Chapter Twenty-Six
Located in the heart of Key West’s version of Disney World's Main Street was Lockwood’s Treasure Adventures. I’d never been to Disney World, but this was how I imagined the happiest place in the world. There were shops, cafes, a museum, and a small park. Old houses with white picket fences lined the street. The area of Front and Whitehead Street was quaint and reassuring. A pirate statue guarded the treasure store entrance on Front Street. The main entrance through the museum faced the corner of Greene and Whitehead. I was curious about the museum, but not curious enough. I had business to conduct.
The treasure store was basically a jewelry store, except this jewelry was over four hundred years old and had been at the bottom of the sea for just as long. There was some pottery on display, iron tools, cannonballs, but mostly silver and gold with a gem tossed in for good measure. I stopped at the counter and looked at Spanish pieces of eight made into medallions. Twenty-four-karat gold-rimmed silver coins hung from gold chains. The medallions carried price tags way out of my range. I’d always wanted to be a medallion guy but just didn't have the money or the courage. You had to be a slippery kind of guy to pull off a medallion, or you had to live in Key West. As I looked around, everyone in the store was wearing one.
“They're called Key West dog tags,” someone behind me said.
I turned and a young lady was wearing a blue Lockwood’s Treasure polo shirt. Her name tag told me her name was Amy. She smiled brightly at me.
“Would you like to look at one?” Amy asked.
“Are they real?”
“Everything you see is authentic, but we do have re-creations at a more modest price if you like.”
“What about emeralds?”
“We have many fine pieces set in silver and gold. Necklace, ring, or bracelet?”
“Are they from shipwrecks?”
“We also have mined emeralds from Columbia.”
“How about loose gems?”
“Well, not on the floor, but Mr. Lockwood may have some in his private collection. Would you like to meet him?”
Amy was cheery, bubbling with enthusiasm. Lockwood must’ve paid his employees well.
“You read my mind, Amy,” I said with as much cheeriness as I could muster.
She said she would be right back, and I watched her bounce out of the storefront room. I browsed some more and eventually stopped at a collection of framed photographs on the wall. They were pictures of Lockwood’s big find. There were underwater shots of divers uncovering treasures, crew members loading silver bars on the deck of a boat, close-up shots of gold chains, coins, cannonballs, and pottery. Then there was a picture of the crew. Standing with the crew members was none other than Peter Jankowski. He was younger, thinner, and happier.
Amy reappeared and offered to take me to the investor’s room to wait for Mr. Lockwood. I followed her down a hallway lined with more adventurous photographs to a large, plush room.
Made to look like the inside of a yacht cabin, the room’s centerpiece was a glass-encased silver bar. A wet bar, an oversized refrigerator, a charts desk, leather furniture and expensive-looking nautical paintings made up the rest of the décor. A large television screen looped underwater footage of divers pulling up treasure from the Atocha and Santa Margarita. Spanish ships Lockwood had found. Near the door was a model of a Spanish galleon on an expensive table, and a large safe. Amy said Mr. Lockwood would join me in a minute and left me to admire the silver bar under the glass. I took a closer look and whistled. I was impressed.
“It’s worth about forty thousand, market value,” a voice behind me said.
I turned and saw Larry Lockwood. I knew it was him because he was wearing a blue shirt just like Amy, only his name tag read Larry. He was tan, blond, and smiled a great set of veneers. He had a mustache and reminded me of the Sundance Kid, ala Robert Redford. We were about the same height, but Larry was thin and nimble. I was reminded of Stacy’s history with him.
“But you can add another eighty grand for historical significance. I’m Larry Lockwood.”
He reached out to shake my hand. I pointed behind Larry and feigned surprise.
“Hey, Larry, what’s that over there?”
I acted as if I were going to steal the silver bar. Lockwood didn’t budge, but at least he smiled politely. I probably wasn’t the first one to do that. We shook hands.
“This is a great place you got here, Larry.”
“We like it. First time?”
“First time in the Keys.”
“Well, welcome.”
“Thanks. A hundred twenty stacks for that thing, huh? Damn.”
“She’s impressive. Have a seat. Get you something to drink? A beer maybe?”
