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

Praise for the Hayden Kent Mystery Series

DEATH BY BLUE WATER (#1)

“Kait Carson’s Florida is dead on in this action-packed mystery! The enviable setting, compelling characters, and the author’s expertise on diving make for a fresh plot and an intriguing story masterfully woven into a satisfying conclusion.”

– Krista Davis,

New York Times
Bestselling Author of the Domestic Diva Mysteries

“Dive in! This compelling, timely, and relentlessly suspenseful deep-sea adventure—with its undercurrent of chilling secrets—won’t let you go! Readers won’t come up for air until the very last page.”

– Hank Phillippi Ryan,

Agatha, Anthony, Daphne, and Mary Higgins Clark

Award-Winning Author of
Truth Be Told

“The highlights of this debut novel are the beautiful descriptions of the underwater dives as well the complicated details involved that protect the divers’ safety. The author achieves in making the appeal and beauty of recreational diving worth risking the many dangers surrounding it, strengthening the heroine’s character and making her a protagonist the reader will want to succeed.”

–
Kings River Life Magazine

“You get drawn into the action almost as if you are watching it in real time. I found it difficult to stay with the current story and not turn to the end to find out the conclusion! But all the twists and turns are worth it, and don’t give in, because you’ll enjoy the ending more if you wait. A great book, highly recommended.”

–
Any Good Book

Books in the Hayden Kent Mystery Series

by Kait Carson

DEATH BY BLUE WATER (#1)

DEATH BY SUNKEN TREASURE (#2)

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Copyright

DEATH BY SUNKEN TREASURE

A Hayden Kent Mystery

Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

First Edition

Trade paperback edition | March 2016

Henery Press

www.henerypress.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright © 2016 by Kait Carson

Cover art by Stephanie Chontos

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Trade Paperback ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-001-2

Hardcover ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-004-3

Digital epub ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-002-

Kindle ISBN-13: 978-1-63511-003-6

Printed in the United States of America

Dedication

For Jean Raines

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

This is always the scariest part of the book. I live in fear that I will forget someone who contributed so much to making
Death by Sunken Treasure
the book that it is. There are so many to thank. It takes a posse to write a book.

My friends, Cynthia Christen—in addition to putting up with me all those years ago when we were roommates at the University of Miami, Cyn’s legal expertise and assistance in researching shipwrecks from the State aspect were invaluable in this ever-changing area of the law. Judi Sue Hamelburg—my Miami lifeline and a wonderful friend. She makes my frequent trips to Miami possible. She is also a physical therapist and helped me tremendously with technical and practical information on physical therapy. Stephanie Foreaker, Ph.D.—my friend and an invaluable adviser on the long-term effects of chemical burns on the human body. Capt. Bernard M. Brewer (ret)—for vetting my law enforcement scenes and trying his best to keep me on the straight and narrow. I am so grateful to all of you. Any mistakes are mine. Susan Schreyer—beta reader and editor. Susan is not only an author in her own right (check out the Thea Campbell mysteries if you want a great read), she’s funny, generous, and spot on with her comments. Grace Topping—beta reader and editor. You are amazing, and I can’t wait until your staging mysteries are available to be read by all. They are fantastic books.

The professionals at Henery Press who generously and unstintingly guide me through the labyrinth of publishing. Kendel Lynn, you took a risk on me when few would. Anna L. Davis—editor extraordinaire who sees things in my writing and finds a way to make it so much better. Rachel Jackson—what would I do without you and your sharp eye for detail. Art Molinares—the problem solver who always has time for the umpteenth question and always has the answer. Stephanie Chontos, who designs the stunning covers for my books and always has the right touch to capture the story and the scene. Charlie and Cali, I know you both had paws in the mix.

Then there’s my family. My husband, who puts up with a writing wife and a writer’s life of rescheduled dinners and drop of the hat requests to “fly to Marathon for some research.” He’s my sounding board for tough plot problems and ordinance. Without him, there would be no Hayden Kent.

Starlight and Fred both crossed the rainbow bridge during the writing of this book and my gang of eight is now a gang of six. Hutch, Zoe, Missy, Jenny, Piper, and Cub, all rescue cats, are my muses and my models. Tiger Cat, for those who have asked, is mostly Hutch with a soupcon of the rest of the gang.

Thank you to all. This book is as much yours as mine.

One

Pea rock sprayed from under my tires as I pulled into my parking space. I exited the car at a dead run, juggling my briefcase in one hand and my handbag and coffee cup in the other. Our receptionist, major domo, and front desk person Ruth looked somber when I opened the door. “Your phone rang off the hook this morning.”

Of all the mornings to be late. I scooted past her into my office, dumped my burdens on one of the guest chairs, rounded my desk, and punched the button to activate my computer. Our email program recorded all voicemails. The computer was going through its usual beeps and boops when my boss and supervising attorney, Grant Huffman, pushed open my door, a pink message slip clutched in his hand. He had his jacket off and the sleeves of his shirt cuffed back to just below the elbow. I knew instantly something was wrong. The light banter of questions about his weekend died on my lips.

