Perils and Plunder Read online

  Ella felt relieved the woman would be cooking that evening’s meal, which meant she didn’t have to pre-eat. Whenever Rose was in charge of family meals, it involved gelatin molds with mystery ingredients.

  “Well, painting class was fun while it lasted.”

  “I’d rather get my fingernails pulled out than do that again,” Flo grunted as they passed the town library. Her purse thudded against her hip with every other step, indicating heavy contents were held inside. “Would’ve been nice to have grabbed my canvas though.” She glanced wistfully at Wink who’d managed to grab hers.

  Ella shook her head. “I feel like I need to bathe in holy water after seeing yours.”

  “It’s better than that outer space painting of yours.”

  “It was a landscape.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.”

  “Huh.”

  When they reached the inn, Wink parted ways, ducking into her blue Oldsmobile.

  Although the temperature wasn’t hot, the dim cool of the inn was a welcome relief. After being snowbound for days on end, followed by weeks of gray fog, Ella relished the endless blue skies and warm, ocean breezes of their new location but still found relief when stepping indoors.

  At the top of the grand staircase, Flo mumbled something unintelligible, snatched the gun from Ella before she could realize it, and disappeared into her room, slamming the door. So much for teaching the old bag a lesson.

  Muttering her own unintelligible words about the woman, Ella ducked into her room to change out of her painting clothes for her meetup with Will. A ball of anxiety weighed in her gut at the thought of spending time with him after she’d made such fool of herself on their date.

  A new outfit on, she attempted to tame her nest of hair. This air was doing wonders in the beauty department with relation to her coif. She hoped frizzy hair would be in vogue soon, otherwise, she was doomed.

  Rolling her shoulders back in a confidence she didn’t feel, she shot herself a finger gun. “You got this.” Then, she said aloud the only other encouraging remark she could think of. “No matter how badly you mess it up, it’s nothing compared to the damage Flo would do.”

  Now properly fortified, Ella was ready for her date. Actually, it wasn’t a date so much as two people getting together to finish mapping the town’s boundary and solve Keystone’s time-jumping problems. So, not a date.

  CHAPTER 2

  JUST AS SHE had done nearly every day since Keystone Village had jumped to its new location, Ella scanned the vast body of water at the edge of town and searched the horizon. She wasn’t even certain what she was looking for. A ship, perhaps? Or land that she’d overlooked?

  Her shoes pressed into wet sediment, yards away from the boundary line. Saltwater lapped over the dirt that was now a makeshift shore. Wherever and whenever they were, the town was an island in a sea of deep green-blue. Turning, she looked into Will’s eyes, two pools of a similar color.

  “What do you think? The Caribbean?”

  The inventor turned his face into a cool, ocean wind. “Not warm enough. I’m guessing Northern Pacific during the summer maybe?”

  Ella squinted up at the cloudless, bright sky. “Not enough clouds.” Since their arrival, she hadn’t seen so much as a bird, other than the ones that lived in Keystone.

  An awkward silence filled the lapse in conversation. Fear that she’d blown her chances with him began to grow.

  Just say it. Get it over with. Rip it off like a bandaid.

  She opened her mouth to apologize for the other night, to say she’d had a lovely time despite how it might have appeared.

  Instead, she pressed her lips together and stared at the rolling water once again. The swells brought with them distant memories, unbidden, of a fifth-grade field trip to the aquarium. She’d been just as awkward then as she was now, only it extended to her appearance back then. Her hair was a puffball, and her teeth were too big for her face. A boy named Cody had pelted her with raisins during the entire bus ride to Newport, calling her names, all of them a variation of a bunny rabbit. He really wasn’t very creative.

  This had been nothing new, so she took it in stride. But what changed that day was she’d mounted a defense for the first time by slipping raisins behind his back one at a time so that by the time they arrived at the aquarium, he had lumps of mashed fruit covering the back of his shirt.

