Lost Key Page 7

  Chapter Fifteen

  Dust swirled in a wide beam of morning sun. Kate sneezed.

  “God bless you!” Chuck pulled a tissue from a faded box on the nightstand, and a new plume of dust whooshed through the air. He handed the tissue to Kate.

  “Thanks, but I think that might do more harm than good.”

  He pulled two more tissues out and handed her a clean one. Dabbing at her nose, she took in the room.

  “Have you even been in here since he passed?”

  Chuck laughed. “I’m sorry it’s not the tidiest. I use it as a guest room every now and then, but to me, it’s still Gramps’ room. No one’s been here for a few months. I guess I should get in here and dust, but I’m a bachelor. Dusting isn’t really something I dwell on.”

  Kate drew a finger along the top of the dresser, tracing a deep trough. “I can see that.”

  The room was wide, furnished with a carved double bed, a single nightstand to its right, and around the corner, a matching dresser with a speckled, cloudy mirror. Atop it, a hunk of bleached coral rested beside half a pitted bronze nameplate from an old ship. On the opposite wall, a blue flag hung above a narrow closet in the corner.

  “That’s the official Conch Republic flag, you know.”

  “Official?” Kate raised an eyebrow at her friend.

  “Well, it was mostly a joke. But back in the early eighties, the Border Patrol set up a roadblock just this side of Florida City. Since that’s the only road in and out of here, it was a pain in the ass for both the locals and tourists. And of course the smugglers used boats and went right around. Someone mentioned seceding from Florida in protest, and it sort of became a thing. It wasn’t meant to be serious. We know where our bread is really buttered, and we’re nothing if not pragmatic down here. But we also like to speak our minds. So the Conch Republic became a way to get our voices heard, even if we were speaking the language of snark.”

  “How’d the folks on the mainland take it?”

  “Eh. They mostly ignored it. Patted us on the heads and handed us another case of rum. But they did remove the checkpoint, so maybe it wasn’t so crazy after all.” Chuck shrugged and turned to a small drop-front desk beside the closet. Above it hung a huge marine chart of the Keys extending all the way out past the Marquesas. He jutted his chin toward it. “Gramps marked all his favorite fishing holes. See here…”

  Kate peered at the chart, and Chuck pointed to a spot about a mile northeast of where they stood. “This is where he landed the bonefish that’s mounted over the bar.”

  She noted a symbol beside Winter, Neap Tide in shaky handwriting beside the location. The map was covered with similar notations. “Looks like Gramps got around.” Kate’s fingers brushed the map as she followed his notes to the east through what is now Marine Sanctuary. “Are any of these locations possibilities for him to have hidden the treasure?”

  “All of them and none of them. Gramps was a crafty old dude. If he hid something, he would have meant for it to stay hidden.”

  “I don’t mean any offense, Chuck, but why wouldn’t your grandfather have told you where he hid the money? He knew you were taking over the Key. He was getting older and had to have known he wasn’t going to last forever.”

  Chuck sighed. “I only found out about his time with Capone from some stuff I found after he died.”

  “Like what?”

  “Old photos. There was one in particular, Gramps looked so young. But it was him and three other guys in pinstripe suits and fedoras. They were standing in front of a black, open-top car, and they looked like they were dressed up like gangsters for Halloween. But the Tommy guns they were holding looked a little too real.”

  “Tommy guns? That’s serious.”

  “Yeah, and there were some newspaper clippings about Capone, too. The photos were faded, but it looked like Gramps standing in the background in a couple of them. He never talked about his past, and I guess that’s why.” Chuck paused, his finger hanging in the air. Suddenly, he snatched a tissue from the box and sneezed.

  “Gesundheit.”

  “Thanks.” He wiped his nose and continued. “Anyway, near the end, his mind went a little quicker than either of us expected. Looking back, I suspect he had a series of small strokes, although we didn’t know what to call it at the time. One day he was doing the crossword in the paper, and the next day he couldn’t read a clock. I’m sure he meant to tell me. He just waited too long.”

