Perils and Plunder

by Ami Diane

  She interpreted the sheriff’s question.

  Diego took a rattling breath. The act alone seemed to require great effort. Gently, Ella placed her hand on his burned arm, drawing another wince from him, and asked in Spanish if he wanted her to tell his story.

  She described to him what she’d discovered, asked if it was all true—it was—and waited patiently while he supplied a few details. He strained to get each word out. As she had suspected, his crew had drowned at sea.

  Turning, Ella relayed the story to the sheriff.

  “And the treasure it was carrying?” Chapman asked when she’d finished.

  Flo looked up from her device, her eyes gleaming from a nearby lantern.

  Ella faced Diego. “El tesoro?”

  “Se hundió con los demás.” A drop of sweat rolled down his forehead.

  Ella tried to mask her disappointment as she interpreted, “It sank with the others.”

  Flo continued to stare hungrily. “Ask the pirate if he’s sure.”

  “He’s sure. Also—” Ella pointed at the sailor “—not a pirate. He’s a sailor. A Spanish sailor.”

  The older woman shrugged. “Same thing.”

  Ella ignored her, turning back to Diego. She asked him a question she’d been burning to ask since running into him. If he was alive, then who had she seen hanging from the mast? And in the man’s clothes, no less.

  His sweaty brows pinched in confusion. She explained how she’d gone to the wreck site and what she’d seen.

  His chest heaved, and he spoke two words. “Un espíritu.” A spirit.

  Ella sat back on her heels. Conversation flowed around her as she watched Diego’s eyelids grow heavy, fighting sleep.

  Before living in Keystone, she would’ve dismissed his comment immediately. Now, however, she found herself considering it. If there was one thing the town had taught her it was that the impossible, however strange, was possible. But there was always a logical, scientific explanation. For the jumping and for the depths of human depravity that drove others to kill.

  So, who or what was her phantom?

  The voices resolved, and she realized Chapman was asking Diego a question. The sailor’s eyes fluttered open.

  “Who did this to you?” He pointed a calloused hand at the man’s bandages.

  An uncomfortable silence followed where Flo fidgeted with her device, Wink tightened her jacket around her thin frame, and Ella looked at the floor.

  “Ms. Barton? Can you ask the man how he got injured?”

  “I can, but do we really need to know? I mean—” At the hardening of Chapman’s eyes, she stopped. After sucking in a breath, she relayed his words.

  Diego’s eyes traveled slowly from Ella’s face to Flo. His finger shook as he pointed.

  Flo scraped her fingernail at something on her Ghost Catcher.

  Chapman let out a long-suffering sigh and muttered, “I shoulda known.”

  “You can’t really believe what that pirate says, can you?” Flo whined.

  Chapman said, “Yes” at the same time Ella said, “Not a pirate.”

  Flo’s chin jutted out. “Well, pardon me for trying to keep this town safe. I thought he was a ghost. He was supposed to be dead, after all. If anything, this is Ella’s fault.”

  The room erupted, and it took Chapman threatening to throw everyone in jail before things calmed down again.

  “I think I’ve heard enough from the man. Let’s let him get some rest.” He motioned them out of the room, including the two innkeepers.

  The group reached the entrance hall as the front door opened, and Pauline waddled in, her arms burdened with supplies and her pockets extra bulgy. Rose offered to help and escorted her back to the parlor.

  “You know what this means, don’t you?” Ella asked once the conversation had died down. “I get to break out my pirate jokes.”

  “You said he wasn’t a pirate,” Flo said.

  “He’s not. So now, I can tell them all I want without it being insensitive. Ready for the first one? Okay—”

  “No,” Flo and Chapman said together.

  “Here goes,” she continued, ignoring their protests. “How do pirates know they are pirates?” She rocked on the balls of her feet, bouncing, as she waited.

  “‘Cause they steal?” Flo guessed.

  “Sheriff, do you have a—”

  “No.”

  “Fair enough. The answer is, ‘They think, therefore, they arrrr!’ Get it?” At their blank expressions, she waved them away, dismissing their lack of laughter as a lack of understanding a good joke.

