The Ghost from the Sea (24 page)

“I don't.”

“Good lord,” Danielle gasped. “He doesn't even flinch at the idea of slaughtering all those innocent people, just wants to know how they're going to pull it off.”

“How much money?” Ephraim asked.

When Anthony told him, Danielle let out a low whistle.

“And the perk is, we can keep any of the booty from the ship. Divide up any cash, jewelry, anything of value.”

“Who's paying for this and why?” Ephraim asked.

“I can't say.”

Ephraim started to stand up. “Forget it then.”

Anthony reached up and grabbed Ephraim's arm. “Wait, hear me out. I need you on this one.”

Begrudgingly, Ephraim sat back down.

Nervous, Anthony glanced around the diner and lowered his voice. “If I tell you, you can't let anyone know. I'm being blackmailed.”

J
ogging
down the beach from where he had parked his car, Kurt Jefferson glanced out to sea. For a moment, he imagined his boat anchored out beyond the surf and that he was diving into the ocean and swam to shore. He could just see himself in his diving gear glistening as he emerged from the water, the moon lighting his way. A covert op with a pot of gold as his reward. Kurt wondered if he had been watching too much television.

It was a long shot, he knew. But if he managed to pull it off, he would be rich beyond his wildest dreams. What was the worse that could happen? He could get arrested for breaking and entering—his first offense. Chances are, he would get a slap on the wrist and probation. It was worth the risk.

This morning was just simply a reconnaissance mission. He wanted to get the lay of the land, check out the target. When he did return, he doubted it would be by boat, or that he would be wearing his diving gear. It just seemed more dramatic to imagine it under that scenario.

He was certain this was the right house. According to the stories, it was the oldest house along this stretch of the beach and was located directly across the street from Marlow House. It was owned by the Hemmings family. According to the stories, Marlow's partner had been renting a room from Hemming when he went missing—along with their money. Of course, now everyone knew the partner hadn't run away with the money; he had been murdered onboard the Marlow yacht along with all those other people.

Kurt wondered if it was possible that after all these years, that money—those gold coins—were still hidden in the Hemming house. From what he had heard on the radio when they interviewed that guy from the museum, Marlow was on record saying his partner had kept their money with him at Hemming's, and when he disappeared so did the money. Perhaps the partner had simply left the money hidden somewhere in the Hemming house, when he decided to go out on the yacht and never got around to telling his partner he decided to go party.
Some party. Everyone ended up dead.

Walking along the beach, Kurt reached the point between the Hemming house and its neighbor to the north. From there, he had a clear view of Marlow House. To his surprise, he spied a man and golden retriever walking through the gates of Marlow House. When checking on the status of the Hemming property, he had learned some author had rented the place—and this renter had a golden retriever. He had also learned the man dated one of the women who lived across the street at Marlow House. Could this be the same man?

Kurt smiled to himself. He could simply knock on the back door of the Hemming house. If no dog came barking to the back door, he would know the coast was clear. But if a dog did come barking and the renter answered the door, he could pretend to be lost and ask some inane question, without raising any suspicions.

H
eather Donovan
no longer jogged with her eyes closed. She had learned that lesson after she almost ran straight into the wreckage of the Eva Aphrodite. She listened to the music pulsating through the headphones as she pounded her way down the beach, her heart beating rapidly and her breathing labored. She had decided to push herself this morning. Exercise alleviated stress, and recently she had been experiencing too much stress. Even her essential oils weren't helping.

Just as Ian's house came into view, she spied someone lurking around the back of the property. It wasn't Ian. Instinctively dropping to the sand to make herself less obvious, Heather narrowed her eyes and watched the trespasser casing the property.

He was now at the back door. She could see him looking up and down the beach. He turned in her direction. She could see his face. Holding her breath, she hugged the sand, grateful she hadn't worn her purple jogging suit that morning. The tan sweat suit melted into her surroundings, camouflaging her from view. She watched as he went into the house.

T
he smell
of bacon woke her. Danielle opened her eyes. She yawned.

“I wondered If you were going to sleep all morning,” Walt said from where he sat on the sofa.

Danielle bolted up to a seating position and rubbed her eyes. “How long have you been sitting there?”

“For a while,” Walt shrugged. “Ian's here, helping Lily fix breakfast. I guess Joanne called in sick.”

Danielle glanced at her iPhone. “She didn't call me.”

“I heard Lily say something about a text message.”

Danielle picked up her phone from the nightstand and looked at it. “You're right. Looks like Joanne sent us a group text message. I must have slept right through it. I wonder why Lily didn't wake me up.”

