Spirits of the Pirate House

by Paul Ferrante

  She pushed herself away to arm’s length and looked hard into his Coke-bottle glasses. “I need to be there when you do the Hibiscus House investigation.”

  “Why?”

  “Why? Because if that ghost shows up, I want to spit in his face, that’s why.” Ronnie’s jaw was set, her blue eyes icy. “Can you do that for me?”

  “Hey,” he stammered, “I’ve got no problem with it but, you know, we’re filming the TV show and all—”

  She glared at him harder.

  “B-but I’ll talk to Mike. I think I can convince him. I don’t think you’ll be on the TV show, though—”

  “Who cares about that? All I want to do is come face to face with that piece of garbage!”

  “Okay, okay,” he soothed, pulling her to him, “I’ll take care of it. Please don’t get upset again. It’s too beautiful an evening to be sad.”

  As the Beachcombers deftly transitioned into “Bermuda is Another World”, she locked on his eyes again, and Bortnicker’s world stopped. Ronnie reached up and moved an unruly lock of hair from his glasses. “Thank you,” she whispered, and kissed him, full on the lips.

  “Holy cow, did you see that?” marveled T.J. across the dance floor. “Ronnie and Bortnicker are kissing, right in the middle of the party!”

  LouAnne peered over her cousin’s shoulder. “Wow,” she giggled, “and me without my cell phone. This moment should be captured forever.”

  “No doubt.” A few long seconds passed.

  “T.J.?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you ever wonder about, uh—”

  “About us?”

  “Yeah.”

  “All the time, since Gettysburg. Do you think that’s dumb?”

  “I don’t know,” she said warily. “There’s a lot of stuff at work here.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s not your common situation.”

  “To say the least. But I want you to know something.” She held him so tightly he could feel her heart beating through her sundress. “There’s no one I’d rather be dancing here with under the stars than you.”

  He smiled. “Remember the first time we danced together?”

  “Of course. The Civil War campfire last year. We were kinda waltzing around with my skirt swishing all over the place. It’s amazing we didn’t fall on our butts.”

  “It’s amazing we’re here right now, if you think about it.”

  “Yeah,” she said, snuggling closer.

  “Think we’re gonna actually meet another ghost?”

  “We seem to have a knack for it.”

  “And how about Saturday’s race?”

  “Don’t be silly,” she said sweetly. “You know I’m going to destroy you.”

  * * * *

  That night before turning in T.J. finally lost his battle to avoid grilling his best buddy. “You were pretty quiet on the ride home,” he began nonchalantly. “Anything up with you and Ronnie?”

  Bortnicker gave him a You’ve got to be kidding look. “Was it that obvious?”

  “Well, since you picked the middle of the dance floor to start making out with her—”

  “Oh, you saw that,” he acknowledged airily.

  “A tremendous performance. LouAnne and I nearly applauded.”

  “Well, it was the least I could do to comfort her,” he tried, suppressing a smile.

  “The least.”

  “But listen, Big Mon, I wasn’t the only one getting up close and personal on the floor. You and your cousin were so tight she was almost behind you!”

  “Yeah,” remembered T.J. fondly. “It was pretty sweet.”

  “The official beginning of something?”

  T.J. smiled coyly. “Stay tuned. But don’t change the subject. Did Ronnie say anything about Tarver?”

  Bortnicker’s face darkened. “Oh, about that. Do you think Mike will let her come with us on the investigation tomorrow night?”

  “Don’t know,” said T.J., unbuttoning his Hawaiian shirt and placing it on a hanger. “Mike’s pretty serious when it comes to anything connected to the show. I could be bribed to put in a word for her, however.”

  “It would mean a lot to her.”

  “All right. I’ll grab him tomorrow morning. Seriously, yesterday must’ve crushed her.”

  “Yeah. She’s still a little messed up over it. But I think I helped out a little.”

  T.J. chuckled. “I think you helped beyond your wildest dreams, buddy.”

  “Are you done yet?” Bortnicker cried with exasperation.

  “I’m just playing with you. But next time could you go somewhere a little more private?”

  “I’ll try. Just remember, I’m new at this.”

