Spirits of the Pirate House (12 page)

They plucked her oversized suitcase from the
carousel, clicked open the pull handle, and made their way outside.
“Palm trees!” the girl cried. “All right!”

“Cuz, it’s not any hotter than Gettysburg,”
noted T.J. “And we have a pool and a beach right across the
street!”

“Wow. Can’t wait.” She shook her head in
wonder at the sight of the
GGC
logo emblazoned on the
minivan. They climbed in and Bortnicker reinserted
Rubber
Soul
in the CD player. “In your honor,” he proclaimed
gallantly.

“How was the flight?” asked T.J., sharing the
back seat with his cousin.

“Not bad. It’s been a hectic few days,” she
replied. “I had to finish up with finals, and Thursday was the last
track meet of the season, County Championships.”

“How did you do?”

“I took third in the mile. Not bad for a
sophomore. You been running?”

“Yup, and Chappy showed me a neat route for
us to train on for the race next week.”

“Used to be a railroad bed,” said Bortnicker.
“Way cool.”

“Well,” she said brightly, “I turned in early
last night and even slept on the plane coming over, so I’m ready
for anything you guys have planned for today.”

“How about a sightseeing trip to St.
George’s?” asked her cousin.

“That’s on the Eastern end, right?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Sounds great!”

The boys were really getting a kick out of
watching LouAnne gawk at the passing scenery. It was as if she
wanted to lock every palm tree or pastel-colored house in her mind
forever. They both realized that unlike their parents, the Darcys
didn’t have much disposable income (LouAnne worked two jobs at
home, including nights at a Civil War-era inn where she was a
civilian reenactor for the hordes of tourists who flocked to
Gettysburg from May through October) and though she never mentioned
it, they wondered if she’d ever been anywhere farther from home
than Philly. It was ironic to see a person from one of the most
touristy places on earth be so taken with another travel mecca.

They arrived at the Jobson’s Cove Apartments
and were warmly greeted by Virginia Maltby, who handed LouAnne a
flower for her hair. “Well, now, this completes our party!” she
trilled. “And you’re every bit the beauty that Michael Weinstein
described.”

LouAnne blushed.

“Take care of that precious skin in the sun
today!” she sang. “I’m off to the market!”

“Is everyone here so friendly?” LouAnne
asked.

“‘
Fraid so, miss,” answered Chappy,
removing her luggage from the minivan. “I’ll let the boys show you
to your room. What say we meet back here in a half hour for our day
trip?”

“That’d be super,” said Bortnicker. They
hefted LouAnne’s bags and climbed the stairs to the second floor
balcony, where she stopped to take in the view.

“How ... romantic,” she said dreamily as the
boys lugged her stuff inside.

“Ya think?” laughed Bortnicker, setting down
her suitcase with a thunk.

LouAnne was amazed to find her kitchenette
refrigerator stocked with all the necessities her father had
rattled off to her Uncle Tom, including nonfat milk, protein bars,
and Gatorade. She was equally impressed with the queen-sized bed
she’d be sleeping on.

“So, how did yesterday go?” she asked,
unzipping her larger suitcase and hanging stuff in the bedroom
closet.

T.J. gave her a full rundown of the incident
at Dora’s Corners and their meeting with Jasper Goodwin. He made
sure to accentuate their encounter with Ronnie. “I think she has
the hots for Bortnicker,” he joked, causing his friend to go a
bright red.

“And why not?” countered LouAnne, shooting
him down. “I think he’s a definite hottie, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” said T.J.
playfully.

“So when do I get to meet Miss Bermuda?”

“Actually,” said Bortnicker, “in about 40
minutes. We’re picking her up before we go to St. George’s.”

“Really
. Well, this should be
interesting. Now, you two get out of here for a few minutes so I
can change into something more touristy. Shoo!”

They retreated outside to the balcony and
could hear LouAnne humming gaily as she got dressed. Minutes later,
wearing her Beatles
Sgt. Pepper
tee shirt, capris, and
sandals, she joined them. “Hey, where are Mike Weinstein and your
dad, T.J.?” she asked, adjusting her sunglasses.

“Mike’s out big game fishing, and Dad’s
meeting the golf club officials he’s gonna sell his plan to.”

“How’s Mike been? Is he still as crazy as
last year?”

