Spirits of the Pirate House (34 page)

“Oh, Charles!” she called to the front desk
man. “We’ll need some folding chairs, I believe.”

“Good morning, Mrs. Tilbury,” said Mike
cautiously. “Before you say anything, I’d like to thank you on
behalf of my team for allowing them to go home early this morning
and not have to spend time in jail.”

She waved him off as the chairs arrived, all
of the visitors grabbing one and snapping it open. Within seconds,
they were all seated before her.

“If everyone’s comfortable, let us
proceed—”

No sooner had the words left her lips then
there was a knock on the door.

“What now?” she cried.

“Hello, Auntie,” said Lindsay Cosgrove.
“Sorry I’m late.” She opened a folding chair she’d been handed in
the lobby and set it down next to Tom Sr.

“You’re
with
these people?”

“Oh, yes. Tom here, who is T.J.’s father, is
overseeing a rather extensive renovation of the clubhouse over at
the Coral Bay Golf Club. We’ve become good friends these past few
days.” She reached over and squeezed Tom Sr.’s hand, at which point
Bortnicker nudged T.J. in the ribs.

For a few moments the elderly woman was
speechless. Then she cleared her throat and plowed ahead. “We are
here today to discuss the deplorable behavior of these young
people—who were apparently aided and abetted by our own Mr.
Chapford—as they not only trespassed on the grounds of Hibiscus
House but proceeded to dig up the back lot! I’d like an
explanation, and I’d like it
now
.” She sat back in her seat,
waiting for some brave soul to step forward.

As always, it was T.J. who led the way.
Rising, he began, “Mrs. Tilbury, when Mike Weinstein contacted
Bortnicker, LouAnne, and I last winter and told us we had an
opportunity to go ghost hunting and be on TV in beautiful Bermuda,
we jumped at the chance. Your island, and its people, have given us
some of the greatest experiences of our lives.” When he saw her
blush slightly and almost smile, he went on:

“We had a lot of work to do to prepare for
this project—tons of research on Bermuda and its history—we even
took a six week SCUBA course to learn to dive, which we passed with
flying colors.

“So we came here ready to investigate
Hibiscus House and try to make contact with Sir William Tarver, its
famous owner. The problem was, from the minute we got here we
noticed that nobody really wanted to talk about the Captain except
to say what a hero he was.”

Suddenly, Bortnicker was at T.J.’s side. “But
when we came to this very building to do research, it was clear
some old records had been pulled. But this made us even more
determined to find the truth.”

When T.J. saw Tilbury’s eyes open wide and
her nostrils flare at the accusation, he gently placed his hand on
Bortnicker’s shoulder and eased him back down into his seat. “Mrs.
Tilbury, what got this whole thing started was the fact that your
staff refused to work at Hibiscus House anymore—”

“That Captain Tarver chased me out! Scared me
half to death!” blurted Winnie Pemburton.

“You can’t be sure—”

“Oh, yes she can!” said the woman next to her
in a belligerent tone.

“And you are?”

“I’m Dora Pedro, owner of Dora’s Corners, the
best little restaurant on this island, as anybody’ll tell you.
Winnie’s mom and I are friends, and she came to me with her story.
I’m here to support her because you’re obviously a
non-believer!”

“That will be quite—”

“Mrs. Tilbury,” said T.J. smoothly, “may I
continue? Anyway, it seemed that what touched off the questionable
paranormal activity of the house was the discovery of a shipwreck
on the reefs off Gibbs Hill Lighthouse on the South Shore. We
contracted with Mr. Goodwin, who owns the Blue Lagoon Dive Shop, to
take us there because he’s the one who’d found it. Well, we must’ve
got lucky because we found the ship’s bell on the first dive. The
Steadfast
’s bell.”

Tilbury leaned forward, her mouth agape. “You
found ... the
Steadfast
?”

“My father found the wreck,” said Ronnie
proudly, “but T.J. and Bortnicker found the bell.”

“And you have it?”

“Yes,” said Jasper Goodwin. “It’s secure in a
saltwater bath at my shop.”

“Remarkable.”

