Spirits of the Pirate House (22 page)

“Well, guys,” said Tom Sr., checking his
watch, “I’d say it’s time to head back. I think we’ve had enough
action for one night, and you all have a 10:00 a.m. appointment at
the dive shop. Lindsay, are you sure that giving us a lift back is
no problem?”

“Not at all,” she said reassuringly. “I’ll
even run Miss Ronnie home. It’s the least I can do after such a
wonderful evening of food and friends—and a little intrigue!”

* * * *

As Lindsay and Ronnie turned out of the
Jobson’s Cove Apartments lot onto South Road, Tom Sr. huddled with
the teens. “I’m worried, guys,” he said somberly. “Why would anyone
be following you kids? Do you think they found out about the bell?
Maybe this whole investigation thing is getting out of hand.”

“Dad, we can’t stop now,” said T.J. “We’ve
put too much into it so far. And besides, if we quit on this it
would reflect badly on Mike. This project is his baby.”

“I agree, Uncle Tom,” said LouAnne, her hair
a bit askew from their earlier run through the streets of Hamilton.
“I think we have to let this thing play out.”

“We all think we’re onto something,” said
Bortnicker. “Tonight just made me more determined to see it
through.”

“Okay, okay,” said Tom Sr., surrendering in
the face of overwhelming odds. “But do me this favor. First thing
tomorrow, explain what happened to Mike and Chappy. I’m sure Ronnie
is going to tell her dad. No matter where you go from here on in,
keep your eyes peeled. Any trouble, you call me on my cell at the
golf club.”

“You got it,” said T.J.

“So you all better get some sleep. Jeez, it’s
eleven already.” He turned to LouAnne and said, “Please tell me you
two aren’t thinking of working out tomorrow morning.”

“Sorry, Uncle Tom. Tomorrow’s our last
workout before Saturday’s race. Tell you what, though. Since we did
some running tonight, we’ll cut down tomorrow’s distance by half.
Okay, Cuz?”

“Sounds great,” said T.J.

“And then we go find Tarver’s treasure!” sang
Bortnicker.

Chapter
Nineteen

“
Followed, you say?”
said Chappy as he helped the
Gonzo Ghost Chasers
stow their
diving gear in the minivan.

“Dudes, I feel bad I wasn’t there for you,”
lamented Mike, who looked a little worse for wear from his night of
club-hopping with Kim.

“Not your fault, Mike,” said T.J. “We handled
ourselves pretty well. Even Bortnicker was zooming along like a
track star. He actually wanted to go after those guys!”

“No way.”

“Yes way,” frowned LouAnne. “Sometimes he
just flips into attack mode.”

“Yeah, like when he chased you out onto the
battlefield last year and almost got run over by Hilliard’s
horse!”

“Don’t remind me,” moaned Bortnicker.

“Shush. It was very heroic,” said LouAnne
primly. “Besides, my dad said you executed a perfect form tackle on
me, and he should know.” Indeed, Bortnicker had brought the girl
down at the last second before LouAnne’s father—a former Big Ten
linebacker—had blown the horseman back into the past with his
Sharps rifle.

“Well, I don’t like the thought of people
bothering you,” said Chappy as they pulled out onto South Road.
“Not a great show of hospitality, to say the least. If you don’t
mind, I’m going to ask around if anyone knows about this
nonsense.”

“You don’t have to, but thanks,” said
T.J.

The ride to Blue Lagoon Dive Shop seemed to
take forever; everyone in the car was lost in thought and filled
with anticipation. The sun beamed brilliantly overhead, and the
views over the cliffs to the ocean below were something out of a
Beach Boys oldie. The promise, however remote, of pirate treasure
was palpable, and the boys had to fight their excitement to
maintain a calm appearance.

Finally, Chappy pulled into the lot where the
group was met by a beaming Ronnie and her father, who helped lug
their gear to the
Reef Seeker I
. High spirits shone
throughout, and when Jasper quoted famed treasure hunter Mel
Fisher’s immortal saying, “Today’s the day!” it set off a chain
reaction of fist bumps and high fives. Goodwin and Skeeter quickly
stowed the dive gear and soon they were slipping out of the cove
and headed for open water.

“Nervous?” said Ronnie, easing into a seat
near Bortnicker, who was checking the band on his dive mask.

