The Complete Mystery Collection

by Michaela Thompson

  Isabel breathed shallowly through her mouth. She had forgotten about being thirsty, forgotten about aching ankles and wrists.

  The steps were coming closer. The tread was measured, neither slow nor hurried. It was not the hesitant step of the explorer. The person in the hall knew where he was going.

  He was at the foot of the stairs, only a few feet from them. He started to climb.

  They had to cross the hall and go out the back. When he reached the top of the stairs, they were poised in the doorway.

  Kimmie Dee was clinging to Isabel’s hand. Isabel whispered, “Now,” and they skittered across the hall, through the dining room, and into the kitchen.

  A clattering noise came from upstairs and the steps started again, coming fast this time.

  Isabel and Kimmie Dee flew through the kitchen and out the back door. The steps were coming down the stairs. He’ll see us. The words rushed into Isabel’s head as they ran out the back door. She dragged Kimmie Dee down the steps and the two of them, in desperate concert, crawled past the sagging lattice guard fence and took refuge under the house.

  They lay on their stomachs in the dirt, panting. The footsteps thundered through the kitchen and across the porch, the floorboards rattling above their heads. The feet descended the steps and passed within less than a yard of Isabel’s face. She had every opportunity to recognize the worn deck shoes and khaki trousers. It was Harry Mercer.

  Isabel and Kimmie Dee watched Harry’s feet as they pounded away from the house, around the corner of the shed, and into the woods. Isabel could hear him crashing toward the slough.

  Something was pressing painfully against Isabel’s rib cage. She shifted positions and looked down. There was a hard semicircular ridge in the earth.

  Kimmie Dee whispered, “Is he gone?”

  Isabel eased herself forward to look, scraping her ribs again. She said, “I think so.” She listened a moment more. “Kimmie Dee, run for help. Make your mother listen, or call the police yourself. I mean it this time.”

  Kimmie Dee did not argue. She slid out beside the steps and took off. Isabel saw Kimmie Dee’s bare legs flash as she rounded the corner of the house. Then she clambered out and struggled to her feet. Her adrenaline was pumping. She started after Harry. She wasn’t going to let him get away.

  36

  “I want to see Joy,” Buddy Burke said.

  Ted Stiles nodded.

  “Kimmie Dee, too. I want to see Kimmie Dee. And Toby.” Buddy blinked cigarette smoke out of his eyes. Stiles had gotten the nurse to put Buddy in a wheelchair and wheel him to a lounge down the hall. The room was closed, nobody sitting on the green Naugahyde furniture except Stiles. The windows looked out on pine trees. Across the room, the deputy studied the offerings of a soft-drink machine.

  “Hey, bro,” Buddy called to the deputy. “Hey, lawman.”

  The deputy turned.

  “Bring me a Co’Cola, hey?”

  Not until Stiles gave him the high sign did the deputy start feeding change into the machine.

  Tapping ash into a Styrofoam cup, Stiles said, “I’m not sure how Mrs. Burke would feel about it, but I could—”

  “You stay away from her.”

  “I was going to say, I could have somebody talk to her.”

  Buddy looked at Stiles and thought, This chain-smoking sucker has got me by the balls.

  The deputy brought the Coke over. When he handed it to Buddy, he said, “Get you something, Mr. Stiles?”

  Stiles shook his head and the deputy returned to his post by the machines. “I’m willing to explore the possibility of letting you see your family right away, providing you’re willing to help me out,” Stiles said.

  Buddy swigged his drink. “What the hell else are we talking about?”

  Twin streams of smoke poured from Stiles’s nostrils. “All right, then,” Stiles said.

  “Don’t forget the other, either,” Buddy said. “The taking into consideration part.”

  “Remember I haven’t made you any promises.”

  “Damn it, you said—”

  Ted Stiles didn’t even blink. “I said I’d see what I could do. And I will.”

  Buddy slumped in his wheelchair. He was sick and tired. That summed it up: sick and tired. “I never wanted to hurt nobody,” he said. “All I did was, a couple of times I hauled in some weed. A fellow over at Westpoint and his cousin was growing it. I told about that when I got arrested.”

