Spirits of the Pirate House (23 page)

But as disappointed as T.J. and Jasper
looked, they had nothing on Bortnicker, who appeared on the verge
of tears. He had promised Ronnie gold and emeralds. How would she
react to this stark reality? Jasper Goodwin shook his head sadly,
checked his dive watch, and gave the boys the signal to surface.
They kicked toward the sunlight, T.J. gripping an object whose last
occupant had been torn from his or her homeland and forcibly
transported to the island paradise called Bermuda.

As they broke the surface they were greeted
by Ronnie, leaning over the gunwale, clapping with anticipation.
“So, what fine baubles have you uncovered for me, Bort—”

T.J. issued their blunt reply, gently
hoisting over his net bag containing the wristlets, which clanked
on the deck at her feet. Ronnie, whose milk chocolate skin seemed
to shimmer most days, went a kind of gray as she brought her hands
to her mouth in recognition. Before Jasper could even get “I’m
sorry, honey” out she was running below decks, sobbing as she
shouldered past the emerging Mike Weinstein and LouAnne, whose own
faces seemed set in stone.

Skeeter pulled the divers aboard and helped
remove their gear. Minutes later they were seated around the small
deck table, sipping bottled water and staring at the artifact
before them.

“Bummer, dudes,” said Mike, breaking the
silence.

“Maybe we should’ve quit after the bell,”
muttered T.J., his shoulders sagging.

“Nonsense,” offered Jasper, keeping the
famous British “stiff upper lip”. “I think you’ll all agree that
had we not gone back, we’d have all wondered as to what was really
down there. I’m just sorry that our findings were so
disturbing.”

“So I guess he was a slave owner, then,” said
Bortnicker. “The famous pirate patriot of Bermuda. Yeah,
right.”

“Which might explain why there wasn’t much in
the archives,” furthered LouAnne. “Tilbury or whoever removed any
evidence that incriminated Tarver so his image as the romantic
swashbuckler wouldn’t be tarnished.”

“Was slavery big here, Mr. Goodwin?” asked
T.J. “I mean, if you don’t want to talk about it—”

“No, no, T.J., it’s quite all right. The
slavery period is somewhat downplayed in our nation’s history. In
fact, upon your visit to the Maritime Museum a few days ago you’d
have had to look hard to find it.

“The first slaves were brought to Bermuda in
the 1600s, and this practice was accepted until slavery was
outlawed in the early 1800s. Slaves initially worked under seven
years of bond, to ‘repay’ the administrators for the cost of their
transport. But as the size of the black population increased, those
in power actually attempted to reduce its number by changing the
term of indenture to 99 years. So, by Tarver’s time his slaves were
his property for life.”

“Did any try to escape?” said Bortnicker,
running his finger along the bumpy black iron.

“Oh yes, quite a few ran off and tried to
hide in the caves along the coast. There were even some plots to
overthrow the white masters, most of which failed, or so we are
told, because of conspirators who lost their nerve tipping off the
authorities.

“Today about 60% of Bermudians are described
as being of African descent, though many have European blood mixed
in.”

“The question is,” said T.J., “where does
William Tarver fit in the big picture?”

“I guess the only way to find out is to ask
him,” said Weinstein matter of factly. “Which is why our
investigation tomorrow night just took on a whole new meaning.”

“I suppose,” said Bortnicker. “Mr. Goodwin, I
feel so bad for Ronnie. This really affected her. How come?”

“Well,” said Goodwin gently, “Veronique is a
very proud girl, both of her African heritage and of her country.
However, she’s always had a hard time coming to grips with the dark
side, so to speak, of our island’s history. She wanted so to
believe in the romantic image of William Tarver, the adventurous
buccaneer turned gentleman planter. What we’ve uncovered would
indicate quite the opposite. I’d suppose she’s disillusioned, and
if you’ll excuse me, I’m hoping that by this time she’s cried
herself out and that I’ll be able to soothe her somewhat.” He
slowly rose from his deck chair. “Skeeter, there’s no need for a
second dive today,” he said tiredly. “Raise the anchor and let’s
head for home.”

As the engines started, Bortnicker went
forward and laid out on some towels, trying to relax and wondering
if his grand adventure with Ronnie Goodwin had been dashed upon the
reefs of Bermuda. LouAnne, remaining at the table with her cousin,
put a reassuring hand on his.

