Perils and Plunder Read online

  Why was the hefty book even in this library? Spanning the rest of the shelf on either side of the encyclopedia were more nautically themed books, all topically related to ships, both nonfiction and fiction. The previous owner Bugsy Schultz’s parents must have had an affinity for vessels or the sea or both.

  It was a long shot but perhaps, at the very least, she could narrow the time from which the pirate’s wrecked ship came. Settling into the wing chair beside the empty fireplace, she flipped through entries in the book, scanning detailed drawings, paintings, and black and white photographs of various ships. Most sections dedicated a whole page to a single ship; giving detail of the class, keel, sails, tonnage, and such; before going into the specifics and history of the one represented.

  She wished she’d taken a picture of the busted up boat. Her questionable memory would have to suffice, and, worst case scenario, she could drive then hike back to the wreck to get photos. It appeared that the boats were categorized by region first then chronological, before moving on to another region.

  She’d just finished scanning through Sweden’s sailing ships when she flipped over to the section on Spain’s. Page after page. By the feel of the paper and the crisp smell filling her nostrils, the book had scarcely been cracked open.

  The heading of one page caught her attention: “1715 Treasure Fleet.”

  The term rolled around, tickling a distant memory. She vaguely recalled watching a movie centered around the Treasure Fleet. Something about a Spanish convoy of ships wrecking off the coast of Florida during a hurricane, thereby losing a large treasure.

  Pausing, Ella hunkered over the book and read on. During 1715, Spain had come out of the War of Succession. Due to the war and previous losses of ships ladened with treasure, Spain was in desperate financial straits.

  Needing to pay off mounting debts, they sent a convoy—eleven Spanish ships and one French—filled with treasure. The convoy consisted of four fleets, one carrying gold bars, pearls, emeralds, and silver ingots. Another held other goods of silk, porcelain, and spices. Another still carried gold coins, silver, copper, jewelry, and tobacco.

  Off the coast of Cape Canaveral, the convoy encountered hurricane winds of thirty knots and extremely high seas. On July 31, all but the French ship the Grifon were grounded, capsized, or destroyed. In total, seven hundred and fifty sailors died, and the treasure was dispersed along Florida’s coast.

  Seven of the eleven ships had been discovered and salvaged at the time the encyclopedia was written. The page then went on to list the four vessels still unaccounted for.

  Ella’s finger ran down the paper, stopping on a familiar name: Nuestra Señora de la Concepción. Her stomach tightened as she let out a small gasp.

  Beside the name was a painting. If she turned her head, squinted, and imagined the ship busted and keeled over, it was the spitting image of the vessel on the rocks and mud northwest of Keystone.

  According to the entry, the ship was a Spanish galleon from the Nueva España fleet, carrying gold and silver coins, gold bars, and other valuables; such as paintings, jewelry, and tapestries.

  Ella sat back, massaging her neck and mentally putting the pieces together. So, Keystone must have jumped to 1715 off the coast of Florida, and sometime before it jumped again, a hurricane had barreled through, running the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción aground.

  But why only one survivor?

  A barrage of revelations dawned on her. The pirate wasn’t really a pirate, but a Spanish sailor. She’d be lying if she didn’t admit she was slightly disappointed by this fact. On the upside, this meant she could break out her pirate jokes as it would no longer be in poor taste since the deceased wasn’t an actual pirate.

  Also, this revelation of the ship’s true origins meant that there really had been a treasure aboard the vessel. Lots of it. And someone had killed the sailor to get it.

  But if there really had been a treasure, where was it? Had it gone overboard with the other sailors?

  That didn’t make sense if the ship, for the most part, was relatively intact and run aground. All the parts of the ship were there, just busted and not quite leaning the way the builders had intended.

  Like a painting taking form, it became clear to her that Darren Alexander fit the bill for the sailor’s death. Pulling out her phone, she began making notes, listing the suspect, his possible motive, and his means and opportunity for killing the not-pirate. Hesitantly, she added Six, if for no other reason than to have a second name on the list.

