Bates was still working the boys. They seemed overwhelmed by the onslaught.
Seeing my shades, Shelton frowned. Then his eyes went saucer. He elbowed Hi, who elbowed Ben.
They knew.
“It’s way too bright in here,” I said.
Bates looked at me funny. His shop was lit like a cave.
Now! Before you lose control.
“Mr. Bates, I don’t think these are authentic,” I said. “Interesting, sure, but not worth much.”
“Child, please. These are rare, precious artifacts,” Bates insisted. “Extremely valuable. I bought ’em from a serious collector.”
“Really? Who? I think you got taken.”
“That’s my business, not yours.” He crossed arms the size of telephone poles. “Five hundred bones. Not a penny less.”
Bates’s poker face was impressive. I couldn’t get a read.
Luckily, I had other tools.
As discreetly as possible, I drew air through my nose. Sniffed. Sifted. When I found his scent, I nearly staggered backward.
Onions. Coffee. Garlic. Sweat trapped inside rolls of flesh. Cheap drugstore aftershave.
I coughed, violently, nearly losing my eyewear.
“You sick, girl?” Bates squinted.
Hi provided a distraction.
“Can you prove these papers are real?” he asked. “Show us some evidence? You keep documentation, right?”
“I don’t have to prove nothing, boy.” Impatient. “Buy ’em or not. If ya’ll don’t, somebody else will.”
Bracing myself, I inhaled again. The funk sickened me anew, but I kept control this time. My nose sorted, divided, categorized.
From beneath the stench, earthier scents emerged. One odor outweighed the others, salty and acrid, like a towel soaked in cat urine.
I named the smell, though I couldn’t say how.
Deception. Bates was lying.
“You believe this box is valuable?” I asked.
“Young lady, I know it.”
The acid reek increased.
Lie.
And now, another smell. Rank. Sickly. A little sweet.
Worry.
Bates was anxious we’d call his bluff.
Which is exactly what I did.
“No thanks, we’ll pass. You guys ready to go?”
“Wait now, hold on! I didn’t say we couldn’t work something out.” Bates ran a hand over his jaw. “Two-fifty.”
“Twenty bucks,” Hi hard-balled. “For everything.”
“Twenty dollars!?! That’s robbery!” Bates’s eyes narrowed to slits. “One-fifty.”
The twin odors rolled in waves.
“Thanks for your time.” I jerked my head toward the door. “Let’s bail.”
“Fine. One hundo. Final offer.”
A new scent appeared. Metallic. Hard. Like iron shavings.
Resolve. Bates wouldn’t go lower.
“Deal,” I said. “Shelton, pay the man.”
Shelton counted five twenties, about half of our available funds. Bates scribbled a receipt and handed the crate to Ben.
“Good luck with those ‘artifacts,’” Bates chuckled. “That box ain’t nothing but garbage. I paid twenty for the whole lot!”
“Think again,” Shelton shot back. “We already know the papers are real. Pretty dumb to put the map symbol right in your ad.”
Ben cuffed Shelton, but the damage was done.
“Say what?”
“Nothing,” Shelton mumbled. “I was just joking.”
“Map symbol?” Bates’s left eyebrow rose. “What chu’ mean, map?”
Nice job, Shelton!
I searched for a credible answer. Blanked. My blood pressure spiked.
SNUP.
The power dissolved. I swayed, but managed to keep my feet. Hi caught my arm.
“Clear?” Hi whispered.
Shaky nod.
“Steady. Don’t pass out.”
“I just need a sec.” My head spun like the teacups ride.
Bates’s face pinched in confusion. “How’d ya’ll know about my ad?” Then, with realization, came anger.
“Ya’ll played me!” he fumed. “Acting the fool, like ya didn’t know what ya came for! Bull-crap! Ya’ll wanted that box the whole time!”
Bates stormed over to Ben. “Forget this! No sale.”
“Too late.” Ben put a hand on the crate. “Deal’s a deal. You took the money. We have a receipt. Done.”
“Is that a fact?”
Ben didn’t blink.
