Too Much Stuff (13 page)

“Can I get up?”

The guy with the diamond stud.

“No.” Her steely gaze never left O’Neill.

“So what are you going to do now?” The doctor returned her stare. “You see, this is what is known as a Mexican standoff. Neither of us wins. You walk away, we’ll walk away. And if you stay away from this property, we’ll forget your transgression. Is that an agreement?”

I looked at James, and he nodded. I looked at Em, and she held the pistol steady.

“Em?”

“Okay.” She was pissed off at these guys.

Maria Sanko didn’t say a word. I was sure that she was sorry she’d ever made the trip. Unless—

“It’s an agreement.” I nodded my head.

“Now, hand me the pistol.” The doctor reached for the weapon.

“The agreement has been reached,” Em said. “Nothing was said about returning your pistol.”

The guy from the golf cart struggled to his feet.

“Give me the damned gun.”

I was with Em. “No. You threatened us with this gun. We’re leaving, but with the pistol. Right, Em?”

She nodded.

“I sincerely hope we don’t meet again.” The good doctor glared daggers at us. “I don’t think it would be good for either of us.”

“Doctor, we’re never setting foot on your property again.” I hoped we wouldn’t have to.

I turned to find James, but he was already walking toward the street, moving very fast.

Em turned, lowering her weapon, and I followed her out of the parking lot. There’s something sexy about a woman with a gun.

Maria walked to her bike and pushed the big machine behind us.

“Thank God you showed up.” I stepped up beside Em.

“Damn, Skip. I couldn’t be everywhere at once. I was on the far side and I heard the commotion. I got to you as fast as I could.”

“Hey, you just said it. You couldn’t cover three sides at once.”

She squeezed my hand. “Skip, we’ve been through some things together, but tonight, realizing you guys could have been killed, I was really scared.”

“Scared?” I couldn’t believe it. “I never saw you so calm, so in control. And, Em, you made some impressive time getting over here once it turned into a free-for-all. You may have saved our lives.”

“Skip, I saw the damage you two did. Very impressive. I never pictured you as a pugilist. I kind of like it.”

It had surprised the heck out of me, too.

Maria caught up with us on the street.

“What the hell? That was scary.”

I’d been thinking about it for the last two or three minutes. Turning to her, I asked, “Did you tell them we were digging tonight?”

“Them?”

“Dr. O’Neill and the other guy. Did you tell them about us?”

Her eyes got wide.

“Absolutely not.” There was bitter acid dripping from her tongue. “What do you think I am?”

“Maria, I’m sorry,” I said. “There were four of us who knew where we’d be tonight, and I can account for three of us.”

“Oh, you son of a bitch.” Her fists were clenched. “Just because they happened to be there you think that I called them and told them about you?”

The thought had definitely crossed my mind. It made sense.

I may have been wrong. “Look, I’m sorry. I thought that—”

“You didn’t think.” She glowered at me. “I helped you do research, I offered my services to help you find this ghostly wrecker’s camp and you accuse me of setting you up? You are a first-class son of a bitch, Skip Moore.”

She straddled the seat of her Harley-Davidson, turned the key, and blew out onto the street.

Em and I watched her disappear.

“It seems we’ve upset several people tonight.” Em let go of my hand.

“How else would they have been waiting for us at three in the morning? That’s not the time of night two grown men walk the beach.” I thought about that statement. “Unless—”

Em shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

“The good news is that we found a metal box.”

“Really? The information you were looking for?”

“I think.”

“Skip, that’s fabulous.”

“The bad news is that I don’t think it made it over the fence. James didn’t have it back there.”

I had no idea where the metal box could be.

“Dude, she peeled out of here. What happened?”

“Skip simply asked her if she’d turned us in to Doctor O’Neill and company. A fair question.”

He stepped back. “Never saw that coming.”

“My God, James, she was the only other person to know what we were planning. I mean, I think they were going to kill us.”

“Pretty serious accusation, amigo.”

“And what did you think?”

He smiled. “Same thing. She knew about our plans. And, it was strange that she showed up at the exact time we were getting grilled by the doctor and his friend.”