  “Stuff like that’s not funny in your time is it?” Wink asked. “Because, if so, I’m concerned about humanity’s future.”

  “Haha. Go put some clothes on.”

  Wink’s eyes dropped, her expression shifting as if she’d momentarily forgotten she was in her skivvies underneath. After bidding them a goodnight, she walked out the door.

  Soon after, Jimmy and Flo went their separate ways, both yawning. Ella looked at the grandfather clock, seeing that the sun would be rising in another hour. Fatigue hit her like a train.

  Chapman put his hat back on, brushing his fingers across the brim in a farewell. She stopped him as he opened the door. Cool air swept in as he stood, waiting.

  “Yes, Ms. Barton?”

  She wanted to tell him about the professor, about what she’d found, but at this point, it was nothing more than coincidence, conjecture, and speculation. For all she knew, the professor’s paper wasn’t related to time travel at all. No, she’d only tell him if Will confirmed Dr. Kaufman’s posited hypothesis was even possible.

  She pressed a papery thin smile across her face. “Have a good night.”

  CHAPTER 17

  BACON SIZZLED IN the pan. Ella breathed in the scent of home and of early mornings before taking a long swig of coffee.

  Rose strolled into the kitchen, her perfect blonde pin curls bobbing. “Ella, you’re still here?”

  “Yeah, Wink gave me a later shift.”

  Rose’s eyes narrowed behind her cat-eye glasses. “What are you doing?”

  “Cooking breakfast.” Ella took up the spatula on the counter to prove her point and moved a lumpy mass of eggs around in a pan. Grabbing a salt shaker, she sprinkled it over the food, stopped, then sprinkled another generous helping.

  “Are you… are you feeling okay?”

  Ella smiled. “Fine.” Despite what she said though, Rose felt Ella’s forehead as if to check for a fever.

  From the table, Flo set down a gun she’d been cleaning. “Don’t bother asking. She went off her rocker long ago.”

  “Well, at least I’m in good company.”

  Flo stuck out her tongue.

  Scattered across the surface of the rich, shiny wood table was an assortment of weapons, with nary a normal handgun in sight. All either buzzed, hummed, or had lights attached to them.

  Rose rounded, apoplectic. “Florence Henderson! What have I told you? No guns at the table!”

  Ella held up the spatula. “Why can’t you do that downstairs in your speakeasy of death?”

  “Ain’t enough light to see.”

  Rose clutched her pearls and fell silent for several heartbeats before finally saying, “I’m running errands. This table better be cleared off by the time I return.” She gave one last, forlorn look at Ella and the stove then swept out of the room.

  Turning back to her pans, Ella scooted the slimy eggs around some more then stopped to fish a piece of eggshell out. Ten minutes and a boatload of dirty dishes later, she was carrying a breakfast tray full of food into the parlor.

  Orange juice sloshed around inside its cup, threatening to spill over, as she set the tray down on an end table beside a sleeping Diego.

  Ella cleared her voice. When that failed to waken the sailor, she bumped the couch. His eyelids twitched before slowing drawing up.

  “Oops. Did I wake you?” she said in Spanish before pointing at the tray. “Desayuno.�
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  She helped him sit up before lowering herself to the wing chair still pulled up beside him. He took his first bite of scrambled eggs with gusto. At the first crunch of eggshell, his jaw worked less enthusiastically, but he still continued to shovel the eggs—shells and all—into his mouth.

  “Huh, how about that,” she said under her breath. She’d finally found someone who could appreciate her cooking. Maybe not appreciate so much as tolerate.

  He alternated between the eggs and the charred strips of bacon. The pieces of meat made an even louder crunching sound than the egg shells. He seemed to finally sense her staring at him.

  “No hay tesoro.”

  “No, I’m not looking for treasure.” Ella hesitated, wondering how she could bring up Maria discreetly.

  Shrugging, she plunged ahead recklessly, like usual, and asked him what his relationship with the art teacher was. Now that he wasn’t really dead, there was no further need to investigate, and yet, she found herself unable to stop. She knew what she’d seen at the shipwreck, and she wasn’t satisfied with the explanation that the dead sailor had been a ghost.

