Spirits of the Pirate House (30 page)

He sat back with a thud into the leather
chair. “Someone was murdered in Hibiscus House?” he asked
incredulously.

“The cause of death is deemed accidental at
this time,” she sniffed. “You should be thanking me.”

Mike pondered for a moment. “May I ask a
question about the man?”

“You can try, but I’m sure I cannot divulge
what you want.”

“White or black?”

“Pardon?”

“I’m asking if he was Caucasian or
African.”

“He was a black man, and that’s all I can
say. In fact, it’s too much. As far as I am concerned, your
business is done here, especially your dealings with the National
Trust. Any further attempts to enter the grounds of Hibiscus House
will be considered trespassing and open you and your group for
prosecution to the fullest extent of Bermudian law. Good day, Mr.
Weinstein. Please close the door behind you on the way out.”

T.J.’s group was just finishing a light lunch
at the Hog Penny Pub in Hamilton when a thoroughly demoralized Mike
Weinstein shuffled in. After finding Tom Sr. via cell phone, he’d
made the scooter trip from St. George’s to the capital in record
time, his knuckles white on the handle grips from anger.

“Mike, what’s the matter?” asked LouAnne with
concern. “You look like your dog just died.”

“Well,” he said, pulling up a chair, “my dog
didn’t die, but the second investigation did. Mrs. Tilbury just
pulled the plug on us.”

“What! This is an outrage!” cried Bortnicker,
springing to his feet.

T.J., who was sitting next to him, reached
up, grabbed the back of his tee shirt, and yanked him down onto his
seat while the Hog Penny’s patrons gawked. “Tell us what happened,
Mike,” he said quietly.

After Weinstein’s recap, Tom Sr. let out a
low whistle. “Wow, a guy found dead the same day you investigated.
We’re lucky they permitted the first investigation.”

“That was her opinion as well,” said Mike
forlornly.

“So that’s it?” said Bortnicker, somewhat
more composed. “We’re outta here?”

Mike let out a heavy sigh. “The Adventure
Channel made it clear that we’re to fly out the day after our
investigation is concluded. So, I’m gonna try to book us a flight
for late tomorrow afternoon.”

“Can you produce the show based on just what
we’ve done so far?” asked LouAnne.

“Oh yeah. Between the dive stuff and the
EVP’s you guys picked up last night, which came out pretty clear by
the way, we have enough to make a show. But it could have been so
much better. We were so close!”

“Oh well,” said T.J. “Them’s the breaks. So,
we still have this afternoon and tonight, right?”

“No question. I’m gonna motor over to the
marina and say my goodbyes to Kim. Her family is sailing out on
their yacht for Charleston later this afternoon. Hey, let’s make
the best of tonight. Tom, what do you say I pick up some steaks and
we have a farewell feast by the pool with the kids? You can invite
over Ms. Cosgrove to join us. And Bortnicker, why don’t you give
Ronnie a buzz and invite her family as well? We’ve got to discuss
how Jasper’s going to announce the
Steadfast
find
anyway.”

“Okay,” the boy said glumly, realizing that
his time with Ronnie was about to be cut short.

They left the Hog Penny and split up, Mike
heading toward the marina and Tom Sr. taking the scooter back to
the Jobson’s Cove Apartments. Rather than bother Chappy, whom
they’d see on their upcoming ride to the airport, the teens
volunteered to ride the pink bus back from Hamilton. As they headed
up the hill from Front Street toward the terminal, Bortnicker
suddenly wheeled on his friend. “Well,
you
certainly took
that well, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Yeah, Cuz,” chimed in LouAnne, “aren’t you
ticked off over this?”

“Yup,” he answered.

“So why are you smiling?” asked
Bortnicker.

“’
Cause we’re going back to that house
tonight, that’s why.”

* * * *

If Mike and the kids thought they were having
a bad morning, they weren’t alone. Breakfast at the Goodwin
residence had reached epic proportions of
bad
.

