“Wow. Crazy. Let me know if you hear anything else? Can you fill her in on Edward? And also ask her to have my father call me.”
“Of course. You be careful. I suggest you head back to your beach house and lock the doors.”
“Yes, Mr. Bossy Pants.”
Ryan laughed. “It’s so foggy out there, it took me a half hour to get to my grandfather’s. We’re leaving now for Deli-casies. I’ll call you when we get there, and you can come over for lunch. We’ll wait together for any updates.”
“Sounds good,” Liz said, slightly surprised by the invitation.
Then he added, “Invite Betty, too.” Her spirits took a slightly downward spiral.
After she hung up, she chided herself for being jealous over Ryan’s possible attraction to forty-something Agent Charlotte Pearson. But the woman was gorgeous and competent, and well, gorgeous. Liz’s thoughts segued to the fake ring—even David Worth had been fooled when Agent Pearson showed it to him. Who had made the fake? And why? She guessed, after Agent Pearson opened the safety-deposit boxes and had the jewels tested, they would know whether any other pieces from the San Carlos treasure had been duplicated. If that was the case, Liz wondered if Regina had been the one commissioning the fakes so she could sell the real thing without her father or the insurance company knowing. Then Liz circled back to Nick Goren, who’d given the ring to Brittany. Completing the wheel of confusion was Edward’s confession that he’d been the one to find the original treasure, without getting any credit or compensation.
As Liz walked by Home Arts by the Sea, the main lights to the emporium switched on, and she heard voices, Nick’s and Brittany’s. Liz crouched down and went into Home Arts, then crawled under one of the worktables so she could eavesdrop.
“How dare you give me a fake piece of jewelry!” Brittany screeched. “I’ll be the laughingstock of the island. What a bullshit story you gave me about finding the ring when you were with your father on one of his salvaging expeditions, saving it for when you met the love of your life.”
“The part about the love of my life is true,” Nick pleaded. “I embellished on the other part, but that doesn’t mean I knew it was a copy.”
“So where did you get it?”
“It was in a box that came in the mail, addressed to my father. I opened it because it came from the Cayman Islands, where he has a few not-so-secret-from-me bank accounts. I was positive the ring was something he’d found on one of his salvaging expeditions outside U.S. waters that he didn’t want the ship’s port-of-origin country knowing about. The laws of treasure salvaging are pretty strict. Three months went by and he never mentioned it, so I gave it to you. I told you not to wear it to the emporium, that it was too valuable, but you didn’t listen.”
“Obviously, it wasn’t too valuable. Blah, blah, blah,” Brittany said. “You can leave now. I have a shop to open. Oh, and if any of the other jewelry you’ve given me is fake, too, go to my condo and take them back—and be sure to leave your key or I’ll change the locks.”
“I’m not giving up,” he said, his voice cracking. “Now that I have my diving certification, we can do what we planned. Start our own treasure-salvaging company.”
“Ha. That won’t be happening. Our plan depended on financial backing from your father. Do you think he’s going to help you out now? Buh-bye, loser.”
Nick didn’t answer. A few seconds later, the double doors leading outside slammed with such force that the prisms hanging from the Baccarat chandelier crashed against each other, reminding Liz of her favorite scene in Broadway’s The Phantom of the Opera. Liz waited under the table until she heard Brittany pass by, muttering a litany of curses that made Barnacle Bob seem like a choir-bird.
Finally, Liz stood. Pain shot up her spine from her lower back, and she let out a small groan that seemed to bounce off the tin-tiled ceiling. She held her breath, praying Brittany hadn’t heard, then scurried out the main door, making sure to close it as quietly as possible. Then she stepped out into the dense fog.
Chapter 35
Brittany’s car was the only one in the emporium’s parking lot. Liz turned onto the path that ran behind the emporium. The Indian River Lagoon was to her right. The strong, pungent, fishy odor filled her nostrils. The summer before she’d left for college, thousands of dead fish lined the lagoon because of a record-breaking brown tide. That year, the hot summer weather and lack of rain had caused the algae to consume large quantities of oxygen, leaving little left for the fish and thus causing their death. Liz couldn’t see, but she heard gulls emitting a high-pitched doomsday cry and the gentle lapping of the water against the boats moored at the Indialantic’s dock. In the distance were the faint outlines of the Serendipity, Queen of the Seas, and Edward’s skiff. She hurried along, engulfed by the suffocating mist.
Then she heard it. Not the wail of a seabird, but a wail nonetheless, followed by a faint “Help-p-p.”
It took her a split second to stifle the thought that it might be a trap, someone out to get her, hiding in the mist. She crossed the road and crept toward the sound. Another “Help…” sounded, slightly louder. She stepped onto the dock, then stumbled, the toe of her sneaker catching in the gap between the planks of wood. The sound of footsteps echoed from behind, louder and louder, as they got closer and closer.
“Stop!” a male voice said.
She didn’t. She moved faster toward the sound of the next garbled and whimpering call of distress. It was coming from Edward Goren’s skiff. She held on to the piling and felt for the rope tethering the boat to its slip. She grabbed the rope and tugged, bringing the boat closer,
