'Til Death, page 24
“Are you sure he’s taken it all? Have you looked in the safe yourself?”
“He’s changed the combination. I can’t open it.”
“Can he do that, Pete? Can he take all the valuables and just leave?” I demanded. “That’s not fair.”
“I don’t know,” he said. “Perhaps what he told Doris about the treasure being safer in the bank is true.”
“Or maybe he’s selling it to somebody in Key West,” I said. “What about that?”
“Also a possibility.” Reasonable cop voice engaged. “I’m not an expert on marital law in Maine, but it’s likely that the treasure belongs to both of them equally. If he’s left half of it here he may be able to do that. Let’s give opening the safe another try, Doris.”
With another wistful glance toward the ocean, Doris stood and led us into the house. We followed her to the bedroom. I tried to avoid looking at the mirrored doors. It didn’t work. By the time she’d pushed them halfway open, the blinking lights and swirling colors had appeared. Just before the last edge of mirror slid behind the wall I caught a glimpse of something I’d seen before: the clock on the wall of my old kitchen. It still said quarter past ten.
Doris poked nervous fingers at the keypad with no result. “Slow down,” Pete advised. “Concentrate on the combination. Take your time.”
Aunt Doris closed her eyes. Took a couple of deep breaths. Stood silently for a moment, then slowly, deliberately, hit one numeral at a time.
Nothing happened.
“Looks as though he did change the combination after all.” Pete sounded disappointed.
“Ten-fifteen,” I said. “Ten-fifteen.”
“What did you say, babe?” Pete asked.
“The combination,” I said. “It’s ten-fifteen or maybe one, zero, one, five. Anyway, it’s those numbers in some sequence or other. Try it,” I insisted.
Doris’s look was one of disbelief, but Pete knew I’d just looked at a mirror and did as I asked. He called out the numbers as he tapped them into the pad. “One, zero, one, five.”
The door slid open silently, the glass case lighted, the air grew cold.
CHAPTER 44
Doris picked up the case with its precious contents, carried it carefully and placed it gently.onto the bed. “The top of the bureau lifts off, Pete. The treasure chest is right underneath it.” She stood beside the bed, unmoving, watching.
All of my field reporter insticts kicked in. I moved close to Pete, wishing for better light—wishing for Marty with her big camera—wishing for the true money shot—a treasure chest brimming with gold and jewels.
The chest itself looked just about as I’d envisioned it. It was not very large. The top was rounded, encrusted with barnacles. I even thought I caught a whiff of what could have been seaweed or kelp but maybe I imagined that.
“Want to give me a hand lifting the cover?” Pete asked. “It looks pretty rickety.”
I wedged myself in beside the bureau and put both hands on one curved end of the chest, where rusted metal bands and bolts looked loose and unsubstantial.
“One, two, three, lift!” Pete called.
We lifted the rounded cover of the empty chest.
Neither of us spoke, just quietly, carefully lowered the lid back into place.
“I was right, wasn’t I?” Doris broke the silence. “He took it all away.”
“It looks that way,” Pete said. “We’ll need to talk to Bill as soon as he comes back from the boat tour. Hopefully, he’ll have some good reason for this.” He replaced the bureau top.
I hoped so too. “Want to put the log back in the safe, Aunt Doris?” I asked.
“Yes. At least he didn’t take that away from me.” She lifted the case once again and almost reverently centered it on the bureau and closed the gray door. “What was that combination again, Maralee, in case I ever need it?”
“One-zero, one-five,” I told her, hoping she wouldn’t question me further about it.
“Lucky guess,” she said. “Some people just seem to have a gift that way. Your mother could do tricks like that sometimes too.”
My mother? It had never, ever occured to me that such a so-called gift might run in families. I’d certianly ask Aunt Ibby about it at the first opportunity. Maybe, at some future, less stressful time, I’d ask Aunt Doris for more details. Maybe. “Do you want to go back out onto the deck?” I asked, “in case Uncle Bill is looking for you?”
“We’ll be right here with you,” Pete reassured her. “Chances are there’s a good explanation for what’s going on.”
