by Joyce Lavene
“I guess I was wrong,” Kevin said. “I thought you were just going down there to see if Derek Johnson was around. There’s more going on, isn’t there? And it’s made you suspect your father is involved.”
I started walking again, ignoring him. He pulled the pickup into a parking space and got out.
“At least let me go with you. I won’t come in if you don’t want me to.”
My hour’s grace with the police was rapidly depleting; I did not have time to stand around and debate with him. I kept walking. He kept pace with me.
“Dae, I’m not going with you to turn your father over to the FBI. I’m going with you as your friend. If something else has happened, you can tell me. I think you know by now that you can trust me to keep my mouth shut.”
“All right. But even one I-told-you-so puts you off my friend list. I hope you realize that.” I told him about the scrap of paper in Port’s wallet. “I’m going to tell the chief when I see him in about an hour. I just wanted to give my dad a heads-up about everything.”
“Sure.”
“You don’t have to sound that way about it, Kevin. He only works at the Sailor’s Dream, you know. The owner of the bar could be involved. Or it might just be a meeting place for Guthrie’s men. I mean, if being a regular presence at a place is all it takes to implicate someone, people could say I’m involved in all of this too. I own Missing Pieces. Guthrie and Port were there last night.”
“Technically, you are involved,” he said.
“That doesn’t make me guilty of a crime. The police don’t suspect me of anything. But that’s only because I haven’t been in jail before. You know they’ll think my dad is involved, just because of his past.”
We had walked down the driveway toward the old, ramshackle bar that had been in business under one name or another for at least half a century. The parking lot was empty. Probably too early in the day for much bar traffic.
“I know he’s your father, Dae,” Kevin said. “I know you want to protect him. But you’re walking a very fine line between being an observer who wants to help out and an accessory after the fact.”
“You don’t have to worry.” I opened the side door to the bar, which I’d used many times since my dad had reentered my life. “My dad isn’t involved in this.”
The unmistakable sound of the cocking of a shotgun caught both of us by surprise. We looked down the sawed-off barrel as my dad yelled, “Get the hell out of here!”
Chapter 23
“It’s me, Dad!”
“Dae?” He moved the shotgun and looked around it. “God, I don’t know what I’m doing right now.” His eyes were bloodshot, and he had several days’ worth of stubble on his face. He looked terrible—as though he’d been waiting by the door for hours.
“I’m sorry.” He stood back from the door. “Come on in. It’s good to see you, Kevin.” He locked and bolted the door after us.
“I know I’m a mess.” He threw back a glass of whiskey. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was trying to surprise some very bad men who have been visiting me lately.”
I arched a brow at Kevin. I wasn’t above saying I told you so. “I know there’s a problem,” I said to my dad.
“You do?”
I explained about finding the matchbook cover that Derek Johnson had dropped and the paper scrap in Port’s wallet. “Port Tymov is dead. We found him in a trash barrel this morning.”
My father’s face kind of crumpled in on itself. I’d never seen anyone that scared and desperate. “Oh no. Not Port too.”
At first, Kevin didn’t say anything. The look on his face was enough. His voice was calm when he finally spoke. “Start from the beginning, Danny. Tell us what happened. We might be able to help.”
Kevin and I declined a drink, but Dad helped himself to another whiskey. “You know, it seemed like such a good idea at the time. It was going to be some fast, easy money. One nice score that would last the three of us for years to come. I was going to use my share to buy this place, Dae, and make you proud of me. I thought I could go the whole route—chamber of commerce, outstanding businessman. The works.”
I don’t want to hear any more.
I had no choice.
It all came pouring out of my father like whiskey from the nearly empty bottle.
Chuck had been working for Guthrie—smuggling a few paintings, some antiques, some illegal treasure salvage items into Duck and on to the network that was set up to receive them. He’d needed the extra money after he ruined his reputation in a scam and the area real estate market dried up.
