Seizure (38 page)

Neither scenario made sense. Why conceal an empty chest? Why protect it with elaborate riddles and traps? What purpose would that serve?

I couldn’t imagine anything less rational than spending time and energy to entomb a vacant trunk six feet underground.

Unless it was a double-cross
.

What if someone swiped the booty at the last possible moment?

I frowned. If
that’s
what happened, Bonny’s treasure was long gone.

My mind shifted to the second theory, which had its own problems.

If someone dug up the treasure, why bother reburying the chest? Why not take the money and run?

Bonny was plainly obsessed with safety measures. She’d already moved her loot once.

My pulse cranked up a notch. If the treasure was moved, and the chest reburied in the original hiding place, there was only one reason.

“So someone else could follow! That means leaving clues!”

Coop looked up at the sound of my voice, went back to chewing his tennis ball.

Excited, I examined the chest with a more critical eye. Rubbed my hands over every inch of its outer surface. Still found nothing.

Opening the lid, I began tapping the wooden slats comprising the frame, hoping an answer would reveal itself. None did.

Then I noticed something.

One corner of the chest held a small mound of debris. Dust. Sand. Dry vegetation. In our dejection, we hadn’t bothered to inspect it.

I scooped a handful and probed gently. Three pebbles emerged from the dirt. Small, round, and uniform in size and color, the objects seemed somehow out of place.

Setting the stones aside, I scooped another handful. This mix contained a number of strange dried leaves. I’d never seen anything like them before.

I thought back to the beach surrounding the dig site. The sand had been littered with seashells and the occasional dead branch, but there’d been no plants growing nearby. And we hadn’t opened the chest until safely aboard
Sewee
.

My excitement buzzed to a new level. The leaves and pebbles weren’t introduced during our dig. They must’ve been inside the chest all along.

The remaining dirt held nothing of interest.

I sat staring at the two small piles.

Leaves. Pebbles.

Were these the clues I was seeking?

“Am I nuts, Coop?”

The wolfdog offered no answer to that.

It was a wild hunch that things weren’t finished. Only a fanatic would look at a handful of rubbish and see puzzle pieces.

“Then color me crazy,” I whispered.

Moving quickly, I tackled Cooper and rubbed noogies on his forehead. He responded by gnawing my arm.

“I may be losing it, dog breath, but we are
not
done yet!”

“J
ust hear me out!”I shouted.

At my request, we’d reassembled in Shelton’s garage. His father’s workshop was the best place to examine my finds.

The Allies at Normandy hadn’t encountered such determined resistance.

“I don’t wanna!” Shelton whined. “You’ll start talking, and pretty soon we’ll all start nodding, and then the next thing you know, I’m hang gliding off the Eiffel Tower at midnight, being chased by ninja vampires. No deal!”

Ben smacked the back of Shelton’s head.

“Inside that crazy rant is a kernel of truth.” Hi folded his arms. “We found the trunk, Tory. It’s a dead end.”

“But think,” I urged. “Why bury an empty chest, unless you’re sending a message to whoever finds it later?”

“The message was received.” Ben displayed his middle finger. “Ha ha. You lose.”

“Maybe, but the lid was undamaged, meaning whoever removed the contents had access to the key. I think Bonny relocated the treasure again and left clues for someone to follow.”

“Who?” Shelton, voice skeptical.

“Mary Read.”

His hands flew up. “She was DEAD!”

“Maybe Bonny DIDN’T KNOW!” I shouted back.

“Enough!” Ben glared at each of us in turn. “Tory’s the reason we found the chest. Let’s hear what she has to say. We owe her that much.”

Shelton rolled his eyes. Hi screwed his mouth sideways, but said nothing.

Ben jabbed a finger at me. “But no promises, Brennan. I’m not wild about chasing pipe dreams, and we almost got killed doing it. Twice.”

“This is how it starts,” Shelton muttered. “We’re doomed.”

