by Jess Rinker
“Are you sure that’s what he said?” Frankie asks.
“Of course I’m sure! Why would I make that up?”
“Shhhhh!” both Jolene and Frankie scold me.
“I don’t trust him,” I say as I plop down on the floor near my sisters. “He’s sneaking around and watching what we’re doing. I know that was him in the woods. He knows something.”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Frankie reminds me. “Let’s see what we find out. He might be looking out for us, knowing we’re Grandpa’s family.”
“See, that’s your problem, Frankie. You always think everyone is good.”
“Your problem is you always think everyone is bad!”
“That’s because I think like a pirate,” I say.
“I don’t know if that’s something to be proud of,” Frankie says, trying to sound like Mom.
Jolene sighs loudly. “We could ask Daddy,” she says.
“No,” both Frankie and I say.
I move over to the Star Board. “For now all we can do is consult Edward Teach.”
There’s no time for costumes or candles or polite introductions. We get right to work. We place our fingertips on the wooden paddle lightly and after we all calm down, I begin asking questions. “Please, Mr. Teach, are you there?”
For a while nothing. Just Jolene’s one eye looking at Frankie and me. “You didn’t take that off to wash your face, did you?” I ask her. Jolene grins and shakes her head no.
I motion for her to close her eye.
“Show us a sign that you’re here, Blackbeard.”
There’s a slight whistle of wind through the rafters. It’s enough for me.
“Mr. Teach, I know you’re listening. We mean you and your treasure no harm. You must know this by now. But we’re really worried about this man, Dunmore Throop. What does he want?”
The slight whistle of wind turns to a low howl and a breeze that makes Jolene’s hair flutter. She hunches down and mumbles, “I’m never doing this again. I’m never doing this again. Why do I always let you make me do this again?”
“Shhhhh,” Frankie says.
My shoulders tighten and squeeze against my neck. But the window doesn’t rattle like old bones this time. This time the paddle begins to move.
Jolene gasps. I shush her and repeat my question. “What does Dunmore Throop want?”
Very, very slowly the paddle moves to three different constellations.
Lynx
Orion
Ursa Minor
I know exactly which letters they translate to.
Y
O
U
17
Traitor Aboard the Queen Mary
“Me?” Jolene squeaks out, and her chin begins to tremble. She hides her hands in her lap like she’s afraid to touch the board again.
“No, not you,” Frankie says. “If anything, he meant Savannah.”
“Me?” I say. “Why me? What did I do?”
“Nothing, but you’re the one who asked the question, so who else would he mean?”
“Well, maybe he meant ‘you’ like all three of ‘you’!”
“Are you sure you didn’t push the paddle, Sav?”
“I didn’t do anything!”
Jolene wails. We shush her, but it’s too late.
“Girls!” Mom calls up the attic steps. “Supper!”
“Sorry, Mom! Be down in a minute!” Frankie calls back. I pack up the board and slide it under the couch. “How do you really know what those stars mean?” Frankie asks me.
“Grandpa taught me every one! There’s a constellation for almost every letter of the alphabet and the ones that are missing you just have to know. Like ‘Lynx’ stands for ‘Y.’”
She gives me a suspicious look.
“I’m telling the truth.”
“Okay!” she says, but I’m not sure she totally believes me. Doesn’t matter. I know what the Star Board said. Throop is after us.
The three of us sit on the couch with Jolene in the middle. Frankie gently scratches Jolene’s back to get her to calm down, while I think of a plan to dig faster than ever. Before Throop can figure out what’s going on.
“We should skip school,” I say.
“We’d never get away with it,” Frankie says. Jolene now rests her head in Frankie’s lap while she combs out her wet hair. Frankie’s good at getting Jolene to stop crying. “And we need to take a break from the you-know-what, or do it after she goes to bed.”
“Nuh-huh,” Jolene mumbles, not opening her eye. “I can do it.”