  She called him the Lumpback of Notre Dame. Not particularly clever, but it had earned laughs, none the less. And that’s when she realized that if others were laughing at her jokes, they weren’t laughing at her.

  Will jostled beside her, pulling her back to the present, as he reached into his pocket and retrieved her phone. His thumb scrolled across the screen like a seasoned pro despite the man being from the 1920s. “That’s the last of it. We overlapped our marks a little, but we’re mostly back where we began a couple weeks ago.”

  Moving closer, she viewed the picture of the small map and the dots they’d marked on the screen in the app. Her nostrils filled with the scent of sandalwood and grease while she watched him connect their markers. It was unnecessary, a formality, really, since it was obvious what they were staring at.

  Finished, he turned the phone towards her, his eyes hidden under the brim of his fedora.

  “It can’t be a coincidence, right?” She searched his face. “The town boundary is a perfect circle, and Twin Hills is dead center.”

  Reaching out she tapped the west hill, noticing that Will’s grip on her phone tightened. It was going to be a struggle to get the inventor to relinquish it when they finished.

  “Particularly, the left one.”

  He rubbed his jaw. “But what’s it mean?”

  Nodding, she repeated the question. “What’s it mean?”

  Spurred by some unspoken word, they turned and trekked across a swath of field behind a grove of blue spruce and lodgepole pines, away from the abrupt edge of Main Street where Ella had parked her jeep. As they ambled over broken sod that was quickly becoming mud with the rising tide, the thought of her jeep brought up a question.

  “Would you be able to retrofit the engine on my car like you’ve done with the others? I’m getting low on gas, and I’ve already had to bribe fuel from Lou, which let me tell you, wasn’t pretty.”

  “Sure thing, doll.” He grinned at her glare. “I jest. Of course, I’d be happy to. Out of curiosity, what did you bribe him with? Booze? Food?” He seemed to consider this last one. “Not your food.”

  “Good catch. I plied him with liquor from Flo’s secret stash that’s not so secret. Spoiler, it’s under her pillow. I also threatened to tell Patience where he lived.”

  “That’s cold. Those two are like oil and water.”

  She had been surprised in a town of Keystone’s size that the councilwoman didn’t already know, but she supposed the village was just big enough that not everybody knew where everyone lived.

  The ground split before them. Off to their left, it rose to a ledge that overlooked their new coastline while straight before them, it remained at sea level. They followed the latter tract, staying near the water’s edge.

  As they cleared a large, rocky outcropping, the dark bones of a giant shipwreck greeted them. Tattered sails whipped in the wind, the remains of a ghost.

  Drifting towards the shipwreck, she said, “The pirate I saw running around town came aboard this ship, yeah?”

  Will nodded, glancing at the wreck before scooping up a smooth stone and skipping it into an incoming wave. “I don’t know his story, just that he was the only one from the ship to come wandering into town.”

  She studied the hull and the barnacle-covered keel a few feet above her head. The entire ship tilted precariously on its side, the deck facing away from her. What had happened to the crew? Had they jumped ship?

  Will found another rock and flicked it across the water. He’d obviously been to the wreck a few times.

  Wandering around the bow—or was it the stern?
Stern she finally decided, she stood in the shadow of the large ship, staring up at a deck that loomed roughly two stories above her.

  The ghost ship sent the hairs on her arms on end. It seemed at any moment, a pirate might emerge from below deck.

  She didn’t know much about ships, especially historical ones, but this seemed far too nice for a crew of pirates. Her eyes traveled over the wood planks to the broken mast that rose at a forty-five-degree angle to the ground.

  A body hung in a noose tied to the mast. It swung in the early evening breeze, making the rope creak.

  Ella’s brain slowly caught up to what she was seeing. On instinct, she rushed forward. As she drew near, his pale, bloated face which had been obscured by a hat came into view and made her stop in her tracks. There was no saving him.

  A small squeak left her mouth. Then, just to be certain, she whispered, “Are you dead?” Gritting her teeth, knowing she’d regret this forever, she nudged his leg. “Hello?”