“Nah. I think we just caught him at a bad
time. Plus, he probably just hams it up a lot for the show. He’s
actually been pretty serious.”

“Yeah,” said Bortnicker, “this whole project
is on him, and he wants it to succeed.”

“So, from what you’re telling me, people
around here are kinda weirded out about Sir William Tarver?”

“Well, Chappy and that lady Dora were, not to
mention that guy who got in our face. I wouldn’t talk about it in
the car today.”

“Gotcha.”

As always, Chappy was patiently waiting by
the minivan and opened the front passenger door for LouAnne. The
boys slid open the side door and jumped into the back seat.

“I’m glad you could get some time off,” T.J.
said to his cousin as Chappy pointed the minivan toward Somerset.
“Gettysburg must be filling up.”

“Oh, yeah. But it just so happens that the
owner’s niece is visiting for a couple weeks and agreed to stand in
for me. I kind of coached her, and she came a couple nights to
observe me doing my shtick. I think she’ll handle it okay.”

“What about that lady you babysit for during
the day?”

“Mrs. Spath? Her family’s actually doing the
family road trip thing the next week or so, visiting relatives in
Florida. So it all worked out. I’ll just pick it back up when I
return.
Some
of us have to work all summer. Right,
Chappy?”

The driver smiled. “Right-o, Miss Lou.”

“I almost forgot!” blurted Bortnicker.
“Chappy, tell LouAnne about how you knew John Lennon!”

“No way,” she said. “Really?”

The driver patiently retold the story, with
LouAnne hanging on every word. “That must’ve been some experience,”
she said finally.

“To tell the truth, Miss Lou, it was no more
or less than any others I’ve had over the years. I just enjoy
meeting people and learning about them. And since most of them are
happy to be here and in a good mood, it makes for a pleasant
experience. It’s just regrettable that he came to such a tragic
end.”

“But the music lives on,” said John
Lennon/Bortnicker, causing the other teens to roll their eyes.
“Here’s a good question for all you fans of ours: which of our hit
songs did we also record in German? There were two, but you only
have to name one.”

“Too easy, John,” said LouAnne. “’I Want to
Hold Your Hand’; which was, I believe, on the
Something New
album.”

“I
told
you to give it up,
Bortnicker,” laughed T.J.

They pulled in to the Blue Lagoon Dive Shop
parking lot as the last of the morning charter clients were
mounting their mopeds and heading back to their hotels. Some had
placed their own masks, snorkels, and flippers in their moped carry
baskets. “They look like a bunch of happy campers,” observed
LouAnne.

“Yeah,” said T.J. as they got out of the car.
“Are you sure—”

“Yes, I’m sure I will not be doing anything
below the water’s surface,” she snapped, cutting him off.

“Oh, well, he had to try,” cracked
Bortnicker.

They approached the counter, where Ronnie was
ringing up a
Dive Bermuda
ball cap for a middle-aged
customer. “Thanks so much for diving with us, sir,” she purred.
“Please come visit again!” Ronnie bagged the hat and he left,
smiling at the entering teens.

“Hi, Ronnie,” said T.J., “this is my cousin
LouAnne from Pennsylvania.”

“She just got here this morning,” added
Bortnicker, making an effort to join the conversation.

The two girls eyed each other warily. T.J.
had often noted this kind of interaction at school, especially
between females who were obviously attractive.

“Hi,” the black girl said finally. “Welcome
to our dive shop.”

“Thanks.”

“I hope you’re as excited about our dive
trips as these guys are. It should be fun.”

“I don’t dive.”

“Oh.”

“But I am looking forward to a couple days
out on that beautiful water.”

“It is beautiful.”

T.J. gave Bortnicker a sideways look as if to
say
What the heck is going on here?
But his friend was too
busy staring at Ronnie to notice him. “Well,” T.J. said
uncertainly, “is everybody ready to go to St. George’s?”

“Brilliant!” said Ronnie, brightening. “Let
me just run out back a moment and tell my dad we’re off. I’ll meet
you out front.”

T.J., Bortnicker, and LouAnne exited and
walked toward the minivan. “Everything ok, Cuz?” he asked
nervously.

“Sure, why not?” she answered sweetly. Chappy
again held the front door open for LouAnne, and the boys hopped in
the back. Ronnie came bouncing out of the shop and slid in next to
Bortnicker. “Hi, Mr. Chapford, wonderful day,” she said in
greeting.

