Pirate Gold and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  She shook her head, tears long gone, seemingly more annoyed by my interruption than scared, despite her trembling hands. “I know what this looks like,” she said. “But I didn’t kill my husband.”

  “I know,” I said, turning away from the widow and focusing on the dive team leader whose eyes widened suddenly in surprise. “MC did.” I slowly spun back to Hannah. “But not before you and Martin tried to kill her, first.”

  If the Tortuga diver had planned to deny it, her choice died with that reveal.

  “How did you know?” She shifted a bit, face hard and dark now, hands at her sides. Less afraid of the gun than she should have been, as far as I was concerned.

  “About Gregg’s murder? Or the fact his wife and best friend wanted you dead?” I shrugged, wishing I was wrong. I’d liked MC. She was friends with Liz. This wasn’t going to end well. “The coins.” MC twitched and I nodded. “You know the coins I mean.”

  “The greedy bastard,” she snarled. “I knew if he saw them he’d go for them.”

  “And with his tank compromised,” I said, “the deeper he went—”

  MC’s sharp bark of a laugh cut me off. “I always told him taking risks would kill him one day.”

  “You asked about them,” I said. “The coins. When the doc would release them from evidence. But not so we could examine them.”

  MC’s face told me everything, even as she spoke. “I needed to get them back,” she said. “Make them disappear.” She coughed softly, almost an apology. “I didn’t think this through. I acted on impulse.” Her glare at Hannah told me her part had been a crime of passion. But there were more pieces to this puzzle.

  “You carry the coins with you?” Who did that?

  MC’s weak grin joined her shrug. “As a reminder of why I do what I do.”

  I guess I was no better keeping the one I had in a music box. Hardly secure, was it? “What I don’t understand,” I said to Hannah this time, “is why you wanted MC dead.”

  The former Mrs. Brown waved the gun at me as if to emphasize her words. The heat of the July day had raised the temperature inside the shack, the humidity slicking sweat over my whole body under my shorts and t-shirt. Or was it fear finally coming to life as she used her deadly weapon in such a casual manner? “She found out I was siphoning funds,” she said. “She was blackmailing me.”

  MC’s scowl deepened, her whole body tense. “You know, it wasn’t the fact Gregg was scooping my finds that pushed me over the edge.” She glared the kind of hate at Hannah that told me jealousy lived inside her, devoured her, had fueled the unthinkable. “He could have had the treasure. But bringing you here? With him? Rubbing my face in it?” She shook her head in two sharp jerks. “That I couldn’t tolerate.”

  “He never loved you!” Hannah’s desperation should have been MC’s. She was the one holding the gun. But Gregg’s widow seemed like the one with the fears to face, not the dive leader. From what I could tell of MC’s expression? She not only had a clear conscience, she was happy to confront the woman before her, gun or no gun.

  And I had to get myself caught in the middle of that kind of crazy. Go me.

  “He loved me,” MC said, almost serene. “He said he regretted marrying you. You know, we were lovers all along. All these years.” She hugged herself then. “He didn’t have to bribe Chantal. I would have had him as my partner. In work and in life.” MC’s entire body shifted back to focused intent while Hannah seemed to crumble under her words as though the weight of them was all it took to break her. “And then he goes and does the unthinkable.” She grunted as though struck. “The bastard deserved to die for what he did to me.”

  “Hannah was planning to divorce him.” I don’t know why I blurted that little detail but it got MC’s attention. I might as well have punched her in the face, she seemed so shocked. When her head whipped around, blue-green eyes gaping, staring at Hannah, the other woman nodded.

  “You could have had him.” Her hand still shook, but that finger on the trigger never wavered. “I was done.”

  MC choked on a sob, looked away, down, hot tears hitting the dried out wood of the floor of the shed. Her shoulders shook a moment before she tensed yet again, dashing at the moisture with the back of one hand, grim line of her lips a terrible sign.

  She looked like a woman who had nothing left to lose.