“Yeah, and really psyched, too,” he said with
his crooked smile. “What would you like me to find for you?”

“Hmm. How about one of those ornate golden
crosses inlaid with emeralds on a thick chain? I’d fancy wearing
that to the posh receptions you all would be invited to.”

“Consider it done.”

On the other side of the deck, T.J. was a
little more reserved with his cousin. “Something is down there,
Cuz, can’t you feel it?” he said as she applied sunscreen to the
back of his neck.

“Yup, though it’s just hard for me to believe
this wreck went untouched for centuries.”

“Well, it just takes one powerful hurricane
to stir up the bottom. I still can’t believe we found the ship’s
bell.”

“You think Mr. Goodwin’s exaggerating what’ll
happen when this all goes public?”

“Hard to tell. He knows this island better
than us, that’s for sure. Tell you what, though, if we discover
real treasure, it’ll be incredible. When I think of the stuff Capt.
Kenny found on the
Andrea Doria
and other wrecks, and how
hard he had to work for it, the years he put into it ... and then
Bortnicker and I jump into the water on our first real dive and
boom! I mean, what are the odds?”

“Well, there is something known as beginners
luck,” she smiled, spreading the cream around the tops of his
shoulders.

“I guess. But if we come up with gold or
silver it’s a whole new ballgame.”

“Well, whatever, it’ll make good TV.”

“You got that right. Even if the haunted
house turns out to be a dud, the first ten minutes of the show
might be enough to make The Adventure Channel buy the series!”

“And will fame and fortune change T.J.
Jackson?” she chided in a dramatic voice.

“Nah ... well, maybe a little bit,” he
responded, allowing the faintest of smiles.

* * * *

“Dora, I have to speak with you,” said Nigel
Chapford, settling onto a stool at the counter.

The portly proprietor raised an eyebrow as
she leaned on the chipped Formica, nearly nose to nose with the
chauffer. “You look so serious, Dearie. Are you here to propose?
And if so, what would the missus say?”

The sternness never left Chappy’s face,
despite her best efforts. “This is no laughing matter, Dora, not to
me anyway. I have to ask you an important question: Do you have any
knowledge of anyone bothering those American boys or Miss
Ronnie?”

“And why are you asking me this, might I
inquire?”

“Because last night in Hamilton, the kids
were harassed—followed, actually—by three rather unfriendly looking
men. They haven’t been too many places in this area, so I’m asking
you seriously, again: Do you know of anyone who’d wish them
ill?”

Dora mopped her brow with a dishrag, then
started polishing the countertop, breaking eye contact with
Chapford.

“Well, to be honest, they might be bringing
this all on themselves. Don’t get me wrong—the boys are polite,
though the one with the glasses tends to run his mouth a bit.”

“To whom, may I ask?”

“Well, ah, that first day they did have a bit
of an encounter with Willie B.—”

“I should have known!” cried an exasperated
Chapford, throwing up his hands. “Probably the poorest example of
all things Bermudian, though he fancies himself the champion of our
island. Did he threaten those boys in some way?”

“Not exactly,” she said cautiously, trying to
avoid Chappy’s ire. “Let’s say he was just trying to discourage
them from digging too deeply into some dark spaces.”

“That’s all?”

“And, uh, oh yes, I did notice him having
speaks with Miss Ronnie yesterday afternoon outside the restaurant.
What they discussed, I wasn’t privy to.”

Chappy puffed up his cheeks and slowly blew
out. “And where might I be able to find our friend Willie B. this
time of day?”

“How should I know? You give me too much
credit, Nigel Chapford. I’m just trying to make a living here.
Willie B. comes and goes. Where he lives, or stays, or whatever, is
nobody’s business but his own.”

“Alright then, Dora, but let me tell you
this. If he should happen by, please relay the message that I want
to speak with him.” He took out a business card and placed it on
the counter. “And if anything comes up you think I should know
about, call me on my cell. And I mean that seriously.”

“Dear, dear,” said Dora trying to lighten the
moment, “what will Mrs. Chapford say if she learns a foxy lady like
myself is making calls to you at all hours?”

“You’ll notice I’m not laughing, Dora. I’m
quite concerned, actually, that something regrettable is about to
happen to these youngsters, and they deserve better. I hope to hear
from you.” With that he rose and walked out, the screen door
smacking shut behind him.

