The Girl from Felony Bay (13 page)

Neither Bee nor I had spoken much during lunch. We were about to ask the waitress for our check when Bee finally let out a sigh and asked, “How much more can we really do?”

I looked up from playing with my French fries. “Daddy always said you have to dig and get the facts. He said until you have the facts, all you have is an opinion, and that opinion is only worth something in a newspaper.”

“Where do we get more facts?”

“The Library Society.”

Bee looked suspicious. “Sounds boring.”

I shrugged. “No getting around it,” I said. “Just like lawyers, we have to do our research.”

We walked over to King Street and headed south. I saw Bee slow down several times when we walked past stores with windows full of bright fall clothing. I could tell she wanted to go in and look around, but I kept urging her along. The last thing I wanted to do was waste my time shopping when I barely had a dime to my name.

We finally came to the rambling headquarters of the Charleston Library Society. Daddy told me it's the second oldest private library in the United States, established in 1748. They have lots and lots of old books, and many of them are all about Charleston and the South Carolina Lowcountry. Bee and I asked one of the librarians to help us find information relating to Confederate blockade-runners, rumors of buried treasure, and also heirs' property.

She walked us around to different parts of the collection and helped us gather a stack of books. She also gave us a couple notepads to make notes. I offered Bee the books on blockade-runners and treasure, because I thought they would be more interesting, while I took the heirs' property stack.

A couple of hours of reading the dry-as-dust books about heirs' roperty convinced me that I had guessed right about which books would be boring. I had to put my fingers up against my eyelids to keep them open, while across the table Bee kept oohing and aahing as she read about Blackbeard and Stede Bonnet and other pirates who had sailed the waters around Charleston, and then she oohed and aahed even louder when she read about the
Lovely Clarisse
and other tales of buried gold.

“Abbey,” she whispered at one point, her eyes glittering with excitement. “It says the captain of the
Lovely Clarisse
sailed her into a ‘secret bay' when he buried the gold.”

“Sounds like they're talking about Felony Bay, doesn't it?”

Bee nodded, her eyes large. “Isn't that exciting?”

I shrugged. “I think it's just a story. People want to believe it, but it's too good to be true.”

“Maybe. But it doesn't matter if it's real. It just matters if the people who bought Felony Bay believe it, right?”

She had a point. I nodded and went back to my boring book.

The one thing I discovered out of all the gobbledygook about heirs' property was that most of the cases where heirs were given legal ownership of their properties had been based on the idea of “continuous occupation.” If somebody moved off the property and later tried to claim it, their claims were usually refused. Unfortunately it looked like Custis was right. Without someone willing to give the land to her, Mrs. Middleton's right to Felony Bay likely wouldn't be honored.

I was falling asleep for about the fiftieth time when Bee kicked me under the table. “Look at this!” she said. She had six or seven different books spread out on the table, all of them opened to the inside cover, where the library glued its little envelope that showed who borrowed a book and for what dates.

I looked at all the books and shook my head, unable to understand. “What?”

“Look! Every one of these books has been borrowed by Charles Force. That's Uncle Charlie, right?”

I shot up and grabbed the first book and slipped the card out of the envelope. It showed that Charles Force had borrowed the book about ten months earlier. I went from book to book, checking the cards, and they all showed the same thing and roughly the same dates.

“I didn't know Uncle Charlie could read,” I said.

“Weird, huh?” Bee said.

An idea that had been circling around in my brain started to take a little more shape. It horrified me and at the same time made me so angry, I could hardly see straight.

“Is it possible that Uncle Charlie bought Felony Bay?” I asked.

Bee shrugged. “That's what I'm wondering.”

The idea didn't make any sense, because Uncle Charlie never seemed to have enough energy or money to do anything. Just looking at his falling-apart old pickup or Ruth's rusted Toyota, it was hard to imagine that he could have scraped together a couple million dollars to buy twenty acres of riverfront land. The same thing was true even if Deputy Bubba Simmons was in on the deal as well.

Bee looked at her watch. “It's almost three o'clock. Time for us to meet Grandma,” she said.

We took our books back to the librarian and thanked her for her help, then walked out of the library, sat on the steps, and waited for Grandma Em. It was hot, the sun still high in the sky, and I could feel sweat starting to trickle down my back. After a minute an old red pickup truck rumbled by. I only noticed it because it had a busted muffler and sounded strangely familiar. There was an open parking place just past where we were standing, and the truck pulled up and backed into the spot.

The side windows of the truck were down, which must have meant the air-conditioning was broken along with the tailpipe. I glanced toward the truck, and with no reflection to blur my view, there was no mistaking that the driver was Bubba Simmons. Bee and I were high up on the steps, and Bubba was busy getting into his parking place, so he hadn't noticed us.

I grabbed Bee's arm and pulled her all the way to the top of the steps. We tucked in behind a stone urn, where we were mostly out of sight. Bubba finished parking and turned off his engine, but he didn't climb out. Instead he turned toward his passenger. I couldn't see the passenger or understand what they were saying to each other, but I knew it had to be an argument, because I caught scraps of Bubba's angry voice as it drifted through the open window.

Bee and I leaned out from around the urn to get a better view, and we saw Bubba take his right hand off the wheel and start to slap his passenger. We stood a little taller and moved all the way to the side of the steps until we were literally hanging over the railing. I could see Bubba's passenger now, cowering against the far door. He was holding his arms over his head and trying to roll into a ball. Bubba's slaps kept coming, and Jimmy Simmons's voice came through the window begging his father to stop.

