A Treasure to Die For (A Seaside Cove Bed & Breakfast Mystery Book 1)

by Terry Ambrose

  Devon grimaced. “These so-called treasure seekers.” He sighed and laid a hand on Rick’s shoulder. “Look, I really do have a reason for asking about this.”

  “And that is?”

  “Do you have any idea what these guests of yours do?” Devon peered at Rick. “I mean, it takes a lot of expertise to track down a prize like a sunken Spanish galleon. What do they bring to the table? There are an awful lot of wannabes who show up in this town looking for a big score.”

  That assumed the treasure was even real. After his conversation with Reese, Rick wasn’t sure about that, either. “I have no idea what background they have. They’re registered guests. I saw one of the invitations. It looked legitimate. But I have no interest in checking them out. It’s not my place to evaluate why people stay with us.”

  “I understand, but you should go talk to Lungs. He knows all this stuff.”

  Rick shrugged and leaned back a little as he focused on Devon. “Lungs? What are you talking about?”

  “Not what, who. I guess nobody’s told you about Joe Gray. He runs Gray’s Sailing Charters. We been calling him Lungs since grade school. He learned to free dive almost before he could walk. He stayed down once for fifteen minutes.”

  “That’s impossible,” Rick snorted.

  “Nope.” Devon winked at him. “World record is more than twenty. Anyway, go talk to Lungs. He’s done a bunch of dives for treasure himself. Guy’s an expert. If anybody around here can give you some background, it’ll be him.”

  What Rick hated to admit out loud was that he was curious about the San Manuel—and he did want to confirm Reese’s story. “So Joe is the expert on treasure? How long has he been doing this?”

  “Long time. He used to dive for Neal Weiss.”

  “Who’s he?”

  “Oh, you don’t know. Marquetta’s father.”

  Rick’s breath caught in his throat. It was almost as though Devon had read his thoughts. Rick couldn’t believe his luck. “How long ago was this?”

  “They were pretty tight until the day Neal died. I see where you’re going. You don’t want to do this. Do not ask him about Marquetta.” Devon shook his head. “That’s not why I recommended him.”

  Really? If there was some big secret surrounding Marquetta, why had Devon mentioned Joe Gray at all? Besides, Rick had so many questions. About the treasure hunters, sure. But what if he could help Marquetta move beyond the emotional hump she seemed to be stuck on? Even though the possibility might be slim, he had to try.

  Rick licked his lips and looked at Devon. “She’s always said her life is not a subject for debate or discussion.”

  “It’s not. She’s very particular about that.”

  “Why?”

  “I told you. It’s not my story to tell.”

  Rick’s throat felt dry as he thought about the warning. But, more than anything, he wanted to learn what dark secret prevented Marquetta from talking about her past. If Joe Gray helped him understand, he might be able to help her get past whatever obstacles she faced.

  For the first time this morning, it seemed as though a weight had been lifted from Rick’s shoulders. He smiled at the big man. “Thank you, Devon. I mean that. I’ll talk to him later.”

  Devon’s shoulders slumped as he stood. “I have to go.” He walked away before Rick could respond.

  Chapter 22

  RICK

  Rick walked left on Front Street, then turned onto Ferry Dock Road. The Seaside Cove Harbor was at the end of the road. Gray’s Sailing Charters was in a double-decker houseboat. It had teak paneling with teal-painted accents and white trim. A bank of large windows lined the second deck.

  The front door, a decorative wood with an etched-glass window set in, stood open. Rick entered and the man behind the counter glanced up. His blue eyes sparkled with youthful exuberance. In contrast, his face bore lines from years of exposure to the elements and his once-sandy hair had silvered, probably many years before.

  Rick waved and extended his hand as he approached. “You must be Joe Gray.”

  “Yessir. And you’re Rick Atwood. My wife talks about you all the time.” The man placed a gold coin and white cloth on the countertop and pulled off the cotton glove covering his right hand.

