by Don Bruns
“Where is James?”
“He’s safe. The dogs had to have gone in from the west gate. The Old Highway side. That’s it. I don’t see any other entrance.”
James and I hadn’t even noticed a gate. Once again, our inexperience and lack of attention to detail was evident. I hoped we’d get a little better after we’d been at this for a while.
But this side was the side we’d never seen. Foliage was hiding most of the view, but there were several open spaces as I looked down the fence line. On the other side of the street were those block homes that had ocean access.
I motioned to Em and we crept down to one of the viewing points.
“You think James is safe?” I whispered.
“Doesn’t he usually skate? Your friend gets away with just about everything. He’s probably safe.” There was a sigh.
I stood back from the fence, watching through a small clearing as the long boat bumped the dock. The moon had come out from a cloud cover and I saw somebody was already on the wooden planks. A deckhand tossed them a rope.
Em touched my shoulder and I jumped.
“You guys don’t seem to have bothered them too much. It looks like they’re ignoring the fact that the dogs chased you out.”
I nodded. “They probably get kids who break in. James thinks it’s a place for skinny dipping.”
“Oooh. That would be interesting.”
We kept our voices low. “So they’re used to people being there. And getting run off. At least that’s our theory.”
The boat was tied tight and people started getting off. A lot of people were getting off.
“How big is that boat?”
I know nothing about boats, but I would have guessed forty-six to fifty-two feet long.
“Maybe fifty feet.”
“So far I’ve counted thirty people.”
Another five walked off before the parade ended.
I swatted at a mosquito and wiped sweat from my brow.
“What do you think? A dinner cruise?” The soft voice was behind me and I jumped again. James had approached from the rear and was watching through our clearing.
“You scared the hell out of me.”
“Maybe a hotel shuttle? Late night fishing trip?”
“They’re carrying bags, James.”
“We made it out with our limbs intact, pard.”
“We did.”
“Our surveillance team missed this one.” He glanced in Em’s direction.
“James, I am so sorry. I never saw it coming. You have my apology. I promise you I will be much more attentive when we do this again tomorrow night.”
I shook my head in amazement. I had never heard Em apologize to James. Never. It was unheard of.
“Tomorrow?” James sounded surprised.
“Hey, you guys hit something out there.”
“Skip did,” he said. “You’re right.”
“Well, don’t you want to see what it is?”
“Yeah.” I did.
“Plus there’s another reason you’ve got to go back.”
“What’s that?”
“Your shovels are lying on the ground.”
It was a valid point. I could only hope that no one canvassed the property and confiscated our tools.
The parade of people was walking over to the Ocean Air side of the property. I saw them walk into the dense foliage that hid the fence and every one of them disappeared as if by magic.
James was staring at the far fence.
“Where the heck did they go?”
“It’s like they fell off the edge.”
We’d walked the fence on that side down to the pointy little beach. I hadn’t seen any opening. No gate that I remembered.
“There was nothing there, amigo. Don’t you think we would have noticed some kind of opening?”
“Apparently we didn’t pay enough attention, James.” We never paid enough attention, and it was coming back to haunt us.
James shot back, “She gave me a bunch of crap about me not listening to her or something. I don’t know, I wasn’t really paying attention.”
I knew it right away. But before I could spit it out, Em said, “Dumb and Dumber. Jim Carrey and Jeff Daniels.”
She’d nailed it.
“Sometimes when I’m with you two guys I feel like I’m in that movie.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Walking around the fence, we carefully crept by the Ocean Air Suites and down to the beach where I finally turned on the flashlight. Right at the end of the galvanized steel fence there was smooth sand. Someone had raked a path from the fence, across the beach and all the way to the first building.
“Different texture to the sand,” James said. “Now why do you suppose that is? Why rake a path like that?”
I shone the light out farther toward the water. The sand was rough: footprints, seaweed, and sea debris marking its natural state.
“Turn it off, Skip.” Em was waving at me. “Somebody’s going to see that light and send the dogs again.”
I nodded and pushed the switch. Someone could be watching. I had to start thinking a little more carefully.
Walking up to the fence, right where the raking started, I could see no sign of an opening.
“This has to be where those people disappeared.”
“Maybe there’s an underground something on the other side,” James said.
“Like a cave?”
“Yeah. Or a tunnel. Maybe they went down a tunnel and ended up, you know, ended up—”
“Boys, there’s an ocean right there. An ocean. A huge, deep body of water. In the Keys you don’t have underground caves next to the ocean. Unless they’re filled with water. You don’t even have basements. In many cases, you bury bodies above ground. This is sea level. Cave? Tunnel? Underground something? I don’t think so.”
And, of course, she was right.
