The Old Cape Teapot (30 page)

“Please, Nick, let me go,” I begged.

He filled the pouch with all three pieces. As he tied it shut, he said, “You’ve been a great help, Mrs. C, but I really should get going now. Sorry I can’t stay and chat.”

I needed to keep his deadly eyes focused on me. “Nick, please tell me, how’d you find me?”

He pocketed the pouch. “Well, that was easy. You’re all over the internet; lots of images showing you and that necklace. You shouldn’t have worn it so much.” He leaned over to brush the dirt from his knees.

“And what about Antigua? Surely you didn’t find out from the internet that I was going to visit my son in the Peace Corps?”

He laughed. “My client has very high connections. People owe him a lot of favors.”

“But you were Brian’s roommate.”

He laughed even louder now, his eyes betraying an evil heart. “I was an imposter, Mrs. C.”

My heart went cold. “Then who was my son’s roommate? Where is he?”

“He was just in the way. That Devil’s Bridge, back on Antigua, sure comes in handy when you need to cover up incriminating evidence.”

Nick grabbed the duffle bag in one hand then slowly turned to face me, a relish for murder on his face as he pulled out his gun.

“Nick, don’t,” I cried.

I saw Paul behind him. Within seconds Paul swung a tire iron
across the back of Nick’s head. My attacker arched his back up as his body fell to the side. His gun dropped to the ground. Paul rushed over to me still clutching the tire iron. He was breathing heavy as his
arm encircled my shoulders: my knight in shining armor.

“Ohhhh, I winced in pain. My left shoulder. I don’t know what I did to it.”

He quickly withdrew his arm but stayed crouched by my side. “I’m so glad I found you.”

“I love you,” I whispered.

“The police should be coming soon…I hope.” Paul stayed near me.

I breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short lived. Nick moved his leg and started to lift himself, as if to stand.

“Paul!” I screamed. “Nick’s moving. Grab his gun.”

With a twist of his body, Paul lunged for the semi–automatic and wrestled the gun away from Nick’s hand. The gun was now pointing at Nick. With a nimble shove of his foot, Paul pushed Nick,
or whatever his real name was back to the ground then took a
protective stance between us.

I started to cry with joy at seeing the creep flat out again. The roar of motorcycles rumbled in the distance. We looked at each other simultaneously in amazement. “Do you hear that?” I asked. Paul looked puzzled.

Two warning shots rang out and echoed through the trees as several men, dressed in black and blue nylon jackets, came running across the wet forest floor towards us. Some were police and others were FBI agents.

One policeman yelled to Paul, “Stand down! Drop your weapon!”

Paul dropped the gun and raised his hands high above his head.

I sat there in astonishment. Then I raised my voice, “He’s okay! He’s with me.”

The policeman crept nearer to us. He seemed to ignore my
words and kept his gun pointed at Paul. He slowly bent down to pick up Nick’s gun, never once taking his eyes off Paul.

Paul recognized one of the FBI men and called out, “It’s me, remember? Paul Caldwell?”

The FBI guy shouted out to the policeman in front of us, “He’s okay, Lieutenant. That’s his wife.”

With my good hand, I wiped away tears of relief and looked around at the scene before me. Three bodies were on the ground: one
dead, others…not sure. The treasure I was seeking for John Julian had been found. I was alive and my dear, sweet husband was standing next to me.

Another FBI agent approached me. “Mrs. Caldwell, how are you doing?”

His face looked somewhat familiar. I thought for a second. He was the guy at the bar on Antigua, talking to Brian, and the same guy from the plane I’d bumped into with all of my shells.

With a smile, he asked, “Did your children enjoy the conch shells you brought home from Antigua?”

I half-heartedly returned a smile. “So you were following me?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Special Agent Clark. We knew you’d made a key discovery four years ago that would enable us to catch one of the biggest smugglers of lost treasure. His name is Alexander Damien.”

“I’ve never heard of him.”

