Spyglass Lane Mysteries presents:
The Finny Series
Book Three
Treasure Under Finny’s Nose
By
Dana Mentink
Copyright 2012
Spyglass Lane Mysteries
Smashwords Edition
Discover other Spyglass Lane titles at SpyglassLaneMysteries.com.
Published in association with MacGregor Literary Inc., Portland, Oregon.
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Scripture taken from the HOLY BIBLE, NEW INTERNATIONAL VERSION®. Copyright 1973, 1978, 1984 Biblica. Used by permission of Zondervan. All rights reserved.
Dedication:
This book is dedicated to my two finest treasures, Emily and Holly. I thank God on bended knee for entrusting me with His precious angels.
Chapter One
“Your ship went down in a violent storm. You’ve spent three days clinging to the wreckage, watching the people around you die from exposure and exhaustion. You finally struggle to shore and collapse there, unconscious until the sun warms your body, easing you back to life. What is the first thought that fills your head when you open your eyes?”
Ethan Ping leaned forward in anticipation.
Ruth Budge heaved a sigh. “I want Milk Duds.” She felt only a sliver of guilt as Ethan, her director, slapped his clipboard against his thigh. The man couldn’t be more than twenty-two and a college student to boot. How could he understand a forty-eight-year-old pregnant woman? Come to think about it, how could she? The only thing she knew for certain was if she didn’t get some Milk Duds soon, she was going to have to put the director in a half nelson. Re-enacting the life of the indomitable Indigo Orson could wait. She was a desperate woman.
Ethan continued to stare at her in exasperation, the leaves of the oak behind him silhouetting his dark hair in green. His slender eyebrows drew together in a single line above his almond-shaped eyes. “Mrs. Budge, I know you are having a bit of trouble concentrating.”
He didn’t know the half of it. She was pregnant and just months away from her forty-ninth, yes, forty-ninth, birthday. If her life were a novel it would be ridiculously improbable. She might very well be the oldest known mother in the Western Hemisphere. Then a kick from somewhere in the vicinity of her kidney reminded her that it was all too real. Ignoring the heartburn that plagued her regardless of what she ate, she tried to listen to the young filmmaker.
“We’ve got a deadline on this reenactment project, Mrs. Budge. It has to be finished by the end of June, or we’re not going to make our deadline. I don’t mean to pressure you or anything, but Reggie here needs to get the footage.”
Reggie, a tall man with cocoa skin, waved at her. He rested the giant camera on his shoulder as if it weighed nothing at all.
She waved back and resisted the urge to curl up on the ground where she stood for a nap.
Sandra Marconi, a chubby blonde with her arms full of binders, interrupted. “Maybe Mrs. Budge just needs a little break, Ethan. Ruth, why don’t you go sit in the sun for a minute.”
Ruth didn’t need a second invitation. The spasm in her back was working its way up her spine and into her shoulder blades. She eased onto a lawn chair that sat in a precious spot of early summer sun and closed her eyes. The warmth lulled her into a comfortable haze until the sound of a bell startled her.
Alva Hernandez wobbled up the path. He rang the bicycle bell again before he dismounted and hobbled over, a red toolbox in his gnarled hand. “Hello, sweet cheeks. What’s shakin’?”
“Hello, Alva. Did you help Monk load up?” Monk, her husband of almost two years, had reluctantly left on a trip to care for his ailing father. She hoped it was reluctantly, though with the state of their house and her propensity to burst into tears every five minutes, maybe he viewed it as a respite. He was a patient man, but she knew sometimes he was at a complete loss about how to handle her kaleidoscoping emotions. She really couldn’t help him with it as she was confounded by her emotional state herself.
“Yup, I helped your hubby stow his gear.” Alva shoved his stringy white hair out of his eyes. “He’s off to the airport. He assigned me a mission ’fore he left, though. I ain’t had a mission since Korea.” His filmy eyes sparkled. “Ain’t that something?”
Ruth smiled at the enthusiastic octogenarian. “What’s the mission, Alva?”
He started. “Oh yeah. I’m to be your, what’s it called again? Oh yeah. Your ninny.”
“My what?”
“Ninny. No, that don’t sound right.” He scratched his chin. “Give me a second here. Oh, right. Nanny, not ninny. I’m to take care of you and the little bun in your oven until Monk gets back. I’m to help you with the birds and make sure you get enough food and all that. Help you tie your shoes iffen the baby swells you up too big and the like. Stuff like that.”
Ruth suppressed a groan. Alva was indeed a help with her crabby flock of disabled seagulls, and he often lent a hand tracking down an AWOL bird. The man was half a bubble off plumb, but he was devoted to her. Still, she really just wanted to climb in a hole and disappear. The thought of having a personal attendant until Monk returned didn’t appeal to her at all.
Alva set the toolbox on the ground and snapped open the lid. It was crammed to the brim with candy. “I put me together a survival kit. Whatcha want? Kisses? Chocolate bar? Tootsie Rolls? The peanut butter cups is squashed so they ain’t good anymore. How about a package of gumdrops?”
Ruth’s spirits picked up. “You don’t possibly have any Milk Duds in there, do you?”
He foraged around in the bottom. “Aha. There you are, sweet cheeks. I said I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”
Ruth mentally retracted any unenthusiastic thoughts about Alva’s nannying. “Thank you, Alva. You are a lifesaver.”
He cocked his head and began to rummage in the box again. “You want a Lifesaver? I got them, too. Cherry, butterscotch, them purple-colored ones. . .”
“I’m fine with these, Alva.” She tore open the package and ate greedily.
Sandra squeezed into the chair next to Ruth. “I’m sorry about Ethan. He’s really a brilliant guy, but he’s driven, so delays make him crazy.”