I sure hope so. So far, nothing about this made much sense.
Aunt Doris faced us. “If he’s taking the cave tour he’ll be able to see this place from the Whaler. I’d better be out there when he looks this way.” She led us from the bedroom back to the doors opening to the deck. “He uses binoculars to spy on me, you know.”
Creepy.
Once again we sat at the table. “Look there.” Doris pointed. “There’s the Whaler. He’s on his way back.”
I looked where she pointed. I didn’t see a white straw hat. “Do you have binoculars here, Aunt Doris?” I asked.
“Sure. They’re hanging on a strap right behind the door there.”
I found them, held them up to my eyes, twisted the center knob and adjusted the focus. I was right. There was no white straw hat. Bill Raymond was alone in the Boston Whaler.
“Where’s Scott?” I was alarmed. Pulling the phone from my pocket, I hit Scott’s number. The unavailable message played. I tried again. “He’s not answering.”
“If he’s in the cave his phone won’t work,” Doris said. “I know. I’ve tried it.”
“In the cave? Alone? How can that be?”
“Calm down,” Pete said. “It can’t be. Maybe they didn’t do the tour for some reason. Lee, take the cart and run down to the dock and see what’s going on with Scott. I’ll stay here with Doris. Bill will probably pull in to the private dock. I don’t want to leave her alone.”
“Good idea,” I said, handing him the binoculars. “I’ll be right back.” I hurried down the outside staircase and started the cart. The only time I’d driven one before was on the golf course. This terrain was bumpier, but still fun. I saw the green golf cart Scott had been driving as soon as I reached dockside. I parked and scanned the area, looking for the telltale white hat.
Maybe he’s in the coffee shop, I told myself. I checked my watch. “It’s almost dinnertime. The sun will be setting pretty soon.”
No luck in the coffee shop. A waitress told me Scott had been there for lunch. “He was excited about going to see the treasure cave,” she said. “I told him not to expect much. I’ve done the tour. It’s no big deal. Just a hole in the side of the island with an X up high on the wall.”
Did Scott ever get on the Whaler for the tour? Maybe he went on another boat. Maybe he found a cheaper ride. I quick-walked to the dockmaster’s office. “My friend was going on a treasure cave tour,” I blurted. “I saw the boat he was supposed to be on coming in. He wasn’t on it. He’s not answering his phone.” I could hear hysteria creeping into my voice, and tried to slow down. “Where’s the tide?”
I’m from Salem. I live and work close to the ocean. Tides vary. Some are orderly. They march into the shoreline on time, then turn themselves around and leave the same way. But sometimes they roar ashore and carve out great hunks of sand and rock.
“Tide’s coming in,” he said. “What tour boat was your friend on?”
“Not a regular tour boat,” I told him. “It was Bill Raymond’s Boston Whaler.”
“Bill takes private parties,” he said. “Check with him or Doris.”
“He’s on his way in right now,” I yelled. “I saw him. My friend isn’t on that boat.”
“He probably took one of the other boats, then. Ain’t nobody gonna leave a passenger in the cave, lady. Calm down.” He gave me a pitying look. “Nothing to worry about. Sit down. I’ll call the other captains and figure out who took him. Name?”
“Scott Palmer,” I told him. “He’s a reporter.” I didn’t sit down.
“Oh, yeah. Seen him around. Nice camera.” He took a phone from his uniform pocket and put in a number. Slowly.
“How many tour boats are there?”
“Six or seven,” he said.
“I’m going over to the lighthouse and check with Hank,” I told him. “He knows Scott. He might have seen who he went with. I’ll be right back.”
“Good idea, lady,” he said. “You do that. I’ll keep checking from here. You find him, you call me, okay? You got my number?” He rattled it off and I put it into my phone.
“Thanks,” I said, turning and heading for the lighthouse. It was well past five o’clock, so I knew the lighthouse tours were over for the day. Just beyond the lighthouse the automated light flashed bright every five seconds. I hoped Hank would be at home. I knocked, knowing that he’d probably expect a sunglasses- or hat-losing tourist on his steps. Maybe he’d pretend he wasn’t there. I couldn’t blame him for that. “It’s me, Lee Mondello,” I called. “Please open the door, Hank.”
