by Matt Day
Deadly Treasure
A Charlie Flanigan Mystery
Book 1
Matt Day
This is a work of fiction.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. In the event a real name or place is used, it is used fictitiously.
Copyright © 2015 by Clean Sweep Publishing. All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
* * *
This series of books is dedicated to the fine people of Daytona Beach Florida, both past and present, who served as an inspiration for these stories.
Illustrations by Diana Tateo, http://myebooknow.com/
* * *
Thank you for purchasing this Charlie Flanigan Mystery novel, we really hope that you enjoy it.
Be sure to sign up for our email updates to receive special discounts on new releases, and also a free bonus Charlie Flanigan Mystery story.
Sign up for updates at: http://charlieflanigan1.gr8.com/
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 1
Early afternoon, Wednesday, August 27, 1955…
Charlie Flanigan pulled back on the throttle, lowering the flaps on the fixed wings of the aircraft as he expertly guided the small plane down towards the tranquil Bahamian waters below. His Grumman G21, twin-engine seaplane was good naturedly called the “Goose,” which Charlie often thought was appropriate given how smooth she was landing on the water. Her bright white hull, trimmed in red, glistened in the morning sun.
“Mr. Flanigan, we’re not gonna crash, are we?” came the worried voice of little Sally Edmonds from right behind him.
Not taking his attention from the task of landing the seaplane before him, he answered with a chuckle, “Don’t you worry about that. I’ve done this hundreds of times, and I haven’t wrecked yet.”
“Isn’t there a first time for everything?” came the cryptic and dry reply from Sally’s older brother Maxwell. The young boy was probably eleven or twelve, and had been complaining or questioning everything since the plane had left Daytona Beach over an hour ago.
“Not today, son!” To emphasize his statement, Charlie pulled up on the nose of the plane as first the belly, then the pontoons under the wings made contact with the water. He then let the throttle slowly glide forward until the plane was floating smoothly along on the relatively calm waters of Governor's Harbour. He activated the rudder and steered the plane towards the small pier that would allow his passengers to disembark without getting them or their luggage wet.
“Here we go folks, Eleuthera!” When the young kids started to get up, he cautioned them to sit tight. “Hang on there! Let me get the doors open and make sure we’re tied up nice and snug to the dock, then you are more than welcome to climb on down.”
Charlie made his way to the back of the plane, giving Mr. and Mrs. Edmonds a big smile as he passed them, “Just a minute, now.”
He opened the hatch, letting down the ladder, waving to the young man who was already placing the bumpers between the plane and the wooden pilings of the pier. It wouldn’t do to let the waves batter the sides of the plane against the dock, serious damage could ensue, and Charlie had a desire to get back home before nightfall.
“Hi, Mr. Charlee.”
“Hey there, Georgie! How’s things?”
“Good, Good! You bring visitors?” Georgie asked, his Bahamian accent strong and barely understandable.
“Yeah, a family with two kids.”
Georgie smiled and hollered something back to the folks on the shore. Waving at their response, he turned back to Charlie, grinning so that his pearly white teeth shone brightly in the early afternoon sun. “We help with bags?”
“I don’t see why not. I’ll clear it with Mr. Edmonds.” Sticking his head back inside the plane, he addressed the man, “You folks want some help transporting your luggage up to your hotel?”
“Mr. Flanigan, that would be much appreciated.”
“Okay.” He started to pull his head back, but then on an afterthought, he addressed them again, “Take my advice, tip them a few dollars extra and they will help you your entire vacation.”
Mr. Edmonds laughed, “Noted. Thanks. Okay, kids, grab your things and let’s go have some fun. Mrs. Edmonds, are you ready?”
“Yes, dear.” In her blazer, skirt, and heels, Mrs. Edmonds was way overdressed for island living, but Charlie figured after a few days of sand and sun, she’d loosen up.
Charlie withdrew from the plane, removing luggage and piling it neatly on the pier. Georgie and two of his friends were standing by to carry the numerous bags up the beach to the Paradise Hotel, which boasted bungalow style cottages, white sand beaches, and lots of rest and relaxation.
After ensuring everyone had removed their personal items from the plane, he agreed to return two weeks from today to pick the family up and take them back to the states. “Have a wonderful time!” he urged the family, smiling at the antics of the kids as the boy attempted to splash his younger sister, amidst her screams for him to not get her dolly wet. Kids!
After performing his departure check quickly but thoroughly, he untied the ropes securing the plane to the pier, and started up the engines. He taxied out into the beautiful turquoise waters of the harbor, noticing the clear blue skies overhead, looking forward to the return flight home.
