The Treasure Man. Pamela Browning
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people than Farish.”
“If this is where you can pursue your dream, it’s worth it, Chloe. That’s how I ended up here when I was nineteen.”
“What got you from Yahola to Sanluca?” Curious, she glanced at him.
“I got a book at the library, and it showed pictures of people diving for treasure off the Florida Keys. After I read it, I hopped on my motorcycle and rode over to see a friend who had moved here, keen to find out if he knew anything about Sea Search. He introduced me to Andy McGehee. Andy said, ‘Kid, you’ve gotta learn to dive before I’ll talk to you,’ so after that, I spent every penny I earned on scuba lessons and all my spare time diving.”
“You had a passion,” she said softly, shading her eyes with a hand for a moment to stare at him.
“I’ll always be grateful to the librarian who recommended that book.”
“That’s probably the key to reaching Tara. Helping her find her niche, I mean. She’s assured me she’s over her past problems. Maybe she’ll find her own passion.”
“What kind of problems has she had?” he asked.
“Tara shoplifted on a dare and got caught. She lifted a pair of panty hose from a store in a mall in Austin. She was only thirteen at the time.”
“I did worse than that myself. I set the local postmaster’s rural mailbox on fire.”
She lifted her head to stare at him. “You didn’t!”
“’Fraid so. It’s a federal crime. He was friendly with my folks, though, and didn’t prosecute.”
“Whatever possessed you?”
“I probably just wanted attention.”
“Maybe that’s Tara’s problem. Her twin sisters are six years younger, and they tend to steal the show. When Tara got in trouble for shoplifting, Naomi and Ray were forced to notice her.”
“Don’t they usually?”
“They adore her, and the twins, too. Unfortunately, twins tend to take up a lot of time. It’s even worse when they’re adorably cute like Jennifer and Jodie.”
“I hope Tara shows up soon, Chloe.”
“Thanks. I shouldn’t let myself obsess about her to the point where I can’t work, especially since I’m sure she’s hiding out someplace safe—maybe an older friend’s apartment or the house of a family who’s on vacation.”
He turned his head toward her. “What kind of work do you plan to do here?” he asked. If she really was a jewelry designer, he couldn’t imagine why she’d come to Sanluca.
“I’m into a new venture. Sea-glass jewelry.” A glimmer of perspiration had appeared on her top lip. Ben quashed a desire to lick it away.
“Sea glass, huh?”
“Well, it’s better than a couple of things I’ve tried in the past. Like gourmet dog biscuits and feng shui, neither of which went over too well in Farish.”
“What’s sea glass, anyway?” At least Ben knew what gourmet dog biscuits were; he wasn’t sure about feng shui.
“It’s glass that has been tumbled and scoured by the sand and the sea. It comes in all different colors—cobalt-blue, turquoise, the deepest purple or amethyst, celadon, jade. I got the idea when I was visiting Gwynne last summer and we picked up the most lovely specimens down here on the beach. I fiddled around with it, learned to encase it in cages of sterling silver or fourteen-carat gold. I’ve designed earrings around sea glass, and rings, and bracelets, and necklaces, and slides, and all sorts of things.”
He’d noticed the small pendant she wore. “Is that one of your pieces?” he asked. The jewellike shard of translucent celadon couched in silver was cradled in the hollow of her throat.
“I found this bit on a day that I was beachcombing with Tayloe and Gwynne. It’s the first necklace I made. Now I craft more intricate designs, compositions of sea glass intermingled with precious and semiprecious stones.”
“Very clever. Can you actually make a living doing that?” he asked.
“It depends. My grand plan involves placing my more elaborate pieces in high-end stores.”
“I bet that’s not easy to do.”
“I have a couple of ideas in mind. Gwynne’s godmother, Patrice DesJardin, owns a shop in Palm Beach. I’ve called and left her a message about my jewelry. Gwynne thinks Patrice will be interested.” Her raft rose and fell with the gentle motion of the water. They didn’t speak for a few minutes.
“When will you find out if your job’s going to materialize?” she asked after a while.
“In a few weeks, I hope. I’ve been talking to Andy McGehee about working with him at Sea Search again. In the meantime, I’ll be teaching a scuba class.”
“Andy’s something of a local legend. Do you know him well?” She seemed to be choosing her words carefully.
“I worked for him for a long time,” he said, unwilling to give anything away.
“Tayloe mentioned that he’s made a lot of money with Sea Search,” Chloe said. “I’ve passed by the treasure museum in town where he displays some of the loot, and Gwynne told me he’s built a huge compound for his family on Manatee Island.” The island, reachable by Beach Road over a bridge from Stuart’s Point, which was about four miles north of the inn, was where many celebrities kept large and exquisitely appointed winter homes.
“Andy is a millionaire several times over. He started treasure salvage in the early days, when not many people believed it could be done. ‘What’s lost is lost,’ they used to say around here, but Andy proved them wrong.”
“How do the divers in one of these treasure-hunting outfits divvy up the find? I’ve always wondered.”
His raft was drifting closer to hers, and if it continued on its course, they’d collide. Ben kicked lazily with one foot until he’d turned around where he could see her. “A lot of people ask that. After we bring the treasure up, it’s all kept in one big pile, so to speak. At the end of the season, the state of Florida takes its percentage due under the law. The rest is parceled out equally among the group.”
“Have you ever found anything really valuable?”
“One year I found a chunk of coral that broke away to reveal a beautiful gold crucifix. I sold it to a collector for sixty thousand dollars.”
“No kidding!” Chloe raised her head. Her earrings, all three pairs, glinted in the sun.
“There’s a lot more out there,” he said. “That’s why I’ve got gold fever.”
“And sea water in your veins,” Chloe added.
“Right,” he said, amused.
They floated silently for a while, listening to the soothing sound of waves breaking nearby. Every so often, a flock of gulls circled, soon soaring away in search of something more interesting. After a couple with two children and a dog ambled past, Chloe flipped over onto her stomach, the motion sending a wake across the pool.
“I’m going to the store later,” she announced suddenly. “We could cook steaks for dinner if you’d like to join me.”
“Steak sounds good,” he heard himself saying, though he’d figured he could grab something at the Sand Bar.
“Great. Seven o’clock, and I’ll provide a salad, too.”
“I’ll bring a couple of baking potatoes,” he offered.
Chloe levered herself off her raft into the water and submerged for a moment. When she came up, her hair was plastered to her head and her skin glistened with water. Tiny drops beaded her