Pirate Gold and Murder Page 3

  “We’re almost done,” he said. “This new system covers a lot of ground.” He grunted something under his breath I missed before going on. “I hate to admit it, but Gregg knows his stuff.” He glanced over his shoulder at the monitor and its audience, just as the aforementioned treasure hunter laughed that annoyingly arrogant laugh of his, one arm sliding around MC’s waist in a far too familiar gesture that told me they’d more than worked together. And knowing they’d been involved at one point? Added layers to potential complications.

  Sigh. Could my day get any more frustrating?

  “Are you finding anything?” From the lack of enthusiasm on Crew’s face, I already had my answer.

  “Nothing definitive,” he said. “The problem is, a wooden ship would have deteriorated a fair amount by now. Silt from the river, not to mention a few rockslides…” he sighed, rubbing at his face, eyes tired when he met mine again. “We’re going to have to dive to be sure.”

  “We assumed that,” I said, leaning in to kiss his cheek.

  “Some of the areas we need to search are deeper than expected,” he said, wincing a little. “Sorry, Fee, but you’re going to be left out of most of the dives.”

  Well, that had been expected, too. “My fault for leaving my beginning diver course so long,” I said. “I trust you, Crew. That’s all that matters.”

  “That’s it.” You know, I’d thought Gregg’s voice was jarring, but it just got worse with use. Seriously, could he be any more irritating? And taking over the whole project, muscling his way in. I scowled as he shut off the machine, while MC frowned like she was going to protest. “We’ve scanned your little lake. Nothing to see here, folks.” He seemed almost pleased. A total counter-balance to the grim trio of Tortuga divers who sat back and exchanged looks. Gregg, meanwhile, winked at MC with a smirk that rivaled Geoffrey’s. “How about you and I have dinner, a bottle of wine, look over the results—”

  “How about,” Crew cut in, growl in his voice uncharacteristic since he rarely lost his temper, “you hand over our footage. Since we only needed your equipment. Not your analysis.”

  Gregg looked surprised a moment and I almost laughed as I realized Crew had the right of it. Outmaneuvered himself, the jerk.

  “I’m the most familiar with the equipment,” the treasure hunter blurted, staring right at MC. “And I’m the most likely to find what you’re looking for.”

  She paused then nodded to Crew, to me. “I’m afraid he’s right,” she said. “Every sonar has its own peculiarities. And while we are definitely going to have a solid look ourselves, Gregg will have the best chance of spotting something we might miss.”

  Well, craptastic. Still, I’d be hugging my husband for trying.

  “I guess that means we’re diving tomorrow?” Chantal prodded MC who nodded.

  “We’ll prep our gear when we’re done with the footage,” she said. “You and Anja can divide up the dive locations once we have a list and assign teams.”

  The youngest of the Tortuga divers glanced at Gregg who grinned back. “We’ll take care of it.”

  Clearly they had a set way of doing things and our new arrival was gumming up the works. I waved to our captain and Wanda Beaman cheerfully waved back, turning us toward shore. She’d been happy to take the job despite the improvements in her fishing business and I was equally happy to have her, knowing the lake was her second home and had been her whole life. She hadn’t expressed any opinions about the treasure one way or the other, however, merely piloting us with her steady patience. And kudos to her for not judging, at least visibly, as she raced toward the marina, leaving a v-shaped trail of white water behind us, sending Darius heaving over the side once more.

  I noted Chantal and Anja moving away from the sonar equipment, huddling and whispering as they glared at Gregg. Martin had kept his head down, going almost unnoticed, fiddling with a camera he occasionally aimed at Gregg and, when Crew left me to Darius and returned to where Gregg and MC seemed intent on a conversation that left them looking more chummy than confrontational, I took a moment to lean in to Martin and smile though I’m sure my expression was less friendly and more snarl.

  “I take it MC and Gregg were something more than just rivals.”

  The cameraman twitched, enough guilt on his face when he looked up at the pair and then down at his camera I knew I was right. “Used to be,” he muttered.