He answered almost immediately. “What’s going on, Lee? Something wrong?” A frown creased his forehead, eyebrows gray against dark skin. He looked behind me. “Where’s Pete?”
“He’s up at the cottage with Doris,” I said. “He didn’t want to leave her alone. Something’s going on with Bill. Looks like he’s grabbed the treasure and stashed it someplace. But I’m worried about Scott. Bill was going to take him to see the cave. The Whaler is back but Scott isn’t in it. Pete thought you might know where he is. Do you?” I pleaded. “Do you know if Scott was in the Whaler or not?”
Hank pulled the door shut. “He sure was. I looked outside when I heard that engine start up. It’s got a whine. Scott and Bill were alone in the Whaler. No other passengers. I thought that was strange. Bill gets a hundred bucks a head for that trip and I know he left at least five or six willing customers at the dock. That’s not like old Bill at all.”
“What should we do? Is it possible he could have left Scott in the cave? My God, Hank. The tide is coming in.”
“Call Pete, Lee,” he ordered. “Tell him I’m going to grab a boat and get around to the cave. It’s only about half-tide right now. We have time. You stay right here. I’ll call the Coast Guard. Do you know where Bill’s at now?”
“No. Pete thought he was heading for the private dock.”
“Okay. Go up to the light. There’s a good telescope up there. You’ll recognize the Whaler if you see it, right?”
“Sure. But it’s getting dark.”
“Call Pete,” he said, and closed the door, leaving me all alone and scared to death. I pulled out my phone and began to climb the spiral staircase, thinking about River’s late-night movie of the same name and how poor, mute
Dorothy McGuire had been attacked on the stairs. I’m not mute, I thought with satisfaction. I can scream my head off.
Go ahead and scream your head off. There’s no one here to hear you except a mouse.
I was relieved to hear Pete’s voice. “Hello, babe. What did Hank say?”
I related as quickly, and as clearly as I could, what Hank had told me. “He’s gone to the cave,” I said, “and he’s calling the Coast Guard. I’m on my way up to the light to see if I can spot Bill and the Whaler. Is Aunt Doris all right?”
“Yes. But the Whaler is tied up at the dock and Bill is nowhere to be seen. I’ve called the sheriff and he’s sending a cop over to stay with Doris while a couple of deputies and I search for her husband. Any news about Scott yet?”
“No. The tide’s coming in. I’m worried.”
“If Hank’s gone to the cave and he’s got the Coast Guard on it, Scott will be all right. You’ll see.”
He didn’t sound convinced.
CHAPTER 45
The telescope Hank had mentioned was a stationary one attached to the railing around the light. Its sweep covered the eastern tip of the island including the automated light, and the inner and outer harbor from a lighted marker buoy to the north and part of the shoreline to the south. Fortunately, that included a close-up view of the Raymonds’ cottage. Even in the dimming daylight I could see activity there. Aunt Doris’s orange dress stood out among the several uniformed men congregated on the deck.
I lowered the viewer to ground level. More men. I saw Pete among them. This was more than the “cop and a couple of deputies” that were supposed to safeguard Doris. This was a manhunt. They were looking for Bill Raymond. Once again I raised the telescope, swiveled it and focused on the rock pile. I knew that the cave entrance was directly below it. My engineer father had figured that out. Where was the tide? Would Hank get there in time? Where was the Coast Guard?
The last question was answered when a speeding motorboat with the familiar orange and white stripes of the USCG, lights flashing, sirens screaming, sped into view, then disappeared behind the island’s edge. I realized I’d been holding my breath. It felt like the point in a movie when the cavalry arrives to save the hero. Scott was going to be all right. Probably wet and angry, but he’d be alive. Hank should be back any minute and I’d learn all the details—like why would anyone leave another person alone in a below–sea level cave with an oncoming tide?
Once again I focused on the cottage where I could no longer see anyone on the deck. Lights were on inside the house and there were moving lights among the trees and bushes surrounding the place. There was a serious search going on over there. I wished I could call Pete, to find out what was happening. Naturally that was impossible under the circumstances, but maybe the dockmaster would know something.
