Seizure (41 page)

“Booyah!” Shelton had conquered the knot and was emptying the pouch.

Gold coins trickled into his open palm.

The crowd went nuts.

“Gold, baby, gold!” Shelton sang.

Hi tried to high-five Ben, who ignored him and snatched a coin.

“One side has Latin words circling a cross,” he read excitedly. “The other has a crown and shield, with ‘1714’ and ‘Philip V’ stamped around it.”

“Give me a sec.” Shelton was already working his iPhone. A full minute passed, then, “Spanish doubloons! They’re called ‘eight escudos,’ or gold pieces of eight. Probably minted in Mexico.”

“How much are they worth?” Ben danced the coin across his knuckles, flipped, then caught it in midair.

Shelton kissed his iPhone. “In good condition, each can fetch thousands!”

“We did it!” Hi started raising the roof. “We’re filthy rich! All hail the genius, dog-powered, treasure-hunting, millionaire pimp squad of Morris Island!”

“Not millions.” Ben did a rough estimate. “We’ve got a few dozen here, tops.”

All eyes turned to the parcel in my lap.

“Enough with the appetizers.” Shelton gathered the coins back into the pouch. “Time for the main course!”

“Open the big boy!” Hi rubbed his hands. “I wanna see some diamond underpants.”

“Here.” Ben handed over the pocketknife.

Heart pounding, I severed the wire and unwrapped the oilskin.

And stared.

Outside, a gull squawked. Another answered. Somewhere, far off, a dog barked.

Hi reacted first. “What the hell?”

“Really?” Shelton buried his face in his hands. “Really?”

Ben said nothing.

I held a small bundle of pages.

“It looks religious.” Even I couldn’t feign enthusiasm.

“We’re cursed!” Hi moaned. “Pirate treasure is supposed to be
cool
. Valuable. Interesting. And we get a freaking medieval church magazine.”

“Let’s at least examine it,” I said. “We don’t even know what it is.”

“Have at it.” Shelton reached for the pouch. “I’ll count the gold coins.”

“I wanna hold one.” Hi sidled over to Shelton. “Gimme.”

“I’m watching you.” Ben raised V’ed fingers to his eyes, then pointed them at Hi and Shelton. “No funny stuff.”

“Sir,” Shelton replied. “You wound me.”

As the boys monkeyed with the doubloons, I inspected the pages.

“This is vellum,” I said. “The sheets are folded in half and then sewn together at the crease to form a small packet. Looks like ten pages total.”

“Uh huh.”

“Neat.”

Detecting their lack of interest, I proceeded in silence.

The first sheet was covered with Latin script decorated by stylized swirls and symbols. The lettering was elaborate and exquisitely detailed. The author had turned the words into art, singling out snippets of text with artistic embellishments.

The second sheet had a full-page depiction of angels surrounded by interlacing patterns. An ornamental knot filled the bottom corner.

Though slightly faded, the colors were breathtaking. Black. Yellow. Purple. Red. The complexity of detail boggled my mind.

As I leafed through the remainder of the manuscript, a paper dropped from the pages. I scooped it up.

A letter. I recognized the handwriting.

“Well, well.”

My change in tone caught the boys’ attention.

“What?” Hi asked.

“Nothing that would interest you guys.” I waggled the letter. “Just another note from our dear friend Anne Bonny, to her besty Mary Read.”

The boys scrambled over, the financial accounting momentarily suspended. We read the message in silence.

 

Dearest Mary,

Your Warmest Friend,

Anne

 

 

I spoke first. “She didn’t know Mary was dead. That’s so sad.”

“Maybe she wasn’t,” Shelton said awkwardly. “No one’s
really
certain.”

“Mary never found this letter,” Ben said. “That much is clear.”

Hi shook his head. “Anne Bonny’s famous treasure is just a handful of coins and some Bible stuff. What a letdown.”

I passed around the pages so everyone could see. The boys looked underwhelmed. We’d needed a fortune to save LIRI. Our haul had come up woefully short.

