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He had a firm destination in mind once he left Laurie, and with a two-hour plus—depending on traffic—drive ahead of him, he pulled out his cell phone and put a call through to Mike. “Manny’s information checked out,” he told his boss.
“Any more finds?”
“Not as of the time I left this morning,” Keith told him. “I’m heading down to the Keys. Look, we’re searching, doing the best we can with what we have. You need to haul out the big equipment for this one, Mike.”
“You need to hang in there. They’ll catch that couple soon. They’re watching the roads, the airports, train stations…and boats.”
“You know how big the damn coastline is, Mike?” Keith asked.
“Yes, I’m aware of the length of the coastline.”
“I don’t think that catching them is going to solve the entire problem,” Keith said.
“It needs to happen.”
“Yes, but, Mike, they can’t be pulling this off alone.”
“You don’t think they’ll squeal once they’re caught?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Mike, you need to get the right people following the financial trail. Someone in the area is making the arrangements to take the yachts, and refurbish and camouflage them.”
“We’ve been looking into every boat shop in south Florida.”
“Start looking at people.”
“Want to give me names?”
He did.
“What makes you certain any one of these people is involved?”
“Because I believe there was a skull on the island when we arrived. And I believe that someone who was there that weekend managed to remove it.”
Mike was silent for a moment then he said, “You know, we’re not really trying to catch pirates,” he reminded Keith. “There are other people who do that. Our job is to find La Doña.”
“I swear it’s involved somehow.”
“You know you gave me the names of your co-workers, right?” Mike asked casually.
“Hey, you’re the one who said you don’t trust anyone,” Keith said. “I don’t have the resources to find out who’s invested where. You do.”
“I’m not an idiot, Keith. I’ve already spoken to the FBI. They’ve been working on the money angle. Thing is, people don’t usually write down their ill-gotten gains on their tax returns.”
“There’s got to be a connection to some kind of boat shop somewhere.”
“They’re on it, Keith. What’s your plan now?”
“First, can you get me a list of students and investors in the old Monoco dance studios?”
“Yes.”
“I’m heading to the Keys. Islamorada. I’m going to hang around a few bars, see who knew Victor Thompson, try to find out what he was doing.”
“The police have questioned at least fifty people.”
“The police can’t go down and hang out at a bar as well as I can,” Keith said with a little smile.
A moment later he hung up. He hesitated, played with the thought of trying to reach Beth, then discarded the notion. She would just hang up on him, if he was even able to reach her. Of course, if she said hello and answered her phone, he would at least know she was all right. Still, he decided to call Ashley at work instead. She assured him that everything was all right: Amber was in school, Beth was well. There had been no more incidents. “Will we see you soon?” she asked.
“Of course. No news on Sandy and Brad?”
“Not yet.”
“You’re sure Beth is fine?”
“Yes, there’s an officer on duty at the club. He calls in on the hour.”
He thanked her and hung up.
MARIA LOPEZ WALKED INTO THE empty dance studio and looked around. A feeling of deep and poignant nostalgia swept through her.
She remembered the old days so clearly.
She could still outdo many a younger dancer, but the truth was, her glory days were over. No matter how hard they fought it, people got older.
Ted hadn’t cared. He had wanted nothing more than retirement. He had always told her to cherish her accomplishments and enjoy life. She did enjoy life. But she had given up so much. Love, a real relationship. She had been too busy when she had been young, too eager to compete. Too determined to hold on to her title—until she had known it was time to bow out, rather than lose. Now she had no children to fill her life. She had traveled, of course. And then she had come back to see Manny at the club. And Manny…
Manny would not shut up about Ted and Molly.
She frowned, thinking she heard a loud voice from the office, and spun around.
Curious, Maria walked in that direction. The staff was gone. Not even the young receptionist was manning her station.
She moved closer to the office door.
And she listened, her eyes widening.
She had wanted to speak with Eduardo about the Summer Sizzler.
No more. She swallowed hard. At first she was afraid. Then she thought again of Ted and Molly and their kindnesses to her through the years, and she grew angry.
IN ANOTHER HOUR, Keith had reached Islamorada. He found the marina where Victor Thompson had kept his boat and run his charters.
The guy had clearly been well liked. At the spot where his boat should have been berthed, there was a cross, and flowers covered the pier and floated in the water nearby. He was standing there when a man walked up to him. “Friend of Victor’s?” he asked.
“Fellow diver, paying my respects,” Keith told him. “You were a friend?”
The man was in his late fifties, with a full head of silvergray hair. Well built and bronzed, he was covered with tattoos and sported a gold skeleton for an earring. “I taught him to dive. I never taught him to go off alone, though,” he said sadly.
“Doesn’t make a lot of sense, an experienced diver like Victor,” Keith said. “Where was he diving when it happened?”
“I didn’t see him the morning he took off, so it’s a mystery to me,” the man said. He pointed toward a building near the docks, with a Keys-style thatched roof and an outside bar. “As far as I know, he didn’t say anything to anyone. But we all hang out up there, at La Isla Bar-A. Some of us are up there now, drinking to Vic. Come join us, buy a round. Man, it’s a sorry thing. I just don’t understand how we lost Vic. It’s a tragedy, and a waste, and I’m angry, I guess.” He shook his head.
Keith thanked him for the information and headed for the bar. “I’ll be up in a minute,” the older man told him. “Name’s John, John Elmer. You can buy me a drink, too.”
“Sure.”
