Seizure(111)

“Yes,” I said gently. “We found Jonathan in a tunnel beneath East Bay.” I hesitated. “He’d been killed by a booby trap. I’m very sorry.”

“So he’d gotten close.” Though Brincefield smiled, his eyes were glassy. “That’s something, I guess.”

“He was carrying a stone artifact,” I said. “We used it to reach the final chamber. We’d have failed without your brother.”

“Was it there? The treasure?”

I shook my head. “It had been moved. Later we found a chest, but it was empty. Bonny’s legend was a fraud.”

Brincefield’s face seemed to crumple in on itself. I could practically read his thoughts. His brother had died for nothing.

Maybe it was unwise, but I couldn’t resist. This Bonny-obsessed old man needed closure.

“We did find something,” I whispered. “In another place. We’ve kept it secret from everyone.”

“Thank goodness! Tell me.”

“It’s not much, just a bag of gold coins and some old religious drawings.” My tone reflected my disappointment. “I think Bonny removed most of her loot when the chest was relocated to Dewees.”

Brincefield stilled a moment, then danced a jig, moving nimbly for such a fossil.

I stared at his performance, totally confused.

“Tory, you don’t understand! The drawings are the treasure!”


“Come again?”

“Jonathan researched Anne Bonny and Calico Jack for years. Collected letters, reports, whatever he could find. He shared his discoveries with the only person who’d listen. His little brother. Me.” Brincefield was beaming. “Jonathan knew.”

“Knew what?”

“After Jonathan disappeared, I became as obsessed as he’d been. Finding the treasure ate at me.” Brincefield’s eyes grew distant. “In the end, I had to choose between the quest and my sanity. So, two years ago, I sold Jonathan’s collection. For a measly twenty dollars.”

The letters! That’s how Bates acquired them.

“Our chat at the yacht club triggered the old itch,” he went on. “I even tried to buy back Jonathan’s papers. That’s when I learned that a group of teenagers purchased the collection the day before. I knew instantly who led them.”

His look became sheepish. “I sorta kept tabs on you after that.”

My arms folded. “The ghost tour. Brunch at the country club.”

Brincefield nodded. “Sorry.”

“Accepted. Now what did Jonathan know about the treasure?”

The gleam returned to his eyes. “In 1718, Calico Jack captured a Spanish galleon sailing from Cadiz. The ship carried a wealthy Spaniard named Miguel de Fernan Ortega. Ortega was traveling to the New World to assume the governorship of Maracaibo.”

“Okay.” Still lost. “Why does that matter?”

“Because of what he had in his luggage!” Brincefield’s enthusiasm was infectious. “Ortega was a known collector of antiquities. Just before disembarking, he’d publicly boasted of a recent acquisition.”

I saw where the story was going. “Jack and his crew stole it.”

“Exactly. When the British captured Calico’s Jack’s ship—”

“The Revenge.”

“—they inventoried the hold.”

Brincefield held up a single finger. “One item was notably absent.”

“The papers we found?”

“Yes! Jonathan burned the king’s official report to keep his discovery secret, always believing that Anne Bonny took the document for herself.”

“So the pages have value?”

Brincefield’s grin stretched wider than the Mississippi. “Of course.”

“And you’re going to tell me?” I coaxed.

“Yes.” The old man’s face grew solemn. “You found my brother. Soon I’ll be able to lay him to rest. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Thank you.”

I waited.

“Research the Abbey of Kells.” Brincefield winked. “You’ll find it worth your while.”





“WHAT’S THIS ALL about?”

Videoconference. Hi sat at his desk, dressed in his favorite Puma tracksuit. “I’m grounded for life, you know. My mother almost confiscated my modem.”

Shelton nodded. “If we weren’t moving to Cali, I’d be in permanent lockdown. Good thing my parents feel responsible somehow. They think I was acting out misplaced aggression, or some such psychobabble. Works for me.”

Ben’s face filled a third box on my screen. He was at his usual place on the couch in his father’s den, absently spinning a gold coin on the coffee table. “My guess. She wants to talk about the doubloons.”

Before turning in Short and the Bates brothers, Hi and Shelton hid the pouch and pages in a locker on Sewee. Secrecy seemed prudent. There are few rules regarding buried treasure, and we’d decided to take no chances.

“Actually, that’s not it.”

I was a bundle of nerves. My news was colossal.

Knowing me as they did, the boys sensed something was up.

“Brincefield ambushed me by the Dumpster this morning.”