Captain Finn Treasure Mysteries: Books 1 - 3: Short Sea Stories of Murder and Shipwreck Treasure Read online

  Captain Finn Treasure Mysteries

  Books 1-3

  Short Sea Stories of Murder and Shipwreck Treasure

  Liz Dodwell

  Captain Finn Treasure Mysteries:

  Books 1-3

  Copyright © 2015 by Liz Dodwell

  www.lizdodwell.com

  Published by Mix Books, LLC

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  You possess only whatever will not be lost in a shipwreck

  ~ El-Ghazali

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  The Mystery of the One-Armed Man

  Black Bart is Dead

  The Gold Doubloon Mystery

  The Mystery of the One-Armed Man

  A Captain Finn Treasure Mystery

  LIZ DODWELL

  For Alex

  The future starts today

  Forward

  Single up on the lines and tell ‘em below

  To stand by the motors, we’re ready to go

  Put air on the whistle then give it a yank

  Let go of all line and haul in the plank

  There’s nothing like a little nautical ditty or a good mystery book to get you in a treasure hunting mood. I've been in pursuit of Sunken Treasure for over 40 years. Much of the travel time is spent reading, and I believe I have read (maybe) all of the treasure novels, and most of the mystery books. I am proud to say I count among my friends the great, though sadly late, writer and explorer Sir Arthur C. Clarke, and novelist and marine archaeologist, Clive Cussler. I did much of the research for Robert Kurson’s (of Shadow Divers fame) new novel, and have a new acquaintance in Randy Wayne White. I have written many articles about Sunken Treasure and really appreciate it when someone with writing talent can create a great story around a real-life treasure mystery.

  My friend, Liz Dodwell, has written such a story, and you are about to read it. Most people read for a while and then take a break. I did after reading the first four chapters, but the thought of "What Next" occupied my mind to the point where I stopped my daily tasks and picked up the manuscript again, and with Rum in hand, continued. In my mind I found myself second-guessing as I started turning the pages, but I have to admit, I did not see the end coming. I would like to give you a couple examples of this, but I don't want to tip you off. Instead I will let you get on with your own second-guessing.

  I’m anticipating Captain Finn will lead us on many adventures. I hope so, because I somehow feel a kinship with him. And so "For Treasure and Pleasure" here comes the first Captain Finn treasure mystery, The Mystery of the One-Armed Man.

  Captain Carl Fismer

  Key Largo

  ONE

  I felt it more than I heard anything. Just a slight rocking of the boat and a faint thudding, not rhythmic but spastic almost. We were at a private dock at the home of one of our sponsors on Sarasota Bay in Florida. The location gave us easy access through Big Sarasota Pass out to the “Slaver” site in the Gulf of Mexico. And it was free; a huge bonus for cash-strapped treasure hunters like us.

  Anyway, back to the noise. Usually I can sleep through anything. Years in the foster care system with a bunch of rowdy kids, a summer sleeping rough on the streets of Philadelphia, and then a stint in the army, pretty much disciplines you to block out noise when sleep calls. This night, though, I was having flashbacks. Not severe, but I figured it was better to keep myself awake, so I was doing something I almost never do – giving myself a manicure. I’m not a girly girl. Given my background I don’t think I ever learnt how to be, but sometimes I try. I’d picked out a color called Knockout Pout, and as I was applying the first coat Time Voyager shifted and I ended up with Knockout Pout everywhere but on my nails. Heavy weather was kicking up in the Gulf but it hadn’t affected our sheltered berth, so I figured something might have hit us.

  Just then I heard Finn come out of his cabin so I gave up on my beauty endeavors and opened my door.

  “You felt it, too,” he said.

  “Something.”

  “Probably just a log but we’d better check.”

  I nodded and we headed up through the galley onto the aft deck. There was a quarter moon trying to smile through a cloud-covered sky. Stepping to the bulwarks we peered down into the water. It was black, though something was moving with enough frenzy to cast a few droplets of water over us.

  “Shall I turn on the lights?”

  Finn shook his head. “Let’s not wake the neighbors yet. Go grab a flashlight.”

  By the time I got back with a rechargeable spotlight, Finn was waiting with a gaff in hand. I turned on the powerful halogen lamp and pointed it down.

  “Ah, shit.”

  “Keep that light steady.” Finn’s voice was firm, calm. “I’m gonna drag it round to the transom, then you’ll have to help me pull it in.”

  “It” was a body.

  “I’m not touching it, and there are sharks as well. We need to call the cops and let them deal with this.”

  “Phill, that’s a person down there and if we wait for the cops the body might sink and there’ll be nothing here for them to deal with. I need your help - now. Besides, that’s only a small blacktip shark and he’s more interested in all the fish round the body than in you.”

  Damn it. Finn is always so reasonable. Still, I wasn’t going to stick my bare hands down there so I found a pair of heavy duty gloves and, as Finn began to raise the body up I managed to loop some line under the knees, and together we hauled the gruesome corpse onto the deck.

  Bile stung in the back of my throat. I swallowed it down. The man, far from young, was naked except for a pair of boxer shorts that clung to chicken-thin legs. There was no aquatic detritus evident on the body and, though I’m certainly no expert, I was pretty certain he’d not been long in the water.

