"Actually, he’s sitting on one right over there..." Amanda nodded to the spot where the pirate sat watching her. He wore a half smile now. Amanda's fear had dissipated, replaced by growing annoyance. He was laughing at her. She was the only one who could see him and he found her predicament funny. Although truthfully, she'd find her hard to believe, too.
"Listen, Phillip, if I tell you there's a pirate over there sitting on a chair, then there is. I never lie. I don't know why I see him or his cat, and he may be the first ghost I've seen in the fles—in person, but I am a paranormal investigator. It's my job. It's what I do." She wasn't sure the pirate was real, but she wasn't about to let anyone think badly of her chosen profession. Too many people thought paranormal investigators were scam artists and charlatans. Until they needed her services.
Phillip held up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, I did check you out. I know you're a paranormal investigator, and according to my sources, you're a darned good one."
Amanda took a step away from him and eyed him with a scowl marring her forehead. "You checked me out. With whom?"
Phillip dropped his arms to his sides, rolled his eyes, and emitted a soft chuckle. "Trust me, Amanda, it's nothing untoward, I assure you. I'm a lawyer in Boston, where you also live, and I have a client who used your unique services a couple of years back. Do you remember Ollie Hardson?"
She did indeed remember Ollie, the man she’d dubbed the roamer because his hands often ended up in the wrong places—like on her bottom—at the most inappropriate times. She also recalled helping him remove the ghost of his dead Aunt Grace from his ancestral home. Of course, he then sold the old house to a developer for a small fortune. It's a strip mall now.
"You know Ollie?" she said.
Phillip snorted. "Yeah. Real creep." He shook his head. "I did the legal work on the sale of the house you cleared of his aunt's ghost. He told me all about it." He chuckled. "Never seen a guy so scared in all my life. His story reminded me of the ghost stories we used to tell around the fire at Camp Wobegon when I was a kid. But if there was one thing about Ollie, he convinced me the tale wasn't fantasy."
Maybe Phillip wasn't such a bad guy. If he was telling the truth. "Why don't you tell me what this is really all about?"
Phillip glanced at the watch on his left wrist. "I imagine you're hungry. Why don't we eat and I'll tell you all about it? And then if you don't want to help me, fine—you can keep the money and I'll call for a boat to take you back to Isle of Palms, no questions asked. Deal?"
Amanda considered his words. Phillip Swann was growing on her. And he seemed trustworthy, for a lawyer. She nodded. "Deal." Her stomach rumbled. She looked at Phillip, her eyes wide with horror. He laughed first, then she joined in.
Before they left the library, Amanda stole a quick glance at Captain Swann, who was still seated with Scars curled in his lap. He nodded when she walked passed him. His expression was pleasant. A pleasant pirate, who woulda thought?
***
Phillip surprised her when they went out the back door off the kitchen of the old house. The kitchen was beyond repair. Every wooden surface was cracked by wind and heat and the glass in the window frames here, too, were absent, so there was nothing to keep out the inclement weather when winter storms brushed the island. Phillip explained that the family home had been abandoned just prior to the Civil War. Parts of the house had been damaged when the Confederate army used the house as a headquarters from which to launch troops or ships against Union forces. In an attempt to drive out the rebel army, the Union navy bombarded the island just as they had nearby Fort Sumter, but never succeeded in dislodging the Confederate troops.
At the rear of the house, Phillip had erected a tent, and to create his own shaded area, he'd tied the corners of a tarp to the trees ringing his campsite. In the center of the camp was a fire pit, a shallow pit dug in the soft sand and clay, ringed by large, smoke-blackened rocks. A stainless steel grate covered the pit. Off a tripod over the pit hung a steel hook holding an old-fashioned cast-iron cooking pot.
"Water?" Phillip asked, waving her to a camp chair to the right of the fire pit.
She nodded and sat in the chair. The air was rife with wood smoke. To the left of the tent was a pile of firewood.
He went to an orange cooler and took out two bottles of water, one of which he handed to her before squatting next to the pit and lighting the fire. Soon a blue-and-yellow flame danced under the grate, the wood snapping and popping as the moisture in the wood was heated and expelled. A trail of white smoke disappeared into the sky overhead.
