A Treacherous Treasure

by Leighann Dobbs

  “Mew.” Porch Cat stopped digging and trotted over to rub her cheek against Claire’s leg as if rewarding the human for getting the message.

  “Unfortunately, this case is very old. A cold case,” Claire said to the cat. “And solving it will depend a lot on the physical evidence. That’s not my forte.”

  “Meow!” Porch Cat caught Claire’s eye and then jerked her head up, toward the top of Israel Head Hill. Claire followed her gaze. A condo development had gone in near the top of the hill several years ago, much to the protest of the islanders. From Claire’s spot at the edge of her garden, she could just see the edge of one of the patios. Dom’s patio, to be exact.

  “Oh I see, you think I should team up with him.”

  “Meow.” Porch Cat flicked her bushy black-and-brown-striped tail. Then, her visit apparently over, she trotted away, disappearing inside the thick growth of ornamental grasses at the edge of the garden.

  Claire settled back on the bench. Perhaps it wasn’t such a bad idea to enlist Dom’s aid. But how? She didn’t want to go begging him to work with her. No, that would not do. Something more subtle …

  Claire’s eyes slid over to her kitchen window. She’d just baked some healthy coconut-flour-and-cacao brownies. She knew how much Dom liked his desserts. Wouldn’t it be neighborly to bring him some?

  Her mind made up, Claire pushed up off the bench. In the kitchen, she quickly arranged the brownies on a clear crystal plate and started up the hill toward Dom’s. It was a steep climb, but that didn’t bother her. She often walked it as part of her health regimen.

  She reached Dom’s door and hesitated. Though they spent many hours working together and socializing with the regulars, she had only been to his place a few times. She suddenly felt awkward at visiting unannounced.

  The door jerked open, surprising Claire. Dom stood in the threshold, his eyes wide with surprise.

  “Claire. What are you doing here? I saw someone come up the walk, and when they didn’t knock …”

  Claire held up the plate of brownies. “Sorry, I had my hands full with this plate. I made these fresh and thought you might want to try them.”

  Dom looked at the plate suspiciously. “What are they?”

  Claire cleared her throat. “They’re coconut flour, butter, eggs, cacao, vanilla, and maple syrup. Very healthy and delicious. You know you shouldn’t be eating all those sugary and fat-laden Italian treats all the time.”

  Dom’s left brow ticked up. “Well, I didn’t realize you were so concerned about my health.” He stepped aside and opened the door. “Do come in.”

  Dom’s place was neat as a pin, everything perfectly centered and placed where it should be. Claire remembered Dom's penchant for having things exactly in their place and lined up precisely. Some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorder, she presumed, though she'd never actually say that to Dom. She followed him to the small but well-apportioned kitchen, where he took out two china plates and perfectly centered a brownie on each.

  “Coffee?” Dom asked.

  “I’d love some.” Claire took the plates to the table and waited while Dom poured coffee. Next to the sliding glass door that led to the patio, Dom’s parakeets chirped in their cage. Claire smiled at the colorful birds. Romeo and Juliet. The male, in vibrant shades of green and yellow, clung to the side of the cage, watching them with intelligent black eyes. The female, in soft aqua and white, sat on the perch preening. “I see your birds are enjoying the spring view.”

  “Yes, they love looking out at the ocean.” Dom took a tentative bite of the brownie, his face registering a parade of emotions as he swirled it around in his mouth like he was tasting a glass of expensive wine.

  “This is surprisingly good,” he admitted. “But I’m not giving up my cannolis or éclairs just yet.”

  An uncomfortable silence descended on them as they sipped their coffee. Dom’s body language told Claire that he wanted to ask her something but was hesitant. Hopefully it was something about investigating the pirate skeleton.

  “Tweemup. Intwestwigate,” Romeo chirped.

  Claire turned toward the cage to find Romeo staring at her. Did he just say to team up and investigate?

  Claire turned back toward Dom to find him also looking at the bird.

  “About that skeleton …” They said the words at the same time.

  Dom chuckled. “As you have already deduced, the victim was not a pirate.”

