Suddenly Odelia’s eyes went wide as saucers. “Oh no!” she cried, grabbing her phone. For a few frantic moments, she checked her messages, then squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip. “I knew it! I should have deleted it!”

  “Deleted what?” asked Tex, not sure he was following.

  “Anthemia Eiderduck sent me a picture of her dad’s treasure map,” Odelia explained. “And someone—and I’m pretty sure that someone is Gran—has forwarded it to herself. That’s what she’s doing: she and Scarlett have gone off to find that treasure!”

  “But… I thought you said it doesn’t exist?” asked Marge. “That the map was made by an artist and that it doesn’t lead to any actual treasure?”

  “That’s what Anthemia said, but Gran clearly had other ideas. She believes the map is real, and that by following it, she’ll find the treasure.”

  “Oh, dear,” said Marge.

  “And Mick has also gone looking for the same treasure?” asked Tex, still not seeing the full picture. But then people often withheld information from him, so it was hard to know what was going on exactly.

  Odelia nodded. “I don’t know how, but he must have gotten wind of the treasure and has gone off to try and locate it—with his girlfriend.”

  “Which means he’s guilty of gross dereliction of duty,” said Tex. “If he was supposed to be at the station today and went treasure hunting instead.”

  “I’d better let Uncle Alec know,” said Odelia, putting her phone to her ear. Moments later, she was informing the chief of police that his new star detective—the boy wonder of Hampton Cove’s police department—had apparently decided that finding a treasure was more important than upholding the law in his new adopted town.

  CHAPTER 40

  Frankly, Chase was glad that Odelia had asked him to assist her in writing that article about the killings. He didn’t know what he would have done with himself if she hadn’t. Having worked steadily for his entire adult life, sitting around the house doing nothing all day was not his style. It would probably drive him nuts.

  And so he was up and about, paying another visit to Anthemia Eiderduck, hoping to extract some more information from her. After all, she had been attacked by the killers—she had been up close and personal with them—so there might be something she remembered.

  Often, victims are incapable of total recall about a traumatic incident until days after the shock has worn off, and he was hoping this might prove to be the case with Anthemia. Perhaps she had remembered something—a detail, an inflection in her attacker’s voice, anything—that might put them on the road to identifying the killers.

  He’d opted to drop by the Eiderduck mansion first, but wasn’t surprised when he rang the bell at the gate that no one answered. He knew there was a fifty-fifty chance she was at her new apartment in town.

  She had said, under no circumstances could she be made to stay at the house after what had happened, but Chase also knew that trauma fades, and that house was her childhood home. She had lived there all her life, and it held far more happy memories than bad ones.

  Oddly enough when he checked his notebook, he saw that he had two addresses where she could possibly be found, and so he decided to check both of them out. The first apartment proved to be a bust, and at the second one there was no one home either.

  As he stepped back to see if he could spot her through the curtains, he sensed—more than saw—that he was being watched. Glancing over, he noticed Anthemia’s neighbor standing in her doorway, studying him closely.

  “Police, are you?” she asked. When he answered in the affirmative, she smiled a crooked smile, revealing a row of crooked teeth. He would have pegged her as being in her early seventies, with a crop of white hair and an old housecoat wrapped around a bony frame.

  “I’ve seen you on the news,” she announced. “Casey Kinley, aren’t you?”

  “Chase Kingsley,” he corrected her. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen your neighbor Anthemia Eiderduck, would you?”

  “Haven’t seen that girl around in a while,” the woman said. “Mind you, I’m pretty sure she and Pinkerton broke up. Not that I go snooping on the neighbors, but I haven’t seen them together lately. They used to be all lovey-dovey—guess that phase is over.”

  “So… Anthemia was living here? With this Pinkerton guy?”

  That caught him off guard. He’d assumed she was still living at home. Turns out she’d moved in with her boyfriend—and hadn’t told anyone.

  “That’s right. Frick Pinkerton. It’s his place. Why are you looking for her, anyway?”

