“Let’s get Cara out of her dirty clothes.” Skye frowned at our older friend. “Cara? I’ll go upstairs with you and wash those things while you take a shower. Scrubbing that blood off of you will do you a world of good.”
I used to live in the apartment next to Skye’s and it’s still vacant, so we all keep assorted hygiene articles in that bathroom. We also each keep a change of clothes in the hall closet. That way if we get overly involved in a craft project or if it goes awry, we can change out of our dirty duds. Such messes happen more often than you might guess.
I eagerly peeled off my blood-soaked linen capris and white polo shirt with the Lilly Pulitzer-inspired trim.
“Thank goodness you didn’t wear your nice vintage Lilly today. I think I can get the blood out of these, but that would have been iffy,” Skye said as I handed her my stiff clothes. “Funny, isn’t it? Lilly created her patterns to hide stains, but she never bargained for the type of day you’ve had.”
“Her stains were from the family citrus stand, not a man bleeding to death.” I sighed and closed the bathroom door most of the way. My co-workers and I are like family to each other, but I still like a modicum of modesty when I’m buck naked.
“Too true,” Skye spoke to the door. “I’ll bring you another cup of tea. How’s your head?”
“Fine,” I said as I stepped under the spray of hot water. I squirted a generous dollop of lavender body wash on a bath mitt. “But I’m going to have trouble getting what I saw out of my mind. At least for a day or two. All that blood.”
“How about if I come spend the night at your place? I’ve been wanting to do a little beachcombing.”
“Would you, please?”
“You don’t have to ask me twice.”
Chapter 8
We spent the next half an hour uploading and printing copies of the pictures I’d taken. We’d nearly finished when Honora’s daughter, EveLynn, came to give her mother a ride home. I offered to tidy up the last few images and leave the photocopies on the miniaturist’s desk.
“Thank you, Cara.” Honora patted me on the shoulder. “I am very sorry you had such a traumatic day. However, it does look to me like you took pictures that I can use to recreate a wonderful room box or two. Try not to obsess over what happened, dear. Are you calm enough to drive home?”
“I’ll spend the night with her,” Skye said as she linked her arm through mine. “She should relax after her trying day, don’t you think?”
“I still think she should have had a big swig of brandy rather than taking those headache pills,” MJ said.
I smiled, appreciating my friends. We take turns caring for each other, and that just might be the best part of opening The Treasure Chest. The happiness of having a support network has meant everything to me.
After my parents died within six months of each other, I moved to Florida. My son had gone off to college at the University of Miami, and I’d never been so alone in the world. Now I was once again surrounded by people who cared, my “new” family.
“Let’s leave your car here and I’ll drive,” Skye said. “The animals are loaded in my Mustang. Luna is in her cat carrier; Gerard and Jack are in the rear seats. You can crank back the passenger seat and relax.”
Later, after we’d eaten a fabulous omelet she whipped up and played a rousing game of Bananagrams, she asked, “How are you feeling? You look much more relaxed.”
“I am, thanks to you, Florence Nightingale. Dare we turn on the news? I am curious as to what they’ll say.”
A reporter told us that John Haines was the wealthy owner of a building concern that had been in his family for several generations. His grandfather had arrived as a sailor aboard the Georges Valentine. After the shipwreck, he’d decided to stay here rather than go back to the Old County. The news segment ended with a cryptic, “Authorities are investigating.”
Grabbing my iPad, I typed in Haines Houses. A company website popped to the top of the search engine. I read what I found to Skye. “Arthur Haines washed ashore and fell in love with the land under his feet. Since then, the Haines name has become synonymous with beautiful homes.” A more careful inspection backed up MJ’s contention the houses were inexpensive. Another Google search showed a selection of lawsuits against John Haines for shoddy workmanship, unethical sales practices, and fraud. None of the charges seemed to have stuck. I knew from having grown up in a family business that people will try to sue you at the drop of a soup spoon. It’s the new American version of the lottery. You pick your lawyer, spin the wheel of fortune, and hope for a windfall. But taken as a whole, the Haines operation did not seem savory. Profitable, yes. Ethical, borderline.