He looked over to where poor Silas was lying, signaled to
someone to check him out and then continued explaining. “Damien hired the man you know as Nick to find the priceless Spanish Queen’s jewels, valued at almost ten million dollars.” He walked over to Nick, who was stirring again, and rifled through his pockets. The agent pulled out the velvet pouch and held it up. “This is what he was after, part of the lost treasure of the San Miguel Treasure Fleet.”

He shouted another order. “Lieutenant Gale, get one of your men to handcuff this one.” He pointed to Nick.

I wanted to get up and punch Nick but my arm was still hurting. It wouldn’t do any good except maybe make me feel better. I sat there with a smug look on my face, knowing he was going to jail and I had the treasure. The officer pulled my attacker’s hands behind his
back and cuffed them, and then he hauled him up to a standing position.
Our eyes met and a low grumble rolled out of Nick’s mouth as he passed
me. “Fuck you.”

A grin grew across my face as I watched him leave. “The same to you,” I called after him.

A policemen kneeling over Silas yelled out, “This one’s alive.”

Paul helped me stand up. I was hurting, but it was different now that I knew I was going to be okay. He held onto my good arm as we walked past Silas and then the old man. There was no easy way for anyone to get out of the woods except to walk, that is, if you were able, and I was able. ATV rescue vehicles began to appear, crashing their way through the underbrush.

“There’s our motorcycles,” I said. One of the three wheelers
stopped next to Silas’s body.

“Poor kid, I hope he’s okay.”

As Paul and I passed the old foundation, we stopped and looked down into it. It really didn’t look that menacing now. I guess it was deep enough to do some damage though. Feeling secure with Paul’s arm around my waist, my senses began to restore themselves and I remembered the reason I was in the woods in the first place. “Paul, what about the treasure I found?”

He gently touched my cheek and tucked a few strands of hair under my hood. “Don’t worry, Nancy, I’m sure the police will take good care of it.”

“But…,” I pleaded.

“No buts, I need to get you to a hospital and check out that arm of yours.”

“Please. I’ll wait here while you go and talk to Clark. Tell him to be careful with everything. Make sure they understand that it
belongs to John Julian, on Antigua.”

He looked at me with such care in his eyes, but I could tell he was also really listening to me, which is why I love him so much.

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Just go.” I waved him on with my good arm and followed him a few steps back up the slope to survey what was going on.

Paul walked over to Agent Clark and pointed to the hole that held the artifacts. I watched them talk for a few minutes; then they shook hands.

“Did you tell him that it belongs to someone on Antigua? I hope the government doesn’t confiscate everything.”

“It’s okay. He said he would personally monitor whatever else
was dug up. He’ll call us tomorrow at home. If you’re able to go home.”

“I’m sure I’ll be fine. I have so many questions.” I felt Paul’s strong arm again. “What about the money in the backpack? Where did that come from?”

As we made our way ever so slowly out of the woods, I kept talking and Paul just listened. “And what’s with the old man and Silas? I think the poor guy on the ground in the leather coat must be the General.” By the time we arrived at the cars, our eyes had
adjusted to the darkening
skies. I looked across the street. Lights began to glow inside the woods, where, I assumed, men would be working to gather up the buried treasure of old John Julian. I still had so many unanswered questions.

Present Day

BREWSTER - CAPE COD

SURGERY FOR
my torn rotator cuff was scheduled for the Tuesday following my fall into the old foundation. I knew something was terribly wrong with my arm or shoulder. The doctor said I was lucky that I hadn’t broken anything. Snow blew sideways outside the bay window of my office. Another storm was upon Cape Cod. I hoped we wouldn’t lose power in the frigid temperatures.

Thank goodness I didn’t hurt my right arm; I could still function and type at the computer. I would have plenty of time to finish writing about my first adventure and the treasure of Sam Bellamy while I recuperated from my injury. I decided last night that it would definitely be a mix of fact and fiction. Right now, the completion of my novel awaited me. I sat at the computer with one hand hovering over the keyboard.

Molly and Danny ran in. “Mommy, can we help you?”

My arm felt secure in a sling but I was cautious. I held my other
hand out, palm up. “Whoa…go a little slower, guys. Mommy needs to be careful so that she doesn’t hurt herself any more than she already has.”

