Bonbon With the Wind

by Dorothy St. James

  He moved closer. His lips nearly touching my ear. “That’s right, child. The worst of the dark spirits don’ ever exist.” His whispery voice sent a chill down my spine. “That’s what gives them the most power, now don’ it?”

  I rubbed the goosebumps that had risen all over my arms. “That makes no sense.”

  “If they was real, you could examine them,” his voice was as light as the wispy clouds traveling across the dark sky far above our heads. “The Gray Lady ain’t real. So that means she can’t be watched or measured or explained. She jus’ is. An’ that’s what makes her dangerous.”

  “You mean because people believe in the story they create troubles for themselves if they think they’ve seen her even if they only saw a woman on the beach in the dim morning light?”

  Kamba leaned back on his haunches and smiled at me. My shoulders relaxed with a bit of relief.

  “Whether you believe or not, now, none of that matters. I came down here because I thought you’d be well armed if you knew the origin of the tale,” he said.

  Intrigued, I said, “Go on.”

  “The Gray Lady was once a flesh and blood lady, now wouldn’t that be the case?”

  “I suppose.”

  “Now, this is the part of the tale your family worked hard to hide.” He drew a long breath. “She was a Maybank.”

  “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I suppose that’s why Althea thinks her shop was destroyed while the Chocolate Box was spared. My ghostly ancestor is supposedly protecting the place?”

  “Althea don’t know the tale. Not many alive do. Mabel took it to the grave. Didn’t breathe of word of it to anyone, not even to Bertie. Ethel might know. That old crone knows much about everything.” He chuckled. “Perhaps even more than me.”

  “If it’s such a big secret, how do you know about it?”

  “Perhaps the Gray Lady told me?” He smirked.

  “I get it. How you know doesn’t matter. So, tell me, why is her family name a secret? I suppose there’s a scandal behind the tale.”

  “Scandal aplenty. Verity Maybank was Mabel’s great-great aunt. The youngest daughter in family. The Maybanks had moved to Camellia Beach from Charleston in order to open the chocolate shop. This was at the very end of the eighteen hundreds, mind you. Speculators were believing this small island would bloom into a tourist haven for them folks up north. Shops and resorts and restaurants would be needed. The Maybanks were one of the first families to invest in Camellia Beach’s future.”

  “But the boom never came,” I guessed.

  “Not as they’d expected. No resorts. No hordes of tourists. Jus’ locals.”

  “I suppose this left my ancestors in financial trouble.”

  “No. Them Maybanks have always had money pouring out their pockets. They kept the shop and stayed in Camellia because something about the island had crept into them, like a vine, but not a deadly strangling one. Verity, a young sixteen, missed the whirl and excitement of Charleston society. The island vine growing through them Maybanks did feel strangling to her.”

  “What did she do?” I asked.

  “Young and foolish as a raccoon pup, she ran into the arms of a villain. Her parents should have warned her, pulled her away from the man she’d chased. But they didn’t stand in her way. Perhaps they decided she needed to learn her own lessons. Perhaps they figured that she’d made her own troubles and had to live with them. Perhaps they jus’ lazy. I don’t know what drove them to turn their backs on their young’n. He didn’t marry her. She lived as his mistress for about a year in Charleston, shunned by society and dependent on the crumbs her lover would throw at her. When he married, he gave her one of his new wife’s cast-out dresses. That was the last straw. She threw the dress back in his face, stole his horse, and rode like the devil was chasing her back to Camellia Beach. Oh, lawd, the wind was whipping around on the ocean. The rain pelting the island like the heavens were crying for her. She went to her parents. They thought she’d finally come home. But that night with the storm still raging, she stood out in the surf dressed in nothing but a sheer nightgown, with her arms outstretched, and let the ocean take her.”

  “She drowned herself? Over a man?” I pressed my hand to my mouth. “What an idiot.”

  Kamba shook his head. “Not because of a man. Because of love—the most fearsome power in the universe. Wielded poorly, it can consume, as it did with Verity. It ate the child from the inside out.”

