The Cursed (5 page)

She put the food in the microwave to heat, then set plates before the two of them.

“Did you know who he was?” she asked. “Was he a criminal—or just a good guy who happened to be walking around carrying a bowie knife?”

Dallas looked at her. She could also have an acid tongue when she chose.

Liam said, “It’s a closed investigation, so I’m sorry, but I can’t tell you anything.”

Hannah turned from Liam to stare at Dallas. “I see. I’m not sure how you’re going to keep a lid on things, but I guess I don’t really need an answer.”

“Yes,” Dallas said quietly, making the decision to let her into the zone of trust. “He
was
a good guy walking around with a bowie knife. He was one of ours, an agent named Jose Rodriguez. Luckily he doesn’t have a wife or kids, and his parents died a long time ago in a South American coup. When the Bureau spins what happens, they’ll probably let the media think that he was a criminal—and he would have approved of that. It took him forever to get undercover. They won’t want that information getting out.”

“I’m really sorry,” she said quietly. “And I won’t say a thing.”

“Thanks,” he told her.

An awkward silence reigned. Liam broke it. “Great quiche, Hannah. There’s a reason you’re known for having one of the best breakfasts in town.”

“Glad you liked it, Liam.”

“Very good,” Dallas agreed.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

“Was anyone else here?” Dallas asked suddenly.

Hannah frowned. “What do you mean?”

He thought she sounded a little defensive. “Exactly what I said. Was anyone else here? Do you run this place by yourself?”

She let out a breath. “Valeriya Dimitri helps out with housekeeping, but she goes home at night. Bentley Holloway takes care of the grounds and does repairs. He works for a few other people, too, and lives in the little shotgun house next door. Neither of them is here in the middle of the night, and I called Valeriya this morning and told her to take today off because of what happened. She emigrated here from Russia about ten years ago, and she’s a lovely young woman who’s just happy to be living with her family here in Key West. And Bentley is almost as much an island icon as Fort Zachary Taylor. Neither of them would ever hurt anyone. Actually, you probably saw both of them earlier. They were out back in the alley. Valeriya was already on her way in to work when I reached her, and Bentley—well, like I said, he lives next door. The commotion probably brought him out.”

“Bentley was the bald guy standing in the back,” Liam said to Dallas. “And Valeriya is a pretty blonde, so I doubt you missed her.” He grinned.

“But they weren’t there when you found the body?” Dallas pressed.

“No. I guess Valeriya decided to come see what was going on. I did tell her the cops were here and that I’d found a dead man. You can’t think her being there means anything,” Hannah said.

“People do stop and stare at accidents,” Liam added.

Maybe. But she and the handyman would both be worth talking to, Dallas thought. Liam caught his gaze. He was thinking the same thing.

Just as they were swallowing their last bites, Liam’s phone rang. He answered it quickly and listened. “We’ll be right there,” he said, looking over at Dallas. “That was Shelly Nicholson. She and Stuart are up and anxious to speak with us. They’ve decided to cut their vacation short and head back to Miami.”

“Then we need to get over to see them,” Dallas said, and stood. “Ms. O’Brien...”

“Don’t worry, Agent Samson. I don’t intend to leave town,” she said drily.

“Actually, I was going to say thank-you for breakfast.”

“Oh.” A slight flush suffused her cheeks. “My pleasure,” she murmured.

He nodded, still studying her. He hadn’t known her when he’d been a kid; he would have remembered her. Her eyes were unforgettable.

“Please remember, don’t say anything about Jose,” he told her.

“I don’t know anything, do I?” she asked innocently.

He smiled. “Thanks.”

Liam gave her a quick hug as she rose. “See you later,” he told her.

Dallas followed him through the front of the house. The entry and parlor were large with a check-in counter created from an old telephone desk. The place was Victorian to a T and beautifully kept.

He found himself pausing to look back. He knew that Hannah had stayed in the kitchen, but despite that, he had the feeling that he was being watched.

