Abigail felt comfortable in his arms—as if she was his long-lost sister. His engaging smile and cherubic face put her at ease.
When Jac smiled, his Caribbean-blue eyes sparkled. She was going to have a hard time suppressing her feelings. Our past history will prevent us from a relationship, she thought.
Abigail led them to baggage claim and then to the parking lot. She avoided looking at Jac and struck up a conversation with Peri. She asked about their flight and other unimportant things to pass the time.
Leaving the airport traffic behind, Abigail accelerated her mother’s old black Mercedes over lush, green rolling hills and down into the natural beauty of the Shenandoah Valley. Restored to their past glory, stately plantations loomed from verdant hilltops surrounded by gardens that, in the springtime, were set ablaze with multicolored flowers. It was as if time stood still here. The freshly painted brilliant white pillars fronting the agricultural estates stood aglow in the early morning sun.
Abigail related her suspicions about her mother’s death, her all-night adventure, and the facts that led her to discover the box in the church graveyard. She told them of her early-morning confrontation with the Reverend Kincaid inside the church and of last night’s tense situation that arose when Remy Austin showed up at her front door.
“Luckily I had taken the diary and the other contents out to photograph them. I had put them in plastic bags as you advised,” Abigail said, momentarily taking her eyes off the road to look toward Jac. “And if it wasn’t for Roni sticking my mother’s old gun in Remy’s face, I might not be here now.”
Jac listened but couldn’t shake the image of Abigail smiling and waving when he saw her waiting at the airport gate. The familiar alluring scent of jasmine had filled the air around her when he’d taken her into his arms. She hadn’t changed. She was more beautiful, and he knew he was still very much in love with her.
“Jac! Are you listening?” Peri said.
“Oh, sorry. I was just marveling at the beauty of the Shenandoah Valley,” Jac lied. “You said Roni. Roni … who?”
“Roni. My sister-in-law. She was the fifteen-year-old who was in your shadow every time you came by. Remember—auburn red hair, big moon eyes, and tenacious?”
“Oh, yes. I do remember.” Jac grinned. “I hope she’s calmed down a bit.”
“Roni?” Abigail chuckled. “She’s grown up since then, and may be just a bit calmer.”
Jac had heard Abigail say the box was empty when it was stolen. He smiled at the thought of Remy and his accomplice opening the box and finding nothing.
“What do you know about this Remy Austin?”
“Not much, but I recall the name—Austin. I remember an older man. I believe his name was Austin. My mother had him thrown in jail for trespassing on our property more than once. Remy Austin must be his son. He’s a creep and thinks he’s pretty damn important. He said, ‘Don’t you know who I am?’” Abigail mimicked Remy’s sugary Southern accent. “As if I should be afraid or bend down and kiss his ass.”
“You mentioned someone else—Kincaid?” Peri asked.
“I told you everything I could think of about the Reverend Kincaid and what my mother said in her letter. He’s hovered around us—like a helicopter—for years.”
“It’s more than a coincidence that Austin showed up at your door,” Jac said. “I believe Kincaid and Austin are in this together. Kincaid stole the strongbox while Austin confronted you in the hallway.” He turned around to look at Peri, sitting behind him. “We need to find out more about Remy Austin. He’s not going to be happy with the empty strongbox. I have an uneasy feeling we need to be gone from here as soon as possible.”
“Jac …” Abigail hesitated. “Do you think Remy Austin could have anything to do with my mother’s death?”
Remy stared at the strongbox sitting in the middle of his desk and shook his head. Glancing across at Kincaid where he sat across the desk, he grumbled, “How could you be so stupid? Why didn’t you look inside the box?”
“I just wanted to get out of there. I saw the other woman come by the doorway and look at the box on the table. She had a gun in her hand. I thought she would see me, and I froze at the window. When she left, I pushed up the window, picked up the box, and ran. ”
“We’re going back.”
“But, Remy, she may have called the police,” Kincaid whined.