We silently walked back to the truck, wondering if there was any more to this adventure. We’d already been witnesses to a dead body, had the truck splashed with paint, dug for buried treasure, been chased by dogs, and watched thirty-five people mysteriously vanish into thin air. Pretty incredible.
“Lots of stuff happening today.” I said it almost to myself.
“None compares to the threat on your life.” Emily squeezed my hand as we walked. “That’s the worst part of this.”
“I think Weezle would disagree with you.”
As we approached the truck, I heard him chuckle, then James snorted and laughed out loud.
“Weezle. My God. Weezle.” And he kept laughing.
“James, a guy died today. Someone either caved his head in, or knocked him into the furniture, but someone—”
“It’s not funny, amigo.” He spit out a muffled laugh. “I know that.” He was almost hysterical.
“James,” I shook him by his shoulders.
“Skip, his name is Weezle. Wouldn’t you change that name?” And he laughed uncontrollably.
It appeared that someone did change it.
To Peter Stiffle.
And I think that’s a pretty funny name too. Peter Stiffle.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
At nine a.m. there was a pounding at my door. Stumbling from the bed, I cracked the door open to see Mrs. T.
“I’ve got to come in and talk to you.”
“Let me get some pants on,” I said as I stood there in my boxer shorts. She spun around and walked away.
Closing the door, I turned and saw Em rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She yawned and looked at me inquisitively.
“Not good.”
“What’s not good?”
“I didn’t tell Mrs. Trueblood that you’re here.”
“Smooth move, Skip. Well, maybe you should go outside and explain the situation to the lady.”
I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and a polo shirt.
“Go hide in the bathroom for a second.”
She frowned at me but got out of bed, wearing on
ly my T-shirt, and walked into the bathroom.
Pulling open the door, I went out onto the walkway.
“What’s up?”
“The police. The sheriff’s department. It seems someone reported your truck with the black paint stain parked near the medical complex last night.”
That damned black paint.
“We found the Coral Belle. It’s not that easy to work during the day when your work involves digging up private property.”
She nodded. “Well, apparently the guy who owns a motel down there, The Ocean Air, called and registered a complaint that you guys trespassed on his property.”
“Wow. We got permission. From him. We really did.” The first time.
“Listen, I want this to succeed.” She leaned in, her warm breath on my face. “I want this to succeed more than you could possibly know. But you’ve got to be more careful. You’re called private investigators, in part I presume because you’re private. So far, it’s a wonder that everyone on this entire Key doesn’t know what’s going on.”
Her arms were folded across her chest and it was more than obvious that she didn’t seem to be happy with our performance so far.
“This may not be the best time to bring this up, but number one, Emily got an anonymous note back in Miami, saying that if James and I didn’t give up this project, we’d find ourselves dead.”
“Really?”
“You were included.”
She pursed her lips and looked out at the water.
“Second, Em is here. She came down to help. I know you said not to—”
Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Trueblood gave me a look like my mother did when she would call me Eugene.
“Look, we work better with her. She’s a good balance.”
“Was she with you last night?”
“Yes.”
The frown stayed on her face. “Do you have any more good news to share with me this morning?”
Now I was the one taking the deep breath. The warm breeze, the tanginess in the salty air, it all gave me a little more energy. I should have waited for James to make the announcement, but he’d probably never bring himself to do it.
“Our lives have been threatened.”
“I understand that.”
“So, James and I were talking and we think we’re worth a little more now. We have a little more value.”
“How so?” She cocked her head and I knew she wasn’t buying it.
“Well,”—it all sounded good when James had laid it out—“anything that is threatened with extinction is more valuable than it was before, you know?”
“And how much value do you think you have?” A stern tone in her voice. This was a lady not to be trifled with.
“We were thinking about two million.”
She stepped back.
“An anonymous letter gives you that much value?” She stood back, her head slightly turned, staring at me. “My goodness, just think if that letter had been signed.”
I didn’t laugh.
“Look, we both think that whoever killed the guy in our room thought it was James or me.”
“I’d considered that.”
“Mrs. Trueblood, we both also think there’s a real possibility that the gold might be here. In Islamorada. In today’s value it’s worth like forty-four million. We know that. If we’re the ones who find it, we think we’re worth one-twentieth.”
“Okay.”
“Okay? Really?” I swallowed a mouthful of air and almost choked.
“Okay, I’ll think about it.”
“Oh.”
“In the meantime, I expect you to keep working on the project. We do have an agreement, even though you’d like to change it.”
“We’ll keep working on it.”
“One thing you might consider is cleaning that black paint off your truck and changing the license plate.”
“The plate?”
“It’s a Miami plate. The cops, that motel owner at Ocean Air, and half of Islamorada now know that truck.”
She finally unfolded her arms, shook her head in disgust, and walked away.
I was disgusted as well. We should have figured that out ourselves. We were marked and too lazy to do anything about it.