“We handled them though, didn’t we?” I thought about how I’d hit O’Neill in the nose. One of the prouder moments of my life.

“Gave ’em the old one-two.” James smiled.

“James, all of that hassle. And you never got the box, did you? Is it still on the vacant lot?”

He smiled. “As soon as I saw both guys were distracted, I
picked it up where I’d dropped it. Right by the fence.” He reached into the truck and pulled out the old, dirty metal container.

I grinned. We were well on our way to finding the gold.

“I think I’ll go to sleep and dream about piles of gold, gettin’ bigger and bigger and bigger.” James was smiling.

“
The Treasure of the Sierra Madre
,” I said. No question. We’d both watched it one hundred times. Maybe more.

“Let’s drive over and pick up the shovels,” James said.

“Then I think we go back to the Cove and pry open the box.”

“It’s three thirty in the morning. Do we wake up Mrs. T.?”

“It depends,” my best friend said, “on what’s in the box.”

We drove back, Em never saying a word, the gun in her lap. Ma Barker, Bonnie Parker, “Squeaky” Fromme–the woman who pointed a gun at President Ford. I had fantasies of Emily as a gunslinging moll.

In my room, we worked on the lid, prying with a metal nail file from Em’s purse and a corkscrew that came with the room. James took the nail file and worked it up under one side. Then under the other. He slid it up between the box and lid on the front, and pulled back.

The file snapped, and half of the blade jammed between the lid and the box.

“Sucker is locked.”

“Rusted shut,” said Em.

“Both,” I added. “If we had a blow torch—”

“A hacksaw,” James suggested.

“A hammer.” Em slammed her fist on the top of the box.

It popped open, the lid springing up and the rest of the nail file dropping to the floor.

“Whoa.” James moved back.

“Oh, my God.” I gazed into the container. A folded piece of paper lay in the open box, yellow and curled on the edges.

“Take it out,” Em said.

“It hasn’t seen the light of day for seventy-five years.”

“If we want to know what’s on it, we’ve got to take it out.”

“Maybe we should wait.” James wasn’t sure we were making the right move.

I reached in and pulled it out with just the tips of my thumb and index finger. Careful not to do any damage.

It was crinkly and stiff like a cracker.

“Man, if we try to unfold this, it’s going to break into pieces.”

“We’ve got to see what’s on that paper.”

“James, we’ll destroy it.”

“Soak it in water.”

“The ink could run.”

“Skip, James. Do you remember where you were when I called you from Miami and told you about the letter I’d received?”

We answered together. “The library.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” James gave her attitude.

“Libraries do more than check out books. You guys saw a lot of news clippings and magazine articles.”

“Even some letters about the hurricane.”

“Libraries fix old letters. Old newspapers. They must have a process.”

“Oh.” James nodded. “Once in awhile, you come up with a decent idea.”

“I’ve bailed your ass out more times than I care to count, James. I’ve had a lot of good ideas.”

He didn’t say anything.

“I suggest we get some sleep and visit your friendly Islamorada Library first thing tomorrow morning.”

We agreed and headed to our respective rooms.

It was probably five a.m. when I heard the doorknob turn.
The first thing I thought was that someone had made a mistake. They assumed it was the room next door.

Then I heard a clicking noise as if a key was being inserted. Pelican Cove still used keys, not the plastic slide cards that most places use.

“Who’s there?” I sat straight up in bed.

Em shook her head, wiped the sleep from her eyes, and stared up at me.

“Skip, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know. Someone’s trying to open the door.”

My girlfriend reached for the nightstand drawer beside her bed and opened it.

Standing up, I slowly walked toward the door.

“Skip, step aside.” There was urgency in her voice.

I took two steps back and heard the door handle turn again.

With a powerful thrust the door swung in, banging loudly against the wall. I saw a silhouette, both arms straight out in front.

“Get down, Skip.”

I dropped.

The first explosion was deafening, and I could just make out the second one.

I looked up from my kneeling position, peering out the open door. There was no more silhouette.

“Are you all right?” She was shouting.