“Thank you,” I said primly. Inside, I was grinning like a well-fed cat.

Shelton was right, of course. Once I got them listening, their curiosity
always
won out. It’s what I loved best about them.

“Now.” I cracked my knuckles. “There are two things we need to examine . . .”

We regrouped an hour later.

“Let’s start with the chest,” I said. “Ben and I went over every board, slat, and nail. There’s nothing inside, or on the surface. There are no hidden compartments. There is no text of any kind.”

Ben nodded in agreement. “The trunk itself is a dead end.”

“So that leaves the contents.” I gestured to Hi. “Tell us about the vegetation.”

“You’re not going to believe this.” Hi had a bemused expression on his face. “I can identify this plant.”

“No joke?” He was right. I couldn’t believe it.

“Seriously. It’s such a wildly uncommon specimen that, frankly, it was easy. My books were all over it, and I confirmed the ID online.”

“Fantastic. Spill.”

Hi placed the leaves on the worktable.

“These are the leaves of
Dionaea muscipula
, commonly known as Venus flytraps. I can’t believe they lasted that long underground. They must’ve been predried, and the chest airtight. Talk about craftsmanship.”

“How can you be sure?” Ben asked.

“I checked under my microscope.” Hi pointed to a red-brown husk on the table. “The leaf blade is divided into two parts: a flat, heart-shaped stalk, then a pair of terminal lobes hinged at midrib, forming the trap. Stiff hairlike protrusions called cilia fringe the edges.” He shrugged. “That was all I needed. Not much can be confused with a Venus flytrap. A monkey could’ve nailed it.”

“Gotta love a plant that eats bugs,” Shelton quipped.

“Flytraps are awesome.” Hi made a V with his hands. “Their leaves are like small mouths that snap shut when a fly enters. Inside the mouth, tiny sensors distinguish between living prey and other things, like raindrops. If a bug taps two sensors in a row, or the same one twice, boom!” His fingertips snapped together. “The jaws close, trapping the insect inside. Then the plant digests at its leisure.”

“That’s wild,” I said. “How did that evolve?”

“Flytraps grow in areas with lousy dirt, like swamps and bogs. The species developed a badass way to make up for the lack of nutrients.”

“Very interesting,” Ben cut in. “But how does this bountiful plant lore help us?”

“It helps a lot,” Hi replied. “Venus flytraps are incredibly rare. These days they only grow wild in a forty-mile area around Wilmington, North Carolina. It’s very unlikely that two or three dead ones accidentally got into that chest.”

“Excellent work, Hi. Gold star. And you, good sir?”

“I also hit paydirt.” Shelton held up a pebble. “These buggers are limestone.”

“Explain.”

Shelton read from a printout. “Limestone is a sedimentary rock composed of calcite and aragonite, which are the crystal forms of calcium carbonate.” He looked up. “Basically, it forms from the skeletons and shells of dead marine organisms, like coral.”

“All limestone looks like this?” I picked up one of the pebbles.

“Nope.” Shelton’s eyes dropped to his notes. “Impurities like clay, sand, or dead sea critters create variations in form and color. Limestone is extremely common, and has been used extensively in architecture. They built the Great Pyramid with it.”

“So how did you make the ID?” Ben asked.

“Easy.” Big smile. “I emailed a pic to a geologist at CU. It took him about two seconds.”

“Nice work,” I deadpanned. “When does your Ph.D. arrive?”

“What do I know about rocks? But I get
results
.” Shelton dropped his notes onto the tabletop. “Also, he told me to dunk the pebble in vinegar and listen for fizzles and pops. Check and check. It’s limestone. No doubt.”

“Can you say where the pebbles originated?”

He shook his head. “From what I read, the stuff’s too common. But it’s doubtful that three identical limestone pebbles were just rolling around on Boneyard Beach.”

“So that’s
two
oddities,” I said. “Plant and rock, neither native to Bull Island.”

