"The Queen Pearl" - Bahamas AI Art
The Queen Pearl: A Harbour Is. Mystery
Chapter 1: The Pink and the Grey
The heat in Dunmore Town didn’t just sit on you; it owned you. It was a physical weight, a damp blanket woven from salt spray, frying oil, and the exhaust of a hundred golf carts putting along narrow, colonial streets.
Jack Watkins adjusted his tie, a reflex that marked him instantly as an outsider. In Nassau, a tie was business. Here, in Harbour Is., Eleuthera, it was a sign of mental instability or a court summons. Jack was neither crazy nor a lawyer, though the locals looked at him with the same suspicion reserved for both. He was an insurance investigator for Maritime & General, and he was currently sweating through a suit that cost more than the golf cart nearly running him over.
"Watch it, bey!" a voice shouted from the cart.
Jack stepped onto the curb, narrowly missing a pile of potcake poop. The town was vibrating. This was the opening night of the Annual Conch Fest, a week-long deification of the Strombus gigas, the sea snail that fed the nation. The air smelled of spicy peppers, lime juice, and deep-fried seafoods.
Jack wasn't here for the fritters. He was here for the Queen.
The Queen Pearl was a biological anomaly—a flawless, deep pink conch pearl the size of a golf ball, boasting a "flame" pattern so intense it looked like a trapped nebula. It was insured for two million dollars. It was the pride of the Dunmore Heritage Museum. And, as of last night, it was gone.
Jack navigated the crowd toward the museum, a restored Loyalist cottage with white clapboard siding and pastel green shutters. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered lazily in the trade winds, looking festive against the bougainvillea. There was a police jeep parked in front.
A large man in a uniform that strained at the buttons stood by the door. Sergeant Cleare. Jack knew the type: he moved slow, spoke slower, and watched everything with eyes that missed nothing.
"Mr. Watkins," Cleare said, nodding. He didn’t offer a hand. "Nassau sent the cavalry."
"Just the accountant, Sergeant," Jack said, mopping his brow. "Tell me what we have."
Cleare chewed on a toothpick. "We have a broken display case. We have a back door jimmy-rigged. And we have a town full of people who didn't see a thing because they were watching the Junkanoo rush-out."
"Cameras?"
"Cyclops security system. Old. Grainy. Shows a shadow in a hoodie smashing the glass at 9:14 PM. In and out in forty seconds."
Jack sighed. "Professional?"
"Or lucky," Cleare grunted. "Come inside. Curator’s inside. He’s... well, he’s taking it hard."
The museum was cool, the air conditioning rattling in the window unit. It smelled of old paper and floor wax. In the center of the main room stood a velvet-lined pedestal inside a shattered glass cube. It looked like a toothless mouth.
Sitting on a bench nearby, head in his hands, was Harrison Higgs. Higgs was a man who looked like he was eroding. His linen suit was rumpled, his white hair thinning, his skin possessing the translucent quality of parchment. He was old money that had been spent long ago, surviving on the interest of his family name.
"Mr. Higgs?" Jack asked softly.
Higgs looked up. His eyes were red-rimmed. "It’s gone. My God, it’s gone."
"We’ll do our best to recover it," Jack said, slipping into his professional monotone. "I need to ask about access. Who had keys? Who knew the alarm codes?"
"Just me," Higgs whispered. "And the cleaning crew, but they’ve been with us for twenty years. It’s the heart of this island, Mr. Watkins. That pearl... it’s not just a gem. It’s the Queen. My grandfather found it in 1948. He built this museum around it."
"I understand the sentimental value," Jack said, taking out his notepad. "But my concern is the two million dollars Maritime and General is on the hook for. Was the alarm engaged?"
"Yes. Of course. The sensors tripped, but by the time the constable arrived..." Higgs trailed off, gesturing helplessly to the broken glass.
Jack walked around the pedestal. The glass shards were swept outward, mostly. Blunt force. Crude. Not a diamond cutter. A smash and grab.
"The thief knew exactly when to strike," Jack muttered. "During the opening parade. Maximum noise outside to cover the sound of breaking glass."
"It was chaos," Higgs said. "Drums, whistles, cowbells. You could have set off a bomb and no one would have heard."
Jack looked at the empty velvet cushion. There was a slight depression where the pearl had rested. He leaned in close. There was no dust. No fibers. Just the void.
"We'll need a list of everyone who’s been in the museum in the last week," Jack said.
Higgs nodded absently. "The whole town, Mr. Watkins. The whole damn town."