  Recalling his own encounter earlier that evening, T.J. said wistfully, “All things considered, I’d say you did just fine. I’m actually kinda jealous.”

  Bortnicker removed his glasses and reached for the light, grinning from ear to ear.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Let’s get a good stretch this morning,” cautioned LouAnne. “We don’t want to be pulling a muscle the day before the race.”

  “Yeah,” said T.J., looking toward the heavens, where dark clouds were scudding along. “Our first crappy day, though it’s still pretty warm.”

  “That’ll probably change,” she said, bending forward in her hurdler’s stretch. “Chappy said it could be raining on one end of the island and sunny on the other.”

  Once their jog began LouAnne was all business. No mention was made of yesterday’s dive, the upcoming house investigation, or, sadly, the previous evening’s romantic drama. With all that had been going on during their hectic few days in Bermuda he’d been able to avoid worrying about the road race. But now that it was 24 hours away, the usual trepidation that overtook him before any kind of athletic competition was beginning to creep in. He struggled to push it away, but the look of focus and determination on his cousin’s face as they jogged along the Railway Trail this morning made it impossible. Did she really mean what she said last night about destroying him, or was she just trying to be funny?

  Back at the apartments, he joined Bortnicker, Tom Sr., and Mike for a breakfast of cornflakes and sliced bananas.

  “I’m still full from last night,” groaned Tom Sr. as he sipped his coffee. “That was a royal feast!”

  “At least the youngsters here got to burn off some of it on the dance floor,” joked Mike.

  “Are you kidding?” countered T.J. “I don’t think Bortnicker left the two-foot square patch he started in.”

  Bortnicker, slurping up some soggy flakes, came right back at him. “Well excuse me, Mr. America’s Got Talent. When did you become such a dance expert?”

  “Enough, you two,” chuckled Tom Sr. “I think you both did well enough. Neither of the girls ended up with broken toes.” He checked his watch. “All right, I’ll take the scooter over to the club. We’re almost done hiring the contractors. The good news is I’ll finally be able to join you guys tonight for the house investigation. I’ll keep Mike company when he’s at the command post. Another set of eyes on all those DVR screens couldn’t hurt.” He put his dirty cereal bowl in the sink and slung his briefcase over his shoulder. “Oh, and by the way, I’ll be there tomorrow morning for the race. Figured I’d trail behind on my scooter. Bortnicker, you want to ride along?”

  “Cool! You coming too, Mike?”

  “Wouldn’t miss it, dude. How many entrants did the say there are?”

  “I think around a hundred overall,” said T.J. “I just don’t want to embarrass myself.”

  “That means get beat by LouAnne,” cracked Bortnicker.

  “You’ll do fine,” assured Tom Sr. as he opened the door to a still-threatening morning.

  “I’ve got stuff to do, too,” said Mike. “Kim is gonna help me buy some gifts in Hamilton for my friends back at home. It’ll be good to see my Gonzo crew again. We start filming for next season in another week. The first case is a haunted saloon in
Tombstone, Arizona.” He rinsed his bowl in the sink. “So I’ll see you dudes at around 6:00 p.m.?”

  “Ah, about that,” said T.J. cautiously. “Do you have any problem with Ronnie Goodwin being there with us?”

  Mike sat back down. “I’m not sure. Why do you want her there?”

  “Well,” said Bortnicker, “she’s been on both the dives, and you saw the effect this whole Tarver thing’s had on her. I think it would mean a lot.”

  “Well, we’d have to get her dad’s permission, but you’ve gotta understand the show’s really built around the three of you guys. She could help out by filming, I guess, or holding one of the EVP recorders, but she can’t really be on camera.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem,” said T.J. confidently. “Besides, I think it’d be better that Bortnicker and I both buddy-up during the investigation rather than wander off alone in that big house.”

  Weinstein’s brow furrowed as he thought hard for a few seconds. “Ah, what can it hurt,” he said with a shrug. “Tell her if it’s okay with Jasper she can meet us there at six.”

  After he left, the boys exchanged fist bumps as LouAnne entered, shuffling right to the refrigerator. “You guys got any OJ? I finished mine,” she stated, her hair still damp from the shower.