“Fine!” Bates’s eyes were bulging like golf balls. “Get out my shop! And watch yourselves, this neighborhood ain’t safe. I’d run back home, if I was you.”
I was down with that. We hustled to the door.
“Wait!” Bates pointed at me. “Sign the receipt. Otherwise, the deal ain’t official.”
I hurried to the counter, jotted as fast as possible.
“Who sold you this box, anyway?” I asked.
“Piss off.”
“Hey!” Ben shouted. “Watch your mouth.”
Ben stepped toward the counter. Hi grabbed his arm as Shelton placed a restraining hand on his shoulder. Though furious, Ben allowed himself to be halted.
I joined the boys. “Let it go. We got what we came for.”
The others followed me toward the door.
“Can we get some buzz-out music, please?” Hi’s smile looked forced. Shelton’s hands were shaking. Time to bolt.
Bates watched us for a very long moment. Finally, his hand moved below the counter.
Buzz!
“Ya’ll don’t come back here. Ever.”
Not a problem.
LONNIE BATES WAS furious.
Worse, his pride was stinging.
He’d run Bates Pawn-and-Trade since age seventeen, first for his uncle and now for himself.
Buy for a dollar, sell for two. That was his mantra. It worked. He was rarely taken for a fool.
Except today.
Those downtown brats had swindled him. He felt it in his bones. The punk kids had seen the ad and come for the pirate junk. They’d driven all the way from under their mommy’s skirts, walked into his shop, and swindled him good.
Bates couldn’t calm himself. Anger burned like an ember in his gut.
The black kid had blurted something about a map. He’d tried to cover his slip, but Lonnie Bates was no fool.
Why would rich kids come all the way to the projects for a box of pirate junk?
They wouldn’t. Unless they knew the stuff had value.
Bates thought back. Two years earlier he’d bought the crate from a strange old cracker. Weird dude, obsessed with pirates. Wouldn’t stop running his mouth about Anne Bonny.
Bates should’ve suspected something—dude wore a white tuxedo. In Myers! He’d written the guy off as a lunatic.
Twenty bucks for some fake pirate crap. No big deal.
The geezer had whined, but accepted the price. They always do. No one leaves without selling. Hard cash talks when you’ve got none.
A hundred bucks. Those kids knew something in the box was worth more, had come specifically for it. The papers? Had he been sitting on a gold mine and blown it? That possibility burned the worst.
Don’t sit here feeling sorry, played, and stupid. Do something!
The map. Those papers. Find out.
Bates prided himself on his ability to sniff out money. To know when there was coin to be made. He was feeling that itch now. Full tilt.
He’d screwed up, but wouldn’t just roll over. Not in this lifetime.
Bates reached for his cordless phone. Fat fingers punched the keys.
Two rings, then a groggy voice answered.
“Wake up, slack ass! It’s your pops. Got a job for you boys.”
THE PLACEMATS WERE neatly pressed.
Linen napkins. China plates. A full battery of utensils. Crystal stemware.
The table was set for three. Kit. Me. And the Blon
de Bimbo.
Picnic lunch. No possibility of escape.
Whitney had selected the roof deck for a surprise meal. The weather was her accomplice, with low humidity and cloudy skies keeping the mercury down.
Whitney arranged her bounty with precision, everything just so. She’d made potato salad, cornbread, fish tacos, and wild rice. Her culinary skill was perhaps her only saving grace.
Coop sat to one side, eyes and ears alert. Any scraps would have a short stay on the tiles.
Throughout the meal, Kit oohed and ahhed like a bumpkin, praising everything from the salad to dessert.
Blech.
I ate in silence, bored silly, counting the minutes.
When Coop nudged my knee, I absently scratched his ears.
“Shoo!” Whitney flicked her napkin at the wolfdog. “Get back!”
“Tory, don’t feed Coop at the table,” Kit said. “Whitney worked hard to make us a nice lunch.”
“He’s not bothering anyone.” I gently pushed away his snout.
Coop whined and backed up a step, his eyes never leaving my face.
