The Wreck Read online

  “What problem?” Bagley said leaning forward.

  “Let’s not focus on that aspect right now. Let’s stay with the first. I want you to find out how much I would need to offset the penalty I would take if I retired this summer. If there is more gold, it might be worth it.”

  “When do you need this? I’m kind of busy putting out a fire at the moment,” Bagley said and inhaled on his cigarette again.

  “I know you are,” said Shaw, “but that’s not my problem. You got yourself into that mess and you’re going to have to pull yourself out of it. I want you to stay here until we have a working number.”

  Bagley raised both hands in a “What?” gesture, the way he began every cross-examination after hearing damaging testimony against a client.

  Shaw stared at him. “You’re staying. I’ve got Floyd keeping his eyes open. He’ll let us know.”

  The sound of a powerboat caught Shaw’s attention. He motioned for the binoculars around Floyd’s neck.

  Floyd handed them over, and Shaw brought the binoculars to his eyes. Down the beach he could see a boat approaching the shore and then backing down to remain about fifty yards out. His attention was then caught by a man jogging down to the water with a pair of flippers in his hand. The man took off his shirt and put it in a large Ziploc bag along with his flip-flops, wallet, and a set of keys. Then, he put on his flippers and swam with the bag floating on the water until he reached the boat. An older man reached over the gunwale and helped pull him aboard. Then the boat turned and headed along the coast. Shaw dropped the binoculars and with his eyes motioned for Floyd to leave.

  Floyd descended the stairs and was gone. Bagley turned his attention from the boat back to Shaw.

  “Is that the guy who found the coin?” Bagley said pointing back with his thumb toward the lake while taking another drink of coffee.

  “Yes,” said Shaw. “He lives in the brown-sided out-of-date cottage with the small deck. Why don’t those people just sell? It disgusts me to look down that stretch of beach and see those shacks lined up one after another.”

  “How did Floyd find out about the coin?” Bagley said.

  “That would be where last summer comes in. Can you have some rough numbers for me later?”

  “Sure,” Bagley said.

  “One more thing,” said Shaw.

  “Yes?”

  “See if you can find out if any other gold has ever been discovered on the Great Lakes.”

  24

  Queen rounded Hampstead Point and Nate could see the line of buildings along the coast. Hutch turned the boat to starboard and steadied up on a course. They were seated in two chairs bolted to the deck on the level above the wheelhouse at the fair weather control panel.

  “I line up with the Hampstead Water Tower once I round the point. It takes you right into Tyee’s place,” Hutch said. The sky was already starting to darken on the horizon, promising a storm like the day before.

  Nate picked up the pair of binoculars that were resting on the console in front of him. “So, we’re picking up some books?” he said, scanning the Hampstead coastline. He found the water tower and then moved down until he saw the back of Beecher Hardware. A long dock came straight out the back steps and ended with a large shed over the water.

  “A couple on Louis the Fourteenth,” Hutch said, “which reminds me, I found something going back through Captain Daniels’s log entries last night.”

  Nate put the binoculars down.

  “Well, it wasn’t really in his logbook. It was on an order form that he had sent to the mainland. Lighthouse keepers were only supplied a few times a year, if that. One week before his last log entry he had included a requisition for a book on how to write and speak the French language.”

  “Why would he need that?” Nate said.

  “It’s got me puzzled too,” said Hutch. “He wouldn’t need it to read a coin.”

  Nate had left the coin at home but tried to remember if there was any writing on it. One side was a picture of King Louis the Fourteenth with the date 1643 and the other side had a fleur de lis. Was that all? He was sure it was. So, what would Daniels need a book on French for? He ended his thought with a shrug.

  “Well, the only thing I can think of is that there was something along with the coins,” said Hutch.

  “And you think that these books on King Louis will have any kind of answers?” Nate said.

  “Maybe, maybe not. But they’ll at least give us an idea of the time period and how your coin might have made it over here.”

  “Hutch, don’t you think we’re starting to stretch this thing a little thin?”

  “So the optimist has become a doubting Thomas, huh?”