Chapter 2: Blood on the Pink Sand
Jack spent the night at the Coral Sands, a hotel that cost more per night than his first car. He didn't sleep well. The silence of the island after the festival shutdown was heavy, interrupted only by the rhythmic crash of the Atlantic.
At 6:00 AM, his phone buzzed. It was Cleare.
"You better come down to the beach," the Sergeant said. "Access point near Sip Sip."
"Did you find the pearl?"
"No," Cleare said, his voice heavy. "We found the thief."
Jack didn't bother with a tie this time. He drove his rental golf cart down the sandy lane, the morning light turning the island into a watercolor painting. The sky was a bruising purple fading to blue.
When he reached the famous Pink Sands Beach, a small crowd had already gathered, held back by more of the yellow tape. The sand here was truly pink, crushed coral mixed with white silica, stretching out for three miles like a blush.
Lying in the surf line, face down, was a body.
Jack ducked under the tape. Sergeant Cleare was standing over the corpse, his hat in his hands. A constable was taking a statement from a tourist who was jogging and found the body.
"Who is he?" Jack asked.
"Tobias Pinder," Cleare said. "Local boy. Seventeen."
Jack looked at the kid. He was wearing a dark hoodie and jeans, despite the heat. One sneaker was missing.
"Cause of death?"
"Looks like blunt force trauma to the back of the head," Cleare said, pointing to a matted patch of hair. "And he drowned. But he was hit first."
"Was he the one on the camera?"
"Hoodie matches. Build matches." Cleare crouched down. "And look at this."
He pointed to the boy's right hand. It was clenched tight, rigor mortis setting in. Cleare carefully pried the fingers open with a pen.
Inside the palm was a shard of glass. Thick, museum-grade glass.
"He did it," Jack said. "He smashed the case. He came out here... why?"
"Meet someone?" Cleare suggested. "Sell the goods?"
"Where is it, then?"
Jack scanned the beach. The tide was going out. The sand was smooth, scrubbed clean by the night's waves, except for the area immediately around the body.
"We searched him," Cleare said. "Pockets are empty. No pearl."
"So, a robbery gone wrong," Jack summarized. "Tobias steals the Queen. Meets his buyer on the beach. Buyer clocks him over the head, takes the pearl, leaves the kid for the tide."
"That’s the clean theory," Cleare said. He looked out at the horizon. "But Tobias... he wasn't a bad kid, Watkins. A bit wild. Liked to pop wheelies on his motorbike. But a high-stakes jewel thief? I don't see it."
"Two million dollars makes people do things they wouldn't normally do," Jack said. "And it makes other people kill for it."
Jack looked back at the crowd gathered on the dune. He saw faces of shock and grief. He saw a woman weeping into a man's shoulder. And near the back, standing next to a golf cart, he saw Harrison Higgs.
The curator was wearing the same suit as yesterday. He looked like a ghost. He wasn't looking at the body. He was looking at the ocean, his expression unreadable.
"Did Tobias have any connection to the museum?" Jack asked.
"He did odd jobs," Cleare said. "Cut the grass sometimes. Helped set up the tent for the festival."
"So he knew the layout. He knew the schedule."
"Everyone knows everyone here, Jack. It’s a three-mile-long island."
Jack walked over to the dune. As he approached, the wall of silence went up. The locals stopped talking. They looked at him with hard eyes. The intruder. The insurance man. The one who cared about the rock, not the boy.
He stopped in front of Higgs.
"Sad business," Jack said.
Higgs flinched. "Tragic. He was just a boy. I knew his mother."
"Did you know he was the one who broke into your museum?"
Higgs closed his eyes. "I... I suspected. When I heard the description. But I didn't want to believe it."
"Why come to the beach, Mr. Higgs?"
"I saw the crowd. I live just up the ridge." Higgs gestured vaguely toward a sprawling estate on the hill, a relic of the colonial era that looked like it needed a coat of paint.
"Did Tobias ever talk about the pearl? Ask about it?"
"Everyone asks about the Queen," Higgs said. "It’s our star."
"Well," Jack said, watching the coroner’s van bounce down the beach access. "Someone has your star. And now they have a murder charge hanging over them. That pearl is too hot to sell now. If they’re smart, they’ll dump it."
Higgs’s left eye twitched. A tiny spasm. "Dump it? You mean... throw it away?"
"It’s evidence in a homicide now, Mr. Higgs. It’s worthless on the black market until the heat dies down. If I were the killer, I’d throw it into the ocean."