“I hope she did.” Remy glowered. “Now stop whining and remember one thing—she stole the box from your church!” He grabbed the phone and punched in a number. After a brief conversation, he told Kincaid, “We need her to feel safe at least for a day. So tomorrow morning, you will be picked up at the church around eleven o’clock by the police. You’ll be righteously indignant when they accompany you to recover the contents of the box. You will be nice over her protests, and you will be gracious. You will not press charges, because of your relationship with her mother,” Remy explained. “Then you will bring everything that was in the box here to me. Have you got that? Is that clear? Do you understand?”
“Yes, Remy.”
After four hours of snooping around the town and the city hall, Peri was eager to share the information he’d gleaned. Jac was right, he thought. We need to leave as soon as possible.
Dark clouds and the rumbling of distant thunder signaled rain as Peri drove up the long driveway to the Hathaway’s colonial mansion. His stomach rumbled. He hadn’t eaten since he and Jac had breakfast that morning, and his mind conjured a display of perfectly browned Southern fried chicken waiting for him in the kitchen. The rain was coming down hard as he exited the car and ran to the front door.
“I have news!” Peri called out as he entered and wiped his feet at the front door.
“We’re in here, Peri,” Jac called out from the parlor. “Are you all right? You sound like you’re breathing hard.”
“I’m okay. I’m soaked. It started to rain when I was getting out of the car,” Peri said loud enough for Jac to hear.
Abigail came out from the kitchen and handed Peri a towel.
“It took some time,” Peri said, “but I managed to get a few people to talk to me. Most everyone in this town is afraid of Austin. They think he’s connected to organized crime—the Mafia!”
“Do you believe there’s any truth to it?” asked Abigail as Roni followed her out of the kitchen and Jack joined them in the foyer.
“No. But he has power in this town. He’s one of the largest landowners in this area.” Peri turned toward Abigail and Roni. “Oh, this will floor you. The people in this town believe Remy is in the Mafia—and Remy’s brother, George Austin, is the state homicide detective.”
“Oh my God!” Abigail said. “He’s the state investigator on my mother’s case.”
“If they have the power of the police and underworld connections, we have no chance. You were right, Jac, we need to leave here as soon as possible,” Peri said.
“Get us all on the first plane out,” Jac said. “Call Michael. Have him meet us. Tell him to bring the power chutes. I’ll call Dad and tell him to get the cabins ready for our guests, and have the Adventurer ready to sail.”
“You’re thinking Remy’s brother will help him?” Peri said.
“We don’t have any evidence to think that he won’t. We certainly don’t need to be here if the police arrive. No matter what Abigail or Roni say happened last night with Remy, the police will want the contents of the box.”
“We’re ready,” Abigail said. “I’ll call my lawyer and tell him we’ll be away for a few days. I’ll fill him in on Remy Austin’s visit last night.” Abigail looked at Roni. “You and I need to get packed. And whatever we need that we don’t have, we can pick up later.”
“Where are we going?” Roni asked, “Who’s Michael?”
“We’re going to Jamaica,” Jac said. “Michael is Peri’s nephew. He’s a marine ar
cheologist and our partner.”
“I’m starving … do we have time to eat?” Peri entreated. “Do you have any fried chicken?”
“I’ll get lunch ready.” Roni said. “We have loads of leftovers.” She looked at Peri and smiled. “And plenty of fried chicken.”
Peri’s mouth watered as he picked up the phone to call the airline.
A few minutes passed after Peri hung up the phone. “Jac, I booked us all on a flight in four hours from Dulles to Kennedy, and then on another flight to Montego Bay, Jamaica.”
“Peri, you need to bring a box of acid-free archival sleeves for the documents,” Jac said. And some boxes to keep them in. We need to leave here in an hour if we are going to make that flight.”
After the rushed meal, Jac, Peri, and the ladies set out to take care of the last minute preparations before leaving for the airport. While Jac loaded the luggage in the car, Peri hurriedly put the finishing touches on his latest article, “Seductive Spices from Ordinary Backyard Weeds.” He hit the spell check, and when the pop-up message said it was okay, he attached the article to an e-mail, added an address and subject line, and hit the send button. It was off to Gastranome magazine where it would appear under his byline, the Food Archeologist. Abigail and Roni called Birchy and asked her to check on the house while they were gone. Abigail told her to please take the abundance of food in the refrigerator. Roni checked all the windows and set the alarm. They were on their way.