  “You figured you’d use Hannah and Martin’s attempt to kill you against them.” I did my best to distract MC whose herky-jerky response at least refocused her attention on me. And, that was a terrible idea. She looked about ready to murder again, and I was closest to her. Not very discerning, that deadly look in her eyes.

  She swallowed hard, though, and spoke. “They tampered with my air.” She shrugged. “Easy enough to switch my tanks to his. Three enemies with one action.” MC’s face crumpled briefly before going blank. “36% mix guaranteed a convulsive grand mal seizure. And once the tests came back from forensics they’d find Martin’s fingerprints on the valve. Only Martin’s.” MC’s tone had dropped to dull, empty. “I was prepared to hand over what I knew about Hannah’s embezzlement. That would ensure all three of them got what they deserved.” MC inhaled slowly, exhaled. “I followed him down.” Now she was lost, no longer with us in the hot and stifling shed, gone below, under water, with Gregg and memory. “I seeded the first coin the day before, pulled it from another dive so he wouldn’t recognize it. Just in case.” She wiped at her mouth with one hand, staring at the floor even though she looked right through it. “But the three he found, those were from our first dive. I wanted him to know it was me.” She looked up. “He understood. I’m sure of it. Tried to surface, but it was too late.” MC’s voice finally shook, emotion rising as Gregg had tried to. “I watched him, stayed with him. I owed him that.” Okay, I thought she was crazy before, but now? Wow. Just wow. MC’s whole body trembled before she gasped in air as though she’d forgotten to breathe. “When he was done convulsing, I inflated his BCD and let him go.”

  “You’re sick.” Whoops. I’d forgotten all about the woman with the gun in the literal heat of the moment. But Hannah hadn’t gone anywhere, nor had her revolver or that pointy finger on the trigger. “You deserve to die for what you did.”

  MC stared back, calculating now, empty flatness gone and exchanged for watchful planning. I knew that look. I’d faced a few murderers who’d thought they could get away with it. I wasn’t sure what MC thought she could do against a gun, but whatever she was thinking? Yeah, I wanted no part of it.

  Hannah might have known what end of that weapon to point at us, how to pull the trigger, but there was no promise she’d hit her intended target and not me in the process.

  MC was moving before I finished my mental attempt to weigh all the possible variables, leaping for Hannah who screamed in defiance and fired. The bullet went wide, the zing of it too close for comfort, scent of expended gunpowder flooding the small space with the acrid bitterness of residue.

  No time to think about anything, not when MC had Hannah pinned down, the taller, slimmer woman’s back hitting the exit door, slamming it open and exposing her to the water below the dock.

  Now, a normal person would have maybe made a rapid exit and called for backup, leaving the two—one a confirmed murderer, the other a thief, cheater and attempted murderer—to finish each other off. But, I’ve never been accused of the normal label everyone seems so fond of.

  I’d continue to leave that to others.

  Instead, Fleming nature fully intact, I dove for the two of them just as MC, shrieking and clawing at her opponent, shoved the pair of them off the end of the dock and into the icy lake.

  Carrying you-know-who along with them.

  —she sobbed in my arms, dripping and cold, screaming his name while his hand, so pale, grasping for the sky, sank beneath the water—

  No, not now. I didn’t have time for flashbacks of Victor French’s death—

  —sinking under the water, Doreen Douglas on top of me, inhaling the
lake as the compass under the dock filled my view and mocked me with the lie it offered—

  I had to pull myself together. MC had Hannah’s head under the surface, the other woman thrashing but the fight rapidly going out of her and they were ten feet away, my own frenzied battle with memory obviously carrying me out of range. It took two or three seconds (that felt like weeks) to wrangle my arms and legs into any kind of swim stroke that didn’t resemble the terrified thrashing of a rank beginner. And another two or three seconds (surely it had been months at this point? Forever?) to reach MC. Grasp her by the back of her shirt. Jerk her free of Hannah.

  Who rose to the surface, bobbing lifelessly, while MC fought me off.

  I pushed the Tortuga leader away, didn’t care she was swimming for the dock, flipped Hannah’s body over. Sure, she was despicable, just as much as her dead husband, but she was a human being and I would not have another nightmare on my conscience when I went near water, thanks.