After a few more seconds, Bubba finally got out of the truck, looked back in, said something in a low, angry voice, then walked away. He never turned his eyes in our direction.

Several moments went by, and then Jimmy climbed out. Bee and I were still on the steps as he came around the back of the truck, and I could see rage and humiliation in his eyes and in the set of his lips.

Just at that moment he looked up and caught sight of us. His face was red and swollen as if he had been crying, and he quickly wiped his eyes on his sleeve. I saw something pass across his face when he looked at me, and even though I knew what it was, I didn't feel angry. I watched him start up the library steps toward us, his face set in a scowl, but I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.

“Do you know that kid?” Bee whispered.

“Yes . . . unfortunately.”

“Is he coming up here?” She sounded nervous.

“'Fraid so. Move away from me.”

Bee stepped to one side as Jimmy continued up the steps, his eyes never leaving my face. He was trying as hard as he could to look mean and scary, I'm sure because he thought if he could frighten me like his father had done to him, then he might feel better. I stood my ground but glanced around, hoping there would be other people on the sidewalk and their presence might keep things from getting ugly. Unfortunately there was no one nearby.

“Hey, girlfriend,” Jimmy said in a soft, sinister voice when he got close. His nose had a scab on it, and I was pretty sure it was from my fist.

“I'm not your girlfriend. And I don't want to fight.”

He had kept coming as he talked, and now he was very close, just one step away.

“Jimmy, I just said I don't want to fight you.”

“You don't, huh?” He reached out and gave my shoulder a hard shove. “You miss me?”

I could feel sorry for somebody for just so long. The shove finished it. “I didn't miss you the last time,” I said, looking at the scab on his nose. “Want another scab?”

Jimmy laughed. “You don't wanna fight 'cause you ain't got that old crippled lady to protect you. She hit me with a shovel. I ain't forgetting that.”

“Then you won't forget this either,” I said, and I hit him four times, twice in the mouth and twice in the nose. I really am faster than a scalded lizard, but I'm even faster when I'm mad. Jimmy never saw any of them coming.

I saw blood on his face, but I couldn't tell how badly I had hurt him because his arms came up and he grabbed for me. Knowing he would choke me if he got the chance, I jumped back and dodged sideways, thinking I'd run back into the library. The only problem was that my foot slipped off the edge of a step.

I caught myself, but as I straightened up, Jimmy was on me. I felt his hands around my neck and felt a jolt of fear as I remembered the last time he'd gotten me in a choke hold. I tried to tell Bee to run away and call for help, but Jimmy's grip was already too tight.

I heard Bee's voice, not from far away where she should have been but from up very close. “Hey,” she said, “let her go.”

Jimmy kept squeezing my throat. I was trying to get a grip on one of his fingers and bend it back, but he was too strong.

“Let go!” Bee said again. Only this time her voice was followed by a loud, hollow thump. I knew it was the sound of her cane landing on Jimmy's flesh.

Jimmy's fingers relaxed, and I pulled in a deep breath and then used all my strength to break away. I staggered sideways until my hip hit the other railing, and then I looked at Bee, who was holding her cane cocked over her shoulder like a baseball bat.

Jimmy was bent over, holding his hand over the top of his head and making a sound that was someplace between a moan and a snort of anger. I also knew he wasn't done fighting. Jimmy Simmons wasn't going to get beaten by two girls, never ever, not if he could help it.

“Nice shot, Bee,” I said. “But you gotta get out of here.”

I heard the sound of a car horn just as Jimmy straightened up. “You're dead, Force,” he growled, fixing his angry eyes on me. “You're both dead.” The horn sounded a second time. It was close by. I risked a glance down toward the street and saw that Grandma Em had pulled up in front of the library. She had her window down, and she was looking up in anger and amazement.

I looked back at Jimmy, who was coming at me again. I faked like I was going to try to escape down the steps, then I threw a quick jab into his nose as I jumped away from the railing.

Jimmy started to go for my fake, but he managed to slam my shoulder with a wild punch as I dodged. It sent shock waves of pain all down my arm.

The horn honked a third time, longer, this time followed by Grandma Em's voice, loud and clear and deep and full of authority. “Stop right there, young man! You girls get in this car right this second!”

Jimmy stopped and glared down at Grandma Em, and I could see the energy flow out of his shoulders. My arm was killing me, but I made a point of giving him a smile as I went past.

“Bye-bye, boyfriend.”

Bee and I walked down the steps and climbed into the back of Grandma Em's car. I didn't say anything as we drove away, but when we stopped at the traffic light, Grandma Em turned and stared at us.

“When I was a young lady, it was generally frowned upon to hit a young man,” she said after a long silence.

“Yes, Grandma,” Bee said.

“Yes, ma'am,” I said.

“However,” she said, her eyes starting to twinkle, “in the event it was necessary, it was thought to be important to throw a good punch. Nice jab, Abbey.”

A
t dinner that night,
Uncle Charlie seemed as full of whiskey breath and unpleasantness as ever. His small eyes touched on me as I sat down, but appearing to see nothing on which he needed to comment, they went to his food. Just as they had the other night, Ruth brought a bottle of wine out to the table, and they clicked glasses and shared a private smirk.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as Uncle Charlie shoveled his dinner, thinking about how he had tried to talk Grandfather into giving him Felony Bay, and failing that how he had kicked Mrs. Middleton off the property when Grandfather was dying, and how a year ago he had taken out all the books from the library about Felony Bay and the
Lovely Clarisse
gold.