  “I’m trying to be a realist,” Nate said.

  “It’s still too much of a coincidence that the coin that rolled up on your beach is exactly like the one that Daniels drew in his logbook. And now we find out that he wanted a French book,” Hutch eyed him, “Nate—”

  It was the first time he had heard Hutch refer to him by his first name.

  “—when was the last time you believed in anything?”

  ‘Believing in anything’ could mean a variety of things. However, Nate was sure what Hutch meant: When was the last time he had passion for something? Something that drove him, gave him purpose no matter how absurd, enticed him, motivated him, focused him. Maybe ten years ago, in his last at bat. Maybe the last time his dad told him a sea story.

  “Well, it’s been a helluva a long time for me,” Hutch said.

  ✽✽✽

  After tying up to Tyee’s dock, Hutch and Nate entered the hardware store. The door jingled and Tyee came back to greet them. Hutch and Tyee shook hands, and then Tyee extended his huge hand to Nate. When they shook, Nate’s hand felt like it was in a vise grip.

  “Let me ring these last few customers out and then I’ll meet you downstairs,” said Tyee, “your books are on the table in the lounge.”

  Hutch and Nate left Tyee at the front counter and headed down a flight of stairs.

  “Doesn’t Tyee have any employees?” Nate said.

  “He’s got a few, but on slow days he lets ‘em go. Might even still pay ‘em. He likes his quiet.”

  The storeroom, which served as the employee lounge, took up the entire basement. Stock boxes had been piled up and moved over to accommodate two leather chairs and a coffee maker with two burners, which sat on top of a crate. Hutch smiled while looking at the coffee pots.

  “What?” Nate said.

  “Well, those coffee pots are a rite of passage here. Tyee plays a prank on the new employees he hires. He figures if they can withstand it, then they’re worth keepin’. If not, then it weeds ‘em out.” Hutch pointed to the pots. “The pot on the bottom burner is for brewing, and the pot on the top burner stopped working years ago. Instead of fixing it, Tyee started using it as a deposit for used coffee grounds—he reuses filters at least once—and the bottom pot’s last remains before a fresh one gets brewed. On a new guy’s first day of work, Tyee hands him a Beecher Hardware mug at the counter and then takes him downstairs to have a cup of coffee and show him the work lounge. He always has his cup already filled before they come down here. When they arrive, he fills the new guy’s cup from the top pot and toasts with him to the new job. The results are usually different for the poor sonsabitches. Some spit immediately as the cold, floatie filled liquid enters, some vomit after swallowing a tiny bit, and one idiot actually dropped his mug, breaking the handle off when it hit the floor. If you take it in stride, from that point on you are family to Tyee, and he takes care of you.”

  Hutch walked over to the wall and pulled a stained mug with ‘Hutch’ stenciled on it from the rusty nail it hung on. Then, he filled his cup from the bottom pot.

  Nate sat down in one of the leather chairs and felt like he had sunk to the floor. Hutch had picked up the books on the table and was leafing through one when heavy footsteps came down the stairs, and Tyee filed in through the doorway
to the lounge.

  “You find the books?” Tyee said to Hutch.

  “Got ‘em, thanks,” Hutch said.

  “Let me know if you need any more,” said Tyee.

  The light over the two chairs went out followed by a clap of thunder. The light came back on.

  “We should head back,” said Hutch.

  The three men headed up the stairs and outside onto the dock. The sky was still light over their heads but dark in the direction they would be heading. A lightning bolt shot down by Hampstead Point, followed by a rumble of thunder.

  “I thought that shit had all passed through yesterday,” Tyee said.

  “No way,” Hutch replied. He tapped on the shed while passing by it. “How’s my winch doing?”

  “Fine,” said Tyee. “You haven’t used it in awhile.”

  “Haven’t had a reason to,” Hutch said as he hopped down onto Queen’s stern.

  Tyee cast off the bowline, and Nate cast off the stern line before stepping on board. Hutch started the engine and they waved goodbye to Tyee.