Ruth sighed. “I don’t mean to criticize, but why did you ask me to do this reenactment business anyway? I mean, for one thing I’m not Hispanic and I’m not an actor. I’m just a vermiculturist.”
“What’s that?”
“A worm farmer,” Alva piped up. He offered a bag to the woman. “Candy corns?”
“Uh, no thanks. Well, as you know, this is the anniversary of the wreck of the Triton right off the coast there. At least that’s what our research lends us to believe.” She pointed down the slope to the foam-capped ocean. “Our project is to take a photographic record of the wreck, but Ethan thought adding a dramatic reenactment would punch up the human interest element.”
“I agree,” Ruth said, “but why don’t you get a real actor?”
Sandra twiddled with the binder. “Because you have to pay real actors, and our budget is stretched as it is with the underwater photography gear. We’ve got every available dime invested in this project, believe me, and there’s just no wiggle room. Besides, your public relations gal told us how versatile you were.”
Ruth coughed. “My what?”
“Tiny lady with a loud voice. Maude something.” Sandra snapped her fingers. “Maude Stone, I think it is. She found out we were coming to Finny and contacted us to see how she could be involved. We told her we needed an actor. She suggested herself at first, but we didn’t think that would work since her leg is in a cast.”
“As soon as I get hold of her, she’s going to need a cast for the other leg,” Ruth grumbled.
“Pardon?”
“Never mind.”
A bird swooped overhead and headed toward the water. The women looked up into the brilliant blue sky over the ocean. A small boat bobbed in the water. Ruth could just make out the banana yellow cap of Roxie Trotter, a relative newcomer to the town. The wind picked up, toying with the oak branches above their heads.
“Do you get many tourists in June?” Sandra asked.
“Some, but fall is better weather-wise because there is much less fog.” Ruth pointed to Roxie’s boat. “Roxie started up a fishing tour business a year ago. She said her business booms in the fall.”
Sandra tipped her face to the sun. “It is beautiful in Finny right now. The vegetation is so lush, almost tropical. Once the fog burns off, everything sort of puts on these dazzling colors.”
“Yes, it is nice here.” Ruth inhaled the tang of salt air. “Even in the winter you can still find good weather in northern California. From the top of Finny’s Nose, you can see all the way to the Farralon Islands when it’s clear.”
She had a sudden flashback to standing on top of the mountain three months back, when the pieces of a murderous puzzle fell into place. She shuddered, reburying the memories of that awful time back where they belonged.
Sandra laughed, gazing at the vibrant green outline of the tall peak. “I’ve never stood at the top of a nose before. You’re right. The thing really does look just like a nose.”
“If you look at it upside down, it’s the spittin’ image of Richard Nixon,” Alva added, around a mouthful of candy.
Sandra gave him an incredulous look.
Ruth could only shrug at her.
Reggie took the camera off his shoulder and sauntered over. “Hey, ladies. We’ve lost the light for today. We’ll have to pick it up tomorrow.”
Ruth tried to look disappointed, but her feet were shouting a silent yippee!
Sandra handed her a binder. “Why don’t you read up on Indigo tonight? I think you’ll find her inspiring. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Budge.”
Ruth finished her candy and took her nanny’s arm.
The comforting smell of furniture polish greeted her back at the cottage. In spite of the emptiness she felt at Monk’s absence, she was relieved to be home. After making her way carefully around the piles of sheetrock left by Carson the contractor, Monk’s crazy Italian bowling buddy, Ruth snuggled on the sofa with a cup of tea. She opened the binder and read the prologue.
Isabela Ortiz was a Mexican servant in the house of Mr. Edward Orson. She accompanied them on a steamship which departed from New York in 1851 en route to San Francisco. The ship was overloaded with coal, and only fifty passengers were on board when the ship collided with another steamer, which sustained only minor damage. There were twelve reported survivors of the Triton passengers and crew. Eleven were picked up six miles south when the tide carried them to a rocky outcropping. Isabela, separated from the other survivors, made it to shore in a different location. Fearing persecution from the white miners, she took the name Indigo Orson and lived as a man.
Imagine, Ruth thought. Surviving a wreck, washing ashore, and assuming a new identity. She pictured the Finny shoreline, rugged, cold, inhospitable for much of the time. Isabel was indeed a force to be reckoned with to have carved out a life here. She skimmed the first few pages until a photocopied passage caught her eye. The script was loopy and hard to read even when she held it to the light.
Why am I alive? I can only think it to be the grace of God. He must have His own plan, to save me, a worthless servant, and let the others die. It is a miracle to have my tiny book and stub of pencil to write with. The ship broke like an old matchstick with a terrible groaning sound. Señor Orson was crushed by falling wood, lifted in a mighty wave. He looked surprised when the beam hit him. All his money couldn’t do him any help then. Down he went, the waves swallowed him up as if he’d never existed.
Señora Orson and I clung to a piece of wreckage. She looked so lost, poor niña. I tried to comfort her, but she never had an idea how to take care of herself, that’s why she had me along on the trip. She could not understand that her husband had been killed right before her very eyes.
I knew from the moment Señor Orson determined to sail to San Francisco with his precious box that we would be thrown into trouble. And so desperate he was to go that he booked passage on this coal-filled tub. Why oh why couldn’t he have waited until a right proper ship was available? It was a doomed trip from the very start, and Señor paid a terrible price in more ways than one.
Poor Señora Orson. After the boat cracked into pieces, she just kept on asking if it was safe. When will we get home, she asked over and over. I looked out at the terrible wide ocean and all the poor dead folks floating like corks around us. I felt the tug of the current and the whack of the sea creatures that would touch my legs where they dangled in the water. What did it matter then? It was all in God’s hands and He cares little for treasure.
Treasure? What kind of riches would have caused Orson to risk it all and take passage on the coal ship?
The phone rang. Ruth jumped.
