Page 53 of Smuggler's Cove
Occasionally Viggo would bring Diogo to work and let him run in an enclosed area near the old officer’s row of houses at Fort Hancock. It once served as living quarters for commissioned officers, but too many years of neglect left the buildings in a state of disrepair. It was shameful and pitiful to see incredible waterfront property tumbling into the bay. Finally, after twenty-plus years of rife between private citizens as to who should refurbish the declining community, someone began the process of restoration. It would still be several years before the area saw a renaissance, but each season breathed new life into the park.
As he was getting ready for his morning run, he emptied his shirt pocket from the day before.
Madison Wainwright
Editor in Chief
LEFEMMEMAGAZINE
110 William Street
NY, NY 10038
He looked down at Diogo, who was waiting patiently. “She was a very interesting woman.” Diogowoofed in return. “I wonder what her story is. Her current one.” Diogo tilted his head. “I know her father had some sketchy history, but she seemed to have landed on her feet.” Diogowoofed again and started beating his tail on the floor.
“Alright. Alright. I shall ponder this later.” He grabbed the dog’s lead, and they made their way to the door. Just before he stepped out, his cell phone rang, which was usually a bad sign that early in the morning. It was Burton.
“Hey, Rob. What’s up?”
“Good morning, Viggo. Wanted to let you know we got an ID on the body.”
“Anyone I know?”
“Maybe. We found his car down river. Wallet was in the glove box. Dennis Farrell. Ring a bell?”
“Yeah. He used to run with those treasure hunters.”
“Obviously, not anymore. We’re still not sure what happened. Coroner is still working on it. Just thought you’d like to know in case any of his cohorts start showing up.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it,” Eriksson replied. Over the years, there were rumors and legends that Captain Kidd, among others, left a bounty estimated at a million dollars somewhere along the riverbanks. Farrell and a handful of fortune seekers were on the lookout for a legendary map that would lead them to the hoard. In their quest, they would occasionally pull out tide markers, crab traps, and disturb protected watersheds. Often, Viggo and his colleagues would get called in to help the state police run down the pilferers. Eriksson didn’t think there would be a call for homicide, but then again, it was a million dollars rumored to be at stake. What that had to do with Kirby Taylor remained to be seen, and how or why Farrell’s body ended up under Kirby’s dock was the latest question.
“Are you going to notify the Wainwrights, or should I?”
“Up to you. We’re all involved until this gets sorted out,” Burton said.
Eriksson seized the opportunity to reach out to Ms. Wainwright. “It’s still early, but I’ll call her after my run.”
“Thanks. Keep me posted.” Burton ended the call.
Viggo walked back into his bedroom, where he saw Madison Wainwright’s business card on his dresser where he had left it. The day just got a bit more interesting.
Chapter Thirteen
Making Lemonade
Lincoln was not thrilled with the idea of telling his sister that getting clear title for the water rights was going to be a laborious process if they planned to sell it. If it remained in the family, they would be able to continue business as usual. The definition ofusualescaped him, but they were going to have to make the most out of a challenging situation. Before he had the chance to rehearse his speech, his phone rang. It was Madison. He took a deep breath. “Hey, Sis. What is going on so early in the morning?” It was past nine, but Madison rarely phoned before eleven.
“I got a message from Captain Eriksson.” Her voice was unusually buoyant. “They identified the body.”
“What did he say?”
“I didn’t speak to him. He left me a voicemail saying I should call him back and he would give me more details.”
“And did you? Call him back?” Lincoln asked.
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