  By the time they had rounded Hampstead Point, it was sprinkling.

  “We’ll anchor more north of the island tomorrow and take the dinghy into the cave with floodlights and scuba gear,” Hutch said.

  “If there’s nothing in the cave, where do we go from there?” Nate said.

  “I guess we’ll start checking the other buildings, but the cave is our best bet,” Hutch said.

  “Why?” Nate said.

  “Because it was under the building that Daniels would have stayed in. With the water level being so low, it will let us go back into parts of the cave that were underwater before.”

  “What time do you need me out at your place?” Nate said.

  “I’m going fishing tomorrow morning so I’ll be out until around nine. I was pretty sure that you'd be comin’ tomorrow when I was talking with Lucille this morning—”

  “But you called me before seven,” Nate interrupted.

  “I know I did. We have coffee on her porch at five-thirty.”

  “Oh,” Nate said.

  “She wants me to tell you that you’re invited for breakfast tomorrow at eight. When you’re done, come over and meet me on the dock.”

  “Agreed,” said Nate. “What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

  Hutch lifted one hand from the wheel and put it on the stack of books. “I’m gonna read these to see if anything raises an eyebrow. I might take a look at the logs again too.” Hutch brought his hand back to the wheel and began to turn it. “You’re more than welcome to come out and read, but I don’t wanna zap your vacation. Like you said, we may be stretchin’ this a bit thin.”

  Nate wanted to go. In fact, there was nothing more that he wanted to do than go and load up the dinghy—dry or not—and head out to Sanisstey Island to search the cave. Hell, even if he had never found the coin, he would have liked to have spent an afternoon in Hutch’s library looking through the high-powered scope at ships passing by in the distance, studying the wreck dioramas Hutch had built, talking with Hutch about diving and Great Lakes history, maybe even having a glass or two of the dark rum Hutch had in a decanter on his desk. Could Hutch see through him and know this? He thought of Brooke. Would she be feeling better? What had happened last night?

  “I’ll have to pass this afternoon, but I’ll be out to Lucille’s in the morning,” Nate said.

  Hutch brought the boat in closer. As they drove down the shoreline, a man was taking down a beach umbrella in front of his house. They passed by Leonard Shaw’s and noticed that one of Shaw’s three jet skis was barely in its hoist. The weather had probably snuck up on whoever had used it last, and they didn’t feel like standing in the rain to raise it up far enough to prevent it from floating away. At least one did every summer.

  They passed the Gibson’s and Hutch brought the boat to an idle as Nate threw on his flippers and put his belongings back in the Ziploc bag he had brought out.

  “See you tomorrow around nine,” Nate said as he swung his feet over the gunwale to where his flippers were touching the water. Two lightning bolts came down over the trees behind the cottage next to the Martin’s.

  “Better paddle fast,” said Hutch, “that lightning is close.”

  Nate gave a short wave and then entered the water. The rain picked up as Hutch entered the wheelhouse and headed for the bight.

  25

  Brooke was still asleep when Nate entered the bedroom. He could tell that she had been up at some point because the glass of water on her nightstand was now filled with Gatorade and the blinds were closed. Nate slipped off his swim trunks and went down the hall into the utility room. He opened the washer and saw the light blue rug from the bathroom covered in orange bits. The smell of dried vomit hit him and he felt bile rise in his throat. He hurried into the living room sucking in breaths of fresh air. Once his throat and stomach felt normal again, he held in a deep breath and returned to the washer, poured in detergent, started it, and hurried out again.

  In the bedroom, he crept to the dresser and pulled out a pair of gym shorts. After giving Brooke a soft kiss on the cheek he headed for the kitchen where he heaped roast beef, ham, and turkey onto a piece of bread and laid two pieces of Swiss cheese on top. After melting the cheese in the microwave, he poured ranch dressing on before laying the other piece of bread on top. From the refrigerator he grabbed a Vernors and then plopped some sweet pickles on his plate.

  Rain splattered against the living room windows and the room became dark. Nate ate on the couch in peace as bursts of thunder rumbled overhead and the box fan blew a steady stream of air on him.

