As always, it was T.J. who led the way. Rising, he began, “Mrs. Tilbury, when Mike Weinstein contacted Bortnicker, LouAnne, and I last winter and told us we had an opportunity to go ghost hunting and be on TV in beautiful Bermuda, we jumped at the chance. Your island, and its people, have given us some of the greatest experiences of our lives.” When he saw her blush slightly and almost smile, he went on:
“We had a lot of work to do to prepare for this project—tons of research on Bermuda and its history—we even took a six week SCUBA course to learn to dive, which we passed with flying colors.
“So we came here ready to investigate Hibiscus House and try to make contact with Sir William Tarver, its famous owner. The problem was, from the minute we got here we noticed that nobody really wanted to talk about the Captain except to say what a hero he was.”
Suddenly, Bortnicker was at T.J.’s side. “But when we came to this very building to do research, it was clear some old records had been pulled. But this made us even more determined to find the truth.”
When T.J. saw Tilbury’s eyes open wide and her nostrils flare at the accusation, he gently placed his hand on Bortnicker’s shoulder and eased him back down into his seat. “Mrs. Tilbury, what got this whole thing started was the fact that your staff refused to work at Hibiscus House anymore—”
“That Captain Tarver chased me out! Scared me half to death!” blurted Winnie Pemburton.
“You can’t be sure—”
“Oh, yes she can!” said the woman next to her in a belligerent tone.
“And you are?”
“I’m Dora Pedro, owner of Dora’s Corners, the best little restaurant on this island, as anybody’ll tell you. Winnie’s mom and I are friends, and she came to me with her story. I’m here to support her because you’re obviously a non-believer!”
“That will be quite—”
“Mrs. Tilbury,” said T.J. smoothly, “may I continue? Anyway, it seemed that what touched off the questionable paranormal activity of the house was the discovery of a shipwreck on the reefs off Gibbs Hill Lighthouse on the South Shore. We contracted with Mr. Goodwin, who owns the Blue Lagoon Dive Shop, to take us there because he’s the one who’d found it. Well, we must’ve got lucky because we found the ship’s bell on the first dive. The Steadfast’s bell.”
Tilbury leaned forward, her mouth agape. “You found ... the Steadfast?”
“My father found the wreck,” said Ronnie proudly, “but T.J. and Bortnicker found the bell.”
“And you have it?”
“Yes,” said Jasper Goodwin. “It’s secure in a saltwater bath at my shop.”
“Remarkable.”
“But that’s not all, Mrs. Tilbury,” said T.J. “And you might not like what I’ve got to say next, but here goes. We did a second dive, hoping to find gold and silver and jewels—you know, pirate’s booty—but instead we started bringing up slave shackles for wrists and ankles. The fact is, the Steadfast was a slave ship, and its owner, Sir William, was a big slave trader and owner on the island.” He added gently, “But ... you knew that, didn’t you?”
She nodded slightly and said, “Proceed.”
“So we figured that the only way we were really going to get to the bottom of this was to see if we could draw Sir William out during our investigations—”
“Because we thought we were getting two!” blurted LouAnne.
T.J. gave her a quick look, then went on. “What happened was, Ronnie Goodwin came with us because finding the slavery stuff had a big impact on her, and—” he looked directly at her— “because she’s a descendant of Tarver ... and she’s our friend.”
That annoying Dora woman then spoke up. “What they didn’t know, ma’am, was that a man was murdered in that house the night before.”
“And he was my friend!” added Hogfish.
“That unfortunate fatality is classified as accidental,” said Inspector Parry from the back of the room in an awkward attempt of support for the beleaguered Mrs. Tilbury.
“Which is why we never should have allowed the first investigation!” Tilbury hissed. “But I was overruled on that one,” she added bitterly. “Please continue, Mr. Jackson.”
“So, anyway, the first night there was that storm, which made all the sound stuff difficult, especially EVPs—”
“EVPs?”
“Electronic voice phenomena, Mrs. Tilbury. We have devices which can pick up the sounds of spirits communicating with us.”
“Nonsense.”