They came to a halt a few inches away from me. Molly spoke
first. “We’re supposed to ask if you need something.”

I laughed. “Give me some kisses first, right here,” I pointed to my left cheek and then to the right.

They asked in unison. “Want some hot chocolate and ginger
snaps?” They both beamed as they waited for my answer. Danny latched onto my good hand with his and spoke very seriously. “Sure glad you’re okay, Mommy.”

“Alright, who’s ready for some hot chocolate…and I need plenty of whipped cream on mine.”

As I followed the kids into the kitchen, the phone rang.

Martha answered. She peeked her head around the corner. “Nancy, is it all right if an Agent Clark from the FBI comes over tomorrow to talk to you? He wants you to sign some papers.”

“Tell him that’s fine.”

***

I was up early and eager for more information. Martha said he was coming around 10AM.

At 9:55 I glanced out the window to see a black car pulling in to the driveway. It was special Agent Clark.

The door opened with a blast of cold air. “Come on in,” I said.

“Good to see you up and around, Mrs. Caldwell.”

“Yes, I’m happy to see you, also. I’ve so many questions.”

Clark stomped his shiny black leather boots on the welcome mat.

“Let’s go in my office,” I said.

I settled at my desk and he in the antique fireside chair. He put his glasses on and pulled out a file from his briefcase. My shoulder ached a little with the tension that was building up inside of me for any news but I waited patiently for him to speak instead of blurting out my questions.

“Let me begin by telling you that, at this moment,” he looked at
his watch, “Alexander Damien, the international smuggler and collector
of rare antiquities, whom I mentioned to you before up in the woods, is
being paid a visit in London by Scotland Yard, along with our department, and will probably not be happy with his future situation.” He shot a sly grin across to me. “By the way, Damien was
Nick’s, I mean Quinten Sulicci’s, employer. Sulicci was hired to find the Spanish wedding jewels of 1715 Elizabeth of Pharma.”

“You know, before all of this happened,” I interjected, “I’d read about those wedding jewels when I researched why Sam Bellamy went to the West Indies.”

Clark took off his glasses. “Now all we have to do is figure out whom the rightful owners are of the treasure we found.”

I sat back in my chair. His statement took me off guard. Surely the earrings belonged to John Julian and the necklace was mine? I quickly asked, “What do you mean…who owns the treasure? Don’t the earrings belong to Julian?”

“Well, because he and his family have had them in their possession for so long, they do belong to him but…they were originally stolen.”

I knew that if you find anything on your land, then it’s yours, no
matter what. Of course, this new treasure was found on public land, so that could be a problem.

He added, “I’m working with our legal department concerning all the parties involved with the items recovered at the mill site.”

“Well, I trust your judgment. You’ve been great so far.” I still couldn’t wrap my head around the idea that there was even a
question as to who owned what.

He stood to leave. “Mrs. Caldwell, here are some papers
explaining the events that have occurred. I would like you to read them over. There’s a place for you to add anything else you feel is important at the end. Then I need you to sign them.”

The stack of papers could fill a small binder. “I hope I’ll have
time to finish reading them before my surgery next week.”

“I would appreciate your quick response in this matter.” He started to close up his briefcase. “Call me when you’ve signed them, and I’ll send someone to pick them up.”

I took the papers and placed them on my desk. He took a step to leave.

“Wait,” I said. “What about the money that was in the backpack? And who were those two guys?”

He turned around. “The money was drug related, so it will be forfeited back to the local police department.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Gerard Simpkins, or as you heard him being referred to as
‘The General,’ was part of a drug network here on the Cape a few years ago. He evidently buried his profits up there on the
conservation lands before he was captured. He did some time but not for long; they only had circumstantial evidence against him.”

“Who was the young kid? And is he going to be okay?” I was curious about poor Silas.

“Simpkins and the kid’s father were cellmates in prison. That was their connection. The kid, Silas Maroney, was Simpkin’s driver.” He started for the door again. “Oh, I almost forgot.” He took out a small pouch from his jacket pocket. “Do you recognize this?” he opened the bag and out poured the pieces of eight.