Austin exchanged an amused glance with Zavala. Thelma Hutchins was not the frail old lady they had expected. She was a tall woman, with erect posture and little of the shoulder stoop that often comes with age. Her walk was brisk rather than doddering as she led Austin and Zavala to a weathered wooden table under a fading CINZANO umbrella. Thelma said she’d be right back.

The house looked even worse from the rear, but the yard was as neat as a putting green. There were flower beds everywhere, and a healthy vegetable garden big enough to feed an army of vegans. A slob of a Labrador retriever came over and drooled on Austin’s knee.

Thelma came out of the house carrying three bottles of beer and apologized for the cheap brand.

“I’ll start drinking Stella Artois when they increase my Social Security. This panther piss will have to do for now.” She glanced at the dog. “I see you’ve met Lush.” She poured some beer into a dish and grinned as the dog trotted over and lapped up the foaming brew. Then she raised her bottle. “Here’s to Hutch. I knew someone would find the old pirate after all these years.”

They clinked bottles and took a swig.

“How long has your husband been gone?” Austin said.

“My first husband.” She slugged down a swallow of beer and pursed her lips. “Hutch croaked in the spring of 1973. Where’d you find him?”

Austin unfolded the chart he had brought and pointed to a penciled-in X.

“Damn!” Thelma said. “That’s miles from where I thought the treasure wreck was.”

“Treasure wreck?” Zavala said.

“That’s what Hutch called it, the fool. It’s what killed him.”

“Can you tell us what happened?” Austin said.

A far-off look came to her eyes. “My husband was born and raised on the bay. He enlisted in the navy during World War Two and became a diver. A darn good one, from what I hear. He bought out his equipment when the war ended. We got married, and he did some commercial diving on the side to keep his hand in. Mostly, he ran a fishing boat, which is how he found the wreck. Snagged it on a net. The wreck really stumped him.”

“Why is that, Thelma?” Austin said.

“Hutch knew every wreck in the area. He’d dived on a number of them. He was an amateur historian. He did a pile of research. There was no record of any ship going down at this location.”

“He never told you where the wreck was?” Zavala said.

“My husband was as tight as a Chesapeake oyster. He was real old-fashioned. Thought women were natural gossips. He said he would tell once he brought up some gold for me.”

“What made him think there was gold on the wreck?” Austin said.