“What is it?” Liam asked him.

He shook his head and looked at his friend. “What the hell happened to the knife?” he asked.

“Dallas, the crime scene techs are good. Really. This may be an island paradise and we may only be a small department, but we’re up to par. If there’s a knife out there to be found, they’ll find it.”

“That’s just it...it should be out there to be found, but I’ll bet you it isn’t.”

“You think the killer hung around to see him die, then took it?” Liam asked.

“Have you got another answer?”

“Let them do their work,” Liam said quietly, then opened the front door and stepped outside.

Dallas nodded and followed.

He still felt as if the house—or someone
in
the house—was watching him.

Had Hannah O’Brien really been alone?

* * *

Hannah rose when they left and looked outside. From the kitchen window she could see that her yard was still crawling with cops and crime scene techs.

She headed to the front and bolted the door, feeling suddenly nervous in her own house. She generally kept the house locked, and guests were given keys. But she’d never been particularly worried before about making sure that it was locked, especially during the day.

She headed to the back of the house and made sure that door was locked, too. She found herself looking out at her usually peaceful yard. It really was beautiful. She paid for someone to come frequently to clear the pool of leaves from the foliage that surrounded it, because she just couldn’t make herself screen it in. There was something too pretty about the crotons and palms and old banyans. But today her normally serene view felt disturbing.

She couldn’t stop herself from thinking about the dead man. His face was burned into her brain; she had knelt by his side, ready to administer help, until his wide, sightless eyes had assured her it was too late.

Undercover agent.

She hadn’t suspected. He’d been perhaps thirty or so, nice looking, dark haired, with a slightly scruffy jawline. He’d been wearing jeans and a T-shirt.

He’d looked like any tourist, or even a local.

Good thing Agent Dallas Samson wasn’t trying to go undercover. The man reeked of law enforcement. He was tall, with exceptionally broad shoulders and a lean, muscled physique that probably came from hours at a gym. His sandy hair was cut short, and his gray eyes looked as predatory as an eagle’s. He’d worn jeans and a short-sleeved tailored shirt, not a suit, but even so, she’d pegged him as some kind of a cop even before he flashed his badge. He’d said that he was from Key West. She sure as hell didn’t remember him. And if she’d known him, she didn’t think she would have forgotten him. But then, he was a friend of Liam’s. Liam been a few years ahead of her in school, and they hadn’t really become friends until they’d both come back to the island after college, though she’d been close to Katie O’Hara, now Liam’s sister-in-law. The island could seem small, with everyone knowing everyone else, and then you’d find yourself surprised when you met someone new who turned out to have lived there all his life. It was also the kind of place where some people stayed forever and would never leave, while others were just passing through.

She winced as she looked out the window. It wasn’t as if Key West didn’t have crime. Any place that dealt with that much tourism—hundreds or even thousands of people coming and going daily—was going to have crime. Paradise could be a great place for a thief.

But murder was a rarity.

And she had never—never!—discovered the victim before.

She jumped back suddenly as she realized that someone was looking in.

It must be one of the crime scene techs standing at the back door.

But as she stared out, she froze.

Her eyes met those of the man staring in. They were dark and brown and expressive. She knew those eyes. She knew that face.

Jose Rodriguez—a dead man—was standing at her back door.

3

S
tuart Bell and Shelly Nicholson seemed to be an intelligent young couple.

They’d taken a small suite, so it was easy just to speak with them in their room. The couple was seated on the sofa, and Liam and Dallas had chairs facing them.

“You’re saying that was a real man—and now he’s dead?” Stuart asked, staring at the two of them blankly.

“Oh, God,” Shelly said, her eyes fixed. “Oh, God. He was
alive.
”

Liam wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to ease their guilt. “You couldn’t have saved him. The M.E. said that unless he’d literally been in an emergency room when it happened, there was nothing anyone could have done.”

“We’ll never know, will we?” Stuart asked, wincing. “We screamed. We panicked. We were just so...”