  She watched his calloused hands tear into another strip of bacon as he told her that Maria was a friend. By the way he said it, she got the impression the woman was just a casual friend, somewhere on the level between Facebook friends and someone who got an annual Christmas card.

  “El tesoro ... ¿qué llevaba el barco?” she said, asking what treasure the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción carried and picking over the words carefully.

  His hands flew in the air, and his voice grew in volume. Juice sloshed over the sides as he gestured angrily. Clearly, he was tetchy about the treasure.

  Ella held her hands up, pacifying him until he calmed down. She explained she was simply curious about the historical aspect of the incident, not the gold itself.

  Breathing heavily, Diego ticked off on his fingers the massive treasure, none of which varied from the information she’d found: gold and silver coins, gold bars, paintings, jewelry, and tapestries.

  She left the sailor behind to enjoy the rest of his barely edible meal in solitude so she could change into her pink gingham waitress uniform.

  After coming back downstairs, she left via the kitchen where she discovered the dining room table still littered with weapons and Flo absent. She clicked her tongue, knowing the older woman had probably left them intentionally to get under Rose’s skin. All she knew was she was glad she wouldn’t be there when the innkeeper returned home.

  Before slipping out the back door, she grabbed her sweatshirt hanging on the back hook. Although a pale blue sky was overhead, the sun still hadn’t climbed high enough to warm the air.

  The next several hours at the diner were a blur. Frank and his compatriot had finally finished the floor and were no longer underfoot. Something in the weather had caused the town’s appetite to double, and there was a steady stream of customers until well after lunch.

  Ella was just dropping onto a stool about to dig into a Belly Buster burger when the door opened. She was halfway off the stool before Wink motioned for her to remain seated.

  “You eat. I got this.”

  The patron who’d come in stood breathless, covered in dirt.

  “Afternoon, Harold. Take a load off,” Wink greeted the dusty man.

  “Didya hear?”

  “Hear what?”

  “Darren Alexander’s dead.”

  Ella dropped her fork. “Dead? Are you sure?”

  The man pulled a handkerchief from his overalls and wiped his forehead, smearing dirt and sweat into a muddy streak. “Positive. I’m the one who found ‘im this morning. Matter of fact, I just finished givin’ my statement to the sheriff.”

  He licked his lips. “Sure could use some of that lemonade of yours, Wink.”

  It was the old Keystone currency: nourishment in exchange for gossip.

  Wink disappeared into the kitchen, and Ella scooted her basket of food over to the man as he dropped onto the stool beside her. He smelled of plowed fields and apple orchards.

  Wink worked her magic and returned in record time, carrying a tray of fries and the tallest glass of lemonade Ella had ever seen.

  “Burger’s on the grill. Horatio will bring it out.”

  “Thank you.” The Adam’s apple on Harold’s throat bobbed as he guzzled the lemonade. He finally thunked the glass onto the counter and swiped his bare arm across his lips. “Hits the spot.”

  Both Ella and Wink watched him expectantly, waiting for him to pay his fare.

  “As I said, I was out early this mornin’. It was me and a few other fellows out there turning sod when I came across the poor soul. There he was, eyes at the Good Lord’s sky, staring like he saw the devil himself, and nearly as naked as the day he comes into this world.” He licked his lips again before attacking the basket of fries.

  Ella leaned on the counter, too stunned to touch her food. None of this made sense. She’d thought Darren had rabbited because he’d killed Diego. However, since discovering the sailor alive, she hadn’t had a chance yet to consider why Darren had disappeared.

  “Do you know how he died?” Ella asked.

  Wink added, “Did it look like he died naturally?”

  “Ain’t nothing natural about the way he died.” His dirt-stained hand hovered above his crown. “I’d say he was whacked good from what I saw. Didn’t get too good of a look-see, though.”

  Ella gazed at a distant point, her eyes unfocusing. So, there really was a killer on the loose. What she found most disturbing from Harold’s description was Darren’s lack of clothing. It added a level of inhumanness that chilled her to the bone.

