Kingdom by the Sea (Romantic Suspense) (27 page)

Nodding,
Nicole swallowed a sigh.  “Okay, well, look—I mean, Ginger it's your life.  You
can be close with, or love, whoever you want.”

“I do
love her,” Ginger admitted, clutching the book with feeling.  “Betna's husband
divorced her several years ago and I never married.  Our friendship blossomed
and...other people might understand but
Hazel
of all people...”

Finally,
Nicole's patience snapped.  Enough was enough.  Life was short and she was on a
mission.  “Look, Ginger, let's face it.  Hazel's an uptight bitch who has too
much to say about everything and everyone and it's never anything good.  You
need to live for you.  If you want to live
with
Hazel, that's fine.  But
you can't live
for
her.  Now, if you want to know more what I mean, come
over some night and we'll play poker.  In the meantime—I really need to look at
that book!”

With
obvious surprise, Ginger handed over the volume.  “Oh.  Here.”  A strange smile
crept over her face then.  “Maybe I'll give it some thought,” she said. 

Before
Nicole flipped open the book, she added, “Honestly, I think you worry too
much.”  The dent in the squishy ball grew deeper and wider. 

Once
Ginger left the stacks, Nicole turned her full attention to
The Mary Celeste
& Other Mysteries of the
Bottomless
Sea
.
  Leaning it on
the shelf, she started whipping through the pages, looking for marked passages,
handwritten clues, anything—until suddenly the book fell open where a folded
piece of paper was stuck in the center. 

With
nervous fingers, Nicole pulled out the paper, unfolded it.  Her heart began to pound
hard and fast in her chest when she saw, written in purple pencil:

S

R

E

Abruptly,
she slammed the book shut and carried it to her table.  She dug inside her bag
and pulled out an index card she had written the other letters on.  If the
second batch of letters did in fact spell out, BEHIND YOU, then there was still
the first batch of letters that were incomplete.  She studied those now.  O W L
F.  She factored in the new letters: S R E.  Eagerly, she scrambled them
around, trying to piece together something coherent, a complete word or phrase.

With
her breath hitched in her throat, she scribbled out this letter combination:

F L O
W E R S

Her
pulse quickened.  Could it be what she was thinking? 

Clutching
her hands together, she could barely calm herself as the idea took root in her
mind.  She felt so close now, her heart threatened to race right out of her
chest.  Unless she was very much mistaken—the treasure was hidden in Nina's
garden.

Michael
veered his car onto an inroad off
Tremont Street
, and slid it
into the narrow parking lot of Caleb’s Pub.  There were only five slots behind
the building, three of which were marked “Reserved,” but he wouldn't be long. 
After the whole letdown with the lighthouse this morning, he had grabbed a bus
to
Boston
and then taken
the T to his townhouse.  There he'd brought in the mail, collected the stacked
newspapers outside the door, opened a window and basically looked over the
place.  Found it exactly as he'd left it.  Logically, he couldn't believe he
had been gone nearly two weeks already.  Yet, by the nature of his relationship
with Nicole, it seemed longer than that.

Besides
giving his cars a run and getting his mail, he also had business reasons for
coming back to the city.  As an investor in both Caleb's Pub and Gold Rush
Grill, he liked to put in some face time.  Not that he had his hands in the
daily operations, but it was good practice to remind the owners that he was
watchful—unlike some investors, who waited for a check and monthly statement,
but otherwise remained unaware. 

Caleb
Irish and Michael went back, having met at a poker game about eight years ago. 
Caleb had seen how Michael played and went on to bankroll him for a percentage
on several games after that.  Michael had eventually bought into Caleb's place,
as well as picking up shares of Gold Rush, a bar and grill owned by Caleb's
fishing buddy, Tom Mahoney. 

The
pub was pretty empty right now.  It was only four in the afternoon, which
usually meant a handful of early barflies and late lunchers.  Michael walked
straight to the back and down a few steps, then rapped his knuckles on Caleb's
office door. 