“Hello, gorgeous. How are you?” Monk’s voice boomed across the line.
“I’m not gorgeous. I’m big and fat, and I have eaten my body weight in candy today.”
“Now, none of that kind of talk. You’re always beautiful to me. Did Alva help you with the birds?”
“Yes. They’re all fed and tucked in for the night.”
“How’s the drywall repair coming along?”
“I only know Carson’s been here because there’s a gaping hole in the baby’s room and a pile of sheetrock in the middle of the living room floor.”
He snorted. “Who would think termites could cause so much damage?”
“Carson could give them a run for their money. How is your father?”
“He’s on the mend. Doctors say he’ll be home in a few days. That means I will, too. I can’t wait to get back to you.”
She felt trembly inside. “Is that really true, Monk? Even though I am the oldest expectant mother on the planet?” And the one child I had decades ago is a virtual stranger? She pushed the thought away.
“Listen to me, Ruthy. You’re my darling. I don’t know why the good Lord decided to put us up to this parenting thing so late in the game, but He knows what He’s doing. I love you and we’ll face everything together.”
She could picture him there, his giant hands cradling the phone, his eyes warm and gentle. “I love you, Monk,” she said softly.
“I love you, too, Ruthy. You just give Junior a pat for me, and I’ll call you again tomorrow.”
“Okay. I’ll pat somewhere around my pancreas. I think that’s where Junior is wedged right now.”
His laugh echoed in her ears as she hung up and headed for bed.
Though her body was steeped in fatigue, she could not get to sleep. Every time she found a comfortable position, she’d feel a strange flutter of movement. Maybe it was gas, as everyone seemed to believe. The infant was barely three months along, so how had it managed to expand her waistline and grow big enough for her to feel it so distinctly? She remembered an old black and white horror movie about a woman who had given birth to an octopus- like creature that immediately set out to conquer planet earth. She hoped this child would at least fix the sheetrock before he or she embarked on world domination.
Finally, somewhere after two a.m. she got up and fixed herself more tea. She looked out of the front window toward the inlet where Indigo’s ship had foundered so many years ago. Was it a dark night like this when Isabel found herself in the sea? Was there only a sliver of moon to light the way to shore?
Ruth started to put down her cup to return to bed when she saw it.
A tiny flicker of light, dancing under the waves like a fallen star.
Chapter Two
Ruth steeled her stomach as she sprinkled scraps on the worm bed. In the pre-dawn gloom she watched the surface of the soil undulate with happy wiggling bodies. She tried not to inhale the scent of vegetable peelings and loamy soil. The standing monthly order at Pete’s Fish and Tackle had to be filled whether she was nauseated or not. The birds rustled and squawked from their pen in the corner of the yard. She counted eleven beaks. It was always a relief to know that they were all present. Not too long ago poor Ulysses was mutilated by a deranged killer looking to send a message to Ruth. The bird hadn’t survived, and she still looked for his fuzzy head in the gaggle.
The feathered brood was founded by her late husband, Philip, who just couldn’t stand to euthanize the numerous avian victims brought to his veterinary office, and since they were unable to fly, there was no hope of releasing them. He named them all after U.S. presidents, except for Martha, who was the first lady of the bunch.
Grover pushed his way to the gate and inclined his pearly head for a scratch. He was knocked aside by the larger Milton, who flapped his white wings and gave her a “Where is my breakfast?” honk.
“You don’t get your breakfast until I get mine, you greedy bird. Then we’ll go for a walk, if you can behave.” After a virtually sleepless night, she wondered how she would find the energy to walk.
Her breakfast, as it turned out, was dry toast and decaf coffee. She had doubts that even that simple meal would stay where she put it. With grim determination, she donned her warm jacket with the ever-present bag of corn chips in the pocket and went outside to gather the squadron.
The morning air was chilly, but the fog that huddled along the ground was scant. It would burn off by early afternoon. June really was a good time to come to Finny, she thought as she headed through town. After the cool of morning, the afternoon would no doubt shape up to be lovely. A glorious scent of cinnamon from the Buns Up Bakery signaled the start of Al’s morning preparations. She waved a hello to Luis Puzan as he cleaned the windows of his grocery store. A light shone in the top floor of the Finny Hotel.
“I wonder if Ethan is up doing some work on his script?” It was a good place for creativity. The bougainvillea was vibrant against the peeling white paint of the old inn. In the distance, patrons could see the wild Pacific, wind tossed and shadowed by the enormous beds of kelp that undulated under the surface. The building was slightly ramshackle, but the view couldn’t be beat.
She scooped Rutherford out of the fountain in the center of town square. Even close to two years later she couldn’t forget the day she and Alva pulled a slippery body from that bubbling water. The nausea returned with a vengeance. She took several deep breaths and sniffed the orange peel Flo Hodges insisted would drive away the worst morning sickness.
A cheerful bicycle bell announced the arrival of her erstwhile guardian. Alva coasted to a perilous stop, weaving his way in and out of birds, dinging his bicycle bell to startle them out of the way with very little effect. “Morning, sweet cheeks. Monk told me to check every day and see if you done ate your vitamins.” He took a battered notebook and a pencil stub out of his jacket pocket.
“Yes, Alva, I did take my vitamins, and so far I haven’t thrown them up.”
He scribbled a note. “Saturday. Seven o’clock. Took pills. No throw up. Got it.” The pencil stuck out at a jaunty angle after he put it behind his ear. “Where are we going today?”
She tucked the flyaway hair that was riddled with ever more gray strands behind her ears. “I thought I’d take the birds for a walk down to the beach before rehearsal. I saw a strange light in the water last night. I can’t get it out of my mind.”
His white eyebrows shot up. “Strange? You figure maybe it’s a sea monster or something? You know I saw that Loch Ness creature swimmin’ in Tookie Newsome’s trout pond last spring. I betcha he relocated to the ocean on account of he needed more leg room.”
