Mike let out a heavy sigh. “The Adventure Channel made it clear that we’re to fly out the day after our investigation is concluded. So, I’m gonna try to book us a flight for late tomorrow afternoon.”
“Can you produce the show based on just what we’ve done so far?” asked LouAnne.
“Oh yeah. Between the dive stuff and the EVP’s you guys picked up last night, which came out pretty clear by the way, we have enough to make a show. But it could have been so much better. We were so close!”
“Oh well,” said T.J. “Them’s the breaks. So, we still have this afternoon and tonight, right?”
“No question. I’m gonna motor over to the marina and say my goodbyes to Kim. Her family is sailing out on their yacht for Charleston later this afternoon. Hey, let’s make the best of tonight. Tom, what do you say I pick up some steaks and we have a farewell feast by the pool with the kids? You can invite over Ms. Cosgrove to join us. And Bortnicker, why don’t you give Ronnie a buzz and invite her family as well? We’ve got to discuss how Jasper’s going to announce the Steadfast find anyway.”
“Okay,” the boy said glumly, realizing that his time with Ronnie was about to be cut short.
They left the Hog Penny and split up, Mike heading toward the marina and Tom Sr. taking the scooter back to the Jobson’s Cove Apartments. Rather than bother Chappy, whom they’d see on their upcoming ride to the airport, the teens volunteered to ride the pink bus back from Hamilton. As they headed up the hill from Front Street toward the terminal, Bortnicker suddenly wheeled on his friend. “Well, you certainly took that well, if you don’t mind me saying.”
“Yeah, Cuz,” chimed in LouAnne, “aren’t you ticked off over this?”
“Yup,” he answered.
“So why are you smiling?” asked Bortnicker.
“’Cause we’re going back to that house tonight, that’s why.”
* * * *
If Mike and the kids thought they were having a bad morning, they weren’t alone. Breakfast at the Goodwin residence had reached epic proportions of bad.
It all started innocently enough; Claudette had prepared a breakfast of sweet buns and tea before father and daughter were to take a dive group out on the Reef Seeker II for some “fish peeping”, as Ronnie called it. As the girl described the previous night’s exploits, including the encounter with Tarver that her prompting had induced, her mother grew distant and looked away, seeming to wish the conversation over. “But he said some things that were strange, Mum,” Ronnie remarked as Jasper sipped his tea and looked on. “He commented on my eyes and said I looked familiar. How could that be if he’s never met me? It was creepy, like he was looking right into my soul. Does that make sense? Mum? What’s the matter?”
“Oh child, child,” she whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “There’s so much you don’t know, so much I’ve tried to shield you from. Your father’s always thought I was too protective but—”
“Daddy, what’s this about?” Ronnie said with alarm.
Jasper Goodwin sighed, then picked up his tea cup and saucer to bring them to the sink. “Tell her, Claudette,” he said calmly. “It’s time.”
Mrs. Goodwin reached across the weathered wooden table and took her daughter’s hand. “Veronique,” she said calmly, “we live a good life that we’ve worked hard for, in a wonderful place that many consider a paradise. But there was much sadness here, years ago. Horrible things happened that we, as a black Bermudian people, have managed to recover from, most of the way, anyway.
“You are a beautiful girl, a mixture of myself and your father’s people, and I wouldn’t trade or want to change anything about you. Your eyes, as mine, are the brightest blue. But there is a reason for everything, as they say, so let me explain.
“When your father and I were courting, he told me about his family’s background, which made me uneasy because my own parents, who sadly died when I was barely out of grade school, were always vague or evasive when I brought up the subject. So, I decided to start digging through my ancestry on my own.
“To make a long story short, the ancestors on my mother’s side were among the first slaves brought, against their will, to the island to work on the plantations of the time.”
By this point Jasper had sat down again and handed his wife a napkin, with which she dabbed at her eyes. Ronnie sat entranced, her eyes locked on her mother’s, as Claudette resumed her story.
“Among that first wave of slaves brought in was a woman named Maruba, whose name was later Anglicized to Maria by her master...William Tarver.”
