Mystery on Elbow Cay

CHAPTER ONE

The Abacos, Bahamas

George Harrison Thompson motored out of Hope Town harbor in his 19’ Albury boat loaded with SCUBA gear, a ball of twine, and his regular equipment. Once out of the harbor, he motored quickly down the coast and stopped about a hundred yards short of his destination, where he anchored his boat out of sight in a small cove.

He thought the tide was finally low enough for him to explore an underwater cave he discovered while installing one of his lobster condos. After strapping the tank on, he donned the mask, utility belt, and flippers. He hooked the ball of twine to his belt and attached a waterproof flashlight.

Easing into the water, he swam submerged toward the cave entrance. When he arrived, he took the ball of twine and tied the loose end to a heavy rock. He unrolled it as he entered the cave, knowing the twine would lead him out in case he got lost inside.

He moved slowly, allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light. The deeper he went, the darker it became, so he was forced to un-strap and use his flashlight. The ancient coral tunnel angled upward and after about forty feet, his head emerged in dank, musty smelling air, allowing him to close the SCUBA tank valve and breathe.

After swimming about fifteen more feet with his head out of water, the tunnel ceiling opened up into a vertical shaft. By shining his light and treading water, he could see dark recesses in the sides of the shaft about six feet above his head.

Shining his flashlight further up the shaft, he saw a wooden cover about fifteen feet up, but saw no handholds or other assists to enable climbing. After analyzing the situation, he determined that he would either have to find the wooden cover from on the surface or come back through the tunnel with a makeshift ladder.

Bringing a ladder seemed less risky, since that process would be completely concealed from prying eyes. He visually measured the distance from the bottom of the tunnel to the recess and decided a ten-foot ladder would suffice. Further study, however, made him realize that, in a five-foot high tunnel, there was not enough room to stand the ladder up once he brought it here. It would have to be a folding ladder.

Satisfied that he had identified all his needs, he donned his mask, opened the valve, and swam back out to his little boat. After timing his exit, he realized that he could hold his breath for that short trip and wouldn’t need all of that heavy SCUBA gear.

George motored back to the Hope Town harbor where he turned in the SCUBA gear, then drove his four-wheeler home. He knew he had an old aluminum 20’ extension ladder in his shop and if he removed the lighter, 10’ top section, he could saw it in half. With good hinges attached, it should serve his needs perfectly.

He planned to use his four-wheeler to stash the ladder at the cove where he moored the boat so he wouldn’t arouse suspicion carrying a ladder in his boat. No one would think twice, seeing him with a ladder on his four wheeler, since everybody knew he repaired satellite dishes.

With his curiosity peaked, he was determined to discover the secret of the old tunnel.

* * *

Abel Kindred, from Miami, sat in the golf cart’s passenger seat while Charles, his Bahamian real estate contact explained the history of the property they were about to view.

This nine acre site has been in the Avoyles family since back in the early eighteen hundreds. No one has lived on it since WWII, which is why it’s so overgrown with vegetation.

How did you get the listing? Abel asked.

I hired a man to trace the family tree to get a name and paid him to hire a private detective to find that lone remaining heir. They discovered that he lived in Florida, was a widower, and at age 79, he’s the last in the Avoyles line.

Wow, your people have done some digging.

Charles nodded and continued.

Legend has it that old Henri Avoyles, the original settler, had enough of the life of a pirate and decided to jump ship. It is also rumored that he brought with him a dinghy full of treasure.

Who’s been paying the property taxes?

Bahamians pay no property tax. We tax only the non-residents and commercial property.

They turned off the paved Queen’s Highway onto a narrow sand road that was barely passable.

We’re not that far from Hope Town, said Abel.

That’s right, and the property has about 300 feet of waterfront, most of which is a high bluff.

Are there any buildings on the property?

Not any more. All I found was the remains of an old foundation.

Charles stopped the four-wheeler where the lane ended, seemingly in the middle of nowhere. Ever cautious, Abel’s eyes widened as he watched his escort withdraw a machete from behind the driver’s seat.

We’ll have to hack our way through to the coast, Charles explained. There are no paths to follow.

Relieved, Abel asked, What about snakes?

There is only one kind of snake, nicknamed the Bahama Boa, on the island. It’s non-venomous and only grows to about two and a half feet long."

What’s the asking price for the nine acres?

The man had no idea what it’s worth, so I told him I honestly thought it would bring at least $800,000. He was delighted with that number.