Ruth suppressed a giggle. “Could be. Tookie’s pond is a bit small for a sea monster. Did you finish your route?” Alva was probably the oldest newspaper delivery boy in the country, but he did his job with meticulous care.
“Sure. I got up extra early so’s I could report for bird walking duty.” He opened the tool box and handed her some Milk Duds.
She patted his arm. Ignoring the fact that her waist was expanding with every passing minute, she opened the package.
A tiny, black-haired woman with an ankle cast hobbled over, her arms full of grocery bags.
Ruth’s eyes narrowed. “Good morning, Maude. I understand I’ve got you to thank for being roped into this acting job.”
Maude shot a poisonous look at Alva before giving Ruth her full attention. “Well, I would have been happy to take on the role myself, but they said the cast was a problem. I really can’t see why they couldn’t shoot from the waist up. Of course, if somebody hadn’t left their inflatable raft on the steps of the Dr. Soloski’s office, I never would have broken my foot in the first place.”
Alva crossed his arms. “How many times do I gotta say it? I told you that tweren’t my raft. I dunno how it got there. You can’t pin that on me.”
Alva and Maude had a long-standing feud that began when she accused Alva of stomping on her primroses while he delivered the newspaper. Though Maude tried everything, even videotaping, to catch Alva in the act, she had never found proof of intentional wrongdoing.
The wind whipped Maude’s hair into a wild tangle. “Well, you were there for a cleaning, weren’t you? Even though you don’t have any real teeth left.”
“I do so have teeth, lots of ’em, the real kind and the plastic kind. Fer yer information, Doc says I gotta have a cavity filled in my back mortar.”
“That’s molar, you idiot.” Maude was distracted by the crinkle of Ruth’s candy bag. “What are you doing eating candy at this hour?” Her glance shot to Alva. “Did you give her that?”
He straightened up. “It just so happens, I’m her nanny. It’s my job.”
“You’re not a nanny, you’re a nincompoop. A woman in her condition, especially at her age, should not be eating candy.”
Alva folded his arms. “She’s gonna have anything she wants while the bun is in the oven. Monk said so. I’m keeping a report for him. I’m in charge.”
Ruth noticed the flush mounting across the woman’s cheeks. She hastened to intervene. “Maude, what are all the bags for?”
“I’m making boxed lunches for the first tour group.”
“What tour group?”
“I’ve sold twelve tickets to the Women’s Literary League of Half Moon Bay. They’re coming to visit the film site. You can meet them later. I’m providing lunch and a comprehensive informational tour. I’ve got another group lined up, too. A few more weeks of this and we might be able to buy that copy machine for F.L.O.P.”
F.L.O.P. was the Finny Ladies Organization for Preparedness. With Maude at the helm, they were prepared for anything, from quakes to quarantines. “You’re giving tours of the film site? Did you run this by the director?”
“Oh, please. He doesn’t dictate what goes on in Finny. He might be inspired to greater artistic heights, having a real audience there.” She shifted the bags and leaned closer, peering at Ruth’s face. “Why don’t you ask the crew about some stage makeup? You look all waxy and there are some sun spots on your cheeks that could stand to be concealed. Do you have your lines memorized yet?”
Ruth moved her waxy, spotted face away from Maude. “Not yet. I’m working on it.”
Alva wrote in his notebook.
“What are you doing?” Maude demanded.
“I’m adding to my report. Saturday. Seven thirty. Heading to the beach. Interrupted by old bat with a sack full of groceries.”
Maude’s lips parted in fury.
“Uh, we’ve really got to go walk the birds before rehearsal.” Ruth grabbed Alva’s arm. “Come on, let’s hurry. Bye now.” She moved off as fast as her thickened middle would allow. They headed down slope to the beach.
The morning chill held the fragrance of cypress and cedar. Gravel crunched underfoot as they walked, the birds milling in a noisy crowd around them. She felt a sudden onslaught of self-pity. “Alva, do you think I look waxy?”
He looked closely at her face. “Nah. You’re a real looker, Ruth. Your face is all plump and shiny. The best women are like doughnuts, you know, round and glazed.”
They lapsed into silence as Ruth tried to digest Alva’s wisdom. Round and glazed. Neither sounded particularly attractive. She was overwhelmed by a pang of loneliness. Not just for Monk. She desperately missed her friend Dimple and Dimple’s daughter, Cootchie. Cootchie had been a part of Ruth’s soul since she had stepped in to raise her when Dimple’s lover was killed. At times, when Ruth pleaded with God to help her be a good mother to her unborn child, He sent her a tender memory of Cootchie. It was as if He said, “You love Cootchie, and you’ll love this child, too.”
Another voice spoke up, with different words. You loved Bryce with every ounce of your being, and he won’t give you the time of day. And look what happened to Cootchie, kidnapped while in your care. Now she’s living with her real grandma in Arizona.
Ruth silenced the thoughts with a strengthening prayer. She might be waxy, round, and glazed, but she still had enough strength to pray.
They made it down to the rugged stretch of beach, the wind fighting them along the way. A crooked line of rocks dotted the gravelly sand and joined up to form a black cliff in the distance.
The birds swarmed back and forth, playing tag with the waves. They kept away from the few able-bodied birds that poked in the sand. It made her sad that her birds knew instinctively that they were not part of that wild flock anymore. She wondered if they felt a pang when they saw their uninjured brothers fly away on graceful wings. Did they realize they were forever earthbound?
She walked carefully around the slick boulders, keeping an eye on Franklin. He was her delicate bird, after losing an eye and a foot to a cat. The vet had fashioned him a little plastic tube that slipped on his leg to protect his stump and help with balance. He despised having the contraption put on, but it helped him keep up or at least out of the way of the others.
