by Kathi Daley
“This man arranged to text you on the night of the party?” I asked.
Booker nodded. “I let my contact at the marina know I was interested in speaking to this man about a job. A couple of days later, my contact brought me a cell phone and told me that Dredge would text me to set up a meeting. I didn’t know when he would be in touch, so I carried the phone with me all the time.”
“Why all the cloak-and-dagger stuff?” I wondered.
“I’d been warned Dredge wasn’t always selective in the jobs he signed on for. It seems he was equally likely to salvage illegal items from the sea floor as legal ones. I guess that required him to be very careful.”
“Illegal items?”
“Drugs. Stolen goods. He operated up and down the coast, from Alaska to South America. Really, wherever the money took him.”
“And you didn’t mind the fact that he dealt in illegal salvage?”
Booker paused. “That did give me pause at first, but I was on a timeline and my source assured me that not only was he willing to take on new work for the right price, but he was good at what he did. He had the equipment I needed and seemed the sort to keep his mouth shut, so I agreed to meet him.”
“On the night you died?” I asked. “You met him on the night you died?”
Booker frowned. “I’m not sure. It’s a little blurry, but maybe.” Booker scratched his head, or I suppose it would be more accurate to say he scratched at where his head would have been if he had form. “What I do remember is that I accepted the phone as well as the terms, and then I waited.”
“What terms?” I asked.
“Dredge wanted a lot more money than Oliver had asked for, and he required a hefty deposit. The amount gave me pause, but in the end, I decided I didn’t care about the money. I just wanted to find the cargo and prove once and for all that my theory about where the Santa Isabella sank was accurate.”
“Try to remember receiving the text during the party. Several witnesses said you received one, so I’m going to assume that’s exactly what occurred. Woody said he found your personal cell, and the text wasn’t sent to it. That makes sense based on what you’ve just told me about Dredge.”
“I guess it does make sense.” Booker got up and began floating around the room, what seemed to be the ghost equivalent of pacing. “I wish I could remember.”
“Try to relax. Picture yourself at the party. See the room. See the people you spoke to. Remember what you ate and what you drank. Remember what you were wearing.”
Booker stopped floating and sat back down in the chair. He looked uncertain, and I waited. The answer to who’d killed Booker was trapped somewhere in his memory.
“The party was an evening affair,” Booker began. “I wore my blue suit, but I’d lost quite a bit of weight since I had my heart attack, so it hung loosely on my body. I had a belt to cinch up the pants, but I remember asking Chelsea if she knew a tailor she could recommend. She jotted down a few names, which I put in my shirt pocket. We chatted for a bit after that, but then Caleb waved to her, so we said good-bye. I was going to head out for a breath of air when the phone in my pocket vibrated. I took it out and looked at it. There was a time and place in the text.” Booker smiled and looked up. “I remember. It said Rinaldo’s at nine p.m.”
“Rinaldo’s the restaurant? The one north of the commercial fishing marina?”
Booker nodded. “It burned down about five or six years ago. The shell is still standing, but so far, no one has gone to the effort of tearing it down and rebuilding on the land. I said my good-byes and went out to my car.” He paused, as if pulling at a thread he couldn’t quite unravel.
“And then what? You went out to your car and what?” I asked.
Booker began floating around again. It appeared he was focusing intently on my question. “I somehow knew I was to come alone. I guess that might have been part of the terms I’d previously agreed to. I was supposed to bring the fifty-thousand-dollar deposit. The money was in the trunk of my car. I’d kept it close once I agreed to the terms so I’d have it on hand if an agreement was reached.”
I lifted a brow. “Sounds dangerous to agree to meet a man you’ve never met in a deserted location after dark carrying fifty thousand dollars.”
“Yes. Considering what happened, it wasn’t a very good idea.”
Poor Booker. I was sure remembering must be hard on him, but his memories were our best bet at finding out what had happened the night he died. “Okay, you went to Rinaldo’s. You went alone with the fifty grand. Then what happened?”
Booker paused once again. He faded out and then back in. I could see the effort to remember was taxing for him.
“It’s okay,” I encouraged him. “Take your time and let it come to you.”
Booker nodded. He settled back in his chair. Alyson reached out and took his hand in hers. He began to speak again. “I remember pulling up in front of the burned-out building. It was dark. Really dark. The closest street lamp had been damaged. Maybe during the fire. I walked up to the building with the money in my briefcase but was unsure what to do. I was thinking it probably wasn’t safe to go into the building. It had been condemned. Someone came up from behind me.”
“Dredge?” I asked.
Booker slowly shook his head. “I don’t think so. Maybe one of his men. He was a big guy. He patted me down and took the phone I’d been texted on, as well as the money in the briefcase. He asked if I had any proof of the general location where the ship went down. I told him I had a copy of the captain’s log I’d discovered years ago. There were notes that provided clues, and from those notes, I felt I had enough to map out a search area.”
“The man you met wanted to be sure you weren’t chasing windmills.”
