Spirits of the Pirate House (10 page)

“I
know
so. Okay, he was a pirate. So
were a lot of other men of the time. What’s important is that he
helped build Bermuda and was willing to protect her from
attack.”

“I’d tone that down a bit, young lady,” said
her father gently. “There’s a lot about him we still don’t
know.”

“But that’s why the guys are here!” she said
strongly. “To bring light to our country’s past.” She turned in her
seat and looked Bortnicker square in the eye. “If there’s any way I
can help you learn more about Bermuda on this trip, just say the
word.”

Bortnicker, clearly in a state of panic, had
barely opened his mouth to speak when she said, “What about
tomorrow? I’ll take you guys on a tour of our first capital, St.
George’s. Is it okay, Daddy?”

“Well,” he said, “I’m sure The Adventure
Channel wants the biggest bang for their buck, as they say. But
I’ll need you until noon in the shop. I’ve got a charter in the
morning.”

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said T.J. smoothly.
“We’re picking up my cousin around that time at the airport. We can
get her unpacked at the hotel and be here by around two, if that
works.”

At that moment Chappy came through the shop’s
front door, smiling as always. “I see you’ve met my friends,” he
said to Jasper, shaking his hand.

“Indeed, Chappy. In fact, Veronique has
volunteered to be their tour guide on a trip to St. George’s
tomorrow.”

“Marvelous. Well, boys, have you completed
your business here?”

They looked to Jasper, who nodded. “We’re all
set for our first dive, bright and early on Tuesday.”

“Fine. Ah, boys, I just got a call from
T.J.’s dad. He and Mike are throwing some steaks on the grill back
at the hotel and your presence is requested.”

T.J. looked at his watch and was amazed.
“Five o’clock already? Let’s get moving!”

Ronnie walked the boys to the door. “We’ll
have a great time tomorrow,” she assured them. “Lots to see, and it
isn’t a terribly big place.” Again she rubbed her hand on
Bortnicker’s upper arm, and T.J. knew it was all his friend could
do to keep from melting. “See you then!” She turned on her heel and
followed her father through the shop and out the back to help
secure the boats for the night.

“Spirited one, that,” observed Chappy as they
climbed into the minivan.

“She’s ... beautiful,” managed Bortnicker, in
a dreamy daze.

“That, too,” agreed Chappy. “By the way, Mr.
B, I stopped off at home and brought you a little music. What say
you to a little
Abbey Road
?”

Bortnicker turned to T.J., his crooked grin
never wider. “My day just keeps getting better,” he said as “Come
Together” began to play.

Chapter Eleven

“
You sure you don’t
want to join us, Chappy?” said Tom Sr., holding aloft a sizzling
steak on his cooking fork. “We’ve got plenty.”

“No, no, thanks, anyway,” the driver said
with a wave of his hand. “The missus will be upset with me if I
come in late. I think she’s fixing up one of her special cod
dishes, and I don’t want to miss that. You men enjoy your steaks.
I’ll be ‘round at eleven tomorrow morning to get you to the
airport.” He climbed into the minivan, flashed them a thumbs-up,
and was off.

“Couple more minutes, guys,” said Tom Sr. “We
had a minor setback when the charcoal wouldn’t light—must be the
humidity in the air. Mike had to motor over to the market to pick
up some more.”

“Let’s see the bikes, Mike!” said T.J.

“Okay, follow me,” Mike replied, heading for
the covered scooter park near the back of the hotel. “Ta-da!” he
said, pointing to a fairly new pair of black G-Max 150cc bikes,
both of which had seats built for two riders. For mopeds they
looked pretty sporty, despite the baskets that were attached to the
back.

“How do you start it?” asked Bortnicker.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Mike answered,
hopping on the nearest one. The boys watched intently as he fired
up the machine, revving the motor with his right hand grip until
the machine purred. “So, who wants the first ride?” He pointed to a
metal chest Virginia’s husband had provided upon which HELMETS was
stenciled in bright yellow paint. T.J. removed three of them and
tossed one each to Mike and Bortnicker.

“Don’t mind if I do,” said Bortnicker, easing
onto the black vinyl seat behind Weinstein.

“Hold onto the sides of the seat bottom and
keep your feet on the passenger pedals,” Mike warned, and they
cautiously inched out of the parking area and down the paved path
to South Road.

