Deadly Treasure - A Charlie Flanigan Mystery Novel (Book 1) (Charlie Flanigan Mystery Series)

by Matt Day

  “Sorry, Captain.” Jimmy pushed himself back from the rail of the boat and gave the captain a small grin, “I asked if we didn’t fish in the same area last week.”

  “Of course we did. We didn’t do any good either, but that’s exactly why I brought us back out here. Sometimes after a big storm, the sea gets all churned up and bad fishing grounds become a plethora of fish just waiting to be hauled into shore.”

  Jimmy nodded, and then he pointed to the side of the boat, “It looks like the storm churned more than the fish up. Look down there!” He leaned over the rail of the boat once again, pointing to an area, in the vicinity of 2 o’clock, so the captain would have no problem finding what had captured his attention.

  Captain Maclean decided to humor the young man and leaned dutifully over the rail to peer down into the crystal clear water of the Atlantic Ocean. They were only about forty-five miles from shore, and while the waters around them were hundreds of feet deep, this particular area hosted a sandbar only about sixty-feet deep and bordered by a small reef.

  The sandbar stretched aboutt a quarter mile in length, and was almost half that in width. It was an oddity to find such shallow water this far from the mainland, but seasoned fishermen knew the bounty that was to be had there.

  Lying on the western edge of the Gulf Stream, the shallow depth and natural geology provided a perfect area for fish, and thus, a perfect area for a fishing boat. It was also a perfect hunting ground for larger fish, which were after a quick meal; for not a lot of effort.

  Squinting to dispel the light of the sun reflecting off the water, Captain Maclean peered down into the water, immediately seeing what had caught young Jimmy’s attention.

  “Do you see it?” Jimmy asked excitedly, he switched his weight from foot to foot until the captain scowled at him. Stopping, he tried to contain his enthusiasm, but nothing he did seemed to help. “So, you see it, right?” he asked again, watching the Captain for signs that he’d done something good.

  “Sure do. Hey boys,” Captain Maclean called to the rest of his crew, smiling broadly at what he hoped was going to make it a very good day. “Come on over here.”

  The crew consisted of five men including the captain: Jimmy Spencer was the youngest; next was Tommy Collins, a forty-something ex-convict who appeared to have learned his lesson and was now walking the straight and narrow, earning a respectable living as a fisherman; the last two men were brothers and had worked alongside Captain Pat Maclean for over thirty years. Jacob and Joseph Parker had been friends with Pat Maclean since the trio was in high school together. While Jacob had stayed in the Daytona Beach area, Joseph had left right after high school, returning only a few weeks ago.

  Joseph was the black sheep of his family, a recovering alcoholic, and had most recently been a “guest” of the state of New York for taking a car that didn’t belong to him. After being released, he had returned to Daytona Beach, and the support of his family, in an effort to get his life headed in the right direction once again. Both of the Parker brothers were loners and pretty much kept to themselves when not out fishing.

  As far as the Captain went, he was not only well known around town, but also equally well liked. After Pat’s dad retired and he had assumed the captain’s duties for the fishing boat, Jacob had joined him as first mate. Now that Joseph had returned to the fold, the three men had joined forces and everything seemed to be going fine.

  “Look at that, would ya?” Joseph nudged his brother in the shoulder with his elbow.

  “I see it. You don’t think...,” Jacob broke off; not wanting to jinx it by verbalizing what he hoped was down there.

  “I do.”

  The other men all agreed with nods of their heads. “Well boys, who’s up for a little dive today?” Captain Maclean asked the group, mentally counting the seconds until Jimmy raised his hand to volunteer. The kid had ambition; misplaced most of the time, but nonetheless, he was always ready to volunteer.

  “I’m up for a dive,” Jimmy stated eagerly.

  “I’m sure you are, boy, but this job requires some experience.” Turning to face the captain, Tommy volunteered his services instead, “I can be ready to go in a few minutes.” Leaning over the side of the boat, he gauged the depth to be around fifty to sixty feet, shallow enough to do a normal dive and spend a few minutes exploring whatever the storm had uncovered for them.

  “Good. Let me know when you’re ready.” Captain Maclean took another look over the side of the boat before walking back to the cabin and marking the exact coordinates of their location down on a scratch pad sitting nearby. He was a stickler for keeping notes, and normally would have marked their location on his map; but not this time! He was going to do everything he could to safeguard he and his crew’s future. No, he would make note of their location, but not someplace where it would be easily found. A small piece of notebook paper with numbers written upon it wouldn’t stir anyone’s curiosity. Only he would know of the numbers’ significance in the days to come.

  *****

  Once they returned and the boat was docked for the night, the crew decided that the day’s find was cause for a low key celebration. Captain Maclean declined to join the men in a drink at the local watering hole they all favored – Mac’s Place. He was anxious to get home to his wife and share with her everything that had transpired on their fishing trip.

  He didn’t even think about not sharing with Carol the events of the day. She was his wife and he would celebrate with her, and then remind her of the need for discretion. He trusted her to keep quiet, and he smiled as he made his way home. The ocean had just paid him in spades for his many years of toil upon her surface.