“It’s gonna be all right, Cuz,” she said
evenly.

“Tell that to Ronnie. Or Bortnicker, for that
matter.”

“Listen, T.J.,” said Mike earnestly. “We came
here to conduct an investigation. Well, sometimes when you
investigate stuff you find out things are not so pretty. Last year
in Gettysburg you guys were willing to go all in to get to the
bottom of Hilliard’s story. And you did, which is why I had the
confidence to get you on this case. Can I still count on you, or do
you want to call it a day and fly home?”

T.J. looked him straight in the eye. “I’m not
going anywhere, Mike. Not now. In fact, I really want to meet this
guy Tarver.”

“Me, too,” said LouAnne.

“How about Bortnicker?” asked Mike, gesturing
to the reclining teen up front who stared at the sky.

“He’ll be okay. We can’t do this without him,
and he knows it.”

“Okay, then,” said Weinstein, clapping T.J.
mildly on the shoulder. “I’m gonna help Skeeter steer the boat.
Hope Jasper’s getting somewhere with his daughter.” He left them at
the table, LouAnne never removing her hand from atop her cousin’s,
the both of them contemplating what lay ahead.

* * * *

“Good God,” said Chappy as the minivan
traversed South Road. “Sir William Tarver, a slaver. I’m
disappointed, but not stunned. One always wondered how he
maintained the workforce needed to keep such an estate in
operation.”

“Well, to say the least, it was a letdown for
everybody,” offered LouAnne.

“Especially Ronnie Goodwin,” added T.J.

“The poor girl,” said the driver, slowly
shaking his head. “Ah well. I would assume, then, that this new
information, like the bell, is also classified?”

“For now, yes,” said Mike, relaying the
expedition group’s decision that had been reached upon their return
to Blue Lagoon. (Ronnie had failed to emerge, however, preferring
to wait until her guests had all left. Her father, though
embarrassed, opted not to press the issue in light of her fragile
state).

“My lips are sealed,” promised Chappy. “But
listen, I might have just the pick-me-up you all need. Why don’t
you come to the seafood buffet at the Elbow Beach Resort tonight as
my personal guests? My band is performing, and I would be pleased
if you could attend.”

“That sounds great,” said Mike. “I’ll call
Kim and tell Tom as well. Maybe that nice Ms. Cosgrove will feel a
second date’s in order. What do you think, T.J.?”

“Sounds good to me. How about you,
Bortnicker?”

“I dunno,” he mumbled.

“Oh, Bortnicker,” admonished LouAnne, “don’t
be a stick in the mud. When we get back to the hotel, get your
courage up and invite Ronnie to join us. I betcha she comes around
and says yes.”

“Really? After all that stuff today?”

“Women’s intuition. I’ll wager a lobster
dinner on it.”

The boy, who’d been in a funk since their
dive, suddenly brightened. “Yeah,” he said with renewed optimism.
“Let’s go out and have a good time. Chappy’s rockin’ out
tonight!”

* * * *

“Wow,” remarked Tom Sr., his forehead creased
with concern. “Pretty heavy stuff, guys. The guy was a slave
master. Does that change your investigation at all?”

“Not in the least,” assured T.J. as he
buttoned up his Hawaiian shirt. “In fact, it just gets me more
psyched to try to make contact with the ghost, if there is one.
How’s the golf club deal going?”

“Fine. We’re almost to the point where I can
hand it off to the contractors and take off. Too bad, because by
playing every day I’ve actually taken a couple strokes off my
game!”

“Uh-huh. And what about Lindsay?”

Tom Sr. reddened a bit. “Well, we’re
certainly becoming more comfortable around each other. We might
even keep this going after I leave. By the way, she’ll be joining
us tonight.”

“Great.” At that moment Bortnicker emerged
frowning from the bedroom. “And speaking of dates, are you set for
tonight or what?”

The teen adjusted his own tropical shirt in
the hallway mirror. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he sighed. “She
wasn’t able to come to the phone, but her mom took the message and
will tell her about tonight. Maybe she’ll show.”

“My cousin guaranteed it, so you never
know.”

“Either way, I’m pigging out. I haven’t
really eaten all day.”

“Lindsay will be driving me, Mike, and Kim to
Elbow Beach in her car. You mind if the three of you call a cab?”
asked Tom Sr.

“Nah,” said T.J. “I’m actually kinda anxious
to see Chappy’s band. I bet they’re pretty good.”

