The Cursed Page 5

  She winced as she looked out the window. It wasn’t as if Key West didn’t have crime. Any place that dealt with that much tourism—hundreds or even thousands of people coming and going daily—was going to have crime. Paradise could be a great place for a thief.

  But murder was a rarity.

  And she had never—never!—discovered the victim before.

  She jumped back suddenly as she realized that someone was looking in.

  It must be one of the crime scene techs standing at the back door.

  But as she stared out, she froze.

  Her eyes met those of the man staring in. They were dark and brown and expressive. She knew those eyes. She knew that face.

  Jose Rodriguez—a dead man—was standing at her back door.

  3

  Stuart Bell and Shelly Nicholson seemed to be an intelligent young couple.

  They’d taken a small suite, so it was easy just to speak with them in their room. The couple was seated on the sofa, and Liam and Dallas had chairs facing them.

  “You’re saying that was a real man—and now he’s dead?” Stuart asked, staring at the two of them blankly.

  “Oh, God,” Shelly said, her eyes fixed. “Oh, God. He was alive.”

  Liam wasn’t sure why, but he felt compelled to ease their guilt. “You couldn’t have saved him. The M.E. said that unless he’d literally been in an emergency room when it happened, there was nothing anyone could have done.”

  “We’ll never know, will we?” Stuart asked, wincing. “We screamed. We panicked. We were just so...”

  “I was terrified already,” Shelly said. “We’d been on the ghost tour. And there’s something about the way Hannah tells the stories.... She doesn’t get dramatic or anything, but all that history, it gets to you. We were down at the pool because I was too scared to sleep.”

  Stuart cleared his throat. “And we’d been drinking,” he admitted as if they’d committed a horrible sin.

  “It’s okay. This is Key West. Everybody drinks here,” Dallas said, glancing over at Liam. “But...it never occurred to you that he was real?”

  The two looked at each other. Shelly lifted her hands. “No.”

  Stuart said, “When Shelly screamed, I opened my eyes. I saw him and screamed, too. And then I blinked and he was gone.”

  “Okay, this is important,” Dallas said. “Think back. Do you have any idea where he came from? We think he was out back in the alley before he came into the yard. Did you see anyone else?”

  “Like I said, my eyes were closed,” Stuart said.

  “So were mine,” Shelly said. “When I opened them, he was just...there.”

  “Did you see or hear anyone before he appeared?” Liam asked.

  Stuart shrugged. “We heard someone when we were upstairs, but they were gone by the time we went down.”

  “No,” Shelly said. “I didn’t see anyone because no one was around. I mean, even when we came in things were pretty quiet.” She stopped to think for a moment, then said, “Wait! Stuart, remember when we were walking back? There was a group of people ahead of us. They were crashing into each other as if they were really drunk.”

  “They probably were,” Stuart said. “But, yeah, I remember them.”

  “Maybe the dead man was with them,” Shelly said.

  “How many were there?” Dallas asked.

  “Four,” Stuart said.

  “Five,” Shelly corrected. “I remember counting them. I was a little nervous, but I was thinking that there were six of us, so at least we had one more in our group in case they caused some kind of trouble. Of course, they were all guys and we only had three guys.”

  “I don’t know,” Stuart said. “That short one might have been a woman. Hard to tell. They were all wearing hoodies. Pretty weird, considering it was about fifty.”

  Interesting, Dallas thought. Someone else might remember a group like that, because most tourists didn’t bundle up when it turned sixty. Time to go and follow up on this first lead.

  He and Liam seemed to be of one mind. They rose together. Dallas handed them his card. “If you think of anything else—anything at all—please call me.”

  “Are you going to speak with the others? They might remember something,” Stuart said. “I mean, not about the—the dead man, but maybe about the group we saw when we were walking home.”

  “Yes, we’re just waiting for them to wake up,” Liam told them.

  Shelly looked over at Stuart. “That may be awhile.”

  Stuart nodded. “They’re going to be really hungover.”

  “We’ll be gentle,” Dallas promised.

  * * *

  Hannah blinked. The dead man was still there, looking at her beseechingly.

  He could—though he apparently wasn’t aware of it yet—just walk in through the door if he wanted to. Should she let him in?

  According to Agent Samson, Jose Rodriguez had been one of the good guys. Florida—especially South Florida and Key West, had a long history of Spanish settlement and Cuban immigration. His family might have been in the area for centuries. But wherever he had grown up, it seemed someone had taught him manners.

  He was knocking. Hoping she would let him in.

  She lowered her head for a minute. No, go away, please, she thought fervently. I don’t want to be ghost central. I don’t want to get involved with your murder.

  She felt immediately embarrassed, because she knew that attitude was wrong. She had to help if she could.

  She opened the door, swallowing hard. “Hello, Jose.”

  At least his apparition wasn’t as bloody in the afterlife as his body had been in death. He looked as he must have soon before death, wearing a typical Cuban guayabera shirt and khaki pants. His hair was sleek, dark and combed back. He was clean shaven, with dark eyes and handsome features.