His fledgling charter business was booming this time of year as folks from across the country hurried to get one last vacation in before the end of summer. This past week alone he had made four trips, and the week was only half over! His bank account would most certainly appreciate the boost in business.
After taking off, he headed northwest, flying only a thousand feet above the ocean’s surface. About twenty minutes into his flight he spied several fishing boats, and dropped his altitude to get a better look. Recognizing some of them as belonging to fishermen and friends from back home, he dipped his wing, and did a circle above them. Using his binoculars to check, he grinned when they waved back. Charli
e then continued on his heading towards Daytona.
Staying at the lower altitude, he soon spotted another boat, this one a much larger fishing vessel. Recognizing this boat as well, he again dropped his altitude, dipped his wing, and waited for the answering wave from the deck below.
When none was forthcoming, he dropped down yet again, this time only a few hundred feet above the surface of the ocean. He noticed that the outriggers were not deployed as they normally would be and thought that strange, as the boat was quite a ways from shore.
Grabbing his binoculars again, he searched for the name on the stern of the boat, wanting to verify what he was actually looking at. “Big Mama” was proudly displayed across the stern in brilliant orange lettering. A tribute to Captain Maclean’s wife and her favorite color!
Captain Maclean had been piloting the “Big Mama” for most of his adult life and, while Charlie wouldn’t think to question his knowledge of piloting the 67 ft trawler, he found it very odd that the boat appeared to be freely drifting.
He could see several objects on the deck of the boat, but they didn’t appear to be moving. Coming around to the starboard side of the vessel, he looked down to see that the objects were actually people. People who were lying motionless on the deck of the ship! What was that dark stuff on the deck next to one of the bodies?
Coming around for another look, he dropped to a ceiling of about two hundred feet, alarmed to see not one, not two, but the bodies of three individuals lying across the deck of the ship in odd angles. As he watched, the ship rocked wildly as a fair size wave hit it broadside. The large boat listed dangerously over onto its side before returning to a position of normalcy. Something was most definitely not right below!
Chapter 2
Looking again, he gasped as he realized the dark stuff on the deck was more than likely blood. In fact, all three of the bodies appeared to have blood on them, or around them! Something terrible had happened here. There were no immediate signs of life or other crewmembers, and Charlie wondered if anyone was still alive, or if they had been able to radio the Coast Guard for help before being injured.
Charlie debated for another minute or so, and then made his decision. Except for the single rogue wave earlier, the seas were fairly calm today, with only two to three foot swells and little to no wind. It wouldn’t be much different to land on the open water, than it was to land inside a protected harbor. Not in these conditions.
Taking a deep breath, he circled around once more, lowering his flaps to slow his speed, and then edging the Grumman for the open water about twenty yards from the fishing boat. He held his breath as the fuselage made contact with the water, gritting his teeth when the plane bounced twice before the pontoons made contact and stabilized the plane. The ocean wasn’t too choppy, but he hadn’t planned on the current’s ever changing direction. Inside the harbor back at Eleuthera, the current was more predictable.
Gripping the throttle, he revved the engines slightly, trying to visually align the plane so that an unexpected wave didn’t accidentally tip one of the wings beneath the surface of the water, causing the plane to flip and sink.
Once he felt he had control of the plane, he slowly eased the nose of the plane down, only releasing his breath once it was settled and the danger of capsizing had passed. He loosened his hold on the wheel, breathing a sigh of relief, but only for a brief moment. He looked at the fishing boat, gauging the distance and calculating whether or not he could come alongside of it without damaging either the plane or the boat.
Seeing the boat move up and down with the waves, he decided against coming alongside, and opted to get as close as he could to the dive deck that extended several feet behind the stern of the boat. If he could navigate correctly, he could tie up next to that deck, giving his plane plenty of wing clearance.
Deciding it was worth a try, he turned the plane towards the fishing boat, directing it to the stern of the boat. If he could just get close enough, he could tie off and then…
The plane crossed over a rather large wave, the slope side pushing the plane dangerously close to hitting the boat! He had very little maneuverability now that he was gliding across the waves and he held his breath, hoping he wasn’t in for a swim!
Once he was within several feet, he cut the engines, and hurriedly opened the back hatch, throwing the towline over and catching hold of the metal post sticking up on the rear of the boat. The metal post was usually engaged in helping control the fishing lines, but today, it was going to help keep his plane from being smashed to bits against the hull of the boat. Snagging it on the first try, his hopes were raised that he could successfully board the ship from his plane.