  Claire nodded. “Indeed. He, or she, wasn’t put in there three hundred years ago, but when do you think he was?”

  “I’m no expert on skeletal remains, so I’m not sure,” Dom looked over the rim of his cup at Claire. “I did make a call to an old colleague, and he said it takes forty or fifty years for the bones to become brittle, but I couldn’t tell if those bones were brittle or not.”

  “So we have no idea when the murder occurred.”

  “Not necessarily. I can narrow it down somewhat.” Dom put his cup on the table and leaned forward. “Perhaps you noticed the remnants of the victim’s shirt?”

  Claire nodded. “The blue flannel. That’s how I knew it wasn’t a pirate.”

  “Right. Well, flannel shirts weren’t invented until the late 1800s. Furthermore, I saw a suspender buckle fall from the body when the police moved it. Again, those were not invented until the late 1800s.”

  Claire pressed her lips together. “So the murder could have happened as long as a hundred years ago.”

  “Or as close as ten years ago.”

  “You don’t think it was that close, do you?”

  “Hard to tell.”

  “If it was, then the murderer could still be among us.”

  “Indeed.”

  Claire pressed her lips together. This was exactly what she was afraid of. “And if the police start an investigation … well, you know what can happen with Zambuco. He’s liable to incarcerate the wrong person!”

  Dom nodded. “But if it was a long time ago, there may not even be any suspects that are still alive.”

  “It would be helpful to know just when the murder occurred.”

  “Or who the victim was.”

  A moment of silence passed between them.

  “I’m sure the police will figure that out pretty quickly,” Claire said. “They probably already have, but I doubt Zambuco would share with us.”

  “Zambuco wouldn’t … but maybe Robby would,” Dom suggested.

  Claire hated to try to wrangle police information out of her nephew. She knew he could get into trouble—maybe even lose his job—if anyone found out, so she only used her powers of persuasion on him when it was absolutely necessary.

  “The murder is decades old. It might not even be worth investigating. It’s likely no one left living on the island even remembers anything about it.” Claire remembered how desperate Benjamin Hill had seemed at the groundbreaking. He’d claimed he didn’t want to ruin a historical site, but was that really why he didn’t want them to dig there?

  “But if it isn't that old, do you really trust Zambuco to get it right?” Dom asked.

  “No.”

  Dom polished off the last of his second brownie and looked up with a twinkle of excitement in his eye. “Then I guess it’s up to us to figure it out.”

  * * *

  A pang of guilt shot through Claire as she stood on the doorstep of Robby’s modest house. She hated coming to Robby on the pretext of bringing dessert so that she could pump him for information. Reminding herself that gaining this information might save one of the islanders from being unjustly accused, she shuffled the plate from her right hand to her left, raised her fist, and knocked.

  A few seconds later, she heard shuffling noises from behind the door, and then it opened, revealing her nephew’s smiling face. His obviously genuine pleasure at seeing her and his lack of suspicion at her ulterior motives produced another pang of guilt.

  Robby’s eyes drifted from hers to the plate, stacked high with the gooey brownies. “Auntie, you brou
ght brownies!”

  “Yes, and they’re healthy, too, so you don’t have to feel guilty eating them. Even so, I couldn’t possibly eat the whole batch myself, and I can’t think of anyone better to share them with,” Claire said honestly. She loved cooking and baking and did love to share what she made with Robby. He was single and not inclined to cook, and Claire always had too much left over, since she was also cooking for one.

  Robby’s eyes, still on the brownies, narrowed. “Healthy? I don’t know … those paleo prune bars you made last month had an unwanted effect.”

  Claire chuckled. The prune bars hadn’t gone over very well with most people—with the exception of Norma, who wanted her to make another batch to help keep her regular. “Oh, these won’t have that effect. No prunes. Just coconut flour, butter, eggs, cacao, vanilla, and maple syrup.” Claire lifted a corner of Saran wrap and held the plate up higher so Robby could get a whiff.