  “Well, you were wrong about the shark.” The man’s right arm had been devoured all the way up to the shoulder.

  Finn turned the light around and, crouching down, peered closely at the severed joint. “No.” He looked up at me. “That’s been hacked off with some sort of knife. And I would say very recently.”

  This time when the bile stung I hung over the gunwale and tossed last night’s chicken chimichangas into the bay.

  TWO

  It was mid-morning before the local constabulary were done. They’d called in the Coastguard as well, presumably to establish where the body might have entered the water. We were questioned several times over but the cops told us nothing, so we sat – me fidgeting like a cat with fleas, Finn patient – drinking too many cups of coffee that reminded me just how empty my stomach now was.

  Perhaps this is a good time to tell you a little bit more about myself – and about Finn.

  He’s somewhere in his 60s I should guess, but he’s never said and I’ve never asked. He has the face of a man who’s really lived life: every line a testament to challenges and triumphs, heartaches and loves, risks and rewards. Whenever we’re back in the Keys – the Florida Keys – he takes the time to dress up as a pirate captain and visit the kids in the children’s hospital. Really, he’s a complete softie. But he’s tough, too. Hell, he’s survived five types of cancer! It’s amazing those light blue eyes are such beacons of life and laughter.

  Finn’s full name is Rex Finsmer but everyone calls him Capt
ain Finn, or just plain Finn. For most of his life he’s been a shipwreck treasure hunter; worked with some of the best, too. Now, he is one of the best. Two years ago when he found me I was in a really bad place. I’m not going to tell you about that yet, it’s another story for another time. Suffice it to say that Finn saved me. Now I live with him on the Time Voyager and, no… don’t go getting any ideas. Our relationship is like mentor and protégée or guardian and ward… or maybe Laurel and Hardy (Finn and Phill – sounds like a comic duo, doesn’t it?). Truth to tell, I never knew my father and I doubt my mother knew who he was, either, so I pretend to myself that my father is someone just like Finn.

  Oh, and my name is Phillida Jane Trent. Don’t ask me why; I’ve always supposed it was a random name issued by the orphanage. Nobody ever calls me Phillida or Liddy or anything cute. It’s Phill, and I guess that’s OK with me because there’s really nothing about me that you could call cute. My hair is dirty blonde from being out in the sun, I’m exactly six foot tall and I rarely date. Guys seem to be intimidated by me. It used to bother me and I’d try and act feminine but Finn says to be myself, it’s just going to take more of a man to be with me.

  OK, back to the body… or not. That seemed to be the end of it, though the police came by one more time to ask the same questions yet again. Other than that, we were in Sarasota for just two more days, re-stocking, doing some maintenance on the boat, and Finn had a presentation scheduled at the yacht club. That’s where I come in. One of my jobs is to arrange talks where Finn can put on his show (I call it a show because he’ll have everyone laughing one minute and on the edge of their seats the next). We bring artifacts to sell, and hope to find one or two people willing to sponsor a part of the adventure. Treasure hunting is expensive business. From the research, the boat, the maintenance, the equipment, the fuel, the time…. Most treasure hunters barely have enough to feed themselves. Over the years Finn has been very successful, but expenses always seem to outweigh income.

  Right now we were plotting a grid in the Gulf looking for a wreck that Finn believed was a slave ship. Slavers brought their live cargoes into New Orleans, and often left with gold and silver and other treasures from the sale. Working the grid was time-consuming and boring. Two other divers, Enos Donnell and Jafet Quintana, regularly worked with us when we were in the Sarasota area and we all took turns in front of a small screen looking at pictures of the ocean floor created by side-scan sonar.

  We’d been out almost two weeks when the weather turned against us. It was late August and reports were coming in that Hurricane Gisbert could be heading our way. You don’t mess with hurricanes, at least Finn doesn’t. He lost two boats in a hurricane a few years ago. So we high-tailed it back to Sarasota safety and hoped we wouldn’t have to waste too many days at dock.

  The first morning back I was fixing breakfast. Shrimp was on the counter waiting for a handout. Oh, yeah: Shrimp is our boat-cat. We were grilling shrimp when berthed at Stock Island in the Keys one day and this really skinny, mangy little calico cat turned up. We tried to coax her onboard and she’d tippy-toe close then get too nervous and dart off again. Finally, Finn grabbed a raw shrimp, held it out and said, “shrimp?” Well, that did it. She came right up and took the shrimp out of his hand. We tried different names with her but she’d completely ignore us. “Shrimp” got her attention every time, though, so the name stuck.

  Where was I…? Right, I was cooking breakfast while Finn was looking over the sonar images we’d taken, when we heard a voice call, “Ahoy, there.” We looked at each other.

  “Are we expecting anyone?”

  I shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  “Ahoy!” The caller was persistent.

  Pointedly I looked at the pan of eggs I was scrambling. Finn took the hint.

  “OK, I’ll go.”

  I heard him call out “Ahoy” as he went on deck.

  “Permission to come aboard?”

