Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“Fine.” Ben picked up the tennis ball and lobbed it my way. “Where do we start?”

I made the catch without looking. “We find out everything there is to know about Anne Bonny.”

I SCANNED THE handout and dialed the number at the bottom.

A female voice answered after two rings.

“Charleston Ghost Tours.”

“Sallie? This is Tory Brennan. My friends and I took your tour last night?”

“Hi Tory, how can I help you? Did you lose something?”

“No, nothing like that.” Breezy. Casual. “I actually have a question, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Shoot.”

Careful. Don’t remind her about the treasure map .

“I was thinking about our conversation at the Charleston Museum.”

“I’m manning the info desk as we speak,” Sallie said. “This is my cell number.”

“Oh! Then I’ll be quick. I was just wondering where I could find more info on Anne Bonny.”

“Hmm.” Brief pause. “There’s a bit online, and some decent books I could recommend, but so little is truly known about Bonny that most sources are repetitive, even contradictory.”

“That’s been the problem.”

“What exactly are you looking for?”

“I have a school project,” I lied. “We’re supposed to trace the background of a Lowcountry historical figure, and I figured Anne Bonny would be fun.”

“Did you try the Karpeles Manuscript Library? It has genealogies dating back to the first settlers. Their document guy is a bit pretentious, but he really knows his stuff. Sorry, his name escapes me.”

“Thanks, Sallie. I think I know who you’re talking about.”

“We appreciate your assistance, Dr. Short.” I flashed my most charming smile. “Especially on a Saturday.”

“And I expect you to honor our bargain, Miss Brennan.” Short led us down a hallway exiting the library’s main gallery. “Anne Bonny’s letter will join the Karpeles collection after being properly appraised and registered. Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

Short had driven a hard bargain, but we’d had little choice. The clock was ticking.

“Then I’m happy to be of service.” Short even smiled. “I’ve set you up in viewing room A. I was able to locate several documents I believe will be of interest.”

We entered a brightly lit chamber housing four chairs and a long wooden table. Three carts lined the rear wall, each topped by a large metal container.

“This area is temperature and humidity controlled.” Short was handing out pairs of linen gloves. “Please do not touch any documents with your bare hands. The oils on your skin can damage the parchment.”

He gave us a sharp look. “You’re not chewing gum, are you? I know children like to do that.”

Head shakes.

Short clasped his hands before his chest. “On the first cart is a genealogy of the Cormac family, from their arrival in Charles Town in the late 1600s to the present.”

I nodded, if only because he seemed to expect it.

Short moved to the center cart. “Here are documents pertaining to William Cormac himself. Letters, estate records, wills, anything we could collect.”

Excellent. Exactly what I wanted.

“And finally we have documents relating to Anne Bonny.” Short gestured to the third cart. “Not much, I admit, but there are a few items of note.”

“Thank you,” I said. “We’re extremely grateful for your thoroughness.”

“I will return in one hour. If you need anything before then, or have additional requests, simply press the call button. And be aware.” Short pointed to a shiny black orb positioned in the center of the ceiling. “ That device is a security camera.” He headed for the door.

“Quick question before you leave …” I handed Short a slip of paper. “Can you identify this language?”

Short glanced at the page, which contained a few words from Bonny’s poem.

“Gaelic. Original dialect, not the offshoot Scottish idiom. The language is often referred to simply as ‘Irish.’ Anything else?”

“Not right now, thank you.”

As the door closed, Shelton snorted. “Of course he’s happy to help. We struck the worst bargain in history.”

Hi shrugged. “It was the only way to get access. He had all the leverage.”

“Let’s go one cart at a time,” I suggested. “Then we won’t miss anything.”

We gave the first box a cursory examination. Cormac family history after Anne Bonny was of little interest.

Moving to the middle cart, we inspected William Cormac’s private papers. Most were legal tracts, or reports on the productivity of his plantation. I began to worry we’d find nothing of use.

“Nice!” Shelton had taken a handful of pages to the table. “Check this out!”

I dropped into the chair beside him. “What’ve you got?”

“A letter to Cormac from the father of his wife.”

“His wife?” Hi asked. “You mean Anne Bonny’s mom?”

“No, his real wife. The one Cormac cheated on in Ireland.”

“Ouch!” Hi leaned over Shelton’s shoulder. “What did her father write? Is it a challenge to a duel?”

“The language is pretty old school,” Shelton said, “but this is not complimentary. He’s railing Cormac for ‘lecherous behavior’ and things like that. Calls him a ‘paunchy, beetle-headed foot-licker.’”

Hi smirked. “Why would anyone keep this letter? Cormac must’ve been a glutton for punishment.”

“Well, well.” Shelton had reached the end. “How about that!”

“What?” I asked.

“We know Anne’s father was named William Cormac,” he said. “And when she married, Anne took the last name of her loser husband, James Bonny.”

“Yeah. So?”

“Guess what her mother’s name was? The serving woman Cormac ran on with.”

Shelton waited, enjoying center stage.

“Come on!” Hi said. “You don’t really expect us to guess names do you?”

“It’s go - od !” Shelton promised in a singsong voice.

“Out with it.” My patience was wearing thin.

“Anne Bonny’s mother was named—” Shelton drum-rolled the table, “—Mary Brennan .”

My eyes went squinty. “Seriously?”

“See for yourself.” Shelton handed me the page. “Daddy is furious because Mary Brennan was his daughter’s personal servant. He wrote her full name twice.”

“Shelton’s right.” Ben placed another document on the table. “This is an expense report from the Cormac estate in County Cork, Ireland. Dated 1697. It notes that a serving woman named Mary Brennan gave birth to a daughter, Anne.”

“How about that?” Hi joked. “Anne Bonny could be your super-great-grandma. Must be the source of your charm.”

“Very funny.”

But a shiver flashed through me. The yacht club painting. The shared handwriting quirk. Now this. Was it possible? Could I be related to Anne Bonny?

Nonsense .

“There must be a thousand Brennans in North America,” I said.

“How many in Massachusetts?” Hi was flipping through the last papers in the William Cormac box. “Here’s a letter written by Mary Brennan herself. 1707. Never posted, but addressed to a cousin in ‘the colony of Massachusetts Bay.’”

Second chill. This was definitely getting weird.

“That’s it for Big Willy Cormac.” Hi returned the sheet to its container.

“Say hello to Anne Bonny.” Shelton moved to the third cart, then handed Ben a small collection of musty documents. “Enjoy!”