  “I take it you disapprove.” No questions. Just statements.

  The small man shrugged, narrow shoulders rounding forward, the lines on his forehead creasing toward his receding hairline as his hazel eyes flickered to mine a moment. “It’s none of my business,” he said.

  “Well,” I shot back, “it’s mine, if it’s going to interfere with this hunt.”

  Martin fiddled with his camera further. Was I making him nervous or was he hiding something? I have to admit, I wasn’t trying to mask my animosity. I’d come too far, suffered too much, lost an immeasurable amount to allow anyone to come between me and the resolution of this mystery. Maybe I was being a bit overenthusiastic in my aggression but damn it, this was important. I owed it to Grandmother Iris to see it through and if he or Gregg or anyone got in my way?

  Heaven help them.

  Martin’s refusal to answer only increased my already tweaked temper and, when we finally docked, I couldn’t even bring myself to be kind to Wanda, despite the fact the older woman had only ever been kind to me.

  She didn’t seem to mind, though, and the flat look she shot at Gregg told me she must have understood my mood and was giving me leeway. Bless her.

  I left Crew and the others to go over the footage, noting that Gregg left before me and good riddance. Though, what happened to him being the only one who could read the results? Grumble, mumble, whatever. I needed to get my head on straight and out of this funk I’d found myself in. And my day had started so bright, so full of hope.

  Now? I just wanted to go home and crawl back into bed and start all over again.

  Instead, I hopped in my car and, needing to spread the love that was my irritation and maybe get a bit of commiseration and support from caring and compassionate souls, I set my sights on the annex and, of course, Daisy and my amazing mother.

  Because who else could smother me in adoration and chocolate chip cookies?

  ***

  Chapter Five

  I parked in my regular spot, the sweetly painted Petunia marker grinning at me as always. Hard not to let my gaze linger at the emptiness behind the cartoon version of my sweet little dog, at the carefully leveled green space that made my chest ache despite the fact I was absolutely and utterly over the loss of my B&B.

  Right, Fee. Tell me another one.

  Lingering over that not-so-distant pain did little to improve my mood. Rather than entering the annex from the front door and risk running into guests or staff who may or may not have been prepared for the redheaded cloud of doom and gloom who hunkered her way around the side of the house for the backyard, I chose to do my best not to make anyone else feel as rotten as I did and keep my crankiness to myself. At least, until I was able to get a solid hug or two in from my mother and bestie.

  Today was supposed to be one of triumph and excitement. Instead, I felt like crying. How much did that suck?

  As I passed the corner of the house, head down, jaw aching from clenching against throwing something violently enough to vent some of the stress shuddering through me, I missed the fact the back garden wasn’t exactly empty. To make matters worse, the last person I wanted to see in that moment—his smirk still intact despite the crying woman who hissed in angry whispers at him—stood with his arms crossed over his puffed out chest, shoulders back and feet planted in his ridiculous hiking boots like he was some kind of intrepid explorer ready to climb any mountain or dig up a lost city at any moment.

  I hated his socks. Totally random, but the way the yellow stripes contrasted against the white, peeking up over the lip of his boots? Made me want to choke someone.
Okay, him. Yes, they were just socks. Still. And those knee-length khaki shorts?

  Seriously.

  So, I’m positive it was obvious my dislike for Gregg Brown had grown to irrational proportions. But if the crying woman’s reaction was a normal one? Maybe he had that effect on every female he encountered. I caught my forward motion and held still a heartbeat, trying to decide what to do. Not wanting to intrude on their conversation warred with knowing what they were fighting about even as I really, really didn’t want to have to talk to him again today. Or any day. My inner busybody was actually willing to forgo finding out the details of their disagreement without a fight in exchange for never, ever having to see him ever again.

  Irrationality was winning, apparently.

  Thing was, as I was trying to decide the course of action that would let me escape without imploding or freaking out or anything else that I could and would blame on my temper, my options were erased as the big, white Tortuga Divers truck pulled into the parking lot and the three members of that team got out. And headed right for me.