  The other crewmembers entered the small bar, talking and jesting with one another. They all ordered beers, except for Joseph who simply ordered a soda, and found a table near the back of the establishment. They spent the next hour drinking and talking about mundane things, all of them keeping in mind the warning Captain Maclean had given them before disembarking, “Keep quiet about what we found today! We don’t want everyone coming out here trying to usurp our claims before we have a chance to stake our ownership rights.”

  Jacob and Joseph left the bar first, having finished their drinks, and Joseph informing the group he had some place he needed to be. Jacob was proud of the way Joseph had handled being in the bar and not giving in to the burning desire to fall off the wagon he had laboriously climbed upon several months earlier.

  The fact of the matter is that Joseph had a serious drinking problem, and had only recently discovered that, with some support from others going through the same problem, he could get a handle on the alcoholism that was threatening to ruin his life. Jacob dropped his brother off at St. Peter’s Catholic Church for his Monday night meeting, and then headed home himself. The excitement of the day had worn off, and he was exhausted. Knowing the next few days were going to be very tiresome, he called it an early night, not even bothering to contact his girlfriend of the moment who worked at the local grocery store. He would stop and see her in the morning before he went to work.

  Joseph attended his meeting, the effort to not disclose what had happened during his day weighing heavily on his mind. After the meeting, his mentor came up to him, inquiring if everything was all right. He smiled at the man, a local pilot who worked for a regional airline. He assured him that he was just tired, and agreed to have lunch with him when the weekend rolled round. He wanted to share with him his good fortune, but Captain Maclean’s warning echoed in his ears and he stopped himself just in time.

  Chapter 6

  Late afternoon, Wednesday, August 27, 1955…

  Charlie couldn’t get the police chief’s words out of his head. He walked the two blocks back towards the Halifax River, turning at Beach Street and heading towards his small, but comfortable home. It was very convenient living in downtown Daytona Beach. On one side was the Halifax River with his amphibious plane berth and on the other side was the Halifax Marina, where he kept his 60-foot
wooden sailboat.

  Charlie’s house was located directly between the two places, which was very handy for him. As he entered his small two-bedroom bungalow styled house, he realized that he had forgotten to eat lunch, a mistake that could be extremely hazardous to his health. Charlie was a type 1 diabetic.

  He hadn’t known he was diabetic, until his injury while in the U.S. Navy. The problems with his blood sugar had been diagnosed while he was in the hospital recovering from his plane crash, and his life had forever changed.

  He injected himself with Insulin, at least two times a day, sometimes even three. Checking his urine for the presence of sugar had become so commonplace, he didn’t even have to think about it now. He simply acted on remote control some mornings.

  He headed into the bathroom, and went through the motions of checking to see how badly he had messed up by not eating. When only a faint orange color appeared, he spared himself the dreaded injection, opting to go get some food in his system and check his levels again before bedtime.

  As he left the bathroom, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror that hung over the sink, grimacing when he saw the small blood stains on the back of his pants. He must have brushed up against the storage box on the boat when he lifted Captain Maclean to the deck.

  After changing into a clean pair of slacks, he dumped the soiled ones in a pile by the front door; he would take them to the cleaners on his way into work the next morning. He spent a few minutes checking through the daily mail before he decided that some company tonight would help to turn his mind from re-playing images of the dead bodies he’d seen earlier.

  Heading over for dinner to his favorite hangout spot seemed like a good idea, as did taking a drive down the beach. He grabbed his keys and headed back outside. Charlie didn’t consider himself materialistic, but he had discovered a love of automobiles early on in life. Currently, he was the owner of a 1955 Chevrolet Bel Air convertible, in Larkspur Blue with Ivory White accents.

  The soft top provided him with the ability to ride with the wind blowing across his head, or offering him equal protection from the rain. The car was powerful, with a 283 engine, and the sense of joy he got from driving the car gave him a great deal of pleasure.

  *****

  Charlie Flanigan was somewhat of a complex man. He was born and raised in Daytona Beach, had two sisters and a brother, parents who truly cared for each other and their children, and had been raised to be a good Catholic boy. He’d only been nineteen during the height of World War II, with a love for his country and his newly married wife.

  His parents had instilled in their children a deep seated sense of patriotism, and one evening, after watching yet another censored video clip of the war going on, he had gone down to the local Navy recruiting office and enlisted right on the spot. They had been overjoyed to take him, seeing as how he already had his pilot’s license.

  His new wife, Mary Lou, had been shocked and saddened by his actions. She had just gone to the doctor earlier that day, and was overjoyed to learn that she was due to have a baby in a few months. When Charlie had returned from the Naval recruiting office, she had surprised him with a nice dinner and the news from the doctor. When Charlie had shared his news, she had broken down in tears, urging him to immediately un-enlist. That wasn’t an option and he spent the next few days trying to console her.

  Charlie had initially regretted his decision, feeling like he had let his wife and his family down, but after watching the military’s videos of the atrocities being committed by the Nazis; he wanted to be part of the solution. It wasn’t long before Charlie was more than ever committed to fighting the Nazis, and his regret at possibly missing the birth of his first child faded away.