“He thought he could use the money to hold on until people forgot what had happened with that old lady he’d tried to swindle,” my father said. “But it was always just enough to keep him underwater with Guthrie. That’s the way it works. Guthrie charges a fee to work for him. I tried to explain that to Chuck, but he wouldn’t listen. You never come out ahead on something like that.”
“What was the great plan?” I asked, feeling like an observer at a funeral. “You were going to swindle Guthrie?”
He nodded and drank some more. “He’s got plenty, Dae. You should see how he lives. We’re fleas compared to him.”
But one afternoon, the story went, everything changed. Chuck and my dad took out Chuck’s boat, which was about to be repossessed, for one last cruise. They were planning to explore one of the tiny barrier islands that clustered around the Outer Banks. Some of them were no bigger than an acre or two, but some were very large. Most of them were rarely, if ever, visited.
“It was low tide when we got out there,” my dad said. “You know how some of the low tides are really low? It was like that. There was a large area of the sand exposed at the edge of the island. We found this skeleton of an old ship—you know, the bare wood ribs sticking out of the sand. It was falling apart. We got off Chuck’s boat and started poking around. There was all this stuff. It was crusted over. A lot of it, you couldn’t even tell what it was.”
He took another drink, his eyes burning with the memory. “We found a wooden chest. It wasn’t very big, but inside, we figured there was treasure. Salt water can’t hurt gold, right?”
“Was there gold in it?” I asked.
“Not gold. But there was a necklace—an amber necklace—all crusted over. There were some other trinkets too. One of the rings had a ruby as big as your thumb. We looked around some more. It was like we were high. I wish you’d been there. We found a brass hatch cover and when we cleaned it off, we could read the inscription: Andalusia.”
“The Andalusia?” I barely breathed the name, only wincing a little that their handling of the relics had probably destroyed their value. It was the first finding of any kind from the ship. “Are you sure?”
He nodded as he finished off the whiskey. “But that’s all we found. We got stinking drunk, and then Chuck told me he knew a man who could verify that the stuff came from the Andalusia.”
“Port,” I added.
“Exactly. We were pretty sure that there wasn’t anything else out there, but Chuck and I both knew how Guthrie feels about antiques. We thought we could show him one of the trinkets from the chest and then convince him to give us money to look for more treasure from the ship. Not that the ruby wasn’t worthwhile. But we sold that before we said anything to Guthrie. We both needed some cash.”
“What happened?” Kevin asked.
“It was a mistake.” The words were painful and bitter. “We thought we could get the money from Guthrie and split it up. We’d go and make a show out of looking for treasure, but of course we’d never find any. Guthrie would think we’d done what he’d paid us to do, so he wouldn’t get mad when we came up empty. It seemed like a brilliant idea.”
In the vision I’d had of Chuck’s death, Chuck said the items in the chest were real. Guthrie must have caught on right away, then killed Chuck for trying to cheat him. He searched his house, looking for treasure, only to find Betsy.
“That’s why Chuck was kille
d,” I said. “But what happened to the treasure you found?”
My dad shrugged. “There was no treasure besides the hatch cover, the ring and the amber necklace. The necklace and the hatch cover sold him. We figured we didn’t have to find anything else.
“Why didn’t you get out of town?” I asked the question over the lump that had formed in my throat. “You had to know you were in danger once Chuck was killed.”
“I don’t know. I’ve been a nervous wreck since Chuck died. I heard Guthrie came down personally. I knew I should leave. I thought I could still make it right, you know? But if he killed Port too, I’m a dead man.”
“I think Derek Johnson has been here watching you,” I said. “Does Guthrie know you were directly involved with the treasure?”
“I don’t know, Dae.” He lit a cigarette with shaking hands. “I don’t know what he thinks. Derek’s disappeared from the bar. I’ve been trying to talk to Guthrie, to explain what happened, but he won’t see me. I thought I could tell him that we tried but just couldn’t find anything else. We spent the money he gave us but we really tried to find something. If he doesn’t believe me, I’m dead. He’s got a long reach. There isn’t anyplace I can go that he won’t find me.”
