Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“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.”

“We have to try something .”

“WHAT. PLAN?” Hi. Exasperated.

Ben walked in and popped the back of Hi’s head. “WHY. ARE. YOU. YELLING?”

“Wonderful.” Hi slid to the floor and rolled to his back. “First ignored, then attacked. I need new friends. And a lawyer.”

“You’ll survive.” Ben dropped into my lounger and crossed sneakered feet. His black T-shirt was stained with grease and oil. “Now answer the question.”

Sighing theatrically, Hi spoke to the ceiling. “Tory came up with one of her special schemes. Shelton thinks it’s insane, big shock there. Neither will tell me what they’re talking about. Then you came in and assaulted me. That’s all I got.”

“Brennan here thinks she’s found a way to solve our fiscal problem.” Shelton laid it on thick. “Easy! All we have to do is find Anne Bonny’s lost pirate treasure.”

Ben snorted.

Hi’s giggles rose from the floor. “Okay, that’s pretty nuts.”

My face burned, but I didn’t back down.

“Why is it so crazy? No one has ever found it, right? We need tons of cash, and we need it now . I’m open to other suggestions.” I cupped a palm to the side of my head. “All ears.”

Ben’s forehead crinkled. “You’re talking about finding buried treasure. You realize how absurd that is, right?”

“I do.”

“No one’s sure the treasure even exists,” Shelton said. “It could be an empty legend.”

Hi sat up. “Hundreds of people have searched. Experts. Geniuses. Dudes with elephant guns and funny hats.” He waved a hand. “It’s a myth.”

“Fine. Prove it. Help me research. Show me how foolish I’m being.”

Groans. Head shakes. The idea wasn’t a crowd pleaser.

“You’ve got better things to do?” I wheedled.

“I don’t,” Hi admitted. “I’m in.”

Ben rolled his eyes.

“Damn it, Hi.” Shelton sighed. “Now we’re all doomed.”

“Hey, pirates are awesome.” Hi shrugged. “I don’t mind reading up on them. I thirst for knowledge.”

“There’s an old Sewee legend about Bonny’s treasure,” Ben said.

“ All Sewee legends are old,” Hi quipped.

Ben crooked two fingers, daring him to say more. Hi wisely refused the bait.

“Supposedly,” Ben continued, “Bonny stashed her loot around the time my ancestors were forced into the Catawba tribe. I’ve only heard a little of the story.”

“That’s great,” I said. “Tell us.”

“I don’t know it by heart. Something about the devil and red fire. I could ask my great uncle.”

“Please do,” I said. “You never know what might help.”

“I can do you one better,” Shelton said. “I read there’s a map.”

“A treasure map!” Hi rubbed his hands together. “Now we’re talking. This’ll be easier than a trip to the ATM.”

“So where is it?” I asked.

Two googles later, we had the answer.

FOREGOING OUR USUAL route, Ben motored Sewee up the east side of the peninsula to the docks beside the South Carolina Aquarium. Charleston University reserves a slip there for the use of LIRI’s staff. It was empty, so we helped ourselves.

No, we didn’t have permission. But it was late afternoon, crazy hot, and docking there made for a much shorter walk. It’s not like CU had an armada of boats. The time saved was worth the slight risk.

We walked through the garden district, one of Charleston’s most picturesque neighborhoods. The street-corner parks were a riot of camellias, azaleas, and crepe myrtles. Ancient magnolias shaded the sidewalks, tempering the worst of the day’s heat.

On Charlotte Street we passed the famous Joseph Aiken Mansion, a nineteenth-century carriage house converted to an upscale tourist hotel. At Marion Square we took a right and reached our destination in a few short blocks.

“There,” I said. “The ugly one.”

Founded in 1773, the Charleston Museum was America’s first. Located on Meeting Street, it anchors the northern end of Museum Mile, a historic district of parks, churches, museums, notable homes, the old market, and City Hall.

“Not much to look at,” Ben commented at the museum’s front entrance.

Ben was right. The two-story edifice is not Charleston’s finest architectural moment. Bland, late-seventies drab, where dull brick meets plain brown paint. The place looks more public high school than historic landmark.

“The exhibits are pretty good,” Shelton said. “I went with my mom. Lots of natural history displays and Lowcountry stuff.”

“Check that out.” Hi pointed.

Just before the doors, an enormous iron tube gleamed in the sunlight. Thirty feet long and coal-black, the cylinder was covered in huge metal rivets. Two hatches protruded from its top. A thick wooden shaft jutted from its front end with a metal ball affixed to its tip.

A red-faced man in an aloha shirt motioned his wife into position beside the monstrosity and began snapping pictures. We approached after they’d completed their Kodak moment.

“What is that?” I asked.

“A replica of the H. L. Hunley .” Of course Shelton would know. “A Confederate submarine from the Civil War.”