  “Oh, just to ask her some questions about a case,” he said vaguely.

  “Those killings, huh? I thought you caught the killer? So what gives?”

  “Tying up loose ends,” he said, not wanting to give too much away. “Thanks, Mrs...?”

  “Nowak,” said the woman. “Tita Nowak. Hey, and tell that wife of yours to stop writing about those darn cats. I hate those horrible creatures, and every time she starts a column with, ‘Max did this or that or whatever,’ I just want to puke my guts out.”

  “I will tell her,” he said with a grin. Not.

  “We used to live by the park, and every night it would be the same thing: caterwauling! All night long! Buster used to throw his shoes at them, but that didn’t make a lot of difference. One night he even threw his expensive hiking boots. We never saw them again. Probably the park ranger took off with them. And all because of those darn cats!”

  “What happened to your husband?” he asked, curious in spite of himself.

  “He had a stroke a couple of years back. Was never the same after that. Then a second stroke finished him off.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Nowak.”

  “Oh, well, he was a drunk and a fool, but he was still my husband, you know? I was sad to see him go.” She gave Chase a shrewd look. “He was best buds with your girl’s boyfriend for a while there. Until they fell out. Imagine my surprise when they suddenly moved in next door, her and Frick. He pretended not to recognize me, of course—the scoundrel. But I recognized him. Still the same good-looking good-for-nothing he always was.”

  The name Pinkerton suddenly rang a bell. “This Frick Pinkerton wouldn’t have a daughter named Smilla, would he?” asked Chase.

  “He would,” Mrs. Nowak confirmed. “Though I never saw her around. Probably they didn’t get along. And who would, with a dad like that. You know, now that you mention it, Smilla is about Anthemia’s age, isn’t she? So the guy was dating a girl who could have been his daughter. But then he always had a type. Young and innocent. And rich, of course. And they stayed the same age, even as Pinkerton got older. He must be in his late fifties now, and how old is she? Early twenties? Something like that?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You do know what they say about Frick, don’t you?” said the woman, clearly getting into her element now, Chase noticed.

  “No, what?”

  “That he killed his first wife? I knew Alyssa well—so did Buster. The four of us used to go out together back in the day. But then Frick accused Alyssa of flirting with my husband, and just like that, the friendship ended. Not long after, she vanished. Rumor had it he was behind it. Hard to prove, of course, but I believed it then—and I still do. The guy has a cruel streak. You could see it in the way he looked at her. Outwardly, he was all charm, but underneath? He was itching to be rid of her. A real Bluebeard, that one.”

  “You’re saying that Anthemia’s boyfriend killed his first wife?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. She was rich, too, which was probably the reason he killed her. Young, rich, and pretty. Frick’s type. And Anthemia fit the bill perfectly.”

  Now this was news, and Chase felt something stir in his detective’s blood. Finally, a solid lead!

  “And you’re saying Anthemia and Pinkerton broke up?”

  “I think so. I mean, these people don’t confide in me. But when you hear raised voices through the wall, and then you don’t see the person anymore, it’s not hard to put two and two together. Maybe he discovered she wasn’t as rich as he thought she was and dumped her.” She grinned when she saw Chase’s reaction. “Did I hit a nerve, Detective Kinley?”

  “You sure did, Mrs. Nowak.”

  “You know, if I hadn’t seen on TV that you caught that gardener, I would have sworn that Frick had something to do with that poor girl’s parents’ murder. That kind of thing wouldn’t be out of character for him.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Dooley and I snuck back to the location where we had left Gran and the others.

  “I can’t believe Mick is here,” said Dooley.

  “I can’t believe he deceived Gran!” I said.

  “But how, Max? And why?”

  “I have no idea,” I said, “but I’m willing to bet that treasure has a lot to do with it.”

  “Does he want to steal the treasure from Gran?”

  “Nobody can steal a treasure that doesn’t belong to anyone,” I pointed out. “That’s the thing with treasures, Dooley. It’s a first come, first served kind of proposition. The first person who finds the treasure is the one who gets to keep it. Probably. Maybe. I’m not sure.”