The mission was a failure. Our pack would be fragmented.

“Let’s clean up and get out of here,” I said. “We shouldn’t leave a church messy.”

Ben moved to the displaced flagstone. “Shelton. A hand.” Together they began pushing the block into place.

“Where does that go?” Hi pointed to the crowbar.

“Utility shed,” Ben said. “Fifty yards back the way we came.”

Hi hoisted the crowbar and walked out the rear door.

It took a few moments for Ben and Shelton to maneuver the stone into place.

“Jeez,” Shelton panted. “That sucker was heavy.”

“You’re not the one who had to lift it.” Ben had both hands on his hips.

“I’ll hang on to these bad boys.” Shelton shoved the coin pouch into his front pocket. “For safekeeping.”

“I already counted them,” Ben said. “Lose any, you’ll be less a few fingers.”

“That’s twice you’ve insulted my honor, Blue. Pistols or swords?”

I was sliding Bonny’s pages into my backpack when the main church door creaked open.

“Hi’s back.” Slinging a strap over one shoulder, I rose. “Everyone ready?”

“Stay put,” a male voice called. “We’ve got some shit to discuss.”

My blood froze.

Marlo and Tree Trunk entered the chapel and stood side by side. Neither was smiling.

Each had a gun pointed our way.

“ R
un!”

Ben and Shelton jumped at my barked command. We all bolted out the rear door.

And were stopped short by yet another pistol.

“Good afternoon.” Nigel Short smirked, crooked teeth poking in every direction. He wore a brown tweed suit with a solid maroon tie. In his hand was a 9mm Beretta. “Why don’t we step back inside?”

“Dr. Short?” Confused. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ll be shooting you three in the head, unless you move back into that church.” He cocked his weapon. “Understood?”

Slowly, we raised our hands, turned, and reentered the chapel. Marlo and Tree Trunk were standing in the aisle near the front pews. Marlo wore his white tee and jeans. Tree Trunk’s current jersey was LeBron James.

Guns in front. Gun in back. Not good.

“You’ve no idea what it’s like tracking you delinquents all over creation.” Short pushed his tiny spectacles back up his nose. “Exhausting.”

“The rich bitch.” Marlo was scanning the room. “He’s not here. The fat one’s missing too.”

“Chance and Hi bailed.” I poured everything into the lie. “Too much excitement for one week.”

“Hardly,” Short said. “They’re guarding Bonny’s treasure, of course.”

“Ya’ll are gonna take us to it.” Marlo waggled his pistol. “Or this gets . . . messy.”

Tree Trunk stood statue still. Mute. Menacing.

“There
wasn’t
any treasure.” Shelton’s voice shook. “The chest was empty.”

“Come now.” Short’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think I’m stupid?”

With a flick of his wrist, Short motioned for Marlo to cover the rear door. Then, unhurried, he walked to the first pew and sat.

I assessed the situation. Marlo at the rear door. Tree Trunk in the aisle, blocking access to the front entrance. We were trapped again.

“It’s true,” Ben said. “We found nothing. Bonny’s legend was a fraud.”

“You’ve
got
to do better than that,” Short scolded. “Tell us where the treasure is, and Marlo will make this quick. Otherwise, you’ll become acquainted with the services of his brother, Duncan.”

Duncan winked, the first readable expression I’d seen on his face.

Stall!
my brain ordered.

“Cat got your tongues?” Marlo ratcheted back the slide on his piece. “Looks like I’ll have to be more persuasive.”

“Wait!” Heart racing, I piled on words. “Why are you doing this?”

I had no real sense of Marlo, but the cold look in his eyes was terrifying.

“For real?” Marlo clucked from one side of his mouth. “Dollars, girl. This is a nice score for my brother and me.”

“I met Marlo and Duncan while tracing your steps,” Short said. “Imagine my surprise to find so many other people following you.”

“The Fletchers,” I hissed. “You killed them, didn’t you?”