  I heard the siren in the distance, vaguely recognized the sound of voices on the dock. But none of them mattered, not while I cradled Hannah’s silent body in my arms, another face superimposed over hers in flashes that made me want to sob.

  Not Victor, oddly. Vivian.

  And then, despite everything, her chest heaving, choking for air, Hannah Brown’s eyes opened and I knew I’d at least gotten this much right.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Eight

  Chantal and Anja stood together, bags at their sides, in the entry of the annex, not quite guilty but not all that comfortable meeting my eyes, either.

  “I’m sorry the treasure turned out to be a fake,” the older diver said while her younger counterpart nodded, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of her shorts. Chantal turned to her friend as if for support before shrugging. “Thanks for talking your sheriff into cutting us loose.”

  “Betraying your boss to another treasure hunter isn’t illegal, as far as I know,” I said, knowing I wasn’t keeping friends I’d thought I’d made but not able to help myself. Loyalty and honesty? Yeah, cornerstones of the Fleming way of being. They could blame my parents if they wanted.

  Chantal flinched but didn’t argue. I shifted focus to Anja who, at least, was innocent if her story was to be believed. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to completely let her off the hook. If she was innocent of that young man’s death, why did she change her name instead of fighting for herself?

  Then again, what would I have done, young and alone, faced with a sullied reputation brought on by a guy who put both of them in danger?

  “What will happen to Hannah and Martin?” Anja shouldered her bag while Chantal extended the handle on her rollie with a solid and final click.

  “Who knows,” I said. “Maybe prison, if Liz has anything to say about it.” MC’s guilt aside, I knew the FBI agent wouldn’t let the pair of embezzling liars get away with it if she had the choice. “I’m sure whatever happens, they’ll get what they deserve.”

  Ominous much, Fleming?

  They both left without another word, loading their bags into the Tortuga truck and driving off. My heart broke as they did, not for the lost friendships—okay, so maybe a little because I really liked them and now I felt like an idiot for trusting all over again—but for the fact the treasure I’d been hunting all this time wasn’t real.

  And that for some reason she’d taken to her grave with her, the old bat, Grandmother Iris had been leading me on a multi-year wild hoard chase.

  I turned back to the main desk and the computer, settling in to take care of some paperwork. Crew still hadn’t forgiven me for what he called my little stunt. Putting myself in danger, his favorite. Easier to hide out here in the annex than face his disappointment and fearful anger while replaying the scene over and over in my mind.

  He’d pulled up in a spray of gravel, not even closing the driver’s side door behind him as he raced to me where I sat on the picnic table with a blanket wrapped around me, scowling sourly at the ambulance and the EMTs who were becoming far too familiar.

  “Fee.” He hugged me, kissed my forehead, then grasped my upper arms in both hands, turning his head to meet Dr. Aberstock’s eyes. “Is she okay?”

  The doc grinned and nodded. “Perfectly fine.” He patted my shoulder, gesturing at the EMTs they weren’t needed after all. Phew, dodged that bullet along with the one Hannah fired off earlier.

  Problem was, I’d bobbed and weaved out of the path of the wrong projectile. The moment Dr. Aberstock gave me the bill of health nod, Crew spun back on me and, with his voice shaking and that vein in his forehead throbbing, the tic under his eye bounding in time with his pulse, he shook me just a little, both big hands grasping me firmly.

  “Fiona Fleming,” he growled, low enough it was just us, but loud enough I couldn’t miss a single word, “I’ve had enough. The next time you put yourself in danger like this, I’ll…” He trailed off, jaw jumping.

  In that moment I had two choices. I could have been sweet and loving and caring and understanding, because that would have been the wifey thing to do, right? Or, I could be sarcastic and go for humor in exactly the wrong moment and in the wrong way that meant clashing wills with the man I loved.

  I know you know which one I chose. “What?” I cocked an eyebrow, redhead temper at full capacity. “You’ll kill me?”