“Then you have to stop getting so scared,” I say. “Nothing bad’s gonna happen to you. It’s communication, like writing a letter.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Frankie says. “We don’t need the Star Board. We know where the treasure is now, so all we have to do is dig fast and hope we don’t run into Throop again.”
“Girls!” Mom shouts up once more and we all jump. “I’m not telling you again. Please come down to eat, our guests are all here.”
Frankie and I look at each other and roll our eyes. Our cousins aren’t guests. “Guests” means we have to be quiet and polite while they all talk about boring things like this year’s hurricane season and the kind of kale Mom put in the salad. When we get downstairs to the kitchen, we’re right: “guests” means family—Uncle Randy, Aunt Della, Peter, and Will.
But also an impostor.
Dunmore Throop.
“What’s he doing here?” I ask. Frankie pokes my shoulder. Peter snorts.
“Savannah Mae!” Mom says. “Where are your manners? And I thought I asked you to help rinse your sister’s hair?” She picks up a strand of soapy hair from Jolene’s head.
“Oh, Anne, it’s quite all right,” Throop says. I don’t like my mother’s name coming out of his mouth like they’re old friends. “The little lass was expecting family.”
“You might as well be family,” Aunt Della says, patting his hand. “Putting up with Cornelius for as long as you did.” She pulls Will’s baby seat buckle tighter and hands him a plastic spoon, which everyone seems to know is a bad idea except Aunt Della.
I apologize, even though I don’t mean a word of it. “Nice to see you again, sir.” About as nice as getting stung by a bee, I think to myself.
Before she sits, Frankie whispers in my ear that he must have been on his way here when we ran into him on the road. “We gave ourselves away when we ran into him, that’s why he knew so much.”
“It’s rude to whisper, Frances,” Mom says. “Save it or share it.”
I want to tell Frankie to save it already. It’s like she’s trying to find a reason to believe Throop.
“Yes, ma’am,” Frankie apologizes, but looks horrified that Mom used her full first name. I sit in the chair right across from Throop. I’m not taking my eyes off that man, even as I pile three chicken legs and several forkfuls of green beans on my plate. Grandpa’s portrait is in the corner of my eye and he seems to be frowning.
“I would have worked with him longer, if he’d wanted me to,” Throop says.
“We know,” Uncle Randy says. “Dad could be … difficult.”
“Yes, well, it was still a privilege while it lasted.” Throop puts a forkful of salad in his mouth and chews too loudly. “We worked on many wonderful expeditions together through the years. I learned a lot from him.”
“Did you hunt for pirate treasure together?” Jolene asks. Frankie gives me a sideways glance I pretend to not see. I keep eating my chicken leg like I’m not interested in Throop’s answer, even though I’m listening very closely.
“I suppose that depends on what you consider pirate’s treasure,” Throop says to Jolene, smiling.
She rolls her eyes which only looks like one eye rolling because of the patch, and I almost laugh out loud, even though Mom gives her the eyebrow. “Everyone knows what treasure is,” Jolene says. “Like Blackbeard’s chests of diamonds and rubies and a princess tiara!”
&nbs
p; My little sister is smarter than that. She knows that’s not what real treasure hunters usually find. Some are lucky and find gold or silver coins, but usually it’s artifacts like dishes and jewelry and tools. I think she’s trying to throw Throop off our trail by making him think we don’t really know what we’re even looking for.
Throop smiles again, though this time it’s smug. “Now wouldn’t that be fun.” He gnaws a huge piece of meat off his chicken bone and his eyes dart toward me. Nobody else seems to notice and he quickly changes the subject to the plans for the house. The grown-ups talk about a bunch of things I don’t know about like inspections and escrow and mortgages.
I stop listening and focus on eating. Throop doesn’t do anything else remotely mean or suspicious other than chew with his mouth open too much, so when we’re all done and Mom sends Frankie and me into the kitchen to help clean up, I’ve got nothing good to even complain about.