“Hayden.” His voice held a doomsday note. “Dana Terry has been trying to reach you.”

My stomach twisted like I was on a tilt-a-whirl. Why did she call the office and not my cell? I tried to read his face and failed. “Did she tell you what it was about?” Grant and Dana were old friends. Dana ran the historic site on Pigeon Key and acted as president of the foundation that supported it. Grant represented Pigeon Key Foundation on a pro bono basis. As his paralegal, I sometimes assisted with the annual procedures required of a not for profit corporation, but my relationship with Dana and the Foundation was more personal.

He shook his head and handed me the message while I punched Dana’s speed dial button. “I asked. She only wants you.”

My call went to voicemail. Concern fought with the premonition that something was very wrong. Dana could sometimes be mysterious. I didn’t want to overreact, so I left a noncommittal message and hung up. I pulled my cell phone from my jacket pocket and sent her a simple “what’s up” text. My private line rang as I lifted my finger from the send icon. Pigeon Key Foundation.

When I answered, a babble of words came at me. She was crying hysterically and I couldn’t understand a word. “Dana. Slow down.” A loud sobbing answered my request, followed by a wail.

What had happened that caused her to call me hysterical from work? I glanced at the caller ID again. It definitely read Pigeon Key Foundation. Lowering my pitch to something I hoped was soothing, I broke into the dreadful sobbing. “Start at the beginning. Tell me what happened.”

A loud gulping followed by the sound of nose blowing came over the line. “It’s Mike,” she sobbed. Her voice shook with emotion. “The police are here.” A burbling sob interrupted. “At work. At the Foundation.”

My mouth fell open. Before I could frame a question, Dana gulped a few times. “He’s…dead. Mike’s…” The sentence ended in a keening moan.

A trickle of cold sweat broke out along my hairline at her words. My memory replayed Mike’s statement from our meeting on Thursday. He said he might not have much time. Was this what he meant? Did he know he was going to die?

“Oh, Dana.” My voice failed me for a moment. I wanted to reach through the phone and draw her into a hug. My heart broke for her. “I’ll be right there.” I scrawled a hasty note to Grant and shoved it at him over the desktop. His face paled under his tan.

“I can’t talk. Please, you tell her.” The words came out in a broken whisper. A hollow fumbling followed by a barely decipherable, “She’s my friend. Hayden Kent.”

A male voice came on the line. “Ms. Kent, this is Deputy Diego of the Monroe County Sheriff’s office. We’re waiting for a victim advocate to arrive.” He paused.

The sound of a door creaking open followed by the clacking of a breeze playing through palm fronds came over the line. He’d left Dana. Gone outside. My teeth clenched. The woman was heartbroken. How could he leave her?

“The medical examiner just arrived.” His voice rose and fell in cadence to his steps. “Your friend found her son’s body here on the Key. It looks like a diving accident. The currents near the bridge can be treacherous.”

In the background a voice with a lilting Caribbean accent gave directions I couldn’t make out. If Mike had died on Pigeon Key, he had to be with or waiting for Dana. I offered up a silent prayer that they hadn’t argued before he died. Things had been tense between them lately.

But why would he be in dive gear? An awful thought crossed my mind. The water near the Key was shallow. Had he died from a propeller strike?

The door clicked again. Dana’s teary voice asked if I was still on the phone. She sounded calmer, more resolute as she took the phone again. “Promise me you won’t come to the Key. They sent someone here for me. She’ll take me home.” Dana drew a ragged breath. A picture of the tall, slender Englishwoman flashed into my thoughts. “I…I’d like it if you could come by the house after you finish work.”

“I’ll be there at five,” I promised. Tears splashed on my desk as I hung up the phone.

While I’d talked to Dana, Grant used his cell to call someone. From the bits of conversation I overheard, I realized he was talking to Monroe County Sheriff’s office. His pen flew over the pages of a legal pad on my desk as he asked questions and scribbled notes. I tuned him out.

Dana was like a second mother to me. When my parents died, I’d plunged into a deep depression. Dana pulled me out by giving me work as a volunteer interpreter of history, someone who took tour groups around Pigeon Key and explained how the Island served in the construction of Flagler’s railroad. I owed her more than I could ever repay.

A frisson of sadness cut through me. How does a mother survive the death of her child, especially a child who clawed his way back from the edge of hell?

Grant’s hand covered mine. “You okay?” His voice sounded gentle.

I shook myself and came back to the present. I felt like I did when I surfaced from a deep dive. The corners of my mouth were stretched into a frown. My lips trembled as I fought back a fresh onslaught of tears. “Memories. Was anyone at Monroe County able to tell you anything?”

He cocked his head to the side as if assessing me. “Not much. The investigation is too new. Dana found Mike under the crossbars of the ramp when she got to work. He wore full scuba gear.”

He turned his face away and looked down at my desk. A small muscle jumped in his cheek. “No one had seen him since Friday. The day he signed his will.”