Higgs looked physically ill. He swayed. "That would be... a sin."
Chapter 3: The Wall of Silence
By noon, the festive atmosphere of Dunmore Town had curdled. The music was off. The stalls were open, but the vendors spoke in hushed tones. The death of a local child took precedence over the Conch Fest.
Jack needed to trace Tobias’s movements. He started at the "VicHum," a dimly lit bar and club that served beer cold enough to crack your teeth. He sat at the corner of the bar, nursing a Kalik.
The bartender was a man called Hitler, almost seven feet tall, with arms like braided rope and a gaze that could peel paint.
"You the insurance man," he said. It wasn't a question.
"Jack."
"You asking questions about Toby."
"I'm trying to find out who killed him."
"You trying to find your boss's money," he corrected. He wiped the counter aggressively. "Toby was a fool, but he wasn't no thief. Not like that."
"He had glass from the case in his hand," Jack said gently.
Hitler stopped wiping. He leaned in. "Then someone put him up to it. Toby didn't care about history or museums. He cared about fixing up his dirt bike and that girl, Sheena."
"Who's Sheena?"
"Waitress at the Landing. His girlfriend."
Jack left a twenty-dollar tip for a five-dollar beer and headed to the Landing. It was a high-end hotel, colonial chic. He found Sheena in the kitchen courtyard, polishing silverware. She was young, maybe sixteen, with tear-streaked cheeks.
"I'm not supposed to talk to you," she said, not looking up.
"Who told you that?"
"Everyone. They say you just want to blame Toby so the insurance doesn't pay out."
"That's not how it works, Sheena. If Toby stole it, the insurance still pays. I just want the truth."
She sniffed. "Toby was excited. Monday night, he came to my window. He said he was gonna be rich. He said he found a 'golden ticket'."
"Did he say he was going to steal the pearl?"
"No. He said... he said he found a secret. He said the 'Big Man' was lying to everyone."
Jack paused. "The Big Man?"
"He didn't say who. Just that someone important was a liar. Toby said he was gonna prove it, and get paid for keeping his mouth shut after."
"Blackmail," Jack whispered.
"He wasn't bad," Sheena pleaded, looking up finally. "He just wanted enough money to get us off the island. To Nassau. He wanted to be a mechanic."
"Did he meet this person on the beach?"
"I don't know. He just told me to wait for him down by the flats. He never came."
Jack thanked her and walked back out into the blinding sun. The narrative was shifting. It wasn't a hired theft. It was blackmail. Tobias had found out something.
He walked back toward the museum. He needed to see the scene again.
As he approached, he saw a golf cart parked around the back, near the broken door which was now boarded up. He recognized the driver—it was a wealthy American winter resident Jack had seen holding court at the hotel bar the night before. A man named Sterling.
Jack stayed in the shadows. Sterling was talking to Higgs. It looked heated. Sterling was gesturing at the museum, his face red. Higgs was shrinking away, shaking his head.
Sterling stormed back to his cart and sped off.
Jack stepped out. Higgs jumped when he saw him.
"Rough day, Mr. Higgs?"
"Mr. Watkins," Higgs breathed. "Please. You startled me."
"What did Mr. Sterling want?"
"He... he is a donor. He was upset about the security failure. He threatens to pull his funding."
"He looked very upset for a donor," Jack said. "He looked like a man who didn't get what he paid for."
"People are emotional," Higgs said, turning to the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have inventory to check."
Jack watched him go. He didn't buy it. He walked around the perimeter of the museum. He looked at the ground where the thief—Tobias—would have entered. The grass was trampled.
He looked closer at the boarded-up door. The wood frame was old, rotted by termites and salt air. The lock was a joke. A solid kick would have opened it. Why smash the glass case inside, making all that noise, but jimmy the door so quietly?
Unless the smash was the point. The smash was the theater.
Chapter 4: The Shard
Jack went back to the police station. Cleare was eating a Styrofoam container of grouper fingers and fries covered with ketchup and hot sauce.
"I need to see the glass," Jack said.
"What glass?"
"The shard you pulled out of Tobias's hand."
Cleare sighed, wiped his fingers on his pants, and unlocked an evidence drawer. He placed the plastic bag on the desk.
Jack held it up to the light. It was a jagged triangle, thick, slightly curved.
"Can I see the report on the museum glass?" Jack asked. "The manufacturer specs?"
"You digging deep, Watkins. It's standard tempered security glass. Why?"
