Kathy Reichs - Seizure

“Bull Island borders Sewee Bay,” Ben added. “Smack in the heart of ancestral Sewee territory. Most of the tribe lived near there.”

“If Bonny operated that close to Sewee villages,” Shelton said, “a tribal legend would make sense. Ben’s story could be dead on.”

“Both poem and legend mention a field of bones,” I said. “I don’t know what that means, but the similarity lends credit to each reference.”

Hi pocketed his phone. “FYI, the full moon is tomorrow night.”

“Then we need to be there,” Chance said firmly. “Could be our only shot.”

No one responded.

Chance glanced from face to face. “What?”

“You’re not coming,” Ben said. “Not in this lifetime.”

“Of course I am.” Chance reached into the safe and removed the cross. “This is mine. If you need it to find buried treasure, I’m in.”

“We don’t need the cross,” Shelton said. “Not for sure.”

Chance’s smile held zero warmth. “I’ll call the police the moment you walk out that door.”

“They’ll haul you right back to the Crazy Town Inn,” Hi pointed out. “The cops must be looking for you right now.”

And me , I thought glumly.

Marsh Point would be frantic to find Chance. Who had they already contacted? The police? Bolton Prep? Kit? The awful possibilities tightened my gut.

Chance shrugged. “This lovely jaunt won’t last anyway. Do you think I plan to live as a fugitive forever?” He snorted. “I’m a Claybourne. I was bored, but I’m not stupid.”

“What you are is delusional.” Ben fumed. “The treasure belongs to us.”

Chance’s hands found his hips. “Cut me out, and I’ll make sure you get nothing.”

Unexpectedly, twin yellow beams flashed across the room.

“Headlights,” Chance warned. “In the driveway.”

“Kill the lamps!” Ben ordered.

Shelton and Hi did. Then we huddled in total darkness.

“Who uses this place?” I whispered.

“No one. My father’s in prison, as you well know. And the servants don’t come after dark.”

The front doorknob jiggled.

Chance rose. “If some lowlife thinks he can rob me, he’s about to learn a harsh lesson.”

I grabbed his arm. “We didn’t tell you everything! Someone’s been following us. And whoever it is fired shots down in the tunnels.”

Chance dropped back into a crouch. “Guns? Seriously?”

“Yes. So let’s sneak out the way we came.”

“Someone’s at the back door!” Shelton hissed from behind me. “We’re trapped!”

Glass shattered in the kitchen.

My heart pounded. “Is there another way?”

“The basement.” Chance tucked the cross under his belt. “Follow me!”

We raced down a hallway to a steep, narrow staircase. Descending at full speed, we reached a dark earth-floored cellar.

“This way.” Snatching a flashlight from a shelf, Chance hurried to a pair of wooden doors on the back wall.

“Tunnel.” Chance yanked one side open. “This cabin was originally part of the Underground Railroad for escaped slaves.”

“Where does it lead?” Shelton asked. He’d clearly had enough of tunnels.

“The boathouse. Fifty feet.”

Something rattled at the top of the stairs.

“Go!” I whispered.

We slipped into the passage, and Chance pulled the door shut. Scurrying like rats, we quickly reached the tunnel’s end.

Chance palm-pushed a trapdoor above our heads. Hinges groaned. The wooden panel swung open and flopped to the floorboards.

Cupping his hands for my foot, Chance boosted me up through the opening.

All was quiet in the boathouse.

I turned to help Shelton and Hi. Ben came next. Then he reached back and pulled Chance after him.

We sprinted down the dock and jumped aboard Sewee . Ben fired the engine and slammed the boat into gear.

Feet pounded down the planks behind us.

“Too late,” I whispered.

Sewee sped out into the cove.

WE BROKE FOR dinner.

Chance was restless, full of questions, but no one else felt like talking.

For the Virals, getting chased by thugs was becoming routine.

After a quick check of the premises, I smuggled Chance into the townhouse and scrounged up some mac and cheese.

“Don’t think I’m cooking for you.” The water was taking forever to boil. “This box just happens to be family size.”

“If you’re grounded, where’s your father?” Chance was idly spinning a quarter on the countertop. “He’s not exactly running a supermax prison here.”

“He’s at a movie with Whitney.” I snorted. “He just texted a reminder for me to record Deadliest Catch . Sometimes I’m awed by his cluelessness.”

“My father is serving life in prison. I’ve got you beat.”

Chance’s attempt at humor fell flat.

We ate our pasta in silence.

“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.