Looking back, she saw Alva with his plastic shovel, digging for treasure. The image brought back the words of Isabel Ortiz. As she watched the gray waves scour the sand, she wondered what it had been like for the servant woman to cling to the wreckage and watch the people die all around her. All those people and their possessions, lost to the arms of an angry ocean.
Franklin hobbled ahead and disappeared around yet another jagged rock.
“Don’t go too far,” Ruth scolded. “I’m in no position to attempt a water rescue.”
She edged around the obstruction.
Franklin poked his slender beak in a pile of slippery black kelp.
Ruth took another glance at the oddly shaped mound of seaweed.
Her mouth went dry.
“Alva,” she called in a shaky voice. “Can you come here for a second?”
He trotted over, still holding onto the bucket. “Good news. I found a can opener. Ain’t that handy? You just never know when you’re gonna need a can opener. It don’t seem hardly rusted at all. Wonder why someone threw it away?”
She pointed. “Take a look over there, Alva. Is that what I think it is?”
The old man squinted, mashing a fist into his eyes before he peered again. “Well, would you look at that. It ain’t no sea monster.” He patted his pockets.
Ruth fought hard against the bile that rose in her throat. It took all her strength of will to contain the scream that coalesced inside her. After a moment, she got her vocal cords to cooperate. “Alva, I think you better call the police.”
“Who, me? I ain’t got a phone, sweet cheeks.” He found the pencil and notebook. “I gotta add this to my report.” He licked the pencil point and began to write with relish. “Saturday. Seven fifty-five. We found ourselves a body.”
Chapter Three
Jack Denny tried again to get out of the police car, and again he stopped with his hand on the door. There must be some paperwork to be done, an arrest report or neighbor complaint that needed to be addressed, that would take him away from this location. He stared down at the cell phone clipped to his belt. It remained stubbornly silent. The irony.
“Man, Jack,” he mumbled to his stubbled chin in the rearview mirror, “you are losing it, fella.” That was only partially true. He’d already lost it the moment he’d laid eyes on Bobby, right before she’d flattened an obnoxious assailant twice her size. She had been gone from Finny for two months but had returned to run her uncle Monk’s business while he was away tending to his father.
Yes, Bobby was back, and Jack was alternately terrified and elated.
He stood outside Monk’s Coffee and Catering with sweating palms and his stomach in knots. It was ridiculous. He could deal with homicides and mobsters, so why did this woman make his heart hop around like a wild rabbit? Jack took a gulp of air and headed toward the shop. He made it almost to the front door before he stopped again.
Maybe Bobby had met someone. She had been away long enough. She was an attractive, educated, intriguing woman, and a park ranger to boot. Maybe she’d met some outdoorsy type who wasn’t afraid to take on a relationship, a man who didn’t fear losing everything. The thought sent a stab of ice through his gut.
The windows were dim. Bobby must not be opening up the shop today. With a surge of relief, Jack reached for his keys to head back to the station.
“Are you admiring Uncle Monk’s new paint?”
He whirled around and dropped the keys.
Bobby looked at him with her head cocked, black eyes sparkling under a fringe of bangs. She hardly came up to his chin, but her eyes had such power and strength.
“I, uh, no, not really, no.” He picked up the keys and felt a flood of heat to his face. “I heard you were back.”
“Word travels fast in Finny. I was taking out the trash and I saw your car. Do you want to come in for some coffee?”
He sighed. “I would love to.”
They walked into the shop. Bobby prepared the coffee and filled heavy mugs. The two settled into battered chairs by the window. In the distance, the ocean performed acrobatics under a delicate layer of fog. Jack sipped the strong brew and tried to calm his pattering heart. “When did you get in?”
“Just this morning. I haven’t even seen Aunt Ruth yet. Uncle Monk asked me to keep the coffee and muffin business open and take catering orders. He’s hoping to be back next week. It killed him that he had to go.”
“It’s great that you could help out. Ruth has her hands full right now. Maude’s already got her doing some photo documentary thing and an acting job.” He cleared his throat. It was time to ask the question that kept him awake at night. “Have you decided on a job?”
“I’ve been looking at some positions in Arizona, and one in California, plus the spot that’s up for grabs in Utah. They all have their good points, but I haven’t made any decisions yet.”
“I see.” Jack’s thoughts ran wild. Pick the one in California. Stay here, close to me. Please. He wasn’t sure which scared him more, the thought of her leaving or the thought of her staying.
She put down her mug. “So how have you been? How’s Paul?”
“He’s great. The doctor is really pleased with his progress.”
“Is he talking more then?”
“Not as much as he did when you were around.”
Paul had been selectively mute since he saw his mother die suddenly when he was two. Now, at age five, he was just starting to string words together. Paul and Bobby spent hours building Lego spaceships, and Jack spent hours watching them, afraid to break the spell. “He misses Cootchie, too. We’re all hoping she comes back this summer.”
The conversation died away. He found himself watching her, staring at her as if he was trying to memorize every detail of her face. When the silence became awkward, he cleared his throat. “Nate told me to ask you how to get a Barbie shoe out of his pencil sharpener.”
She laughed, high and musical. “Did the triplets get him again?”
He nodded. “I keep telling him not to fall asleep in the recliner. Cunning little stinkers. You’d think a cop wouldn’t be so easy to ambush, but he sleeps like the dead.”
“Well, I can’t help with the Barbie thing, I never played with them. I was more of a Tinkertoy kind of gal.”
He put down his empty cup and his fingers brushed her arm. Without thinking, he covered her hand with his. “I missed you.”
She squeezed his hand before pulling away to gently straighten the collar of his plaid shirt.
His breath caught at the feel of her soft touch on his skin. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms and never let her go.
She opened her mouth to speak when the chirp of his phone interrupted.