"Humor me."
Jack took the bag and walked over to the window. He tilted the shard. It didn't refract the light quite right. Security glass is usually laminated. It holds together when shattered, like a car windshield. This piece was distinct, sharp.
"Sergeant, did you sweep the museum floor?"
"Of course."
"Did you find a lot of glass inside the case? Or mostly outside?"
"Mostly outside. He smashed it from the outside in."
Jack stared at the shard. "If he smashed it, he would be wearing gloves, right? To avoid cuts. To avoid prints."
"We didn't find gloves on the body."
"So he smashes a glass case bare-handed, grabs a jagged shard, holds it tight enough to puncture his skin, runs to the beach, and dies holding it?"
"Panic makes people do strange things."
"Or," Jack said, the tumblers in his brain clicking into place, "he didn't grab this shard at the museum. He grabbed it on the beach."
"From where?"
"From the object," Jack said. "Sergeant, I need to borrow a UV light. And I need to visit Harrison Higgs again. Tonight."
Chapter 5: The Curator's collection
Night fell heavy on the island. The potcakes were howling hauntingly all over. Jack drove his cart up the hill to the Higgs estate. The house was dark, save for a single light in the study.
Jack didn't knock. He walked around to the French doors on the terrace. He could see Higgs inside. The old man was holding a glass of scotch, staring at a painting of a woman—presumably his late wife.
Jack tapped on the glass.
Higgs jumped, spilling the scotch. He stared at Jack, then slowly unlocked the door.
"You have a habit of lurking, Mr. Watkins."
"And you have a habit of lying, Mr. Higgs."
Jack walked in. The room was filled with artifacts. Old maps, conch shells, maritime antiques.
"I spoke to Sheena," Jack said. "Tobias wasn't hired to steal the pearl. He was blackmailing you."
Higgs laughed, a dry, cracking sound. "Blackmailing me? With what?"
"With the truth," Jack said. "He did odd jobs at the museum. Maybe he was cleaning the case one day. Maybe he bumped it. Maybe he noticed something about the Queen Pearl. Maybe... it didn't feel cold enough."
Jack walked over to a display of conch shells on the mantelpiece.
"Natural pearls are calcium carbonate," Jack said. "Like teeth. They feel cold to the touch. But resin? Plastic? Glass? They warm up fast."
"You're talking nonsense."
"Am I? You’re broke, Harrison. The estate is crumbling. Your wife was sick for a long time before she passed. Expensive treatments in the States, right? Not covered by insurance."
Higgs sat down heavily in his leather chair.
"Ten years ago," Jack guessed. "Maybe twelve. You sold it. You sold the Queen Pearl to a private collector. Maybe Sterling? No, Sterling is new money. Someone else. You sold it to pay the bills, and you replaced it with a replica. A damn good one. Glass or high-grade resin."
Higgs didn't speak. His face was grey.
"It worked," Jack continued. "No one touches the pearl. It sits behind glass. It looks perfect. Until Tobias. He figured it out. He told you he knew. He wanted money to leave the island. You couldn't pay him. You don't have any money left."
"I didn't mean to kill him," Higgs whispered. The confession hung in the humid air.
Jack stopped. He had expected denial. He hadn't expected the dam to break so fast.
"Tell me," Jack said.
"He called me," Higgs said, his voice trembling. "Monday night. Before the opening. He said he knew. He said he broke the lock on the case to clean it and he... he scratched it. Pearls don't scratch like that. He said he wanted fifty thousand dollars or he’d tell the board."
Higgs took a sip of his empty glass.
"I told him to meet me at the museum during the fireworks. I thought I could reason with him. Talk him down. But he was so... arrogant. He had the fake pearl in his hand. He was tossing it up and down like a toy. He said, 'The town is praying to a marble, old man.'"
"So you staged the break-in?"
"No. He did. He said, 'Let's make it look like a robbery. I take the fake, you claim the insurance, you pay me my cut.' It was his idea. A stupid, childish idea."
"But he ended up on the beach."
"He ran," Higgs said. "He got spooked by the noise of the crowd. He ran toward the beach. I followed him. I just wanted to get the fake back. If he took it, and someone examined it... I’d be ruined. The Higgs name would be mud."
Higgs looked up, tears streaming down his face.
"I caught up to him on the sand. He was laughing. He held it out to me. I grabbed for it. We wrestled. He... he slipped. The sand is soft, but the rocks... there are ironshore rocks under the surf. He hit his head. I didn't strike him. I swear."