“I was terrified already,” Shelly said. “We’d been on the ghost tour. And there’s something about the way Hannah tells the stories.... She doesn’t get dramatic or anything, but all that history, it gets to you. We were down at the pool because I was too scared to sleep.”

Stuart cleared his throat. “And we’d been drinking,” he admitted as if they’d committed a horrible sin.

“It’s okay. This is Key West. Everybody drinks here,” Dallas said, glancing over at Liam. “But...it never occurred to you that he was real?”

The two looked at each other. Shelly lifted her hands. “No.”

Stuart said, “When Shelly screamed, I opened my eyes. I saw him and screamed, too. And then I blinked and he was gone.”

“Okay, this is important,” Dallas said. “Think back. Do you have any idea where he came from? We think he was out back in the alley before he came into the yard. Did you see anyone else?”

“Like I said, my eyes were closed,” Stuart said.

“So were mine,” Shelly said. “When I opened them, he was just...there.”

“Did you see or hear anyone before he appeared?” Liam asked.

Stuart shrugged. “We heard someone when we were upstairs, but they were gone by the time we went down.”

“No,” Shelly said. “I didn’t see anyone because no one was around. I mean, even when we came in things were pretty quiet.” She stopped to think for a moment, then said, “Wait! Stuart, remember when we were walking back? There was a group of people ahead of us. They were crashing into each other as if they were
really
drunk.”

“They probably were,” Stuart said. “But, yeah, I remember them.”

“Maybe the dead man was with them,” Shelly said.

“How many were there?” Dallas asked.

“Four,” Stuart said.

“Five,” Shelly corrected. “I remember counting them. I was a little nervous, but I was thinking that there were six of us, so at least we had one more in our group in case they caused some kind of trouble. Of course, they were all guys and we only had three guys.”

“I don’t know,” Stuart said. “That short one might have been a woman. Hard to tell. They were all wearing hoodies. Pretty weird, considering it was about fifty.”

Interesting, Dallas thought. Someone else might remember a group like that, because most tourists didn’t bundle up when it turned sixty. Time to go and follow up on this first lead.

He and Liam seemed to be of one mind. They rose together. Dallas handed them his card. “If you think of anything else—anything at all—please call me.”

“Are you going to speak with the others? They might remember something,” Stuart said. “I mean, not about the—the dead man, but maybe about the group we saw when we were walking home.”

“Yes, we’re just waiting for them to wake up,” Liam told them.

Shelly looked over at Stuart. “That may be awhile.”

Stuart nodded. “They’re going to be really hungover.”

“We’ll be gentle,” Dallas promised.

* * *

Hannah blinked. The dead man was still there, looking at her beseechingly.

He could—though he apparently wasn’t aware of it yet—just walk in through the door if he wanted to. Should she let him in?

According to Agent Samson, Jose Rodriguez had been one of the good guys. Florida—especially South Florida and Key West, had a long history of Spanish settlement and Cuban immigration. His family might have been in the area for centuries. But wherever he had grown up, it seemed someone had taught him manners.

He was knocking. Hoping she would let him in.

She lowered her head for a minute.
No, go away, please,
she thought fervently.
I don’t want to be ghost central. I don’t want to get involved with your murder.

She felt immediately embarrassed, because she knew that attitude was wrong. She had to help if she could.

She opened the door, swallowing hard. “Hello, Jose.”

At least his apparition wasn’t as bloody in the afterlife as his body had been in death. He looked as he must have soon before death, wearing a typical Cuban guayabera shirt and khaki pants. His hair was sleek, dark and combed back. He was clean shaven, with dark eyes and handsome features.

“You—you know me?” he asked her.

His voice was brittle, a little like sandpaper, as if he was just learning to speak.

She nodded. “I found you.”

He nodded. “I remember. You tried to help me, but it was too late.”

“Yes.” She studied him for a minute. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I hear that you were an undercover agent, one of the good guys.”