“But that’s not all, Mrs. Tilbury,” said T.J.
“And you might not like what I’ve got to say next, but here goes.
We did a second dive, hoping to find gold and silver and jewels—you
know, pirate’s booty—but instead we started bringing up slave
shackles for wrists and ankles. The fact is, the
Steadfast
was a slave ship, and its owner, Sir William, was a big slave
trader and owner on the island.” He added gently, “But ... you knew
that, didn’t you?”

She nodded slightly and said, “Proceed.”

“So we figured that the only way we were
really going to get to the bottom of this was to see if we could
draw Sir William out during our investigations—”

“Because we
thought
we were getting
two!” blurted LouAnne.

T.J. gave her a quick look, then went on.
“What happened was, Ronnie Goodwin came with us because finding the
slavery stuff had a big impact on her, and—” he looked directly at
her— “because she’s a descendant of Tarver ... and she’s our
friend.”

That annoying Dora woman then spoke up. “What
they didn’t know, ma’am, was that a man was murdered in that house
the night before.”

“And he was my friend!” added Hogfish.

“That unfortunate fatality is classified as
accidental,” said Inspector Parry from the back of the room in an
awkward attempt of support for the beleaguered Mrs. Tilbury.

“Which is why we never should have allowed
the first investigation!” Tilbury hissed. “But I was overruled on
that one,” she added bitterly. “Please continue, Mr. Jackson.”

“So, anyway, the first night there was that
storm, which made all the sound stuff difficult, especially
EVPs—”

“EVPs?”

“Electronic voice phenomena, Mrs. Tilbury. We
have devices which can pick up the sounds of spirits communicating
with us.”

“Nonsense.”

T.J. let that one go and went on. “All of a
sudden we lost power—whether it was from the storm we didn’t know,
because right after that all our battery operated devices went
dead. Then it started getting really cold where Bortnicker and
Ronnie were—which can be a sign that a ghost is about to
manifest—er, show up. So they called us to help them and then,
there he was.”

“There
who
was?” said Tilbury with a
raised eyebrow.

“Sir William! He wasn’t exactly solid, kinda
partway vapory. But he talked to us.”

“Oh really? And what was his message?”

“That he couldn’t rest until he was properly
buried in his crypt at St. Anne’s.”

“But he is!”

At that point, Chappy spoke up. “I’d have to
respectfully disagree, ma’am. I have it on good notice that the
Captain’s body is not interred with his wife’s.”

“Then where is he?”

“That’s what he wanted to tell us on our
second visit, which was why we just had to go. Don’t you see?” T.J.
was becoming exasperated with the stubborn woman.

“And when you went back—illegally—what
happened?”

“With Ronnie’s help, we brought him out
again, and he told us his life’s story.”

“My, my. An entire narrative. And I’m
supposed to just take your word for it?”

“We wouldn’t expect that, ma’am,” said
LouAnne, “but I did get it down on the EVP recorder.” She turned to
the policeman. “Inspector Parry, did you bring it?”

“Yes, miss, I have it here,” he said smartly,
producing it from his pocket.

“If I may?” she asked hopefully.

After an affirming nod from Tilbury, Parry
handed the recorder to LouAnne, who rewound it to the beginning,
then set it on Mrs. Tilbury’s desk.

“Shall I?” said LouAnne sweetly.

“Please do,” replied Tilbury through clenched
teeth.

LouAnne hit PLAY and took her seat. The tape
began with Ronnie’s insulting provocations but then, after a pause,
came the words that sent chills up the spines of all who were
present:

I do not appreciate being addressed this
way in my house
.

At that point T.J. sat back down and patted
his cousin on the knee.

It was a strange scene; all the visitors
sitting ramrod straight with a forward lean, Mrs. Tilbury looking
as if the very life were draining from her. When the tape ended
with
I hope to see her again, wherever I’m going
, the
congregation let out a collective breath.

Then Bortnicker said, “Pretty cool, huh?”

Tilbury gave him a look that shot daggers.
“So, I would assume, then, you went to dig him up, stealing
equipment from the tool shed.”

“We
had
to, Mrs. Tilbury. It’s what he
wanted,” said T.J. sincerely.

“And this skeleton that the Inspector said
you found. How do we know it’s Sir William?”

“Because of
this
,” said T.J. as he
placed the initialed gold ring on her desk. “
WT
...William
Tarver. It couldn’t be anyone else.”