  “Absolutely, my dear. Let me help you.”

  My dear? To hell with the eggs. Who was this? I turned off the cooktop and followed Finn’s footsteps in time to see him steadying a young woman as she stepped over the gunwale. She was my complete opposite: daintily feminine in floral culottes and a simple white top, with exotic features and sleek, dark hair.

  “Are you Captain Finsmer?” Even her voice was soft and sweet.

  “That’s me.”

  “I’m Alana Azevedo and I’m hoping you can help me.”

  That’s all it took. Finn never could turn down a damsel in distress - especially a pretty one. He ushered her into the salon, which is really just an extension of the galley, and offered her a seat on the L-shaped settee. I followed, making a point to ignore Shrimp who was chomping on the now-congealing mess that was meant to be breakfast.

  Finn settled across from our guest and I scooched in next to him. He offered her some coffee. Actually, he offered me to make some coffee but she declined anyway.

  “What can I do for you Miss Azevedo?”

  “Alana, please.” She hesitated, then looked down, her hair curtaining across her face. Her shoulders shook just a little and I realized she was crying. Instinctively, I leaned forward to offer comfort but Finn deterred me with a shake of his head. In a moment, she had collected her wits again and looked up, unconsciously pushing her hair behind her ear.

  “You found my grandfather not long ago.”

  Grandfather? I was confused. Then realization struck and the specter of the grizzly, one-armed body turned my gut upside down all over again. Horrified, I looked at the young woman and hoped to god she hadn’t had to see that for herself.

  “I’m sorry,” Finn said. It wasn’t much but he had the ability to convey a whole lot of meaning in those two words. “Now, tell us why you’re here.”

  Bit by bit Alana told her story. She was Brazilian; her parents still lived in the Amazonas capital city of Manaus, in northern Brazil. She was their only child, and her mother was the only child of her now dead grandfather. She had never known her grandmother.

  After earning her undergraduate degree in Brazil, she had secured a place at Columbia University Graduate School of Architecture in New York. Her grandfather had immediately bought an apartment where she could live and the family could stay on long-term visits.

  “Bought an apartment?” That took some serious money in New York.

  “My grandfather is very…was…very wealthy.”

  Alana continued that she was in her second year at Columbia. Her grandfather, whose name was Tobin Obotien, had come to spend the summer with her. He’d offered to take her away for a vacation – anywhere she wanted to go. Several of her friends had talked about Sarasota being a great city, so that’s where she chose. “Just somewhere to relax on the beach, eat great food and look at gorgeous sunsets,” she said, “and gear up for my third year.”

  Obotien had booked a two-bedroom, bay-view suite at the Ritz-Carlton and Alana had spent most of her days at the resort’s Beach Club. Everything had been perfect; then something happened.

  “We decided to have dinner at the Columbia Restaurant on St. Armand’s Circle. Grandfather thought it would be a little bit of fun because I’m at Columbia U. We were seated inside at a window table and, even though it’s hot, the tables on the sidewalk were full. Grandfather was just suggesting we visit the Ringling Museum of Art the next day, when his face turned ashen, his eyes opened wide and I swear he stopped breathing. At first I thought he might be choking or even having a stroke. His gaze was fixed on something outside and when I turned there was a man standing at a table who was staring back at us. Honestly, it was almost as if they’d each seen a ghost.

  “Well, Grandfather suddenly came out of his daze and said he wasn’t feeling well and that we had to leave immediately. He didn’t even wait for the check: just threw money on the table and practically dragged me out of the place. There were taxis at the front door and he grabbed the first one and told the driver to just go; said he’d give him $100 to drive
around for an hour. And that’s what we did.

  “I wanted Grandfather to go to the hospital but he absolutely refused, and wouldn’t talk to me, either, except to say he’d feel better if we kept driving. It just didn’t make sense, and when we got back to the hotel he said we would have to go back to New York the next day. I think he would have left right away, but by then I was frightened and insisted he lie down.”

  At this point Alana broke down. She seemed so brittle that a touch, or even a word, might cause her to shatter. I brought her a glass of water, then Finn and I waited her out.

  “I’m sorry. I think I’m still in shock over this. None of it seems real.”

  “Take your time.” Finn’s voice was gentle. “When you’re ready, tell us what happened after your grandfather lay down.”

  “That’s just it. I don’t know what happened! He lay on top of the bed and I thought he’d fallen asleep, so I took off his shoes and put a cover over him. Then I went to my own room and slept for a while. I woke at about two in the morning and tip-toed over to check on him – and he was gone! I freaked; called the front desk, checked the bar, the lounge, had hotel staff looking, even called the hospitals, but he was nowhere to be found. Finally, I called the police and filed a missing person report. You know the rest.”

  “Alana,” Finn leaned toward her, “what have you not told us?”

  “Well,” she drew the word out, “it was just so odd, but the man looking in the restaurant at us had only one arm.”

  THREE

  Alana had been gone for a couple of hours, and since then Finn had been deep in thought. Several times I’d tried to interrupt him but he brushed me away. After we’d heard Alana’s story, Finn had asked her again how she thought he could be of help to her.