Island Intrigue (4 page)

Chapter Four

Sabrina turned the top picture over, and saw that someone, an adult, had written the date in the top right hand corner. The pictures were almost twenty-five years old.

“Calvin, what child would have drawn these?” Sabrina thumbed through the crayon pictures once again. They were angry, vivid pictures. A puppy hanging from a noose. A large house burning while a stick figure waved its hands from a top window. A person lying on the floor, bright red blood spreading in a pool around the body. A person dancing around with his clothes on fire. A half-wolf, half-human creature with a human arm in its jaws. A figure being burned at the stake. Six pictures, all depicting scenes of violence and hate.

Sabrina shook her head, upset. She believed she was looking at pictures drawn by a seriously disturbed child, most likely under the age of ten. Only one other time had she seen pictures this brutal and bloody. That child had tried to kill his baby sister when he was eight years old. Her heart still twinged when she thought of her inability to help that poor, abused child. She tried, goodness, she tried, but the mother resisted her efforts and the children's services people were so overworked they barely even looked at the pictures.

“It's too late now, Calvin. Whoever drew these pictures is all grown up. I wonder if anybody tried to help? I wonder if it was just the pictures, or if there was more?” She knew that disturbed children often act out in more than one way. He or she could very well go from drawing pictures of fires and torturing animals to arson and acts of cruelty against real animals.

Calvin pecked at the one of the blood spots speckling the top two pictures.

“I'm not sure where that came from.” Sabrina looked down in the hole, but the dirt looked dry and undisturbed except for a few dark spots. Sabrina laid the hatch door down flat and looked at the large grape juice stain on the cover of the door.

Sabrina traced the stain with her fingers.

“This must have been where old Lora Wrightly fell, and the blood from her cut head dripped though the edge of the hatch onto the pictures.” Sabrina studied the pictures. “But why were the pictures under there? They couldn't have been in there for twenty-five years. They're not dusty or dirty at all.”

Sabrina stood up. “Well, perhaps someone knows something about these pictures. Maybe there's an innocent explanation.”

“Whhhr,” Calvin said doubtfully.

“I know, I know,” Sabrina said, because she couldn't get rid of the gut feeling that something was very wrong. She just didn't know what.

A half an hour later, she started down the sandy driveway, past her bright red convertible rental car. It hadn't taken her long to discover that the only people who drove on the island were the tourists. In a town less than a mile square from sound to sea, who needed to drive?

The two cats, which she had named Gray and Grayer, were curled up together in a patch of sunlight on the lawn. They looked up, yawned at her, and closed their eyes.

“I'll feed you when I get back,” she called to them.

It felt good to have purpose again. The first couple of days she wallowed in solitude. It was the first time she'd really spent time by herself for as long as she could remember. She slept a lot, and sat on the back porch and looked at the water. But the guilt was there, stinging the back of her mind. How could she enjoy being alone when the only reason she was alone was because her dear, sainted mother was gone?

If her best friend Sally hadn't insisted, she never would have agreed to this trip, or vacation, or whatever it was. Sally called it a “recovery interlude,” but that was just Sally being Sally. The whole ugly incident with Mr. Phil had been the deciding factor. Sabrina had decided she needed a break, to get away. The rest had done her good, though she could not remember sitting still for such an extended length of time in all her life. The idea of finding out more about the pictures under the hatch was tantalizing. It seemed the perfect remedy for what ailed her.

Speaking of ailments, she needed to check her medical book to make sure the bug bites she found on her ankle this morning weren't anything serious. You never knew, it could be the bite of a brown recluse spider and her flesh was slowly rotting away and she didn't even know it.

Sabrina passed an apple orchard enclosed by an aging fence, and continued down the private dirt road that meandered along water as still and solid as a marble dance floor. A dilapidated dock was nestled among the oaks and loblollies, anchoring an equally dilapidated boat that looked as if each day it continued to float was a good day. Almost hidden in the woods were several out-of-plumb sheds and a menagerie of rusted old cars. Sabrina saw the two little boys she met this morning duck out of sight behind one of the old Ford trucks. The subsequent frantic rustling and muffled cries of “Get it off me! Get it off me!” seemed to indicate that their hiding place was already inhabited.

