by Sandra Hill
Frank nodded his acceptance of that part of her story. “Why did you tell me that your family heirlooms were on that boat?”
“Because they were . . . are. Before the war, my family had many holdings in Italy. When the Nazis arrived, they evicted my grandmother and all her family, allowing them to take nothing with them, including the Sea Witch, which belonged to my family. Those jewels belong to me now.” Rosa pounded her chest for emphasis.
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before?” Frank asked.
“Would you have agreed to the project?” Rosa countered.
“Probably not.”
“See, Franco,” she told him. “I had to do it this way.”
“Well, I for one have no intention of profiting off Nazi memorabilia, no matter how valuable,” Famosa said, tossing the iron cross onto the table as if it were something foul, which of course it was. God only knew what atrocities that particular officer had committed to earn that medal.
Everyone else in the room agreed, including Rosa.
“Hey, I got enough crap over Mussolini’s toilet,” Frank added, pun probably intended. “The press would crucify me if I added insult to injury by salvaging Nazi items, no matter how historical. And speaking of history, this puts our Project Pink in a whole other arena. I got permits to salvage this ship on the basis that it was a private concern. But if there is any historical significance—and, yes, Nazis fleeing Italy has historical significance—I have an obligation to notify the government, and—”
“And that means the items, including my family jewels, would be confiscated by the government,” Rosa finished for Frank.
“At the least, the whole mess would be tied up in courts for years. You might get them back eventually.” What Frank didn’t say was that, even if Rosa had proof that the treasure had once been her family property, it would be hard, if not impossible, to convince a court that a Mafia family had gained anything by legal means.
“This is a freakin’ cluster fuck,” Peachey muttered.
Ronnie was more polite in her language. “What a monumental mess!”
That about summed it up for all of them, though Jake was leaning more toward Peachey’s assessment.
“There is a way to handle this,” Guido, the lawyer, offered. The guy was short and slim, fiftyish, and wore a suit that was probably worth a small car. On his fingers were four rings, two on each hand—forefingers and pinkies. This bit of vanity was balanced by dark eyes that flashed with intelligence. “Wait a few days to notify the government. Take out the family property and then let the government have the rest. What Uncle Sam doesn’t know won’t hurt him. That way we get what the Menotti family wants. Your project members profit, too. And the historical objects remain untouched.”
“Phew! I don’t know. If the Park Service got wind of this . . . ,” Frank said.
“They won’t,” Guido assured them in a steely undertone steeped in hidden warning.
“The mob would put a hit on anyone who dared breathe the secret to authorities,” Jake whispered in Ronnie’s ear.
Her eyes shot to his in alarm.
“What if I refuse?” Frank asked.
“You won’t,” Guido said, still with that steely undertone.
“Hits “R” Us,” Jake whispered to Ronnie again. He loved finding excuses to get so close to her. And he saw her do a little shiver, which meant that she liked it, too. He knew her tells like a poker playbook. He hadn’t been married to and divorced from the same woman for nothing.
Frank was no fool. He had to recognize that they were virtual prisoners here now. One way or another, the Menottis were not going to let them leave the site till their family jewels were up on deck. Never mind that they had the Amish Terminator and the Cuban Rambo on board. Mafia boats were probably circling within a ten-mile radius of this site.
Jake raised a hand. “Can I say something?” When no one objected, he said, “Life is like a game of poker.” Ronnie groaned beside him, but he didn’t let that deter him. “You can either play aggressively or let what happens happen. A rounder or a grinder.” He cut a quick glance at Ronnie, a grinder to the core. Then he continued. “I say we play aggressive. Do the dives. Collect the treasures or artifacts. Inform the government as soon as possible. And keep a few secrets, as long as no ethical boundaries are crossed.”
“I’ll do it, but how do I know you’ll keep your end of the bargain?” Frank asked Rosa, not Guido.
