The Wreck

by Landon Beach

  “Looks like something that could have held some weight,” Hutch said.

  “Yeah, but what’s it doing here?”

  Hutch shrugged. “Let’s keep going.”

  They cleared the dirt all the way up to where the ceiling was only six feet and found two more beams. Hutch got flush with the wall of dirt and jabbed his shovel vertically up into the ceiling. It sunk in deep, and a load of dirt poured into the opening when he pulled it out. After a few more heaves, Hutch’s shovel broke through the top.

  “This is where she caved in,” said Hutch. “We’ll have to be careful as we dig this part out.”

  They worked cautiously until Nate’s shovel hit rock under where the ceiling had collapsed.

  “I think we’ve got another boulder,” Nate said.

  Hutch came over and they worked to uncover it. Nate put his shovel down and got around to the side in order to push. He felt the dirt up against his back and bent down trying to get leverage. Hutch suddenly stopped shoveling and dropped to his knees.

  “What’s wrong?” Nate said.

  Hutch was furiously carving out the dirt with his hands.

  “I’ll be damned,” Hutch said.

  Nate moved around to Hutch, and his eyes widened as he saw what was extending out from under the boulder.

  31

  They were staring at the rib cage and skull of a human skeleton.

  “Do you think it’s Daniels?” Nate said.

  “Doesn’t do us any good to think it’s not,” said Hutch. “Let’s get this boulder off of him.”

  They dug out behind the boulder and then rolled it away. On their knees, Hutch and Nate dug around until they had exposed the entire pattern of bones. The pelvis and left arm had been pinned under the boulder and the rest of the body smothered under dirt and bits of rock when the ceiling had given way.

  “Poor bastard,” Hutch said. “Let’s move him to the side and dig a little further.”

  They dug in another foot or two, and then Nate took the light and shined it up through the opening in the ceiling. It looked like a narrow pass that a rock climber would inch up with his back on one side and his feet on the other. Hutch continued to push in further.

  “How far back do you think this mound of dirt goes, Hutch?”

  “I’m trying to find out,” Hutch said. “Keep your eyes on that ceiling. I’ll dig from here on out. I don’t feel like getting caved in on and suffocated to death.”

  Hutch was now taking his shovel and seeing how far he could horizontally push it into the dirt.

  “It seems to be loosening up,” he said.

  He cleared another few feet and pushed his shovel horizontally again. Instead of hitting rock, his shovel broke through.

  “Sonofabitch. This baby opens up on the other side of the dirt.”

  Hutch cleared two feet down from the ceiling. He took the flood light and shined it through the opening. His light settled on the back of a wall in the distance. He swung the light back and forth, tracing the small space.

  “There’s a room in there,” Hutch said. “I’ll be right back.”

  “What are you going to do?” Nate said.

  Hutch was already crawling through the hole and then disappeared on the other side.

  Nate could see the light move around, and then it stopped.

  “Give me that shovel and stand back,” Hutch said.

  Nate obeyed.

  Hutch pulled the shovel through the opening he had just climbed through. Using the shovel as a baseball bat, he repeatedly swung at the dirt pile, stopping when there was almost four feet of clearance between the top of the dirt and the ceiling of the small tunnel.

  “Come on in,” Hutch said.

  Nate crawled over the dirt and stood next to Hutch in a dome shaped room. It smelled like urine from the standing water that had pooled in the center. Hutch trained the light near the floor on the right side of the space. The beam showed a wooden chest the size of two shoe boxes.

  “Figured you should have the honor of opening it,” Hutch said.

  They walked over, and Hutch held the light while Nate examined the chest. The carpentry was simple: cast iron strips lined the bottom and top edges, and central strips bound the box lengthwise, breadthwise, and heightwise, making a cross in the middle of each side. Engraved at the center of each cross were the letters JLR.

  “The lock has been broken off,” Nate said.