My cat Luna curled up in Skye’s lap. As Skye stroked the gray kitty, Luna purred loudly. “Hmmm. It’s one funny coincidence that this stabbing would occur in the same month as the anniversary of the sinking of the Georges Valentine, don’t you think?”
“I do indeed. But why stab the grandson of a survivor? That seems counterintuitive, doesn’t it? If someone survived, you’d think people would have been thrilled.”
She chuckled. “More than counterintuitive. It doesn’t make one bit of sense. To us, at least. But it makes all sorts of sense to somebody out there. That’s the challenge. Seeing it from another person’s point of view.”
“Right, and don’t forget, that other person is a murderer.”
“Hmmm.” Her blue eyes sparkled with mischief as she curled her feet under her backside. With her blond curls bouncing around her shoulders, Skye could have doubled as a large fairy. Given her ability to turn junk into objects of desire, I didn’t doubt she had magical abilities. “The answer has to be in the history of the Georges Valentine, don’t you think? Solving this mystery will require an extensive knowledge of the past. I wonder who could help you with that?”
A blush worked its way up my throat and into my face. “Uh, gee, I wouldn’t know.”
We both burst out laughing.
“Dan, the man,” said Skye. “You have the perfect reason to call him, girlfriend.”
Chapter 9
I had met Dan on a dark and stormy night shortly before Valentine’s Day. He’d dropped by to deliver a pizza and stayed long enough to help me corral my dog, Jack, after the rescue Chihuahua raced off into the dark. Given my miserable history with men, I vowed to take our relationship slowly. Given his bumpy past with women, he totally understood where I was coming from.
Nevertheless, I was falling hard for the guy. In a million ways, we were perfect for each other. To keep from taking a head-over-heels tumble, I did my best to limit my exposure to the handsome fellow. But Skye had been right: Dan was the perfect person to help me solve this puzzle.
Dan had a PhD in World History with a minor in Political Science. Until recently, he’d worked as a consultant with the CIA, or so I assumed. He’d explained that he’d worked for the State Department, but upon hearing that, my cagy grandfather laughed like a teenage girl and said, “That’s what every spy is taught to say.”
Dan had moved to the Treasure Coast, the stretch of eastern Florida north of Miami and south of Vero Beach, to be close to his stepson. After our third date, he’d been remarkably candid about his failed marriage. “I married Sonja for all the wrong reasons. We met when I tutored her in college. She was getting a ‘D’ in American History. I thought that any single mom returning to school was worthy of admiration. Dumb old me. I didn’t realize that she was planning to get her Mrs. Degree. What I took as ‘cute’ was actually ‘stupid.’ Her inattentiveness wasn’t caused by a lack of sleep, she simply isn’t very bright. But I labored under this fantasy, because I was surrounded by ambitious women in my history department, and by comparison, Sonya seemed so feminine. Yeah, it was dumb on my part. Really dumb. I had a bad case of lust. Then, too, I found her son, Gavin, totally irresistible. He glommed onto me like a barnacle to a boat.”
“How long were you married?”
“Ten years.” He sighed. “For ten long years
, I tried to change Sonya. How crazy can one man be? I made excuses for her. I bribed her. I overlooked her failings. It must have seemed pretty amusing from the outside. She would forget to pick Gavin up from school. Forget to sign his papers. Forget to go to important meetings. Credit cards charged to the max. Phone calls that the car was sitting at the side of the road, abandoned, with the gas tank empty. The school must have phoned me every day. Gavin never had the proper school supplies. Or lunch. Or anything he needed. There was never food in the refrigerator. She kept forgetting her keys and locking herself out. I took her to a doctor. She was diagnosed as bipolar. She didn’t care. Life was—and is—one big party for Sonja. I was standing in the mall one day, paying for clothes she’d shoplifted when I overheard a grandmother tell her granddaughter, ‘You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make it drink,’ and suddenly I thought my head would explode. That’s exactly what I’d been doing. Trying to make Sonya drink. She was never going to change. I couldn’t afford to stay married to her. Not for my mental health or hers. Gavin had been accepted into Florida Atlantic University. I took an early retirement. Heard about an opening for a history teacher in Jupiter. That gets us up to date. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” I had the feeling he was holding out on me.