  “Right.” Stiles tapped out his cigarette. He opened a tan briefcase and pulled out a yellow pad with scribbling on it.

  “I never hurt a solitary soul,” Buddy said. “All I wanted was to make money for my family, and—”

  “Cut the crap,” Stiles said.

  Buddy was miffed. What was the point if he couldn’t tell it his way? Stiles kept studying his scribbles, and after a while Buddy continued. “You know, I had this boat. Your people confiscated it. I was berthing it at the Beachcomber. Whatever happened to it, by the way?”

  “Sent to South Florida.”

  Buddy mourned for his boat a second or two. Another good thing gone to hell. “In the berth next to mine was the Miss Kathy. Owned by a dive captain named Harry Mercer. You know him?”

  Stiles, writing on his pad, didn’t answer.

  “Harry’s a charter captain, takes out dive parties, fishing parties. Well, I was in and out of there a lot, going to and from Westpoint, and I noticed that Harry and his deckhand kept taking the boat out by themselves, no paying customers on board. I started to wonder what they was up to.”

  Stiles grunted. “You figured they were cutting in on your trade?”

  “I reckon so.” It seemed long ago, those days when Buddy was free. “Anyway, I started to keep an eye out. Sure enough, I saw them come in and carry off ice chests and stuff and put them in Harry’s truck. Now, you take a few cold drinks when you go out fishing, but this was different. So what I did—” Buddy stopped. “You aren’t going to get me for this, too, are you?”

  Ted Stiles waved at him to go on.

  “I waited till they left one evening and I sneaked onto Harry’s boat. One thing that interested me was a big old tank they had built on deck. I wanted to know if they was hauling weed in there. It was fastened with a lock and chain, but there was enough slack so I could pull the top up and shine a flashlight down in there. You know what I saw?”

  “Bales of marijuana?”

  “No siree.” It was a true pleasure to get one up on Ted Stiles. “The thing was half full of water, and in that water was some cannonballs, and part of something that looked like a musket. That’s what was in there.”

  Buddy didn’t want to spoil his own surprise, so he went on: “Those boys had found a wreck and was hauling stuff out of it. And they was keeping it such a secret, you can bet your bobtail there was more in it than a few cannonballs.”

  The veins in Ted Stiles’s nose glowed brighter. “Gold, you mean?”

  “That’s what I was figuring.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Do? Nothing.” Buddy hadn’t had a chance to do anything. Ted Stiles hadn’t asked what he’d intended to do.

  “You didn’t try to persuade them to let you in on it?”

  “No!” Buddy acted like the idea had never occurred to him.

  “Why not? Darryl Kelly arrested you before you got around to it?

  Stiles obviously never gave anybody the benefit of the doubt. Although, in truth, it had been only a couple of days later that Kelly had caught Buddy and Buddy’s present difficulties commenced.

  Buddy’s shoulder hurt. Now he really was tired. “Your friend Kelly pulled me in. I didn’t want to go to jail, you know? I cooperated right off the bat. But he told me I’d have to go, anyway.”

  “It was your third offense. It’s the law.”

  “Yeah, that’s what he said. But I thought if I could give him something good, they might make an exception, so I told him about Harry Mercer and the wreck. Taking stuff out of a w
reck is illegal, too, unless you’ve got the permits.”

  Stiles’s face was serious now. “What did Darryl say when you told him?”

  “Laughed in my face.” The memory of it galled Buddy even now. “He thought I was making it up.”

  “He must have decided to check it out, though,” Stiles said slowly.

  “I told him, if they arrested somebody, I ought to get part of the treasure for turning them in. He laughed at that, too.”

  “In the end, it didn’t turn out so funny.” Stiles closed his pad. “Harry Mercer, you said?”

  “Yeah,” Buddy said. “I want to see Joy. And Kimmie Dee, and Toby.”

  “I’ll work on it.” Stiles signaled the deputy to wheel Buddy back to his room.