Short gave a dismissive flip of his hand. “Rank amateurs. Obstinate children. Those two believed they were so clever. Such skilled investigators.” He snorted derisively. “I’ve been researching Anne Bonny’s treasure for three decades. The Fletchers knew
nothing
, not even what they were looking for! They weren’t worthy of the prize.”

“You didn’t have to murder them.”

“They wouldn’t listen to reason,” Short said matter-of-factly. “But Duncan here got them to chat, and then they had an unfortunate accident. And now we have you.”

Short’s voice went cold. “We know you have the chest.”

“You’d kill us all for pirate treasure?” My mouth was so dry I could barely speak.

“What type of game did you think you were playing?” Short snapped. “Thirty years! Trolling through dusty archives. Painstakingly gleaning clues from archaic documents long forgotten by the living. And then one day you four walk in, wide-eyed and dreamy, with a letter written by Anne Bonny herself.” Short tapped the Beretta against his knee. “Asking questions about Half-Moon Battery. Gaelic. Using sample writing from the treasure map. You practically announced your search in skywriting!”

Short’s tone was glacial, but madness danced behind his eyes. “I’m a document expert. Did you think I’d missed the bent cross on each of the letter’s pages? Or that I wouldn’t connect it to Bonny’s famous treasure map?”

“You spied on us.” First thought I could verbalize.

“Of course.” Short crossed his legs. “After you brought me the letter, I suspected you might know something useful. When you asked to see Bonny’s private documents, I listened over the intercom. I even considered stalking you myself, but realized I’d need help.” Self-deprecating smile. “I’m not as young as I was once.”

Ben glared at Marlo. “So you hired these thugs.”

“Thugs?” Marlo stepped close to Ben’s face. “Watch your mouth, boy.”

“We had similar goals, but the boys lacked direction.” Short stood, gently waved Marlo back with his gun. “I lacked manpower. They lacked brainpower. Working together solved both our problems. They’re quite adept at surveillance and muscle.”

“That’s me.” Marlo flexed a bicep. “Muscle, baby!”

Duncan just stared.

“The Studebaker,” Shelton squeaked. “Ya’ll drive that jalopy?”

“
Jalopy
?” Marlo sneered. “That ride is vintage. Dunc and I restored her, piece by piece.”

“The pawnshop,” I said, finally piecing it together. Why had it taken me so long? “Your father is Lonnie Bates.”

“My father’s a damn fool.” Marlo snorted. “Hates getting jacked, though. Put us on the job the minute ya’ll bounced from the shop. I thought he was nuts. Turns out, the old man’s still got the skills. Not that he’ll see a dime.”

“Enough chatting.” Behind his glasses, Short’s eyes were chips of granite. “Time for some answers. Why are you on Dewees? Why are you in this church? Where is the treasure chest?” He stepped closer to me. “And what’s in your bag?”

I closed my eyes. Dug deep.

My powers flooded like water through a breaking dam.

I dove into my subconscious.

Ben and Shelton appeared sharp in my mind. I could feel Hi close, but his image was blurry. Much fainter, at the edge of my perception, I sensed Coop spring to his feet.

As before, flaming ropes connected the five of us.

The golden nimbus surrounded my own image. Reaching for the others, I tried spreading the glow as I’d done before.

My message hit the invisible barrier separating our thoughts. Fragmented. I tried again and again. No go.

Gritting my teeth, I willed my consciousness past the obstruction. Failed. Like our first wolf encounter on Bull Island, I was unable to touch their minds.

Short’s eyes narrowed. “What are you doing?”

The image in my brain began to change. Hi solidified, grew more distinct. I sensed him creeping toward the chapel’s rear entrance.

A fault line appeared in the mental barrier. I pushed hard, opened a crack. Beside me, Ben and Shelton flinched.

Suddenly, the answer fired home.

Why the telepathy worked sometimes, but not others.

The failures. When practicing flares on Loggerhead, Shelton was missing. When first confronted by the wolves, Ben was scouting ahead.

And when had it worked?