Seizure(83)

“Whaddyagot?” I said.

Videoconference. Chance and I sat side by side before my computer screen.

“Plenty.” Shelton flipped the pages of his notepad. “Bull Island is the perfect place to stash something you don’t want found.”

“Oneiscau,” Ben corrected. “That’s the true name.”

“I’m sticking with words I can pronounce,” Shelton said. “Take it up with Google Maps.”

“Shelton’s right.” Hi was munching on a french bread pizza. It wasn’t pretty. “Historically, there haven’t been many people or structures on the island since the Sewee disappeared.”

“Pirates loved it,” Shelton added. “Bull was so popular with bandits that colonial authorities built a watchtower there.”

“How big is the island?” Chance asked.

“Five thousand acres.” Hi read something off screen. “Bull is the largest barrier island within the Cape Romain National Wildlife Refuge. It’s all forests, swamps, dunes, and beaches.”

“Who lived there?” I asked.

Ben chimed in. “The Sewee until the early 1700s. The English landed in 1670, on their way to settle Charles Town. One was Stephen Bull, and somehow he got the island named after him. Jerk.”

“No one lived there after the Sewee?”

“Very few,” Shelton said. “In 1925, a Senator Dominick purchased the island and built a manor house. The Refuge was established in ’32, and Dominick sold to the Fish and Wildlife Service in ’36. The manor house operated as an inn until the 1960s, when the whole shebang was declared off-limits for development.”

Chance leaned in front of my webcam. “So you’re saying Bull Island has been essentially unoccupied since Bonny escaped in 1720?”

“Yes,” Hi answered. “Bull Island is a class-one remote wilderness area, which means it’s basically untouched. The manor house is still used by Refuge employees, but nothing else was ever built out there.”

“That’s not to say no one visits,” Shelton said. “There’s a daily ferry. The bird watching is supposed to be top notch, and the island is criss-crossed with trails. But Bull is closed to the public after dark.”

“Perfect,” I said. “That’s when we’ll go.”

“Tomorrow night,” Hi reminded. “Full moon.”

“Five thousand acres.” Chance scratched at his thin beard, puzzled. “How will we know where to look?”

“I’ve got an idea about that,” Shelton said. “The second line of Bonny’s poem reads, ‘stand the high watch, hold to thy faith, and look to the sea.’”

“So we’ll be looking east,” I said.

“Remember the watchtower?” Shelton glanced at his notepad. “In 1707, the South Carolina General Assembly authorized lookouts on six coastal islands, each to be built on a hill or high dune.”

“Bull got one,” Hi guessed.

“Yep. It was called a Martello tower, and would’ve been manned by a white dude and a couple of Sewee, for the sole purpose of watching for pirate ships. If they saw one, they’d fire a cannon three times, then run like hell.”

“Heroes,” Hi said. “What happened to the thing?”

“The Union blew it up during the Civil War.”

I saw where Shelton was headed. “You think the tower is the ‘high watch’ mentioned in Bonny’s poem?”

“Makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” I smiled. “Good job. We have a place to start.”

“Any thoughts on the field of bones?” Ben asked.

“No,” Hi admitted.

“Not yet,” said Shelton.

“Keep looking.” I yawned, exhausted by another long day. “Let’s talk again in the morning.”

“Wait!” Chance glanced at me in surprise. “We aren’t going to discuss what happened at the cabin?”

“What’s the point?” Ben said. “We don’t know who was out there.”

“You’re hanging with us now, bro.” Hi flicked imaginary dust from his shoulder. “Don’t worry so much.”

“Truth.” Shelton fist-pounded his chest. “We’ll keep you safe.”

“Good night, tough guys.” I logged off.

Chance propped his feet on my ottoman. “What now?”

“We lay low until tomorrow night. You hide up here.”

“But I’m bored. Don’t you have a Wii or something?”

The front door opened. Keys hit the hall table.

“Tory, I’m home!” Kit’s voice carried up the stairs. “Wanna watch some 30 Rock reruns?”

“Coming!” I turned and whispered to Chance. “Read a book. Bridget Jones’s Diary is on my shelf. You’ll love it.”

I shut the door on his groan.





WE LEFT JUST after midnight the following night.

Quiet as a whisper, Chance and I crept downstairs. Kit had gone to bed early and was usually a heavy sleeper. Nonetheless, my heart raced with every creak of the floorboards.

In the living room, Coop padded over and whined softly.

“Stay, boy.” I led him back to his doggie bed, praying he’d cooperate. Then Chance and I slipped through the front door and raced to the dock.