  We had reached Gran and proceeded to tell her what we had seen. When she realized that we hadn’t found the tree she had sent us out to locate, she looked a little disappointed at first. But when I told her that Mick and his influencer girlfriend had purposely sent her on a wild-goose chase, she became mad.

  “That double-crossing piece of hockey floss!” she cried, balling her fists and shaking them. “Who does he think he is?! And here I took him into my home when no one else would! And this is how he repays me for my kindness? What a joke!”

  “If it’s a joke, I don’t think it’s very funny, Gran,” said Dooley.

  “So where is the real map now?” asked Gran.

  “Mick must have it,” I said. “Or his girlfriend. She also said something about her dad. She seems to believe it was actually he who set you up with the wrong map, Gran.”

  “And who is her dad?”

  “I have no idea,” I confessed.

  “What is the name of Mick’s girlfriend again?” asked Gran. Then she shook her head. “I need to phone a friend.” And with that, she took out her phone and dialed a number.

  Moments later, a ringtone sounded nearby, and Scarlett’s head popped up. She had been inspecting a suspicious piece of moss.

  “Vesta?” she said.

  “Mick Harper’s girlfriend—what’s her name, do you know?”

  Scarlett brightened. “Of course I do. Smilla Pinkerton. She’s a well-known swimsuit model and influencer.”

  “Do you know the name of her dad?”

  “Um… no,” she admitted. She had dropped the piece of moss and joined us. In spite of the fact that both ladies were now facing one another, they kept talking on the phone for some reason. “His name is probably Pinkerton, too. Why?”

  “Because the cats just saw Mick Harper and this Smilla Pinkerton, and she claims that her dad gave us the wrong map.”

  Consternation was written all over Scarlett’s features. “What?!” she exclaimed.

  If she could have frowned, she would have, and if the corners of her mouth could have drooped, they would have. But unfortunately, Botox had frozen all of her facial muscles, so nothing moved on that front.

  “Can you believe it? Apparently this guy has sent us on a wild-goose chase… in the wrong place!”

  I could have pointed out that a wild-goose chase means looking in the wrong place, but I refrained. When Gran is in one of her moods, it’s best to stay quiet until the storm passes.

  “So… where is the treasure?” asked Scarlett, still speaking into her phone.

  “No idea! Probably this Pinkerton guy knows. And Mick. But not us—not we—not the Watch!”

  “We have to find them and follow them,” said Scarlett shrewdly. “Turn the tables on them.”

  “Good idea,” said Gran. “Let’s do that.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “You hang up,” said Scarlett.

  “No, you hang up.”

  “No, you hang up.”

  “No, you hang up.” Just then, Gran’s phone beeped to warn her that someone was trying to reach her. “Oh, darn it. It’s Marge again. Can’t she leave us alone for one minute?” And with that, she pressed the big red button and put away her phone. “Okay, so we have to find Mick and tail him and that girlfriend of his.” She turned to us. “Show us where you saw them, Max. Let’s get this show on the road!”

  And so we headed back in the direction we had come from. Behind us, Father Reilly came hurrying up.

  “I didn’t find no hollowed-out tree, Vesta,” he announced. “Or any spot where a hollowed-out tree could have been.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said Gran. “We’ve been hoodwinked by a guy named Pinkerton.”

  “Frick Pinkerton?” asked Father Reilly.

  “Does he have a daughter named Smilla?”

  “He does,” said Father Reilly. “Her dad used to be a regular visitor at the church, but I haven’t seen him in years and years.”

  “Well, his daughter just told Mick Harper that he gave us a fake treasure map.”

  “Mick Harper is here?”

  “He is. And he’s been spying on us, making sure we don’t beat him to the location of the treasure—that double-crossing little weasel!”

  Wilbur also came stomping up. “No tree,” he announced somberly. “Well, plenty of trees, but none that contains any treasure. I’m starting to think maybe we’re looking in the wrong place, Vesta.”