“My God,” whispered Ronnie, fearing what would come next.
“In those days, child, it was not uncommon for the masters to take a shine to a pretty face in their crowd of workers. These women were sometimes shifted to easier jobs rather than toiling from dawn to dusk in the fields. A position as cook, nanny, or personal attendee to the mistress of the house was coveted by all, but at times it came at a price.
“As the story goes, Captain Tarver, who remember was a pirate to begin with, saw just such an opportunity and elevated Maria to the kitchen. Well, one thing led to another, and Maria made the decision to accept his advances despite the very presence of Mrs. Tarver—who by all accounts was a decent woman—in the house.
“Unfortunately, Maria became pregnant, and gave birth to a boy with the mocha-colored skin of my side of the family, and—”
“Blue eyes.”
“Yes.”
Ronnie took a deep breath, her anger barely in check. “What happened then?”
“From then on, things get hazy. Of course, slavery was eventually abolished on the island, and my family, whom I traced all the way back to Maruba, was assimilated into the island’s population. I guess if you’d really want to know the details, you’d have to ask him.”
“Maybe someday I will,” she snarled.
“But what I do not want, Veronique Goodwin, is for you to hold hatred in your heart going forward. What’s done is done, and you can’t change it. Your father and I have made a good life for you, and we must always look forward to a better day.”
“Which is why I’ve got to be going, my sweet,” said Jasper, tapping his watch.
“Okay,” said Ronnie. She walked around to her mother’s side of the table and kissed her lightly on the forehead. “Thank you for telling me, Mum,” she whispered. “I’ll try to take your advice.” With that she walked outside to the car park.
“It had to be done,” said Jasper Goodwin to his wife. “She’ll get over it.”
“I don’t know,” said Claudette. “Please keep an eye on her today.”
“As always,” he said, scooping up his car keys.
* * * *
Nigel Chapford frowned as he hung up his cell phone after Mike’s disappointing news. Begging off from Weinstein’s invitation to join the group for a farewell dinner, he agreed to be on call for an afternoon drive to the airport the following day. The phone immediately rang again and Chappy clicked on, thinking Mike had perhaps missed something. But it wasn’t the ghost chaser on the other end.
As early as was politely possible that morning Chappy’d rung up his friend Ian Burton, the caretaker at St. Anne’s, to ask for a favor, and was surprised to receive a call back this early afternoon. “You were right, Nigel,” he said. “Me and the boys had a burial this morning and waited until the mourners had left. We had a backhoe handy with which to lift the slab off Sir William’s crypt. I told the boys I wanted to check for water damage inside, or some such nonsense, and told them to go grab a cup of tea while I did the inspection.
“Anyway, it appears that although Mrs. Tarver’s safely tucked away, the good Captain, as they say about Elvis, has left the building.”
“The coffin’s empty?”
“What’s left of it, yes. Funny thing, though. It would appear he was never there in the first place.”
“So you’d say there was no evidence of body snatching or something of that sort?”
“No
ne whatsoever. Now, the boys came back from their tea break none the wiser, and we replaced the slab, so no one knows about this but you and I.”
“And the Captain,” said Chappy pointedly.
“Aren’t you the card,” said Burton. “Just keep it between us, all right? I rather like my job here.”
“Consider it done, Ian. I owe you one.”
“That you do, Nigel. Have a nice day.”
* * * *
The three Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers had barely settled into the back seat of the pink bus when T.J., in hushed tones, began to explain his plan.
“Okay, here’s how I see it,” he said. “We’ve got 24 hours, give or take, to solve this mystery. Tarver told us last night that if we returned he’d tell us the true story. I say we have our grand farewell dinner tonight and then sneak out to visit the Captain.”
“You mean like we did the first time in Gettysburg last year?” said LouAnne excitedly.
“Exactly,” smiled T.J., remembering how the teens had climbed down from their second-story bedrooms at LouAnne’s house to meet up with Major Hilliard in a wooded area of the battlefield.
“Sneaking out’s the easy part, Cuz,” said LouAnne. “Everyone’s going to be tired, and I’m sure Mike and your dad will have had a couple of glasses of wine on top of that. But how do we get to Hibiscus House? It’s a few miles away.”