Walking back into the room, I saw Em had already dressed. Some cute red shorts and a collared blouse.
“James called.”
“Yeah?”
“Said he and Amy were going to take some time getting to know each other this morning and he’d catch up with us this afternoon.”
I grabbed the phone, dialed his room, and he picked up on the third ring.
“James?”
“Amigo. Em tell you that I called?”
“She did. Get your ass down here right now. You’ve got sixty seconds, amigo.”
It was about time we started treating this like a business and not a vacation.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
We scrubbed. The streak of black paint spread maybe a foot across the door and with paint thinner, rags, and some steel wool the three of us worked on that stain. James stood back to comment on the effort more than we did, to admire our work. But, to be honest, he put in some serious time.
“Wax on, wax off. Breathe in through nose, out the mouth.”
Em gave him a scowl.
“The Karate Kid, nineteen eighty-four,” I said. “Not the lame newer version with Will Smith’s kid in it.”
“That was lame.”
“James,” Em stared at him. “Wax on. This is your truck, remember?”
He put some serious work into it.
Once we had the black scrubbed to a dull gray, James pulled out the can of spray paint we’d picked up at the Ace Hardware in town. They were getting used to seeing our faces. No more cracks about digging for buried treasure. Shovels, a flashlight, screwdriver, WD-40, and some spray paint.
“All right, everyone, stand back.”
He shook the can until the little steel ball was bouncing around inside, then aimed at the area and let go. The paint slowly covered the gray, running in tiny rivulets down the side.
“Get me a rag.”
I handed him one and he blended the rivers of white into the body.
There was light applause from above and we looked up to see Amy, with a smile on her face, clapping.
“Now do you have time to come up and keep me company?”
“You don’t.” I said it very firmly.
“Skip, there’s a time for—”
“I’ll drive back to Miami with Em, and you can sit here and deal with Mrs. T. and this entire fiasco by yourself.”
I was hoping he’d cave, because if she agreed to that two million this could be one really, really sweet deal.
James looked at Amy, then at Em, and never at me.
“Okay. What has to be done next?”
“We need new plates.”
He looked up at Amy again, dressed in a very brief bikini, or else colorful underwear. I had to admit, she looked very sexy. If it had been me—
“Can’t do it right now, Amy. I want to, but—” he spread his arms out as if overwhelmed by the entire situation.
I sincerely believe he was overwhelmed.
We found the truck behind a strip mall about two miles down the road. A white box truck very similar to ours. There are hundreds of them in the Keys. Delivery trucks, handyman trucks, plumbing trucks.
James kept a lookout on one side of the mall, Em on the other. They were both in my view, and I put the Ace Hardware screwdriver into the rear plate screw. It was frozen tight, so I sprayed some of the WD-40 onto the screw.
“Hurry up, man.” James said it in a hoarse whisper.
Trying again, I could feel the screw turn slightly. I turned, pushing harder, and it rotated again.
I saw him before he saw me. The skinny guy in cutoffs and a ragged undershirt as he exited the rear of the building. He looked straight at me, obviously confused.
“What are you doing, man?”
“Putting a plate on my truck.”
“That’s my truck, you son of a—”
He was racing toward me, head bent low. As he reached me, I politely stepped aside and he plowed on through into a hedge of shrubs. Prickly shrubs, apparently, from the sound of his screams.
James and Em were nowhere in sight, but I knew our truck was—had been—in front of the building. I ran at top speed around the corner of the mini strip mall and saw them both in the vehicle, the engine running.
Leaping into the seat beside Em, I shouted out to James. “Were you going to leave without me?”
“Only if there was trouble, dude.”
“Of course we weren’t,” Em spit out. “We were coming around to save you.”
As it turned out, I didn’t need any saving. But it was good to know that you can’t necessarily trust your friends or lovers when you’re in a dilemma like that.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
We finally found another truck behind Woody’s. Woody’s was a strip club not even two miles from Pelican Cove. The sign said: LIVE NUDE GIRLS.
“Do some clubs feature dead ones?” Em asked.
She’d never been inside a strip club. I made a mental note to take her to one. She’d probably refuse.
This time I had James do the dirty deed. I watched from the privacy of the truck as he struggled with the plate.
Twenty minutes later, we drove our truck onto the street with a new plate and a new paint job. Pretty cool. We were finally acting like real detectives. The thought that rankled me was that someone else had to tell me where we were going wrong. Our employer.
“Let’s hope whoever owns that truck doesn’t realize we switched the license plate.”
“James, let’s head over to the vacant property.”
“In broad daylight?”
“We’ll park the truck a couple of stores down from the medical building, then one of us can walk back and see if the shovels are still there.”
“You told me you met a realtor with a motorcycle.” Em spoke up, wedged between us on the cracked vinyl bench seat.
“Yeah, we did.”