T.J. let that one go and went on. “All of a sudden we lost power—whether it was from the storm we didn’t know, because right after that all our battery operated devices went dead. Then it started getting really cold where Bortnicker and Ronnie were—which can be a sign that a ghost is about to manifest—er, show up. So they called us to help them and then, there he was.”
“There who was?” said Tilbury with a raised eyebrow.
“Sir William! He wasn’t exactly solid, kinda partway vapory. But he talked to us.”
“Oh really? And what was his message?”
“That he couldn’t rest until he was properly buried in his crypt at St. Anne’s.”
“But he is!”
At that point, Chappy spoke up. “I’d have to respectfully disagree, ma’am. I have it on good notice that the Captain’s body is not interred with his wife’s.”
“Then where is he?”
“That’s what he wanted to tell us on our second visit, which was why we just had to go. Don’t you see?” T.J. was becoming exasperated with the stubborn woman.
“And when you went back—illegally—what happened?”
“With Ronnie’s help, we brought him out again, and he told us his life’s story.”
“My, my. An entire narrative. And I’m supposed to just take your word for it?”
“We wouldn’t expect that, ma’am,” said LouAnne, “but I did get it down on the EVP recorder.” She turned to the policeman. “Inspector Parry, did you bring it?”
“Yes, miss, I have it here,” he said smartly, producing it from his pocket.
“If I may?” she asked hopefully.
After an affirming nod from Tilbury, Parry handed the recorder to LouAnne, who rewound it to the beginning, then set it on Mrs. Tilbury’s desk.
“Shall I?” said LouAnne sweetly.
“Please do,” replied Tilbury through clenched teeth.
LouAnne hit PLAY and took her seat. The tape began with Ronnie’s insulting provocations but then, after a pause, came the words that sent chills up the spines of all who were present:
I do not appreciate being addressed this way in my house.
At that point T.J. sat back down and patted his cousin on the knee.
It was a strange scene; all the visitors sitting ramrod straight with a forward lean, Mrs. Tilbury looking as if the very life were draining from her. When the tape ended with I hope to see her again, wherever I’m going, the congregation let out a collective breath.
Then Bortnicker said, “Pretty cool, huh?”
Tilbury gave him a look that shot daggers. “So, I would assume, then, you went to dig him up, stealing equipment from the tool shed.”
“We had to, Mrs. Tilbury. It’s what he wanted,” said T.J. sincerely.
“And this skeleton that the Inspector said you found. How do we know it’s Sir William?”
“Because of this,” said T.J. as he placed the initialed gold ring on her desk. “WT...William Tarver. It couldn’t be anyone else.”
She sat quietly for a few moments, her fingers tented in front of her face. An antique clock ticked on her wall. “We have a delicate situation here,” she said at last. “Sir William Tarver is a central figure in Bermudian history, which, to be fair, has treated him in a manner far beyond what he actually deserves.
“This being said, I do not see how it could possibly be in the best interests of our nation to try to rewrite his legacy at this point. Whose interests would this serve? No one’s.”
“Oh, we will. Quietly. With no fanfare.”
“But what about the Steadfast discovery?” asked Jasper Goodwin. “It’s the historical find of the century for Bermuda.”
“I have no problem with you announcing the finding of the ship’s bell,” said Tilbury. “What I ask is that the exact site coordinates — which only you probably know — are kept a secret. Besides, the reefs around our island are littered with wrecks. Without the bell, what remains down there from the Steadfast could be attributed to any number of vessels.”
“But what about the show?” complained Mike, who’d managed to restrain himself throughout the meeting. “Are you saying we can’t reveal the true story of the greatest paranormal investigation ever conducted?”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying,” shot back Tilbury. “Remember that what you came back with that second night was illegally acquired. Or do we have to start arresting people?”
“Lady, you’ve gotta be kidding—”
“Stop it!” cried Ronnie, springing to her feet. She took a breath, then lowered her voice. “Just stop it. She’s right.