  It kind of devolved from there, and I’ll spare the details because honestly, I didn’t want to remember. We’d whispered/shouted for another couple of passes before Crew stormed off and left me—left me, imagine—to drive home alone.

  As I brought up the spreadsheet to enter in this month’s data, I forced myself to stop beating myself up over the mess I’d made of my marriage only to pause, anxiety returning as I thought about the bodyguard who had vanished on me, without a trace. Not that I was blaming Darius for abandoning me. Hadn’t I given the poor guy the third degree for trying to protect me? For all I knew, Malcolm had needed him for another job. Or, maybe he had a line on Peggy and Ruth and was chasing them down.

  Or, something horrible had happened to the hulking man in black and I hadn’t done a thing to help.

  To be fair, I’d made a second stop at The Orange shortly after Dr. Aberstock cleared me and sent me on my way. Again, no Malcolm—a fact that seemed to worry his boys, despite their usual bravado—and not a trace of Darius.

  Yup, nervous for both of them.

  I’d mentioned it to Dad, at least, and my father knew me well enough to take it seriously. He’d hugged me and headed for the office, leaving Mom to her baking.

  “Malcolm Murray can take care of himself,” my gruff and stoic dad said on his way out before pausing, a frown on his face, “but let me see what I can find out.”

  It didn’t take long to update the file since Daisy was really good at staying on top of things, bless her. And so, a short time later, the afternoon sun beating down on me, I walked home, Petunia huffing along next to me, not at all pleased initially I’d dragged her away from my mother’s cookie baking, though the pug forgave me almost immediately, as was her way, the instant food was out of nose shot.

  Home was quiet, Crew nowhere to be found. Maybe he was thinking the same thing I did and, as the urge to cry battled with the need to have him here to hug me and make everything okay again warred with my independent stubborn reaction to him trying to coddle me all over again, I sank into the sofa cushions and did my best not to relive yet again the fight we’d had just a short two hours ago.

  Because I was always successful at not lingering over hurts like an aching tooth.

  My husband hadn’t abandoned me, the real sticking point of my petulance. He’d left to cool off. I knew better. I was, after all, the mistress of pushing Crew Turner’s buttons. Guilt had finally won, enough I texted and was ignored.

  Okay then. Ignored it was.

  Which led to me glaring at my phone like it was to blame before retrieving the butterfly pin Crew liberated for me from the coffee table and toying with it a momen
t. Robert had been pissed it went missing. Good. Let him suffer for once. I couldn’t care less if Rose gave him a hard time for it or not. The pin belonged to Grandmother Iris, which meant it now belonged to me. I snarled at the missing gems, positive Rose damaged the delicate clip on purpose. That would be just like her to abuse something so precious. I held it up, frowning at it. Maybe I could find a jeweler to fix it? Surely the gems weren’t real and it would cost me more than the thing was worth. But the history of it was the real measure of value, so how could I not take steps to restore it?

  Sunlight streamed into the space, washing over my hands as I turned the pin sideways to check the settings, the empty spaces in the wing. Allowing light to shine through, onto the glass top of the table.

  Making an odd pattern that caught my breath.

  I’d seen it before. Seen that pattern, hadn’t I? Until it struck me that the map was a lie, the pin itself, whether part of the mystery my grandmother left me or not, also part of that untruth and I didn’t care. Couldn’t care less.

  That’s why I dug out the map, spread it on the coffee table and, with the pin in my hand, folded the map back the way Daisy had contorted it, until the red line paired with the compass showed.

  Three lines that made no sense suddenly did. And matched perfectly the missing spaces in the butterfly clip, completing an arrow as the butterfly’s wing formed an obvious point.

  But what did it mean?

  Silly Fiona. It meant it was time to yet again practice my breaking and entering skills and see what the Pattersons were hiding on their mountain.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty Nine

  Liz sat next to me in the middle of the small power boat, her gaze focused on the approaching line of land in the distance. Dad had cut the engine and was letting momentum carry us in, lights out, the Patterson’s dock rapidly approaching.