Death By Sunken Treasure (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 2) (8 page)

One of the men next to him jabbed an elbow into his side. A flush sprang to his cheeks. Making a noise that sounded like a growl, he slammed his beer down on the bar and reached for the man who’d poked him. Jake materialized out of thin air and forced himself between the two. He escorted both men to the back of the bar and sat them down at a table. I couldn’t hear what he said, but whatever it was, they were quiet when they returned. The man who bought me the beer apologized and moved back with his friends. Their voices seemed to mingle and become indecipherable, no matter how hard I tried to listen. I left my half-finished beer on the bar and went out to my car.

The vehicle tweeted a happy greeting. I stumbled on the pea rock that covered the parking lot and dropped my keys. When I bent to pick them up, I realized the car sat at an unnatural angle. Both front tires were flat. Frustration bubbled up in me. I spun on my heel and marched a crooked line back to The Petard. Propelled by anger, I pulled back on the door with more force than necessary. The momentum of someone exiting as I attempted to enter sent me stumbling backwards.

“Well, I didn’t think you fell that big for me.” The man who bought me the second beer reached out a hand to steady me. He cocked a head in my direction. His beery breath washed over me.

“Believe me,” I spat, “I didn’t. I’ve got two flats.”

His gaze raked me from head to toe. “Don’t seem flat to me,” he mumbled.

I pulled my arm from his grasp. “My car.”

A spurt of indecision cut across his face. Then he cracked the door open and shoved his head inside. “Lady in distress. She’s flat.”

My face flamed as laughter floated in my direction. Devon, wiping his hands on a bar towel, came to the front door. In response to his questioning look, I led him around the back toward my car. The drunk stumbled his way behind me and laughed when the car came into view. “Only flat on the bottom.”

Devon shot him a hard look. “Go home, Sam. On foot. I have your keys.” Then he shoved the bar rag in his back pocket and squatted at one of the front tires. “We’ve done some work inside and a lot of construction debris got dumped here.” He jerked a thumb towards an open dumpster. “Probably not the best idea to park next to this.”

Great, now I had two flats and the blame. My shoulders tightened with the stress.

He put his hand on the front bumper and straightened. “I can call you a cab or a tow truck. Your choice.”

In response, I pulled out my cell phone and held it in my hand.

I stared at the display. Who could I call? I needed two tires, not a shoulder to cry on.

It was late. I was tired. The beers had hit with vicious impact.

I felt his gaze. Its intensity burned into me.

“I know, it sucks. I got a couple of flats back here myself.”

With a last glance, I shoved the phone back in my handbag and fished out my keys. He stepped in front of me.

“You can’t drive that way.”

I pressed the alarm button. The car lights flashed in response. “I know. I want to get my AAA card from the glove box.” I yanked on the handle and discovered I’d locked the doors, not opened them.

Devon’s lips twitched as he fought a smile.

Anger and frustration were not going to help. I chuckled. “Damn. I only drank a beer and a half.” I leaned back against the car door, my arms crossed around my waist.

“Yeah, but I don’t think you’re much of a beer drinker.” He cocked his head and studied my face.

I hit the alarm button again and this time unlocked the car. It filled with light as I swung the passenger side door open.

Devon stayed with me while we waited for the tow truck. He offered me a ride home if I wanted to leave the car there overnight. What I saw when I opened the car door made me refuse. A ride with a tow truck driver seemed like a better idea.

A heavy nail was lodged in the sidewall of my tire.

Fourteen

Morning came fast. Mallory would be at my door before too long. I’d sent her a text last night about the state of my car and asked her to drive. The thought of my vandalized car angered me. Such a senseless act. If someone wanted me gone, flattening two tires was not the way to do it. I padded my way to the shower. The sting of cool water beat down on my overheated body. I dialed the control down even cooler, plunked a eucalyptus tablet on the floor, and let the scent and cascading water soothe away the worst of the headache. Then I turned the temperature to hot. As the clouds of steam enveloped me, I glanced at the tablet remains at my feet. The little golden blob reminded me of the doubloon the man had slammed on the bar. Doubloons. They were turning up everywhere. I cut the water off, grabbed a turquoise terry bath sheet, and wrapped it around to hug me.