“What the hell happened.”

She was standing by the bed in my T-shirt. Her blonde hair was disheveled and her face was ashen.

“Em?”

And then I saw the gun hanging from her right hand.

“He shot at us, Skip.”

“And?”

“I shot him.”

The outside lights shone bright through the door and I stepped out on the walkway. There was no one. Out in the parking lot the roar of a motorcycle split the night, then things got quiet again.

“There’s no one here, Em.”

She was suddenly by my side. Emily in my T-shirt, me in my boxers.

“Apparently, you didn’t do any damage.”

She knelt, running her fingers over the cement.

“Apparently, I did,” she said.

She held up her fingers and they were stained with bright red blood. And there was a whole lot more of it on the concrete.

The couple from the neighboring unit stuck their heads out the door.

“Jesus Christ, if that was a bullet, it destroyed our TV and almost took us out,” the guy said.

We heard commotion from down the hall and several other people stuck their heads out, trying to see if everything had returned to normal. I suppose it all depends on what you consider normal.

A guy with a dirty work shirt and thirty keys hanging from his belt came rushing into our room, walked to the headboard of the bed, and put his finger in the bullet hole.

“This where the bullet went through?”

I nodded.

“Damn. Gonna have to patch and paint.” Apparently no sympathy for the intended victims.

He shook his head in disgust and walked back out.

“You could have been killed, Em.”

“Back at you, Skip. We survived.”

“You need to go back to Miami. This is definitely not a safe place.”

“What? And leave you two guys on your own? Come on. The reason I came down was because I got the note saying someone wanted to kill you. You need me for protection.”

She pointed her index finger at me, then poked it in my chest.

“Look, I may have screwed up on the surveillance thing, but give me credit, boyfriend, I’ve pulled my weight.”

She had. No question.

James walked in behind Mrs. T.

“Boys, I think it’s time we go home. Someone is serious about stopping this investigation.” Mrs. T. appeared shaken.

As two sheriff’s deputies paraded into the room, I pulled Mrs. T. aside.

“Mrs. Trueblood, I’ve got some really good news.”

She looked skeptical. “I’d say we could use some right now.”

“We found a metal box near the foundation of the Coral Belle. Inside is a piece of paper. It’s old, it’s brittle, and it’s all folded up, so we’re taking it to the library tomorrow to see how we can open it and make it readable.”

Her mouth hung open as surprise flooded her face and all of a sudden I had the feeling that she never really expected us to find anything. And we’d pretty much expected that we would.

Ushering her out onto the walkway we walked around the bloodstains and I touched her shoulder.

“Did you hear me, ma’am?”

“Yes. Yes. You really found something? I mean, what else could it be? It’s in the right spot, and you said it’s old and—” She looked up into my eyes. “You still want to go through with this?”

“We are this much closer to finding the gold.”

“You almost got killed tonight. I can’t in good conscience ask you to stay on my account.”

“What about the dead guy?”

She looked away from me and down at the pool.

“Obviously Mr. Weezle and Mr. Markim weren’t in my employ at the time of Mr. Weezle’s death.” She still seemed rather cold about his death. “But you,” she said, “you and your friend, someone tried to kill you.”

“Twice.”

“What?”

“It’s a long story.”

“James, I can’t—”

“It’s Skip.”

“Skip, I will honor your offer.”

“Really?” I was stunned.

“Really. You’ve put yourself on the line. If you find the gold, you get one million dollars.”

There was the catch. Pretend she’d misunderstood. But hey, one million was still a heck of a lot better than the previous deal.

“With all respect, Mrs. Trueblood, it was two million dollars.”

“Whatever.”

From behind me I felt a hand on my arm. Turning, I saw Big D with a disgusted look on his face.

“You let people track through the blood here on this concrete?” Officer Danny Mayfair said with an accusing tone.

“I didn’t exactly let anyone do anything. I don’t remember being in charge of this crime scene.”

“We need to talk.”

And for the second time in two days I was interviewed by the Monroe County Sheriff’s Department. This time it was more informal. I even knew the officer’s nickname and how he got it.