  “Don’t know if we should,” joked Bortnicker. “That would be like helping out T.J.’s opponent.”

  “A glass of juice isn’t going to determine the race tomorrow, wiseguy,” she said, pouring some out. “It’s still yucky out there. Want to hang out by the pool until it clears up?”

  “Why not?” said T.J. “Hey, I’ll bet that nice Mrs. Maltby has some board games stored somewhere for days like this. I’ll go ask her.”

  “See if she’s got Monopoly,” said Bortnicker. “It’s my favorite.”

  * * * *

  It was 11:00 a.m. and Nigel Chapford was washing his black minivan when his cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. He checked the caller ID and saw “Dora’s Corners”.

  “Good morning, dear,” he said smoothly. “How are you this fine day?”

  The tone of her voice told him immediately that the day was most certainly not fine. “You’d better get over here, Nigel,” she said abruptly. “There’s something happened at Hibiscus House you should know about, and I have someone who needs to speak with you. Now.”

  Chappy tossed the cleaning rag into his soap bucket. “Give me twenty minutes, Dora. I’m on my way.”

  He entered to find the proprietor commiserating with a younger woman who sat slumped in one of the chipped bistro chairs of the restaurant. Chappy pulled up a seat as Dora gave him a cautionary look that said Go easy.

  “Good morning, Miss Dora,” he began politely, then turned to the obviously distressed woman. “I’m Nigel Chapford,” he said, extending his hand. “You look somewhat familiar. Have we met?”

  She took his hand tentatively. “I’m Winnie Pemburton, Mr. Chapford,” she said quietly. “You know my mother, Allison.”

  “Of course,” he smiled warmly. “Your mum is one of the finest teachers on the island. Is there something I can do for you, Ms. Pemburton?”

  She hesitated, then looked at Dora.

  “Tell him, girl,” said the proprietor.

  “Mr. Chapford, word’s gotten around that you are the driver for those teen ghost hunters from America and that they are going to be conducting an investigation on the island.”

  “That is so,” he said evenly. “They’re fine young people. But how does this concern you?”

  “It’s Hibiscus House they’re going to visit, isn’t it?”

  “That’s quite true, though I was trying to avoid broadcasting it.”

  “I understand. But I thought that before those kids go in there you could tell them what they’re dealing with.”

  “Please explain, Ms. Pemburton,” he said with his most reassuring smile.

  She looked to Dora, who nodded. Winnie Pemburton then proceeded to tell Chapford the story of her encounter with Tarver’s ghost at Hibiscus House that had left her running for her life. “I haven’t told a soul what happened that night, Mr. Chapford,” she whispered, again beginning to weep. “It’s too embarrassing. You know how people on the island talk. But I’d heard rumors about those who’d worked there before me. I never paid them any mind until it happened to me.”

  “And you’re sure of what you saw?”

  “He was as real as you are sitting here with me.”

  “I’m so sorry you had to experience this,” said Chappy, placing a comforting hand on hers.

  “Well, it could have been much worse, apparently,” she said, wiping her eyes with a table napkin.

  “How so?”

  Again she hesitated.

  “Tell him the rest, dearie,” said Dora.

  “All right. My older brother is an orderly at King Edward Memorial. Early this morning the police were called by the cleaning crew who were sent to the house by the Bermuda Heritage Trust to straighten up for an impending visit. They found a dead man sprawled at the foot of the main staircase with a broken neck, like he’d fallen.”

  “Good Lord. And who was this?”

  “The very man you’ve been looking for, Nigel,” said Dora. “Willie B.”

  Chappy’s eyes widened. “What could he have been doing there?” he wondered aloud.

  “From what I’ve heard,” said Winnie, “the police consider it a simple case of breaking and entering. They found no evidence of any others being there, so they removed the body and locked up. But I know better. This was no accidental fall during a botched burglary. I’d bet my life that Tarver’s ghost got him.”

  “Why would Tarver have an axe to grind with a nobody like Willie B.?” asked Chapford.

  “Because he was a black nobody,” she said coldly.

  Chapford tapped his fingertips on the chipped table a couple times. “Who knows about this? Are there next of kin on the island?”