  “Okay then.” Robby stepped back from the door. “Would you like to come in for coffee? I just finished dinner.”

  “Love to.”

  Claire followed him into the kitchen, a typical bachelor’s kitchen with an old Formica table and chair set that Claire had picked up for him at Myrna Carson’s yard sale the summer Robby bought his house. The walls were devoid of artwork, the countertops bare except for a Keurig coffee maker and a microwave. Claire glanced into the trash and saw a familiar white takeout bag from Chowders. “Takeout again?”

  Robby pulled the water reservoir from the Keurig and turned on the water at the sink, talking to Claire over his shoulder. “You know I don’t like to cook, and with my schedule, I don’t really have time. Take-out is easy, and Chowders’s food is good.”

  Claire pressed her lips together to hide her smile. Robby had created the perfect opening for her to ask about the case. “Yes, I guess your schedule does not lend itself to cooking, but this new case probably won’t have you working a lot of extra hours.”

  She accepted the cup of coffee from him, then glanced up at him over the rim as she took her first sip.

  “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.” Robby ripped two paper towels off the roll that hung under the cabinets and gestured toward the table. They both sat, and Claire removed the Saran wrap from the brownie plate then placed one brownie on a paper towel in front of Robby and one in front of herself.

  “I’ll bet. I don’t see how an old skeleton could be a pressing matter.” Claire feigned interest in breaking off a piece of her brownie so Robby wouldn’t see the eager gleam in her eye. She thought she’d been subtle in asking the question, but apparently she was not subtle enough.

  “Now Auntie, you know I can’t tell you any details about an ongoing investigation.”

  “Of course not. I wouldn’t want you to do that. But maybe if you just told me the name of the skeleton, it wouldn’t hurt.”

  Robby looked up sharply. “What makes you think I know who it is?”

  “You’re a smart boy. I know you’ve figured out just as I have that it was no pirate skeleton in that chest, and I’m sure you’ve done the appropriate tests.”

  Robby sighed. “I suppose it can’t hurt to tell you. Once Zambuco starts asking questions tomorrow, the news will be all over the island anyway. The skeleton was Elbert Daniels.”

  Claire’s brows tugged together. “Elbert Daniels? You mean that man who went missing from the island sixty years ago?”

  “The same.”

  “But I thought he fell overboard during a violent storm. They found his boat adrift in Smuggler's Cove the next day, didn’t they?”

  “You’d remember better than I would. I wasn’t even born yet. But that’s what the police report said. When a search party couldn’t find him, it was ruled an accidental death. He’s the only missing person reported in decades, so we compared the dental records, and it was a match.” Robby shoved the last of his brownie into his mouth. “These are very good, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Claire kept her voice light, trying to mask the sinking feeling that was forming in her gut. “Well, I best be going. Early to bed, early to rise.”

  Robby glanced out the window. “It’s only six thirty.”

  “Right.” Claire had already jumped up from the chair and was bringing her cup to the sink. She needed to get home and get to thinking about this new development. If the murder had happened sixty years ago, then there were plenty of islanders still alive who were old enough to be the killer. Zambuco was sure to be turning over every rock to find out who it was, and she needed to keep one step ahead of him. “I have some things to finish up at home before I turn in. Thanks for the company.”

  Robby saw Claire to the door. She could feel him watching as she hurried away, so she turned and gave him a cheerful wave, a smile plastered on her face as if she hadn’t a care in the world. As she turned, that smile snapped into a frown.

  She had to figure out her next move quickly. Elbert’s killer might still be alive and living on the island … and thinking they'd gotten away with murder for the past sixty years. When word got out that Elbert's body had been dug up, there was no telling what that person might do.

  4

  Dom stood in front of the Gull View Inn the next afternoon, admiring the wide porch with its white wicker rockers and tables set up with oversized checkerboards. The inn had been attracting guests to the island for more than one hundred fifty years and was known as the go-to place to stay.

