“Not part of the deal.” Hi folded his arms. “We sprang you in exchange for the cross. You’re not entitled to our life stories.”
Chance was undeterred. “Why do you want it? You saw the auction listing. The cross isn’t particularly valuable.”
“Our business,” Shelton said. “Just take us to your father’s fishing camp.”
“No.” Chance calmly intertwined his fingers. “If I have to take you somewhere the authorities might look for me, I want to know more.”
“You don’t get to dictate new terms,” Ben said. “Tell us where. Now.”
“You think you can force me, boy?”
Ben fired to his feet.
“Wait!” I shouted. “Everyone chill. Let me think.”
Seconds of tense silence.
“How about this?” I turned to Chance. “Take us to your father’s fishing camp. Produce the cross. Then we’ll tell you what’s going on.”
Shelton tsked. “We don’t have to—”
“He’s not going to help us otherwise.”
Chance nodded his head as he weighed options. “Agreed.”
Shelton puffed air through his lips. Ben stormed from the room cursing under his breath. Only Hi seemed satisfied.
Whatever. Under the circumstances, it was the best I could do.
“It’s settled,” I said. “So. Car or boat?”
Chance answered without hesitation. “Boat.”
Ben eased Sewee from the dock. “Well?”
Chance pointed north. “Sullivan’s Island.”
“At least it’s close,” Hi said. “We could practically swim.”
Hi’s joke did nothing to ease the tension. Ben barely held his temper in check, and Chance seemed to enjoy goading him. It was a recipe for trouble.
Ben motored across the harbor mouth, passing the tiny island of Fort Sumter, site of the opening shots of the Civil War. The sun was setting. Sullivan’s Island lay dead ahead.
“Head west past Fort Moultrie,” Chance instructed. “Then swing into The Cove. The camp is five hundred yards up the waterway.”
Sullivan’s Island is largely residential. No hotels, waterslides,or mini-golf. The lots are big and so are the homes. The coastline is surprisingly undeveloped, with much of it held in trust by the town itself. Much like Morris, the island has a rich military history, and many dwellings are old fortifications or barracks converted to modern use.
“There.” Chance pointed to a wooden pier jutting from the shoreline into the sheltered bay. “The cabin is back in those trees.”
“This is the ‘fishing camp’ you’ve been talking about?” Hi employed air quotes. “That’s a million-dollar house, easy.”
“I never claimed it was a canvas tent. We Claybournes like our comfort.”
Chance jumped to the dock and tied the bowline to a heavy metal cleat. “Come along.”
The dock bridged an acre of shallow, brackish water before entering a two-story boathouse. Inside, small watercraft occupied alcoves on each side, several accessible only by hydraulic lifts.
Chance crossed to a Jet Ski, dug a key from under the seat, then strode from the shed’s rear door into the yard beyond.
A gravel path wound up to a large log cabin. Chance unlocked the door and stepped back, gesturing us inside with a bow. “Make yourselves at home.”
We trooped through a gourmet kitchen into a massive great room. Chance walked a circuit, powering an array of antique lamps.
An enormous brick fireplace took up most of one wall, the mantel carved with the foxes-and-vines motif of the Claybourne family crest. Stuffed birds, rodents, and other small mammals crowded every inch. Leather couches faced the giant hearth, surrounding a rustic wagon-wheel coffee table. Deer heads stared glassy-eyed from all four walls.
“Who decorated this place?” Hi said. “The Crocodile Hunter?”
“Has a woman ever set foot in here?” I asked.
“Only the cleaning lady,” Chance said. “Hollis kept his clubhouse private.”
Shelton and Hi flopped onto a couch and began checking their iPhones.
Ben stepped face-to-face with Chance. “The cross.”
Chance smirked, about to argue for the sport of it.
“We had a deal.” I shot Chance a warning look.
Chance sighed dramatically, then pointed to an antique safe in one corner.
The safe was a black cast-iron cube the size of a washing machine. Stamped with the official seal of the United States Postal Service, the thing must’ve weighed a thousand pounds.
“It’s a collector’s item.” Chance rapped the side with his knuckles. “Constructed in 1880. My father’s servants store valuables inside when closing the cabin for the season.”
Chance moved backward.
Ben stopped him with an outstretched hand. “Combination?”
Chance shrugged free. “I’m not divulging family secrets. Step away.”
Ben and I complied. Hunching his back to block our view, Chance spun the dial. Forward. Back. Forward. Then he twisted the handle and pulled.
The door didn’t budge.
A look of surprise crossed Chance’s face. He tried the combination a second time. No luck. The surprise morphed to irritation. Chance turned the dial a third time, slowly, making sure to align the numbers exactly.
The door refused to yield.
“What the hell?” Chance kicked the safe in frustration. “It won’t open.”
“Problem?” Shelton asked.
“The combination isn’t working,” Chance said. “8-16-24. Try it yourself.”
Shelton knelt before the safe. Three attempts produced the same result.
“The mechanism seems okay.” Shelton scratched his head. “Either the combination was changed, or you’ve got the numbers wrong.”
“I don’t have them wrong,” Chance snapped. “It’s multiples of eight.”
“Then we’re sunk.” Shelton almost sounded relieved.
My mind raced, but couldn’t devise a way into a locked safe. We’d have to try something else.
Hi caught my attention, tipped his head toward the kitchen door.
I took the hint. “Is there anything to drink in this house?”
“Try the refrigerator.” Chance was focused on the safe and didn’t bother to look up. “But I’d check expiration dates if I were you.”
Hi followed me. We huddled and spoke quickly.
“My grandfather had a safe just like that,” Hi said.
“Could you crack it?”
“I know how it works. The locking mechanism consists of three notched discs that hold the bolt in place. The door opens when the correct combination aligns the notches, allowing the bolt to slide free.”
“How is that useful?”
“Just listen! If you rotate the knob three hundred and sixty degrees, you’ll hit the first correct number at some point. When you do, the bolt will tap the notch on the first disc.”
“So?”
“That contact makes a soft click, usually inaudible to human ears.”
“Oh.” I saw where Hi was going.
Hi swept on. “Center the dial back to zero, then work left until you hear a second click. Jog a little farther left, and then repeat to find the last digit. Boom! Three. Done.”
“Will the clicks occur in the correct order?”
“Not necessarily. But when you have all three numbers, you can test different sequences until the right one opens the safe.”
“You’re a genius!” I said excitedly. “Did you bring your shades?”
“Not me. I’d soil myself if I flared in front of Chance.” Hi squeezed both my shoulders. “But you, my dear, have experience with such adventures.”
“Fabulous.”
I REENTERED THE room carrying a glass of water. Hi trailed stiffly behind me.