Rosa reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a silver object—a ladies’ switchblade. Laying her white-skinned arm on the table, palm up, she made a light slit across her wrist, then motioned with her head for Frank to do the same. Incredibly, he did. Once they both had thin red lines on their wrists, Rosa pressed hers against his, melding their life fluids. “Blood brother and blood sister we are now. There will be no betrayal.”
All of them on the Pink Project side of the table and those standing by the range gaped at the spectacle they’d just witnessed, then released the breaths they’d been holding.
“Now,” Rosa said, standing, “what is that wonderful smell?”
“Crab étouffée.” Tante Lulu handed her a damp paper towel to wipe her wrist.
“Wonderful! Tony, bring some of that wine I brought with me today,” Rosa said, then turned to Tante Lulu. “What can I do to help? I could make some garlic bread.”
Unbelievable! The Godfather—rather, Godmother—one minute, and Betty Crocker the next.
As everyone got up and shuffled out to do their various jobs related to the next dive, Frank stopped midway up the steps. “One more thing, Rosa. Anything else you haven’t told me?”
Rosa’s olive complexion turned red. “Well, there is this itty-bitty thing. It’s about those pink diamonds I mentioned. They happen to be set in my grandmother’s heirloom necklace. It’s gold, heavy gold, and its rare pink diamonds are arranged around a large center stone with decreasingly smaller gems on each side. The Pink Teardrop Necklace it is a called. And . . .”
Oh, shit! A necklace with a name. That surely spells big trouble, Jake thought.
“And what?” Frank prodded.
“It once belonged to Queen Isabella of Spain, the one who sent Columbus on his journey.”
Big, big trouble!
“Which means it’s worth a fortune,” Flossie, their eBay expert, said; although, he didn’t imagine they got much Queen Isabella crap on eBay. But then, who knew! If they could sell a grilled cheese sandwich with the Blessed Mother imprint on it, why not ol’ Isabella’s bling-bling?
Frank put his face in his hands.
Jake saw a gleam of maniacal menopause madness in Flossie’s eyes and elbowed Frank as a warning not to criticize Flossie’s eBay passion right now. It would take only one jab by Frank to set her off. In that schizo mood, she could probably take down the whole Mafia mob herself.
“It’s worth more than a fortune to my family, and don’t be telling me it has historical importance and therefore belongs to the government. It was honestly my great-grandmother’s property, passed down through the generations by a Lambini ancestor who did a favor for the royal family of Spain.”
Probably offed some enemy of the queen.
“I can prove it with photographs.” Rosa whipped out a sepia-toned photograph that showed a dour-faced Italian woman—she was probably in the throes of menopause—staring at the camera. On her neck was a heavy necklace with a pigload of diamonds, just as Rosa had described.
“What else?” Frank demanded.
“Five Fabergé eggs and an antique snuffbox collection; although they may not have survived underwater all these years, even if they are in protective cases.”
Flossie started to say something about eBay and Fabergé eggs, but Frank cut her off, still glowering at Rosa. “And?”
“That’s all.” Rosa beamed.
Frank, who rarely drank hard liquor, said, “I need a shot . . . or five.”
“I have some tequila in my duffel bag,” Jake announc
ed.
Ronnie practically got whiplash as her head jerked in his direction.
He winked at her.
“And I need a good lawyer,” Frank added.
Ronnie and Guido raised their hands at the same time—a match made in heaven.
The best-laid plans . . .
That afternoon, Frank looked around the Sweet Jinx deck at all the carefully choreographed professional treasure-hunting activity going on around him related to the dive, and he was pleased.
“Well, Frank, everything going according to plan?” Flossie asked him in a tone dripping with sarcasm. She was lying on a lounge chair in the shade of the wheelhouse overhang, reading a romance novel, something about virile Norse Vikings.
Hah! He could show her a thing or two about virile Polish Vikings. Especially if this dive was successful today. Man, there was nothing better than adrenaline sex, even better than makeup sex, in his opinion. He must have grinned because Flossie made that tsking sound women throughout time have perfected. Eve probably tsked at Adam the same way.
