Spirits of the Pirate House (31 page)

“Oops. Only one thing to do.” He removed his
hat, tossed his glasses in, and took off at breakneck speed for the
surf, diving headfirst into a pale green wave before
disappearing.

“Your leg still sore from the race this
morning?” T.J. asked LouAnne, who had begun kneading her injured
calf.

“Nah, it’s pretty much worked out, more like
a cramp. Maybe I wasn’t properly hydrated.”

“Yeah. You would’ve rocked it otherwise.”

“You’re sweet, Cuz, but I’m still gonna be
mad at myself for what happened. That’s just the way I am.”

“I’ve noticed.”

“Are you saying it’s a bad thing?”

“Not at all. I admire how you hate to lose.
Wish I was more like that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short. When the chips
are on the table you always seem to come through. I just can’t
believe that within 48 hours I’m gonna be back in Gettysburg in my
Civil War getup, entertaining the touristas at the Charney
Inn.”

“That’s why we’ve gotta make tonight count,”
her cousin said earnestly.

Bortnicker had by this time dragged himself
from the ocean’s undertow and staggered back up the beach, where he
collapsed in a sodden heap on their blanket. “Let me call Ronnie
again,” he said between rasping breaths. “She must’ve been out on
the boat before and couldn’t take my call.” He punched in her
number, put one finger in his ear to drown out the sound of the
pounding surf, and shuffled out of earshot of the other teens.

He returned a few minutes later after what
appeared to be a fairly intense exchange, his face ashen despite
the sunburn.

“Bortnicker, what’s the matter?” said LouAnne
concernedly. “Is Ronnie alright?”

“Well, depends on what you consider
‘alright’. Listen to
this.
” He related the revelations of
the Goodwin family tree as his friends listened with a mixture of
sadness and horror.

“So, does that mean she’ll be joining us
tonight?”

“What do you think, Big Mon? This isn’t just
a ghost hunting expedition to her anymore. This is
personal
.”

* * * *

Despite noticeable overtones of
disappointment, the gathering at the poolside barbeque of Jobson’s
Cove Apartments was a success. After Bortnicker explained that the
Goodwins had a prior commitment and would see them off the
following day at the airport, the jovial Mrs. Maltby kicked off the
event with a large bottle of non-alcoholic champagne to commemorate
the visit of the
Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers
. The steaks were
sizzling and the breeze was mild as the sun started to set on the
island of Bermuda.

T.J. observed with interest the interaction
between his dad and Lindsay, who seemed to be sharing many quiet
asides. This trip had been good for him. Not only had he swung a
huge deal for a golf resort that would probably make him an
honorary lifetime member; he’d met an attractive woman close to his
age with whom he might be able to cultivate a relationship beyond
this trip. T.J. had a feeling that the poolside dinner might not be
the end of their evening, as Ms. Cosgrove had driven over in her
Mercedes.

As for Mike, who quickly switched over to a
more potent beverage to drown his sorrows over the cancellation of
the second investigation, it seemed as though he had enough to
cobble together a workable pilot episode for the series based
solely upon the diving footage and last night’s EVPs. He had
already begun packing the equipment for shipment home and would
probably finish tonight. This, of course, presented a problem for
the teens, who would need camcorders or EVP recorders for their
meeting with Tarver. However, they still had their flashlights.

They were sitting around a large poolside
table, making small talk and eating like there was no tomorrow,
when Bortnicker suddenly excused himself. “Probably calling
Ronnie,” said LouAnne. But Bortnicker had other ideas. Making sure
nobody was looking to the upper level, he quietly slipped into
Mike’s room, gently lifted the lid to one of the two equipment
trunks, and removed one of the pocket-sized EVP recorders from its
box, along with a couple batteries. “Tarver might drain these
tonight, but it’s worth a shot,” Bortnicker whispered to himself as
he pocketed the device. He then crept back to the apartment door,
checked to see the coast was clear, and slipped outside, returning
to T.J.’s side at the dinner table within minutes of his
departure.

“Got an EVP handheld for tonight,” he
whispered in his friend’s ear.

“Way to go.”

At around ten o’clock, as T.J. had expected,
his dad and Ms. Cosgrove went for a last night drive into Hamilton.
“Get a good night’s sleep, kids,” Tom Sr. cautioned. “Tomorrow you
can get some pool time in before we head to the airport. Mike, what
time’s the flight?”