Amanda broke the seal on the bottle and twisted off the cap. After taking a long swig of the cool water, she put the cap back on the bottle and placed it in her lap. "You seem to have been here for a while."
Phillip was concentrating on nursing the growing fire. "Yeah," he said, "a while. I was waiting for you. I sent the letter two weeks ago." He shrugged. "I didn't know how long it would take, so I may have over-prepared."
The fire crackled brightly and the flames now licked the grate. Satisfied, Phillip rose to his feet and moved to the cooler again. "Hot dogs okay?"
Since tubes of mystery meat were one of her favorite food groups, Amanda readily agreed, but just as she did at home, she promised herself to eat better in future.
He glanced at her and grinned. "Good. Mustard, ketchup?"
Again she nodded.
Soon they were eating grilled hot dogs in silence, the smoke from the fire permeating everything.
Amanda swallowed a bite of meat, bun, and the mustard-ketchup mixture. She broke the silence first. "What's the treasure that you're so interested in if it's not gold and jewels?"
Phillip stopped eating and looked at her. His eyes were serious; she worried she may have offended him. "I'm hoping the chest buried somewhere on this island holds the truth about my famous ancestor."
Her curiosity aroused, Amanda continued. "I gather there is a letter or document that will tell a different story about Captain Swann than the tales told in the history books?"
Phillip took a small bite of his hot dog and nodded. "Yes. I believe there is a letter signed by Queen Anne of England, affirming that Captain Swann was an agent of the Queen in the Caribbean, raiding Spanish and French colonies and their ships to disrupt trade."
"That's very different than what's recorded about your ancestor." Amanda frowned. "Why is this so important to you now? Surely after three hundred years, it doesn't really matter all that much, does it?"
Phillip's face became a mask of determination, his jawline taut. He threw the remainder of his meal into the fire. The fatty meat flared and she could smell it charring. "Before my father died of cancer last year, he made me promise to clear the Swann name." He stopped and looked into her eyes. She watched his eyes lose their hard edge and his shoulders relax. "Sorry. I must seem a little obsessed. I may be, but Dad always felt the reason Captain Swann's name was dishonored involved family land claims in England."
"Land claims?"
"Yes. When Queen Anne died in 1714, King Charles I assumed the throne. He was German and had little interest in English affairs of state; those he left to Sir Robert Walpole. The Walpole’s and the Swann's were not on the best of terms since the Walpole’s wanted the Swann lands, and because of a love affair that ended badly between cousins from each family."
Sounds like Romeo and Juliet, thought Amanda. She took a bite of her hot dog, chewed, and swallowed. "They didn't like each other. So what does this all have to do with Queen Anne's letter?"
Phillip shook his head. "Walpole had all copies of the letter destroyed and announced that the English navy would hunt down Captain Swann and hang him as a pirate, which they did in 1719. My grandfather told me something Walpole didn't know was a single copy of Queen Anne's letter with the royal seal remained hidden on this island. Over the years, we've tried many times to find it without success."
Amanda finished her meal and felt rejuvenated. She took a sip of water, t
hen said, "You want me to ask Captain Swann where the chest is hidden. Correct?"
"Yes."
"And I suppose there are jewels and gold buried with the document."
Phillip smiled. "I don't know. And frankly, I don't care."
"But I do," said a deep male voice to Amanda's left. Looking to the row of trees where the voice came from, she saw a tall, dark-skinned man step out from behind a tree. Her heart froze. In his right hand he held a snub-nosed pistol pointed at them.
Phillip chuckled. "Ah, yes, Jim Sweet, my former partner. How nice of you to drop by. How long have you been listening?"
The corner of Sweet's mouth curled up. "Long enough to know you may have found the key to finding the treasure." He waved the gun at Amanda. "Her."
Phillip made a move to stand, but Sweet waved the pistol at him. "Don't move," Sweet said, his eyes narrowing.
Phillip’s shoulders slumped and he remained seated. "Okay, Jim, you win. What do you want?"
"I want this little lady to accompany me inside the house, talk the ghost into telling me where the treasure is hidden, and then I'll be on my way."