  “You—you know me?” he asked her.

  His voice was brittle, a little like sandpaper, as if he was just learning to speak.

  She nodded. “I found you.”

  He nodded. “I remember. You tried to help me, but it was too late.”

  “Yes.” She studied him for a minute. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help. I hear that you were an undercover agent, one of the good guys.”

  “Yes.”

  “I guess you know you were murdered. My friend Liam Beckett, a police detective, has had some experience with...the dead. He doesn’t see as easily as I do, though—lucky me,” she couldn’t help but add a little bitterly. “But if you tell me who did it, I can tell him.”

  A grim smile curved his lips. “If only it were that easy.”

  “Your throat was slit. You really don’t know who did it? And you were carrying a knife—a big bowie knife—with blood on it. Of course, it’s gone now. The crime scene techs are still out there looking for it,” Hannah said.

  “Yes, I see them. But they won’t find it,” he said.

  Hannah realized that the techs in the yard could see her through the back window; they probably thought she was standing there talking to herself.

  Maybe she was.

  “May I come in?” Rodriguez asked politely.

  She nodded. “Oh, of course. Please. Let’s move into the parlor.”

  She led the way through to the front, taking an armchair by the fire and curling her legs beneath her. The ghost took a seat across from her on the sofa.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said aloud. It seemed lame. He should have had a lifetime ahead of him. She took a breath. “I want to help you. But...how can you not know what happened?”

  “Because whoever got me came up behind me. We—I was with a bunch of guys—had just turned the corner from Duval and I heard someone behind us. He grabbed me, and the other guys saw. One of them screamed ‘Ru
n!’ and we all took off. I think the other guys had to be in on it—either that or they’re running scared, thinking they’re about to get the same,” Rodriguez told her. He stared at her for a moment. She thought he was assessing her. Perhaps he was deciding if she could be of any help.

  “Anyway, like I said, we all took off,” Jose went on. “I threw the guy off me and crashed through the yard next to yours. That’s when he caught up with me. I didn’t have a gun on me, only my knife. I got a slice of him, but since I couldn’t see anything, I don’t even know where I cut him, but I know he...he got me. Slit my throat. I kept running, and that’s when I scared your guests. But I heard him coming after me. I knew I didn’t have a chance, and I didn’t want him to kill anyone else, so I kept running. I ended up in the alley, tried to write...” He trailed to a stop. “And then I...died. He followed me—must have, if the knife is gone. But he couldn’t leave it. They would have gotten his blood off it.”

  Hannah found herself suddenly fighting tears. Even as he was dying, he had thought to save others.

  “You’ve heard of Los Lobos?” he asked her.

  She nodded. “I think most of the country has heard of them. Every once in a while there’s something in the paper about a body popping up somewhere and they’re suspected of the murder, or a treasure goes missing and they’re the only suspects. They’re like the mafia, or that’s what it sounds like, anyway.”

  Rodriguez nodded. “More or less. Every agency from the FBI to the Coast Guard has been trying to turn one of the members. The problem is, they’d rather die or go to prison than take what they’ll get if the organization turns against them. Case in point,” he said, indicating his throat.

  Hannah exhaled. “But...this isn’t so much a Key West thing as it is a national one, right?”

  “It’s at least partly a Key West thing, because Los Lobos specializes in treasures from the New World.” He paused. “I’m not sure where to begin. Do you remember hearing anything around a year ago about a small research-slash-salvage operation at a recently discovered shipwreck? The crew disappeared in the midst of a storm.”

  “Yes. It was on the news and in the paper. The Discovery went out with a captain, a mate and three scientists. They were all lost in the storm,” Hannah said.

  “I don’t believe the crew was lost in that storm at all.”

  “You think Los Lobos killed them?” Hannah asked, horrified. “The storm wasn’t that bad on land, but a lot of other ships were caught in it, too, and barely made it out. The remains of the Discovery eventually turned up, but none of the crew’s bodies were ever found, although that’s not uncommon when someone is lost at sea. And now you’re telling me that—”

  “The storm didn’t kill them.”

  “So someone went out in that storm and—and murdered them?” Hannah asked, appalled. The loss of the crew had been a local tragedy. To think that they might have survived Mother Nature only to be murdered made the situation all the more terrible.

  “There was a rumor that the treasure chest from the Santa Elinora was aboard the Discovery.”

  “What?” Hannah demanded. “That treasure has been the subject of rumors for years! It was supposedly on the Wind and the Sea when she went down.”

  “Supposedly,” Rodriguez said. “Key word—supposedly. Where it is now, no one knows. A historian wrote a piece on the Santa Elinora and the treasure about a year and a half ago, which started people speculating that it was still off Key West somewhere. Legend always had it that the chest was aboard Ian Chandler’s Wind and the Sea when she went down in the 1850s, but no one really knows if that’s true, and since the wreck was never found, no one’s been able to confirm that it was there.”