  He swayed, causing the rope to groan.

  Ella leaped back faster than she’d ever moved in her life, including the time an ex-boss had brought in her favorite donuts.

  “Nope, nope, nope.” She dashed around the back of the ship.

  Will spotted her, a frown visible on his face even at this distance. “El? What’s wrong?”

  “Dead body. There’s a dead body. Pirate. Hanging.” She slid to a stop before him, catching her breath and organizing her thoughts so she could speak a proper sentence. “The pirate’s dead, hanging from a noose. We have to get the sheriff.”

  The inventor’s eyes widened. He draped his arm across her shoulders, turning her to the direction of the road. His arm left all too soon, and together they jogged over the field.

  “Did you touch this one?”

  “What? No, of course not. What do you take me for?”

  He shook his head. “Yeah, you touched it.”

  “Why did you touch the body this time?” A set of cool, steel-colored eyes bore into hers, which was no small feat considering Sheriff Chapman had to tilt his worn derby hat back in order to do this while at the same time taking long strides. Ella, Will, and the sheriff were marching across the field in a line, the coroner Pauline a small, round dot behind them.

  “First of all, I resent you implying that I touch dead bodies regularly—”

  “You do,” Will chimed in helpfully.

  “Thanks, Will. And secondly…” She paused, unable to remember what else she’d been planning to say. It had been a doozy, whatever it was. “Yeah, so, you know, take that.”

  “Pardon?”

  Ella dismissed the comment with a wave.

  “So, where’s this body?” he drawled.

  “Down on the ship.”

  “And you’re sure it’s the pirate?”

  “Unless you know anyone else who wears navy-colored knickers and white knee-high socks up to here, then yeah, it’s him.”

  Given the town’s inhabitants, she actually reconsidered her staunch stance that the man she’d seen hanging was, in fact, the pirate. She had only seen him once before, and, at the time, he’d been running for his life, chased by Six.

  After a moment of replaying the image of the body swaying and his weathered clothes, she nodded her head confidently.

  When they arrived at the shipwreck, Ella led them around the stern, doubling her steps to keep the pace set by Chapman’s long strides. Her eyes were down, careful not to trip over rocks or debris as they moved into the shadow of the ship. The sun was setting on the other side, northwest by the town’s orientation, so the darkness in the shadow cast by the ship was more pronounced.

  She heard Chapman’s gait wane, his spurs softening to whispers, and could feel Will hang back.

  “El?”

  She glimpsed over her shoulder at the inventor, trying to decipher his expression. Why was he confused?

  “Alright, Ms. Barton,” Chapman drawled. “Where’s the body?”

  Turning, she pointed up at the broken mast, only to find her finger pointing at air. Nada. No rope, no pirate. Nothing.

  She blinked and continued to hold her hand up until her muscles began to quake, which was a disappointingly short amount of time.

  Her hand fell to her side. “I-I don’t understand. He was right there.”

  “Where?”

  “There.” She stabbed her finger again at the naked space. “Where could he have gone?” She searched the ground in case the rope had given out and he’d fallen. Then she searched the sky to be thorough.

  “Had you been bending an elbow before?”

  “No—what?”

  He made a drinking motion. “Hittin’ the bottle.”

  “No.” She was glad she hadn’t taken Flo up on her offer for the flask. Although, she could sure use some booze right about now.

  Chapman strolled forward, inspecting the ground. Here, the sediment was dry, the tide not reaching this high aground. Ella and Will slowly followed suit before scanning their surroundings.

  Rolling his long, handlebar mustache, Chapman asked, “And he was dead? Six feet under sort of dead?”

  “Yep.”

  She felt his eyes on her, and she met them.

  “You checked?”

  She swallowed and repeated the word, only softer. “Yep.”

  “As in, you poked him?”

  Drat, he knew her too well. “Maybe.” When he didn’t break their staring contest, she rolled her eyes. “Fine, yes. I poked his leg to be sure he was dead. What can I say? It’s a sickness of mine, I guess. Apparently, I like touching dead bodies. But you’ll thank me one day.”