“Fine,” Ben said. “Those things got into the chest somehow. That doesn’t make them clues.”

“Humor me. Pretend the items were placed deliberately. Where do they lead?”

“Google time.” Hi began tapping his iPhone. “I’m using key words ‘flytrap,’ ‘limestone,’ and ‘South Carolina.’” Pause. “Only one decent hit.”

“Edge of my seat here, Hiram.” Had I been sitting.

“Keep your pants on. Let me read.”

Agonizing seconds ticked by.

“Yep.” Hi spoke without looking up. “Dewees Island. According to this nature website, flytraps used to grow there. Gone now, but they might’ve been around in the 1700s.”

“That’s great!” I clapped my hands in excitement.

“It gets better,” Hi said. “There are no cars on Dewees, so the roads aren’t paved. Instead, they’re lined with crushed limestone mined from a local quarry.”

“That means nothing,” Shelton scoffed. “Limestone is almost everywhere. Your search is too random.”

“Dewees is the only place that checks both boxes,” Hi replied.

“It’s at least worth a look,” I said. “Bonny might’ve inserted these items to show the way.”

Shelton was
not
on board. “You wanna go all the way to Dewees because it has an ultra-common rock, and a rare plant grew there once upon a time?”

“Yes. I don’t believe in coincidence.”

“How do we even use that information? Once on Dewees, will the treasure come find
us
?”

Fighting my irritation, I kept a civil tone. “We should explore all possibilities.”

“This is pretty weak,” Ben said. “Even if you’re right, we don’t have the first clue where to look.”

“How many islands are we up to now?” Shelton squawked. “Wadmalaw. Bull. Sullivan’s. Half a dozen more, coming and going! And now you want Dewees. It never stops!”

I refused to respond. I’d made my position clear. The boys would have to decide for themselves.

Hi came to my rescue.

“Hell, let’s do it!” He threw up his hands. “Let’s go out to Dewees and goof around. We’ve got nothing better to do, and a boat trip beats sitting around here, playing patty-cake. I’m in, all the way.”

Ben and Shelton remained obstinate.

Hi elbowed Shelton’s ribs. “Keep the faith, right?”

“Okay.” Ben sighed. “Why not? The Virals set sail for Bonny one last time.”

“I
told
you guys.” Shelton looked to the heavens. “You can’t let her start talking. I’ll go pack my hang glider.”

I
ran home to feed Coop before we left.

Phone check. Kit hadn’t called or emailed. I thanked the powers that be for my father’s naïveté. In a small way, I actually felt sorry for him.

I was heading back out the door when Coop fired past me and raced down the front steps.

“Coop! Stop! No roaming today!”

A bushy tail rounded the complex, heading for the rear driveway.

“Blargh!”

I found Coop standing beside the mailboxes, his attention focused on something in the woods.

“Let’s go, pal.” I grabbed his collar.

Coop glanced at me, then turned and barked, legs splayed, fur bristling along his spine.

A feeling of uneasiness swept over me. Was someone out there? Senses on high alert, I scanned the nearby trees.

Chance stepped from the bushes.

My pulse spiked, but I tried to force myself calm.

What to say to him? What had he seen?

As these questions swirled in my brain, my traitorous wolfdog trotted over and licked our visitor’s hand. Chance dropped to a knee and stroked Coop’s back.

“Tory. Good morning.” Still stunned, I said nothing.

“What’s that?” Chance cocked an ear, pretending to consider words I hadn’t spoken. “Why, I’m fine! Thank you for asking.”

“I’m glad you’re okay. How’d you get home?”

“Home?” Chance smirked. “I’m between those at the moment. I caught a few hours’ sleep at my father’s cabin, if that’s what you mean.”

“How’d you get off Bull Island?”

“The morning ferry. Nine a.m. sharp.” Chance thumped Coop’s side, then stood. “I gave the captain quite a scare, emerging from the brush and demanding a ride. I’m not looking my best.”