T.J. nodded knowingly. “That’s why we’re taking the motor scooters. Bortnicker, I’m sure I’m not the only one who’s observed how to start and drive them. You were just on one with my dad this morning. Think you can use a bike and not kill yourself?”
“No problemo, Big Mon. And if I’m correct, your dad and Mike leave the keys with their helmets in the car park storage box, which is unlocked.”
“Bingo.”
“I don’t know,” said LouAnne. “I get a queasy feeling about this. First, despite what you two think about your driving skills, all you’ve ever done is sit on the back. And it’s gonna be dark. And you’re both underage. And it could be me who gets thrown to my death from the bike if you wipe out going around one of those hairpin curves on South Road.”
“Does that mean you’re out?” said T.J. with a lifted eyebrow.
“Not a chance.”
“We’ll have to roll the bikes up the road a ways before we start them up so we don’t wake your dad or Mike,” said Bortnicker.
“No doubt,” answered T.J, “but if we’re really serious about seeing Tarver, we’ve got to be willing to take risks. Do you want to call Ronnie and ask her if she’s in? She can’t breathe a word of this to her father or anyone else.”
“I’ll give her a buzz right now. Who even knows if he’d talk to us without her there? It’s like he was attracted to her last night.”
“Yeah,” said LouAnne, “like he’s still caught up in the whole slavery deal. Yuck.”
“So we’re set,” said T.J. as the bus chugged along. “I propose that we spend one last glorious afternoon lounging on the beach so LouAnne and I can rest our aching muscles, enjoy a tasty steak dinner by the pool, and then have a little talk with our pirate friend.”
* * * *
“I’m gonna miss this,” said Bortnicker as he lay back on the beach blanket, his battered Red Sox ball cap tilted down over his glasses.
“We do have beaches in Fairfield, you know,” yawned T.J., stretched out alongside his friend and LouAnne.
“Not the same. Where else are we gonna see pink sand?”
“Guess you’re right. And speaking of pink, you’ve got a pre-lobster tint going on there. Didn’t you put on sunscreen?”
“Oops. Only one thing to do.” He removed his hat, tossed his glasses in, and took off at breakneck speed for the surf, diving headfirst into a pale green wave before disappearing.
“Your leg still sore from the race this morning?” T.J. asked LouAnne, who had begun kneading her injured calf.
“Nah, it’s pretty much worked out, more like a cramp. Maybe I wasn’t properly hydrated.”
“Yeah. You would’ve rocked it otherwise.”
“You’re sweet, Cuz, but I’m still gonna be mad at myself for what happened. That’s just the way I am.”
“I’ve noticed.”
“Are you saying it’s a bad thing?”
“Not at all. I admire how you hate to lose. Wish I was more like that.”
“Don’t sell yourself short. When the chips are on the table you always seem to come through. I just can’t believe that within 48 hours I’m gonna be back in Gettysburg in my Civil War getup, entertaining the touristas at the Charney Inn.”
“That’s why we’ve gotta make tonight count,” her cousin said earnestly.
Bortnicker had by this time dragged himself from the ocean’s undertow and staggered back up the beach, where he collapsed in a sodden heap on their blanket. “Let me call Ronnie again,” he said between rasping breaths. “She must’ve been out on the boat before and couldn’t take my call.” He punched in her number, put one finger in his ear to drown out the sound of the pounding surf, and shuffled out of earshot of the other teens.
He returned a few minutes later after what appeared to be a fairly intense exchange, his face ashen despite the sunburn.
“Bortnicker, what’s the matter?” said LouAnne concernedly. “Is Ronnie alright?”
“Well, depends on what you consider ‘alright’. Listen to this.” He related the revelations of the Goodwin family tree as his friends listened with a mixture of sadness and horror.
“So, does that mean she’ll be joining us tonight?”
“What do you think, Big Mon? This isn’t just a ghost hunting expedition to her anymore. This is personal.”