It all started innocently enough; Claudette
had prepared a breakfast of sweet buns and tea before father and
daughter were to take a dive group out on the
Reef Seeker II
for some “fish peeping”, as Ronnie called it. As the girl described
the previous night’s exploits, including the encounter with Tarver
that her prompting had induced, her mother grew distant and looked
away, seeming to wish the conversation over. “But he said some
things that were strange, Mum,” Ronnie remarked as Jasper sipped
his tea and looked on. “He commented on my eyes and said I looked
familiar. How could that be if he’s never met me? It was creepy,
like he was looking right into my soul. Does that make sense? Mum?
What’s the matter?”

“Oh child, child,” she whispered, tears
welling in her eyes. “There’s so much you don’t know, so much I’ve
tried to shield you from. Your father’s always thought I was too
protective but—”

“Daddy, what’s this about?” Ronnie said with
alarm.

Jasper Goodwin sighed, then picked up his tea
cup and saucer to bring them to the sink. “Tell her, Claudette,” he
said calmly. “It’s time.”

Mrs. Goodwin reached across the weathered
wooden table and took her daughter’s hand. “Veronique,” she said
calmly, “we live a good life that we’ve worked hard for, in a
wonderful place that many consider a paradise. But there was much
sadness here, years ago. Horrible things happened that we, as a
black Bermudian people, have managed to recover from, most of the
way, anyway.

“You are a beautiful girl, a mixture of
myself and your father’s people, and I wouldn’t trade or want to
change anything about you. Your eyes, as mine, are the brightest
blue. But there is a reason for everything, as they say, so let me
explain.

“When your father and I were courting, he
told me about his family’s background, which made me uneasy because
my own parents, who sadly died when I was barely out of grade
school, were always vague or evasive when I brought up the subject.
So, I decided to start digging through my ancestry on my own.

“To make a long story short, the ancestors on
my mother’s side were among the first slaves brought, against their
will, to the island to work on the plantations of the time.”

By this point Jasper had sat down again and
handed his wife a napkin, with which she dabbed at her eyes. Ronnie
sat entranced, her eyes locked on her mother’s, as Claudette
resumed her story.

“Among that first wave of slaves brought in
was a woman named Maruba, whose name was later Anglicized to Maria
by her master...William Tarver.”

“My God,” whispered Ronnie, fearing what
would come next.

“In those days, child, it was not uncommon
for the masters to take a shine to a pretty face in their crowd of
workers. These women were sometimes shifted to easier jobs rather
than toiling from dawn to dusk in the fields. A position as cook,
nanny, or personal attendee to the mistress of the house was
coveted by all, but at times it came at a price.

“As the story goes, Captain Tarver, who
remember was a pirate to begin with, saw just such an opportunity
and elevated Maria to the kitchen. Well, one thing led to another,
and Maria made the decision to accept his advances despite the very
presence of Mrs. Tarver—who by all accounts was a decent woman—in
the house.

“Unfortunately, Maria became pregnant, and
gave birth to a boy with the mocha-colored skin of my side of the
family, and—”

“Blue eyes.”

“Yes.”

Ronnie took a deep breath, her anger barely
in check. “What happened then?”

“From then on, things get hazy. Of course,
slavery was eventually abolished on the island, and my family, whom
I traced all the way back to Maruba, was assimilated into the
island’s population. I guess if you’d really want to know the
details, you’d have to ask
him
.”

“Maybe someday I will,” she snarled.

“But what I
do not
want, Veronique
Goodwin, is for you to hold hatred in your heart going forward.
What’s done is done, and you can’t change it. Your father and I
have made a good life for you, and we must always look forward to a
better day.”

“Which is why I’ve got to be going, my
sweet,” said Jasper, tapping his watch.

“Okay,” said Ronnie. She walked around to her
mother’s side of the table and kissed her lightly on the forehead.
“Thank you for telling me, Mum,” she whispered. “I’ll try to take
your advice.” With that she walked outside to the car park.

“It had to be done,” said Jasper Goodwin to
his wife. “She’ll get over it.”

“I don’t know,” said Claudette. “Please keep
an eye on her today.”

“As always,” he said, scooping up his car
keys.

* * * *

Nigel Chapford frowned as he hung up his cell
phone after Mike’s disappointing news. Begging off from Weinstein’s
invitation to join the group for a farewell dinner, he agreed to be
on call for an afternoon drive to the airport the following day.
The phone immediately rang again and Chappy clicked on, thinking
Mike had perhaps missed something. But it wasn’t the ghost chaser
on the other end.