“We’re booked for a 6:00 p.m. flight to JFK.
I told Chappy to be here around two. LouAnne, I have you booked on
a connecting flight out of Kennedy to Philadelphia, arriving at
10:30 p.m.”

“I’ll call your dad with all the
particulars,” added Tom Sr.

“Thanks, Uncle Tom,” she said. “I think I’ll
turn in.”

“Us, too,” said the boys in unison. They
helped Mike and Tom Sr. clean up and then said their goodnights. As
they shuffled up the stairs, Mike couldn’t help but apologize again
for the aborted second investigation. “Dudes,” he said, his speech
a little slurred, “it’s still gonna be a good show, but we were
really onto something there. Maybe when Tilbury retires they’ll let
us come back to finish the job.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Bortnicker.
“Don’t blame yourself.”

“Yeah,” said T.J. “There’s no guarantee
Tarver would’ve shown up again, anyway.”

“Well, whatever,” said Mike with a dismissive
wave. “I just want you to know you guys went beyond my
expectations. If The Adventure Channel picks up the series, I wish
you could be the permanent team.”

“We could never do that, Mike,” said LouAnne
seriously. “Not with school and sports and whatever.”

“But that doesn’t mean an occasional guest
spot isn’t possible,” said T.J.

“You’re on,” the host smiled for the first
time all evening. “Well, I’ve gotta finish packing the equipment.
I’ll probably be sleeping a little late tomorrow morning, so I’ll
see you at the pool around noon...maybe.” He went inside his
apartment, leaving the teens alone.

“Okay, it’s 10:30,” whispered T.J. “We’ll
meet back here at midnight. Whatever you do, keep it quiet!”

“I’ll call Ronnie and tell her to meet us at
Hibiscus House a little after midnight,” said Bortnicker
furtively.

“And how is she supposed to get there?” said
LouAnne.

“Let’s put it this way,” said Bortnicker. “We
won’t be the only ones stealing a motorbike tonight.”

Chapter
Twenty-Five

“
Did you hear that?”
said T.J. to Bortnicker as they lay on their beds resting. “Dad
just got in.” He looked at his dive watch, purchased from Capt.
Kenny’s. “A quarter to twelve on the button. Let’s give him about
twenty minutes and take off.”

“Good thing Mike scheduled the rental bike
pickup for tomorrow,” said Bortnicker, pulling on his beat-up
Reeboks, “or we’d be up the proverbial creek.”

Minutes later there was a quiet tapping on
their door. “It’s my cousin,” said T.J. “Let’s get after it.”

They crept down the stairs to the first floor
and followed the poolside terrace to the steps leading to the car
park. The full moon shone brightly, a complete opposite to the
stormy night of 24 hours ago. T.J. and Bortnicker gently lifted the
kickstands to the hefty scooters as LouAnne rummaged in the storage
box for the keys and three helmets. The teens then walked the bikes
down to South Road and started pushing along the shoulder of the
gently sloping macadam.

“How far we going before we rev them up?”
asked Bortnicker, who was already panting.

“Let’s at least get around this next bend in
the road and we’ll be okay,” answered T.J. “Cuz, you want to help
Mr. Muscles with his bike?”

“No problem,” she said, grabbing one side of
Bortnicker’s handlebars.

They cleared the bend; thankfully, no other
cars had come by. The last thing they needed now was some friendly
Bermudian to offer assistance—or worse—radio the police of a
breakdown.

“Okay,” said T.J. finally. “Let’s do it.”

“Gentlemen, start your engines!” cracked
Bortnicker, hopping on his bike and turning the key.

“I think I’ll ride with you, Cuz,” said
LouAnne, climbing onto the back of T.J.’s scooter and wrapping her
arms around his waist. “I don’t trust Bortnicker one bit.”

Feeling her warmth behind him, T.J. was never
going to disagree. He turned the ignition key, and the throaty
engine roared to life. After revving the motor a couple times he
tentatively eased onto the road, Bortnicker following at a safe
speed and distance behind him. “And away we go,” he said with a
conviction that belied his terror over the thoughts of accidents or
arrests. In fact, at this point, the prospect of being alone with a
ghost gave him the least amount of fear. Maybe he was just becoming
good at the whole paranormal thing.