T.J. leaned against the limestone wall of the
pool enclosure as he waited for their return. The sun was still
bright, though it had begun its slow descent. The first tree frogs
had begun to chirp, a sound that brought back bits of memories from
his early childhood visit. He thought of his mother, and how happy
this place had made her, and he smiled. Even this far from the
ocean, he could hear the waves pounding the beach of Astwood Park.
The smoky smell of steak and charcoal filled the air. And yes,
those palm trees were swaying overhead. “I
still
can’t
believe I’m here,” he said aloud.

Mike and Bortnicker pulled into the lot and
abruptly stopped in front of him. T.J. snapped on his helmet as
Bortnicker climbed off. “Hold on tight—he drives like a madman!”
Bortnicker warned, and T.J. laughed. He climbed onto the seat,
tapped Mike on the shoulder, and held on for dear life.

Out on South Road the traffic was light, but
steady. As Mike zoomed along, T.J. could understand how a rain
shower or a patch of oil could wreak havoc on scooters. They went
around a bend, and T.J. could spy the ocean and a bit of the
shoreline. Mike then ducked the vehicle into a scenic vista area
and U-turned for home.

“Dude, these bikes are cool!” Mike cried
aloud as he shut the motor off. “I’m gonna buy me one when I get
back to the States!” With the success of
Gonzo Ghost
Chasers
, he could afford a fleet of them.

“Soup’s on!” sang out Tom Sr., who was
loading the steaks and tinfoil-covered baked potatoes onto a large
tray.

“Let’s eat in my room so we can hear about
your day,” Mike said. “Then we can go over the equipment.” Tom Sr.
went to his refrigerator and grabbed sodas for the boys as they
helped Weinstein set their Spartan dinner table. He popped open
beers for himself and Tom Sr., and the famished foursome dug
in.

“Great steaks,” grunted Bortnicker as he
chewed away. “Were they expensive?”

“Dude, you don’t want to know,” said Mike,
forking some butter onto his potato. “Thank you, Adventure
Channel!”

“You must be away from home a lot,” said Tom
Sr.

“Yeah, about half the year, all told. We film
all over the place in the States, and we’ve been down to Puerto
Rico and South America, too. But none of the four of us is married,
and we all get along pretty well.

“We started doing this in college at Fresno
State just for a goof, but then we began having experiences—weird
stuff that made us want to learn more and push the envelope. Along
the way, we’ve tried to use every bit of technology available to
stay ahead of some of those dull paranormal shows.

“The show itself started by accident. One of
our team members, Caroline—”

“She’s
really
hot!” cut in
Bortnicker.

Mike laughed and continued, “Her brother had
a connection at The Adventure Channel. So, we went to this deserted
prison in Nevada and filmed the pilot for the show, and incredibly,
they liked it! So here we are, a couple seasons later and going
strong.” He put his knife and fork down and looked directly at
T.J.

“But in all the investigations we’ve done,
and all the crazy evidence we’ve picked up on audio and video,
nothing
compares to what happened to me last year in
Gettysburg. I was talking to a real, honest-to-God ghost, and I
blew the chance to document it. That’s what keeps me going—the
quest to, beyond a doubt, prove to America that the spirit world
really exists. That’s why I admire you dudes so much, and your
cousin, too. When it was crunch time, you showed more guts than I
ever did.”

“I’m sure the opportunity will present itself
to you again,” assured Tom Sr. “You’re too passionate about it to
not achieve your goal.”

“Well, I’m hopin’. But, hey, life is good.
We’ve all made a lot of money on the series, and there’s no end in
sight. So, when they asked me last year about a possible spinoff, I
said, ‘How about kids?’ and they said, ‘Why not? Let’s give it a
try!’ You have no idea how many letters we get from young people
all over the
world
who have either formed their own teams or
want to. So, if this project is successful, it could open the door
for lots of other dudes like yourselves.”

“Gee, no pressure
there
,” said T.J. to
Bortnicker.

“Don’t worry,” said Mike, sipping his beer,
“I have a feeling you guys are gonna do great. Now, fill me in
about today.”