“Yeah—come
in.”  The older man's voice was gruff, almost a bark, a voice that had been
shaped at least in part by a cigar habit.  Michael turned the knob, and let the
door swing open to reveal his old friend, a man in his late fifties with half a
face of white whiskers.  His son sat on top of the opposite desk, his skinny
limbs a gangle and his feet perched on the arms of the desk chair.  Caleb had
been divorced twice, both times from the same woman, with five kids between
them.

“Hey,”
Michael said.

“Corso,”
Caleb said with a smile.  “Is it payday already?”

“Better
be.  Hi, Jake.”

“Hey,”
Caleb's son said, offering his usual affable smile.

“Okay. 
Here you go,” Caleb said, pulling open a drawer and taking out two large sealed
envelopes.  One was from him, Michael knew, and the other was on Tom Mahoney's
behalf.  Statements of each restaurant's monthly earnings and a check. 

“Thank
you.”

“So
where have you been?  We needed a fifth for cards last week.”

“Been
busy.” 

“Busy
ruffling feathers in
Chatham
?  Someone from the Coast Guard down there called
today about the boat.”

“Shit,
really?  Who was it—Hyat?”

“Sounds
right,” Caleb said.  “Where is the boat now?  Is it back?”

“Not
yet,” Michael said.  “It's...I'll have it back soon, no worries.”  At that
Caleb gave him a long look.  It was hard to say if it was assessing or
disapproving; either way, Michael ignored it.  “What did you tell him?”

“Just
that I loaned it to my son's friend.”

“Me?”
Jake asked.

“No,
I didn't name anyone,” Caleb replied.  “It would never have come to that,
though even if it did, I got four sons to choose from—but it wouldn't come to
that because the boat is my legal property and hasn't been reported stolen. 
The guy was just checking up.  Probably bored.  There can't be a lot of
excitement down on the
Cape
this time of year.”

Relieved,
Michael sighed, nodded.  “Okay.  Well—thanks.  Like I said, I'll have it back to
you soon.”  Again, a hard look from Caleb.

“So
they won't be pinching you for taking a boat anyway.”

Michael
scoffed.  “Who says anyone's pinching me for anything?  I'm a legitimate
business man.”  Caleb shot him a look that said:
Sometimes
.  Then he shifted
in his chair and ran his hand over his white whiskers, appeared hesitant. 
“Something else?”

“Yeah. 
Ah...well...truth is, Mahoney's had kind of a rough month again.  What with
Legal Seafood opening up across the street.  You know how it is...”

Narrowing
his eyes, Michael stopped to notice the one sealed envelope that was the
lighter of the two.  He peeled it open, pulled out its enclosures.  Screwing up
his face, Michael said, “Man...you've gotta be kidding me with this...”

“It'll
pick up.  You know how these things are.”  Caleb rose from his chair, which
creaked and bounced a few times from the release of his weight.  Implicitly he
seemed to invite his son to leave then, and Jake silently understood, pulling
his lanky form off the desktop.

“I’ll
go unload the wine bottles,” he said.   

Once
the door shut, Michael said, “Uh, listen Caleb, I wanted to let you know that
I'm going to get that money back for you.”

“I
know you will,” Caleb interrupted, but Michael pressed on, “No, but I mean
soon.  You'll have it for Mary’s school...”

“We're
looking into student loans now—”

“I'm
really sorry,” Michael said and not for the first time.

“Mike,
it's business.  I took a chance with the money, I put it on a game—”

“That
I lost—”

“We
rolled the dice and we lost.  Like I said—it's business, it's not personal.”

“Sometimes
it is.”

Caleb
gave Michael an assessing look.  “You're a good kid, Mike,” he said.

“
Pfhh...
kid...”
Michael mumbled.  “Coming up on thirty...”

Caleb
gave a short laugh that was more like a wheezy exhalation.  “Well.  You're a
good old man then.”