  He lifted the top. The inside was lined in tattered red velvet, and a folded piece of paper lay in the middle of a piece of wood countersunk approximately an inch from the rim of the chest.

  “That’s it?” Nate said.

  “Carefully hand me the paper, and then try to lift the wooden plate. It’s probably a false top to keep whatever’s underneath from shifting around too much.”

  Nate picked up the paper. It was a letter sized sheet folded into thirds. Hutch held the paper and Nate carefully pulled up on the wooden plate. After some massaging, the plate loosened and came up.

  “H-O-L-Y shit,” Nate said.

  The rest of the chest was filled with gold coins.

  Hutch’s eyes widened. “Let’s get this back to the boat.”

  The sound of rock sliding into the water turned the men’s attention in the direction of the plateau.

  Hutch handed the light and paper to Nate. In seconds he was over the dirt mound and onto the plateau. He peered into the cave. Water was lapping against the dinghy. His eyes scanned from side to side. Like the rest of the cave, the sides were slimy near the water, but a few feet higher and upward they were bone dry. Seeing past the dinghy was impossible due to the floodlight shining directly at him. He stood motionless and listened. A small piece of stone fell into the water. Hutch watched it sink. He walked to the edge of the plateau and swept his right foot along the edge. More stone fell in. Satisfied that there was no one there, he rejoined Nate in the room at the back of the cave.

  ✽✽✽

  Hutch opened the throttle up and the dinghy gathered momentum toward Queen. The paper had been placed back in the chest and Nate held it securely between his legs.

  “With a few assumptions, I’ve got a working theory,” Hutch said.

  “Let’s hear it,” said Nate.

  “Assuming Daniels is the skeleton we found, I think it’s safe to say that the boat I found sunk in the cave was his rowboat,” Hutch said.

  “Could be,” Nate said.

  “He must have found the cave when rowing around the island. The log says he routinely took the boat out for exercise. However, the cave was also under the keeper’s house, meaning that his sewer line more than likely ran down the inside of the cave and dumped into the water. If there was a problem, he would have had to take his boat into the cave to fix the line,” Hutch said. “So, he travels all the way to the back of the cave and places the chest in that room. With wooden beams, he tries to strengthen the ceiling in the tunnel leading from the plateau. Maybe some of the dirt and rock were already starting to cave in. Presumably, on the night of his last log entry or the day after, he goes back to his room in the cave and the ceiling caves in, killing him. Boulders roll off the edge of the plateau and sink his rowboat.”

  “I’ve got some questions,” said Nate.

  “Shoot,” Hutch said.

  “First, why wasn’t this discovered before?”

  “I think the answer to that is the lake level. The narrow tunnel before the plateau had at most two feet of clearance, judging from the water line.”

  Nate interrupted. “At some points today the dinghy had only inches above it. It’s a wonder you didn’t hit your head on the ceiling when you were swimming back there the first time.”

  “I couldn’t see a damn thing,” Hutch said. “When the lake level was up, the back of the cave was sealed off. Someone would have needed scuba gear to dive through the tunnel, and cave diving is dangerous and requires special training. It would have looked like the cave ended at the start of the tunnel.”

&n
bsp; “Question two,” said Nate. “Why would Daniels take it back there in the first place?”

  “Maybe he got paranoid with a chest full of gold coins. People do strange things when they get money that they didn’t work for. Probably wanted to have it in a place only he knew about. It makes sense that he only said that he had found some coins in the log, without saying where they were kept. That way, he laid claim to them as his property in the most official document available to him.”

  “Could be,” Nate said. “So, how did a lighthouse keeper in 1859 come across a chest full of gold coins from 1643?”

  “We’re going to try and find out,” said Hutch. “I want to know whose coins they were before Daniels found them and how they got to Sanisstey Island.”

  “Since the coins were all sealed in that chest and you found none on the bottom of the cave, how did one end up on my beach?”

  Hutch looked toward the Hampstead shoreline in the distance. “Beats me. For now.” He grinned.