“Can we please put the animal inside?” Whitney never referred to Coop by name. It was always, “that beast,” “the animal,” or “that mongrel.” Drove me bonkers.
Did she not understand that her attitude bothered me? Or did she just not care?
Kit looked uncomfortable, stuck in his usual spot between daughter and ditz. Sometimes I really did pity him.
“If we put Cooper inside, he’ll just whimper at the door,” I said. “He’ll be fine. So will you.”
Whitney bristled but let it go. Lunch proceeded in silence.
“How was the yacht club?” Whitney asked. “Did you have the best time? I know you looked adorable in that dress! Celia says that style is très popular this season.” The attempt at French was jarring in her thicker-than-Dixie drawl.
“It was fine.”
The idiot woman was born without tact. Like I wanted to discuss the merits of my borrowed dress.
“Did you meet that friend of yours?” Kit thought a moment. “Jason? Jackson?”
“Jason Taylor?” Whitney beamed. “Oh my! That boy is from a fine family. I’m well acquainted with his mother. And such a handsome young man!”
Gross. Whitney knowing my friends made me ill. Completely unfair, but this was a strike against Jason.
And I did not want to discuss the party.
“We talked a bit. The whole thing was a bore.”
“Well, darlin’, that won’t be true of the debutante ball. A young lady in Charleston cannot find a better time.”
“Oh, indeed.”
Whitney smiled, surprised. Sarcasm was not her strong suit.
Kit caught it, however.
“Tory, clean your plate,” he ordered, drilling me with eye contact. “Now.”
I downed the last of my taco.
Whitney began collecting dirty dishes in a way-too-cute wicker basket. Realizing it was crunch time, Coop inched close. Unaware, Whitney grazed his tail.
Coop growled.
Whitney gasped and skittered backward, nearly dropping the basket.
“Cooper!” Kit clapped twice. “No!”
Coop scampered to the corner, tail tucked.
“He tried to bite me!” Whitney wailed.
“No he didn’t!” I snapped. “You startled him. Don’t be so dramatic.”
“Put Coop inside,” Kit ordered. “He’s lost his deck privileges for the day.”
Jaws clamped, I complied. Coop scooted out of sight down the stairs.
“I swear.” Whitney’s hand fluttered to her chest. “That dog hates me.”
“Try being nicer to him. Canines are very perceptive.”
Kit tried to change the subject. “You mentioned dessert?”
“Well, of course!” Whitney’s beaming smile returned. “Would I do otherwise?”
The blueberry pie was still warm from the oven. Fantastic. I was finishing my second slice when Kit casually dropped the bomb.
“Whitney, we need to talk.” I could hear dread in his voice.
“Yes, sweetheart?” Eyelashes fluttering.
“I’m sure you’ve heard about CU’s money problems. The budget shortfalls.”
Flutter flutter flutter.
“The cuts are going to hit hard.” Kit swallowed. “LIRI may not survive.”
The lashes froze. “What does that mean?”
“It means I need to find a new job. Tory and I may have to move.”
For several seconds, nothing. Then the floodgates opened.
“Move?” Tears moistened the Chanel mascara, creating black trails across her face. “You’re—” choked sob, “—leaving me?”
“Nothing is decided.” Kit handed Whitney his napkin. “We’re considering all options. Today I heard about a position in Scotland that sounds fascinating, and—”
My turn to overreact.
“Scotland? What?”
“We’ll talk later,” he said. “It’s a two-year gig in the Hebrides, the islands off Scotland’s north coast. The work sounds … interesting.”
Whitney’s shoulders and chest heaved. The expensive makeup was now an impressionist painting.
“Hey now, come on.” Kit was at a loss. “We can talk this out.”
“Was—” gasp, “—it—” gasp, “—something—” gasp, “—I did?”
I slipped inside as fast as my legs could carry me.
WE CLUSTERED AROUND the bunker’s only table.
It would’ve been more clinical to inspect the crate in Shelton’s garage, but we opted for secrecy. Plus, the bunker was a better venue for chewing me out.