  “That sucks. I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, it wasn’t much fun. The worst part of it was how frustrated he got when he couldn’t keep his normal routine. It seemed like he knew something was wrong, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He’d always been so independent. Self-reliant. He had been in charge all my life. And then one day, I realized our roles were reversed.”

  Kate brushed her fingers over the brittle map, its surface dented from the ballpoint pen Thomas Miller had used decades before.

  “I’m sure there were a lot of things he meant to tell me. I wondered for a while, but I was really still a kid. I wasn’t as self-absorbed as most of the twenty-somethings of the day, but I was still trying to figure out who I was. When Gramps got bad, that existential crap got set to the side. We had a business to run, and he needed someone to take care of him. So that’s what I did.”

  “I can’t imagine taking all that on at twenty-six.”

  “Well, you do what you gotta do, right?” He squared his shoulders and turned to the map. “He used to keep all kinds of notes. I’m sure he referred to some of these spots, but I gave all his old things to the Key West Historical Society after he died. They had all of it on display for a while, but I’m pretty sure they put a bunch of his stuff storage to make way for new exhibits.”

  “Do you think we could get it back?”

  “I could request it, but as a former member of their board, I can tell you they love red tape even more than the government. There are piles of forms to fill out, and we don’t even really know exactly what we’re looking for. Baumann’ll have this place plowed over before we could get it all approved.”

  “Let’s at least go by and see what they’ve got. What do we have to lose? I’m free this afternoon, and so are you.”

  “I’m happy to take you down there, but I doubt we’ll find anything.”

  “So you’re saying all we have is this map? There’s no way we can check out every one of these sites in time. Where would we even start?”

  Kate took another look around the room and sneezed.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A sprawling gumbo limbo tree stretched up from the curb, its tiny leaves forming a canopy over the narrow street. Kate ducked her head to dodge a low, twisted branch.

  “Is it strange that I’ve been here for almost two years, and I haven’t been much of anywhere but West Marine and Publix? Every now and then, I ride my bike to the used bookstore, but most of the time when I come to town, I’ve got Whiskey with me, so we just run in and then go home. I’ve never really walked these side streets or stopped to look at the gardens. It’s all so different from anything you can see up north.”

  She tripped on a crack in the sidewalk. Chuck caught her before she hit the crumbling cement.

  “I’m happy to be your tour guide. I grew up on these streets. Went to school about a mile back that way.” Chuck pointed over his shoulder. “The old cemetery is right in the center of the island, and nearly ninety thousand people are buried there. Fun fact — you can bury up to five bodies in each plot — two underground and three above. My mom, dad, and Gramps are all in the same plot, and it’s where they’ll put me when I go, too. We’re starting to run out of space, but it’s still the cheapest real estate on the island.”

  They walked down the block past brightly painted little conch houses with wide porches, clapboard siding, and rusting iron fences, their tiny front gardens choked with lush tropical flowers and palms. Tiny speckles of sunlight streamed through layers of leaves shading the quiet street
.

  The thick foliage and tightly packed wooden homes harkened back to another era. The only concession to modernity were the small, battered cars parked bumper to bumper on both sides of the street. Without driveways or garages for many of the homes in town, Conchs parked their cars anywhere they could squeeze them.

  Halfway down the next block, a narrow dirt lot opened up to their left. A giant kapok tree sprung from the center of the space, spreading its arms wide and shading the entire area. A brightly-painted taco truck was tucked into the back corner, and picnic tables lined the edges of the lot.

  “Here we are.”

  Chuck waved to Steve and Susan, who sat together at a table near a weathered wooden fence. Steve rose from the table. “How is Babette?”

  “She’s doing okay. Kate and I are going to stop by the hospital on our way back out of town this afternoon.”

  Susan’s shoulders loosened, and a small smile drifted up her cheeks. “Hope you don’t mind, we already ordered for everyone. The chorizo is amazing, and they tend to run out.”