“Yes, honey, everything is going according to plan,” he replied after deciding to ignore her sarcasm. “Looks like we’re going to recover some treasure. I’ve got my granddaughter on the boat, and she’s excited about the project, really excited. I think I’m gonna be able to convince her to stay on with Jinx, Inc., even after the Pink Project is completed. And, best of all, she and Jake are together again . . . or they will be once the two of them realize they can’t live without each other.”
Flossie laughed. “You can’t interfere in people’s lives like this. It’s going to come back and bite you in the butt.”
“Why are you being such a Negative Nelly? Be a little more positive here, sweetie. Just think, three months from now, you and I could very well be on the first leg of our trip around the world.”
“I hope that’s the case, but you need to be realistic. Ronnie is going to find out that you tricked her, and all hell is going to break loose then.”
Tante Lulu, who had been sleeping, in fact, snoring, on the lounge chair next to Flossie, sat up abruptly and almost fell off the chair. Once she righted herself, she said, “What you needs is a love plan.”
Frank wet a new cigar with his lips, cut off the tip, and lit it. He inhaled deeply and exhaled with a sigh of satisfaction and a cloud of smoke. Then he addressed the old lady—not that he wasn’t an old man, but it was hard not to regard her that way. “A love plan? I like the sound of that.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Flossie scoffed, but she was all ears, too.
“I’m all for plans,” he said, giving Flossie a knowing leer.
“I would like to see Jake and Ronnie back together, too,” Flossie explained to Tante Lulu. “But I think we should all stay out of it and let things happen naturally.”
Tante Lulu reached for a glass of iced “sweet tea” sitting in the built-in cup holder on the arm of her lounge chair. She’d made a pitcher of the Southern beverage for them all after lunch. Then she asked Flossie, “How’s that workin’ for you so far?”
God bless her. She’s a regular Dr. Phil. And, man, she thinks the same way I do.
Flossie’s shoulders sank with resignation. “What can we do?”
“In my family, we have a tradition of all the family members ganging up on the couple to get them together in the end, iffen they caint manage to get together themselves. Once, we all dressed up like the Village People and did a Cajun version of them. Once, Remy got up on stage at the Women’s Club banquet in his air force uniform and pretended like he was Richard Gere carryin’ off Debra Winger in that movie An Officer and a Gentleman. Once, Rusty rode down the streets of Houma on his horse and carried Charmaine off with him. And once we held a surprise wedding.”
Frank’s jaw dropped, and Flossie said, “Are you for real?”
“‘Course I’m for real. We Cajuns got a good imagination. And our men are romantical—once we give ’em a good shove in the be-hind.”
“I just can’t picture myself dressing up like a cowboy or a construction worker and shaking my ass around, unless the band was playing a polka.” Frank grinned to himself at the image.
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t mind you pretending to be Richard Gere and carrying me off to have your way with me.” Flossie giggled, batting her eyelashes at him.
He loved when he could make Flossie giggle like a schoolgirl. “Maybe tonight . . . or when we’re back home. I can get out my old Navy uniform and—”
“Would you mind?” Tante Lulu interrupted. “We were talkin’ about getting Jake and your granddaughter together. Here’s what I think. I already suggested to someone—caint recall who; my memory slips sometimes; guess I gotta get me some of that ginkgo stuff. Anyways, I suggested that we lock them up someplace alone together for a few days. Naked. That would do the trick, guaranteed.”
He and Flossie exchanged smiles.
“I like the way you think,” he told Tante Lulu.
“I do, too,” Flossie surprised him by saying.
Hallelujah! She must be loosening up about my plans.
“Hmmm. The problem is, where could they be locked up? I mean, some desert island would be good, but there’s no way I could get the two of them there; maybe Jake, but Ronnie’s too suspicious.” Frank puffed on his cigar a bit, thinking. “It has to be someplace where they couldn’t get out right away.”