  An hour later, a knock at the door woke him from a nap.

  ✽✽✽

  Joshua Bagley sat in his stateroom aboard his host’s yacht, Triumph. The ship was in its slip at Shelby’s Marina and it had been raining for the past few hours. He had opened a bottle of Gentleman Jack and was on his second drink as he continued to trudge through the chore Leonard Shaw had given him. Bagley had just gotten off the phone with the last museum on his list that dealt with maritime disasters and shipwrecks on the Great Lakes. They all had told him the same thing: no gold had ever been found on the Great Lakes, and some curators would give an annoyed sigh before adding, “because gold was never carried on the Great Lakes.” He had listened to the first curator list what the Great Lakes ships had carried, but then hung up on the rest when they started the same spiel.

  Bagley took a sip. Wasn’t he above this petty shit? Shaw obviously needed him more than he needed Shaw. On a few occasions, he’d actually told friends that Shaw reported to him, which should have been true.

  What else was it Shaw had wanted him to do? Right, find out how much treasure he would need so that the bastard could retire now instead of four years out. Fuck that. He’d make up a number and then quickly explain that it didn’t matter because there was nothing buried beneath the waves anyways. Then, maybe he could get back to Baltimore and put out the fire with this politician’s crazy wife. Anything to get out of this small Michigan town, where the pace of life was comparable to an eighty-year-old running two miles. But then again, someone had recently said that eighty was the new fifty. Fat chance. Eighty was eighty. Why didn’t Shaw summer in the Hamptons or on the Vineyard like everyone else in his financial bracket? Bagley set his glass down and thought back to last summer. It would make more sense than ever for Shaw to sell his house, sell the yacht, and never come back here. That advice he could and had given to Shaw rather than this ridiculous daydreaming about gold.

  ✽✽✽

  Nate ushered Tim Gibson into the living room and gave him a towel to dry off with.

  “What can I do for you, Tim?”

  “I was just passing by and thought I’d say hello,” Gibson said.

  “In the pouring rain?”

  Gibson laughed in embarrassment. “I thought it was over when I left the house but got caught in it right before I got to your place. Thank
s for letting me in.”

  “No problem.”

  “How’s Brooke doing?”

  “Still resting,” Nate said. “Looks like she had a lot of fun last night.”

  “We all had more than we should have. McCleod’s bartender makes some strong drinks. We had to carry Jeff Sawyer out of the place last night.”

  “How’s he doing?”

  “A mess,” Gibson said. “Sorry you couldn’t join us, though, because we did have a good time.”

  “Can I give you a lift home? This storm doesn’t seem to be quitting anytime soon, and Jane may be worried.”

  Gibson flicked his right wrist like he had just followed through after shooting a basketball. “Ah, she’s fine. I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll walk back. How’s that coin business going?” Gibson began to cough, louder and louder.

  “Can I get you something?” Nate asked.

  Gibson got his cough under control, got out “Something to drink,” then started coughing again.

  “A beer?” Nate said.

  Gibson gave him a thumbs up.

  Nate left for the kitchen and when he returned, Gibson was gone. The toilet flushed in the hallway bathroom and Gibson re-entered the living room and sat down on his towel as Nate passed him the beer.

  “Thanks, Nate. I’ll wash this cough down quickly and be out of your hair.” Gibson took a swig and then added, “So, nothing new about the coin?”

  “Not too much,” Nate said.

  “That guy out on the bight wasn’t able to shed any light?”

  “Not really. We’re pretty sure the coin is authentic, but it’s only one coin. I may just keep it and show the kids at school.”

  “Kind of a shame isn’t it?” Gibson said pointing out the living room window at the lake, “no treasure beneath those whitecaps.”

  “Keeps the Great Lakes ordinary, I guess,” Nate said.

  “Good word choice,” Gibson said and took the last of his beer in a big gulp—quick for a guy who said he’d had too much last night. Maybe he drank a lot or needed to steady up. Both men rose to their feet and walked to the back door.