The tobacco should fetch a handsome price at auction, more than enough to cover salvage costs and keep Rourke and his crew off the turtle grounds this year. He rubbed his hands, relishing the thought of time ashore. First he’d return to his rented room and order up a bath. Then a trip to the barber for a proper shave and haircut. Finally, he’d put on his Sunday best and call on Miss Benjamin. If her father put up a fuss, he would claim he’d come to see Charlie. Benjamin had never refused those visits. In any case, he would at least see Elizabeth, and she would know he had paid a call.
Tom said she’d asked about him on the trip to Key West. That was all the encouragement Rourke needed. Her father might disapprove, but he would also know the extent of Rourke’s award by then. Since Rourke and the master had already reached an agreement, they could avoid wreckers’ court. All that remained was the property auction. Key West streets crawled with well-off buyers from Kingston, New Orleans, Havana, and Europe. Yes, the cargo and ship’s furnishings would fetch a fine price, perhaps enough to woo an attorney’s daughter.
“Put her to anchor?” John asked after the last of the cargo had been unloaded.
Rourke could see the longing in his mate’s eyes. He’d waited four years for his wife, only to see her vanish into the grasp of Charles Benjamin. “Aye. But I’ll spend the night in town. I plan to pay a visit to a certain young lady.”
John’s look of frustration touched Rourke. He’d feel the same if their roles were reversed.
“I might suggest a stroll,” he said. “Of course, her maid would need to accompany her.”
John grinned. “Dat be de way of things.”
“I find the shore lovely in the evening with the trade winds blowing in.”
“Aye, Captain.” John nodded. “Dat it be. Dat it be.”
“You might be able to see us heading along the south shore toward the hospital.”
“Dat I might.”
“On the other hand, it looks like the seas are flattening. She might enjoy a row,” Rourke added. “Bring the ship’s boat around just in case.”
“Yes, sir!” Whistling, John boarded the Windsprite to take her to anchor.
The agent brought the list of off-loaded cargo to Rourke for verification. After confirming the tally, he was done for the night. At the negotiated percentage, this could end up a profitable salvage.
“Thank you, Captain.” The agent headed back to the custom house, where Cross likely waited for the same tally.
Rourke hefted his canvas bag and headed for Mrs. Mallory’s boardinghouse, a reliably clean place that catered to seamen yet didn’t stand for drunkenness or brawling. A warm bath and a hot meal sure sounded good. His stomach was rumbling already for her turtle soup and tuna steaks. From the first time he’d set foot on the island, the widow who ran the place had taken him under her wing, saying he was almost a Mallory with that last name of his. She kept his room spotless and baked his favorite lemon cake when he was in port. He played piano for the guests.
“Excuse me, Captain O’Malley.” The town marshal, Clive Wright, stepped in front of him.
“What can I do for you?” Rourke spotted two deputies approaching from opposite sides. He’d seen law enforcement surround a man often enough to get nervous.
“I’m going to need to search your bag.”
“My bag? It’s just a change of clothing and a few personal items.”
The marshal’s thick mustache didn’t move one bit. “I’m still gonna have to search it.”
Rourke knew better than to fight over something so insignificant. He didn’t have a thing of value in there. His grandmother’s wedding ring was on a leather thong around his neck. He handed the bag to the town marshal. “Go ahead.”
The man nodded to the deputy on Rourke’s right. The man wasted no time opening the bag and pulling out every piece of clothing while Wright kept one hand near his revolver, as if Rourke would pull a knife on him.
“What’s going on, Clive?” he asked.
Wright didn’t soften. “I’ve had a complaint of theft.”
“From that mate on the Victory, Mr. Buetsch? He claims someone took a brooch that he bought for his sweetheart, but they searched the Windsprite top to bottom and didn’t find a thing. If you ask me, it’s probably on the seafloor.”
“That so?”
The deputy looked up. “Nothin’ here.”
“Good. Pack the bag and hand it to Captain O’Malley.”
The deputy did as ordered.
When the man handed Rourke the bag, the town marshal let out his breath real slow. “I trust you won’t leave the island. In cases involving foreigners, we sometimes have to lock up the suspect, but I’ve known you a long time, O’Malley. I’ll take your word that you’ll stay on the island until this complaint is resolved.”
“You have it.” Rourke extended his hand, and the town marshal shook. “I sure hope you find it.”
“Me too.” Marshal Wright hitched up his trousers. “Never easy to find things that disappear off a wreck.” He stepped close. “Thought you might want to know that the master of that wreck filed a libel of salvage.”
“What?” Rourke’s temper flared. “We had an agreement.”
“These things happen. The master changes his mind once he gets ashore, especially after a lawyer gets hold of him. Get yourself a good proctor and file your response. You can be sure Judge Marvin will sort it out.”
Rourke tried to shake off a sense of foreboding. “Who is representing Captain Cross?”