  Kate glanced at the long line, stretching out to the sidewalk even though it was barely eleven. People waited patiently in the shade talking with other patrons, not a smartphone in sight. “Thanks. I still haven’t gotten the hang of standing in line like a Conch.”

  Susan laughed. “We’re all on island time, all the time. What’s the point in hurrying, right?”

  “Steve! Susan!”

  Steve jumped up at the shout from the busy truck. Chuck helped him retrieve trays of food and sweating bottles of Corona, then they spread them on the picnic table family style, passing out thick paper towels to use as both napkins and plates.

  Kate fumbled for her purse.

  “No, no. On the house.” Steve interjected. “I keep Tia’s generator purring, and she keeps us fed. And fed well, I might add. Dig in!”

  The four of them fell into a moment of silence, savoring their first bites. Kate picked up hints of island spices blended with traditional Mexican flavors. She chose the jerk chicken and chorizo with mango. Chuck offered her a bite of his traditional carne asada street tacos tinged with allspice and nutmeg. Kate had never tasted anything quite as delicious.

  A stray rooster approached the table and stared at Kate, waiting for his share. She cocked her head to one side. The rooster mirrored her, tilting his head as well. She laughed and dropped a small chunk of meat from her taco to the ground for him.

  He pecked at it and stared at her, leaving the meat at his feet.

  “Oh. Ooops, sorry.”

  The others laughed.

  “New tourist attraction — Key West’s Cannibal Chickens!”

  Susan smacked Steve’s arm. “Leave her alone! But Kate, you do look a little like a tourist, feeding them and all.”

  Kate straightened up and took another bite of her chicken as she looked at the bird. Resigned to losing the staring contest, she turned back to the table. “So. We’ve got two weeks to find a sunken treasure that’s been lost for eighty years, with no clue where to start searching. We need to get a look at Thomas Miller’s old notes. Chuck and I are going to check out whatever’s available at the Historical Society this afternoon, but he’s thinking they’re not just gonna give everything back. Ideas?”

  Chuck stuffed the last bite of chili-glazed mango into his mouth and nodded. “Gramps loved to hide things in plain sight. One year when I was maybe twelve or thirteen, I think, my Christmas present sat on his workbench for the entire month of December and I never even realized it was for me. It was a new trolling motor for my little inflatable. I loved fishing from that little thing…”

  “Chuck. Focus?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’ll get there. Let an old man have his memories.”

  Steve snorted. “You’re not that old, man. And I’m not so far behind you.”

  “The decade makes a difference, kid. Trust me. I got aches —”

  “Hey! Old men, both of you.” Kate tapped the table. “We have a problem to solve. If we’re gonna do this, we’ve gotta do it.”

  “Heh, listen to the youngster, all focus and business. Lighten up. Patience is a virtue.” Steve laughed and nodded to the ever-growing line for the taco truck.

  “Patience, my tail feathers. The clock is ticking. We don’t even really know what we’re looking for, do we? Other than an old notebook, maybe?”

  Chuck chimed in. “Gramps had a lot stuff, true. But it’s not a regular notebook. He used to write his notes in the back flap of an old book. Said it was stupid to pay for a book full of blank pages when the books he already had on the shelf had plenty of space to write in. We’ll know it when we find it. So it’s just a matter of finding it.”

  Steve took a swig of Corona. “You’re sure it’s not on exhibit?”

  “I’m not sure, to be honest. They rotate things in and out, and I haven’t been over there in years.”

  “And you’re sure you can’t just ask for it?”

  Chuck shrugged. “I’m sure we could, but they made it pretty clear when I dropped it all off that while it still all belonged to me, it’d take an act of Congress to get anything back.”

  “Well, we need it.” Kate huffed. “And if they won’t give it to us, then we’ll just have to find it on our own.”

  “A little dramatic, don’t you think? We’re not breaking in. We’re not going anywhere we aren’t supposed to. We’re just checking to see what’s on exhibit.”

  “I’m not sure that will be enough, Chuck.”

  “But you’re not sure it won’t. Let’s just see what we find, okay?”