“Do you have the money Guthrie gave the three of you to look for the treasure?” Kevin asked. “How much was it?”
“Two hundred thousand.” My father smiled and took a big drink. “Port had it. He put it somewhere for safekeeping until we could split it. Bad idea, I guess.”
I faced Kevin. “What do we do now?”
“He needs to turn this whole thing over to the FBI,” was his response.
“No way. I’m not talking to them. They’ll put me away even though I didn’t really do anything—except try to earn a decent living. That’s not a crime.”
“That’s debatable,” Kevin said drily. “But they’re the only ones I can think of who could protect you from Guthrie. Are you willing to go out on your own?”
“I don’t know. I don’t know what to do.” Dad looked at me. “What do you think, Dae? I guess I did try to scam money from Guthrie. But he’s a smuggler, a thief and a killer, right? They can’t arrest me for swindling him. Maybe I could even make some kind of deal.”
All of the angry words I’d thrown at Kevin and Gramps while I’d defended my father came back to haunt me. Once a habitual criminal, Kevin had said, always a criminal.
I couldn’t think about my pride at that moment. Dad was in danger. We needed to get him out of there. The FBI seemed like the best idea to me.
“I think we should do what Kevin said,” I told him. “I don’t see any other option. Maybe if you tell them what you know, they can nail Guthrie and you’ll be safe.”
He put out his cigarette in a dirty ashtray. “Yeah. All right. I’ll tell them everything.”
There was one more thing. “Dad, do you know anything about Chuck’s daughter? I think Guthrie took her when he searched their house. She’s been missing since Chuck was killed. Do you have any idea where she could be?”
His face became a dark mask of anguish. “Honey, if Guthrie took Chuck’s little girl, she’s dead. There’s no money for ransom. He wouldn’t just keep her. I’m sorry. Her body will wash up somewhere—like Chuck’s. Let me get my stuff and we’ll go.”
His words were like daggers in my soul. Betsy had to be alive. He had to be wrong. She had to be out there waiting for us to rescue her.
After my dad had disappeared into the back room, Kevin took my hand. “He doesn’t know that for sure, Dae.”
I moved away from him. “I guess you were right. I guess you were all right. Once a criminal—always a criminal.” I couldn’t hold back the tears. They spilled down my face, and I sobbed for the loss of the father I thought I’d come to know.
Kevin put his arms around me, and I didn’t move away.
“I thought I could love him enough. That he’d want to have me around enough to be different,” I cried.
“I know. I’m sorry.”
“Maybe I’m just being stupid and naïve about Betsy. Maybe Ann was right to begin with. She’s probably dead somewhere, and I’m imagining that I can see her and touch her. I’m a fool. I don’t know what I’m doing.”
We both heard a door slam closed. I lifted my head and stared at Kevin. “Was that—?”
“I’m a fool too,” he snarled. He left me and ran into the back of the bar. When he came back alone, I knew my father was gone.
“It’s probably for the best.” I wiped my face and eyes on a bar napkin. “Guthrie probably would’ve killed him. This way, he’s safe. At least someone is safe.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Kevin suggested. “I don’t want to find out if Danny’s fears were justified.”
I followed his lead toward the side door where we’d come in. “Thanks.”
“For thinking we should run away?” He opened the door and glanced outside.
“For not saying I told you so.”
“Come on. I think we both need some coffee and a chance to mull over everything your father just told us.”
We walked down Duck Road in the deepening twilight, not talking. Ann called Kevin as we were getting close to the coffee shop. As they spoke, I remembered that the hour Tim had granted me was up a long time ago. I couldn’t let him down.
“Ann’s going to meet us at the coffee shop, and we can strategize what we should do next.” Kevin put his cell phone in his pocket.
“I have to call Tim and go see Chief Michaels.” I explained about our deal. “I’ll call you later, when it’s over.”