She sat quietly for a few moments, her
fingers tented in front of her face. An antique clock ticked on her
wall. “We have a delicate situation here,” she said at last. “Sir
William Tarver is a central figure in Bermudian history, which, to
be fair, has treated him in a manner far beyond what he actually
deserves.

“This being said, I do not see how it could
possibly be in the best interests of our nation to try to rewrite
his legacy at this point. Whose interests would this serve? No
one’s.”

“So you’re not going to re-bury him?” said
Bortnicker.

“Oh, we will. Quietly. With no fanfare.”

“But what about the
Steadfast
discovery?” asked Jasper Goodwin. “It’s the historical find of the
century for Bermuda.”

“I have no problem with you announcing the
finding of the ship’s bell,” said Tilbury. “What I ask is that the
exact site coordinates — which only you probably know — are kept a
secret. Besides, the reefs around our island are littered with
wrecks. Without the bell, what remains down there from the
Steadfast
could be attributed to any number of vessels.”

“But what about the
show
?” complained
Mike, who’d managed to restrain himself throughout the meeting.
“Are you saying we can’t reveal the true story of the greatest
paranormal investigation ever conducted?”

“That’s
precisely
what I’m saying,”
shot back Tilbury. “Remember that what you came back with that
second night was illegally acquired. Or do we have to start
arresting people?”

“Lady, you’ve gotta be kidding—”

“Stop it!” cried Ronnie, springing to her
feet. She took a breath, then lowered her voice. “Just stop it.
She’s right.

“Listen, everybody. No one hurts over this
more than me. Can you imagine how I felt yesterday when my mother
had to tell me that I’m descended from a man like
that
? But
she also told me that hating people serves no purpose. And so, let
them take that pirate’s bones and put them in the crypt and be done
with it. Hopefully, that will be the end of him bothering people at
Hibiscus House. Winnie here can go back to work; thousands of
tourists will visit based on just the first part of the
investigation, minus the slavery information, televised for all to
see; and the rest of us—regular people like my dad and Dora and Mr.
Chapford, can get back to living our lives.”

“Hear, hear,” agreed Chappy.

Tilbury took a few seconds to let Ronnie’s
impassioned words sink in, then nodded. “The girl makes sense. You
have quite a daughter there, Mr. Goodwin.

“This, then, is our agreement. Mr. Weinstein,
for your TV show you will use only footage from your diving
expedition and the first visit to the house, with no mention of
slavery. I’m sure you can fashion a slam-bang program from that.
This EVP tape,” she said, popping open the cassette player,
“belongs to the Bermuda Heritage Trust, as does his signet ring.
Sir William Tarver will be interred, quietly, with his wife. And no
one—I mean,
no one—
will breathe a word of this for the rest
of their natural lives.”

“You’ve got
my
vote,” said Dora.

“Mine too, Mrs. Tilbury,” agreed Hogfish,
wiping his sweaty pate with a handkerchief.

“Thanks for everything, Mrs. Tilbury,” said
T.J., extending a courtly hand across the desk. “Overall, we had a
great time in Bermuda.”

As she shook it, she said with a faint smile,
“When are you supposed to be departing our island?”

“We have a flight booked for 6:00 p.m.
today,” said Mike.

Tilbury’s smile vanished. “Make sure you’re
on it.”

* * * *

Once outside, the group said their goodbyes
and broke up. The meeting had taken over an hour, and it seemed
even longer.

“It’s still early, Cuz,” said LouAnne. “Lots
of time before we go. What do you say to a little snorkeling in
Jobson’s Cove?”

“You
want to snorkel? I can’t pass
that up.”

“Guys,” said Ronnie, “would you mind if I
bring Bortnicker home for a farewell lunch? Send him off with a
proper Bermudian meal. We’ll have him back in plenty of time.
Right, Daddy?”

“Sure,” said Jasper. “It will be fun.”

“You youngsters go enjoy yourselves,” said
Tom Sr. “Lindsay and I will grab a bite in Hamilton and see you
later.”

“And I’m just gonna veg by the pool,” said
Mike. “It’s been a long week, er, eight days.”

Said Beatle Bortnicker, “I think there’s a
song in there somewhere.”

Chapter
Twenty-Eight

“
This must be boring
to you,” said LouAnne as she and her cousin took a break from their
shallow-pool snorkeling in Jobson’s Cove to sit on a submerged
rock.