“Yes.”

“I guess you know you were murdered. My friend Liam Beckett, a police detective, has had some experience with...the dead. He doesn’t see as easily as I do, though—lucky me,” she couldn’t help but add a little bitterly. “But if you tell me who did it, I can tell him.”

A grim smile curved his lips. “If only it were that easy.”

“Your throat was slit. You really don’t know who did it? And you were carrying a knife—a big bowie knife—with blood on it. Of course, it’s gone now. The crime scene techs are still out there looking for it,” Hannah said.

“Yes, I see them. But they won’t find it,” he said.

Hannah realized that the techs in the yard could see her through the back window; they probably thought she was standing there talking to herself.

Maybe she was.

“May I come in?” Rodriguez asked politely.

She nodded. “Oh, of course. Please. Let’s move into the parlor.”

She led the way through to the front, taking an armchair by the fire and curling her legs beneath her. The ghost took a seat across from her on the sofa.

“I’m so sorry,” she said aloud. It seemed lame. He should have had a lifetime ahead of him. She took a breath. “I want to help you. But...how can you not know what happened?”

“Because whoever got me came up behind me. We—I was with a bunch of guys—had just turned the corner from Duval and I heard someone behind us. He grabbed me, and the other guys saw. One of them screamed ‘Run!’ and we all took off. I think the other guys had to be in on it—either that or they’re running scared, thinking they’re about to get the same,” Rodriguez told her. He stared at her for a moment. She thought he was assessing her. Perhaps he was deciding if she could be of any help.

“Anyway, like I said, we all took off,” Jose went on. “I threw the guy off me and crashed through the yard next to yours. That’s when he caught up with me. I didn’t have a gun on me, only my knife. I got a slice of him, but since I couldn’t see anything, I don’t even know where I cut him, but I know he...he got me. Slit my throat. I kept running, and that’s when I scared your guests. But I heard him coming after me. I knew I didn’t have a chance, and I didn’t want him to kill anyone else, so I kept running. I ended up in the alley, tried to write...” He trailed to a stop. “And then I...died. He followed me—must have, if the knife is gone. But he couldn’t leave it. They would have gotten his blood off it.”

Hannah found herself suddenly fighting tears. Even as he was dying, he had thought to save others.

“You’ve heard of Los Lobos?” he asked her.

She nodded. “I think most of the country has heard of them. Every once in a while there’s something in the paper about a body popping up somewhere and they’re suspected of the murder, or a treasure goes missing and they’re the only suspects. They’re like the mafia, or that’s what it sounds like, anyway.”

Rodriguez nodded. “More or less. Every agency from the FBI to the Coast Guard has been trying to turn one of the members. The problem is, they’d rather die or go to prison than take what they’ll get if the organization turns against them. Case in point,” he said, indicating his throat.

Hannah exhaled. “But...this isn’t so much a Key West thing as it is a national one, right?”

“It’s at least partly a Key West thing, because Los Lobos specializes in treasures from the New World.” He paused. “I’m not sure where to begin. Do you remember hearing anything around a year ago about a small research-slash-salvage operation at a recently discovered shipwreck? The crew disappeared in the midst of a storm.”

“Yes. It was on the news and in the paper. The
Discovery
went out with a captain, a mate and three scientists. They were all lost in the storm,” Hannah said.

“I don’t believe the crew was lost in that storm at all.”

“You think Los Lobos killed them?” Hannah asked, horrified. “The storm wasn’t that bad on land, but a lot of other ships were caught in it, too, and barely made it out. The remains of the
Discovery
eventually turned up, but none of the crew’s bodies were ever found, although that’s not uncommon when someone is lost at sea. And now you’re telling me that—”

“The storm didn’t kill them.”

“So someone went out in that storm and—and murdered them?” Hannah asked, appalled. The loss of the crew had been a local tragedy. To think that they might have survived Mother Nature only to be murdered made the situation all the more terrible.