“Ann and I could come too,” he said.
“I think it’s better if I go alone.”
“What are you going to tell him?”
“I don’t know yet. I’m still working on that.”
“Dae, I—”
I smiled at him in the streetlight’s glow. “Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. I just have a lot of explaining to get through with some people who won’t mind saying I told you so.”
We parted there. It was hard for me not to want to hold on to him. I thought he looked the same about me. Maybe that was wishful thinking too. I couldn’t tell anymore.
I waited in the parking lot for Tim, dreading what was coming, despite my brave words to Kevin. I knew it was going to be bad. I wished I could avoid it all and just stay here with him. But I’d gone too far for that.
Tim had said he was on his way—complaining a little that it had taken me longer to get back to him than I’d said.
Ann ran across Duck Road and glanced at the coffee shop. “No coffee?” she asked. “Where’s Kevin?”
“He’s inside. I have to go down to the police station and talk to the chief. Or the FBI. Or both.”
“You’ve been a bad girl, huh? Cheer up. It’s not that bad. They only want to help. Sometimes they just don’t know how.”
“I get that.”
She smiled and started toward the coffee shop.
“Ann?”
“Cold feet? It’s not always easy being the hero, is it?”
“No. And I was just wondering—does it get any easier dealing with it?”
“I lost years of my life in hell for it,” she snarled. “What do you think?”
“Sorry.” Why had I asked her?
“Don’t worry. You’ll never experience the nightmares I have as long as you live here in this sugarplum world. Stay here, Dae. Don’t try to follow Kevin and me when we leave. Stay safe.”
I didn’t reply. I would never understand her.
Tim pulled up a minute later. “About time. Where have you been?”
“Talking to my father,” I said. “Like I told you. Let’s go.”
Chapter 24
I gave Port’s wallet to Chief Michaels. The scrap of paper with my father’s name on it wasn’t in it. I was standing by my decision not to involve him.
I sat silently in front of the chief’s desk and listened as he lectured me about honor, de
cency, my standing in the community and spending too much time with convicted felons.
“It’s not like it was written on his forehead, Chief,” I retorted, feeling like a limp rag. “It was a business deal. It happens all the time. I don’t check out my contacts to see if they have prison records. Port was very highly recommended to me by several people I trust.”
“Well maybe you’ll rethink that policy in the future, Mayor.” He tossed Port’s large file on his desk. “He worked for Dillon Guthrie, Dae. That’s probably what killed him. It could’ve killed you too. Horace would’ve killed me then died of grief himself if we’d found you in a trash barrel tomorrow.”
He paused as though he was waiting for me to add something. I told him everything I knew—or thought I knew—about why Guthrie was in Duck, at least.
But I could tell he took it all in like a grain of sand.
Kowalski slammed into the chief’s office during that brief silence. His face was red—anger or embarrassment—it was hard to say. But it was directed at me.
“So we find a dead man in a trash can and who’s at the scene? Mayor Dae O’Donnell. We find that same man is a felon and who is he in town to see? Again, Mayor Dae O’Donnell. What’s wrong with this picture, Your Honor?”
“I have a bad habit of being in the wrong place at the right time.”
He slammed his fist on the chief’s desk. “I could put you in a federal prison for obstruction and accessory.”
“Not in my town,” the chief said. “You’re speaking to an elected official, Agent. Mind your manners.”
“Fine.” Kowalski turned a ladder-back chair to face me, then sat astride it. “I want to know what the connection is between the mayor, Dillon Guthrie and Port Tymov. I want to know how that plays into Sparks’s death, his daughter’s kidnapping and Tymov’s death. We can just sit right here until I have those answers, Mayor. I wouldn’t want you to think that I don’t respect you.”
So we spent the next few hours reviewing in minute detail everything I had said or done since I’d met Port Tymov. I kept my mouth shut about my father, however. Concealing that part of the story from Kowalski was the only thing that got me through his interrogation.