“Sort of.” He turned away from me but didn’t let go of my hand. With a sigh so deep it was more of a heave-ho than an exhale, he added, “Sonya has suddenly decided she can’t live without me. Or without Gavin. She moved to Delray. She’d been pestering me to get back together. Claims she’s taking her meds.”
I felt my insides crumble. We’d been sitting on a blanket in the sand, watching the moon rise over the horizon. All around us, the night was still and serene. A hoot owl called. At least, that’s what I assumed I was hearing. The crash of the waves had lulled me into a near stupor, but now every nerve ending tingled brightly with alarm. Here it comes, I thought. The bad news. The break up. You’ve lost him. Sonja has a prior claim on Dan and a son they raised together. I held my breath.
Dan cleared his throat. “I can’t go back to her, Cara. I just can’t.”
Chapter 10
But I didn’t feel entirely confident about his decision. People can and do change their minds. I wanted to protect myself. As much as I cared, if Dan became a regular part of my life, it would be even harder to let him go. With that looming ahead, I consciously limited our time together. Skye knew about my strategy. MJ didn’t. Skye understood. MJ wouldn’t. Skye was also in a complicated relationship, whereas MJ skipped blithely from man to man.
“I’ll give Dan a call tomorrow. You ready to go to bed?”
Skye nodded. “I’m about ready to drop off right here. Sleep tight, dear friend.” As she rose to her feet, Luna jumped down, giving Skye an indignant over the shoulder look as she stalked off.
When I pulled up the covers, I worried about bad dreams, but the last image brought to mind Dan’s thoughtful face. That comforted me all through the night and I slept well.
The next morning, after a wonderful breakfast of blueberry pancakes, coffee, and sliced bananas, I phoned the history professor.
“Sure, I know a little about nautical wrecks, but not much about the Georges Valentine specifically. How about we get together for dinner? That’ll give me time to do research. Want to meet at Zeus Park? That way I can play Frisbee with your dogs.”
Gerard, my Bahamian Potcake, must have known Dan was suggesting a playdate because his ears perked up. His left ear, to be exact. The right flaps over comically. The Bahamian Potcake is a breed that evolved from strays left to fend for themselves on the Bahamas. Over time, they interbred and developed distinct characteristics, including a lively personality, sharp minds, and lithe bodies. Gerard is a handful. He needs all the exercise he can get. Like Jack, Gerard is a rescue, so he’s also a bit insecure.
“Sounds like a terrific plan. I’ll bring the food. You supply the Frisbee.”
“You also have to promise to bring the dogs.”
“But of course.”
Skye winked at me. “I like that man. He’s terrific. Or as MJ would say, ‘What’s not to like?’ He’s gorgeous, smart, kind, funny, and a gentleman. You lucked out when you met him.”
I swirled a bit of blueberry syrup on the tines of my fork. “I know it. He’s too good to be true, isn’t he? I think that’s what scares me the most. Except for his ex-wife, Dan doesn’t have any issues. Oh, now and then he gets a little too involved in the lives of his students. He worries about the kids. But that’s good, too, because I get overly anxious about the store. By the way, what are we planning for Halloween?”
We spent the next couple of hours chatting about a class she was going to teach, turning gauze into small ghosts. We brainstormed new items we could offer at The Treasure Chest. Honora was offering a class in making miniature haunted houses using recycled cereal boxes and the plastic sauce containers from take-out food. MJ had discovered a dozen or more old photos, totally creepy ones. With Skye’s help, she’d gone into Photoshop and turned them ghoulish. We printed these up as Halloween cards. EveLynn is a first-rate seamstress. She ran up all sorts of cute table runners and bags in Halloween appropriate colors. Of course, we made other trinkets to sell, such as ghostly candles (images printed on overhead projector sheets and wrapped around wax columns) and funny fake jack-o-lanterns. On the night of, we planned to party with the rest of downtown Stuart by handing candy to wandering trick-or-treaters.