“Well, it was kinda mixed,” said T.J. “First,
Chappy took us to this restaurant near the dive shop that’s owned
by one of his friends, a lady named Dora. Real authentic Bermuda
food, so we were pretty psyched. But when we mentioned that we’re
here to investigate Sir William Tarver we got the silent treatment,
kinda like the reaction from Chappy on the way back from the
airport.”

“Interesting,” said Mike, chewing on the last
of his steak.

“But that’s not all,” said Bortnicker. “There
were these two local guys there, pretty tough looking dudes in
overalls, who must’ve been listening in because one of them came
over to us and said that we should leave it alone.”

Tom Sr., concerned, asked if the boys felt
threatened in any way.

“Not exactly,” said T.J. “But it was a little
awkward.”

“That’s why our meeting with this Mrs.
Tilbury over at the National Heritage Trust Museum on Monday is so
important,” said Mike. “There’s got to be something going on with
Tarver that’s being kept on the DL—”

“But then, why publicize him in the first
place?” said Tom Sr. “You know the show will draw attention to
Hibiscus House.”

Mike frowned. “All I can think of is that,
with the economy as weak as it is over here, there’s a lot of
competition for the American tourist dollar. And Bermuda’s a very
expensive place to visit. But, believe me, you mention the word
“haunted” and interest picks up. Maybe the people in charge over
there just don’t know what they’re dealing with, if there’s
anything at all. You know, we’ve been called in to investigate
places based on some pretty wild claims by the local government or
whoever runs the facility, and they turned out to be total duds. I
mean, we can spice up the investigation here and there, though not
to the point of fabricating our results to fit the reports we were
handed. But like you said, whether the place is a hot spot or not,
there’s instant publicity generated, which means mucho dinero for
the owners of the property.

“Please tell me things went better at the
dive shop.”

“Oh, yeah, no problem there,” said T.J.,
pushing his plate away. “We met the owner, Mr. Goodwin—”

“And his daughter also?” cut in Mike, a
mischievous grin on his face.

“And Ronnie,” said T.J. “I think Bortnicker’s
in love.”

“Well, she did seem to take a shine to me,”
Bortnicker said proudly as he polished his glasses with his Red Sox
tee shirt.

“Whatever,” continued T.J. “Mr. Goodwin
showed us a map of all the wrecks around the island, and where we’d
be going to dive. It’s not too far off the coast around here, in
the area of the Gibbs Hill lighthouse, which we passed on South
Road on the way to Somerset. We’re scheduled for two dives, on
Tuesday and Thursday. It’s a long shot, but he’s hoping we can find
out if the wreck is Tarver’s ship.”

“And what happened when Tarver’s name came up
with Goodwin?” asked Tom Sr.

“Mr. Goodwin didn’t react one way or the
other,” said Bortnicker, “but his daughter went off on how he was a
great Bermudian, blah blah blah. She seems pretty patriotic, among
other things.”

“The people here are very proud of their
country,” said Tom Sr. “Take it from me. You ask them a question
about their culture and they’ll bend your ear, which is all part of
them being so accommodating. But Bermuda, as great as it is, has
dark parts in its history like any other country. You might be
dealing with one; who knows?”

Mike looked at his watch. “Wow, 8:00 already.
Do you guys think you can give me another hour to show you the
equipment you’ll be using during the investigation?”

“I’m pretty beat,” said T.J. “but I think we
can make it through another hour.”

“I’m in, too,” said Bortnicker.

“Well, I’ve got some calls to make,” said Tom
Sr. “My process begins tomorrow at 8:00 a.m. on the first tee of
the Coral Bay Golf Club. I’m playing with my buddy and a couple
guys from the government. Then, hopefully, our conversations will
continue over lunch and drinks, so you won’t be seeing me for most
of the day. And if tomorrow goes well, you won’t be seeing much of
me at all, which I guess is okay because I’d only be in the
way.”

“No problem, Tom,” assured Mike. “I’ll keep
an eye on things, and Chappy will be a help, too.”

“So, tomorrow it’s okay if we take a trip to
St. George’s in the afternoon?” asked T.J. hopefully. “Ronnie
Goodwin promised to take us around, show us the sights.”

“Lots
of sights,” added Bortnicker
with a devilish wink.

Mike laughed out loud. “You dudes are too
much. Of course you can go to St. George’s. It’s part of picking up
on the local history of the investigation site. And it’s a Sunday
anyway; not everything’s open.