“Flaring in public is dangerous!” Shelton sounded outraged. “You don’t know what could happen. What if you’d lost control in front of Bates? What if the virus had suddenly caused a new side effect? We don’t know enough to roll the dice like that!”
“You put us all at risk.” Ben’s finger stabbed in my direction. “You get caught, we get caught. You want to end up in a cage? Become a lab rat, like Coop was?”
Hi glared, arms crossed, content to let the others do the scolding.
I’d offered apologies on the car ride home, but no one was buying. Then or now. Finally, I’d had it.
“Enough! We’ve been over this. My actions were impulsive and risky. For that, I’m sorry. But we needed an edge against Bates, and it worked. Now can we please inspect our purchase?”
I didn’t tell them about my sniffing ability. Now was not the time. If the boys found out I’d also flared at a yacht club party, they’d flip out.
Scowls still in place, the boys let it go. They knew how stubborn I could be.
“Most of this stuff is junk.” Shelton shoved several items aside, including the eye patch, the hats, and the replica guns. Working quickly, we removed other worthless filler probably added by Bates to increase the price.
When we’d finished, what remained was a scroll of papers tied by a scruffy leather cord. Wrinkled and frayed, the documents had definitely seen better days.
“Hell-o!” Hi pointed.
The strange little cross decorated the very first page.
“Booyah!” Shelton unwound the cord.
“Don’t get too excited,” Hi cautioned. “Bonny’s treasure map is well known. A clever counterfeiter might’ve copied that symbol to dupe people like us.”
“True,” I said. “Let’s not lose our scientific objectivity.”
Nodding enthusiastically, Shelton moved aside for Hi, considered by all to have the best “science” hands.
“Which one of you is my assistant?” Hi raised both forearms, fingers splayed.
Ben shoved him a box of latex gloves. Properly garbed, Hi lifted the top sheet of parchment.
“It’s the first page of a letter,” Hi said.
I scanned the first few lines. “Addressed to Anne Bonny! Find out who wrote it.”
Hi checked the next sheet. I noted that both pag
es contained the strange cross.
The letter signed off with a bold set of initials.
“Somebody named M. R.” Shelton said. “Who could that be?”
“Mary Read.” I couldn’t believe it. “The letter is from Mary Read to Anne Bonny!”
“I kissed a girl, and I liked it!” Hi sang.
Shelton chuckled. “There’s no proof they had that kind of relationship.”
But even I laughed. Whatever. If the documents were genuine, we’d hit the jackpot. That letter alone could be worth thousands.
Moving gingerly, Hi leafed through the remaining pages.
“Three letters,” he said. “Two from Read to Bonny, and one back from Bonny to Read. All dated early 1721.”
“How did Bates get letters going both ways?” Ben asked. No one could answer.
“When was Revenge captured?” I asked.
“Calico Jack was hanged in 1720,” Shelton replied. “So these were written after they’d been caught.”
“While in prison,” I said. “But why write each other letters? Weren’t their cells in the same jail?”
“How about we read and find out?” Hi said.
Good point.
Back to page 1. We studied the document in silence.
The language was antiquated, the script faded and hard to decipher. Still, it was English. Eventually the odd prose started making sense.
“There!” My finger shot toward the page. “Read says that she’s ‘bored to tears’ now that Bonny ‘has gone so far away.’”
“Gone?” Shelton ear-tugged. “Where’d she go?”
“Shhh!” Ben hissed. “Some of us don’t read as fast.”
We waited.
“Next.” Ben glanced my way. “And no spoilers this time.”
Hi flipped the page. My greedy eyes devoured the archaic text.
Wow!
I waited, hands clasped in impatience. Finally they saw it.
“Holy smokes!” Hi.
“My God!” Shelton.
Ben looked up, eyebrows high on his forehead.
“Congrats guys,” I breathed. “We just discovered what really happened to Anne Bonny. The truth.”
Hi read aloud. “‘Thank goodness your worthy father saw fit to claim you home.’”
“Worthy father?” Ben asked. “Like God? She died?”
“No! No! Her father. William Cormac! He did ransom her!” Shelton clapped his hands once. “Bonny went back to Charles Town.”