  37

  Propelled by fury, Harry charged through the woods. The thought of the empty upstairs room made his legs pump like machinery. He barely felt the sweat coursing down his body, the hot breath whistling through his lungs.

  I’ll find you, Scooter. If you’re not at the dock, I’ll—

  But Scooter was at the dock, pulling a tarp over a pile of stuff— the treasure, Harry’s treasure— that he’d loaded in the skiff.

  Scooter had heard Harry coming. His head was turned Harry’s way, and when Harry burst out of the swamp, Scooter let go of the tarp.

  Harry jumped at Scooter with an inarticulate cry of rage. His only desire in the world was to make Scooter suffer and then kill him. He actually prayed, for a split second, to be able to do just that.

  Scooter was ready. His wiry body uncoiled at Harry, and Harry felt Scooter’s fingers around his throat. Harry said, “You son of a bitch—” and, a lucky shot, kneed Scooter in the balls.

  Scooter howled and let go. When he bent forward, Harry kicked him in the ribs, but instead of falling down, Scooter, still bent double, sprang back at him. They wrestled on the uneven turf, neither with an advantage.

  “Don’t you run out on me, you son of a bitch,” Harry wheezed.

  Scooter’s fist drove into Harry’s gut. Harry’s breath rocketed out of him, and he felt his mouth opening and closing like the mouth of a beached fish. He reached out blindly and grabbed a handful of Scooter’s hair. Scooter, flailing, caught Harry’s nose hard with his bony knuckles. Harry felt a sharp jolt of pain and tasted blood. He fell to his knees in the mud and long grass, with blood sliding out of his nose and dripping down his chin.

  Scooter, standing over him, said, “You’re a fool, you know that, Harry? A small-time fool.”

  “The wreck—”

  “The wreck is tapped out, haven’t you realized that? There isn’t any more gold down there. Somebody else got it. Where do you think that bottle came from? Somebody took most of the gold out long ago.”

  Harry was choking on desperation and his own blood. “You’ve got to give me my share, anyway,” he rasped.

  “Your share! When you fucked us up every possible way? Go let your girlfriend out of the closet. She’s your share.”

  Harry was holding his arm to his bleeding nose. “What closet?”

  “The closet in the house, sucker, where I put her so she wouldn’t get in the way. She’s been there since last night, so she’ll be plenty glad to see you. Maybe she’ll even let you—”

  Harry stumbled to his feet and swung at Scooter. He put more behind it that he thought he could, and although Scooter ducked, he didn’t completely avoid the blow. Harry caught him on the ear and knocked him off balance.

  Then something strange happened.

  Isabel— yes, it was Isabel— rocketed out of the undergrowth and grabbed Scooter from behind. Now even more off balance, and dragged by Isabel’s weight, Scooter dropped to one knee as he clawed at Isabel’s arms.

  Wondering if he was hallucinating, Harry shambled forward on spongy legs and fell on Scooter, knocking him flat. As Scooter writhed beneath him, Harry shouted, “Rope! In the boat!” and moments later Isabel was back with a handful of nylon twine.

  Scooter spat in Harry’s face as they struggled to tie him up. Feeling the spittle on his cheek gave Harry the impetus to crack Scooter on the side of the head with all his strength. Scooter’s eyes rolled up and his body went limp. They trussed his legs and arms and stretched him out in the long grass, and Harry waded into the brown water and rinsed his face. To Isabel he said, “I’m glad you showed up.”

  She was sitting on the bank, looking battered and filthy. She said, “He put me in the closet. Kimmie Dee let me out. She’s gone for the police.”

  Harry was sick, deep within himself, to think of what she had suffered because of him. “Isabel, I’m sorry.”

  “I thought it was you,” Isabel said dully.

  “No.” He blotted his nose some more. It had almost stopped bleeding. “You know what we’ve been up to, don’t you?”

  “I’m pretty sure. Why don’t you tell me?”

  He told her. He told her how Scooter had found the wreck when they came to help Clem Davenant when his son drowned, how they decided to salvage it and set up a base in the house because it was out of the way. “Miss Merriam never even knew we were there, I promise you,” he said.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

  “I’m sure. If she’d known, she wouldn’t have kept it to herself.”