  The first thought that popped into Rick’s head was his discussion with Marquetta about the twenty-two mothers who wanted him as a son-in-law. “She does?” He couldn’t help but wonder where Joe’s wife fell in that grouping. Probably Doers. He forced a nervous laugh as they shook hands. “Do I want to know what she’s saying?”

  “No worries, Rick. I saw that look of panic. Yes, I do have a daughter, but she’s got a good career as a medical technician in San Francisco.”

  “So she doesn’t live here? Oh, sorry. That didn’t come out the way I meant.”

  Joe laughed. “It’s okay. If I were in your shoes, I’d be gun-shy, too. Obviously, you’re familiar with the town marriage competition. My wife doesn’t like to accept it, but Sally’s perfectly happy being single and working. I’d love to be a grandpa some day soon, but kids have to do things in their own time.”

  At last. A voice of reason from a parent in Seaside Cove. What a relief. “I hope you get your wish,” Rick said.

  “Me, too. It would take away the tension when Sally visits. Unfortunately, you’re probably not here to discuss a marriage proposal. My best guess is one of your guests needs a charter, but I thought Adam put them all under house arrest.”

  Joe might be a voice of reason, but he obviously had his hooks in the rumor mill, too. “That’s not really true. They’re free to come and go as they please. Adam did ask them to not leave town though.”

  “Oh?” The blue eyes flashed with interest.

  “It’s standard procedure in a murder.” Rick flipped one hand nonchalantly. “It’s a precaution in case further questioning is needed.”

  “And Adam didn’t take one of them in?”

  “That was Mr. Richardson. And he did ask him to update his statement.”

  “Well…interesting. Thanks for the clarification.”

  “No problem.”

  “You must want a boat, then,” Joe said.

  “The guests are looking for a sunken Spanish galleon.”

  “Aren’t they all?”

  Rick shook his head and stared at Joe. “I don’t understand.”

  “Half my business comes from treasure hunters.” Joe’s blue eyes flicked over to a picture on the wall. A young woman in a black cap and gown smiled at the camera. “Gotta love ‘em. They put Sally through college.” He turned back to Rick. “Which one are they looking for this time?”

  “The San Manuel.”

  Joe harrumphed as he pulled on the white glove and picked up the coin he’d placed on the counter earlier.

  “Those look pretty old,” Rick said.

  “They are.” Joe examined the coin and set it inside the glass display case next to four others. They were all lined up in a neat row. “From my younger days.”

  “Nice. That one looks familiar.”

  Joe rested his finger about an inch above the coin Rick had indicated. “It’s a twenty-dollar Liberty gold piece. It was quite a find.” He closed the back of the case and pulled off the glove. “But, you’re not here to admire my little coin collection. The San Manuel—that’s the sunken ship Francine was talking about. Never heard of it before. Based on the story she rattled off, it sounds pretty implausible.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I’m somewhat of a history buff—especially the nautical variety. Too many of the facts in Francine’s little tale don’t mesh with historical fact. Of course, knowing Francine, she might have embellished the details in her version.”

  Rick chuckled. “Point taken.” The Mayor was, if nothing else, confident in her interpretation of the world. He rested one elbow on the case. “What did she say?”

  “Something about a Dutch navigator working with a Spanish captain—the thing is, the Dutch were busy wi
th a revolt around that time. Same old thing. In those days, it was the Protestants not being happy with the Catholic crown.”

  “Some things never change,” Rick said.

  “Only the names.” Joe paused and leaned forward on both elbows. “The route for the Incan gold would have taken them south, not north. Even the most inexperienced captain would have turned around long before they got to California. No. I just can’t buy it.”

  “I’ve got eight guests—make that seven—who are convinced this thing is real. Could there be something they know—maybe some previously undiscovered detail—that you don’t?”

  “Sure. There are all sorts of possibilities. I’m not saying it couldn’t happen. To me though, the whole thing is simply not believable. The fact is, it’s easy to get eight people to believe in something no matter how bogus it is.”