“Maybe he was trying to look out for us in the woods,” Frankie whispers as she puts the milk away. “Maybe he’s just not used to kids.”
“Maybe,” I say. But I can’t get the way he said “treasure hunting is not for little girls” out of my head. “We need to find out why he says half the house is his. I want proof.”
But before Frankie can object again, I stop her. “I’m going to go ask him.” I put down the plate I’m drying.
“I think you should ask Mom or Dad later tonight instead. Not make a spectacle.” Frankie tries to grab my sleeve, but I ignore her. I like spectacles. Sometimes it’s the only way to get straight to the truth.
When I get closer to the living room, though, I hear them talking about the Queen Mary.
“We’ve wanted to be sure everything ends up in the right hands,” Dad says.
“Who would be better, Jack?” Uncle Randy asks. “This man knows Dad’s work, they studied together. He wants nothing but the best for it. That’s why we called him.”
My chest squeezes at the thought of Uncle Randy and Aunt Della making plans for my family and my house and all the things that were supposed to be for my sisters and me someday. I press myself against the wall and stay very still.
“We know, Randy,” Mom says. “We also have to look out for the girls. Make sure this is the right decision at the right time for everyone. Besides, Jack and I have discussed other options. For one, taking out a second mortgage to help with bills and try to keep it a little longer. In the hopes that my book will sell in the meantime and then we could give you your half of the inheritance money that way.”
Yes, Mom!
“Anne, that could take a very long time—” Aunt Della starts to say, but Throop cuts her off.
“I’m prepared to offer you all cash,” he says. “For the house, and everything inside it. Honestly, you’ll never get another offer like this. The house is in major need of repair. And no one will want all this junk except a nostalgic old fool like me.” His voice sounds like it did in the woods. Scratchy. Annoyed. I don’t like it. But nobody seems to notice. I plead silently that Mom and Dad say no.
“We’ll think about it,” Dad finally says. “Give us a few days.”
“Of course,” Mr. Throop says. “Take as long as you need. I only want what’s best for you and your little family.”
I slide down the wall and sit on the floor.
I don’t care what Frankie says. I’m skipping school.
18
Yo-ho! Yo-ho! The Pirate Life Is Rough
I manage to miss two whole days before Frankie starts lecturing me.
First, she warns me I’m going to be in huge trouble when Mom and Dad find out.
Second, she says she can only cover for me for so long. She’s been telling our parents that I’ve been staying after school for extra help in math, and telling my teachers I’m sick.
Third, she thinks I actually care about screwing up my attendance. Seriously the least of my worries. But still Frankie gets me my homework, which I’ve been doing late into the night so she can take it back the next day.
On Tuesday there’s a call from the school office on our answering machine, but I see it before Mom does, so I erase it. Wednesday morning Frankie calls the office pretending to be Mom. She’s a dead ringer.
She hangs up the phone when she’s done telling them I’m home sick. “You owe me big-time. For life.” She lets out a breath and stomps off.
“I’m already keeping your surfing lessons a secret,” I shout after her. “So we’re even.”
For Thursday I’m going to have to cough up a fake doctor’s note if I want to keep this up.
But I don’t care. I have to do something. I have to dig.
And dig.
And dig.
But there’s nothing. Only more sand. My arms hurt and I have blisters on my palms, and there’s absolutely nothing to show for all my work. By Wednesday afternoon I can hardly move. After school my sisters finally come to see what I’ve done and Frankie says, “You have to dig deeper. What do you expect?”
“If I’d had some help, maybe I could have!”
“I’ve been busy too, you know.”
“Doing what?”
“Covering for you, mostly. And I talked to Mrs. Taylor to find out if she knew anything juicy about Throop.”
“Did she?” I ask.
“Only what we already know about him. She didn’t know he worked with Grandpa, but I told her about it. She said all she knew was that he does a lot of research on shipwrecks and properties on the island.”