  “In time she would have gotten over him,” I said.

  “Do you really believe that?” he asked. “I hear tell you keep your own heart so tightly wound up I wonder how it to manages to beat. Perhaps part of your DNA remembers Verity’s heartache. Perhaps that’s why you and the rest of the Maybanks are how they are. Makes one speculate, don’t it? The Gray Lady, she’s your kin. Her bones are your bones. Her sins are your sins. She warns the living of impending doom before the rage of the storm. You seek to bring answers to victims after the storm. Now, I’m wondering. Now that you know, what you goin’ to do with that knowing?”

  “You do realize he has a PhD in psychology,” Bertie said as she walked by the two of us crouched in front of Stella. She was carrying a load of groceries in each arm. “He sounded like everyone else at his ivy league school before he moved out to that hammock of his and started living like one of Peter Pan’s Lost Boys.”

  I jumped up and grabbed one of the overstuffed paper bags. What had she bought at the store? Bricks?

  “You jus’ jealous, Sista’,” he drawled. “You still pretendin’ and not letting that soul of yours sing like it should. It’s our heritage. We can’t ignore it.”

  Bertie laughed as she continued up the stairs to our apartment. “Not our heritage. Our parents didn’t speak like that.”

  “Don’ change who I am.”

  “You sound silly,” she snapped.

  He nodded sagely as he watched her climb the stairs. After scratching Stella behind the ears, he slowly unfolded his long legs and stood. “She jealous,” he declared with another slow nod.

  “Join us for dinner,” I said. I adjusted the heavy bag I had to hold with both arms while I followed Stella up the steps. When he didn’t answer I peeked over my shoulder. He was gone.

  That night, I dreamed of storms, lost maps, and broken hearts. When I woke up the next morning, the first words out of my mouth were, “That girl was a world-class idiot.”

  Harley grunted in his sleep and rolled over.

  Chapter 24

  After spending several pre-dawn hours melting dark chocolate squares to pour into molds that looked like old coins, I grabbed Stella’s leash and my large straw hat and headed out toward the beach.

  As soon as we crested the dunes, Stella tugged on the end of the leash. Her little paw scratched at the sand. She gave a happy yip when a ghost crab emerged from its tiny hole and scurried away. Her yips turned more frantic when I didn’t let her chase after it.

  “Hush, now. We have serious work to do,” I told my little pup and tossed her a low-calorie green bean seasoned in beef broth. Bertie had cooked up a batch of the snacks last night after seeing how much Trixie and Barbie had been feeding Stella. “I need you to dig up more of those gold coins, not tiny crabs.”

  Stella looked up at me and yipped. I suspect she was asking for another green bean instead of answering me. I’d eaten some of the green beans last night. They were delicious.

  “Argh, matey.” Althea’s bubbly personality filled the air with joy as she hurried toward me. She had a shovel slung over her shoulder. A purple pirate hat sat at a jaunty angle on her head. It perfectly matched her flowing maxi dress. Stella took one look at her and started barking. “If you don’t shut your trap, beastie, I’m going to make you walk the plank,” Althea growled playfully.

  I don’t know if it was the strange hat, or the shovel, or her growly voice. Stella, her eyes going wide, halted mid-bark and sat down.

  “Good dog,” Althea said. She turned to smile at me.
“Are we ready to go hunting?”

  “Just about,” I said. I wasn’t sure how searching for Blackbeard’s treasure—which may or may not exist—would help catch the killer. Just this morning, feeling more than a little frightened by my string of nightmares, I called Althea and told her about my dreams and how they’d included a map, a map that must have been a reflection of the one Delilah had flashed at me. After describing the details of the map, Althea had insisted on meeting me.

  “I don’t know why either of us think we’ll find this treasure when there is an island full of professional treasure hunters scouring every inch of sand.” I gestured toward the small crowd of beachcombers waving metal detectors all around us.

  “For one thing, we have the Gray Lady on our side.”

  I rolled my eyes, which seemed to be a signal to Stella that she should bark.

