“According to the history books, the Avengers’ story ends quickly and without much excitement. The company was disbanded, split apart, and sent to various locations across the Confederate-controlled territory. But there’s another story—one that most people have brushed aside as pure fantasy.” Jack pointed toward Harper’s phone. “But Harper’s uncle finding Sawyer’s belt buckle in the Upper Keys changes everything.”
Ange held her open palms up in the air. “What story?”
“That the Avengers did much more than just patrol Tampa,” Jack continued. “The story goes that this ragtag group of islanders were given a secret mission from the Confederacy. You see, at this time Stephen Mallory, the famous Key Wester whom the square is named after, was the secretary of the Confederate Navy. Mallory had supposedly received word through an intercepted Union telegraph that valuable items transported from the West Indies were being temporarily stored in Fort Taylor.”
“What kind of valuable items?” I asked.
Jack and Pete both shrugged.
“Nobody really knows for sure,” Pete said. “The legend is that it was gold bars. Lots of them. Over two hundred pounds in all. But nobody knows for sure because whatever it was vanished.”
Ange raised her eyebrows. “Vanished?”
“The story goes that after raiding the fort,” Jack continued, “the Avengers were on their way north to Jupiter with the booty when their boat was surrounded by Union ships. They managed to slip through the blockade, but they’d supposedly sunk what they’d stolen, not wanting the Union to retrieve it in case they were captured.”
“But they never came back for it?” I asked.
“No,” Pete chimed in. “They couldn’t. Union ships infested the shores off Florida after that. Then by the time the war ended, many of the Avengers had died, including William Sawyer. The ones who did survive hadn’t been able to find their lost treasure. It had been dark when they sank it, apparently. And a rare thick fog had swallowed them up. The veil of white allowed them to escape the Union ships, but it lost them their prize in the end.”
We fell silent for a moment.
“So, you think that Harper’s uncle was murdered because someone’s trying to find whatever it was that these guys tossed overboard?” I asked.
“Yes,” Harper said, speaking for the first time. Her voice was shaky, but she was doing a good job of keeping herself together, all things considered. “He posted a picture of his find on an online treasure hunting forum. These guys must’ve seen it, then set up a meeting with John. Then they probably asked him where he found it, then killed him and made off with the buckle.”
“But only one of them made off, right?” I said.
She bit her lip and looked down.
“I killed one of them. He… he tried to kill me.”
Ange wrapped her arm around Harper. “You did what you had to do,” she said softly. “You defended yourself.”
I glanced at Jack, then Pete. “Any info on the body yet?”
“Nothing,” Harper said, wiping away tears. “He’s at the morgue. They said they’ll give an update tomorrow.”
I ran over everything in my head. It was a lot to take in. It boggled my mind that people would go to such great lengths just to get their hands on an artifact that might lead them to a treasure that in all likelihood didn’t even exist. But I’d witnessed the power of greed firsthand time and time again.
“What are we gonna do about all this, bro?” Jack said.
I ran a hand through my hair. “Well, for now, we’d love for you to come home with us, Harper,” I said. “I doubt these clowns would bother going after you again, but if they do, you’ll be safe at our house.”
She thanked us and we all stood up.
“I’d love to see that asshole try and best you and Ange on your home turf,” Jack said. “I’d actually pay to see that fight.”
Nothing would make me happier than if the guy who killed Harper’s uncle confronted me next. I’d give him a quick and painful lesson in poetic justice. Then I’d consider handing him over to the police on a stretcher, but only if I was feeling merciful.
But I had a feeling that getting to the bottom of everything that had happened so far wouldn’t be that easy.
SEVEN
The Ford F-350 squeaked to a stop in front of a run-down marina building. A hard-faced middle-aged man with a scraggly beard told the three others in the truck to wait there, then slid out and strode toward the entrance.
Located just east of Homestead, Teddy’s Marina was on its wobbly last legs. The main building looked ready to collapse at any moment. There was garbage and junk everywhere, the porch had missing planks, and the walls looked like they hadn’t been painted since the Clinton administration.
The man pushed his way inside, then strode across a messy room with torn-up chairs, washers and dryers in one corner and a small bar in the other. It was mostly empty, but the few people scattered inside stared at the stranger who moved with heavy steps.
“Where’s Teddy?” the stranger said to a young skinny man with dark curly hair who was standing beside a small counter and register.
The young man motioned toward