My thoughts returned to the conversation I had overheard the night before. While sorting through my one-piece bathing suits, I replayed bits of last night’s events. Speaking well of the dead was ingrained in society. No one at the bar had said a good word about Mike, in fact, just the opposite. I pulled on a suit decorated in tie-dye purple swirls, the most subdued in my collection. A phrase from an old Western floated through my mind. Did Mike Terry need killin’? I sat on the edge of my bed and petted Tiger Cat. Did the same set of circumstances, the unusual last few days everyone cited to give credence to a verdict of suicide, also indicate a murder? I shook my head and shelved the thought. Murder took two. Mike’s last dive was supposed to be solo. My head ached. I couldn’t think about that now.

Two aspirin and a cup of coffee later, I remembered the police report. It sat untouched on my desk. What answers would it hold? I refilled my coffee mug, drank deeply, and headed for my home office. The buff-colored envelope containing the report sat front and center on my desk, mocking me with its pristine condition. I scooped it up with more force than necessary and made my way back to the kitchen.

Two sharp taps on my front door sounded the instant I sat down. When I answered the knock, I discovered Mallory standing there with Janice. I hadn’t expected Janice today. When I met her, she wasn’t a diver. I renewed my liability insurance last year so I could teach her. She was no newbie though. The Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission she worked for took over where my training left off. As would be expected from a cop, her observational skills were fantastic.

I told Mallory and Janice about events at The Petard as we loaded dive gear into Janice’s shiny yellow pickup, a better option to carry everything than Mallory’s small Prius.

We’d secured the last tank when Janice cocked a thumb over her shoulder in the direction of my Subaru. It sat facing the road, nose down in the driveway where the tow truck left it. “Let me go check out those tires.”

I waited to see her reaction as she walked over to my car.

She let out a low whistle. “Whoever did this wanted to cost you money. There’s no way to salvage these.”

“Yeah, I know. I need to stop at Ralph’s Auto and ask if he has two that match these. Otherwise, I’ll need to buy four, I guess.”

An idea struck me. “Have there been any other problems at The Petard?” She was a cop, after all. If the place had a reputation, she would know. Especially since the bar catered to locals who worked on the water.

Janice stood and brushed the dirt off her hands. “What kind?”

“Malicious mischief…”

Janice tucked a strand of dark brown hair behind her ears. Her fingers tapped her lips. I knew her well enough to know she wasn’t evading the question, just thinking about it. “Haven’t heard of any. But that’s not really our area.” Her long legs covered the space between the driveway and her car. “Maybe you parked in some regular’s space.” She shot a look back to my car. “That Suby would tend to stand out.”

As soon as she said it, I realized the truth of her words. I was making a mountain out of a molehill. The little Subaru was new, clean, and undinged. It could be a natural target. The edges of my almost-gone headache throbbed briefly. Going to a place like The Petard with a car like mine and leaving it tucked way in the back, out of sight of the road…well, I’d set myself up for the flats. I dialed Ralph’s car repair. I was in luck, he had two matching tires and he offered to come pick up the car on a flatbed. Janice could drop me off at his shop on the way back from our dive trip.

We chatted about our upcoming dive on the way to Cappy’s. He was waiting for us on his boat at the dock when we pulled up.

Cappy rushed to help us pull out tanks and secure them in his boat. His excitement was palpable. “I found a great place for lobsters,” he announced when we’d settled into our usual places and he’d started the engine and cracked the top on his first root beer of the trip. “If the grouper trooper wants to do some hunting,” he said, referring to Janice. He spun the wheel, guiding the boat out into the narrow channel, and slugged back a sip of the soda.

After motoring to the open ocean, Cappy stopped in about forty feet of water and tossed out the anchor. I looked over the side. He’d taken us to a place near enough to Joe’s Reef to be legal for lobstering, but far enough away that I hadn’t been here before.

The three of us suited up and Mallory and I balanced on the gunnels to perform our trademark simultaneous back roll. The cold Atlantic bubbled into the neck of my wetsuit and down my back. I shook with cold and waited until Mallory descended toward the anchor. I surfaced to check Janice’s back roll off the side of the little boat. She hit the water with a splash, surfaced, and gave me an okay sign. Cappy leaned over the edge and gave us tickle sticks to chase the little critters out of caves along with bags for our catch, then stood guard as we knifed downward, swimming for the anchor line.