Booker nodded. “It seemed he didn’t want to waste his time on a salvage operation with no basis in fact. I suppose I didn’t blame him.”
“And the captain’s log? Did it outline where the ship had sunk?”
Booker tilted his head to one side. “Sort of. I probably didn’t have the kind of proof this man wanted, but in my own mind I’d learned quite a lot. The log told me that the captain took on some gold coins. A lot of them. He didn’t include them on the ship’s manifest and most of the crew didn’t know about them. It seemed the captain was promised a percentage of the value of the coins if he smuggled them to Russian-occupied southern Alaska.”
I glanced at Monica. She was intent on my half of the conversation, but I had to hand it to her; she hadn’t interrupted once to ask what Booker was saying. She demonstrated a lot more patience than I would have had our roles been reversed.
“Okay. The captain was smuggling gold coins on his own ship. I’m assuming he needed to get the coins where he was going without putting into port in San Francisco. How did he accomplish that?”
“I’m not completely sure, but I seem to remember he hijacked his own ship. He must have brought a few others in on what he was doing. All I know for certain is that he continued north rather than putting into port in San Francisco. There was a struggle. Maybe the others who weren’t part of the plan revolted. Based on the description of what occurred, it sounded as if the ship hit a reef during the struggle and began to take on water. Based on the captain’s notes on the coastline, I’m certain the ship sank not all that far off the coast, just south of Cutter’s Cove. The lifeboats were loaded with the men and as much of the cargo as could be transported. Whatever wasn’t loaded into them went down with the ship.”
“So, the items that were donated to the museum must have come ashore on the lifeboats, and the gold buckles you found washed up on the beach all those years later must have gone down with the ship.”
“That would be my best guess,” Booker confirmed.
“And the gold?” I asked. “Surely someone would have grabbed the gold before they did the crates filled with dishes and porcelain pipes.”
“It would seem they would have, but I’m not sure. As far as I know, the gold hasn’t been found.
I thought I’d find the wreck, and if the gold wasn’t there, I’d look to see if it was buried on shore.”
I paused and briefly explained to Monica what her uncle had said so far.
“Something feels wrong,” Monica said when I finished catching her up.
I frowned. “I agree. Why would the crew grab dishes and pipes and leave the gold belt buckles, even if they didn’t know about the gold coins?”
“Maybe the boxes were labeled and someone switched things around,” Monica suggested. “During the chaos as the ship began to sink, the crew must have grabbed the boxes labeled gold belt buckles without taking the time to look inside.”
“Maybe. I guess at this point the details aren’t important. What’s important is figuring out how all this relates to your uncle’s death.” I turned my attention back to Booker. “Okay, so you told the man you met that you had the captain’s log and then what?”
“He wanted to see the log. I was pretty sure he worked for Dredge, but he wasn’t the man I’d hired. At any rate, I didn’t have the captain’s log with me, but I said I could get it. I didn’t want to take him here because I didn’t trust him, so I arranged to meet him again the following evening. Same time, same place. I insisted that Dredge himself be there. I never received confirmation of that, however.”
“And then?” I asked.
“And then I left.”
“And the fifty thousand dollars?”
“He gave it back to me and told me to return with it when I had the proof Dredge needed to take on the job.”
I caught Monica up again.
“It sounds like this Dredge was a legitimate businessman, even if he did deal in illegal as well as legal bounty. He gave Uncle Rory his money back until he provided the proof he needed, and he certainly didn’t have to. I don’t imagine Uncle Rory had a gun and physically, I’m sure the intermediary had the upper hand.”
I looked back at Booker. “After the money was returned to you…what did you do then?”
“I came home.”
“And once you got here?” I prodded.
Booker’s memory was returning, but it seemed to come in spurts. There was no way to know if there were holes in the story, but any amount of information would help. “I don’t remember driving home, but I remember being in the library. I was dressed for bed, so I must have let myself into the house, changed into my pajamas and robe, and poured myself a brandy. I must have built a fire because I remember there being one. I was sitting at the table going over my maps and charts. I remember taking a sip of my brandy and then pausing when I heard a noise.”
“And then?” We were getting close. If only he could remember what happened next.
Booker shrugged. “And then I was floating over my body.”
“Where were you at the last moment you can remember being alive?” I asked.
“In the library.”
“Where specifically in the library? Were you standing? Sitting? Near the fire or near the bookshelves?”
“I was sitting at the table. Is that important?”
“Maybe. Woody told me that you were found over by the stacks. You must have gotten up to get a book. Maybe the intruder asked you to get it, or maybe he wanted information you had in your secret drawer.”
“No one knew about that except you, Mac, and Trevor. Not even Monica.”
“Maybe the intruder was after a book he thought you might have on the shelf. The captain’s log?”
Booker scowled. “The log was in my wall safe. Is it still there?”
I looked around the room. “Where?”
“Behind the painting of the ship on the far wall.”
I crossed the room and pulled away the painting. Booker gave me the combination and I opened the safe. The log was the only item inside.