Hmmm . . . that sounds about right, based on the other properties I’ve looked at. Let’s go look at the water frontage. The view is my main interest.

By the way, if you haven’t heard, the Hotels Encouragement Act provides duty free entry of approved construction materials, furnishings and fixtures for hotel development. Normally, there is a fifty percent import tax on anything brought into the country.

Isn’t there some property tax relief also?

"Yes . . . there is an exemption from real property tax for the first twenty years of operation of a hotel/resort.

Abel nodded.

That fits my plans perfectly.

They walked in the direction of the water as Charles hacked a path through the thick foliage. They slowed their walk at the ruins of the original foundation. Abel stopped to study it for a minute while the agent continued hacking a path to the sea.

He pulled out his iPhone and took a few photos, then followed Charles on into the jungle-like growth. After about twenty minutes of chopping and hacking, they stood at the high point of a cliff about thirty feet above the water. From there, the property sloped gently in both directions.

I like the view, Abel said, but I don’t see any kind of protection for boat docks. That will be a problem.

Not as bad as you might think, said the agent. Most developers stack large quarried blocks of Coral in front of their docks for protection from the surf. The natives call it Iron Rock and the quarry is located only about two blocks from here for easy hauling.

Okay . . . that’s encouraging, he said, nodding. I’ll need a plat of the property to study before I can make an offer.

Sure thing . . . let’s go back to the office and I’ll run you a copy of the survey I had made.

As they made their way back, Abel paused once again at the old foundation. He decided to come back tomorrow by himself to more closely examine something that caught his eye.

CHAPTER TWO

Later in the day, George rinsed off his facemask in the warm waters just off the coast of Guana Cay as he prepared to dive into the calm sea. Inspecting his creations he called ‘lobster condos’ was a weekly routine he enjoyed. The clear water was only eight to ten feet deep, so the inspection was a quick process.

His preference was to go back to the cave, but he had promised his son a trip to check out some of the lobster shelters.

Do you want me to drop anchor? asked his twelve year old son.

No, I just want to make sure those thieves haven’t moved my corrugated sheet metal, he answered. Just keep the boat facing into the breeze and I’ll be right back.

His son, Lil’ George, watched as George adjusted the snorkel and slipped into the water. This was his first trip with his dad to inspect the lobster condos, so he was a little nervous.

George quickly surfaced, blew out his snorkel, and climbed back into the boat.

Everything okay? Lil’ George asked.

Yeah, the concrete blocks I stacked on top of the sheet metal held it in place real well. I drove stakes and tied them down for insurance. It makes a perfect place for the big crawfish to hide from predators during the day. I pile on rocks to also help disguise my makeshift hiding places so poachers won’t raid them.

How many will it hold?

A bunch . . . I space the sheet metal off the bottom with 2 x 6 boards on three sides to give the crawfish plenty of room.

As they motored to the next location, his son asked, How do you remember where they are?

I have each location marked with GPS coordinates and I locate them with this gadget, he said, holding up a hand-held GPS display. Next year, you’ll be old enough to check these by yourself.

I’m old enough now.

Probably, but harvest time is next month when the season opens and I need to check them myself. The next four weeks are critical to getting maximum production. We need to harvest at least six hundred . . . many of our customers depend on our crawfish for their lobster feasts.

They made seven more stops near Guana Cay, then motored over close to Man-O-War Cay. He carefully surveyed the coast with binoculars, since this Cay was more populated and had much more boat traffic in and out of the harbor.

Satisfied they weren’t being watched, he adjusted his facemask and slipped over the side. His head bobbed back up almost immediately.

Poachers have destroyed this shelter and stole the crawfish, he announced, treading water. This wasn’t caused by Dolphins or turtles . . . these poachers were humans.

How can you tell?

The concrete blocks were stacked over to one side. Some people get more kicks from chiseling other people’s crawfish than they do from making their own condos.

What are we gonna do?

I’m gonna go back down there and get the sheet metal. We’ll install it somewhere else. Get ready for me to hand it to you.

Lil’ George put the paddle down, frowning at the news. He grabbed the rusty corrugated metal with boards attached as the end came up out of the water. His dad surfaced and climbed into the boat where he helped Lil’ George haul in the heavy sheet. He made another dive to retrieve his four concrete blocks.

I’m gonna have to stay away from this area, he said, It’s just too populated. Let’s check the other three spots down the beach. Hopefully, they haven’t been discovered.

Won’t they get in trouble for crawfishin’ out of season?

They will if they get caught, but if they sell them privately, the authorities will never know.