  ✽✽✽

  High above in the Sanisstey Lighthouse, two men in diving gear watched through binoculars as the dinghy made its way out to where the boat named Queen was anchored. The men lowered their binoculars and headed for their rendezvous. It had been two hours.

  32

  Brooke Martin lay on the beach reading a paperback about a bipolar serial-killing nun named Katie. On the front cover, the author had been billed as “The next great suspense artist.” What a load. The book was predictable—and senseless. On page six, Katie bathed with an overweight priest; on page eight, as he toweled off, she disemboweled him for asking, “What exactly do you know about me, Sister Katie?” Regretting not picking up another O’Hara novel, Brooke was ready to wave the white flag and eat the $7.50 she’d paid for the book, but in the last thirty pages she had latched on to a grocery clerk named Remy. But it wasn’t looking good. At present, Katie was hiding behind a bathroom door with a stiletto ready to murder the unsuspecting Remy who had given her a funny look at the store. Damn. Maybe Remy would make it another five pages.

  Nope.

  “Isn’t that outfit illegal, ma’am?” A voice said behind her.

  “Not as far as I know,” Brooke laughed.

  She was wearing a yellow bikini and lying on her stomach with the bikini top unclasped and off her back. She put the book down and re-clasped the top. When she turned around, Tim Gibson was looking down at her.

  “That’s a relief. I’d hate to have to report this to the authorities,” he said.

  Gibson was shirtless, wearing a pair of shorts and running shoes. His chest glistened with sweat. He took off his sunglasses momentarily to wipe them on his shorts and then put them back on.

  “Getting some exercise?” Brooke said enjoying the view. Must be to have a physique like that.

  “Gotta do it,” he said. “Whether I like it or not, I’m on the other side of forty and missing a day at this age is really like missing two weeks.”

  “Sort of like drinking on this side of forty equals missing one week,” she said.

  Gibson grinned. “I wouldn’t know anything about that.”

  She laughed. “So, what would you know about?”

  “Are you trying to continue our conversation from the other night?” Gibson said.

  “Are you?” she said back.

  “As a matter of fact, it’s kind of why I stopped by.”

  “Really.”

  “Did Nate talk to you about tonight?” Gibson said.

  Her expression immediately turned to annoyance.

  “Wrong question?” Gibson said.

  “It’s nothing,” she said.

  “Are you sure? It looks like something.”

  Should she say anything? Tim’s manner had a calming effect. “To answer your question, no, Nate has not mentioned anything about tonight. What was he supposed to talk to me about?”

  “I don’t mean to pry, but is everything okay with you two?” Gibson paused as he lay down on the sand next to her, “I could have taken this completely wrong, but he seemed tense when I came over yesterday.”

  “You came over yesterday?”

  He raised his eyebrows, held them there for a second, then let them fall back.

  “I swung by to extend a dinner invitation for tonight,” Gibson said, “and to let you know how much we enjoyed your company at the bar. The belt you wore is still on my mind.”

  “It was new,” she said.

  “It was perfect.”

  “What did Nate tell you when you invited us over?” Brooke said.

  “What any smart man would,” Gibson said. “He said he’d have to check with the lady of the house.”

  “When will it be too late to accept?” Brooke said.

  “So there’s a possibility we might still be able to get together?”

  “I like that,” Brooke said.

  “Pardon?” Gibson said.

  “You have a nice balance of realism and positive thinking,” she said.

  “Keeps the stress level down.”

  “If it’s up to me, we’ll be there tonight, but I need to speak with Nate.”

  “If you’re worried about being a third wheel, we enjoy your company.” He leaned closer to her. “We put on a good show.”

  Her heart rate picked up. “I know it would be a nice evening.”

  He ran his finger lightly up her arm. “No pressure. There will be other nights if this one doesn’t work out.”

  “You and Jane wouldn’t be upset if we had to decline, would you?” She asked.