Suppressing a groan, he answered it. Bobby took their mugs to the kitchen while he talked. After a minute he hung up. “You are not going to believe this, but Ruth found a body on the beach.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no. Who is it? Is she okay?”
“I don’t know, but maybe you’d better come along with me. She may need support.”
“I got your back, Detective.”
He should be so lucky.
Jack drove code three down the bumpy trail to the beach. Bobby didn’t seem to mind the jostling. As a matter of fact, she looked as energized as he felt. Cold air rushed in through the open windows, and her cheeks pinked under her swirling cap of short black hair.
Alva met them at the top of the bluff. His eyes were enormous in his shrunken face. “Right down there, Detective. Howdy, Miss Walker. You come to check out the body? I been keeping the folks back. I sent Roxie away, but that busybody Ellen Foots is here with Dr. Soloski. I told ’em to keep off on account of they could smudge the evidence or something, but you can’t tell Ellen nothing. She’s as bad as Maude. You may just hafta arrest her for construction of justice or something.”
Jack nodded. “Thanks, Alva. Let’s go have a look.”
They made their way down the windy path to the beach. Ruth sat on a boulder, amidst a swarm of seagulls. Ellen stood next to her, her six-foot-four frame towering over a slender man who completed the trio.
Officer Nathan Katz knelt next to a slick heap several yards away, taking pictures. He looked up and nodded. Jack and Bobby hastened over to the group.
Ruth looked up, her face the color of plaster. “Hello, Jack.” When she saw Bobby, tears began to roll down her face. “Bobby, I’m so glad you’re here.” She jammed a tissue under her nose. “I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I’m unraveling like a loose hem. It’s just so awful. A body, another one.”
“It’s okay, Aunt Ruth.” Bobby hugged her tightly. “You’re having a bad morning. Cry all you want. No one will blame you a bit.”
“Well, Detective,” Ellen Foots boomed. “What is going to become of our little town? Another body. It hasn’t even been four months since the Fog Festival murder. I think it’s connected to the film crew. That’s what happens when you let new people in.” She turned wide eyes on the man next to her. “Oh, not you, of course, Gene. We are so lucky to have a dentist here.” She squeezed his arm.
The sandy-haired man winced under the pressure of Ellen’s assertive gesture. “Detective, I’m relieved you’re here. I took a look to see if there was any need for resuscitation, but there, er, wasn’t.”
Jack thought the poor guy looked as green around the gills as Ruth, but that might be attributed to the attention of the ferocious librarian. “Thanks, Doctor. I’ll need to talk to you both in a few minutes.” He put a hand on Ruth’s shoulder. “Are you all right?”
She nodded, balling up another Kleenex. “Yes. You’d think, seeing as how this is the second body Alva and I have happened upon, I wouldn’t be such a mess. It must be the baby.”
“Don’t worry about it. Baby or no, finding a dead person is not something anybody takes in stride.” He and Bobby exchanged a glance, and she sat down next to her aunt. “Sit tight. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Jack did a slow circle around the body. The stiff figure was sizable, clad in a dive suit, complete with air tanks that lay half buried in the sand. The body lay face up, eyes closed. Jack looked at the ocean for a moment to clear his brain.
Nate was down on one knee, taking a close-up of the dead man’s head. The damp sand made a wet patch on his pants where he knelt.
“Whatcha got, Nate?”
“Ruth said his name was Reggie. He was a cameraman for the film crew. Big guy, good diving gear. He’s been dead awhile.” Nate huffed into his lush mustache. “His mask is missing, but I don’t see much sign of trauma. Wasn’t shark chow, I don’t think. Coroner is on his way.”
Jack raised an eyebrow. “You know you have the word Daddy written in magic marker on the side of your neck?”
He nodded. “I know. I told Maddie we need to send them to a convent, but she says they don’t take six-year- olds, especially triplets.”
“At least they can spell Daddy right. That’s a good sign.”
“Yeah.” Nate stood up and brushed the sand from his hands. “Is that Bobby over there?”
“I was at Monk’s when I got the call. She came along to give Ruth some help.”
Nate shot him a sidelong glance. “Is she staying in Finny for a while this time?”
“Maybe. So what’s your take on this? Diving accident?”
Nate sneezed and blew his nose on an enormous handkerchief he pulled from his pocket. “Could be. But why would the guy dive at night anyway?”
Jack watched a bird swoop down to investigate and flutter away again. “I know they’ve been filming the wreck. Do you suppose they decided to get some night footage?”
Nate shook his head. “In these waters? By himself? That’s gotta break every rule in the safe diving handbook.”
They stared for another few minutes. Jack sighed. “I’m going to talk to Ruth and Alva again.”
Nate readied his camera and went back to work.
The old man was sitting by a red toolbox when Jack returned. “Tell me how you and Ruth found the body, Alva.”
He scratched his wrinkled forehead. “We’re walkin’ the birds, ya see, me and Ruth. Then I find this here can opener in the sand. Don’t that just beat it? That’s a lucky find, I’ll tell you, and hardly any rust.”
“Okay, you were walking the birds and you found a can opener. What next?”
“Sweet cheeks calls me over to see the sea monster. Only it ain’t no sea monster, it’s a dead guy. I don’t have no phone so I run back to town and Bubby calls it in.” His face darkened. “Ellen heard me ’splaining it to Bubby and she and the doctor headed down. I been tryin’ to lay low on account of the fact that I need to get my mortar drilled and filled. I’m not too keen on the idea.” He continued to rummage in the toolbox.
Jack smiled. “Did you know the dead man, Alva?”
“Nah, never met him. Just saw him at the film site a couple of times. Never said more than a ‘good morning’ to him.” He straightened up. “Aha! Here it is, Ruthy honey. I told you Alva was gonna take care of ya.” He handed her a crumpled bag of Milk Duds.
