Arthur didn’t wait for Bill to reach the office before he started moving. He backed his truck down the ramp with practiced precision until the tailgate was flush with the dock. The harbor was quiet, the only sound the distant hum of the town and the gentle slap of water against the pilings.
He hauled the canvas-wrapped suit from under the tarp, the ore clinking softly inside the stiff fabric, and heaved it into the truck bed. He threw an old moving blanket over the bundle to hide its odd shape, slammed the tailgate shut, and climbed into the cab.
He pulled away from the harbor quickly, his eyes constantly checking the rearview mirror, watching the lights of the pier fade into the distance as he headed for the safety of his shed.