“I know, I know.” Flossie was practically jumping up and down in her chair. “The boat.” She tossed her hands out to indicate the boat they were on.
“Yer a genius,” Tante Lulu said. “Are you sure you ain’t Cajun?”
At first, Frank didn’t understand, but then, little by little, he saw the possibilities. “After the project is over, we lure them out to this boat, maybe even at this site. Then we have Brenda tinker with the engine and the radio. And somehow we take their clothes. And, ta da, two naked people on a boat in the middle of nowhere with nothing to do but . . . whoo-ee!”
“More like whoopie,” Tante Lulu quipped.
They all nodded their agreement to the plan.
“We better remember sunscreen,” Flossie joked.
“We’ll make a list,” Tante Lulu suggested. “Lotsa food, mebbe some wine, no books—we doan want them doin’ any readin’ fer entertainment—and music.”
Tante Lulu and Flossie looked at each other and said at the same time, “No polkas!”
He was in a generous mood, so he agreed, but he might slip a polka or two in, anyway.
“Jake loves Sting and the Police. Ronnie likes some country,” Flossie informed them. “I’ll take care of the music.”
“Can I play?” Rosa asked tentatively, peeking around the corner.
Frank hadn’t spoken to Rosa since the big discovery and her subtle coercion to get them to continue. But he wasn’t really mad at her. “Sure, come sit down.”
Rosa had changed from her dress and high heels and was now wearing white sneakers, black slacks, and a white short-sleeved T-shirt that said, “You Gotta Love an Italian.”
“Hey, I gots a T-shirt jist like that.” Tante Lulu motioned for Rosa to sit down next to her. “’Cept mine says, ‘You Gotta Love a Cajun.’” They smiled at each other like old friends.
Good Gawd!
“I love matchmaking,” Rosa began, “and I’m thinking that you will have trouble keeping them on this boat and getting them naked. I have some little knockout pills—”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Frank interjected quickly. Of course the Mafia has knockout pills. Knockout for good, most likely.
“Oh, you!” Rosa swatted him on the arm playfully. “These aren’t illegal drugs or anything. These are just pills that make a person real sleepy, and they last only a short time. Once they wake up, they won’t know what happened to them.” She smiled brightly as if she’d just discovered spaghetti or something.
“I have herbs that’ll do the same thing. No problem.” That came from Tante Lulu, of course.
> “And candles. We should have lots of candles for atmosphere,” Rosa said.
“Good idea,” Flossie said. “I can get a good deal on eBay for dozens of scented candles.”
Frank was about to say “eBay again!” but he’d learned his lesson. Flossie hadn’t had a menopausal maniac mood swing in a couple hours. He wasn’t about to trigger another one by criticizing her buying habits.
“Of course we gotta involve St. Jude,” Tante Lulu added. “Mebbe we should save him fer later. Like after they’s together again, ask him to make sure they doan go separatin’ again.”
“We might not have to do all this. Maybe they’ll get together on their own.” Flossie was ever the hopeful one.
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Frank said.
The four of them reached their right hands out and made one fist to seal the plan.
They had no chance to discuss more because Peach and LeDeux were coming up from the second dive. And they didn’t look happy.
Chapter
19
Where’s a safecracker when you need one . . . ?
Veronica’s stomach roiled with nausea.
It wasn’t her old sea phobia coming back. More likely, this seasickness was caused by this project’s seesaw action, up one minute, down the next. But she popped several Peptos, just to make sure.
“What’s the problem now?” she asked John and Caleb as they came up onto the deck. Their negative expressions were bellwethers that told everyone gathered that bad news was coming.
“Okay, here’s the deal,” John said, once he got his breathing under control. “There’s a safe down there the size of a Volkswagen. It resembles those old-time bank safes. Must weigh five hundred pounds.”
“The problem is,” Caleb picked up where John left off, “under normal circumstances, we would use a water-resistant blowtorch to open the sucker, then remove whatever’s inside. I do it all the time in underwater construction work, like bridge abutments.”