  What continued to stump her—aside from the dead body disappearing bit and Maria’s ties to this whole mess—was the greed behind it. Gold, silver, and other treasures in Keystone, compared to the outside world, were greatly depreciated. Yes, they still held some value, but not nearly as much as in most other places. Heck, she was pretty sure gasoline was more valuable than a brick of gold. Therefore, the only real incentive in having such a trove would be if the treasure holder planned on leaving Keystone.

  With that thought in mind, she swiped across the screen, adding a note to find out if either of her suspects had talked about leaving the village.

  There was still one person with a big fat question mark above their name: Maria. The art teacher was the outlier—unless she harbored a secret obsession with treasure. In that case, it would make perfect sense. Of course, an affair made more sense, but only slightly.

  So many questions. If all went well, she’d be getting answers that evening.

  CHAPTER 13

  “WELL, THAT WENT well.” Wink stuck her hands on her hips as the three of them lingered on the sidewalk outside of the art studio.

  “It went a bit how I expected.” Ella stared through the large window at the woman currently glaring at them on the other side.

  They had barely made it over the threshold into the studio before Maria had pounced, flapping her hands and squawking for them to leave.

  “Good riddance, I say,” Flo snapped.

  “Flo, we need to get answers from her.” Ella pointed at the old crony’s empty hands to prove she didn’t have her usual accouterments then yelled at the window. “See? She didn’t bring her purse. She’s safe.”

  “Again,” growled Flo, “I’d like to remind you all that I wasn’t the reason we got kicked out last time.”

  “You are exactly the reason we got kicked out, you and that death ray of yours.”

  “You contributed, poodle head.”

  “I don’t think your offensive painting helped any.” Ella smiled pleasantly at Maria who continued to scowl at the trio.

  The art teacher motioned at both Ella and Flo, her mouth moving in unintelligible words. After the third time of Wink shouting, “What?” Maria pantomimed patting them down.

  “This is ridiculous,” Ella mumbled while Wink’s hands roved down her pant leg. “Not to mention, violating. Anyone else think she’s being a bit melodramatic?”

  After Wink made Flo turn a slow circle and patted her down as well under the teacher’s watchful gaze, Maria reluctantly allowed them back into the studio.

  Inside, several sets of eyes warily watched them settle in at their easels. Ella waved to no-one in particular while Wink greeted some of her old painting buddies as if nothing had happened.

  Meanwhile, Flo grumbled about not having her flask before spotting the table of refreshments in the corner. She made a beeline for a mason jar filled with a clear liquid Ella had no doubt was Six’s popular moonshine.

  At the front of the studio, Maria tightened the knot on her shawl, rearranged her gaudy cross necklace, then began the historical art lesson part of the class. Mingling artists broke off from their conversations and drifted back to their canvases like moths to a flame.

  Soon, the teacher’s airy voice became background noise as Ella covered her canvas with gesso. Their reasons for being there aside, she found she enjoyed the activity immensely. She could really get into painting, despite her lack of natural ability. There was something about focusing on
a singular subject, being in the present moment and letting the world roll on by, that brought such peace.

  By the time Ella had a decent forest painted that more or less resembled weeds on a lawn, Maria wound down her presentation on famous impressionist painters. Fluffing her frizzy hair, she floated around the studio, doling out unsolicited advice.

  “Very nice, Wink,” she commented when she’d worked her way to their corner. “Work on highlighting the cabin more. It needs contrast. Deepen your shadows and lighten your highlights. Remember our color wheel.”

  Maria drifted behind Ella, her presence felt as if Ella could feel her silent judgment. When she turned, the teacher was squinting and tilting her head in confusion.

  “They’re trees,” Ella helped.

  “Ah, yes. So, they are. I see it now. Well…” Ella got the impression Maria was searching for helpful feedback but that there was too much to single out one thing. “Well, keep at it.”

  Maria began to flutter over to Flo’s easel, and Ella tensed. Their opportunity to ask questions was fluttering away with the teacher.