"And the pearl?" Jack asked.
"I took it," Higgs said. "I panicked. I took it from his hand. But he... he must have held onto a piece. It chipped when we fell."
"Where is it, Harrison? Where is the fake?"
Higgs pointed to a large Queen Conch shell sitting on his desk. It was polished to a shine.
Jack reached inside the pink lip of the shell. His fingers closed around a sphere. He pulled it out.
It was beautiful. Flaming pink. Heavy. But under the desk lamp, Jack saw the flaw. A jagged chip near the top, revealing the milky glass structure underneath the layers of lacquer.
"The Town's pride and joy," Jack murmured. "A piece of plastic."
"I saved my wife's life for two more years," Higgs said defiantly. "I sold the real one to a dealer in Zurich. It paid for the best doctors in Boston. I don't regret that. I only regret... the boy."
"You let the town mourn a thief," Jack said coldly. "You let his family believe he was a criminal."
"I was protecting the legacy," Higgs wept. "If they knew the Queen was gone... the museum closes. The tourism drops. The town suffers. I am the town, Mr. Watkins."
Chapter 6: The Real Value
The police jeep with Sergeant Cleare and a constable was coming up the hill. Jack had texted Cleare before he entered the house.
Jack held the fake pearl in his hand. It was a masterpiece of deception. It had fooled thousands of tourists, hundreds of locals, and a handful of experts who simply never got close enough to check.
"It’s over, Harrison," Jack said.
Higgs stood up, straightening his jacket with a trembling hand. "Can I... can I have a moment? Before they come in?"
"Don't do anything stupid."
"I just want to look at her," Higgs said, turning to the portrait of his wife.
Jack watched him. The man was a murderer, technically. A fraud, certainly. But Jack understood the desperation of watching someone you love die by inches, and the things you would sell to stop it.
Cleare burst through the doors, gun drawn but pointed at the floor. The constable followed.
"Harrison Higgs," Bamfield boomed, his voice devoid of its usual lethargy. "You are under arrest."
Higgs held out his hands. He looked relieved. The weight of the lie he had carried for a decade was finally gone.
"The pearl, Sergeant," Higgs said, nodding to Jack. "Mr. Watkins has it."
Cleare looked at the pink sphere in Jack's hand. "The Queen?"
"No," Jack said, tossing it to the Sergeant. "Just a marble."
Chapter 7: Departure
Two days later, Jack stood on the government dock waiting for a water taxi to mainland, North Eleuthera. The case was closed. Maritime & General was ecstatic; they didn't have to pay out two million dollars because the policy covered the real pearl, not a fake, and the fraud voided the contract. Jack was getting a bonus.
The town, however, was reeling. The news that their beloved Queen Pearl had been gone for ten years—and that their most respected citizen had killed a local boy to hide it—had shattered the Conch Fest spirit.
Cleare drove up in his police jeep to see Jack off.
"You leaving us, then?"
"Job's done, Sergeant."
"Town's pretty quiet," Cleare said, leaning on the steering wheel. "People don't know what to be madder about. The boy dying, or the pearl being a lie."
"They'll get over the pearl," Jack said. "They still have the pink sand. They still have the history."
"History is just stories we tell ourselves," Cleare mused. "Higgs told a story. We all believed it because we wanted to."
"What happens to him?"
"Manslaughter, likely. He's old. He'll die in Fox Hill Prison." Cleare spit his toothpick onto the dock. "You know, the funny thing? That dealer in Zurich?"
"Yeah?"
"Interpol tracked him down. He says he bought a pearl from Higgs ten years ago, sure. But he says it turned out to be a dud. Nice color, but it had a hairline fracture. Wasn't worth two million. Maybe fifty grand."
Jack laughed. It was a dry, cynical sound that matched the cry of the seagulls.
"So Higgs sold his soul for a fraction of the price."
"Greed makes you blind, Jack. And love makes you stupid."
The water taxi arrived. Jack picked up his bag.
"Come back for a vacation sometime," Cleare said. "Leave the suit in Nassau."
"Maybe," Jack said.
He stepped onto the boat. As it pulled away, churning the turquoise water into white foam, Jack looked back at Dunmore Town. The pastel houses looked like a stage set. The palm trees waved perfectly. It was beautiful. It was idyllic.
And from a distance, you couldn't tell what was real and what was just painted glass.
Jack sat down and loosened his tie. He took a deep breath of the salt air. It smelled of dead conch and money.
He closed his eyes. He was ready to go home.
