A. Colucci - Seeders

“Dr. Beecher?” the captain asked as Jules grabbed the rope. “’Ardly recognized ye. ’Oweya gettin’ on?”

“Just fine,” he said without looking up. He pulled in the stern line until the boat stopped rocking, and then tied it to a docking cleat.

The captain was no longer his jovial self, and he looked at Jules with suspicion. “’Eard a call on de radio aboyt a fire up by de ’ouse.”

Jules turned his head toward the treetops and saw the smoke for the first time. There was a strong acrid smell and he wondered why he didn’t notice it before. “Oh yes. The children wanted to cook breakfast outside.”

“Aye,” he said, and hesitantly pointed to the spear. “Yer fishin’ wid dat?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Rather sick of the meat in the freezer.” He tied up the bowline.

“Suppose ye can catch some ’addock oyt by de jetty. Crabs if yer fast.” He looked at Jules and his eyes narrowed. “Tried to call. Yer radio ain’t workin’.”

“Yes, the batteries died.”

“Storm comin’ dis way. Big one. Taught ye might loike to come back for de noight. Thar’s a ’otel in town.”

“No thank you.”

“Maybe de lady and ’er young ’uns.”

“We’re all fine. Thank you, Captain.” His brow furrowed. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here.”

“Was on m’ way back from Sable Oiland.” He gestured east.

“Well, you can keep on going.”

Flannigan stared at him for some time. He cleared his throat in uncomfortable silence. “Yer gonna need a radio. Oi got some batt’ries back ’ere.”

“That would be very helpful.”

“I’ll just grab dem.” The captain turned away with a frown.

Jules watched the man climb the ladder to the bridge and then stepped over the swing door, following after him. Soundlessly, Jules climbed the ladder hand over hand, holding the spear tightly in his teeth, and then peered onto the bridge, watching the captain fumble with the radio.

Flannigan spoke into the mic with a low voice. “ Acadia to Coast Guard. Come in, Coast Guard.”

There was only static.

“ Acadia to—”

Flannigan turned just in time to see a spear coming at him. He dove to the side and the point flew into the wooden helm, where it stuck.

Jules rushed forward and took hold of the shaft, pulling it free just as Flannigan blindsided him and they both fell on the floor. Jules pounced quickly and straddled Flannigan across the chest, pressing the wooden pole of the spear against the man’s neck with all his might.

“Oi knew ye couldn’t be trusted!” Flannigan rasped through gritted teeth as the muscles in his arms quivered and he pushed back on the pole. Twenty years of hauling fishing nets and lobster traps had given him considerable strength, but he was no match for Jules, who let go of the spear and grabbed Flannigan by the neck, squeezing his massive fingers in a chokehold.

The radio came to life, a voice crackling, “ Acadia, come in. This is Coast Guard.”

The distraction was enough to loosen Jules’s grip so Flannigan could free his windpipe and take a breath. He punched his fist straight into Jules’s nose and watched him fall away. The boat rocked from the commotion as the captain flailed desperately to his feet and clambered for the ladder. Jules was already standing and taking his time picking up the spear. Flannigan grasped the railing and hit the first rung, but slipped and dropped six feet through the air, crashing onto his back.

Jules got to the edge of the bridge and leapt onto the deck beside Flannigan with the deftness of a spider. He grunted and raised the spear over his head. He could have plunged it into Flannigan’s body right then, but instead he lowered it as far as the man’s rib cage, pressing the point into his chest until he heard a cry of pain. And then he stopped, looking down at his prey.

Flannigan held the spear tight with both hands, as Jules continued to press harder into his chest.

“Ye coward ain’t beatin’ me yet,” the captain said, red-faced and cocky.

Jules had barely applied himself to the task, but now his forearms showed a bit of strain and he grinned, neck muscles tightening.

“Oi ain’t givin’ in, ye snake.”

Jules thrust the spear down hard. The puncture went deep as the pointed blade slid between ribs and into the heart, breaking through muscle and tissue with stalwart force. The pain was quick and severe and Flannigan’s eyes bulged with terror and the shock of defeat. His mouth opened wide in a soundless scream.

After a moment, Jules pulled out the spearhead, jerking the body off the floor. He stared at the wound for a moment as blood rushed over the deck and down the shaft of his weapon. He put his boot on the stomach of the dead man, and slipped the knife from his ankle strap.

Ginny had a headache and went to the bedroom to lie down. The room was drafty and smelled of smoke and she looked outside to see a small fire in the back of the house. She remembered that George liked to make bonfires.

Ridiculous time to be roasting marshmallows.

She sat on the bed. It was the largest room in the house, the one she’d shared with George when she visited him during their courtship, on and off for ten years. It was quite grand, full of Victorian antique furniture, fine silk wallpaper, and expensive trinkets from his travels all over the world, most of which Ginny had placed in her suitcase.

On the nightstand were photos of Isabelle as a child and photos of Isabelle with George, some with Ginny and George, and a few of Ginny alone. She took a mental count and noted with satisfaction that there were more pictures of her than Isabelle.

She sat back in bed and heaved a sigh, weary of looking for the diamond. “Oh, George, I could just kill you,” she muttered, “if you weren’t already dead.”

She reached for a book on the bed beside her and opened the nightstand drawer where she kept her reading glasses. As she reached inside, her finger touched a fold of paper. She pulled the drawer out farther to reveal a small envelope with her name on it.

Ginny was written in George’s unmistakable script.

She could barely breathe. Her heart thumped loudly in her ears as she grasped the paper tremulously. Could I have been so blind? What a stupid old woman I am!

Gingerly, her small fingers touched the seal of the envelope, before jerking back. She didn’t dare open it quickly. No, this might be her last chance for success, and she savored the moment. When she couldn’t stand another second, she tore open the envelope and ripped out a notecard. It contained a single sentence.

When you place my body to rest, you will find the Crimson Star.

Then he signed his name, George .

Luke was amazed how much kissing Monica calmed his fears and distracted his thoughts; the more intense their passions became, the better he felt about the whole situation. As they groped each other, he began to imagine all his troubles were part of an exciting adventure. As if he were on a dangerous mission, James Bond and his hot leading lady. His hands became more daring.

The door swung open with a bang.

Monica and Luke jumped onto either side of the bed, adjusting their clothes.

“Don’t you knock?” Monica sputtered hotly.

“I’ve no time for formalities,” Ginny said, holding her chest and panting. She looked at Luke. “Boy, where did you see that gravesite with the cross?”

“You mean the one by the pond?”

“Yes, that’s the place. Take me there now. And bring a shovel.”

He grimaced. “I’m not going out there.”

“You must. That’s where the diamond is buried.”