* * * *
Despite noticeable overtones of disappointment, the gathering at the poolside barbeque of Jobson’s Cove Apartments was a success. After Bortnicker explained that the Goodwins had a prior commitment and would see them off the following day at the airport, the jovial Mrs. Maltby kicked off the event with a large bottle of non-alcoholic champagne to commemorate the visit of the Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers. The steaks were sizzling and the breeze was mild as the sun started to set on the island of Bermuda.
T.J. observed with interest the interaction between his dad and Lindsay, who seemed to be sharing many quiet asides. This trip had been good for him. Not only had he swung a huge deal for a golf resort that would probably make him an honorary lifetime member; he’d met an attractive woman close to his age with whom he might be able to cultivate a relationship beyond this trip. T.J. had a feeling that the poolside dinner might not be the end of their evening, as Ms. Cosgrove had driven over in her Mercedes.
As for Mike, who quickly switched over to a more potent beverage to drown his sorrows over the cancellation of the second investigation, it seemed as though he had enough to cobble together a workable pilot episode for the series based solely upon the diving footage and last night’s EVPs. He had already begun packing the equipment for shipment home and would probably finish tonight. This, of course, presented a problem for the teens, who would need camcorders or EVP recorders for their meeting with Tarver. However, they still had their flashlights.
They were sitting around a large poolside table, making small talk and eating like there was no tomorrow, when Bortnicker suddenly excused himself. “Probably calling Ronnie,” said LouAnne. But Bortnicker had other ideas. Making sure nobody was looking to the upper level, he quietly slipped into Mike’s room, gently lifted the lid to one of the two equipment trunks, and removed one of the pocket-sized EVP recorders from its box, along with a couple batteries. “Tarver might drain these tonight, but it’s worth a shot,” Bortnicker whispered to himself as he pocketed the device. He then crept back to the apartment door, checked to see the coast was clear, and slipped outside, returning to T.J.’s side at the dinner table within minutes of his departure.
“Got an EVP handheld for tonight,” he whispered in his friend’s ear.
“Way to go.”
>
At around ten o’clock, as T.J. had expected, his dad and Ms. Cosgrove went for a last night drive into Hamilton. “Get a good night’s sleep, kids,” Tom Sr. cautioned. “Tomorrow you can get some pool time in before we head to the airport. Mike, what time’s the flight?”
“We’re booked for a 6:00 p.m. flight to JFK. I told Chappy to be here around two. LouAnne, I have you booked on a connecting flight out of Kennedy to Philadelphia, arriving at 10:30 p.m.”
“I’ll call your dad with all the particulars,” added Tom Sr.
“Thanks, Uncle Tom,” she said. “I think I’ll turn in.”
“Us, too,” said the boys in unison. They helped Mike and Tom Sr. clean up and then said their goodnights. As they shuffled up the stairs, Mike couldn’t help but apologize again for the aborted second investigation. “Dudes,” he said, his speech a little slurred, “it’s still gonna be a good show, but we were really onto something there. Maybe when Tilbury retires they’ll let us come back to finish the job.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” said Bortnicker. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“Yeah,” said T.J. “There’s no guarantee Tarver would’ve shown up again, anyway.”
“Well, whatever,” said Mike with a dismissive wave. “I just want you to know you guys went beyond my expectations. If The Adventure Channel picks up the series, I wish you could be the permanent team.”
“We could never do that, Mike,” said LouAnne seriously. “Not with school and sports and whatever.”
“But that doesn’t mean an occasional guest spot isn’t possible,” said T.J.
“You’re on,” the host smiled for the first time all evening. “Well, I’ve gotta finish packing the equipment. I’ll probably be sleeping a little late tomorrow morning, so I’ll see you at the pool around noon...maybe.” He went inside his apartment, leaving the teens alone.
“Okay, it’s 10:30,” whispered T.J. “We’ll meet back here at midnight. Whatever you do, keep it quiet!”
“I’ll call Ronnie and tell her to meet us at Hibiscus House a little after midnight,” said Bortnicker furtively.
“And how is she supposed to get there?” said LouAnne.
Spirits of the Pirate House Page 23