Most people would assume he’d keep valuables in there, or perhaps sensitive documents, but no. While holding the lantern, I squirmed through the hole and tried the doorknob. The door swung open on squeaky hinges to reveal a tiny space with a cramped bed, chair, and basic bathing supplies on a small table—everything arranged in such a manner that it was as if the occupant had only stepped out for a moment.
This was the sanctuary Smith’s body had been protecting.
Their secret space when Rogers would visit.
Besides the simple pieces of furniture covered in a thick expanse of dust and cobwebs, the room was absolutely filled with cloth bags. Some were rotting away with age and neglect, silver coins spilling into piles across the wood floor.
All around me was a million dollars’ worth of lost Spanish treasure.
I took a few steps forward, moving deeper into the room. Positioned on the pillow of the bed was a diary. Likely Smith’s. I coughed behind the mask and waved at the dust in the air as I approached. I regretted not having cloth gloves, but fuck, I didn’t have a lot of time. Leaning over, I thumbed the pages, looking for… anything, really.
Smith hadn’t written entries in it. There was just one note scrawled inside. He must have known how dangerous it was to own the treasure—how hot it’d be and how many people would easily kill to have it. So he’d written out his last wishes.
My family is well cared for. I have dedicated the best years of my life to making fortunes for them, so that they would never know the humble beginnings from which I came. They will carry on. My sincerest apologies, Edith. I do love you—you are my dearest friend. But I am not in love. And at my age now, I realize that’s all I really want.
Should I not make it home alive from my last adventure, please see I am put to rest in our local cemetery. And, as I’m certain he will outlive me, save a plot for Edward.
Captain Thomas J. Smith.
I set the diary back on the pillow.
“Will do, Captain,” I murmured.
A creak of floorboards and the shuffle of objects caught my attention. I jerked my head up, straining to hear. It was coming from the left wall—the study. I ran to the open door and climbed through the hole in the wall. I snatched up Rogers’s dagger in my free hand and stumbled out of the closet. The lantern swung about, light dancing wildly around the hallway and briefly illuminating the big outline of a man in the study doorway.
“Aubrey,” Smith said.
I pulled off the safety glasses and tossed them to the floor before lowering the mask to rest around my neck. “Hi, Curtis.”
Curtis Leon, guide for the Ghosts of Key West tours and treasure hunter extraordinaire.
He reached up to peel the fake beard off his face. “How’d you figure it out?”
“Your buttons,” I answered, taking a step to the side so I didn’t block my phone’s camera.
Curtis looked down briefly at his costume, thumbing the buttons on his outer coat. The lowest one was missing. “Buttons, huh?”
“Smith never wore monogrammed buttons,” I continued, speaking loud so my voice didn’t shake. “They didn’t become popular until after his death. But they look great on your costume. I’m sure the initials make your character easier for tourists to recognize, right?”
He smiled slightly, almost sincerely. “Figures. Of all fucking things to give me away.” Curtis stared at me from across the hall. “You found the treasure, then?”
“Oh yes.”
“All of it?”
“Yup.” I cleared my throat. “What now?”
“I can’t let you live,” Curtis answered.
“Like Cassidy and Peg?” I countered.
“I didn’t mean to kill Cassidy. It was an accident.”
“Peg wasn’t.” I squared my shoulders. “The cops told me she’d been strangled to death.”
“The cops,” he repeated, a hint of mocking in his tone.
“That’s right.”