  “For what?” Will asked. “Spreading a disease? That can’t be sanitary. Right?” He directed the question at Pauline who’d just rounded the ship, huffing like she’d run a marathon.

  “There you guys are. What was it you were asking?”

  Will repeated his question, asking if it was sanitary to touch dead bodies, and Pauline’s response was a sharp intake of breath followed by a loud, “Of course, it’s not.”

  Ella held up her hands in surrender. “All I’m saying is, if the zombie apocalypse ever happens, who do you think you’re going to call on to be sure the dead are dead and not the undead?”

  Chapman growled a “pardon” at the same time Will said, “Flo.”

  Ella opened her mouth, paused, then said, “No, yeah, good call. You’re right. Flo’s definitely the better choice.” After a moment, she added, “Don’t tell her I said that.”

  “To be honest,” Chapman said, teetering on the back of his cowboy boots, “I’m going to pretend these last few minutes never occurred. I ask, once again, where’s the body?”

  Pauline straightened. Her jacket, which was more pockets than anything else, rustled with the movement. “How’s that? There’s no body? What the heck did you make me hike out here for?”

  “There was a body,” Ella insisted. “I’m telling you.”

  “Will?” Chapman asked.

  The inventor hesitated. “Actually, I never saw it.”

  “What?” Ella’s mouth fell open wide enough a bus could drive through it. “That’s not true—” She gasped. Her hand went to her forehead. “Seashells, you’re right. You never came over here, and I met you around the other side of the hull before we left to get the sheriff.”

  For the next five minutes, Chapman grilled her, and she ensured him repeatedly that there really had been a man hanging from a noose tied to the mast. Then, they spent the next half-hour searching for the body until a fiery sky stretched the shadows absolute.

  All they found was a cannonball roughly the size of a Magic 8-Ball.

  Ella bent over it. “Is that blood? Looks like blood.”

  The others squinted at it before Ella hefted the heavy object into Pauline’s unprepared hands.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “You know, CSI stuff. Isn’t there some kind of forensic test you can run on the blood?”

 
Pauline’s nostrils flared. “How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t have much by way of forensic equipment.”

  “Still,” Chapman drawled, “we’ll take it back to inspect it. Maybe pull some fingerprints—besides Ms. Barton’s, of course.”

  Heat rose in her cheeks at her blunder, but she shoved the emotion away.

  The walk back across the field was subdued, with the exception of Pauline muttering under her breath about being taken away from her poker night and having to lug back the cannonball currently wrapped in plastic.

  Ella’s stomach rumbled, but she barely noticed. Her mind was occupied with what she’d seen and now didn’t see. How could a body just up and disappear? Only three explanations came to mind, ranging from the most plausible to the least plausible.

  Someone could have moved it. The problem with this explanation was that they’d found little clues in the packed dirt, and what they had found could easily be accounted for by the pirate. The second problem with someone relocating the body was that shinnying the angled mast and cutting the rope took skill. A lot of it.

  Another less likely explanation was that the pirate hadn’t actually been dead and that he’d somehow managed to free himself, taking all traces of rope with him. This would also mean that her dead/undead test needed improving. She dismissed this explanation outright, but it still was less outlandish than her last one, which was that she’d seen a ghost.

  “What now?” she asked Chapman when they’d reached the road.

  “Now? Now I go home to a bottle of scotch and a good book.”

  The idea of Chapman doing anything other than arresting bad guys and shooting at Six nearly made her laugh. “But the pirate?”

  “I’ll look for him in the morning, ask around. I doubt we’ll find him, though. The man’s a ghost.”

  A shiver traveled up her spine. Clearly, he hadn’t meant it, but the fact that his utterance was too close to what she’d been thinking was unsettling. Flo was the crazy Ghost Buster one, not her.

  “Without a body,” he added, “there’s little more I can do.”