Don Bruns - Too Much Stuff

“Different texture to the sand,” James said. “Now why do you suppose that is? Why rake a path like that?”

I shone the light out farther toward the water. The sand was rough: footprints, seaweed, and sea debris marking its natural state.

“Turn it off, Skip.” Em was waving at me. “Somebody’s going to see that light and send the dogs again.”

I nodded and pushed the switch. Someone could be watching. I had to start thinking a little more carefully.

Walking up to the fence, right where the raking started, I could see no sign of an opening.

“This has to be where those people disappeared.”

“Maybe there’s an underground something on the other side,” James said.

“Like a cave?”

“Yeah. Or a tunnel. Maybe they went down a tunnel and ended up, you know, ended up-”

“Boys, there’s an ocean right there. An ocean. A huge, deep body of water. In the Keys you don’t have underground caves next to the ocean. Unless they’re filled with water. You don’t even have basements. In many cases, you bury bodies above ground. This is sea level. Cave? Tunnel? Underground something? I don’t think so.”

And, of course, she was right.

We silently walked back to the truck, wondering if there was any more to this adventure. We’d already been witnesses to a dead body, had the truck splashed with paint, dug for buried treasure, been chased by dogs, and watched thirty-five people mysteriously vanish into thin air. Pretty incredible.

“Lots of stuff happening today.” I said it almost to myself.

“None compares to the threat on your life.” Emily squeezed my hand as we walked. “That’s the worst part of this.”

“I think Weezle would disagree with you.”

As we approached the truck, I heard him chuckle, then James snorted and laughed out loud.

“Weezle. My God. Weezle.” And he kept laughing.

“James, a guy died today. Someone either caved his head in, or knocked him into the furniture, but someone-”

“It’s not funny, amigo.” He spit out a muffled laugh. “I know that.” He was almost hysterical.

“James,” I shook him by his shoulders.

“Skip, his name is Weezle. Wouldn’t you change that name?” And he laughed uncontrollably.

It appeared that someone did change it.

To Peter Stiffle.

And I think that’s a pretty funny name too. Peter Stiffle.

At nine a.m. there was a pounding at my door. Stumbling from the bed, I cracked the door open to see Mrs. T.

“I’ve got to come in and talk to you.”

“Let me get some pants on,” I said as I stood there in my boxer shorts. She spun around and walked away.

Closing the door, I turned and saw Em rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She yawned and looked at me inquisitively.

“Not good.”

“What’s not good?”

“I didn’t tell Mrs. Trueblood that you’re here.”

“Smooth move, Skip. Well, maybe you should go outside and explain the situation to the lady.”

I pulled on a pair of cargo shorts and a polo shirt.

“Go hide in the bathroom for a second.”

She frowned at me but got out of bed, wearing only my T-shirt, and walked into the bathroom.

Pulling open the door, I went out onto the walkway.

“What’s up?”

“The police. The sheriff’s department. It seems someone reported your truck with the black paint stain parked near the medical complex last night.”

That damned black paint.

“We found the Coral Belle. It’s not that easy to work during the day when your work involves digging up private property.”

She nodded. “Well, apparently the guy who owns a motel down there, The Ocean Air, called and registered a complaint that you guys trespassed on his property.”

“Wow. We got permission. From him. We really did.” The first time.

“Listen, I want this to succeed.” She leaned in, her warm breath on my face. “I want this to succeed more than you could possibly know. But you’ve got to be more careful. You’re called private investigators, in part I presume because you’re private. So far, it’s a wonder that everyone on this entire Key doesn’t know what’s going on.”

Her arms were folded across her chest and it was more than obvious that she didn’t seem to be happy with our performance so far.

“This may not be the best time to bring this up, but number one, Emily got an anonymous note back in Miami, saying that if James and I didn’t give up this project, we’d find ourselves dead.”

“Really?”

“You were included.”

She pursed her lips and looked out at the water.

“Second, Em is here. She came down to help. I know you said not to-”

Taking a deep breath, Mrs. Trueblood gave me a look like my mother did when she would call me Eugene.

“Look, we work better with her. She’s a good balance.”

“Was she with you last night?”

“Yes.”

The frown stayed on her face. “Do you have any more good news to share with me this morning?”

Now I was the one taking the deep breath. The warm breeze, the tanginess in the salty air, it all gave me a little more energy. I should have waited for James to make the announcement, but he’d probably never bring himself to do it.

“Our lives have been threatened.”

“I understand that.”

“So, James and I were talking and we think we’re worth a little more now. We have a little more value.”

“How so?” She cocked her head and I knew she wasn’t buying it.

“Well,”-it all sounded good when James had laid it out-“anything that is threatened with extinction is more valuable than it was before, you know?”

“And how much value do you think you have?” A stern tone in her voice. This was a lady not to be trifled with.

“We were thinking about two million.”

She stepped back.

“An anonymous letter gives you that much value?” She stood back, her head slightly turned, staring at me. “My goodness, just think if that letter had been signed.”

I didn’t laugh.

“Look, we both think that whoever killed the guy in our room thought it was James or me.”

“I’d considered that.”

“Mrs. Trueblood, we both also think there’s a real possibility that the gold might be here. In Islamorada. In today’s value it’s worth like forty-four million. We know that. If we’re the ones who find it, we think we’re worth one-twentieth.”

“Okay.”

“Okay? Really?” I swallowed a mouthful of air and almost choked.

“Okay, I’ll think about it.”

“Oh.”

“In the meantime, I expect you to keep working on the project. We do have an agreement, even though you’d like to change it.”

“We’ll keep working on it.”

“One thing you might consider is cleaning that black paint off your truck and changing the license plate.”

“The plate?”

“It’s a Miami plate. The cops, that motel owner at Ocean Air, and half of Islamorada now know that truck.”

She finally unfolded her arms, shook her head in disgust, and walked away.

I was disgusted as well. We should have figured that out ourselves. We were marked and too lazy to do anything about it.

Walking back into the room, I saw Em had already dressed. Some cute red shorts and a collared blouse.

“James called.”

“Yeah?”

“Said he and Amy were going to take some time getting to know each other this morning and he’d catch up with us this afternoon.”

I grabbed the phone, dialed his room, and he picked up on the third ring.

“James?”

“Amigo. Em tell you that I called?”

“She did. Get your ass down here right now. You’ve got sixty seconds, amigo .”