“I’m taking Coop for a walk.”
I crossed the room and grabbed the leash from its peg. Kit didn’t try to stop me.
“Be careful. It’s late.”
Coop scampered to the door, eager at the prospect of a nighttime jaunt. I carried the leash and let him run free.
Outside, the moon was a bright lunar spotlight. A breeze tousled my hair. The air felt warm and moist, but not unpleasantly so.
Walking in the dark, a feeling of shame overwhelmed me. Once again, I’d wrongly blasted Kit. My father. The person who wanted the best for me, and loved me above all others. Why did I use him as a punching bag? What good did it do?
Coop ran ahead down the beach, chasing crabs and the occasional night bird.
My pocket beeped and vibrated. Incoming text.
I almost ignored it, certain Kit was sending a heartfelt request for forgiveness. The last thing I wanted was more guilt.
But curiosity got the best of me.
Digging out my iPhone, I tapped the screen.
Jason Taylor.
Great.
I pulled up the message.
Jason apologized for abandoning me at the yacht club. He’d just heard, felt terrible. Blah blah blah. Could I please write him back?
Delete.
The last thing I wanted to deal with right then. And for some reason, his message pissed me off. Where had Jason been? Five minutes after hitting the dock, he was gone. So much for showing me around.
And why the apology? Jason hadn’t caused the Tripod attack. He owed me nothing. It wasn’t his job to defend my honor.
His attitude annoyed me. I could take care of myself.
“Why does everything happen at once?” I asked the Big Dipper overhead.
Coop glanced up from a pile of reeds, trotted over, and licked my hand.
“Thanks, boy.” I stroked his back. “You’re the number one man in my life.”
I felt Coop tense. His head whipped toward the townhouses.
“Something wrong?” I whispered.
Coop stepped forward, braced his legs, and growled. Hackles up, his eyes focused on something in the darkness.
It occurred to me that I was alone at night, on a dark beach, in the middle of nowhere.
I froze, listening.
The swish of shifting sand. The snap of flapping nylon.
My eyes strained. A shadow took shape, denser than the surrounding blackness.
It loomed directly between me and my home.
“CHILL OUT, COOP!”
Tension drained from me. I knew that voice.
Shelton approached, careful to let the wolfdog recognize him. Though still a puppy, at sixty pounds Coop could do serious damage.
“Easy, boy.” I scratched doggy ears. “He’s one of us.”
Coop finally caught Shelton’s scent, yapped, and wagged his tail.
“He’s becoming quite the guard dog,” Shelton said. “Good thing we’re tight.”
Coop rushed forward and planted his forepaws on Shelton’s chest.
“Okay, okay!” Shelton struggled to keep his balance. “I missed you, too!” I clicked my tongue. Coop spun back to my side, then scuttled off in search of more crabs.
“What’s happening?” Me. False cheerful.
“Something wrong?” Shelton. Not buying it.
“I had a fight with Kit. And yes, it was my fault.”
“It’s eggshells at my house, too. My parents are so stressed, barely anyone talks.”
“Is that why you’re out here?”
“Naw, I came to find you. Your dad said you’d taken Coop for a walk.”
“Well, here I am.”
Coop’s route took us back toward the docks. We trailed along, letting the wolfdog set the pace.
“What’d you and Kit fight about?” Shelton asked.
“Moving.” I sighed. “He keeps mentioning job offers in different places. I know it’s not true, but sometimes it feels like Kit doesn’t even care about my feelings. So I lost my temper and blasted him. I won’t be winning Daughter of the Year this time around.”
We walked a few more yards in silence.
“I can’t stop worrying about Whisper and the other Loggerhead animals. That island is a special place. Selling it to developers would be criminal.”
“Remember when Hi sat on that anthill near Dead Cat Beach?” Shelton chuckled. “Sucked to be him. The welts didn’t go down for a week.”
I giggled. “Almost as funny as Ben getting chased by those monkeys.”
“Good times,” Shelton said. “Good times.” His voice was softer this time.
More quiet paces. Thoughts of Loggerhead saddened me now.
I changed the subject. “What did you want to tell me?”
“Oh, right! I found something online,” Shelton said. “Anne Bonny–wise.”
“Super.” Stuck in a funk, I couldn’t get excited. After my argument with Kit, searching for treasure seemed so juvenile.
But Shelton was pumped enough for both of us.
“I was bored, so I started googling names and phrases. Anne Bonny, treasure maps, whatever I could think of. For an hour, nothing but wasted time. Then I scored this baby!”
Shelton held up what I guessed was a printout.
“It’s too dark,” I said. “What is it?”
“An ad. A pawnbroker in North Charleston is selling a box of pirate artifacts.”
“That’s it?” Shelton’s naïveté surprised me. A pawnshop listing?
“Of course not. This seller claims the collection includes papers belonging to Anne Bonny!”
“And you believe it?”
Shelton nodded. I think.
“Wait a second. Where in North Charleston are we talking about?”
“Well, not the best part,” Shelton admitted. “Myers.”
“Myers.” One of the roughest neighborhoods in the area. Maybe the country.
“It can’t be that bad,” Shelton muttered. “We can go during the day.”
“Let me get this straight.” I stopped walking. “You want to visit a Myers pawnshop because of an ad for ‘pirate artifacts’ that mentions Anne Bonny? Seriously?”
“I haven’t told you everything.”
“All ears.”
“Come over by the light.” Shelton hurried toward the dock with me trailing behind.
“Notice anything?” Shelton shoved the paper into my hand.
I skimmed. The print was hard to make out in the dim glow. The listing looked like any other classified ad. Authentic pirate collection. Rare papers. Anne Bonny. Priceless. Historical. Yadda yadda yadda.
I was about to quit when I caught it.
“Oh.”
“Oh is right,” Shelton said. “Think maybe we should check that out?”
“Yes. Yes I do.”
A rectangular border surrounded the ad, each corner embellished with a corny illustration. Skull and crossbones. Dagger. Treasure chest. Standard stuff.
Except for the image in the lower right.
That corner was decorated with a cross. Tall and thin, ringed, and oddly shaped, with the upper tine curving to the right.
“Where have we seen that before?” Shelton crowed.
Our high five echoed far out over the water.
“HOW DO WE get there?” Hi wiped perspiration from his brow.
We were on the blacktop behind our townhomes. The sun was already beating down, the morning a scorcher.
Shelton was entering the pawnshop’s address into his cell phone’s GPS program. He wore a white polo and beige cargo shorts. Silent as usual, Ben stood beside him in his black tee and jeans. The heat never seemed to touch him.