Seizure(103)

I shot Ben a thumbs-up.

“Take us in, captain.”





THE MAIN PIER was nearly deserted.

“That’s called The Landing,” Hi said. “It’s where the Aggie Gray docks. She must be out now.”

“Should I pull in?” Ben asked.

Hi nodded. “The Landing has the most slips. Maybe Sewee won’t be noticed.”

Ben selected a space and we quickly secured the boat, acting casual, like we had every right to be there. Wooden planks led up to a quaint covered shelter. A neatly painted sign welcomed us to Dewees Island.

“Nice digs,” Hi said.

He was right. Lowcountry marsh stretched in every direction. Pelicans roosted on weathered pilings, wings stretched, basking in the warm afternoon sun. Cranes fished among the reeds and cattails rose from the still water.

“It’s pretty here,” Ben said. “Even if we strike out, it was worth the trip.”

Just off the dock we passed a fleet of golf carts, neatly lined up, waiting to shuttle supplies purchased off-island by homeowners and renters.

Keys dangled from the ignitions of several.

Hi cocked an eyebrow, but I shook my head. Illegally docking Sewee was one thing, swiping a golf cart was quite another.

Hi sighed theatrically. I ignored him.

We proceeded onto a wide road that appeared to be made of white gravel. The drive was well maintained, and broad enough for two carts to pass.

“The limestone!” I crouched and picked up a piece of the paving material, then pulled one of Bonny’s pebbles from my pocket.

My heart sank.

The crushed limestone composing the road was white, grainy, and very sharp edged. Bonny’s pebble was smooth, solid, and drab gray.

“Maybe limestone dulls with age?” Hi suggested hopefully.

“Maybe.” But the two samples looked nothing alike.

Just ahead was a circular three-story building occupying a small peninsula. Out front, a flagpole flew the Stars and Stripes above the South Carolina state flag.

“That’s the admin building,” Hi said. “It also has an educational center, a few science labs, and a post office. That’s about it for Dewees.”

“So where do we start?” Shelton surveyed our surroundings. “I see two paths.”

Hi accessed a map on his iPhone. “Dewees is basically two strips of developed high ground surrounding a large central lagoon. The rest of the island is undisturbed marsh and swamp.”

He pointed to three o’clock. “That path leads across the tidal marsh to the oceanfront properties. The clubhouse is also down there.”

Hi pointed toward twelve o’clock. “Ahead are the other public buildings, the composting plant, the firehouse, and the old church. They border the lagoon.”

“Where would the flytraps have grown?” Ben asked.

Hi shrugged. “I’d put my money on the lagoon. To lure their prey, flytraps need stagnant conditions, with low wind. The swampier, the better.”

“Then let’s head straight,” I said.

“Goose chase,” Shelton muttered, but set off with us.

We followed the road about another thousand feet. To our left stretched acres of open marshland. To our right lay the pond.

“It’s called Old House Lagoon,” Hi said. “It’s the largest body of water on the island. Plenty of gators in there.”

A small, shallow cove appeared just ahead on the right, an offshoot of the main body of water. Its surface was opaque lime-green, dotted here and there with lily pads. A path skirted the cove, leading to a cluster of live oaks where the inlet joined the lagoon proper. “What’s down there?” I asked.

Hi scrolled on his cell before answering. “That’s Old Church Walk. There’s a tiny chapel tucked in the trees by the lagoon’s edge. There’s also a fishing dock.”

I thought for a moment. “When was the church built?”

Shelton beat Hi to the punch. “Early 1700s. I checked online. It’s the oldest structure on Dewees by two centuries.”

“It was here when Bonny escaped her dungeon?”

Shelton nodded. “It’s a marvel. There was nothing else out here. An Irish monk built it, then spent decades trying to convert the local Sewee. He either gave up or died, no one knows. But the building still stands.”

“We need to see it.” I was getting that feeling. Again.

“A destination!” Hi circled a finger in the air, then pointed downhill. “Onward to ye ancient house of worship!”

With that, he cut off onto the trail.

The church was smaller than I expected. A square bell tower formed the front, fifteen feet tall, broken only by a single wooden door at its center. The rectangular chamber behind had a steep slate roof and two rounded windows on each side.

The entire structure was composed of crumbling stone blocks.

Gray stone blocks.

Limestone blocks.

“Wow.” Hi pointed at my pocket. “Check the sample. That has to be a bingo!”

I approached the nearest wall and pulled out the pebble. The pattern and color matched exactly.

“Identical limestone,” I said. “Beside a perfect lagoon for Venus flytraps.”

“Impossible!” Shelton rubbed the back of his head. “No one is this lucky.”