The two bikes glided along South Road in the
moonlight, the ocean clearly discernible past the cliffs below. As
they passed the Gibbs Hill Lighthouse, which cast its powerful beam
in sweeping arcs that could be seen for miles, T.J. was sure he
could pinpoint the area where the
Steadfast
lay amid the
reefs. Some fifteen minutes later, they turned up a tribal road and
began their ascent to Hibiscus House.

Upon entering the winding approach road, the
teens were struck with the massive size of the structure
silhouetted against the moon. They felt small and insignificant,
perhaps like the slaves who had suffered here centuries before.
T.J. steered his bike around the house toward the service shed in
the back, and Bortnicker followed suit. No sense in leaving them
out front where a police car might happen by.

Ronnie Goodwin must have had the same idea,
because she was parked near the shed removing her helmet, her
corkscrew curls exploding forth, as they pulled up.

The boys switched off their bikes and
dismounted, as did LouAnne. “Smooth ride,” she said with
admiration. “You’re a natural.”

“I was shaking the whole time,” T.J.
confessed sheepishly.

“Well,
I
wasn’t scared,” boasted
Bortnicker. “In fact, I could see myself on a big old chopper
someday.”

All the kids chuckled at the image. “Hey,
those are smashing bikes,” complimented Ronnie. “My dad’s here is
just a little putt-putt.”

“Mike and my dad went for the
top-of-the-line,” said T.J. “They’re as big as a lot of motorcycles
I’ve seen. I’ll be happy when they’re back all safe and—”

The kids froze as the headlights of a large,
dark automobile came around the back corner of the mansion,
blinding them.

“Busted,” was all LouAnne could say.

Then the lights switched off, and the
driver’s side door opened. Figuring he’d brazen it out, T.J. said,
“I don’t know who you are, but we have just as much right to be
here as you-”

“Oh, I’m quite sure of that, Mr. J,” said
Nigel Chapford, smiling thinly.

“Chappy!” cried Bortnicker. “My man!”

“In the flesh, as it were,” he chuckled.

“What are
you
doing here?” marveled
LouAnne.

“Well, Mike called with the bad news at
midday, and like you, I was disappointed. However, after getting to
know you young people, I had a feeling you weren’t going to take
Mrs. Tilbury’s ‘no’ for an answer, and I figured you might need
some ‘backup’ as they say on those American police programs.

“But before we venture inside, I have some
information I have to get off my chest, so bear with me.

“First, you boys and Miss Ronnie here have
had the misfortune of meeting a man known on the island as Willie
B. Well, he was found on the morning of your investigation at the
foot of the grand staircase inside, quite dead.”

“What!” gasped Ronnie.

“Was it an accident,” said T.J. warily, “or
was he pushed?”

“That has yet to be determined.”

“Wow,” said T.J. “And did Mrs. Tilbury know
about this?”

“Oh yes,” Chappy answered coolly, “so it’s a
wonder you even got inside that one time. But I’m afraid that’s not
all.

“I was recently put in touch with the latest
of a succession of Hibiscus House tour guides who was forced to
quit her job out of fear. Apparently, she was threatened by the
good Captain—”

“Because she was black,” said Bortnicker.
“Er, African. Like Willie B. and Ronnie, right?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“But that’s not the worst of it, Mr.
Chapford,” snarled Ronnie through clenched teeth. “I had the
pleasure this morning of being told that I am actually one of his
descendants!”

“My word.”

“Well, Chappy,” concluded T.J., “you’re with
us now. Care to do a little ghost hunting?”

“Not before I share this last tidbit. On a
hunch based on your findings from last night, I discretely placed a
call this morning to a friend who’s the caretaker at St. Anne’s
Church Cemetery. He took a quick peek into Captain Tarver’s crypt
at my behest and found his coffin vacant.”

“Wow, Chappy,” said Bortnicker, “you’re a
pretty good ghost chaser yourself.”

“Hardly. Just a curious old man. So lead on,
Mr. J. Let’s see what this is all about.”

Chapter
Twenty-Six

“
How should we get
in?” said T.J. “This place must be locked up tight. I hope we won’t
have to break a window.”

“Mike said last night that the alarm had been
disabled because of our investigation,” said LouAnne. “Hopefully
they haven’t turned it back on yet.”