  In a casual but loud voice, she said, “Hey, Wink, you hear about that Alexander guy? I heard he’s missing.”

  Wink caught on immediately. “Yeah, Darren Alexander. I heard Chapman’s searching for him.”

  Maria had stopped beside Flo’s canvas, her back stiff. Her head was turned to the side, not really looking at Flo’s painting and attempting to not-so-subtly listen in.

  When it appeared the woman wasn’t going to comment, Ella tried a different tactic, one that Chapman wouldn’t be happy with her spreading since the Spanish sailor’s body had yet to turn up.

  “My guess? The man killed that pirate and that’s why he’s on the lam.”

  Maria spun. “Diego’s dead?”

  “Diego? Is that the pirate’s name?” Ella’s brush dripped green paint on the floor. “Huh. Yeah, I guess the name suits him.” She dropped her brush into the cup of water next to her, eyeing the teacher. “You don’t seem surprised that he’s dead.”

  Maria paused. “I guess I’m not. It was only a matter of time with him being hunted like he was. How’d it happen?”

  Ella bit her lip then finally responded with a shortened, sanitized version of what she saw.

  “Were you two close?”

  The teacher shrugged. “There was a bit of a language barrier, but I remembered enough of my high school Spanish to at least become casual friends with the man. Might’ve been his only one.” Her eyes drifted off to some distant point.

  “You were the first one to find him, right?”

  Maria nodded. “Found him on his ship. He looked like he’d been to hell and back.”

  Wink spoke up. “Did he ever mention a treasure to you?”

  Like a shutter, Maria’s face closed off, and her tone grew suspicious. “Why?”

  “We’re just curious. We’re not going to go looking for buried treasure or anything.”

  “We’re not?” Flo asked.

  “Look, I was the first one on the scene after he crashed. Don’t know how long he’d been there, but I was first. And I was all over that stinky ship, trying to help him salvage what he needed before we left for the inn. There was no treasure.”

  Ella cleared her throat, trying to shift the conversation back on topic. “Since you were around Diego more than most—”

  “I rarely saw him.”

  “But still, when you did, you at least talked with him, right?”

  Maria nodded.

  “Did you ever see Darren Alexander nearby?”

  “Of course I did. He was that man’s shadow.”

  Wink set her brush down, wiping her hands on a rag. “You and Darren were in the same class in school, weren’t you?”

  “Yes. But it doesn’t mean we were friends. I feel sorry for that wife of his. Tried to warn her that Darren was a piece of work, but she wouldn’t listen to me. Now, she’s stuck with him.”

  “What do you make of his disappearance?” Ella asked.

  “Why are you asking me?”

  She shrugged. “Just making conversation. I’m new and still don’t know many of the folks around here.”

  “I say the town’s better off without him.”

  Casually, she asked, “Did Mr. Alexander ever mention wanting to leave town?”

  “Sure, he talked about it these last few years like most of us, but his wife didn’t seem too keen on it.”

  “When was the last time you saw him?” She held her breath. If the woman didn’t say Friday, she was lying.

  Maria’s face turned purple. “What is this? The Spanish Inquisition? I don’t recall.”

  Ella held her hands up in a placating gesture, sending paint flying. “Sorry, just one more question.” She picked over her words carefully, having been wondering something since Six had first mentioned spotting the woman in the woods with Darren the day of the murder. “Last Friday, you moved the art class’s normal time to 3:00. Any particular reason why?”

  Maria’s face turned an even deeper shade of purple, deeper than the sunset on Wink’s canvas. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I had a dentist appointment.”

  Her jaw twitching, she spun on her heel before coming to an abrupt halt again behind Flo’s canvas. A mangled cry climbed the teacher’s throat.

  “H-how dare you?!”

  Ella, who had just picked up her brush and had been beating the devil out of it against her easel à la Bob Ross, stopped.

  “Get out!” Maria shrieked. “All three of you are banned!”