  Three weeks later, he left U.S. soil, having passed his Naval flying exams and was headed for the European theater. He flew cargo planes for the U.S Navy for the first ten months of his service, until the fateful day when his plane was severely damaged during a cargo drop behind enemy lines. He’d made it back to the English Channel, but had been forced to parachute out of the plane, and upon hitting the surface of the ocean, landed incorrectly and severely injured his right shoulder, tearing ligaments and muscles. Tragically, the rest of his crew perished in the crash.

  The injury healed, but not well-enough to meet Naval standards for solo flights. Instead, he was placed in military intelligence, utilizing his skills at map reading and navigation from the air. He became the eyes and ears of his pilot and was responsible for helping spot the enemy ground troops and relaying their coordinates to the allied forces fighting down below.

  When he finally came home, the war was over, he had a three-year old daughter he’d never met, and a wife he didn’t know any more. During his time abroad, his father, Jimmy Flanigan, had retired from the service station he’d run since before Charlie could remember, handing the reins over to his older brother Stephen. Stephen had married his high school sweetheart, and was father to both a boy and a little girl. His mother, Erin, had retired from teaching at the local high school, and his two sisters had grown up and gotten married. Life had changed in so many ways; it was like coming back to a foreign country.

  He had tried to make the adjustment back to civilian life, but the struggle had gotten to the point that unless he had a little alcohol to help, he couldn’t handle being around the family, friends and neighbors who were always trying to cheer him up.

  His brother had offered to let him help at the service station, but after only a day, Charlie realized that was not the place for him. His wife had been the one to suggest he offer a charter service to the tourists who were always looking for a convenient way to travel to the Bahamas, the Keys, or Havana.

  Charlie loved to fly, and after only a few trips, he had found his calling. The downside was that business was sporadic and he needed something else to do.

  His entrance into the private investigative business came by accident one day when he encountered a mother whose seven-year-old son had gone missing. They were visiting the area from up north, and she had left him playing in the sand on the beach in front of their hotel. She had begged him to help her search for her son, and Charlie had shrugged his shoulders and given it a shot.

  After asking a few questions, it had become obvious that the young man had grown tired of waiting for his mother to take him to get ice cream. The mother noticed that her wallet was missing during Charlie’s search of their hotel room and his subsequent questioning. Charlie put two and two together, and ten minutes later the boy was no longer missing.

  Charlie had felt so fulfilled after that incident. Several more incidents occurred over the next few weeks and he discovered a knack for unraveling a mystery. Word started to spread around town, and Charlie found himself being contacted by more and more people who had heard he could help them solve a puzzle.

  During this time, he continued to drink, heavily at times, but never around his wife or child. He had been raised better than that, and while he might drown his sorrows in beer or Scotch down at the bar, he always made sure he was somewhat sober before going home.

  His family tried to talk to him about his drinking, but he kept assuring them he could handle it. He could stop anytime he wanted to. He was still in control.

  He heard those same things from the lips of a stranger eight weeks later; the day that same stranger made the choice to get behind the wheel of his car after drinking, and killed his wife and daughter.

  Chapter 7

  Charlie’s wife, Mary Lou, had been crossing the street with his little girl, Sarah, holding her hand and chattering on about the sand castle they had just finished building, when a car had come out of nowhere and struck them both down. Mary Lou had been killed instantly, but not his little girl. She had been rushed to the local hospital, enduring two hours of surgery, but that hadn’t been enough to save her. She had died an hour later, hooked up to a myriad of machines, her little body battered and broken. She had lost the fight for survival and joined her mother in heaven.
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  Charlie had been on an emergency charter run at the time of the accident and didn’t hear about their deaths until four hours later when he returned to Daytona Beach to find his family waiting for him, tears in their eyes, and running down their cheeks.

  He’d known something tragic had occurred, and after receiving the news, had locked himself inside his home, wanting everyone to disappear and let him grieve in peace. His brother had said to hell with that and shouldered his way inside, not willing to let him go through this tragedy alone.

  He’d gotten drunk that night, and the next one after that. It wasn’t until the day after the funeral when he’d read the police report – when he’d read the words of the drunk who’d destroyed his world, that he realized it could have been him behind the wheel of that car. It could have been him that had destroyed someone else’s life.

  He’d cried upon his brother’s shoulder, asking him to help him stop. Stephen had already done his research and introduced Charlie to a man named Bob who was a member of an organization called Alcoholics Anonymous. Bob didn’t pull any punches, or try to be tactful; he called it as he saw it and told Charlie straight up he needed to get control of his life.

  Charlie started attending weekly meetings, and after several years, he became a senior member and mentor to others just coming into the program. He’d been dry for over ten years now, and was pleased to know that even after the trying events of the day, his desire was for friendship and a good conversation, not a bottle of Scotch.

  *****

  He put the top down on the convertible, needing to feel the wind blowing through his hair. Maybe if he drove far enough the images from the boat would start to fade. Since it was afternoon, he headed across the Orange Avenue Bridge to the beach access, and then turning south, headed down the beach towards Ponce Inlet. What a pleasure to be able to drive on the beach! After arriving at the North turn, he pulled over and walked a short distance along the sand dunes and saw palmettos.