Wicked Charms_ A Lizzy and Dies - Janet Evanovich Page 0,40

left of the wheel. Decking was teak. Seats were red leather. I got on board and took a seat. Diesel stood behind Wulf. Wulf hit the ignition switch and the boat rumbled to life. Wulf maneuvered us away from the slip and into the harbor. He was in his usual black. His hair was pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck. His eyes were hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. I wondered if he was wearing sunscreen. We reached open water, he pushed the throttle forward, and the boat took off. Diesel and Wulf looked like this was business as usual. Hatchet looked like he was going to throw up. And I was breathless.

We reached Penobscot Bay at midmorning. The sea was calm and the sun was shining. Wulf slowed and cruised along, following the coordinates from Diesel’s boat guy.

“That’s Brimstone straight ahead,” Wulf said.

It looked like a cupcake with green icing. In reality it was a massive hunk of rock with just enough topsoil for trees to grow. We circled the island, keeping our eyes open for Gull Rock. Most of the coastline consisted of ledges and boulders, but we found a small sand beach on the north side of the island and a larger beach on the west side. The west-side beach was packed with people. A tiki hut had been erected on the beach and music carried across the water to us. Small boats were moored a few feet from shore.

“I thought this was supposed to be a lost deserted island,” Diesel said.

Wulf scanned the beach with binoculars. “The sign on the tiki hut says BRIMSTONE BAR AND GRILL. It looks like a nudie beach for seniors.”

Diesel took the binoculars from Wulf. “Whoa!”

He grinned and handed the binoculars to me, but I passed. I was happy to have old age creep up on me. I didn’t want a full frontal preview.

We returned to the north side of the island where there were a lot of rock outcroppings.

“There,” Diesel said, pointing out to sea. “Gull Rock, according to my source. It’s the chunk of rock that looks like bird wings, and it’s filled with gulls. There’s probably good fishing around it.”

Wulf motored around the rock, watching the fish finder and side-scan sonar. He enlarged his circle and found a wreck on the second pass. He cut the engine and dropped anchor.

“What’s the depth on the wreck?” Diesel asked him.

“Not deep. Looks like about twenty-five meters.”

“In feet?” I asked.

“About eighty,” Diesel said. “I could free-dive that, but I can stay down longer with tanks.”

“They’re in the salon,” Wulf said.

“Are you diving, too?” I asked him.

“No,” Wulf said. “I drive, and he dives.”

Wulf put out a dive flag, and Diesel changed into a wetsuit and scuba gear. He went over the side and disappeared into the dark water. He reappeared after twenty minutes and hoisted himself onto the boat.

“It’s a relatively small wreck,” Diesel said, shrugging out of the scuba gear. “Looked like a fishing vessel that was intentionally scuttled. Didn’t look disturbed. Not much of value in it with the exception of this chest.” Diesel handed Wulf a net pouch with a small barnacle-encrusted box in it.

Wulf took the box out of the net and opened it. “At first glance, I’d say I’m looking at the Blue Diamond.”

Diesel took the diamond out of the box and put it in my hand. “Do you feel anything?”

“A small vibration and some heat.”

“It’s cold when it’s in my hand,” Diesel said.

“It’s not glowing,” I said. “Devereaux told us it glows blue when it approaches the stone.”

“I’m sure it needs to be closer to the stone to do that,” Diesel said. “There was nothing else down there, and clearly it’s empowered by the stone if you feel a vibration.”

“Boat approaching, sire,” Hatchet said.

We all turned our attention to the boat. It was a center console, about half our size, and it was traveling at a good speed, pushed by two outboards.

Wulf had the binoculars up. “Professor Devereaux and a mate,” he said. “Hatchet, raise the anchor and stow the dive flag.”

The boat came up on us, swerved, and sped away. It whipped around and came to a stop at some distance with its prow aimed in our direction.

“What’s going on?” Diesel asked.

“Devereaux is angry. The mate looks worried,” Wulf said, binoculars still trained on them.

“I’m sure Devereaux isn’t happy to find we got here first,” Diesel said.

Wulf moved to the wheel and hit the ignition. “Devereaux just shouldered a handheld rocket