“That it is, Miss Ronnie. On to St.
George’s.” He fired up the engine.

Ronnie turned to Bortnicker, who was being
very careful to stay in his own space. “Did you sleep well last
night, Bortnicker?” she said amiably. “Those tree frogs can take
some getting used to.”

“No, I, uh, I mean I really slept pretty
well,” he managed. “I actually kinda like the sound. It’s, ah ...
soothing, you know?”

From his seat in the back T.J. could see
LouAnne’s face in the rearview mirror. She was trying not to laugh
at Bortnicker’s obvious discomfort.

But it was Chappy who came to the young man’s
rescue. “Miss Ronnie,” he said, “why don’t you tell our guests
about where we’ll be visiting today?”

She smiled, aware of the driver’s obvious
diversion tactic. “Well now, where to begin,” she said. “Let’s
see...

“St. George’s is one of the oldest Northern
European cities in the Western Hemisphere. It was actually the
capital until the early 1800s, when Hamilton took over.

“Many of its old stone buildings still stand
today, and they were based on English designs. A lot of the houses
and properties have been passed down through families over the
generations. You’ll find, though, that the majority of residents
are African-Bermudian, not European.

“What’s so cool about St. George’s is that it
still has those narrow streets and lanes from the old days, when
all you had was horses and carriages. And a lot of those streets
have old-timey, funky names.”

“If I may add some information, Miss Ronnie,”
said Chappy. “You’ll notice a cruise ship or two in St. George’s
Harbor, so there should be many tourists about. I’d say you’ll need
a few hours to really see the sights, which is best done on foot.
But Miss Ronnie should serve as an excellent tour guide. I’ll come
round about 4:30 to pick you up. Will you be all right for
lunch?”

“I know a few places, Chappy,” assured
Ronnie.

“Of course you do.”

They filled the rest of the ride with idle
chatter, mostly about school and the cost of living on the island.
A couple times while making a point, Ronnie laid her hand on
Bortnicker’s thigh, inducing a mild panic in the boy. LouAnne
seemed to doze for a few minutes in the front seat, but by the time
they reached King’s Square at the waterfront, the group was raring
to go.

Chappy handed T.J. his business card with
cell phone number and said to call if they were done earlier than
agreed upon. “Meantime, I might try to squeeze in a few airport
pickups, if you don’t mind.”

“No problem, Chappy,” said T.J. As the driver
pulled away in the minivan, T.J. remarked aloud, “A nice guy.”

“My dad’s known Mr. Chapford a long time,”
said Ronnie. “They grew up together in the Back of Town. He’s good
people.”

“Your family doesn’t live there anymore?”
asked Bortnicker.

“No, we moved closer to the dive shop in
Somerset. It’s a small cottage, but we call it home.”

“You have any brothers or sisters?” asked
T.J.

“No, it’s just me, Dad, and my mum. Maybe
you’ll get to meet her during your stay.”

“That would be nice,” said Bortnicker with
what seemed like hopefulness.

“Would you guys want to eat first or explore
a bit?” she asked.

“Let’s walk a little,” said LouAnne. “I’ve
been sitting on my butt all day.”

“Fair enough,” Ronnie said, grabbing
Bortnicker’s hand. “Follow me!” she took off at a brisk clip, and
Bortnicker looked back at T.J. and LouAnne as if to say “Help!”

They started off with the
Deliverance
,
a full scale model of the ship which Sir George Somers rebuilt
after his ship
Sea Venture
was wrecked on the island in
1609. From there it was on to the Bermuda World Heritage Center.
The boys, who’d had their fair share of museum-hopping the previous
summer in Gettysburg, were interested in the provided overview of
the town, its heritage, and historical background. Bortnicker
especially enjoyed the dioramas of 1600s city life because they
reminded him of the elaborate train setups he’d created back
home.

From there the teens began winding their way
through those charming lanes and alleys with names like Aunt
Peggy’s, Featherbed, One Gun, and Needle & Thread. They popped
into shops both quaint and touristy. Whenever Ronnie took a break
from addressing the group as a whole, she chit-chatted to
Bortnicker, who seemed to be stuck somewhere between terror and
rapture. Her corkscrew curls bounced as she animatedly pointed here
or there. Though the town was flooded with tourists, many of the
locals greeted her by name.