Seizure(18)

Shelton shook his head. “I’d never let him roll in my bed. I’ve seen his. Not pretty.”

“Believe me, I’m not thrilled.” I noticed Coop was missing. “Have you seen the dog?”

“On the prowl,” Shelton said. “He ran right by us.”

“Great.” Coop had snuck outside. Again.

“You try stopping that mutt when he wants to go somewhere,” Hi said. “I don’t get between wolves and their goals. Safer that way.”

“No biggie.”

Charleston has a leash law, but on Morris Island, what’s the point? Isolation is the one advantage to living so far out. Collared, tagged, and chipped, Coop wouldn’t be mistaken for a stray.

And by whom? The neighbors all knew Coop and had accepted him as my pet. To varying degrees.

The dog would return when hungry. Count on that.

“Ben’s on the dock changing an oil filter.” Mercifully, Hi abandoned my coverlet and moved to the ottoman. “I just shot him a text.”

“What’d you find, anyway?” Shelton slouched on my daybed by the window. Outside, the ocean steadily lapped the shore. “Hi said something about selling junk bonds?”

“Hilarious.” I hesitated. Was my idea any less crazy? But four eyes watched me expectantly.

“Have either of you ever heard of Anne Bonny?”

“Of course.” Shelton.

“Aye, matey! I knowest that foul female brigand!” Hi.

“Oh, good. I just found out about her.” I hedged. “Her story sounds fascinating.”

“She was awesome,” Shelton agreed. “There used to be lots of pirates around here. From, like, 1600 to 1750, this area was swarming with them.”

“The golden age of piracy!” Hi spread his hands wide. “Now you have to go to Somalia, and they use rocket launchers. That’s no fun.”


“I found a ton of stuff.” I chin-cocked the computer. “And was hoping you guys could help me sift through it.”

“Sure,” Shelton said automatically. “But why? Some kind of paper?”

“Did you know that Blackbeard himself was killed off the coast of Ocracoke, right here in the Carolinas?” Hi continued with his documentary shtick. “Ambushed, he fought valiantly, absorbing twenty sword wounds and five pistol shots.” Dramatic tonal shift. “When Blackbeard finally fell, the British navy hung his severed head from a bowsprit to prove that he was really dead.”

“Nice,” I said. “We didn’t study that in central Massachusetts.”

“Blackbeard was a master showman,” Hi added. “Long hair. Wild beard. He wore six pistols, a bunch of knives, and a cutlass. He’d work himself into a frenzy before battle to scare the crap out of his opponents.”

“Tricky, too,” Shelton added. “I read that he’d burn hemp rope under his hat to create a smoke cloud. When he attacked, his victims thought he was the real devil. Sailors would surrender at the sight of him. He wrecked shop all around here.”

“Don’t forget the siege,” Hi said. “In 1718, Blackbeard and another pirate named Stede Bonnet attacked so many ships around Charleston Harbor that the city closed down the port. Nobody got in or out for months.”

“Yikes,” I said. “Did Blackbeard kill everyone? Sink the ships?”

“Naw, but he took a lot of prisoners,” Shelton said. “He’d snag the bigwigs and hold them for ransom. Usually freed them unharmed if the bounty was paid.”

“Why is so much known about him?”

“Blackbeard was pardoned for a while,” Hi said. “Used his real name: Edward Teach. But the straight life didn’t take. You know what they say: once a hijacking, murdering, high-seas gangster …”

“That’s great,” I said, “but what about Anne Bonny?”

“Bonny?” Shelton’s face scrunched in thought. “She came from Ireland, I think. Rolled with Calico Jack, the pirate who stole Bonnet’s ship, Revenge.”

Hi resumed his TV-host baritone. “Master of both sword and pistol, Anne Bonny was a deadly fighter with a nasty temper. As a teenager, Bonny stabbed her serving maid.” Eyebrow flare. “As a pirate, she once undressed a fencing instructor using only her sword!”

Shelton broke in. “Anne Bonny pummeled any fool who hit on her without permission. She was definitely a badass.”

Inside, I smiled. I liked that.

“But that’s all small potatoes,” Shelton said. “She’s famous, really famous, because …” He stopped dead. “Wait.”

I met his gaze levelly. No point in being discrete now.

“No.” Shelton shook his head. “You can’t be serious. That’s your plan?”

“What plan?” Hi asked.

“You have a better idea?” I crossed my arms. Defiant. And a little self-conscious.

“But that’s not even a real plan. It’s a joke.” Shelton’s fingers found his left ear. Tugged. “Why not just chase rainbows looking for lucky charms?”

“What plan?” Hi repeated.

“I’m not claiming it’s a slam dunk,” I said.

“It’s not even a full-court shot,” Shelton said. “Blindfolded. Underhand. With a bowling ball.”