I secured the telescope and stepped back inside the light tower. In the fading daylight and the intermittent flashes from the automated light, I found the dockmaster’s number. I was about to hit send when I heard the entrance door far below open. Hank must be back. Relieved, I went to the head of the spiral staircase. I leaned over the iron railing, about to call his name.
Somebody beat me to it.
“Hank! Where the hell are you?”
It was a man’s voice. It was Uncle Bill—and he was angry.
“Hank!” The shout echoed, reverberated throughout the rounded building. I felt the phone slip from my hand—heard it hit the metal treads of the staircase below me. It bounced. Clink. Clink. Clink—from step to step. It stopped. Silence. I held my breath again.
“Hank? You up there, you worthless SOB?”
Silently, I peered over the edge. There was a light down there, its moving glow casting giant shadows on the white walls of the tower. Bill Raymond had turned on the bulb in the miner’s hat strapped to his head—the kind he rented to cave explorers. I wondered if Scott had one. I hoped so. Bill’s shadow looked huge and there was no mistaking the shape of the thing in his hand. He was carrying a shovel.
“Hank!” he shouted again. I backed away from the edge. What if Bill looked up and discovered it was me—alone at the top of the light? Desperate, I looked around. I could go outside and scream—but I knew the wind would carry the sound of my thin voice away. I had no phone now to call for help and I was sure my call to the dockmaster hadn’t gone through. I stood very still and listened to the sounds coming from below.
Bill had begun to climb the stairs. “What’s the matter with you, Hank?” he shouted. “You finally told Doris about me moving the lever on Jack’s plane, didn’t you, you ungrateful bum. After all I’ve done for you. All these years I was sure you saw me do it. It was so easy—my hand under the blanket—it only took a second. I figured all I had to do was give you a job and place to live and you’d keep it to yourself. Hell, I even hired your kid every summer. What made you rat me out after all this time? Did that cop worm it out of you?”
Poor, innocent Hank had no idea that you’d done it until I saw the blanket in the mirror.
Another step on the stairs. The light moved closer. I backed away as far as I could get from the railing.
He’s afraid of heights. Maybe he won’t come all the way up.
Hank had told Doris about what he remembered from that day. Why would he do that? Did he simply want her to know how dangerous her husband really was?
“You’re about to have a bad accident, Hank. A terrible fall from—how tall is this thing—fifty feet?” No longer yelling, his voice was even more chilling. “Nobody’s going to be worried about you. I left the TV guy in the cave and called the Coast Guard to go get him.” Bill’s laugh was chilling, terrible. “Look over that way. You’ll see all the lights and hear all the boats and bells and whistles. Nobody’s worried about you. They all want to be heroes—saving the guy who’ll have it all on camera, ready for the eleven o’clock news. Nobody’s going to worry about me either—until they figure out that all the gold is gone. All the jewelry too. I’ve even got a helicopter all loaded up and waiting.”
Clink. Clunk. Another step—and the shovel bumping along at his side. “Nobody cares what Doris says about me. Everybody thinks she’s half nuts, anyway. I’ll be long gone out of the country. Rich as Croesus!” Again, the awful laugh.
Another sound from below. The door opened again. Someone is here. I’m going to be all right. I peeked over the edge of the railing once more. It was a man. Not Pete. The miner’s lamp picked him out. “Hank!” Bill screamed the name, then swung around, looking upward. “Then who—?” The light stung my eyes. He’d seen me. I watched, horrified, frozen as he began to climb the spiraling stairs.
Hank followed, succeeding in grabbing one of Bill’s legs. The shovel caught his arm, then crashed on his shoulder. Bill climbed higher but Hank didn’t give up. In the dim light, the two men scuffled. I had no weapon. If Bill succeeded in reaching the light, I had no chance of defeating him.
My foot hit something. The ashtray. Doris’s secret ashtray and lighter were at my feet, and a dozen oil lamps were right in front of me. I moved quickly, the sounds of struggle getting louder—closer.