Phillip arched an eyebrow. "What about me?"
"I was thinking I'd dispose of you first, but if the captain won't talk to me, I may still need you. So I'm going to tie you up and leave you here. If I need you, I'll come back for you. If not..." Jim left the rest to their imagination, not that it needed much imagination to see he was going to kill them both, regardless of what happened. As the pirates used to say, dead men tell no tales.
If there was a treasure buried with the letter about Captain Swann, it would be worth a fortune in today's money. People have killed for far less.
"You," Sweet pointed the pistol at Amanda, "find a rope and tie him up."
Amanda looked to Phillip. He nodded and pointed to the tent. "There's a rope inside."
Amanda's thoughts grew cold. They were going along with this man? Why?
Soon, after some instruction by Sweet, she had Phillip tied to the chair.
"Let's go," Sweet said, his voice menacing, his eyes flat with no emotion. How did Phillip get hooked up with such a man, someone capable of killing in cold blood?
Amanda started walking toward the house, followed by Sweet, who had the gun pressed into her back. One thing her father had insisted she learn before she left home to move to the big city was how to use and care for guns. She didn't really like guns, but when someone has one pressed into your spine, knowledge could in handy. Six hours a week at a gun range for three months made a girl fairly proficient with firearms.
She entered the house and went immediately to the library, where they'd left the diary open on the weathered desk. Amanda was disappointed to see that the chair, Captain Swann, and his cat were missing.
Moving to the book, she pretended to read it. Her eyes flitted to movement as Sweet came from behind to stand beside her. He had the gun pointing to the floor at his side. He didn't see her as a threat.
A small smile played across Amanda's lips. Once his attention was on the book, she decided her opportunity would never be better, so she reached for the gun and managed to grab it and twist it out of his hand before he could react.
Stepping away, she raised the weapon and pointed it at Sweet's chest. A quick glance confirmed the safety was off.
Sweet regarded her with his dead eyes. "Go ahead," he said, "shoot." He took a step toward her and she instinctively took a step back.
One thing her father hadn't taught her was the killer instinct. Shooting paper targets was very different from shooting a living person. Her fingers gripping the pistol began to sweat. "Don't move," she said.
"I don't think you'll fire," said Sweet, stepping closer. He raised one hand and slowly reached for the gun.
"Don't! I will, you know..."
Sweet grabbed the barrel of the pistol and pulled it from her slick fingers. Amanda's heart sank. She'd failed them both. They were going to die.
Sweet smiled grimly. "Now stop this nonsense and talk to the ghost about the treasure." He pointed the gun at her forehead. "Right now." he growled, "Or I will shoot you, and I won't chicken out."
"Sweet!" It was Phillip's voice. Suddenly Sweet and the pistol were no longer menacing her. At her feet lay the tangled mass of two men locked in combat.
Amanda backed up until her body was pressed against the wall, while watching the struggling men. Phillip landed a punch on Sweet's jaw, and Sweet’s head snapped to the right. Bones crunched and she could see that Philip’s knuckles were bleeding. Sweet grunted from another blow and his head snapped back. He raised the pistol, which miraculously he hadn't let go of when Phillip tackled him.
Gritting his teeth, Phillip grabbed Sweet’s arm and twisted it hard backward, causing the pistol to fly out of his hand. The gun struck the wall behind them with a thud, then rattled to the floor. Amanda considered going for the weapon, but if she tried, the two fighting men might knock her to the floor. The room was too small for her to maneuver around them. They leaped to their feet and circled each other warily. Sweet's eyes kept flicking from Phillip to the gun, then back again. Phillip's attention was focused solely on his opponent.
Sweet’s hands formed fists. He rushed forward and swung a fist at Phillip's head. Phillip ducked inside Sweet's intended blow and landed a hard blow to Sweet's solar plexus.
The air rushed from Sweet's lungs; he gasped, clutching his belly as he stumbled backward. Phillip stepped forward, landed a punch hard on Sweet's chin. The man's head snapped around and he collapsed into a heap on the floor where he lay still, his eyes closed. It was over. Phillip had won.