Dora watched him all the way to his car and
stood there many minutes after he’d left. Where
was
Willie
B. anyway? He hadn’t come by for lunch or a beer with his crony,
that disgusting Hogfish, as was his routine. She sighed, shook her
head, and went back to her stove, but not before she’d tacked
Chappy’s business card to the kitchen corkboard.

* * * *

“Okay, we’re right over it!” sang out Jasper
Goodwin. “Drop anchor, Skeeter.”

“Aye, aye,” came the response, as the first
mate pressed the release button that lowered the anchor to the
seabed.

The
Reef Seeker I
became a beehive of
activity. Jasper and Ronnie helped the boys suit up and went
through an equipment check as Mike and LouAnne prepared the
underwater camera and dingy. Skeeter kept scanning the horizon for
any intruders whose prying eyes might give their secret expedition
away.

“I suppose you boys will want the metal
detectors straight away?” said Jasper, adjusting a strap on T.J.’s
oxygen tank.

“Might as well,” said Bortnicker. “Why waste
time just swimming around?”

“All right. I’ll just have a look around the
area surrounding the main wreck site, see if any debris was
scattered about as the ship broke apart. You know, sometimes these
wrecks were dragged around before finally coming to rest, though in
water this shallow I rather doubt it. Just signal me if you find
anything significant, like last time.”

“No problem,” said Bortnicker, his confidence
growing by the minute. He turned to his friend. “You ready, Big
Mon?”

“Let’s do it.”

They exchanged fist bumps with Ronnie and
LouAnne and stepped off into the turquoise ocean.

It didn’t take T.J. long to reacquaint
himself with the wreck site. The piles of ballast and timbers that
remained served as landmarks, as did the now partially-filled hole
where the ship’s bell had been buried. As Bortnicker glided toward
the bow, T.J. concentrated on the stern, slowly waving the wand,
trying not to be distracted by the rainbow of tropical fish that
swirled around him. He would thoroughly cover a small area maybe
four feet square, then move on. Precious minutes passed, with nary
a blip. He was about to leave his third square when he got a hit. A
loud one. He stood on the sandy bottom, located Bortnicker, and
waved him over. His friend, kicking hard, was there in an instant.
After pointing to a spot at his feet, the boys dropped to their
knees and started digging, their excitement causing them to burn
oxygen at an incredible rate.

Finally, T.J.’s hand found something hard and
metal. Was it the handle to a box? Or the hand guard to a pirate
cutlass? The two carefully excavated around the object, pushing the
dug sand behind them. When T.J. pried it from the seabed and held
it between them, LouAnne, who was intently following the whole
procedure, muttered, “Oh my God. No way.”

Lying between the kneeling divers was a
finely preserved pair of wrist shackles. The two looked at each
other.
Maybe this doesn’t mean anything
reasoned T.J.
Pirates were always taking prisoners from captured ships, sometimes
offering them a chance to join their conquerors in a life of crime.
He wanded the spot again, then widened his arc.

Hit. Hit. Hit.

Bortnicker was getting similar results. They
began the task of clearing away the sand, only to find more of the
same. Wrist and ankle shackles were everywhere. They’d found their
treasure, but a cruel joke had been played on them.

The
Steadfast
was a slave ship.

Chapter Twenty

“
Why are you coming
back before the guys?” asked Ronnie as she and Mike helped LouAnne
back onto the
Reef Seeker I
.

“Ran out of film,” she lied, knowing the boys
had called Jasper over and were uncovering even more slave
artifacts as they spoke. “Mike, could I speak to you below
deck?”

“Sure, LouAnne,” he answered somewhat warily.
“Is there a problem with the equipment?”

“I’m not sure,” she said cryptically. “I’ll
tell you in a minute.”

“Lead the way.”

As they left a puzzled Ronnie behind, the
boys, whose bottom time was nearly up, surveyed the excavation site
with a clearly deflated Jasper Goodwin. Iron restraints of all
types littered the area; T.J., doing some quick math, estimated
that the
Steadfast
could hold anywhere from 50 to 100
slaves, depending on how tightly they’d been packed into the hold.
And he also now had little doubt as to how William Tarver had
managed to maintain one of the largest plantations on the island of
Bermuda.