With
a grin, Michael rolled his eyes.  “Yeah thanks.  And I'm not good.  I'm a
rotten bastard,” he said half-heartedly.  “And too old to change.”

Even
though Michael had said the comment jokingly, Caleb didn't choose to receive it
that way.  “Wait till you get to be my age before you give up on yourself.  And
speaking of that—what ever happened between you and Colleen?”

“Meaning
what exactly?” 

“Meaning
that I know you two went out a few times and I know she really liked you, and
according to her mom, it never really went anywhere.  So…”

“See,
this is the problem with dating your friend’s niece…”

Caleb
held his hands out.  “Hey, there’s no problem.  I was just curious.  Colleen’s
a good girl.  Smart, too.”

Michael
nodded in agreement.  “Definitely, she is.”  He wasn’t going to deny that
Colleen was nice, and being that she was a teacher, he wasn’t going to deny
that she was smart.  While they were at it—lauding Colleen—he could also
mention that she was cute, too.  But there wasn’t much point discussing this
since he wasn’t about to tell the guy who had become his closest friend that
there was no real connection and he just “wasn’t that into” his niece.  

Instead,
Caleb filled the gaps of the conversation.  “You could use a nice girl in your
life.”

“Hey,
I’m not gonna argue with that,” Michael admitted.

“Maybe
you’ve been alone so long, you just don’t know how to do things differently.”

Caleb
might be right about that, and Michael knew it but had never been the type who
enjoyed analyzing himself.  “Anything’s possible.  Listen, I’ll have the boat
back soon.”  With that, he gave Caleb a handshake goodbye and left.   

While
Michael was on his way out of the pub, he saw Jake Irish on the far side of the
restaurant, emerging from a wall panel.  Jake carried four bottles of wine in
his twig-thin arms.  “Damn, I always forget that's there,” Michael muttered to
himself, referring to the well-concealed entrance to Caleb's cellar.  The door
to the cellar was paneled in the same fashion as the wall, so it was
camouflaged well.  After setting the wine bottles down, Jake turned back to
straighten the picture that hung there.

Something
struck Michael then—but it didn't make it to the forefront of his mind until
much later, on his way back to
Chatham
.

He
drove back to his townhouse.  It was situated in a row of narrow, but tall
brick buildings, each with a two car garage in back.  He slid the Acura in
beside the blue Nova.  When he came inside, he sat down on his couch.  And
waited, it seemed.  It felt like he was waiting for something, but he didn't
know what exactly. 

He
picked up the television remote, but just as quickly, set it back down.  Soon
he would head back to
Chatham
.  He had told Nicole that he had some errands to do
today and now it seemed he was done already. 

For a
few minutes, he just sat there in silence, waiting to know what he wanted to do
next.  Time stretched on with the quietness.  He had never really noticed how
soundless his place was.  How still.  How empty.  The coffee table was glass
with sharp edges.  The couch was leather and cold to the touch.  He waited. 
But for what?  Drummed his fingers on the sofa.  For the first time in a long
time, he was lonely.

The
earth was cold and hard as Nicole struggled with her shovel.  The steel blade
fought against the solid square of earth, but it was like a teaspoon carving
into frozen fudge.  Raw air abraded her face as sunset came upon her.  In the
last hour, the sky had dimmed to a grayish blue with clouds like vague
apparitions, smoky streams across a darkening landscape.

She
clutched the handle of the shovel and pressed down again.  When she stepped up
on the blade, adding the pressure of her weight, she finally broke through the
top surface of the garden.  Again and again she did this, until she was
scooping out luxurious heaps of dirt; it seemed counterintuitive but the deeper
she dug, the silkier the soil became.  Heavy puffs of her breath sounded in her
ears.  Scarf dangling, she pressed on, unearthing rocks and long-forgotten
roots in their grave.  Finally the question began to nag at her: was it really
likely that Aunt Nina, having been ill and weak, had expended this kind of
effort?  To dig up her garden and then re-pack the dirt this thoroughly?