“Maybe she was just being nice. She and Ian have everything under control. I get the feeling that Ian is enjoying your guest.”

“The mystery writer?”

Walt nodded.

Sitting up in bed, Danielle leaned against her headboard and looked at Walt. “Emma visited me last night.”

“Again?”

“I'm pretty sure Jack was being honest with you about paying off those loan sharks. It was just a coincidence. I don't even think that's what Emma was supposed to show me.”

“Then what was it?”

“What she showed me last night.” Danielle then went on to tell Walt about her most recent dream hop. Walt sat quietly, listening to Danielle tell him about seeing Anthony and Ephraim and how Anthony claimed he was being blackmailed.

“The reason Jack doesn't remember that night is that they drugged him. Or at least that was the plan they discussed at the Bluebell. They were going to pay Sally to slip something in Jack's drink when he came over to see her that night. And then they'd use him to get on the boat, pretend he was drunk, not drugged, like they were all drinking buddies just out for some fun.”

“And since Jack was my partner, no one would question it,” Walt said.

“Their plan all along was to kill Jack once they got him to that cabin, hide the body. There was a second boat—they were going to board the Eva Aphrodite like pirates, once it was out to sea.”

“And easier if they kill the crew before they board the ship,” Walt said, sounding a little ill.

“Pretty much.”

“Who was behind this? You said Anthony claimed he was being blackmailed.”

“He never told Presley who was behind it, but he kept saying he would; he just had to make sure Presley was totally in. But whoever it was, he didn't want anyone on the job knowing who was behind it.”

“This explains what probably happened to Anthony,” Walt said.

“What do you mean?”

“From what I recall, he sort of disappeared after the Eva Aphrodite went missing. I never put the two together before.”

“He went missing that night?”

Walt shook his head. “No, he wasn't killed that night. The reason I remember, he was going to be in a play that was scheduled to open the following week, but because of the storm—”

“You're talking about the storm the night the boat went missing?”

Walt nodded. “Yes. It caused some damage to the theatre, delayed the opening. He was in the play the first night, and then I remember hearing he'd taken off—the stand in had to take his place. I never really thought much about it. Anthony was famous for just taking off.”

“You think whoever was behind the murders killed him?”

“If he really was the only one who knew the identity of the person or persons behind the murders, yes. Probably.”

“I can understand someone arranging a hit, and then getting rid of the hitman—but why would someone go to an actor to arrange something like this?”

“Anthony knew some pretty shady people. And I always suspected stealing the diamonds and emeralds from Eva's necklace wasn't his first, last, or even worst crime.”

Danielle cringed. “It certainly wasn't his worst.”

“I'd like to know, who was really the target?” Walt wondered.

“Eva's ex was pretty damn cold. While it's monstrous to murder innocent strangers in cold blood, he killed a woman he‘d been having an affair with. Someone he had been intimate with.”

Walt chuckled. “Now you know how I felt.”

J
olene Carmichael sat
in the office of Steve Klein.

“I'm sorry Jolene, I just don't see how I can do it,” he apologized. “Like I explained last week, there simply isn't enough equity left in your house.”

“I have to get out from under that second, the interest is killing me. Can't I just refinance?” she pleaded.

“I'm sorry, Jolene. Really. I wish there was something I could do to help you. This deal with Clarence, it gutted the company, and aside from what you're getting from Social Security, I don't see how you could ever qualify for another loan.”

“That was supposed to be my retirement! I loaned them the money to start the law firm; this isn't fair. I should at least get the property.”

“I'm sorry. That's a matter for an attorney.”

Ten minutes later, Jolene Carmichael drove away from the bank. She told herself to calm down. This wasn't good for her blood pressure. Yet she couldn't calm down. What was she going to do? It was all gone—and all because of Danielle Boatman. Boatman had been greedy, Jolene thought. Marlow House and some money wasn't enough for Boatman; she had to have it all. It wasn't as if Boatman had spent all those years tending to her aunt's estate—making sure Marlow House was properly cared for—Clarence had done that. Perhaps he had overstepped the line by redirecting some of Breanna Boatman's money, but did that sin warrant his death?

Pulling over to the side of the road, Jolene parked the car and looked ahead blankly.

“What am I going to do?” she asked aloud. “Why can't I have some of Danielle Boatman's luck and find a priceless neckless hidden in my floorboards?” It was then Jolene remembered the conversation she'd had at the museum with Ben, after his radio interview. The gold coins—
did they still exist?