As early as was politely possible that
morning Chappy’d rung up his friend Ian Burton, the caretaker at
St. Anne’s, to ask for a favor, and was surprised to receive a call
back this early afternoon. “You were right, Nigel,” he said. “Me
and the boys had a burial this morning and waited until the
mourners had left. We had a backhoe handy with which to lift the
slab off Sir William’s crypt. I told the boys I wanted to check for
water damage inside, or some such nonsense, and told them to go
grab a cup of tea while I did the inspection.

“Anyway, it appears that although Mrs.
Tarver’s safely tucked away, the good Captain, as they say about
Elvis, has left the building.”

“The coffin’s empty?”

“What’s left of it, yes. Funny thing, though.
It would appear he was never there in the first place.”

“So you’d say there was no evidence of body
snatching or something of that sort?”

“None whatsoever. Now, the boys came back
from their tea break none the wiser, and we replaced the slab, so
no one knows about this but you and I.”

“And the Captain,” said Chappy pointedly.

“Aren’t you the card,” said Burton. “Just
keep it between us, all right? I rather like my job here.”

“Consider it done, Ian. I owe you one.”

“That you do, Nigel. Have a nice day.”

* * * *

The three
Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers
had barely settled into the back seat of the pink bus when T.J., in
hushed tones, began to explain his plan.

“Okay, here’s how I see it,” he said. “We’ve
got 24 hours, give or take, to solve this mystery. Tarver told us
last night that if we returned he’d tell us the true story. I say
we have our grand farewell dinner tonight and then sneak out to
visit the Captain.”

“You mean like we did the first time in
Gettysburg last year?” said LouAnne excitedly.

“Exactly,” smiled T.J., remembering how the
teens had climbed down from their second-story bedrooms at
LouAnne’s house to meet up with Major Hilliard in a wooded area of
the battlefield.

“Sneaking out’s the easy part, Cuz,” said
LouAnne. “Everyone’s going to be tired, and I’m sure Mike and your
dad will have had a couple of glasses of wine on top of that. But
how do we get to Hibiscus House? It’s a few miles away.”

T.J. nodded knowingly. “That’s why we’re
taking the motor scooters. Bortnicker, I’m sure I’m not the only
one who’s observed how to start and drive them. You were just on
one with my dad this morning. Think you can use a bike and not kill
yourself?”

“No problemo, Big Mon. And if I’m correct,
your dad and Mike leave the keys with their helmets in the car park
storage box, which is unlocked.”

“Bingo.”

“I don’t know,” said LouAnne. “I get a queasy
feeling about this. First, despite what you two think about your
driving skills, all you’ve ever done is sit on the back.
And
it’s gonna be dark.
And
you’re both underage.
And
it
could be me who gets thrown to my death from the bike if you wipe
out going around one of those hairpin curves on South Road.”

“Does that mean you’re out?” said T.J. with a
lifted eyebrow.

“Not a chance.”

“We’ll have to roll the bikes up the road a
ways before we start them up so we don’t wake your dad or Mike,”
said Bortnicker.

“No doubt,” answered T.J, “but if we’re
really serious about seeing Tarver, we’ve got to be willing to take
risks. Do you want to call Ronnie and ask her if she’s in? She
can’t breathe a word of this to her father or anyone else.”

“I’ll give her a buzz right now. Who even
knows if he’d talk to us without her there? It’s like he was
attracted to her last night.”

“Yeah,” said LouAnne, “like he’s still caught
up in the whole slavery deal. Yuck.”

“So we’re set,” said T.J. as the bus chugged
along. “I propose that we spend one last glorious afternoon
lounging on the beach so LouAnne and I can rest our aching muscles,
enjoy a tasty steak dinner by the pool, and then have a little talk
with our pirate friend.”

* * * *

“I’m gonna miss this,” said Bortnicker as he
lay back on the beach blanket, his battered Red Sox ball cap tilted
down over his glasses.

“We do have beaches in Fairfield, you know,”
yawned T.J., stretched out alongside his friend and LouAnne.

“Not the same. Where else are we gonna see
pink sand?”

“Guess you’re right. And speaking of pink,
you’ve got a pre-lobster tint going on there. Didn’t you put on
sunscreen?”