Seizure(65)

“What type of car was it?” I asked.

“That’s the craziest part.” Hi sat forward, elbows on knees. “My mother is dead certain the car was a 1960 Studebaker Lark station wagon. Cherry red. She hadn’t seen one in decades. My grandfather apparently drove the same model.”

“That’s not a delivery vehicle,” Ben said.

I thought a moment. “What about the driver?”

“She didn’t get a good look. But whoever it was wore a fedora.”

“Stylin’,” Shelton cracked.

I didn’t like it. After dodging bullets in the tunnels last night, I felt as paranoid as Ruth. A strange car in the neighborhood was definitely cause for concern.

“Old-man car. Fedora.” Shelton tapped the side of his nose. “Sounds like Tory’s buddy Brincefield.”

“The thought crossed my mind,” I admitted. “But why would he come way out here?”

“Who knows?” Shelton said. “Why’d he show up for our ghost tour? Maybe he’s senile. Or a pervert.”

“That Marlo guy and his ogre buddy are just as creepy,” Hi said. “And they were stalking us today.”

“We don’t know they were following us,” Ben said. “Being downtown could’ve been a coincidence.”

Coincidences seemed to be piling up.

“What about Lonnie Bates?” Shelton asked.

“The pawnshop guy?” Ben seemed to consider the idea. “He was pretty pissed that we outmaneuvered him.”

Hi’s palms rose in a “who knows?” gesture.

Ben clicked off the baseball game. “If it’s sharing time, I’ve got news, too.”

We all looked appropriately interested.

“I talked to my uncle Bill about the Sewee legend regarding Anne Bonny.”

“Fantastic.” I’d completely forgotten. “Anything useful?”

“Depends on your definition of ‘useful.’” Ben shifted his feet, as if suddenly uncomfortable. “Uncle Bill couldn’t recall the actual wording, but this was the general idea. It’s a chant.”

“A chant?” Hi asked innocently.

I narrowed my eyes in warning. No cheap shots.

With obvious reluctance, Ben recited, “When the night sky burned as daytime, a flaming brand mounted the field of bones, and staked the devil’s hand.”

“Umm.” Hi.

“Okay.” Shelton. Puzzled.

“I told you.” Ben sounded defensive. “It’s a Sewee story about Anne Bonny. And no, I don’t have a clue what it means.”

“I can’t handle any more brainteasers,” Hi grumbled. “I’m riddled out.”

“Then don’t,” Ben snapped. “Forget I said anything.”

“Thanks for running it down,” I said diplomatically. “Maybe it will prove useful later, when we have more insight.”

“I have a theory,” Ben said. “If anyone’s interested.”

“Please.” Carefully hiding my skepticism.

“I’ve heard the phrase ‘when the night sky burned as daytime’ in other Sewee stories. It refers to a full moon.”

“And the rest?” Shelton asked.

“No idea. But I think the full moon bit is important somehow. Otherwise, why include it?”

“You’re in luck.” Hi was tapping his iPhone. “The next full moon is in … three days. Ask your spirit guide for more specific instructions by Tuesday.”

“I’ll give you—”

Shelton cut Ben off. “So what’s our next move?”

“Maybe we should research Bonny’s favorite symbol,” I said. “We can’t work the poem yet. Why not try our luck with the cross?”

“We could run an image comparison,” Shelton suggested. “Online.”

“Worth a shot.”

I unfurled the treasure map on the coffee table, snapped a pic of the illustration, then downloaded the image to my laptop.

“Your move.” I stepped aside so Shelton could man the keys.

“I know a website that lets you upload images and search for matches online.” Shelton’s fingers were already flying.

In moments, a grid of crosses filled the screen. Shelton clicked one that linked to an online encyclopedia.

“It’s called a Celtic cross,” Shelton said. “The central ring is the defining feature.”

I nudged Shelton’s shoulder. “My turn to drive.”

“Every time.” Shelton slid right so I could take his spot.

“According to this entry, the Celtic cross was introduced by Saint Patrick while converting the pagan Irish,” I said. “It combines the traditional Christian cross with a circular emblem representing the sun. Some argue it originated from the ancient custom of wreathing a cross after a victorious battle.”

I navigated back to the pictorial grid. “Some of these crosses are tall and skinny, like the one Bonny sketched.”

I eyeballed the results, selected a design closely resembling Bonny’s sketch.

“This is called a high cross.” I clicked the brief description attached to the image. “A favorite of the Irish church, it was used in monuments as far back as the eighth century. Mostly headstones.”