  “What about the Marine Patrolman, then? Darryl Kelly?”

  Harry didn’t understand. “The one that had the accident? What did he have to do with us?”

  “I thought maybe he caught you.”

  It took a while before Harry saw what she meant. She believed he was the kind of person who would kill two people in cold blood, one of them an old lady he’d known for years. When he’d finished protesting his innocence she said, “You can’t answer for Scooter, though.”

  That was true. He couldn’t answer for Scooter.

  While they talked, Harry’s eyes had been on the loaded skiff. He had made a decision. “Isabel, if I leave, would you come with me?”

  “Leave?”

  “Right now. Take the skiff. Take off and go, before the law gets here.”

  She looked startled. She said, “No, thanks. I’ve done that already. And I feel bound to tell you it doesn’t solve anything.”

  “I know that’s what they say, but I never tried it.” Harry stood up. In spite of all the pain from Scooter’s battering, he was feeling better.

  Isabel got to her feet. She said, “Don’t do it, Harry. They’ll come after you.”

  “Maybe they won’t find me. I know the coast pretty good.” He was walking toward the boat now. He lifted a flap of the tarpaulin. Yes, there was some of his diving gear. And the tackle box with the coins in it, and some of the other stuff. He straightened, turned to Isabel. “Come with me.”

  “I’m not coming, Harry. I can’t stop you, but you’re making a mistake.”

  In the distance, a siren howled. Harry untied the mooring rope and stepped into the boat. He cranked the motor, settled himself by the tiller, and waggled his hand in farewell. Now it’s my turn to go, he thought, and, filled with exhilaration, he watched the prow of the skiff cut through the brown water as he went deeper into the swamp.

  38

  The sound of Harry’s motor throbbed in the distance for so long Isabel was not quite sure when she ceased to hear it. She stood on the dock, watching Scooter’s motionless body, half hidden by grass. After a while, she realized that his eyes were open. He stared at her, unblinking.

  The sirens had stopped. The police would be on their way. They would go to the house first. If she didn’t hear them soon, she’d go find them.

  Scooter’s pale blue eyes were on her.

  She said, “Did the Marine Patrolman catch you taking something from the wreck?”

  No answer.

  “My aunt saw what happened to him. Did you murder her, too?”

  The blue eyes glared.

  “You were right about the wreck. The treasure isn’t there,” Isabel said. “The treasure hasn’t been there for cen
turies. My great-grandfather found it, buried under a tree behind the house. And then he took it, and—”

  “I didn’t kill anybody,” Scooter said. “You aren’t saying I killed somebody. Harry must have done it. Where’s Harry?” He thrashed from side to side. “Harry!”

  Isabel heard voices in the woods now. Coming closer. She said, “Harry’s gone.”

  She was surprised to see Scooter’s eyes redden. “Harry was my partner,” he said. “None of it was your business. Nobody needed you.”

  “Harry’s gone,” Isabel repeated.

  “They’ll catch him, the dumb fuck,” Scooter said. His voice was hoarse.

  “Hello!” the voices called. “Where are you? Isabel?”

  She cupped hands around her mouth. “Here! This way!” To Scooter she said, “Are you the man with the hood?”

  A disdainful look again. “Do you think I’m a monk or something?”

  “You wear a diving hood, don’t you? Isn’t that something divers wear?”

  “Some do. Not me.” The subject didn’t seem to interest him. “They’ll catch Harry,” he said. “He won’t even make it out of the county.”

  Then they were surrounded by people and voices.

  39

  “I was so alone. Oh, Buddy.” Joy Burke sobbed.

  “I know, Joy. I know.” Buddy patted his wife’s back. This was what he had wanted, wasn’t it? Yes, it was.

  Over his wife’s head, his eyes met Kimmie Dee’s. Kimmie Dee looked cute today in a polka-dot dress and her hair in a ponytail. Buddy was as proud of that child as he could be. As far as he could tell, she wasn’t too impressed about people gushing over what a brave girl she was.