  “Of course we’re looking in the wrong place!” Gran cried. “Didn’t you get the memo? We’ve been hoodwinked!”

  Wilbur’s eyes went wide. “By who?”

  “A guy named Frick Pinkerton and his daughter Smilla—oh, and Mick Harper.”

  “I know Frick Pinkerton,” said Wilbur. “He’s a nasty piece of work. Killed his wife and got away with it.”

  “How come everybody knows this guy and I don’t!” Gran cried.

  “He killed his wife?” asked Father Reilly. “Are you sure?”

  “It’s a rumor that’s been going around for years,” said Wilbur. “The woman was loaded, and after he killed her, he cleaned up. Nothing was ever proven, but her parents were convinced he was responsible.”

  “She wrapped her car around a tree, didn’t she?”

  “She did. But who was doing the driving? That’s the big question. Some say it was Frick himself behind the wheel, and that he put her body in the driver’s seat and left her to die.”

  “I saw him at the funeral,” said Father Reilly. “He looked heartbroken.”

  “He’s good at that—pretending to be something he’s not,” said Wilbur. “Once convinced me to buy a stake in a new business venture he was launching. Gummy veggies—or veggie gummies. You know, like broccoli gummies and tomato gummies and carrot gummies. Never heard from him again, and the business didn’t even exist. The guy is a fraud.”

  “And he swindled us out of the treasure,” Gran pointed out. “So let’s get a move on and find Mick Harper and follow him to the location of the treasure.”

  Our friends had also caught up with us, and so the company was at full strength as Dooley and I led them deeper into the jungle, in search of Mick Harper and his girlfriend.

  I sincerely hoped we’d be able to find them. And also, I sincerely hoped that Mick hadn’t brought along Blizzard and Storm!

  CHAPTER 42

  “Please come back,” said Alec. “Look, I made a mistake, all right? I should never have appointed Mick as detective when he obviously wasn’t ready.”

  “You were a little hasty, Uncle Alec,” Odelia pointed out.

  She and Chase had decided to drop by her uncle’s office to bring him up to date on some aspects of the case Chase had uncovered.

  “Look, I’m not here to get my old job back,” said Chase. “All I want to do is make you rethink putting Brendon Hetman’s name down for the murder. I’m more convinced now than ever that the guy was stitched up.”

  “Stitched up how?” asked Odelia’s uncle.

  “Well, for starters, I believe Mick made a deal with him. His confession in exchange for Mick dropping all charges against his girlfriend Christi. Hetman took the bait, and Christi walked free. But that doesn’t mean Hetman is the killer.”

  Uncle Alec leaned back in his chair, which creaked under his shifting weight. One of these days, Odelia thought, that chair was going to declare defeat and collapse on him.

  “I find that very hard to believe, Chase. You’re telling me Mick coerced a man into confessing to a crime he didn’t commit?”

  “That’s exactly what I’m saying. Mick knew he was never going to get a confession otherwise, and he didn’t have enough evidence to convict the guy. So he leaned on him and used his feelings for Christi to get a signed confession.”

  Uncle Alec didn’t seem convinced and drummed his fingers on the desk for a few moments. “So if Brendon Hetman isn’t the killer, then who is?”

  “A man named Frick Pinkerton,” said Chase.

  “Pinkerton? That name rings a bell,” said the police chief, frowning. “Wasn’t there a case about the guy’s wife being killed? Rumor had it he was involved, but nothing was ever proven.”

  “That’s the one,” said Chase. “Anthemia Eiderduck’s neighbor knew the man from way back when he was still married and said she’s convinced he did it. And subsequently inherited a nice big chunk of change. She also told me that Frick and Anthemia have been an item for the past couple of months, and that it wouldn’t surprise her if Frick killed Anthemia’s parents so he could lay his hands on their money.”

  “And where is this Frick Pinkerton now?”

  “He seems to have flown the coop. The neighbor I talked to, a Mrs. Tita Nowak, hasn’t seen him for a while, and I haven’t been able to trace his current whereabouts.”