  Wink stuttered, only managing to get out a few words, as the woman corralled them towards the door and shoved them out onto the sidewalk.

  “W-why me?” Wink stuttered. “Ban those two.”

  The glass door slammed shut, rattling, and Maria locked it. She flailed around in the studio, ranting, becoming an outraged shadow.

  Wink rounded on her best friend. “What did you paint?”

  “Nothing. The woman’s crazy.”

  Pressing her nose against the window, Ella used her hand to block out the overhead light so she could peer inside at Flo’s easel. She snickered.

  “Good God, woman. That’s quite sacrilegious.”

  Flo sniffed. “It was supposed to be a gift. It’s Chester.”

  “That’s Chester?” Ella pulled her face away and pointed at the window. “Your painting? Chester?” At Flo’s nod, she smashed her face to the glass again, her breath quickly fogging it up. Wink shouldered in beside her.

  “Okay,” Ella said, pulling away for a second time, “why does he look like Jesus, then?”

  Flo rolled her eyes. “I was just painting the little monster in one of his costumes. It’s also a comment… commendation—”

  “Commentary,” Ella supplied.

  “—on Wink’s obsession with him.”

  Ella turned away to hide her smile from Wink who had begun fuming.

  The crazy woman cut in. “Hey, poodle head, what were you doing with that brush right before we got kicked out?”

  Wink became briefly distracted. “Yeah, why were you hitting it again the easel like that?”

  She shrugged. “No idea. It’s just what I saw a great master artist on a TV series do.”

  “Well, at least we came out on top.” Reaching into her billowing sleeve, Flo pulled out the jar of ’shine and held it aloft in triumph. The smell in the wake of the movement was enough to cause Ella’s eyes to water.

  Turning, Ella and Wink trudged down the sidewalk several paces ahead—and upwind—of Flo. Their field trip hadn’t garnered them much new information except for the sailor’s name and that the Nuestra Señora de la Concepción had been void of treasure shortly after it wrecked.

  She’d also seen Maria’s face upon hearing that Diego was dead. It was a hard expression to decipher, perhaps a touch of sadness but nothing more. Maria’s disdain towards Darren had been genuine, which led Ella to question her theory that they’d been meeting in
the woods for romantic liaisons.

  Did this mean that the treasure had been lost at sea or had Diego hidden it before Maria had arrived?

  Above all of these new clues, however, one important lesson gleaned from their visit was to never, ever let Flo near a paintbrush again.

  That Tuesday night, after Ella had scrubbed the paint from her fingers in the bath and had eaten meatloaf leftovers, she slipped under the satin comforter on her fourposter bed with Fluffy curled up in her lap and cracked open one of the copies of Physical Review again, picking up where she’d left off. After a half-hour of skimming, she set it aside and picked up a different one, glancing at the year: 1936.

  In it, she found another of Einstein’s breakthrough papers that he’d co-written with Dr. Rosen, introducing the concept of the Einstein—Rosen Bridge. After re-reading it several times until her brain hurt, it seemed as if the “bridge” referred to wormholes, theoretical passages through space-time. Now that she thought about it, this paper was probably where the idea of wormholes originated.

  She didn’t know much about the topic except what she’d seen on science fiction shows, but she found the paper fascinating, even if the math looked like a foreign language to her. Actually, she understood foreign languages more than the numbers and symbols she was currently going cross-eyed over.

  After that, other papers seemed dull by comparison, which she imagined many of the scientists in that time had felt after reading such ground-breaking work. She stopped on an article near the back relating to gravitational waves. The paper posited that there was evidence of a fifth dimension and, building off of Einstein’s prediction in 1916 about gravitational waves, one could use these waves to access that dimension.

  After a slow read through and a lot of head scratching, what the author was proposing didn’t sound so different than Einstein and Rosen’s bridge, the difference being that by harnessing the fifth dimension, it solved the enormous energy requirements to make a wormhole.

  Her eyelids felt heavy, and her brain felt like it had been through the washing machine. She flipped back a few pages to read the paper’s title and the author’s name again.