“It's ten o'clock in the morning. How about a Bloody Mary?”
“Sorry.”
“Then beer it is.”
Larry grabbed a couple of cold ones from the refrigerator and we both sat in swanky leather chairs.
“Amy said you were interested in loose emeralds. You an investor or a collector?”
He grinned and I almost felt bad to disappoint him.
“Neither. But I am interested in emeralds. One emerald. The one Stacy St. James gave you.”
Larry wrinkled his brow.
“You mean the one she sold to me.”
“Yes.”
He nodded, then said, “Did she also tell you it’s fake?”
“Yes, she did, but I have some questions about that.”
We both sipped our beers and stared at each other. He was trying to figure out what my angle was. I was just enjoying my beer.
“I’m sorry. Who are you, again?”
“Oh, that’s on me. I’m Lee Cutter.”
“And how do you know Stacy?”
“We’re friends.”
“Friends?”
“Yeah. You know. Friends.”
I gave him a little shrug and a smile. He understood perfectly.
“Well, we go back,” he said. “Good friends. And I would never try to cheat her.”
“That’s not why I’m here.”
Lockwood relaxed but remained guarded.
“I have a curious mind, that’s all,” I said. “Just want to know more about the emerald.”
“Oh. Okay. Good. Shoot. What do you want to know?”
“How do you know it’s fake and what does that mean?”
“The emerald itself isn’t fake. It’s just not from a sunken ship.”
“You can tell that how?”
“Simple test. The Spanish wrapped gems in oil rags. We test the oil residue. Stacy’s emerald didn’t add up.”
That was simple. He’d piqued my interest.
“How old?”
“Pretty sure Mobil sells it in every gas station. Not to mention, the emerald itself is synthetic.”
“This keeps getting better. So, it is fake?”
“Not a natural gem.”
“Why would someone say it was from a sunken treasure?”
“Happens a lot, unfortunately. People come in here wanting us to underwrite a claim, but they usually end up being garbage.”
“Does Peter Jankowski know that?”
That got Larry’s attention. He looked at me curiously, then said, “As a matter of fact, I told him last night. He called me about it.”
“And what did he say after you told him the emerald was fake?”
“Actually, he offered to buy it.”
“Little strange, ain’t it?”
“What’s this all about?”
I had to be careful here. It wouldn't be good form to just blurt out I was investigating a murder and thought Peter Jankowski had something to do with it. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if that was true. But more importantly, this was a small town that acted like a big city. Larry and Peter could be drinking buddies or in-laws or lovers. This was Key West, after all. And, of course, Larry had a photograph of Jankowski with his crew on a wall in his store.
“This is a little embarrassing, but I want to buy it.”
“That doesn’t explain how you knew Peter called me.”
“I was in the Green Parrot Bar when he tried to buy it off Stacy. I took a shot he contacted you.”
“Oh. Well, I already told him I’d hold it for him. Treasure hunting is an expensive business.”
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my wallet.
“How much did he say he’d give you for the stone?”
“I told him I'd give it to him for cost just to get it out of here.”
“Well, as they say, cash in hand…”
Larry thought for a split second, then said, “All right. Sold.”
“Great. How much?”
I started pulling bills out of my wallet.
“Fifteen hundred.”
I put the bills back in my wallet. Without enough cash on hand, I pulled out my American Express card instead.
“I assume you take plastic?”
“You’d be rare if you paid cash around here. I’ll be right back.”
Larry stood, but before he left the room, I asked one more question.
“Could the stone have been buried?”
He thought, then said, “It could, but it's still not old. That is, it's not a pirate’s treasure if that's what you're asking. As I said, the oil used to treat it is the main giveaway. Too modern. And the emerald is still synthetic.”
“Well, I guess it doesn't matter. It's a gift anyway.”
He politely smiled as he left the room. I went over my bank account in my head. Worst-case scenario, I’d marry Stacy, years later we’d get divorced, and she’d end up with half my shit anyway. I figured I’d give her the emerald and end it now. We’d just date, maybe flirt with a long-term relationship, but never commit to holy matrimony. That way I’d only be out fifteen hundred bucks and have spent money for however long we lasted. It’s important to have a plan.