“To get booked at a place like Elbow Beach
you’d have to be,” agreed Tom Sr. “It’s one of the swankiest
resorts on the Island.”

There was a knock on the door, and LouAnne
made her entrance in the brilliant sundress she’d worn on her
flight over. As always, T.J.’s breath caught in his throat as she
glided into the room.

“Have you noticed all the cute green lizards
around this place?” she said, flicking her blonde tresses over her
shoulder. “I absolutely love them. They remind me of that gecko on
those commercials back in the States.”

“But do they have a British accent?” inquired
Bortnicker in his Beatle voice.

“Well,
you
seem to be in a better
mood,” she observed wryly. “Does this mean Ronnie is coming?”

“Maybe, maybe not.”

“She’ll be there, you watch.”

Chapter
Twenty-One

As the Jackson
entourage gathered at the front entrance of the sumptuous Elbow
Beach Resort, strains of the steel drum music could be detected
wafting from the beachfront patio beyond. It was a brilliant
moonlit evening, with a soft breeze coming off the breakers down on
the beach.

“Dudes, I’m starving,” said Mike, who fell in
with the others as Lindsay Cosgrove, attired in a chic sundress of
her own, led them through the lobby to the spacious patio where the
weekly seafood buffet was held.

“Ah, the Jackson party,” acknowledged the
white-jacketed maitre’d. “Please follow me, Mr. Chapford has
reserved a table for you.”

“Splendid,” said Lindsay, and the group was
escorted to a round table with a crisp white covering not twenty
feet from where The Beachcombers, Chappy’s six piece band, was
working their way through “Yellowbird”. Immediately they caught his
eye, and he nodded happily as he gently tapped out a soothing
Caribbean backbeat behind the lead vocalist, a younger,
dark-skinned man with a goatee who sported the same blue tropical
shirt with white slacks as his band mates.

“This is so cool,” said LouAnne, who was
turning more than a few heads in the 300 or so people attending the
event. “Chappy’s as smooth as I thought he would be!”

“And just look at that spread!” cried
Bortnicker, eyeing the numerous tables laden with every variety of
seafood, salads, and side dishes. “I can’t wait to dig in!”

“Easy there, Hoss,” said Tom Sr., a
cautionary hand on the teen’s shoulder. “Let’s take our time and
enjoy it. Why don’t the ladies go up first, and we’ll take our turn
when they’re done.”

“Great idea, Uncle Tom!” said LouAnne,
popping out of her seat while casting a sly wink back at
Bortnicker.

“While they’re up there,” said Mike, sipping
his table water, “let’s discuss the plan for tomorrow. I’m going to
be at Hibiscus House by 3:00 p.m. to start setting up the command
post equipment. I’ve done it so many times on the show that it
won’t take me more than an hour to get the main console running and
place DVR cameras in all the key rooms and hallways. Then, if you
guys could show up between four and five, we could do a final check
that everything’s working, including your handhelds and
walkie-talkies, and have a preliminary walk through.”

“Will there be anyone there to show us
around?” asked T.J.

“Not you guys. Our friend Mrs. Tilbury is
meeting me at the house. Hopefully she’ll be gone by the time you
show up.”

“Hallelujah,” said Bortnicker. “Though I’d
really like to grill her on those missing documents.”

“We have to play this cool, dudes,” advised
Mike. “Remember, we might need a second night at the house. I don’t
want anybody to tick her off and make her throw us out.”

“He means you, Bortnicker,” chided T.J.

“Very funny. So this means we’re kinda free
until late afternoon?” inquired Bortnicker while eying the buffet
tables longingly.

“Seems like it,” said Mike.

“Would you guys like to play a little golf
with me at the club?” asked Tom Sr.

“Nah, Dad, I think we’ll pass,” answered T.J.
“Not our type of crowd. Besides, Bortnicker gets all bent out of
shape when we play miniature golf at home. One bad putt and he
loses it. I don’t want him pulling a
Caddyshack
and flinging
his club into the dining area. I think I’ll just do an easy jog
with LouAnne for the road race Saturday, and then we’ll laze around
the pool.”

“Someone mention my name?” said his cousin,
returning to their table with her plate heaped with crab legs and
shrimp.

“Yeah, I was saying that tomorrow you and I
will just loosen up with a jog for the race Saturday. Jeez Louise,
Cuz, think you’ve got enough food there?”