  “There’s a man, Dwight Stanley, who Willie B. has referred to as his cousin, but they’re not actually related,” said Dora. “However, there is one other acquaintance.” She turned to the back room of the restaurant and yelled, “Get your sorry butt out here, you.”

  The man known as Hogfish shuffled in from the shadows, his head bowed in fear. “Tell Mr. Chapford what you know about all this,” Dora warned, “or you’re going to have to deal with me.”

  Hogfish stood before them, his shoulders slumped, wringing his hands. “Willie B. felt those kids were up to no good from the jump,” he said. “Ever since they mouthed off about their TV show thing right here at Miss Dora’s lunch counter. Then he got it in his head that they’d found something valuable out on the reefs with Jasper Goodwin, so he started bird-doggin’ Jasper’s daughter, too.”

  “Was he following them a couple nights ago in Hamilton?”

  “No, no, that wasn’t him. He asked his cousin Dwight to do that, but he said Dwight’s crew mucked it up. So he, uh, he decided to scare ‘em good at Hibiscus House. I told him I didn’t want no part of that nonsense, so he just told me I was a chicken and went by himself.”

  “And what do you think happened to Willie B., Hogfish?”

  The man lifted his head, tears spilling down his chubby cheeks. “Black Bill Tarver’s ghost got him, Mr. Chapford, no doubt. I tried to talk him out of going, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

  Nigel Chapford rubbed his eyes, processing all he’d been told. “Right,” he said finally. “What I need from everyone here is to keep this quiet for the time being, though from everything I’ve seen the past few weeks it doesn’t look like anyone on this island is capable of that.” He looked around at the others’ expectant faces. “In the end, Willie B. placed himself in a bad situation and paid the price for his foolishness. I’ve got to see how the authorities will play this, but my first responsibility is toward those young people who have put their trust in me and in the good intentions of the inhabitants of our happy little island. Miss Pemburton, you
just go about your business and forget this meeting ever happened. Hogfish, let this be a lesson to you to choose your friends more wisely. I expect a low profile from you at least until the Americans leave.” He turned to Dora, took her hand gently, and kissed it softly. “And to you, my sweet, many thanks for trusting me with this information. Let me see what I can do to help bring this affair to an acceptable resolution.”

  * * * *

  “Aha!” crowed Bortnicker, slapping his hand on the poolside picnic table. “You have landed on my property once again, T.J. Let’s see now...Park Place with a hotel, that’ll be $1500, if you please.”

  “You’re brutal,” huffed the other boy. “Did we have to play Monopoly?”

  “It’s all Mrs. Maltby had around,” apologized LouAnne. “Unless you wanted Chutes and Ladders, which I haven’t played since like third grade.”

  “Well, that finishes me,” declared T.J., counting out the last of his play money and handing it over to Bortnicker, who was rubbing his hands eagerly. “It’s just you and LouAnne now.”

  “Nah, I’m done too,” said his cousin. “This isn’t fun anymore.”

  “Aw, c’mon, don’t quit now,” pleaded Bortnicker. “You could still win ... with a little luck.”

  “Yeah, right,” she snapped, looking at the sky. “Think it’s gonna clear?”

  “I don’t know, man,” said T.J. “A couple times the sun’s almost broken through, but I still think we’re gonna get a good storm sooner or later.”

  “I wouldn’t mind this overcast tomorrow for the race,” said his cousin, packing the Monopoly pieces back in the battered box. “With a cooling offshore breeze to boot.”

  “No doubt,” agreed T.J. He looked at his waterproof dive watch. “Two hours till Chappy picks us up. Think I’ll go upstairs and catch a quick nap, maybe have a snack.”

  “What, the grilled cheese sandwiches and chips I fixed you guys wasn’t enough?” complained Bortnicker. “I made them extra thick! It was a lunch fit for a king!”

  “They were great, Bortnicker,” said LouAnne sarcastically, “the most wonderful grilled cheeses in the history of modern man. But T.J.’s right. We’re not gonna eat again till maybe late, and I don’t want a load of food sitting on my stomach during the race tomorrow morning. I’m going up to my room. Ta-ta.” With a flip of her hair she was on her way, leaving the boys to finish boxing the game.