  “I’m just saying maybe we should be prepared in the event that what we need isn’t readily accessible.” Kate tossed a scrap of tortilla to the rooster standing on the packed dirt behind her. “We’ll check out the exhibits and see if the book is even there. And while we’re at it, we can count security cameras and look for an alarm panel and a place to hide until they lock up. All the things responsible criminals check for before a job.” She let her bottle drop onto the table. “Steve, you’ll stay outside and keep watch.”

  “Watch for what?”

  “Seriously? Do you people not think we need a plan?”

  Steve laughed. “Kate. Relax. This isn’t the Guggenheim. It’s a tiny little local museum. Chuck will charm someone into letting the two of you into the archives, you’ll find the right book, then you’ll leave. Simple.”

  “Susan, a little help here?”

  Susan shrugged. “Unlike the rest of you bums, I do have to get back to work at some point, and my job requires me to keep a clean criminal record. I’m counting on you to find a starting point without landing in jail. But while you lawbreakers go on your little reconnaissance mission, I’ll make sure I’ve got bail money at hand.” She winked at Kate. “Really, honey, you can relax. Everything will work out fine. I’ve got a good feeling.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kate paused in a shady spot on the narrow sidewalk and shook the hem of her t-shirt to dry her sweat. Just ahead, visitors flowed through the intersection at Duval Street in both directions, pushing against each other like salmon swimming upstream.

  The shaded back streets of Key West’s Old Town were quaint and peaceful, but even in the off-season, when the cruise ships were in port, Duval Street was a maelstrom of sweat and sunscreen, garish flowered shirts, baggy white shorts, fanny packs, tennis shoes, and sandals with socks.

  Chuck’s steps slowed behind Kate as they approached the crowded intersection. “I’ve been here all my life, and I still sometimes forget what this end of town is like when the ships are in.”

  “Maybe the locals hate the crowds down here, but I love the energy. If you think about it, every day we have thousands of people trying to get just a tiny taste of what we take for granted every day. And because they get so little of it, they appreciate it that much more.”

  “Steve, the tourism ambassador.”

  “It’s better than biting the hand that feeds me, I think. I
can choose to resent them all because of the few obnoxious drunks throwing trash on the street, or I can choose to see the best in the many more who appreciate our little paradise.”

  “Well, I prefer them in smaller groups, and I prefer them drinking at my bar.”

  “Hey, I do my best to bring them your way, old man.”

  “And I appreciate it.”

  Kate left the men in the shade and approached the river of humanity, pausing a few feet from the current. As she looked back to check on her friends, a rooster scurried across the sidewalk between them.

  “Heh. Why did the chicken cross the road?” Chuck called out.

  Kate watched the bird peck at the bottom of a freshly-painted picket fence. “Because he’s a rooster, which means he’s a man, and men do whatever the hell they want. Now both of you get a move on. We’ve got work to do!”

  The trio wove their way through the crowd, across the packed traffic on Duval Street, and into the narrow streets of Bahama Village which was lined with bed and breakfasts and short term rentals. Lush tropical gardens surrounded tiny front porches with quaint tables and chairs offering the perfect little escape from plodding everyday lives of dreary gray skies and kids’ events and eight-to-five jobs. Every week, a new flock arrived to escape their humdrum routine, and every week, they all returned their rental cars, shuffled through security at the tiny airport, then flew back to their responsibilities on the mainland.

  Kate strolled up Whitehead Street and took a moment to appreciate her life. She could walk these streets any day she wanted. Her only expenses were food, gas, and her phone. She worked when she felt like it and didn’t when she didn’t. She had no need for a vacation.

  The street curved to the right, and within a block, the lush jungle of apartments became tiny shopfronts offering t-shirts, coffee mugs, and every type of souvenir Kate could imagine and a few she couldn’t. Then to the left, the tight streets opened out into a wide plaza surrounded by two- and three-story buildings. At the end of the plaza, where the land met the azure blue sea, a massive cruise ship consumed the horizon.