  With that, Rick had to agree, but just because the experts defined a set of “facts” didn’t make them correct, either. It wasn’t a point Rick wanted to argue. “Tell me something, Joe. You’re the second person today who’s quizzed me about the murder. It must be all over the local grapevine. What are they saying?”

  “Murder’s a big deal here. It just doesn’t happen. Oddly enough, there’s surprisingly little on it. Devon seems to have the most.”

  “I’ll tell you the same thing I told him, which is I can’t talk about an ongoing investigation.”

  “No worries.” Joe winked and gave Rick a sly smile. “I see Devon at Bayside Coffee most mornings. You should stop in sometime. It’s quite the little hotspot.”

  Rick flinched at the memory of his conversation with Devon. He’d let slip the story about the monopod and why he’d called out Adam. Even rationalized that he was helping to quell rumors, not spread them. But he hadn’t counted on people warping the facts and now that information was working its way through the town.

  “It sounds like the news is moving faster than the truth,” Rick said.

  “You want me to tell you what I heard?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  Joe’s smile broadened as he leaned forward. When he was done, a sense of relief came over Rick. The rumor had the facts mostly correct.

  “There’s only one thing wrong,” Rick said, “Mr. Richardson wasn’t arrested. He was merely questioned.”

  “Got it,” Joe said. “I’ll be sure to pass it along.”

  Rick suppressed a snicker. He was confident Joe would be on the phone at the first available moment. He also resolved to ask Marquetta who the big town gossips were. He already knew about Francine, Devon, and Joe Gray. How many more were out there lurking? His pulse quickened. Could he get away with a white lie about his real reason for being here? Perhaps. What did he have to lose?

  Chapter 23

  RICK

  Rick considered his options one last time. If he launched into questions about Marquetta’s father, Joe might not answer, and Marquetta would probably find out what he’d done. No, he had to continue the ruse.

  “We kind of got off track. With your background, it sounds like yours is the best place to find my guests a boat for their little excursion.”

  “Happy to help. I’ve seen a bunch of these treasure hunters come and go. Right now the weather is good—no storms in sight. My schedule’s clear if they want to go out in the next day or two. In another couple of weeks I’ll be swamped, so this works out well.”

  Amazing, Joe showed no signs of having heard from Devon. It appeared the handyman was, for now, keeping their discussion private. Which meant Rick could finish this ruse and get to his real purpose in coming here.

  “I’ll be sure to let them know. Have you had much success—finding treasure, that is?”

  Joe shrugged and his upper lip curled. “Most of the people coming here fail. They’re amateurs who rely more on luck and prayers than solid information. There have been a few successes, but even for the ones who show up prepared, they still need luck and good fortune.”

  Rick burst out laughing. “That’s what I’ve been doing wrong. I always thought those two were the same. I need some of both right now.”

  “It would be good fortune to have a reliable map. They’ll still need some luck to actually find a sunken ship.”

  “That whole thing is strange. They each have one part of—well, it looks like a nautical chart or something.” Rick proceeded to described how each guest had received an invitation along with their individual map section.

  “Somebody cut it up?” Joe blinked and his jaw dropped. “You can’t be serious. How old is it?”

  “I’m not sure. The paper’s yellowed and looks brittle. I’m no expert, but it sure appears to be an antique. If you buy what they’re saying, it’s from the sixteenth century.”

  Joe’s thin eyebrows narrowed. “Strangest thing I’ve ever heard.” He stared down at the coins in his display case. “Why would anybody in their right mind deface a valuable artifact like that? It’s either a fake or these people don’t have a lick of sense.”

  “I kind of hoped you’d enlighten me about it. Or maybe the legend.”

  “No can do.” Joe raised his palms and shook his head. “Even if you had one of those map sections, I’m not the guy to talk to. You want Howie Dockham. He owns Howie’s Collectibles. Worked for some big east coast museum as a curator before he retired here. Howie’s a good guy. Loves this kind of stuff. He uses the shop to keep himself occupied during the day.”

  “I’ve seen it, but I’m not sure we’ve ever met.”

