SAND DOLLAR OASIS
SATURDAY, 12:32 PM
Silas sat at the bar, enjoying the shade of the palm frond-roofed pagoda and the exquisite fruity alcoholic beverage with the colorful umbrella. It wasn’t as good as the concoction Courtney Abeling had made for him a few nights earlier, but the new bartender, Scott, had tried hard to recreate it—not knowing what it was called—and had done a pretty good job nonetheless.
He took a sip from his straw and looked up at the cloudless blue sky. He breathed in deep, enjoying the salt air. The mournful cries of seagulls and the explosive crash of waves against the beach were the symphony he’d engrossed himself in while Becca Cole busied herself with the mundane task of booking and charging Ceci Palmer with the murder of Andrea Alvarez.
Although Ms. Alvarez was still dead—taken long before her Time—there was, he had to admit, a certain amount of satisfaction he felt in finally solving the murder. He was still no closer to discovering the whereabouts of the Hand of Cain, but he now had a few ideas of where to look, and the inkling of a plan forming in his mind.
He glanced over at the row of beach chairs a few yards away. Each chair was now shaded by large, round umbrellas. Elliot Newman was the only one occupying any of them. His pasty white legs were already turning all kinds of red in the beach sun as he too enjoyed the fruity concoction Silas had grown to love.
I think I’ll call it ‘Death on a Beach’, he thought, taking another sip. Seems appropriate somehow.
“Is this seat taken?” A velvety Hispanic voice asked from behind him.
He swiveled his head to see Esperanza, decked out in a thin cotton pullover—her skimpy string-bikini evident under the garment—standing behind him with one hand on the adjacent chair.
“Suit yourself,” he said.
The two sat together in silence for a few uncomfortable minutes, enjoying the scenery.
“That was quite a show you put on this morning,” she finally said after she’d ordered her own drink. Silas noticed that the bartender had practically undressed her with his eyes, which had tickled her to no end.
“We needed a confession,” he said quietly. He kept his sight fixed on the rolling waves beyond the tiki bar. “She wasn’t about to admit she’d killed her best friend…especially knowing it would ruin her relationship with James Andrews. The drama just gave her the push she needed, that’s all.”
“Oh, I’m not judging you,” she laughed. “You know me. I love a good show of theatrics.”
Silas nodded while taking a deep pull on his straw.
“Like you appearing to Spenser Blakely and laying that threatening kiss on him so soon before he dropped dead of a heart attack?” He finally said.
Esperanza tilted her head back and laughed louder this time. “He told you that, did he?”
“He did.”
“What can I say? I didn’t want you to know.”
“That your boy Omo Sango has the Hand?”
“Oh, he doesn’t have it,” she said. She was scowling now. “Not anymore anyway. He did. His crew were some of the first scavengers of that wreck. They retrieved it, but then, it was stolen.”
“Stolen? Was this before or after Andrea Alvarez overheard you talking about it?”
“After. It was stolen about a week before she died, as a matter of fact.”
Silas pondered this a bit.
“Any idea who took it?”
She tsked at the question. “You know me better than that. If I had a theory about who stole it from me, do you really think they’d still be alive to use it?”
“It never hurts to ask.”
She nodded at this, pushed her empty glass forward, and stood up. “Well, mi esposa, I suppose it’s time to catch some rays.”
“Enjoy.” The sooner she was gone, the sooner Silas could get back to enjoying this glorious afternoon.
She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “Buenos dias, Love.” She turned to walk toward the beach when she came to an abrupt halt and gasped. “Ankou, what have you done?”
Silas smiled, not bothering to look. He knew she’d just spotted Elliot Newman, alive and well, and taking a nice relaxing beach day instead of being dead and worm food in a big claustrophobic box.
“Whatever do you mean, Essie?” he asked, grinning and taking another sip from his drink.
He could feel her burning glare at the back of his head.
“Don’t think for a minute I’m going to let this stand,” she said. “It’s bad enough when you take one of mine. Now, you’ve moved on to restoring souls I’ve taken as well. It’s an abuse of your station.”
He chuckled and handed her a customer satisfaction card he’d taken from the motel lobby. “Feel free to fill this form out and send it to our boss, Chica.”
With a grunt, she wheeled around and stormed down the steps to the beach without another word.
Amused, Silas stood up and moved over to Elliot, taking the beach chair next to him.
“Enjoying your day, buddy?” he asked.
Elliot nodded. “Ya know, I never really ever took time off to go to the beach when I was alive. It’s much more relaxing than I ever imagined.”
“Stick with me, kid, and you’ll be a relaxation king in no time.”
Elliot smiled and took a drink from his coconut tiki mug.
“So, tell me, Elliot. You’ve never mentioned it,” Silas said. “But with all this talk about that pirate ship wreck, I’ve never thought to ask. Do we have any idea what the ship was called when it sailed the seven seas?”
“Oh, that’s actually quite fascinating,” the archaeologist said. “It’s why I’ve been so excited to excavate the ship, really. See, it doesn’t officially exist. I mean, not really. It was supposed to be as legendary as its captain within the scholarly world.”
“Really?”
“Yes, yes. For centuries, scholars believed it was merely a superstitious myth. Something to scare pirates and sea dogs while they drank their profits in pubs in Caribbean harbors.”
“Tell me more.”
“The ship is known as The Lord’s Vengeance.”
Silas’ gut instantly twisted into tightly wound coils at the name.
“It was captained by a creature of myth and legend. A being revered by the practitioners of vodou in the Islands. A man named…”
Silas’ throat was suddenly parched. He was going to need something a lot stronger than a Death on the Beach to quench his thirst this afternoon. “A man named Baron Tombstone,” Silas said, his voice a mere whisper.
“Exactly!” Elliot said, smiling. “Have you heard of him?”
“Oh,” he replied. “You can definitely say that.”
He’d finally discovered the being behind the approaching enclave. The one who’d raised the motion to vote on Silas’ ability to handle the station of Lord of Death. The one vying for his throne. His dilemma was worse than he ever imagined.
“And I can assure you,” he said to his new friend. “This makes things a lot more complicated.”