The “New Wrightly House,” as the sign over the front door proclaimed, was much bigger than the house she rented, the “Old Wrightly House.” It was painted a dull green and surrounded by a white porch, on which a chair was rocking madly, as if someone had been sitting in it just moments ago. It was the home of Sabrina's landlord, Thierry Roland Wrightly the Tenth according to her rental papers, though she'd yet to meet him.

“Hello!” She knocked on the wooden edge of the screen door. As her eyes adjusted to the dimness inside, she could see an ancient living room and an old man huddled on the couch staring at her.

“Hello, Mr. Wrightly?”

The man looked at Sabrina for a moment, and then opened his toothless mouth and screamed.

Since Sabrina hadn't looked in the mirror this morning—her eyes had been half closed when she brushed her teeth—she was a little concerned that maybe the old man's screaming had something to do with her appearance. But she was wearing her pretty new pink dress, the emerald scarf with streaks of orange, and the just-out-the-box purple pumps. She had brushed her golden curls this morning—she remembered distinctly because the brush had gotten caught in her hair and it had taken her five minutes to get the tangle undone. She thought she looked pretty snazzy.

“I'll have none of that, do you hear me, none of that!” The old man yelled, and jumped from his chair to slam the door in Sabrina's face.

***

“Here she comes again,” Lima Lowry said, rocking his chair a little bit faster. His large feet, encased in white rubber boots up to his knees, were firmly planted on the front porch of Tubbs Community Store. After eighty years of tromping through the mud flats and marshes of the sound, he wasn't about to get rid of his favorite boots just because he didn't do much of that stuff any more.

“Yep.” Bicycle Bob took a liberal swig of his Rot Gut 20/20. He sat on the first step because the rocking chairs made him woozy and he liked to keep close to Trigger, his bright yellow beach bike.

“Always wearing them bright colors.” Lima leaned back in his chair and contemplated Sabrina Dunsweeney—no relation to Helen, apparently—who was striding briskly down the street. “If ‘n I close one eye and squint, she kinda looks like a psychedelic Easter egg, all painted up, just arollin' down the street.” He sputtered with laughter, pleased with his observation. He prided himself on his keen eye and quick wit, even if Bicycle didn't appreciate it much.

“Yep,” said Bicycle Bob, who rarely had anything else to say, except maybe “nope.”

“May's been cleaning her house. Said the woman burns up more pots than anybody has a reason to. May also said she saw both Lora's ghost and Walk-the-Plank Wrightly one day last week when she was cleaning. I shouldn't wonder the two of them aren't dancing a waltz somewhere. Lora always did like to dance,” Lima said wistfully, conscious of the passing years and how few of his friends remained in this world. Lora had been one of his favorites, and he preferred to think of her before she suffered her stroke and her graceful body became twisted and slow.

“Nope,” said Bicycle, who sometimes got confused about what exactly was expected of him in a conversation. He rocked a little on his stair seat, as if maybe the whole world was rocking for Bicycle Bob.

Bicycle was a good guy, Lima thought affectionately, even if he did drink too much. Why, Lima could remember in his younger days when he drank more than Bicycle. Well maybe not more, but he did drink a lot. There was that one time when he was about fifty when he tied on a good one and took his boat out and sank it. Barely made it to shore alive.

But that was on Mitchell's Day, and he should have known better than to go out on the water on Mitchell's day.

As Miss Sabrina approached, Lima assumed the pose of “The Thinker,” that famous statue out of France, or one of those states over in Europe. He figured it was an apt position, considering the sheer magnitude of his brain power.

“Hello, Lima,” Sabrina said as she reached the porch. It was nice to see a friendly face after her run-in with the old man at the New Wrightly House. Lima was resting his chin on his hand and seemed to be contemplating his belly button. “Is everything all right?”

He held the uncomfortable-looking pose for a moment more and then sat back in his chair. “Hello, Miss Sabrina. You seen the ghost yet?”

“You mean Walk-the-Plank Wrightly? No, I haven't, though I'd love to hear his story. Do you know it?” ”

“It's a long one,” Lima said, rocking faster.

“I've got some time.” Sabrina sat down in the rocking chair next to his. She was breathing hard and her chest hurt, but she was anxious to hear the story of this notorious ghost.

