Treasure Beach, Chapter One, Part Three

Not sure why you're here or what to do?  Visit this page for enlightenment and instructions.  And don't forget to visit quilter Pat Sloan's website to sew along on the Happiness Key quilt that goes along with the series.

Chapter Two begins next week.  Do you prefer to read  in one big gulp instead of having the story doled out in parts?  Here's the pdf of Chapter One  .  Look for more on the last Tuesday of each month through July.

Treasure Beach: Chapter One, Part Three

The key was narrow, and narrowest at the end where Happiness Key was located. Happiness Key was kind of a joke. Tracy's ex-husband CJ had bought this land with the five old houses to turn it into a fancy marina development he had named Happiness Key. But CJ had gotten into trouble and lost everything before he could do much more than put up a sign announcing his plan. Back then Tracy had been really rich, but now she wasn't. Luckily she had kept Happiness Key after the divorce, and she and all the people in the houses were good friends. Of course one of the five houses was now vacant.

Lizzie's house.

The sand on this beach was golden, not like the sugar-white sand on the gulf side of Palmetto Grove Key, and the metallic color was another reason Olivia and Lizzie had named it Treasure Beach. The beach wasn't long, like maybe four or five cars parked parallel to a curb. Palm trees dotted the sand, even a couple with real coconuts. There were mangroves farther along the shore, but for now, this stretch was still open to the sun and water. Olivia could see Palmetto Grove across the bay, shimmering in the sun.

At the edge of the water she kicked off her flip flops to wade. Even though Lizzie had been the most enthusiastic about searching for treasure, now Olivia wished she had her friend's metal detector. The Turners had abandoned it at their house, along with other things, when they left so mysteriously. Olivia knew this because she had snooped in the days after Lizzie vanished. Then one day Tracy and Wanda had boxed everything, and a week later the boxes had just disappeared. Nana had told her she shouldn't worry, that UPS had come and taken everything while Olivia was at youth camp. Nana didn't say where the boxes had gone, though. She'd said nobody knew for certain, but they did know that Lizzie was just fine and so was her mother.

A lot of help that was.

Olivia waded until the water was almost to her knees, but the farther out she went, the squishier the sand was, sucking at her toes like it wanted to keep her there. She splashed water on her face and drizzled some on top of her head before she turned to go back up to the shore.

She was halfway back when she spotted the bottle. The neck poked out of the sand at an odd angle, as if it had been partially buried by human hands. She probably wouldn't have noticed it if she had waded back to shore exactly the way she had come, but she had cut back at an angle, and the bottle wasn't far from where mangrove and palmetto were intruding on the beach.

Olivia debated whether to cut farther to the side and view the bottle up close. With nothing better to do, she waded in that direction and picked her way up the shore. The bottle protruded from a small hill, most likely created at high tide. Closer now she could see it was glass, not plastic, and cylindrical, like a wine bottle but smaller. The glass was emerald green, and she thought maybe it was a soft drink bottle, although most of the time soft drinks came in cans or plastic. She had seen real Coca-Cola bottles, though, and this was about the same size, even if the sides were straight.

When she reached the hill she dug the sand away and held the bottle up for a better look.

"SunDrop," she read out loud. She squinted at the small letters under a fading yellow logo. "Naturally flavored soda."

She didn't know if the bottle was old, but as she held it, a memory returned. Her mother had collected colored glass bottles. Karen Symington had arranged them in the kitchen window with wildflowers in each one, until one night in a rage, Olivia's father had thrown them one by one against the wall. She could still hear the sound as the bottles shattered.

She blinked hard until the sound of breaking glass faded, and all she heard were waves lazily slapping the sand. She would take this bottle home, clean it out, and put it in her bedroom window to remember her mother. Maybe she could find others, too. Nana would understand.

Olivia reached down to wipe the bottle on the hem of her shorts when she realized there was a cork sticking out of it. For the first time that day she felt a flicker of excitement. She held the bottle up to the light and saw that yes, there was something inside, something that might even be a note.

Now excitement was more than a flicker. She wished Lizzie were here beside her. She could just imagine what her friend would say. She sank to the sand and tucked her legs beneath her. Then she carefully wiggled the cork until it was free of the bottle. The cork was hard foam rubber, not actual cork, and she supposed that was good since it had obviously been in the water for some time.

The paper, a pale turquoise, wasn't wet, but Olivia figured it could have gotten damp, then dried out in the sun. She took her time unfolding it, hoping it wouldn't tear.

When she was finished she stared at the words penned in purple ink.

Held captive. Help. Doesn't anybody care?

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