“Was there anything else in the safe?” I asked out of curiosity.
Booker’s eyes grew big. “The fifty grand. I remember now. I put it in the safe when I got home.”
Okay, that seemed important. “So, someone broke into your home and demanded that you open the safe. You did. They demanded the fifty grand but left the captain’s log right where it was. Seems like the intruder was after cash, not necessarily the treasure.”
“Those gold coins, if found, are going to be worth a whole lot more than fifty thousand dollars,” Booker said.
“True. But maybe the intruder didn’t know about the gold. Maybe he was only after the cash. Do you always leave cash in your house?”
Booker shrugged. “Occasionally.”
“What cash?” Monica interrupted for the first time.
I paused to catch her up.
“So, we have no idea if the person who killed Uncle Rory was after the cargo he hoped to find or if his death was the result of a home invasion gone bad?”
“It would seem.” I paused to look toward where Alyson was waiting. She hadn’t made a peep or interrupted in any way. “I think I’m going to have another chat with Woody. Maybe if we put our heads together, we can come up with something. Mac is looking into some things as well. If you’d like, you can join us at my place tonight. We’re having dinner while we discuss the investigation.”
“Thank you,” Monica said. “I’d like that.”
I turned back to Booker. “I can see that this has been hard on you. I’m not going to push you any more right now. I’ll come back tomorrow. Try to remember who came in. The person who caused the sound that seems to be the last thing you remember is most likely the person who killed you.”
Chapter 12
I headed to Woody’s office from Booker’s. I felt it was significant that the money Booker had in his safe had been taken, while the captain’s log had been left behind. Maybe Oliver Pendergrass had found out Booker was talking to Dredge and decided to take the money he felt was owed him. Or maybe Dredge decided to take the easy fifty grand after all, rather than messing around with the larger but harder-to-get-his-hands-on treasure. I wondered who else might have known about the money.
“Alyson, I’m glad you stopped by,” Woody greeted me.
“It’s Amanda. Did you find something?”
Woody picked up a file. “Let’s go back to the conference room.”
I followed him down the narrow hallway. This place really could use a facelift. Yellowed walls, which I suspected had at one time been white, were lined with narrow doorways leading to small rooms, each featuring dirty gray linoleum that had probably been there for decades.
At least the conference room was a bit larger than some of the other rooms. It was windowless, with a long table and ten plastic chairs. I sat down on one of them, wondering what Woody had to say that was interesting enough that he wanted to speak without the threat of being overheard.
“Do you have news?” I asked again, eager to get on with it.
“I do.” Woody turned slightly and pulled a laptop that was sitting on the opposite end of the table. “I’m not sure it’s important or significant, but it’s new nonetheless.”
“Go on.”
“It occurred to me after we spoke that Ms. Parish had already been in the house cleaning for several hours before she found Mr. Oswald in the library. I wondered if she’d been asked about evidence she may have cleaned up prior to finding the body. She told me that no one asked her about it, but there was sand in the foyer when she came in. The first thing she did was sweep it up and then run a mop over the tiles. She said the foyer was clean when she left the day before, so it’s possible Mr. Oswald tracked in the sand, but she thought he would have swept it up had he done so.”
“I agree. Booker was very neat. If he tracked in sand, he would have cleaned it up. My guess is that the killer did it. Did the housekeeper notice anything specific about the sand?”
“She said it was unusually fine. Most of the sand along this part of the coast is a bit grainier. This was practically powder.”
“Like the sand on the beach near the wharf,” I said.
Woody’s eyes grew. “You’r
e right. That sand is exceptionally fine. It almost seems as if someone hauled it in and put it there.”
“It reminds me of the sand on some of the manmade beaches along the gulf, although I’m fairly certain the sand on this particular beach is natural. Still, I suppose the sand from that specific beach could turn out to be a clue.”
“That’s what I figured. I’m not sure how important it is, but it’s a piece of the puzzle. If we can find a few more, a picture may emerge.”
“Anything else?” I asked.
“It also occurred to me that I should have told you about the robbery Mr. Oswald called in a week before his murder. I didn’t mean to withhold it from you; I just didn’t think of it when we spoke.”
I brushed my hair behind my ear. “Monica told me about it. Someone stole two books Booker had on his desk. Books that had information about the ship he believed carried the cargo that was donated to the museum.”
“That’s correct. The theft seemed targeted to me. Mr. Oswald had a fortune in art in his home, yet none of it was taken. Only two books.”
I frowned. “From what I understand, the books weren’t even one-of-a-kind. It seems whoever stole them could have gotten the information they were after another way. Why go to all the trouble of breaking into a house with a security system to steal them?”
Woody shrugged. “I don’t know. It didn’t make sense to me at the time and it doesn’t make sense now.”
“What if someone broke in to steal something of greater value. Something like cash. The alarm went off, so whoever broke in knew they didn’t have long before the cops arrived. Maybe they didn’t find what they were after, and after scouting out the place a bit, they took the books as a decoy to make it appear as though that was what they were after.”