“Weeeell, let's see.” Lima settled back into his chair. “Walk-the-Plank Wrightly was one of the meanest pirates ever seen around these parts. Meaner than Blackbeard, more vicious than Bloody Hands Bartly. He terrorized these parts for more than five years back in the 1700's, raidin' ships and killin' people. Not a single person survived one of his attacks ‘cause he made every one of the crew walk the plank when he captured a ship. Didn't want to leave any witnesses, you see. Even when the authorities told the pirates if they came clean and stop pirating they'd be pardoned, Walk-the-Plank Wrightly kept right on doing what he did best.

“Back in those days, they didn't call him Walk-the-Plank Wrightly, though, they called him Walk-the-Plank Jack, ‘cause no one knew who he was. After he had raided a ship, they'd find the ship floatin' completely empty and a couple of days later the bodies would start washing up on shore.

“After a while, people started to think that maybe Walk-the-Plank Jack was someone who lived on Comico Island, because the attacks always took place right around here. People on the island started lookin' at their neighbors closely, wondering if this evil man was someone they knew. And there wasn't a whole lot of people on the island back then, just a few hard-working fishermen and their families and a few exiled noblemen from England.

“Roland Thierry Wrightly was a merchant trader with several big ships, and he sailed from the colonies up north down to the Car-ribbon with cargo. Everybody liked Roland Wrightly, he was a nice man and was known for helpin' out his neighbors on Comico Island. Even the governor was fooled by him, and he gave Wrightly the deed to this island as a gift. But nobody knew what secrets Wrightly held in his black heart.

“Nothing much changed after Wrightly got the island, except the pirating got worse. Wrightly pretended like he was tryin' to hunt the pirate down, but of course he never was going to find him, ‘cause he was the pirate! But no one knew that, and bodies kept washing up on shore and ships were found floating with no one on board.

“A couple years after Wrightly got the title to the island, people started sending petitions to the governor, asking him to help ‘em get rid of the pirate. He called on his friend Lord Russell Tittletott, who was a well-known retired naval man from England, and he asked Lord Tittletott to get rid of Walk-the-Plank Jack. If he did it, the governor would give him whatever he wanted, short of the moon and stars.

“It was a challenge-like, and Lord Tittletott took up the gauntlet. He started hunting for that pirate, and it was like Walk-the-Plank Jack was thumbing his nose at Lord T because the pirating just got worse for a couple of months. Bodies were floating up onto the beach and it didn't seem like Lord Tittletott would be able to catch that evil pirate.

“But one day, Lord T went out onto the high seas and he caught Walk-the-Plank Jack right in the act. He was too late to save the crew of the beleaguered ship, but he came up beside the pirate ship, and the crews fought it out, hand to hand. All but five of the crew were killed, and Walk-the-Plank Jack was captured.

“Imagine Lord Tittletott's surprise when he discovered that it was his good friend Roland Wrightly! He and Wrightly had been friends for many years, and both had petitioned the governor for the title to Comico Island. Lord Tittletott was shocked and sad, but he knew what he had to do. Right then and there he made Wrightly and his five remaining crew men walk the plank on the dread charge of piracy. He had to do it, you see, even though Wrightly was a good friend.

“And that's how Walk-the-Plank Jack became Walk-the-Plank Wrightly. When Lord Tittletott got back to Comico Island with Wrightly's empty ship in tow, all of the islanders were happy the pirate had been caught, though sad it turned out to be Wrightly. And when Lord Tittletott asked the governor for the title to Comico Island as his price, the governor was happy to agree. So that's how Lord Tittletott won Comico Island. Old Walk-the-Plank Wrightly still walks the beaches of this island, you know, looking for the treasure he buried right before he died.”

Lima finished his story and rocked his chair contentedly.

“What a double life that man must have led,” Sabrina said. “Did he have a family?”

“He left behind a pregnant wife who always swore his husband was unfairly accused. On account of her condition, Lord T let her keep the house and a little land, which everyone thought was mighty chilvy-rus of him. That's where you're staying, or at least the Old Wrightly house is on the same spot where his house used to be. May saw him from one of your upstairs windows the other day. Big hulk of a man, dressed all in black and carrying a sword.”