Spirits of the Pirate House (25 page)

“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?”