“Honestly, we have too much fun, don’t we?” She gave me a big hug as she dropped me back at the store to pick up my car.
“You’re the best,” I said, and I meant it. “Thanks for giving me a ride yesterday.”
“Have a good time with Dan.” She blew me a kiss. “Don’t worry about the store. MJ covered it this morning, and I’ve got the afternoon shift. Run along and enjoy yourself.”
I did exactly that.
Chapter 11
After the dogs chased the Frisbee for a good half hour—okay, Gerard lasted the full thirty minutes and Jack for maybe five—and we’d eaten roast chicken, green beans, potato salad, and cookies, Dan and I settled into the serious business of figuring out what a dying man’s words meant.
“You see, nautical salvage operations have a complicated history. We hear a lot about pirates because of how colorful they were. Think about Disney’s popular Pirates of the Caribbean ride. There’s always a line to get in. Nautical salvage operators haven’t been as popular, historically, and yet in many ways I might argue that they are every bit as intriguing,” Dan said.
I could tell he was warming to his subject, and his enthusiasm gave me a glimpse of what he might be like as a teacher. No wonder he was popular with his students.
“Florida became a U.S. territory in 1821. At that time, marine salvage was so profitable that crews of Native Americans, as well as crews from Havana, found themselves competing for spilled cargo off our shores. The first warning light was installed in a tower on an island near Saint Augustine in 1737. Amelia Island followed almost a century later in 1838, making it the oldest extant lighthouse in our state. Close to forty more lighthouses or light towers followed. The men known as ‘wreckers’ weren’t pleased about these efforts to reduce shipwrecks, but as a point of fact, at first the lighthouses did little to help. The lights themselves were too confusing to sailors, who mistook one for another. Also, wrecking was so profitable that some of the sinking might have been done by design. There were reports of holes being bored into the hulls of ships to take them down and make their cargo easy to plunder.”
I thought of all the lifesaving equipment at House of Refuge. “That’s horrible. People could have drowned.”
Dan chuckled. “Yes. Early lifesaving equipment was iffy, at best. Be that as it may, wreckers were obligated by federal law to carry paraphernalia to save both life and cargo. However, in a few cases, there was considerable collusion between wreck masters and ship captains. Due to such underhanded dealings, awards as high as 9
0% of the value of the salvage cargo were not uncommon.”
“That’s fascinating.” I mulled over what he was saying and tried to apply it to the murder at the House of Refuge. “It is history I was unware of, for sure. Are you suggesting this has a bearing on John Haines’s death?”
“I think it does.” He paused. “In fact, I’m fairly certain that’s why John Haines was killed.”
Chapter 12
Given the gravity of what Dan told me, I suggested that we cut our picnic short.
“You’re thinking that your friend Lou will want to hear my hypothesis?” Dan helped me fold the red and white checkered tablecloth I’d spread over the picnic table.
“I sure do. As a homicide detective, Lou’s seen it all. He’s a good listener. I suppose we could go directly to the Martin County Sheriff’s office, but they don’t know either of us. Lou will give us a fair hearing.”
After dropping off my dogs, Dan drove us directly to the Stuart Police Station.
Detective Lou Murray bounced from foot to foot in his eagerness to hear what Dan had learned. “I’ve stayed in contact with a buddy over at the Martin County Sheriff’s Department. He tells me they’ve hit a brick wall. I called him and invited him to listen in. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Cara wants to hear my theory, too. Is that okay?”
Lou rolled his eyes. “Since it’s only a theory, and she was there to hear John Haines’s last words, I guess it’s okay.”
I punched him in the bicep, lightly. “We could always go back to the park and finish our picnic, Dan. Especially if this big lug doesn’t show me more respect.”
That coaxed loud laughter from the big cop and the tall, slender professor.
“Cara, tangling with you is stupider than wrestling with an alligator,” said Lou. “Come on back to the interview room. I’ve got a tape recorder set up.”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 3