During the long ride to the airport, between attempts to call his father, Jac studied the copy of the old map. He’d spent hours extrapolating distances using a methodology designed to provide a broader perspective based upon the hard evidence. This, along with the narrative in the diary, might help him find a hint about where Anne and Mary were prior to their being stranded on the island while Calico and his men went off to Tortuga. It could help to triangulate the location. Jac called it a presumption of hierarchy—identifying clues, inferences, and conjectures and putting them in logical order that might lead them to pinpointing a location and creating a time line. It didn’t always work, but if it did, Jac felt it would bring them closer to solving the puzzle.
CHAPTER 16
Montego Bay, Jamaica
Jac was a bit worried when he hit the redial button on his phone for the third time in the last hour. Even though his father, Mandrago Kidd, had a history of turning his phone’s ringer off, Jac usually got a call back when Mandrago saw the missed call on the display screen of his iPhone.
Jac watched out the airplane window as the sun lit up a white puff of a cloud on the horizon. With the phone to his ear, he waited for the connection and the first ring. On the fourth ring he would get the voice mail telling him the mailbox was full. His father wouldn’t erase a message unless Jac got on his case and explained that the full mailbox would cause the phone to slow down. After the third ring, Jac was about to hang up when he heard it connect to the sound of static. Then he heard a loud thud, followed by a moment of dead silence.
“Hello! Hello! Dad?”
“Yes, Jac, it’s me. Sorry about that. I couldn’t hear you on this blasted cell phone. I’m out on the deck now,” Mandrago said, “on Gaylord Burke’s boat. We’re talking about old times. You remember him, Jac? He’s the Irish/limey that looks like a trim-bearded Santa Claus.”
“Yeah, I remember him. He’s the guy who quit writing for the London Times to stay in the islands because he loves large Jamaican women.”
Mandrago laughed. “Right you are. And it’s got him in a world of trouble more than once. But you didn’t call me to talk about Gaylord. “What’s going on?”
“Peri and I are coming to Jamaica tomorrow morning with two ladies. Michael missed his connection and will arrive about an hour after us. He’s bringing the power chutes. Our guests can use my cabin. Nikki could be meeting us later. She has some business to attend to that may take a few days.” Jac purposely avoided telling his father they were working with Abigail Chance. Mandrago knew the whole story and had helped Jac through the rough times after Reg’s funeral.
“Good, Jac, I’m glad you and Nikki are still together. I like that girl.”
“Me too.” Jac quickly changed the subject. “The reason I called, Dad, I need your help. I want you to try and get some leads on two lady pirates, Anne Bonney and Mary Read. They prowled around the Caribbean with a pirate captain, Calico Jack Rackham, and were tried and convicted of piracy in 1720 in Port Royal. I have the trial transcript and researched all the canned stuff on the Internet, but I’d like you to nose around and see if you can find some of the unpublished legend and lore. You know the drill. I’ll tell you the rest of the story when I see you.
“I take it we’re on another hunt?”
“Yes.
“Jac, if it’s okay with you, I trust Gaylord. He’s very well connected here, and in Kingston. I could really use his help with this.”
Jac pictured his father, tanned, with Caribbean-blue eyes, his favorite hat cocked to one side, a neatly trimmed salt-and-pepper beard, heavier on the salt, in cutoff jeans and a loose-fitting blue denim shirt with sleeves rolled up. “Of course, Dad. If you trust Gaylord, I trust him. By all means let’s use his contacts.”
Mandrago Kidd had always been a treasure hunter and explorer until a heart attack knocked the wind out of his sails and sent him into retirement. All his life he’d roamed the seas looking for treasure. “Hunts” he called them. Bored and wasting away in depression, he knew he couldn’t survive land locked. He’d planned to disappear until Jac and Peri had offered him a new life.
