The Girl Beneath the Sea (Underwater Investigation Unit #1)(17)

The questions come at me in a rush:

Why would anyone think I’d lie about knowing Stacey?

What the hell did she get herself into?

And, most of all, how did Stacey end up in the same canal at the exact same time as my dive?

What are the odds of that?

I feel a cold finger touch my soul.

What if Stacey came to the canal looking for me?





CHAPTER ELEVEN

LURE

Dad is sitting at the bar in the back of the Crab Pot restaurant, talking to a younger man with a watch that cost more than my boat. He’s tan, well coiffed, and wears khakis under a navy Burberry shirt. I can’t remember the name of the watch, but it’s not a Rolex or something you use to impress people who don’t have money. It’s the kind of watch you have to be really into watches or ultrarich to understand how valuable it is.

When Dad told me to meet him here, I should have realized he was working. The bar at the Crab Pot has an “authentic” local vibe, but the locals stopped going here years ago when the yachties started showing up and prices skyrocketed.

Dad’s “business” is talking wealthy people into a charter—if they’re lucky. Or investing in his next treasure hunt if they’re not so fortunate.

Dad looks up and waves me over. “Hey! There’s Sloan!”

I walk over, give Dad a peck on the cheek, and greet his victim with a smile.

“This is Jeff Green. He’s visiting from California. I was just telling him about the Atocha’s stern castle.”

Green shakes my hand. “Your dad says that Mel Fisher didn’t find everything he was looking for.”

Ugh. This again. “The stern castle is where they think the Muzo emeralds were held.”

“Muzo what?” he asks.

“Emeralds, worth over a billion dollars,” Dad interjects.

“Those are the emeralds the Spanish conquered and subjugated the Muzo people for. If anyone finds them, they’ll probably be tied up in court for years,” I reply, harshing Dad’s pitch.

“Did I mention my daughter is working on her PhD in archaeology?” Dad responds.

“Did he also mention that I’m a cop?” I shoot back.

Green smiles, trying to make sense of the exchange. “Interesting. Anyone else in the family in law enforcement?”

“Nope,” I reply. “Pirates all the way back. I hate to interrupt, but I need to borrow my father. He can talk you out of a small fortune later if you like.”

Dad gives me a frustrated look.

“I’ll say this, though,” I add, feeling a little bad. “He’s an honest man. He’ll never try to convince you of something he hasn’t convinced himself of.”

Green nods to my father. “Robert, I’d like to hear more about this later. Specifically, some of the advancements in millimeter radar. That might make uncovering the wreck easier.”

After he leaves for another part of the restaurant, I shake my head in disbelief.

Dad gives me a wry grin. “The best salesman lets them sell to themselves.”

“You should have gone into politics,” I reply.

Dad holds up his hand for the bartender, an older woman named Cassie. “Two Ghost Castles. My daughter is buying.”

“Stacey Miller,” I say to him after the beers are placed in front of us, looking for any reaction.

Dad just blinks. “Who is she?”

I believe him. Not that I was suspicious. “Winston Miller’s little girl. Remember her?”

“The one that used to feed those ugly ducks at the boatyard?”

“Her. Only she’s older now. And dead.”

His eyes narrow for a moment, then he gets it. “The girl in the canal? The one you found?”

“The one who was murdered while I was diving just a few feet away. That was Stacey Miller. I didn’t recognize her because it’s been years.” I add the last part defensively. I haven’t even begun to assess my guilt for not realizing that was her.

From an adult’s perspective, I realize now she was a sad little girl. Her dad kept her in the boatyard almost all the time, and the only friends she had were the people who stopped by. A visit from my brothers and me always got her excited, although she was a bit socially awkward.

“Do they know who did it?” Dad asks.

“No. Or if they do, nobody’s telling me. I have people watching me because they think I might know something.”

Dad thinks about this. “Do you?”

“No!” I say a little too loudly, getting attention from other people in the lounge. “I don’t. The other important question is, why was she there at the canal when I was?”

I look at Dad. He looks at me.

“Okay,” I say, “what do you know about her?”

“Me? I barely remember her. You’re the cop.”

I found a handful of legal encounters on Stacey’s official record: a couple of arrests for possession, one conviction that sounded like a plea bargain down from intent to distribute cocaine, and two DUIs that were dismissed. Out of curiosity I looked up her attorney. It turned out to be an expensive firm in Miami, which means she had someone with money paying her legal bills.

I keep it simple for Dad. “She’s had some troubles, but nothing like this. What about Winston?”