  “You can’t miss the guy. He has the motorized wheelchair with the big flag. His big thrill is racing the tourists at the intersections.”

  “Oh, him. We have met.” Rick crossed his arms over his chest. “He almost ran me down. I wasn’t too happy with him at the time.”

  “That’s Howie. For a stamp collector who can’t walk, you might say he’s pretty adventurous.” Joe chuckled and gave a firm nod of his head. “Check with him. He knows his stuff.”

  As the conversation wound down, Rick’s anxiety grew. He still had the big question he wanted to ask. He’d passed on a couple of opportunities to weave it in and now he’d run out of questions. Out of time. Misgivings or not, he had to ask what this man knew or give up. “You said you worked with different treasure hunters over the years.”

  “Some very good ones.” Joe let out a wistful sigh.

  “Was one of those Neal Weiss?”

  “Good man. Shame, the way he died.” Joe turned to study a picture on the wall of two men. Grief crept into Joe’s eyes. He ran a hand through his silvered hair. “I’m surprised Marky told you about him.”

  One of the men in the photo was obviously a younger version of the man before him; Rick supposed the other might be Neal Weiss. They stood on the docks in front of a boat that reminded Rick of a fishing trawler. He bit his tongue. Did he tell another lie? Confess his reason for this visit? Instead, he waited.

  “You need to give Marky a little space right now.” Joe cleared his throat. “We’re coming up on the anniversary of her father’s death.”

  An uncomfortable heat rushed into Rick’s cheeks. Why hadn’t he ever asked her about this? Yes, he thought—her, not others. But, like a moth drawn to a flame, he couldn’t stop himself. “Is that why she’s been on edge lately?”

  “Might not have been so bad, but this group you’ve got here—it must be bringing back a lot of memories. Neal was a top-notch seaman. He had a fifty-foot boat and a seasoned crew. He made a small fortune taking treasure hunters out on all sorts of expeditions. It’s just like your guests, they get word about these legends or find some doodling on a napkin and the next thing you know they’re gambling away their life savings hoping fate will smile on them.”

  Rick shot another glance at the picture of the men in front of the boat—which didn’t look like a fishing trawler at all. There were no nets. No poles or lines. It had to be for excursions. “Marquetta said he was chasing treasure all the time.”

  “Neal had th
e fever, all right. He developed quite a name for himself. On his last expedition, he had two divers, a maritime archaeologist, and a boatload of state-of-the-art equipment. There was a ton of money being thrown at him.”

  “Sounds like he was a lot more professional than this group.”

  “He was one of the best, but he’s the reason I say even the good ones need a healthy dose of luck. The thing about luck is that it’s fickle. And toward the end, Lady Luck was not smiling on Neal Weiss. Call it what you want, things were starting to go wrong. It got so bad his backers threatened to pull out.”

  Was this Marquetta’s secret? Something so simple as her father failing? “What happened?”

  “They gave him a fool’s errand—find the treasure or lose your reputation.” Joe closed his eyes and sighed. “He started taking chances, but still came home empty. The backers gave him one final ultimatum, so he went out despite heavy seas. He knew better. So did his crew. But they believed in him—and he believed in himself.”

  With his heart in his throat, Rick waited and watched as Joe stared at the photo. The older man blanched as though memories were flooding his thoughts. Rick knew the feeling well.

  After a long breath, Joe wiped his cheek and sniffled. “It was a bitter day. Windy. Cold. Rain coming and going. Despite that, half the town turned out. I’ll never forget Marquetta out there at the very edge of the docks. Heartbreaking. I can see her now—this little girl standing next to her mother waving goodbye to her daddy. A man she’d never see again.”

  Joe sniffled and swiped at his cheek. “God himself couldn’t have conducted a safe dive in weather like that, but Neal and his crew were determined. They were the best, and they felt they were invincible. But by the end of that day, every member of that crew was bone tired, and they still had nothing. The seas were treacherous. Neal had one diver left in the water when he pulled the plug on the operation. He was helping his diver climb on board when a wave caught them sideways. Neal was washed overboard.”