  “Also”—Althea held up her hands to stop me from protesting—“my master’s thesis was on the history of this island. I know its secrets better than anyone, save for Uncle Kamba. And if that map you described to me is correct, those hunters are searching in the wrong places. I think I know how to find the place on the map that you described.”

  She turned on her heel and headed toward one of the few remaining wooden walkovers that scaled the dunes.

  I hurried to catch up with her. Stella’s tail wagged wildly as she joined in the chase.

  “Why did you have me meet you on the beach if that’s not where we’re going to look for the treasure?” I asked.

  “Because I wanted to see the sunrise,” she said without slowing her stride. “The front beach is too volatile, too unstable. A pirate would never bury anything in these shifting sands, especially not on Camellia. The sand we’re standing on today will be on a beach somewhere in Florida by the end of the year.”

  “Really?”

  She nodded.

  “Joe did extensive research on pirates and treasure. Why wouldn’t he know this?” I asked.

  Althea shrugged.

  “And what about the professional treasure hunters?” I pointed back to the hordes we were leaving behind us.

  “Professionals?” she snorted. “Those are hacks. The professional treasure hunters would laugh at anyone suggesting Blackbeard had even landed on Camellia. Actually, if you look at the facts, it is kind of laughable.”

  “Then why was Joe so convinced he’d find the treasure? Why was Sammy and Delilah after his treasure map?” I asked. I had to jog to keep up with her, which was amazing considering how my legs were nearly twice as long as hers.

  “No clue,” she said. “Has Big Dog contacted Harley?”

  “No. He’s still missing.”

  “Harley must be worried as all get out.”

  “He is. I wish there was something I could do for him. I’m starting to hate Big Dog for doing this to Harley. Harley keeps insisting Big Dog is his friend and that he’s completely trustworthy, but I don’t see it.”

  Althea slanted a glance toward me.

  “What?” I said. “If Big Dog was so trustworthy, he wouldn’t keep Harley in the dark like this.”

  “I’m sure he has his reasons,” Althea said.

  “Yeah, like he killed Sammy?”

  “Or he’s scared he’ll be blamed for Sammy’s death. Remember, his brother didn’t support him the last time he was wrongly accused of a crime. Spending several years in jail because of that would make anyone jumpy.”

  I pressed my lips together. She had a point. Still, I was worried. It seemed rather convenient that the two men who he claimed were responsible for stealing from his bank were now dead. I wondered yet again if it wasn’t vindication that Big Dog was searching for, but revenge.

  ~~

  We needed a car, to get where Althea had planned to search. She drove us in her yellow Honda Civic to the Northern end of the island where the abandoned red-and-white striped lighthouse kept silent watch over the shoreline. After parking, she led the way down a narrow path that led through the maritime forest on the marsh side of island. Throughout the walk, she lectured me on the history of Camellia Beach, its settlement and how it had sometimes served as a refuge for pirates and criminals. And root doctors.

  The hurricane had left the trail she led me down littered with broken limbs, seaweed, sea grasses, and swarms of mosquitoes. We had to slow our pace in order to make our way through the detritus. I picked up Stella, worried she might cut her foot.

  The trail took an abrupt turn and narrowed even more.

  “Is it much further?” I asked before swatting at yet another flying bloodsucker. Stella nipped at the air to catch the one circling her head.

  “If what you described with that map is correct, we’re almost there,” Althea said without slowing her pace.

  “Why aren’t you swatting at the mosquitoes? I think if another one bites me I’m going to die from blood loss.”

  She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Really?”

  “Aren’t you getting eaten alive?” I slapped my thigh, managing to kill three at once.

  “I suppose I’ve been bit a few times. I really haven’t noticed.”

  “Not fair,” I muttered. “Perhaps you could mutter an incantation to keep them away from me.” I was joking. Mostly. If she could banish these buzzing creatures, I might accept her claims to magical powers. Well, for just this one time.

  She chuckled. “Once we clear the trees, it should get better.”