  The crying woman in Gregg’s company looked up instantly, her attractive face a mess of mascara and red splotches from weeping, her short, dark bob in disarray, the crumpled handful of tissues in her grasp held tight to where the opening of her flowered button up revealed a gold heart locket. When she spotted MC? That seemed to be the last straw, her face twisting into a furious and pain-wracked expression that left me wanting to hug her and punch him.

  Okay, wanted to punch him anyway. Any excuse.

  She spun away from him while MC waved at me and approached, Chantal and Anja’s conversation cut off when their boss slowed her steps as she took in the scene before me, the three watching as the weeping woman spun away from Gregg and ran toward the back door.

  “Hannah!” He might have called after her, but he made no effort to chase her, eye rolling when she slammed the kitchen door behind her. “Women,” he said with a wink and a grin. “So emotional.”

  It took him a moment, I think, to figure out the four females standing in front of him not only didn’t get the joke but that he was currently taking his life into his own hands just breathing in our presence. The sheer weight of our combined physical animosity actually made me feel better, though MC seemed to shake off whatever anger she felt toward him faster than the rest of us.

  “Nothing’s changed, Gregg,” she snapped. “You have absolutely zero class.” She continued on through the back door herself, Chantal and Anja following her, leaving me alone in the garden. With him.

  Oh my god, please. Someone save me from myself.

  “Fee!” The door opened one last time, my dear and darling Daisy sweeping out, her checkered pink and white dress so fifties fabulous it almost made me smile despite my mood. “There you are. Your mother needs you. If you’ll excuse us, Mr. Brown?”

  Gregg had zero problem up and downing my friend with that nasty gaze of his, smirking the whole time while I debated whether Daisy knew just how close I was to murder. He didn’t seem to care, though, moving before I did, brushing past my bestie on the way by. He did not smell her hair as he passed.

  Okay, I’d dealt with men I couldn’t stand in the past. Lots of them. Still had a few I wished would vanish off the face of the planet. Looking at you, Robert and Geoffrey. But this guy? Maybe it was the fact it felt like he’d hijacked my treasure hunt—yes, damn it, mine—and maybe it was protectiveness toward MC. Then again, it could have been that my instincts were on point because really.

  Just gross.

  Daisy waited for Gregg to vanish into the dim interior of the annex, the sound of my mother speaking unclear in the words but sharp as a tack in the meaning—as in, get out of my kitchen—before meeting my eyes. Her gray ones rolled, lips tightening before she blew out a soft puff of air. It took a lot to make my Daisy mad, but it was clear Gregg had succeeded. Just like Mom, if her tone of voice just now was any indication. Good to know he managed to rub everyone the wrong way. Took the pressure off me feeling like I was overreacting.

  Because I didn’t have a penchant for overreacting or anything.

  “Poor Hannah.” Daisy’s voice barely reached above a whisper as she leaned into me. Just feeling her hand take mine eased my stress as her gaze widened, beautiful face animated as she went on. “Gregg and MC were an item not so long ago and Hannah gave him one more chance. She’s going to divorce him for sure, now.”

  “Day.” I choked on a half-laugh. “When did they check in?”

  “Hannah did about an hour ago.” She shrugged and smiled, releasing my hand to smooth the front of her dress. Just like Daisy to have all the gossip. She should have been the detective, not me. One of her hands fluttered in front of her, smile beaming as she perked. “How was the sonar scan?”

  Argh. “Long story,” I said. “You know why Gregg is here?”

  She nodded, confused clearly, biting her lower lip. “Hannah said he was invited, that he’s doing a documentary.” She exhaled then, one delicate sandal tapping in irritation on the decking. “He’s not supposed to be here.”