Ruth gave him a wan smile. “Thank you, Alva. You are so good to me.”
Jack waited until she ate a few candies. A tiny stain of color returned to her pale cheeks. “Did you want to add anything to Alva’s statement?”
She closed her eyes for a moment. “Yes,” she said, as she opened them. “The reason we came to the beach in the first place. Last night I got up around two, I think, and I looked out my front window. I saw a light, far out in the water. It almost seemed like it was under the water, but I couldn’t be sure. Do you think I imagined it? I am under the influence of rampant hormones at the moment. I can’t remember my name half the time.”
He chuckled. “I don’t think you imagined it. The victim was diving at night for some reason we can’t figure right now. You might have seen his light. Two o’clock you say?”
“Somewhere around there.”
Gene Soloski’s forehead creased as he and Ellen approached. “Not my business, of course, but it seems pretty ridiculous to dive at night in these waters, especially alone.”
“I agree.” Ellen patted the dentist on the back. “Do you dive, Doctor?”
“No, ma’am. I’m a land creature all the way.”
Ellen smiled coquettishly. “Except for your days as a tree doctor.”
“I guess I traded in the bark for the bite.”
Ellen exploded into loud guffaws. The librarian’s wild mane of hair vibrated along with the laughter. “You’re just a stitch, Gene.”
“And they say dentists don’t have a sense of humor.” Dr. Soloski spotted Alva, crouched behind Ruth. “There you are. I’ve been leaving messages with Mrs. Hodges for you all week. Don’t forget your appointment on Monday morning, Mr. Hernandez. We’ve got to get that tooth fixed before you wind up with an abscess.”
Alva’s brows drew together. “I think I got me some other appointment on Monday. Could be I got a Boy Scout meeting that day.”
“Cancel it.” Ellen didn’t take her eyes off the dentist.
Alva’s face crimped. “I don’t got a ride to the office, and this leg’s been bothering me. Too far to walk.”
“I can take you, Alva.” Ruth patted his shoulder. “I’ll stay with you, too. It will be okay.”
“There, you see?” The doctor smiled. “It won’t hurt a bit, I promise.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Alva grumbled. “I bet that’s what they said to that Marie Antoinette broad, too.”
Jack finished scribbling in his notebook. “Okay, I think we’re done for now. I’ll be talking to each of you again, soon.”
“All right.” Dr. Soloski took a last glance at the body and shuddered. “I don’t think I’ll ever see this beach the same way again.” Ellen and Dr. Soloski made their way back up the path.
Alva closed his box. He took the corn chips from Ruth’s pockets and sprinkled them on the ground. Eleven birds came running to peck up the treat. “I’ll help you get these critters home.”
“I’ll bring up the rear.” Bobby gave Jack a smile. “Come by for a coffee refill when you get this mess under control.”
King Kong couldn’t prevent him from taking her up on that offer. “Thanks, Bobby, I will.” He watched her small figure move up the path, her pace matched to Ruth’s. Bobby reached out an arm and wrapped it around Ruth’s shoulders. What he wouldn’t give to have her arm wrapped around him. Nate’s voice snapped him out of his reverie.
“Hey, boss?”
He returned to the grisly pile where his partner knelt. “What’s up?”
Nate held back the neck of the man’s wet suit with a pen. “What do you think about this?”
Jack squinted and then his eyes widened. “I think I should have been a dentist.”
Chapter Four
Ruth wasn’t sure whether or not to report for filming on Monday morning. She spent the weekend reading about Indigo Orson. The past seemed much more attractive at the moment than remembering the awful present that included Reggie’s untimely end. She grabbed her binder anyway and made her way to the plateau overlooking the sheltered cove. There was no one there. She sat on a card chair, snuggled farther into her jacket, and flipped through the pages.
A stranger life I could not imagine. Washed up on shore, all alone in an alien country was almost more than I could bear. I fancied I heard the words of my mother entreating me to keep going. Mama, who had taught me to read and write against the wishes of my father. Mama, who died from the same infection that killed him.
They were gone. The Orsons, dead. I was completely alone. Yet in my terrible state, afloat on a plank of wood, He sent me a treasure. There it was, bobbing on the water, a small barrel, no bigger than a man’s boot, but what it held would save me. I grabbed hold of it with all my strength and made for land. It was hard going, clawing against the waves which seemed determined to drag me out to sea.
The sun beat down on my head though my fingers were numb with cold. The salt water stung my eyes and the sight of those poor souls adrift in the waves as I struggled through the water sickened me. I felt I could not hold on for a moment longer. When I felt the gravel under my feet, my spirit was renewed, and I fell to my knees praising Father in heaven for deliverance. I was alive. I was alive.
The sound of a woman’s voice startled Ruth. She looked up to find Ethan and Sandra, heads bent together, locked in intense conversation as they headed up the path toward the grassy clearing where she sat.
“But he’s dead,” Sandra said, choking back a sob. She turned her face toward the ocean below. “Reggie’s dead.”
Ethan held up a hand. “We couldn’t have foreseen that. If he hadn’t gone off on his own, this wouldn’t have happened. You better believe he wouldn’t hesitate to double-cross us.”
“It doesn’t matter what we did or didn’t see coming. The man is dead. I. . .” Sandra jerked her head around as she caught sight of Ruth. “Oh, Mrs. Budge. I didn’t think you would be here. I’m sure you’ve heard about. . .about Reggie.”
“Yes. Alva and I found him on the beach, as a matter of fact. I’m very sorry.”
“We are, too.” Ethan’s face was smooth, bare of emotion. “He was a great friend and colleague. It’s a terrible tragedy.”
A friend who would double-cross them about something? Ruth decided to indulge her nosiness. “Why was he diving at night?”
Ethan blinked. “At night? I don’t know.”
“Was he doing something for the film project?”