“Listen, everybody. No one hurts over this more than me. Can you imagine how I felt yesterday when my mother had to tell me that I’m descended from a man like that? But she also told me that hating people serves no purpose. And so, let them take that pirate’s bones and put them in the crypt and be done with it. Hopefully, that will be the end of him bothering people at Hibiscus House. Winnie here can go back to work; thousands of tourists will visit based on just the first part of the investigation, minus the slavery information, televised for all to see; and the rest of us—regular people like my dad and Dora and Mr. Chapford, can get back to living our lives.”
“Hear, hear,” agreed Chappy.
Tilbury took a few seconds to let Ronnie’s impassioned words sink in, then nodded. “The girl makes sense. You have quite a daughter there, Mr. Goodwin.
“This, then, is our agreement. Mr. Weinstein, for your TV show you will use only footage from your diving expedition and the first visit to the house, with no mention of slavery. I’m sure you can fashion a slam-bang program from that. This EVP tape,” she said, popping open the cassette player, “belongs to the Bermuda Heritage Trust, as does his signet ring. Sir William Tarver will be interred, quietly, with his wife. And no one—I mean, no one—will breathe a word of this for the rest of their natural lives.”
“You’ve got my vote,” said Dora.
“Mine too, Mrs. Tilbury,” agreed Hogfish, wiping his sweaty pate with a handkerchief.
“Thanks for everything, Mrs. Tilbury,” said T.J., extending a courtly hand across the desk. “Overall, we had a great time in Bermuda.”
As she shook it, she said with a faint smile, “When are you supposed to be departing our island?”
“We have a flight booked for 6:00 p.m. today,” said Mike.
Tilbury’s smile vanished. “Make sure you’re on it.”
* * * *
Once outside, the group said their goodbyes and broke up. The meeting had taken over an hour, and it seemed even longer.
“It’s still early, Cuz,” said LouAnne. “Lots of time before we go. What do you say to a little snorkeling in Jobson’s Cove?”
“You want to snorkel? I can’t pass that up.”
“Guys,” said Ronnie, “would you mind if I bring Bortnicker home for a farewell lunch? Send him off with a proper Bermudian meal. We’ll have him back in plenty of time. Right, Daddy?”
“Sure,” said Jasper. “It will be fun.”
“You youngsters go enjoy yourselves,” said Tom Sr. “Lindsay and I will grab a bite in Hamilton and see you later.”
“And I’m just gonna veg by the pool,” said Mike. “It’s been a long week, er, eight days.”
Said Beatle Bortnicker, “I think there’s a song in there somewhere.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“This must be boring to you,” said LouAnne as she and her cousin took a break from their shallow-pool snorkeling in Jobson’s Cove to sit on a submerged rock.
“Why do you say that?” asked T.J., tipping back his mask so it rested atop his brown locks.
“Are you serious? After wreck diving on the reefs and making a historic discovery? All we’re doing is paddling around in three feet of water and looking at pretty fish.”
“It’s still fun, Cuz. Maybe we’ll come back someday.”
If there was any acknowledgement of T.J.’s veiled insinuation, LouAnne didn’t show it. “I’m going back in,” she said, adjusting her mask. “You coming?”
“In a sec.”
As she paddled away in her orange one-piece, blonde tresses trailing behind, he felt that same warmth for her as had occurred during the road race. It was so maddeningly wonderful.
* * * *
“Bortnicker, so nice to see you again,” said Claudette Goodwin, clasping his hands in hers. “I’m so appreciative of the way your little band took Veronique in and made her feel welcome.” Mrs. Goodwin and the teen were soon chopping peppers next to the kitchen sink while Jasper and Ronnie ran over to the dive shop to check on things.
“No problem, Mrs. G,” he said, his curls partially obscuring his glasses. “We couldn’t have done it without her. I mean, with her knowledge of the island and all the boat stuff. I just feel bad about everything she had to go through with her ancestry and Tarver.”
“I wouldn’t worry about that, Bortnicker,” she said. “Veronique is a strong girl. She’ll come through this just fine and be better for it. And I hope this isn’t the last we’ll see of you around here?”
“You mean it?” he said, brushing the curls from one eye.