Jac and Peri took their shares from their first hunt together, added some additional funds, and bought a run-down sixty-foot sailboat with a solid hull at auction. They gave Mandrago charge of the rebuilding, and he had the boat refitted with the best furnishings and equipment money could buy. Several months later, she was reborn, and christened the Golden Adventurer. Mandrago became her captain. His new role as a partner in Jac and Peri’s enterprise ended his melancholy.
“What time do you arrive tomorrow?”
“Hold on, Dad. Peri has the flight info. Love ya, Dad.” Jac handed his cell phone to Peri.
Peri had grown up in an orphanage never knowing his biological father. When Peri saved Jac’s life on a hunt in a Guatemalan jungle, Mandrago began referring to him as his son.
“We’ll be on the Jamaica Air flight that arrives in Montego Bay at one thirty tomorrow afternoon. Michael arrives an hour after us, and he’ll be bringing several large crates that contain the equipment and power chutes.”
“I’ll pick you and Jac up and make arrangements for a van for Michael.”
“I tell you, Gaylord, there’s always something going on with my boys,” Mandrago said with pride. He leaned his six-foot-two frame back in the chair and watched Gaylord pour each of them a healthy shot of white180 proof rum over large slices of sugar cane that filled the bottom of their glasses.
“I know what you mean, my friend,” said Gaylord as he added ice to the glasses.
“Jac asked me to enquire about two lady pirates who prowled around Jamaica. Seems they were tried in Port Royal. Anne Bonney and Mary Read. Do you know anything about them?”
Gaylord swirled the rum over the sugar cane and ice to cool it. “Not much. I’ve heard some stories about them sailing together and looting some ships in the Caribbean. Mostly the canned stuff.” Gaylord took a swig of his drink and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them, he said, “Mandrago, my friend, I believe I know someone who does.” Gaylord took another healthy guzzle of the pure rum. “Oh, and you’ll absolutely love her, Mandrago. She’s the one woman I couldn’t interest in my charming self,” he laughed. “But you, my friend, will be a challenge for her.”
Mandrago took a sip from his glass. “Smooth,” he gasped. Tears filled his eyes, and he felt a sudden warmth in his throat. �
�All right, tell me more. Who is this fair lady?”
“Chauncey Rutherford. A gorgeous creature,” Gaylord said with a bit of Irish brogue showing in his voice, “with light tan skin, big brown eyes, and a figure you wouldn’t believe.”
“Okay, okay, but what makes you so sure she knows anything about these lady pirates?”
“She’s very intelligent and owns a bookstore on Saint James Street in Montego Bay. And if anyone knows about pirates, male or female, Chauncey does. She’s made it her lifelong vocation to know the history of the rogues who preyed on merchant ships around the Caribbean. I’ll introduce you.”
“Okay. How about we pay the lady a visit tomorrow morning?”
“Sure.” Gaylord downed the last of the liquid in his glass, picked up the piece of sugar cane and licked it. He smacked his lips, picked up the half-empty bottle, and poured oversized shots into both glasses. “Now let’s get drunk.”
“I think we’re already drunk.”
CHAPTER 17
St. James Street, Montego Bay, Jamaica
Early Morning
Saturday was market day in Jamaica when locals stocked up on fruits and vegetables brought from the many small villages outside Montego Bay. The sound of pidgin, the clipped Jamaican dialect, resounded on the streets, sounding like hundreds of hungry chattering parrots invading a field of sunflowers.
Gaylord drove toward a parking space purportedly owned by a Rastafarian man, who was currently shouting his name—Brewster—to anyone who looked as if he needed a parking place. Dreadlocks covering his face, Brewster bawled, “Secure parking!” He flashed five fingers while waving the car into his domain. Gaylord held an American five-dollar bill in his outstretched hand. Brewster snatched, gave Gaylord a gold-capped smile, and stood aside to usher the Mini Cooper into to his market-day enterprise.
Mandrago struggled to get out the door on the small car. Stretching to get the kinks out of his large frame, he looked up and noticed the English Pub sign hanging over the door of a small bookstore two stores from the corner. As he and Gaylord walked closer, the glaring portrait of Henry the Eighth in his royal regalia sporting a trimmed beard stared at him. Below Henry’s image a placard announced Royal Tudor Books.
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