  He stared into her eyes. “Heavens no.”

  Reading his expression was like rowing a canoe across a glassy pond with the sun just coming up. “Thanks for being understanding,” she said looking at her watch; it was almost four-thirty.

  “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind,” he said.

  “As much as I hate to do this, we have to decline. I don’t think it’s right to keep you and Jane waiting any longer.”

  “Can’t talk you into it?” He said, brushing a bit of sand from her shoulder.

  She knew she should feel uncomfortable, but she didn’t. “You’re not making this easy.”

  “I won’t apologize for wanting your company,” he grinned and stood up, moving far enough away from Brooke to wipe sand off his body. “Besides, there’s still a chance I will see you on my walk tonight.”

  “When do you walk?”

  “I leave the house just before sunset,” he said stretching his legs. “Goes along with my philosophy.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “I try to arrange my life so I always have something to look forward to.”

  She watched as he bent over and tightened his laces.

  “Better finish my workout,” he said. “I’ll see you later?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  He turned and began to run down the beach. She viewed, admiring his smooth strides, and thought that she wouldn’t mind seeing him tonight.

  33

  “Did you get ahold of your wife?” said Hutch, walking toward the Fry Daddy in the corner of his kitchen.

  “No, I had to leave a message,” said Nate as he entered the room after coming back from attempting to call Brooke from Lucille’s.

  “Will the old lady be pissed?”

  “I don’t think so. After apologizing, I said I’d be staying late.”

  “What have you got there?” Hutch said.

  Nate brought a package over and set it on the counter next to the stove. “Lucille sent over some fresh vegetables to have with the fish.”

  “That’ll work,” said Hutch.

  The oil in the Fry Daddy had reached 375 degrees. Hutch turned to the counter and coated six fillets with flour. Next to the plate of fillets was a bowl containing batter ingredients. He picked up a rotary blender and beat the mixture until it was smooth. One by one, he dipped the fillets into the batter and then placed them in the Fry Daddy. They began to turn gold.

  “Anything I c
an do to help?” Nate said.

  “Open up the package with the greens,” Hutch said.

  Nate took the Ziploc bag out of the paper sack Lucille had given him. In the bag were green, red, and yellow peppers, onion, zucchini, squash, and eggplant.

  Hutch snuck a peek at the vegetables before pulling a frying pan off the wall from a nail it was hanging on. “That old gem even cut ‘em up,” he smiled. After turning on a burner, he poured oil into the pan. Then, from a cabinet above the stove, he removed a small coffee can with tiny holes punched in the plastic lid.

  “What’s in that?” Nate said.

  “Old family concoction to liven up the greens,” said Hutch, motioning for the bag.

  Nate handed it over, and Hutch emptied the vegetables into the pan.

  “Bring in a six pack of beer from the garage,” Hutch said while turning the can upside down and shaking it over the vegetables. After a mixture of spices had fallen into the pan, he tipped the can up, stirred the vegetables, then turned the can upside down and began shaking again.

  Nate left the kitchen, walked through the living room, and opened the door to the garage. The refrigerator was on the wall closest to the door next to a horizontal freezer. There was only a narrow path to the fridge: the garage was packed with furniture covered in sheets. Some sheets along the far wall had slipped down, exposing a large wooden dresser and mirror along with a rack of garment bags. At the end of the rack were Hutch’s Coast Guard dress uniforms in clear garment bags. In the opposite corner from the doorway where Nate stood was a conglomeration of curtain rods, some bent in half, that looked like they had been thrown there in a rage. The garage door unit mounted to the ceiling was unplugged and there were no light bulbs in the two sockets. Nate walked to the fridge and took out a six-pack.

  When he returned to the kitchen, Hutch had three plates full of food sitting on the kitchen table.

  “Who is the third plate for?” Nate said.

  “Why, for me of course,” Lucille Hawthorne said entering the kitchen. “Didn’t think I’d miss his night to cook, did you?”