Free Pieces of Hate (A Wendover House Mystery Book 4) by Melanie Jackson

around the island, to discover
some answers for the strange events overtaking me, the need to clean up the
back porch was overwhelming. The smell frightened and maddened me. I also tend
to get a lot of thinking done when I am doing housework. And I needed to think
about my Founders Day speech.
    Ben arrived, with donuts, while I was throwing a last bucket of bleach
and water over the planks of the porch.
    “Phew,” he said. “Isn’t it a little late for spring cleaning?”
    “Last night a bunch of seagulls took shelter from the storm. On the porch. And had a poop festival. And that damned seaweed smells like the public dump.”
    “That it does. Never seen the stuff before.” Ben
grinned and knelt to pet Barney. He was in a really good mood and I hated to
spoil it, but last night had forced me to make a decision. “I was so tired that
I absolutely passed out last night. The storm didn’t bother me a bit.”
    This was strange. I also had been very tired, but the storm had kept
me awake most of the night, a cacophony of noise that
intruded on my dreams.
    “So, what news from the mainland?” I asked,
changing the subject.
    “The radiocarbon dating came back. The box is the right age and the
gold is from the right place. Everything looks real.” Then his brows drew
together. “Except the monkey bones—and they are monkey hand bones. Spider monkey from Mexico— Ateles geoffroyi vellerosus . Those are more recent. Only
about ten years old.”
    I blinked.
    “But how…?”
    “Damned if I know. But everything else is exactly what it should be.
My friend would like to bring in someone from the Smithsonian to verify his
tests.”
    “No.” I said this before my brain could catch up with the impulsive
refusal.
    “What?” Ben looked blank.
    “No, no one else touches the box. The more people who know about this,
the more danger there is—of treasure hunters and other crazies coming to the
island to look for artifacts.” This was only part of the reason. A very small part.
    “But …” Ben stopped to think about this. “I’m sure that they would be
discrete.”
    “No. Someone would want to get famous, do a TV show or get in National
Geographic. This is a big deal, as you say. We can’t risk it.”
    “But it will need to be authenticated before it can be sold or even
donated—”
    “I’m not selling it.”
    Those words stunned him into temporary silence.
    “But.…”
    “No. The box and its treasures are not for sale. I may loan them to a
museum down the line, but they will not be sold.” I had a feeling that the part
about loaning the treasure to a museum was a lie, but I had to give Ben
something. I knew he was dreaming of a traveling museum show to coincide with
the release of his book.
    “Okay. Terry can probably handle everything for now. He’s going to be
disappointed though.”
    I sighed, hating what I was going to have to do.
    “He can have it one more day but then it needs to come back.”
    Ben began to look annoyed.
    “This isn’t up for negotiation,” I said flatly, hating that I had to
make him angry. “I will find the family records of Nicholas Wendover, if they
exist. You will have the proof for your book. But the chest comes back to the
island. Tomorrow.”
    I could see the struggle, but he kept his temper and didn’t argue.
    “Okay. I’ll bring it back tomorrow.”
    “During the day, Ben. Don’t go out
on the water at night. I’m dead serious about this.”
    The anger left him and he stared at me. Ben isn’t a believer like
Harris, but he has been around me and the islanders long enough to know that
there is something strange going on in the islands and it mostly centers around Wendover House and its occupants.
    “More storms?”
    “Yes. Worse ones, I’m afraid. So be careful.”
    He nodded but didn’t ask me how I knew about the weather. That was
good because I didn’t like talking about premonitions and intuition and stuff
like that. Bryson and Harris would be able to