“Without a doubt,” she answered, and gave him a peck on the cheek. “You’re the first boy she’s really liked. Or hasn’t she told you that?”
Lunch went by all too quickly, with Jasper and Ronnie recounting some hilarious tourist-related diving tales and Bortnicker sharing highlights of the previous summer’s Gettysburg adventure that had brought the Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers together.
When it was done, Jasper looked at his dive watch. “Two thirty. We should be getting Bortnicker on back soon.”
“We’ve still got time, Daddy,” assured Ronnie, taking Bortnicker’s hand. “See you in a bit.” She led the boy out of the kitchen toward another area of the cottage. “Come with me,” she said coyly, “there’s something we have to do.”
* * * *
“Where is he? It’s nearly four o’clock,” moaned T.J. as the group of Americans stood around Chappy’s minivan. “I had to pack his junk and everything.”
As if on cue, Jasper Goodwin’s battered Toyota turned into the Jobson’s Cove Apartments driveway. Goodwin switched off the ignition and got out. “All I will say is that I had nothing to do with this.”
Ronnie was the next to exit, a mischievous smile on her face. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you the star of the new program, Bermudian Makeover!”
Bortnicker emerged from the backseat, and his friends’ mouths fell open. In place of the scraggly, out-of-control curls that usually framed his face there were Rasta-style dreadlocks. Sunglasses and a multicolored knit cap completed the shocking tableau.
“Bortnicker,” stuttered Tom Sr., “Is that really you?”
“Oh yeah,” he said confidently. “What do you think, Big Mon?” he asked T.J., who was still in shock.
“I don’t know exactly what I think,” he replied, “but I have a feeling your mom’s gonna love it.”
* * * *
The scene at the airport was fairly hectic, with Mike overseeing the shipping of all the equipment and Tom Sr. double-checking the transfer flights for Mike and LouAnne. Weinstein would connect at JFK for a night flight to LA, where he and the honchos from The Adventure Channel would review the tapes and see if they had enough for a killer pilot episode of Junior Gonzo Ghost Chasers.
Jasper Go
odwin had said his goodbyes at the hotel, with Chappy volunteering to drop Ronnie at home after seeing off her friends at the airport.
The ride to Bermuda International Airport had been surprisingly quiet, the usually talkative teens deep in their own thoughts, looking out the windows of the minivan at the wondrous landscape of Bermuda much the same way as they had upon their arrival, trying to seal it into their memories.
Only Mike and Tom Sr. had made small talk, and T.J. heard his father say that he and Ms. Cosgrove would probably be visiting each other in the near future. He was glad.
As they made ready to board the plane, T.J. and LouAnne tried to look away as their dreadlocked friend said his farewells to the island girl he’d obviously fallen head over heels for. But Bortnicker was full of surprises, and today was no different.
“Er, uh, Ronnie, I—we—want to thank you for being a member of the team, and ... I have something to give you.” He pulled a wad of tissue from his pocket and unwrapped it. In the center was a thin, crudely fashioned golden ring.
“I found this on the very first dive, when I thought we were going to end up with tons of treasure. When we found the other stuff, the bad stuff, I figured I’d just keep it to myself, maybe give it to my mom. But, the way I figure it, this could’ve belonged to one of your ancestors. I’d like you to have it ... if that’s okay with you. Because if you don’t, you—”
He never got a chance to finish, because Ronnie Goodwin embraced him and rendered a kiss that made the one at Elbow Beach look lame. Many tourists in the area applauded.
“Wow,” said T.J. as LouAnne smiled broadly.
“You go, Bortnicker!” she cheered.
After they had parted, Bortnicker a beet red, Chappy spoke up. “Time to go, folks. Your plane’s boarding.”
“Chappy,” said Mike, “we can’t thank you enough.” There were handshakes all around.
“I look forward to seeing you all again,” said the amiable driver. “Bermuda is a magical place that calls you back. And, Mr. B, if and when you do return, I’ll try to dial up old John for another visit.” He put his arm around Ronnie, whose eyes were glistening, and led her out of the terminal.
Spirits of the Pirate House Page 26