  “So how did it end up on the Discovery?” Hannah asked, confused.

  “There are thousands of undiscovered shipwrecks out there—the ocean along the coast was once like a marine I-95. And since no one could predict storms, over hundreds of years, thousands of ships went down. And those looking for them are often cutthroat and are perfectly happy to commit murder over even the hint of something valuable turning up. Honestly, I don’t believe the treasure chest was ever aboard the Discovery. What I do believe is that members of Los Lobos heard the rumors that it was there, and that they caught up with the Discovery right before the storm and killed the crew—for nothing. Since they didn’t find it, they’re searching in Key West again, because at this point no one really knows where the treasure is—on land or underwater. The items in the treasure chest are supposed to be so rare and historic that it’s impossible to estimate their value—jewels set in the purest gold ever mined in South America.”

  “I’ve heard about the treasure my whole life,” Hannah said. “According to legend, the Santa Elinora was discovered and salvaged when David Porter and his Mosquito Squadron came down in the 1820s, back when Florida was still a territory, to clean out the pirates. But Porter didn’t keep any documents because officially they were supposed to be stopping pirates, not salvaging wrecks. But lack of proof didn’t stop people from claiming that Porter found the chest and kept it in Key West until he tried to send it up to D.C. on the Wind and the Sea. Most of the people on the island at the time believed that the treasure went down with the Wind and the Sea when she sank, and to this day most people think it’s still there.”

  Jose nodded and smiled slowly. “You would know. Your home is part of the legend of the treasure, and that makes you involved. Are you a descendant of the original owners? Not many left these days who go that far back.”

  “In a roundabout way. I’m a descendant of the original owner’s first cousin.”

  “And you give ghost tours.”

  Hannah lifted her hands helplessly.

  He laughed. “Not to worry—it’s a legitimate business. And people like to be remembered. They like to have their stories told. I’d like my story to be told, one day.”

  Hannah hesitated and then said, “I know that you were working undercover. My friend Detective Beckett was here, along with a Federal agent.”

  “Dallas Samson,” Rodriguez said, nodding.

  “They said you were a good guy.”

  Jose knitted his fingers together and then released them, looking at her with a grim smile. “I’ve been with the FBI about five years. I made a point of getting this case. I’ve spent the past six months trying to get in with Los Lobos. I just made it in, but evidently I did something suspicious, or someone in the gang had seen me when I wasn’t undercover. Or someone betrayed me. I have some ideas. But this case meant more to me than just bringing down the gang.”

  “Oh?”

  “Los Lobos concentrates on ‘priceless’ treasures they can sell on the black market. But when their cash flow is down they deal in anything. Drugs. Human cargo.”

  “Human cargo? Are you talking about slavery? Today?”

  He nodded. “Trust me, it still goes on.” He shook his head. “One case—which at least had a happy ending—involved a young girl in Texas who was set up by a wealthy friend. A man in Eastern Europe offered a multimillion-dollar sum for a blue-eyed redhead under twenty-five. Los Lobos got wind of the offer and acted fast. The young woman went to a party at her friend’s mansion, where she was drugged. Luckily we already had a man watching the friend and she was rescued. As for her millionaire friend, he mysteriously killed himself in lockup while waiting to be taken in for arraignment.”

  “You mean the millionaire was part of Los Lobos?”

  “There are very rich people out there who covet things—and they know that Los Lobos can get whatever will make their collection complete.”

  “How horrible.”

  He nodded. “And we still don’t know who the leader is or the gang’s exact hierarchy. I’d hoped I would figure that out, but so far all I had discovered was that they only communicate with prepaid phones that they use once and
toss. But,” he said, “I never reported the real truth of my involvement to my superiors. They won’t let you work a case when you have a personal interest in it.” He seemed to inhale deeply, as if unaware that ghostly lungs didn’t need oxygen. “My sister disappeared almost a year ago. I have reason to believe she fell into the hands of a Los Lobos general.”

  “You mean she was kidnapped?” Hannah asked.

  “Yes. And either she’s being held for the highest bidder or she’s already been murdered, or...”

  “There’s another ‘or’?” Hannah asked.

  He nodded. “I was likely killed because the leader, a man they call the Wolf, discovered that I was FBI. And it’s possible my sister...might have joined them—and that’s why I’m dead.”

  * * *

  Dallas and Liam met Mark, Yerby and the Atkinsons at a little coffee and ice cream shop on Duval. All four looked as if they’d had a long night. Judy and Pete Atkinson were in their late twenties, possibly early thirties. Pete was already balding, but he was slim and fit—even if he was looking haggard right now. Judy was tiny, maybe a full five feet in height, and a little round. Her eyes were a red-rimmed bright blue, making Dallas think of the American flag. Yerby Catalano was pretty, about twenty-two, with dark eyes and long dark hair, while Mark Riordan was probably a year or two older, tall and broad and muscled, as if he played sports. All four were more than willing to talk, they just didn’t seem sure what to say.