“No, definitely not. We would never have him do a night dive. That’s much too dangerous.”
Sandra tugged a strand of blond hair. “Maybe he was doing some recreational diving.”
Ruth frowned. “That seems odd. What would he be able to see at night?”
“I’m sure the police will find out it was an accident. In any case, we’re going to keep to the schedule as best we can. I’m going to see if I can get another cameraman out here, and if I can’t, I’ll take it over myself. Why don’t you use the time today to read through the notebook and we’ll start the filming as soon as possible. I’ll let you know.” Ethan turned his attention to an accordion file.
Sandra’s mouth opened, but she didn’t speak as Jack’s police car pulled up the winding road.
Though Ruth would have liked nothing more than to eavesdrop on the conversation, she knew interfering in police business wasn’t a good idea. Jack was a great friend, but first and foremost he was a cop. She waved good-bye and headed back to town to pick up the reluctant dental patient as promised.
Alva didn’t answer when Ruth knocked. Finally Flo Hodges, who owned the small cottage where Alva rented a room, unlocked the door. Alva was under the bed.
Ruth peered into the dark space. “Please don’t make me get down there, Alva. I’ll be hard-pressed to get up again. Come on out. I’ll take you over to Dr. Soloski’s, and it will be over in no time. I promise.”
“I don’t wanna,” came the plaintive voice.
“Tell you what. Why don’t you come out, and I’ll ask Bert Penny to give you a ride on his motorcycle after your tooth is fixed.”
There was a moment of silence. “Really?”
“Really.”
“Ya think he’d do it?”
“I’m sure he would if I asked him to.”
There was movement from under the bed. “Well, all right then. I guess I can let the quack take a look.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Ruth led the way as the two walked down the slope toward the town that squatted at the nostril end of Finny’s Nose. Even with Alva’s reluctant pace they arrived at the tidy office in less than twenty-five minutes. A nautical theme, right down to the rustic wood benches and abalone shell business-card holder, decorated the bright space. She had a mental picture of the dentist doing his work wearing a sailor’s cap.
Dr. Soloski came out to greet them in the usual dentist garb. Alva hid behind Ruth.
“Good morning. How are you feeling, Ruth, after that awful thing on Saturday?”
“I’m all right, thanks. Trying not to think about it, mostly. I’m going to wait here for Alva, if that’s okay.” She stepped aside to reveal the cowering old man.
“Certainly. Come along, Mr. Hernandez.” The doctor patted Alva on the shoulder. “We’ll have you fixed up in no time.”
Alva shot Ruth a desperate look as he was ushered into the back.
Ruth sighed. Her ankles felt puffy and swollen. How was it possible that a fragile three-month-old fetus could wreak havoc on a perfectly serviceable body? That must be why people had babies in their twenties. With a twinge she remembered she’d had a baby then, too—her son, Bryce, who didn’t want to be within spitting distance of her. Where had she gone wrong with him? And would she repeat the same mistakes with this late-in-life baby?
She shut down that depressing line of thought and turned her thoughts to Isabel Ortiz and her mysterious treasure. The page was still dog-eared where she’d left off reading that morning.
This is wild country. The men here are rough without the civilizing influence of women. The rush for gold has brought hundreds to this shore. They have eyes filled with desperation and want, a reckless need to throw every caution away in search of that elusive gold nugget. There are no women here and that is both a blessing and a curse.
I decided from the earliest instance that I would be in great peril if these men found a helpless woman on their shore, a Mexican woman at that. They think anyone with skin of a different color is lower than a dog. When we were aboard the Triton, I heard tell of a group of white miners calling themselves “the hounds” that chased Mexican miners off their claims and beat them near to death. What could I do to save myself?
It was then I became Indigo Orson. With my ragged, unkempt appearance, they had no reason to suspect my secret. A pair of grizzled old miners took me in and let me sleep in a corner of their tent. They were most curious about my barrel. I slept with it under my head in the night.
With the first light of dawn, I opened my treasure trove and prayed that God would give me the courage to see it through. The barrel did its work, and the flour was dry as dry could be. I measured out a precious dip from inside. With a borrowed pan and a bit of grease, I cooked up a batch of biscuits, light as air and golden brown on top. At the first smell of baking bread, the miners emerged from their miserable hidey holes like gophers from their burrows. They lined up around my campfire to watch, mouths open, as I baked up the biscuits. Imagine my surprise when one man shouted, “I’ll give ya five dollars for them biscuits.” Five dollars? Such a fortune for a bit of bread? To these men who have been eating roots and berries for months, the flour was treasure indeed.
I settled for one dollar per biscuit, and only two per man. At the end of the morning I had a ten-dollar gold piece and a handful of other coins. God saved me with His white treasure. That night with my pocket full of coins, I thanked Him and said a prayer for Señor and Señora Orson, God rest their souls.
Ruth shook her head in amazement. Indigo Orson. A Mexican woman, impersonating a man, cooking for half- starved miners. She could imagine the fear that Indigo felt, but that stubborn will to survive that could only come from the Lord. The episode was better than fiction and certainly worthy of being documented on film. She hoped she would be able to do justice to the amazing lady.
With thoughts of Indigo swirling in her mind, Ruth dozed.
Less than an hour later, Alva stomped into the waiting room, shouting over his shoulder at the dentist, the plastic bib fluttering under his chin.
“You said it wasn’t a-going to hurt. Whaddya call that needle poke, huh? A love pat?”
Dr. Soloski stiffened. “I guarantee you, Alva, no other dentist could have done a finer job on that tooth.”
Alva’s ears pinked as he continued his tirade. “How should I know what kinda job you did? Not like I could see yer work or anything. Maybe you left a tool in there or somethin’. Maybe I’m goin’ to find a screwdriver in my mouth when I eat my snack today. Or maybe a chisel.”