Lil’ George frowned, a little confused. After growing up in an almost crime-free Elbow Cay, he was having his first exposure to criminal activity.

CHAPTER THREE

Miami

Eloise sipped her glass of wine while she waited on her new friend, Tess Schweet. The tall windows of the Coral Club atop the forty story Pelican Building offered a spectacular view of the Miami Port.

A waiter ushered a wide-eyed Tess over to the table and seated her.

Wow . . . this is an exciting experience, said Tess. The view is breathtaking.

Yes it is . . . I like to come here at least twice a month. My husband brought me here regularly before he had his heart attack.

How long have you been a widow?

A little over a year. I still miss him. I guess loneliness is the reason I fell for that con artist last month. I still have nightmares about the possibility of him throwing me off the cruise ship.

"Well, at least you know he married you for your money. Do you know what happened to him?’

I don’t know and I don’t care. I’ve already had that marriage annulled. I’ve taken back the name of my former husband, it’s Morriston.

Hmmm . . . Eloise Morriston. That has a nice ring. By the way, I really enjoyed that cruise on your yacht to Key West. Thanks again, for inviting me.

I’m thinking of taking it to the Bahamas next week. Why don’t you come go with me, I hate cruising alone.

Oh my . . . how long would we be gone?

At least a week . . . who knows, we might meet some good looking guys and decide to stay longer.

Wow . . . twist my arm. It would certainly help keep me from missing Burt so much. He was my soul mate.

Oh, that’s right, and he died of a heart attack, too.

Tess nodded.

If we go, what can I pay for? she asked. I feel lousy letting you fund everything.

If it makes you feel better, you can buy us a drink when we get to Marsh Harbour in the Abacos.

Tess shook her head and rolled her eyes.

You’re incorrigible.

Eloise laughed.

Look out Bahamas, here comes two sexy widows.

Elbow Cay

To further investigate his proposed development, Abel Kindred stayed overnight at a motel. He drove his rented golf cart at the end of the narrow sandy lane and parked. He didn’t think he would need a machete since that agent had just cleared a path the day before.

An exposed, rusted hinge had caught his eye the day before, so he walked quickly to the old foundation and climbed over the crumbling, two-foot high, masonry footer towards the center of the site. He began to examine more closely, what now seemed to be a square wooden door measuring about three feet on each side, all covered with dust and rubble.

Since doors in homes were larger than this one, he suspected it must have been used for a different purpose, possibly an old cellar. To conceal his interest, he was careful not to disturb the rubble as he used a rock to tap on the door. Amazingly, the wood seemed to be in fair condition and the tap echoed a hollow sound, arousing his curiosity even more.

He reasoned that the wood must be Teak if it had survived through the years and that, in itself, suggested the small door might be important. Resolving to check this out promptly if he bought the land, he walked on over to the cliff to further study the view and the terrain.

As he looked over the edge, he saw a man, probably a local, snorkeling alone. As he surfaced, he looked up. The diver obviously saw him looking down, because he scrambled into his boat and motored away.

Abel had time to think about the strange behavior as he studied the magnificent view. From his own diving experience, he knew that almost no one makes a dive and quickly leaves the location just because someone saw him. He reasoned the man must be doing something he didn’t want anyone to see.

Satisfied with the view and armed with the agent’s suggestion for creating a breakwater for a dock, he resolved to try to purchase the property. Condos and cottages overlooking this view should be a popular commodity. Additionally, a second story restaurant and lounge, perched at the high point should attract many tourists with its magnificent view. Its proximity to Hope Town was another plus.

Not believing in coincidences, he wondered if there was any connection between the mysterious door and the strange behavior of the diver.

* * *

George Thompson, after dropping off his son, finished a service call on a satellite dish and drove his four- wheeler back to the Elbow Cay marina where he kept his 19’ Albury boat. He was proud of this boat, since it was manufactured over on Man-O-War Cay. He decided to take one more quick look at the area under a cliff where the cave was located.

He motored out to the site, tied a rope around his waist tethered to his boat and readied his face mask and snorkel. He slipped into the water and studied his rock covered, metal lobster shelter. Satisfied that it was intact, he turned his attention to the main reason he was here.

The underwater cave was about ten feet below the surface and back when he made this discovery, it obvious to him that it was not a natural opening. The smooth sides and flat bottom almost guaranteed that it was man made.

That was why he had been itching to explore it, but his better judgment cautioned him to wait for a very low tide, reasoning that it must lead to a dry storage