“For what?”
“I don’t know! Maybe he writes books like Mom.”
“You’d make an awful investigative reporter.”
“Good thing I have no intention of being one.”
“You’d have been a better help here, with me,” I say.
“I’m here now,” she says, like she’s a superhero. “So let’s stop wasting time.”
The three of us dig the rest of the day and still find nothing. The biggest problem is that we can only dig so far before the sand caves in on the hole. Just like Throop said. I hate that he was right.
“We need more hands,” I say, resting my head on my arm against the tree.
“We need supports.” Frankie braids her hair to get it out of her face. “Some kind of a wall to hold the sand back. The way Grandpa used to do his excavations. We could copy from one of his diagrams.”
“We don’t have time to build something like that,” I say.
“We need one of those big yellow diggers people use when they build houses,” Jolene says. She flops on the ground and takes a long drink from one of the water bottles Frankie brought.
“A backhoe?” Frankie says. “Yeah, that’d be awesome. But not likely.”
But it gives me a great idea.
“Will has a toy backhoe,” I say. “Remember, Uncle Randy bought him that thing when he turned three? He sits on it and tries to dig in the sand in their yard.”
“We can’t go steal the kid’s toy,” Frankie says. “Besides, it probably weighs more than all three of us.”
“We’ll get it in the middle of the night and pull it on our boards,” I say.
“Are you serious?”
“What?”
Frankie sighs and rewraps the band at the end of her braid. I wish I could do that but my hair is still too short on account of me cutting it a few months ago when it got on my nerves. She tosses the braid over her shoulder and looks at me like she doesn’t know who I am. “Skipping school, the lying, and now this?”
“We’re pirates, Frankie. We have to think like pirates and act like pirates. How else do you expect us to accomplish this?”
“I don’t know. I was thinking maybe legally?”
“We don’t have time for laws.”
“Even the pirates had laws,” Frankie says. “Grandpa had it all written down in that journal I took from the pile. They had an entire code, like a real democracy.”
“Okay, if this is a democracy, let’s vote, then,” I say. “
Raise your hand if you think we should borrow our cousin’s little backhoe—that he will never even know is missing—to make this work faster and easier?” Jolene’s hand shoots up like a rocket and mine follows. Frankie puts her hands on her hips and gives me the big-sister look of death.
“We win,” I say, and can’t help but grin.
“Fine,” Frankie says as we head back home to figure out a plan. “But you’re taking the blame for this if we get caught. I always get in trouble for what you two do.”
“Well, first of all, it can only be the two of us. Jolene is going to have to stay home,” I say.
“What?” Jolene shrieks. “Not fair! I voted for you!”
“Frankie and I are going to have to sneak out in the middle of the night and dig all night. You have to stay home and be the lookout, Jolene, and cover for us if Mom and Dad suspect anything. They can’t know we’re gone.”
“This is going to be good,” Frankie mumbles.
“This is going to be ridiculous.” Jolene pouts. She kicks clouds of sand with her bare feet as we walk to the fence to grab our skateboards.
“Well, I mean, if you don’t think you’re a good enough pirate to do it, I guess we won’t be able to keep looking for the treasure,” I say.
“I am a good enough pirate!” Jolene says.
“This is your chance to prove it,” I say. “Make Grandpa proud.”
“Enough, Sav,” Frankie says as she pushes off. “She’s got it.”
“What if we don’t find it, Frankie?” Jolene asks Frankie, who seems to have not heard her. Instead she’s looking up ahead on the road where Ryan is waiting for her with his surfboard.
So much for helping.
19
Dissension in the Ranks
“Frankie,” I speak extra loudly to get her attention. “One of your hearties asked you a question.”
Frankie stops her board in an instant and we nearly crash into her. She whispers, “Can you stop talking like that around other people, Savannah.”
“He can’t hear me all the way over here,” I say.