Dagger Key and Other Stories

The dining room has begun to fill and Klose, taking cognizance of this, lowers his voice. “What happened to the treasure?” he asks.

Fredo reaches into his hip pocket, withdraws a grimy, much-folded piece of paper—stiff paper, like that used by artists—and lays it on the table. “This my family’s fortune,” he says. “If anybody hear of it, it could mean trouble for me.”

Klose rests the fingertips of one hand on the paper, but Fredo also keeps his hand on the paper.

“You seen my place,” says Fredo. “I better off than some, but I a poor mon nonetheless. Now you a rich mon. Maybe not king-rich, but rich enough you can help me out.”

The German’s face tightens as he realizes that money is to be the topic of conversation.

“I not going to try to sell you something you ain’t interested in,” Fredo continues. “If you don’t want what I got, I no be bothering you again. But if you interested, remember this. You tell anyone what’s on this paper, the deal is off. There’s three items sketched on it. A cross, a cup, and a dagger. There’s information written down about them. You can check it against the cargo manifest of the Nuestra Senora de Alegria, a Spanish galleon that were lost with all hands in these waters. The treasure ship sites online, they can tell you about it.” He pushes back his chair and stands. “The dagger’s not for sale, but I can let you have the cup or the cross.”

Suspicion gone from his face, washed away by eagerness, Klose starts to unfold the paper, but Fredo restrains him and says, “Not here, mon! Not where anybody can see. Take it somewhere private.”

Klose apologizes, then says, “May I show this to Selkie?”

“I’ll be direct with you. From what I hear about your wife, she ain’t the kind to trust with a secret.”

Strain surfaces in Klose’s voice. “I’m aware of my wife’s proclivities, but where a matter of finance is concerned, you can count on her to be discreet.”

“Well, that’s up to you. But the same rule apply. She tell anyone, we ain’t doing business.”

Fredo tells him they’ll talk early tomorrow and leaves Klose to his breakfast, intending to walk the beach to Dever’s Landing. He cuts across the patio toward the water and notices two boats moored to the wharf: a sloop with a blue hull and a white cabin cruiser, the Selkie. As he’s about to take a closer look, Wilton hails him and asks if he can use a ride. Minutes later, Fredo is hanging onto the roll bar of the Jeep as they lurch and rattle over the potholed road toward town, producing so loud a racket that Wilton has to shout to make himself heard.

“You got some business with that German fella?” he asks.

“He pay me a few dollars to tell him some lies. That’s all.”

Wilton appears to nod, though it may just be the bouncing of the Jeep.

“If it get any more than that, you let me know,” says Wilton. “These Germans, they slick operators. You need someone looking out for you. Someone who can see you don’t get took advantage of.”

Fredo gazes at the dusty-leaved shrubs along the roadside, at palms with brown fronds and bunches of dried-out nuts, at the aquamarine sea that shows itself whenever the Jeep tops a rise. “No doubt,” he says. “I be sure and consult with you first thing.”

All through the day, doing chores and filling orders behind the bar, Fredo worries about whether he’s doing the right thing. Annie thinks that dealing with Klose is worth the risk, that’s apparent, though Fredo’s not certain how much she actually thinks or what her process is. She may possess a thread of instinct or premonitory sense that causes her to seek him out, or it may be something unknowable that triggers her appearances. What worries him most is his family history. Once filling two deep chests, the treasure has dwindled over the course of the centuries to a cross, a chalice, and a dagger, and almost every transaction, every attempt to sell a piece or two, has been attended by abysmal luck, errors in judgment, drunkenness, and so forth. On occasion, a Galvez has realized some small profit from the sale of a ring or a golden place setting, but it seems that a curse has been laid upon the treasure and whenever a great profit is sought, tragedy results. Fredo believes that if a curse exists, it is one worked through the social fabric of the island. The way things are, the way they always have been, it’s extremely problematic for someone poor, someone powerless, to sell an item of great value and come away with any money. Too many prying eyes, too many men with grasping, conniving natures. Impoverished men with hopes like his own; the police; government officials; gangsters and thugs; each looking for a glint of gold in the ordinary dirt of their lives. And should they catch sight of such a glint, they’ll act without compunction.