“There was a rumor that the treasure chest from the
Santa Elinora
was aboard the
Discovery.
”

“What?” Hannah demanded. “That treasure has been the subject of rumors for years! It was supposedly on the
Wind and the Sea
when
she
went down.”

“Supposedly,” Rodriguez said. “Key word—
supposedly.
Where it is now, no one knows. A historian wrote a piece on the
Santa Elinora
and the treasure about a year and a half ago, which started people speculating that it was still off Key West somewhere. Legend always had it that the chest was aboard Ian Chandler’s
Wind and the Sea
when she went down in the 1850s, but no one really knows if that’s true, and since the wreck was never found, no one’s been able to confirm that it was there.”

“So how did it end up on the
Discovery?
” Hannah asked, confused.

“There are thousands of undiscovered shipwrecks out there—the ocean along the coast was once like a marine I-95. And since no one could predict storms, over hundreds of years, thousands of ships went down. And those looking for them are often cutthroat and are perfectly happy to commit murder over even the hint of something valuable turning up. Honestly, I don’t believe the treasure chest was ever aboard the
Discovery.
What I
do
believe is that members of Los Lobos heard the rumors that it was there, and that they caught up with the
Discovery
right before the storm and killed the crew—for nothing. Since they didn’t find it, they’re searching in Key West again, because at this point no one really knows where the treasure is—on land or underwater. The items in the treasure chest are supposed to be so rare and historic that it’s impossible to estimate their value—jewels set in the purest gold ever mined in South America.”

“I’ve heard about the treasure my whole life,” Hannah said. “According to legend, the
Santa Elinora
was discovered and salvaged when David Porter and his Mosquito Squadron came down in the 1820s, back when Florida was still a territory, to clean out the pirates. But Porter didn’t keep any documents because officially they were supposed to be stopping pirates, not salvaging wrecks. But lack of proof didn’t stop people from claiming that Porter found the chest and kept it in Key West until he tried to send it up to D.C. on the
Wind and the Sea.
Most of the people on the island at the time believed that the treasure went down with the
Wind and the Sea
when she sank, and to this day most people think it’s still there.”

Jose nodded and smiled slowly. “You would know. Your home is part of the legend of the treasure, and that makes you involved. Are you a descendant of the original owners? Not many left these days who go that far back.”

“In a roundabout way. I’m a descendant of the original owner’s first cousin.”

“And you give ghost tours.”

Hannah lifted her hands helplessly.

He laughed. “Not to worry—it’s a legitimate business. And people like to be remembered. They like to have their stories told. I’d like my story to be told, one day.”

Hannah hesitated and then said, “I know that you were working undercover. My friend Detective Beckett was here, along with a Federal agent.”

“Dallas Samson,” Rodriguez said, nodding.

“They said you were a good guy.”

Jose knitted his fingers together and then released them, looking at her with a grim smile. “I’ve been with the FBI about five years. I made a point of getting this case. I’ve spent the past six months trying to get in with Los Lobos. I just made it in, but evidently I did something suspicious, or someone in the gang had seen me when I wasn’t undercover. Or someone betrayed me. I have some ideas. But this case meant more to me than just bringing down the gang.”

“Oh?”

“Los Lobos concentrates on ‘priceless’ treasures they can sell on the black market. But when their cash flow is down they deal in anything. Drugs. Human cargo.”

“Human cargo? Are you talking about slavery? Today?”

He nodded. “Trust me, it still goes on.” He shook his head. “One case—which at least had a happy ending—involved a young girl in Texas who was set up by a wealthy
friend.
A man in Eastern Europe offered a multimillion-dollar sum for a blue-eyed redhead under twenty-five. Los Lobos got wind of the offer and acted fast. The young woman went to a party at her friend’s mansion, where she was drugged. Luckily we already had a man watching the friend and she was rescued. As for her millionaire friend, he mysteriously killed himself in lockup while waiting to be taken in for arraignment.”