He grabbed the foam bumpers from the rear of the plane, making sure to secure their lifelines around the grommets in the plane’s body and then lowered them between the plane and the fishing boat. Once secure, he used the towline he had previously thrown around the guide pole to manually pull the boat and plane together. Having successfully anchored the two craft together, he made his way over to the boat, quickly climbing up the ladder.
He grabbed one of the long sticks stored near the rear of the boat, most commonly used to help rid the nets of unwanted large fish. He wished he had his gun handy, but he wasn’t in the habit of carrying it when he was making a charter run to a foreign country. Deciding he might need to rethink that habit, he gave the stick a slap against his palm. It would have to do for now.
He skirted around the back of the deck, crouching for several moments behind one of the storage boxes kept there for there for the fishing nets. A thought occurred to him that whoever had hurt the crew might still be on the boat. “Hello, anyone around?” he hollered across the deck of the ship.
He waited patiently for someone to either answer, or to show themselves. When neither happened, he called out again, a little louder this time, feeling fairly confident that the only people on the boat were those he’d seen from the air.
He carefully gripped the stick as he rose to his full height of 6’1”, his brown eyes scanning the entire deck for any signs of danger. His trademark Hawaiian print shirt was untucked, and he felt a bead of sweat roll down his spine; most likely due to his nervousness of the moment. He carefully made his way across the slightly rolling deck, horrified as he reached the first of the three bodies.
The man had been shot multiple times in the back, several perfectly round holes evident through his shirt, as he lay crumpled against the wooden boards of the deck. A pool of blood had gathered beneath his body and was now congealed and drying out. Being careful not to contaminate the scene, Charlie bent down and placed his fingertips against the man’s neck, looking for any sign of a pulse.
Finding none, he pushed the man over, slightly relieved when he didn’t immediately recognize him. He looked vaguely familiar, but his face was so battered, even his own mother would have trouble identifying him. Both of the man’s eyes were swollen shut, he had remnants of blood coming from his nose and his mouth, and there were obvious bruises around his neck. Someone had beaten this man up before shooting him in the back!
Glancing down, he saw the exit wounds from the bullets; large gaping holes that had once allowed his life’s blood to pour from his body, but had since that time sealed themselves off. The stiffness of the body and lack of any remaining body heat indicated this man had been dead for quite some time.
Charlie covered his mouth as the breeze shifted and the smell of the dead body assaulted his senses. Yes, this man had been dead for quite some time.
Standing up quickly, he swallowed convulsively, trying to keep the nausea at bay. He needed a moment before he looked at the next body. The brutality the man had suffered before he died had Charlie rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck to dislodge the tension that was beginning to gather there.
After composing himself, he made his way towards the next body, forgetting his stick on the deck. Whoever had caused this tragedy was already long gone, or they would have surely made their presenc
e known to him by now.
The next body was lying halfway on the deck and halfway across the storage boxes kept next to the staircase leading up to the pilot’s chair and deck. He observed the position of the body, and it was as if the man had been trying to escape up the stairs to the wheelhouse when he had been ambushed.
Finding no signs of a pulse in this body, he carefully moved the body from the box, alarmed to find that he did recognize this man. Captain Pat Maclean! His body was stiff with rigor mortis, but Charlie managed to lie him down on the deck after some considerable time and effort.
Like the other victim, Captain Maclean had obviously been beaten before being shot in the chest. The single bullet hole was small, and Charlie didn’t see an exit wound, indicating the bullet had gotten stuck in the body – either becoming lodged in bone, or having been shot from a distance. Either way, it had been effective in snuffing out the life of a man Charlie had known his entire life.
Captain Maclean was an icon amongst the fishermen of Daytona Beach, the go-to man for newcomers and a man of integrity if Charlie had ever met one. His loss would be felt across the entire community.
The Captain had something grasped in his hand, and Charlie carefully removed what appeared to be a small piece of notebook paper with a bunch of numbers on it. It was slightly stained with blood, and Charlie thought it odd that in his dying moments, Captain Maclean had held onto an insignificant piece of paper. Tucking it into the front pocket of his slacks, he stood up and shook his head at the senseless death around him.
He skirted around the wheelhouse to find the body of Jacob Parker, who also had been brutalized before having been shot to death. He didn’t know the Parker family very well, even though they had lived in the Daytona Beach area a long time. There had been two boys if Charlie remembered correctly, both older than him by quite a few years. He remembered his mother talking about them, one having left the area right after high school and not having done very well for himself - if the rumors were to be believed the man was serving a life sentence for theft and murder. Charlie never put much stock in rumors, until they were proven true. And in a small community, the rumors were almost always larger than life and embellished rather heavily.