  “Harold,” she began, “where did you find him?”

  “I didn’t say?” The dirt lines in his face deepened. “It was in that outlaw’s field. I made an agreement with him, you see, renting that parcel to grow my spuds.”

  Ella swallowed, exchanging a knowing look with Wink. “Six Shooter? You found Darren in Six’s field?”

  Harold nodded before shoving a fistful of fries into his mouth.

  Wink straightened. “Would you excuse us a moment?” She didn’t bother waiting for a response as she motioned Ella into the kitchen.

  The moment the swinging door settled into place, they flew into a whirlwind of whispers.

  “I thought you talked to Six?”

  “I did,” Ella said. “He genuinely seemed shocked about Diego and had pinned what I thought was his murder on Darren.”

  “What about the body you saw? Are we dealing with one murder or two?”

  “Diego’s still alive,” Ella began hesitantly. “Until we know who or what was hanging from the ship, let’s treat this like one murder.”

  “You’re assuming Harold’s right and that Darren’s death is suspicious.”

  “Fair point,” Ella conceded. “He seemed pretty certain, but for all we know, Darren drank too much, got naked, then slipped and fell, bumping his head.”

  “Sounds like Flo’s typical Saturday night.”

  “My thoughts exactly.” Ella paused. “Okay, not exactly. I mean, I don’t go around picturing that old gal naked because—” She shuddered to prove her point.

  Wink’s eyes glazed over, deep in thought. “We need to find out Darren’s cause of death.”

  “Keystone Gators assemble!” Ella put her hand in for a cheer, waiting.

  Wink stared at her.

  After clearing her throat, Ella repeated the phrase, putting in extra oomph to really jazz the diner owner up.

  “You’re so weird.” Wink threw a towel over her shoulder and walked back into the diner.

  CHAPTER 18

  AFTER MUCH COERCING and threatening over the phone, Ella managed to get Flo over to the diner. The boarder approached their usual corner booth—a booth currently occupied—and told the patrons to scram.

  Rushing over, Ella intervened, poured the customers another round of coffee, then redirected Flo to a different booth
. After ensuring those seated at the lunch counter didn’t need anything, she sat across from Flo. Wink joined them shortly after.

  “Well? What’s this about?” Flo growled.

  “I’m sorry,” Ella said, “did we interrupt you from something important?”

  “Everything I do’s important. But yes. If you must know, I was about to test my werewolf alarm system.”

  “What’s—” Ella stopped herself from asking further details. “Can you at least take off that tinfoil tower while you’re inside?” She indicated the mass of reflective metal currently covering the woman’s head.

  “I suppose it won’t hurt to let the aliens listen in on my thoughts during this conversation. I’m sure it’ll be stupid and over with soon, anyway.” Reaching up, Flo unwrapped her beehive. It was like excavating a wrapper from a Ding Dong, only instead of chocolate cake, it was disappointingly filled with gray hair.

  Ella turned to Wink. “Why do we invite her to these things?”

  The diner owner sighed. “We don’t have time for the usual banter between the two of you. The early dinner rush’ll start soon.”

  “You’re right,” Ella said. “Let’s recap what we know so far. A few years back, Diego’s ship ran aground in Keystone. The ship supposedly carried treasure, but for all we know, that treasure was lost at sea.

  “He recuperates at the inn, but soon is harassed by the locals wanting to know where the treasure is. He ghosts, possibly to someplace in the woods where he subsists by some unknown means.

  “He occasionally surfaces only to be stalked by Six and Darren before disappearing again. Then, I see the sailor hanging from a mast—at least I think it’s a mast. I don’t know much about ships. Long pointy thing?”

  “Call it a mast and move on with it,” Wink said, a strained smile on her face.

  “Fine. I see Diego hanging from the ship’s broken mast. When I return, he’s gone. Then Darren’s wife reports him missing, and he’s looking good for the sailor’s murder. Days later, however, Flo sees the not-pirate in the woods and, for reasons only known to her, shoots him.” She held her hand up, brooking Flo’s protests before they could begin. “Not long afterward, he wanders into town, seeking medical attention.