  The popularity of the inn was no surprise to Dom. Set a little ways up the hill from the town docks, it boasted a charming view of the Atlantic Ocean and the quaint island cove, which was dotted with little shops. The inn had comfortable rooms loaded with antique charm, and the food was delicious. In fact, the smells of clam chowder, fried food, and grilled meat were causing Dom’s mouth to water right now.

  And it wasn’t just the food or ambiance that made the inn popular. The elderly spinster owners were another reason the rooms were full all summer long. Velma and Hazel had run the inn for the past ten years after Velma had inherited it from her father. The two women had to be in their late eighties if they were a day, but they were sharp and full of life. Dom found them delightful.

  What he did not find delightful was the vague and mysterious text he’d received from Claire the previous night. He knew that she’d found something out from Robby and was probably giddy with joy in making him wait to find out what it was. Not wanting to appear overeager, Dom had not pressed her, preferring to act as if he was not interested at all. And so here he was standing on the street waiting for Claire with eager anticipation at the news she was about to impart.

  Claire’s Fiat pulled into a parking spot across the street, and Dom’s eyebrows started to tingle as she got out and hurried toward him, a bright gleam of excitement in her eye.

  “Good afternoon,” Dom said matter-of-factly, as if he wasn’t dying to find out what she knew.

  “Afternoon.” Claire glanced up and down the street to make sure they were alone, then she grabbed his elbow and pulled him aside. “I talked to Robby last night.”

  Dom nodded. “Yes. And…”

  “The victim. It was Elbert Daniels.”

  Dom’s bushy brows drew together as he tried to recall the name. It did not ring a bell. “Is that name supposed to mean something to me?”

  “He lived on the island here. When I was a teenager he disappeared during a storm. His boat was found adrift the next day, and everyone thought he’d fallen overboard. Everyone assumed the body was washed out to sea.”

  “Ahh, I see.” Dom nodded. “Well, clearly not everyone assumed he was washed out to sea. At least one person on the island must have known where he really was.”

  “Yes, and now we need to find out who that person is.” Claire tugged Dom toward the inn. “And I think the best place to start is with Velma and Hazel.”

  Velma and Hazel had been on the island for more than one hundred years, or so it seemed. The two ladies never mentioned their age, but they would certainly hav
e been around when Elbert went missing. Not only that, but it was lunchtime. Dom was hungry, and the Gull View made the best meatball sandwich on the island. The day was looking up.

  It was early in the season, and the tourists had yet to hit the island in full force, so Dom and Claire were able to secure one of the best tables next to the large plate-glass windows that overlooked the ocean beyond the expansive outdoor dining deck. Tables were set up outside with colorful blue umbrellas, but it was still a bit chilly in the shade, and Velma and Hazel, who had been delighted to see them, had discouraged outdoor eating.

  Velma bustled off to the kitchen to put in their order, and Hazel pulled out a seat and joined them.

  “It feels good to take a load off.” Hazel glanced around the nearly empty dining room. “Another few weeks and this place will be so crowded I won’t be able to find a seat, never mind have time for sittin’.”

  “It is warming up nicely. The early wave of tourists is sure to descend on us soon,” Claire agreed.

  Velma appeared, her blue eyes sparkling mischievously as she tossed her order pad on the table, shoved the pencil into her snow-white bun, and sat next to Hazel. “So what brings you two here?”

  Dom smiled at her patiently. “We were just hungry for lunch.”

  Hazel’s green eyes narrowed. “Really? You two don’t usually eat here. Could it be something about the pirate chest that was dug up yesterday?”

  “What do you know about it?” Claire asked as the waitress slid her pear-and-arugula salad in front of her.

  “Know? We don’t know anything, do we?” Velma looked at Hazel.

  “Not a thing. Just that that treasure trunk was dug up at the groundbreaking for the pharmacy and there was an old skeleton inside,” Hazel said. “I was thinking it might be Blackbeard or Captain Jack Sparrow.”

  Velma tilted her head and looked at her friend. “Hazel, Jack Sparrow is a fictional character.”

  Hazel looked at her sideways. “Oh. I guess you’re right.” Hazel turned to Dom and Claire. “Well then, who was in the trunk?”