swallowed and looked away. “Wasn’t.” He pulled himself under control again and went on. “There was no glory in pretending to find a treasure.”

  Right. And Gregg was all glory hound. “The coins are real, Martin, but they can’t be from the Reading hoard. The dates are wrong.” He seemed surprised by that revelation. “Any idea where they came from if Gregg didn’t fake the find?”

  Martin seemed perplexed, finally tossed his hands. “I have no idea,” he said.

  “And your relationship with Hannah?” Okay, so I had three questions, and went there, right on the heels of the previous conversation, hoping to catch him off guard.

  What do you know? It worked. Martin’s shoulders sagged somewhat and he glanced back toward the door to the annex kitchen before sighing deeply, one hand rubbing the back of his neck.

  “I admit it,” he whispered. “I’m in love with her. I can’t help myself.” Martin licked his lips, expression filled with grief and despair and guilt. “She was going to leave Gregg for me. We had it all planned out. I even had the divorce papers ready for him to sign.”

  “I know.” Let him wonder how I knew. “Hannah’s been busy, Martin. I know all about the money.” Well, I didn’t, but I’d heard enough last night to pretend I did.

  It was enough. “I had nothing to do with that,” he said in a rush, suddenly pale. “I just wanted Hannah.”

  “Did Gregg know she was stealing from him?” I waited a heartbeat before hitting him with the next question. “Did he know she was cheating with you?”

  Martin shook his head at the first question, paused then shook again at the second. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. He never hinted he did.” Martin’s face twisted, self-hate so evident I suddenly worried about him. “How could this happen? How did I let myself betray him like that? We’ve been friends for years. I’m a horrible person.” Martin started crying all over again, hopeless and helpless.

  I wasn’t about to argue with his assessment, though. Harsh? Maybe. I was done with these people.

  “I saw you messing with MC’s tanks,” I said. “I know you said you thought they were Gregg’s. Did you really?” I did my best to keep any kind of anger out of my voice but it was growing inside me again and I just wanted answers. “Did you do something to your boss’s air, Martin?”

  “No.” He didn’t argue past that one word, not with his body language or volume or a show of rage. Just that simple statement of denial.

  “And Anja?” I watched him flinch, look away. “Gregg tasked you with blackmailing her, but why? I’d think it would be something he’d want to handle personally.”

  No response. Damn it. He didn’t get to go quiet like that.

  To my surprise, though, he did respond at last, feet shuffling, a small boy caught in a lie he could no longer defend. “It wasn’t Gregg blackmailing her,” he said in a gush of guilt. “It was me.”

  “Chantal too?” Was Gregg—choke—innocent?

  Martin belied that, shaking his head. “That’s where I got the idea,” he said. “I found out about Anja’s past by accident, when I was researching for Gregg. When I knew Hannah was going to leave him, I figured I’d take advantage of the setup he’d created. It worked for him for years. Why not for me?” Defensive, then defeated.

  Fine, whatever. So he was as despicable as his boss, if pathetic about it where Gregg had been arrogant. But that didn’t answer everything. I whipped out my phone, frustration growing, shoved the images of the doubloons in his face. He looked closely at them while I took slow, deep breaths to control my anger. I seriously needed management classes for my redheaded temper.

  “I know these,” he said, frowning again, pointing at details on the coins and showing me despite the fact I had no idea what he was talking about. “These are from a previous hunt.” He met my eyes, his own concerned. “From Gregg’s private collection. I’d know them anywhere. There were a number in this batch, all kept by those who were part of the discovery.”

  “Including who?” I took my phone back, temper in check now that I wasn’t being stonewalled. Ah, so maybe that was the answer to my anger issues. Actually dealing with reasonable people who gave me the information I needed when I asked for it and didn’t lie about it.

  He paused to think about it. “I don’t remember exactly. We’ve been on so many hunts. But I can find out.” Martin gestured for the door to the annex, expression open. “If you’ll let me, I can show you.”

  That’s how I found myself sitting next to him, hunched over his laptop, reviewing footage of dives. Martin had hours of Gregg being Gregg and it wasn’t long before I was sick of the sight of the man all over again, not to mention his attitude. Dead or not, there was no love lost.

  Jill’s arrival in the sitting room where we’d made ourselves comfortable immediately followed Martin’s soft exclamation of discovery. Her appearance instantly shifted his mood from helpful to anxious. He sat, still and trembling slightly, next to me, hands fisted in his lap.

  “I have a few more questions for you, Mr. Faller,” the sheriff said, nodding to me. “If you don’t mind.”

  Martin stood and joined her, leaving me alone with the footage he’d been looking for and to my own devices. I could have scoured his computer for evidence he’d killed Gregg. Instead, trusting he’d been playing straight with me, I chose to review the clips he’d cued up and, within moments of screening the last three, knew who the murderer was.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Seven

  I’m still not sure how I had the restraint to wait for Jill to wrap up with Martin before hauling her aside to tell her what I discovered. Showed her the footage of the p
erson in question holding out the doubloons Gregg thought were a new find. Reading’s sheriff instantly got on the radio when Daisy confirmed the suspect had checked out of the annex that morning, putting out a BOLO on the missing murderer.

  I planned to head for home, instead deposited my pug in her favorite place—at Mom’s feet in the annex kitchen—and ran home for my car.

  “Be careful, sweetheart.” My mother knew better than to tell me not to do what I planned next. She’d raised me to be this independent, after all. “I’ll send your father to meet you.”

  My car made a fast trip to the yacht club and I barely had it in park before I leaped out and ran for the diving shed. There was one other car in the lot, though I didn’t recognize it, and chose instead to dive headfirst as was my way into the wrap up details of the investigation.

  Turned out Gregg’s air tanks weren’t the only ones I wanted the forensics team to have a closer look at.

  I was in such a hurry, so sure I knew exactly what I was doing, I didn’t hesitate as I barreled straight into the dive shed, not noticing until it was far too late I wasn’t alone. Nor that the tall, angry woman at the back of the shed holding the gun on MC? Decided to cover me with it, too.

  “You just couldn’t mind your own business.” Hannah Brown’s hand shook, but her finger was on the trigger of the pistol she held and I had no doubt she knew how to shoot the thing. “This had nothing to do with you or your stupid treasure. Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?”

  I glanced sideways at MC who met my eyes, hers full of fear. “There are others coming, Hannah,” I said, trying for reasonable and kind of making it because I’d had lots of practice with crazy people in the past three years, hadn’t I? “You won’t get away with this.”