  I filled her in quickly and quietly, the scene at the dock this morning still seared into my brain. Day led me inside, the darker interior enough of a contrast to the outside it took my eyes a moment to adjust, to spot my mother at the long, stainless-steel counter, prepping biscuits and watching us approach. The firm and rather abrupt motions of her hands told me she was in as bad a mood as I was. Not like Lucy Fleming to abuse dough in such a manner unless she was irritated. I finished telling them both what I knew while Mom rolled out a sheet of soft dough with enough force behind her rolling pin I pictured her wielding it as a weapon.

  So I probably shouldn’t have felt better just dumping everything on them like that, but somehow it always eased my stress, having those two amazing women to listen and nod and murmur their commiseration of utter and absolute agreement. Made me sad, suddenly, as I leaned against the counter, realizing while I wrapped up and the pair exhaled at the same time, I’d miss this. The warm butt of my happy pug settled on my toes, Petunia making her presence known, contented sigh joining that of my mother and Daisy while I fought off the tingle of tears. Knowing I was going to have to eventually tell them this was my last season and, as soon as September rolled around they’d be taking over the annex completely.

  Sure, I could have rebuilt. But with tourism on the decline—no fault of Vivian’s, she just didn’t have Olivia’s drive to keep the momentum of tourism going, focused as she was on other and more important issues—I’d be crazy to reinvest the insurance money in a business that likely wouldn’t be needed in the next decade or so.

  They’d be fine. The annex was paid off, and between the two of them they had more than enough side jobs to stay busy. And I had the chance, at last, to do what I always wanted.

  Still. Hard not to regret the end of something truly special.

  ***

  Chapter Six

  Liz passed me the platter of chicken, her own plate heaped with slices of the steaming roasted deliciousness, her fork stabbing violently into the pale meat as though the focus of her dissatisfaction was on the other end of the stainless steel tines. Mind you, I would have been more than happy to jab Gregg Brown a few pokes with my own utensils, thank you very much, even more so after his blowhard entrance into the annex in which even Daisy rolled her gray eyes and had to fight to keep from sighing.

  “Adequate,” he said, voice booming loudly enough every guest in the place heard him (and I don’t mean just at the annex, either—I bet they caught his gust of hot air all the way up the mountain at the White Valley Lodge and if he didn’t like it he could just go get a freaking room there already). He seemed to enjoy the attention his appearance created, the other visitors staring as he moved through my (our, sophistry) lobby like he owned the place. Meanwhile, Martin lugged two giant suitcases behind his boss, face tight with something that could have been anger but seemed far too ineffectual to me to end in anything that might
right the wrongs clearly circling around inside the cameraman’s head.

  Hannah, to my surprise, waited at the foot of the stairs for her prize of a husband, head down, arms around herself, tears dried up but the ravages of her unhappiness still visible. He’d taken his time following her up to their room, Martin grunting in their wake, and I let the documentarian do the dirty work since he was obviously so willing to walk that path he didn’t need me to help him embarrass himself.

  Yeah, I still wasn’t over the whole takeover of my treasure hunt. Sue me.

  Liz had returned shortly thereafter, Gregg and company exiting the annex for dinner in town, leaving the rest of us—MC, Chantal and Anja included—to take over the dining room for what felt like a last supper.

  I missed seeing Dad, knowing he was out of town on a case, one that had blown up on him and dragged him away from this most important weekend. He’d been torn, almost abandoned the clients in favor of staying behind, but Mom talked him out of it.

  “Johnathan Albert Campbell Fleming.” I loved it when she used all of his names like that. “This treasure has waited for just ages. Your client takes precedence.”

  Dad had hummed and Dad had hawed, but, in the end, he’d left, grumbling and shoulders hunched under a thundercloud, the rumbling rattle of his pickup exiting town more like the toll of doom.

  I should have known him leaving was a sign that things weren’t going to go according to plan. I grimaced at Crew who didn’t seem to notice, eyes locked on his own heaping plate, digging into the chicken dinner Mom had so carefully prepared for us. It wasn’t lost on me our mayor was also missing from the table, though Vivian French’s absence had been agreed on ages ago.

  “I have to appear to remain loyal to the Patterson family,” she’d said when I broached the topic of our going public. “But keep me posted, Fee.”