Phillip moved unsteadily on rubbery legs. His lip was bleeding. His left cheek sported a purple bruise that was already badly swollen. He dragged air into his lungs.
Amanda rushed to him. She wrapped her arms around him, partially to keep him from falling and partially to comfort him. She grasped his shoulders and studied his bloodshot eyes. "Phillip, thank you for saving me."
He gave her a weak smile. "No worries."
"Who is he?" She nodded toward Sweet, lying unconscious on the floor.
"My former law partner," Phillip said.
Amanda's eyes went wide. "He's a lawyer? Would he really have killed us?"
"Oh, yes. Jim Sweet was convicted of murdering his wife and his mother-in-law. And that was for one hundred thousand dollars in insurance money. A priceless treasure proved too much for a greedy creep like him." His eyes drooped at the corners. "I should never have told him about my ancestor, but I thought he was my friend."
They quickly tied Sweet's hands and feet so he would be unable to move once he regained consciousness.
A cold dread washed over her, sending chills up her spine. Maybe it was emanating from Sweet or Phillip, but she didn't think so. She released Phillip and he leaned against the wall and watched her as she moved to the desk and opened the diary again. She looked back to the spot where she'd seen the pirate before. Sure enough, there he was—seated, as before, on the chair, with the cat in his lap.
"Hello, lass," he said. There was definitely an English inflection in his voice.
Amanda thought for a second or two that she might faint. Not only had she seen her first ghost, but he'd just spoken to her.
"Uhhh...hello?"
Phillip frowned. "Who are you talking to?"
"He's here again."
"Oh. Quick, before he leaves again, ask him where the treasure is hidden."
Amanda opened her mouth to speak, but the ghost rose from the chair, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The cat dropped to all fours, its tail waving back and forth.
"Why should I tell you that?" the ghost said.
"Is something wrong?" asked Phillip.
This go-between conversation could get complicated. She had to discover another way to get these two together. "Captain. I'm wondering if you will show yourself to Phillip." She indicated Phillip with a slight nod of her head.
The ghost sc
owled. He didn't appear open to the idea.
Perhaps if she shared some information about Phillip, the captain might be more agreeable.
"Captain. I'd like to introduce you to your great-great-great-grandson, Phillip Swann.”
The ghost arched one eyebrow. She'd tweaked his interest, but not secured his cooperation. Time to go for broke. She wondered if ghosts had traces of their human emotions remaining. She hoped so. If not, then this would fall flatter than the soufflé she had tried to make once in Life Skills class. "Before his father died, he asked Phillip to clear his family name."
The ghost’s eyebrows rose together and his dark eyes narrowed. "What trickery be this, lass? I am charged by the Queen herself to be her agent in these waters."
"That was three hundred years ago. You were betrayed by Lord Walpole, who branded you as a pirate and had you hung in 1719."
The ghost of Captain Swann ran one hand across his throat. She knew she'd triggered a buried memory, and not a pleasant one. She continued her explanation. "Lord Walpole had all copies of the letter destroyed except the one you hid here on the island. In order to clear your name in the history books, we need that letter."
Captain Swann frowned, then said, "Okay, lass, the boy can see me now."
Amanda's eyes flicked to Phillip. His face was pale and his eyes wide. He indeed could see the pirate captain. She worried it might be too much for him, especially in his weakened condition. As she watched, his features relaxed and his demeanor changed. His face became calm and his eyes reflected determination. "Captain Swann. Sir. I'm your great-great-great-grandson, Phillip—"
The ghost captain interrupted him with a burst of laughter, his features now split by a wide grin. "Weren't ya listen to the lass here, boyo? She told me yor tale of woe. Or should ah say my tale of woe."
Phillip's eyes flitted to Amanda and his cheeks flushed crimson. "Yes, of course." He smiled weakly at her. "She's a special lady, with special powers."
"Lad, if ya press the palm of yor hand six inches to the right of the that corner," he gestured to one corner of the room, "where the two walls meet, a hidden panel will open. Inside, you will find the letter from mah Queen." With those words the captain faded, then disappeared. Looking around, Amanda saw that Scars the cat had also disappeared.
Hook Island Page 2