The water was cerulean. A perfect day for diving. I tapped Janice on the arm with my tickle stick and pointed below. Cushion sea stars, those magnificent five-pointed puffy starfish, sat scattered along a sandy clearing. I noticed her bubbles change as she caught her breath.

Bubbles from the far side of a coral rock structure told me Mallory had spotted some prey and gone off in chase. It took twenty minutes for us to catch two good-sized lobsters each. Cappy was right, this place was a lobster condo. I lost sight of Mallory again. The sight of her bubbles in the distance indicated she was ahead of us on the reef. It was getting colder, and I wondered if she was ready to head back for the boat.

Motioning for Janice to stay down in the reef structure, I swam up in the water column and clanked my tank banger to get Mallory’s attention. She glanced my way, and I made the shiver sign. She responded with a big okay sign. Following my visuals, she swam over to where Janice finned in place. The three of us were swimming for the anchor line when we heard the unmistakable sound of a boat engine approaching.

We ascended slowly. A small boat, no more than sixteen feet, lay next to Cappy’s, its engine silent. When we neared the surface, I made out the metal link of a boat hook joining the two. Cappy leaned down to take our catch bags. He scowled as he helped us up the swim steps and into the boat. I came up last. He jerked his head in the direction of the boat hooked onto his.

“This guy wants to anchor here. Wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

I shrugged. “We’re good to go. It’s kinda cool at depth anyway, and the weather is changing. I could feel the surge at fifteen feet. Can we go to a shallower reef for the second dive? We don’t have to hunt.”

Cappy answered with a grimace, but he nodded. As he turned to the wheel, he muttered something about damn tourists and people who steal his numbers. I knew he meant his GPS numbers for this dive site. Dive captains protected them like gold.

Janice stared at the boat alongside. At first, I thought she had gone into cop mode. A cop never goes off duty. Curious, I puttered and delayed securing my gear. No easy task in the increasing seas.

In the meantime, the two men in the next boat removed the boat hook, pulled a short distance away, and dropped their own anchor. I winced. They dropped it right over the reef where we’d been swimming. My head hurt just thinking about it.

Janice spoke over her shoulder in my direction. “That’s the same size boat we picked up from Mike Terry’s dive site after he died.”

It hadn’t crossed my mind to wonder what happened to Mike’s boat. I shuffled over the deck of the rocking boat for a better view. “That size?” It seemed very small for such deep water. I remembered Mike owned a twenty-three-foot Grady White and a twenty-seven-foot Mako. Then there was the treasure search boat. That thing was huge with giant funnels. I didn’t expect he’d taken it out for his last dive. Not alone, at any rate.

“Yeah, sixteen footer. It belonged to The Petard. We picked it up after the body washed ashore.”

“It was out there all weekend? No one reported an empty boat earlier? Are you sure it was the boat Mike dove from?”

Janice shook her head. “We can’t prove Mike dove from it. There was one report. Friday evening. The sheriff’s boat checked and reported two boats flying dive flags on the site and bubbles in the water. The deputy circled and went back to base. Seemed normal. All we know is that the GPS coordinates match those of Mike’s salvage permit.”

“Nothing later?”

“No, but the weather went downhill after that. Maybe no one saw it later. Maybe whoever it was pulled anchor and left. When we picked up the boat on Monday, it flew no dive flag.”

I digested her information about the two sets of bubbles and boats. It didn’t match any of the facts I thought I knew. But it did explain Janice’s earlier reference to someone helping Mike die.

“Deputy Diego never said a word about another boat.” I searched my memory of our meetings. “Except that first interview. When he told me he was checking for reports.”

“Might never have been one,” Janice spoke slowly. “I overheard the radio transmission. Nothing out of the ordinary to report.”

“But your office recovered the boat. You knew it belonged to The Petard.”

We stared at each other on the pitching boat. “Yeah, three days later. Hayd, there’s no reason to think the two events are related. If they were, Monroe County would know.”

I bit back a reply. She was a cop. She knew the protocols. “The other boat. What make?”

“Mako. Twenty-seven feet.”