  A few yards later, she led the way through a narrow opening that didn’t look like a path. Not. At. All. We had to duck and weave through the thick brush before we emerged from the trees and climbed up an ancient sand dune that looked out over the marsh. True to her word, a breeze from the river did keep the mosquitoes from following us.

  With the shovel propped on one shoulder and her hand on her hip, Althea turned a complete circle. “If I were a pirate, this is where I’d bury my treasure. It’s high land that’s protected from flooding. It’s not easy to reach. The marsh is deep here. So the area is difficult to access even with a small boat. And the path leading out this way is nearly impossible to find. I stumbled across it when I was a child. Even Uncle Kamba who swears he knows every inch of this island was surprised when I told him about my little hideaway.” Her eyes glittered as she added, “He told me fairies kept it hidden.”

  “Fairies?” I scoffed. Stella barked.

  “He could be wrong. It could be a pirate curse or a ghost.” She laughed. When she said things like that, I never knew if she was serious or not. “Should we start digging?”

  “I suppose.” Pirate curses, fairies, the mention of anything supernatural made my skin itch. I set Stella down and rubbed my arms. “It is odd, though. There are no signs of digging here. Those treasure hunters have dug up every undeveloped inch of the island.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Of course, Blackbeard might have buried his treasure somewhere that’s been developed. It might be paved over and we’d never know,” I said.

  “Could be,” Althea agreed. But something about the way she agreed—the lilting and almost dismissive tone, perhaps—made me wonder if she was only humoring me.

  “What?” I demanded.

  “Feeling prickly? You shouldn’t. I agreed with you. We might never find the treasure.”

  “But…” I said when she didn’t. “There’s a silent but in what you’re saying.”

  “You don’t want to hear it,” she said.

  “Maybe I do.”

  “You already know what I’m going to say,” she said as she scouted the area for a place to start digging. “I’ve already told you.”

  “You didn’t. I would have remembered.”

  “The Gray Lady wants us—” She hesitated and looked at me.

  I groaned. “You’re right. You already told me this. And I don’t want to hear it. My ancestor is dropping gold coins for me to find because she wants us to find a lost treasure that wasn’t hers and isn’t mine. And then I say, ‘You’re craz
y.’ And because I’m still having trouble with this trust business, things get weird between us again.”

  Althea dropped the shovel and spun toward me. Her jaw had dropped open. “What?” she screeched.

  I looked behind me before realizing she was reacting to what I’d said. “I don’t mean to upset you, but you have to agree that our friendship isn’t back on solid footing yet.”

  “Yes, yes, that does upset me.” She marched over to me. “But…but…” She shook her head and tugged on an ear before she drew a deep breath. “There has to be something wrong with my hearing this morning. It sounded like you just said that the Gray Lady is your ancestor.”

  “I did.”

  “The Gray Lady is a Maybank?”

  “That’s what your uncle wants me to think.”

  “Uncle Kamba wouldn’t lie to you.”

  I shrugged. How could I know that? I’d just met him. And besides which, “It’s all a moot point. The Gray Lady doesn’t exist.”

  Althea started to protest but then stopped herself and held up a hand. “Let’s just dig.” She turned around and jammed the shovel randomly into the ground. After several minutes of digging there was a loud clank.

  My heart stopped for several moments before it took off racing that same way it would whenever I spotted the last piece of chocolate in a candy dish.

  “Is it—?” I asked. Finding the treasure couldn’t be that easy, could it?

  Althea looked back at me, her eyebrows raised, clearly as surprised as I was.

  “Well, what are you waiting for?” I asked. “Start digging.”

  I stood next to her as she dug around whatever it was the shovel had clanked against. By the outline that her efforts seemed to be producing, the hidden object seemed to be the size of a treasure chest.

  It’s going turn out to be an old log.

  But as we took turns shoveling sand and muck away from the object hidden beneath the ground, the more it became clear that this wasn’t a log or a rock or an artifact from the Civil War.

  It was a box.

  A heavy steel box.

  It took both our efforts to lift the box from its hole. Panting, we dropped it on the damp marshy ground. Writing was etched into the top of the black metal box.