The bar was typical of the area, with lots of tall stools and hardwood tables, chairs and benches. It had the neighborhood feel of Nick’s. The woman behind the bar was attractive, but no kid. She was busy, but she handled the load with ease. He decided that the big group at the far end of the bar had to be Victor Thompson’s friends. He didn’t horn in on them immediately but sat a short distance away. When the woman came to take his order, he asked for a beer, then asked her about the group. “If those are Victor Thompson’s friends, I’d like to buy them a drink.”
“Sure. You knew Victor, huh?” she said. “So many people cared. He was a great guy. So sad…”
He saw the group at the end of the bar looking up after the drinks had been ordered. One of them lifted his newly delivered beer and called out to Keith, “Hey, thanks. Join us?”
Keith rose, taking his beer with him. He offered his hand around, and met Joe, Shelley, Jose, Bill, Junior and Melanie. “Good guy, absolute waste,” the one named Joe, who had summoned him over, told Keith.
“A real friendly guy. Never met a stranger. That’s why we’re all here right now,” Melanie explained.
“He always said he didn’t want a wake, people in black crying over his shell,” Jose said.
“Yeah, Vic wanted a party,” Joe said. “People remembering the good times, laughing. We’re supposed to cremate him, take him out to the reefs he loved.”
“Sounds like a fitting way to handle the end,” Keith agreed. “Still…” He shook his head. “Funny thing. How could he know the reefs so well, and…”
“We can’t figure it out, either,” Shelley said, looking morose despite the fact that she was supposed to be partying. Keith’s heart took a little plunge. The woman had obviously cried her eyes out.
He got them talking about Victor’s destination the day he had died. But they were at a loss, as well. “As far as I know, the day before, he had talked about looking at some new places to take people,” Joe said. “But no destination in particular that I know of.”
“He wanted to get into a day-and-night thing. Like camping somewhere,” Melanie offered. “The Middle Keys are filled with great places.”
“Yeah,” Keith agreed, thinking Calliope Key might be a great place, too.
“I think he headed south, but I don’t really know,” Joe said.
“Hey, remember the time he knocked the whole motor off John’s dinghy?” Melanie said, and giggled.
“Yeah, and remember the time he fell in love with the Cuban girl in Miami and we all had to take dance lessons?” Bill said, snickering. “Man, did we suck.”
“Victor took classes in Miami?” Keith said.
“We all did—he didn’t want it to look as if he was chasing the girl,” Melanie told him. “And speak for yourself. I was good,” she told Bill.
“Where did you guys go?” Keith asked.
“Someplace on the beach,” Bill answered. “It was changing hands when we were there…oh, man, I’m losing brain cells or something. Wait. Monoco. The Monoco Studios. They went missing, didn’t they?”
“Sad, huh? That old Monoco guy was great. But I heard their boat had been seen,” Melanie said.
“Where’d you hear that?” Keith asked.
Melanie looked at him blankly then shrugged. “I don’t know. I think some people in here the other day were saying it.”
Keith remained a while longer, bought another round of drinks, then left. On the way back, he put in another call to Mike.
It was late by the time he had taken the tender back to the Sea Serpent. Lee and Matt were in for the day, and neither seemed glad to see him, though they couldn’t argue with his disappearance; since they had been informed by Mike that he was to come in with the coin and make a full report.
“You find out anything?”
Keith shook his head. “You?”
“Seems like we’re beating our heads against a brick wall,” Lee told him.
“Did you hear anything from your old buddy Hank?” Keith asked Lee.
“No, did you hear from any of your old buddies…like Beth Anderson or Amanda Mason?” Lee asked.
Matt made a choking sound. They both stared at him. “Sorry—swallowed wrong,” he said, and turned away.
Keith and Lee stared after him, then Lee shrugged and turned away, as well.
A rift had definitely formed between the three of them. Lee went down to the cabin, while Keith remained on deck, staring out at the sea. His cell phone began to ring, and he was glad that he’d been left alone on deck when he answered it.
Manny. He listened to what the man had to say, weighed it, then replied, “I’ll need Beth Anderson in on it.”
“How will we manage that?”
“We have mutual friends,” Keith said. “I’ll check in with them. Beth will come,” he added softly, “if you convince her brother and her niece.”
He rang off, hesitated, then he put in a call of his own. He would be sticking his neck out in a big way, but he was convinced it was time. When he hung up, he stood very still in the night, listening, wondering if either of his coworkers had made an attempt to hear his conversation.
It seemed that he was alone in the dark vastness of the sea and sky.
Still…
When he went to sleep that night, it was with one eye open.
15
ON THURSDAY, BETH FOUND THAT she was well ahead on her work. Eduardo Shea, Maria and Mauricio were practicing, and the final rehearsal planned for the next afternoon, after the floor was in place.
She sat at her desk after lunch, going through all the last-minute arrangements. Then she found herself writing down a chronology starting with the day she had seen the skull on the island. She included a paragraph noting that the ghost story Keith had told had been based on a real event. She made a side note with the information about the couple in Virginia who’d had their boat stolen, along with the fact that—no matter what the rumor mill said—the Monocos hadn’t been heard from since they’d last called in from Calliope Key.
A diver had turned up dead, which might or might not mean foul play.
Someone had messed with her computer.
Someone had put a skull on her desk.
She had been threatened at gun-and knifepoint, and law enforcement everywhere was looking for Brad and Sandy, who were apparently pirates. They hadn’t been at the club—at least, she was almost certain they hadn’t been at the club when the skull had appeared on her desk. And she didn’t see how they could have gotten there in time to place it there, anyway. She tried hard to remember if the skull had been real or a prop. Ridiculous question. She should have known. But the minute she had seen it, she had panicked, then run to get the police. Smart call, one would think. And since Ben’s toy skull had turned out to be missing, it probably had been a fake, anyway.
