Maddock grimaced. They’d visited all the museums that had within their collections any artifacts excavated from the gaol site. No ring had been among the items that had been recovered. What was more, someone else had already been there asking about Black Caesar.
“The chick everyone described…” Bones began.
“It’s got to be Nomi.” The words were bitter on Maddock’s tongue. Of course Nomi had already investigated the spot where Black Caesar had met his end.
“On the positive side, she obviously didn’t find anything while she was here, or else she wouldn’t have headed down to Florida to search for the headquarters.”
“Agreed. I just wish they’d had more definitive information on Caesar.”
“The thing about knowing the Old Testament is true makes it sound like he definitely had Solomon’s Ring,” Bones said.
The last curator they’d spoken to had shown them a journal entry by a minister who had visited Caesar in jail before his execution. The minister had been surprised by Caesar’s eagerness to discuss scripture and to pray together. Knowing the man hailed from Africa and had spent relatively little time in America, the minister had assumed Caesar would ascribe to some primitive religion that did not look askance upon the depredations of pirates. Caesar had assured him that he knew for certain that the Bible was true. Or at least, the Old Testament. Despite his apparent reservations about the Gospels, he’d repented of his sins and permitted the minister to pray for his salvation in the name of Jesus.
“And then there was the last part where he says the only thing he had of any value had been ‘entrusted to good hands.’ If he’s talking about the ring, that means he gave it to someone. But who and when?”
“I think we should ask the man himself.” Bones bobbed his eyebrows a few times and grinned impishly. It was an odd look for the powerfully built man.
“You can’t be talking about a séance.”
“Why the hell not, Maddock? Your angles have been dead ends. Worst case, it turns out to be total crap and we have a good laugh about it over a few beers afterward. It’s not like we’re going to fly out tonight.”
Maddock searched for a reason to refuse. “All right. I guess it’s fine for a lark. We might want to have a few drinks before instead of after. Otherwise it’s going to be tedious.”
“You know what bugs the crap out of me, Maddock?”
“Besides rednecks?” Maddock quipped.
“Rednecks don’t bug me; they piss me off. Different level.” Bones directed his glare at a corpulent man on the other side of the road wearing a John Deere cap and a flannel shirt that barely constrained his ample gut. “What bugs me is how often I have to remind your cynical ass of all the weird and inexplicable things we’ve seen. Can you really question anything supernatural?”
“Ghosts don’t make sense. Who we are is purely made up of cognitive processes: we think, we feel, we respond to stimuli, we gather knowledge. ‘Spirit’ is just a word we use to describe the totality of a person. When the body dies, all of that stops. There’s no supernatural being housed inside the flesh.”
Bones heaved an exaggerated sigh. “And a cup that belonged to Christ couldn’t bring people back to life. Oh, wait. We know otherwise. Do I need to go on?”
Maddock knew he wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine. Do you still have Kendra Gill’s number?”
“Actually, I called her earlier and set things up.”
Maddock let out a groan. “Of course you did.”
“It’s going to be cool. We’ll go on one of her ghost tours and then dinner. You know what the best part is?”
Maddock knew the answer but he gave a slow shake of his head.
“She sounds hot.”
Maddock couldn’t deny that Kendra Gill was, in fact, strikingly beautiful. She was a tall, lithe woman in her late twenties. She wore her chestnut hair tied back in a simple ponytail, emphasizing her creamy complexion and big brown eyes. They found her on the sidewalk in front of Williamsburg’s famous Wren Building, chatting with a pair of tourists, but she looked up and smiled as Maddock and Bones approached.
“You must be Bones,” she said to Maddock, shaking his hand. “After all, you said you’d be the handsomest man I’d see all day.”
“Actually, I’m Maddock,” he said over Bone’s mumbled, “Oh, come on.”
“So tall, dark, and grouchy over here is Bones?” Kendra shook Bones’ hand. “Don’t feel bad. You’re the second-handsomest of the day.”
“What’s that you always say?” Maddock asked his friend. “Second place is first loser?”
Bones glowered at him. “And what’s that you were saying about ghosts?” he countered. “Something about them not making sense?”
“That’s absolutely true,” Kendra said. “The spirit world doesn’t make much sense, but that doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
“Don’t tell Maddock that.”
“All right. I’m sorry I stirred things up,” Kendra said. “You’re both very handsome boys,” she said in a perfect imitation of an indulgent mother. “Tour’s about to start. Follow me.”
Maddock and Bones exchanged glances as they followed along behind her.
“You know what they say. Blonds have more fun.”
“Screw you, Maddock.”
Kendra took a moment to gather the tourists and collect their tickets. As the sun set behind the trees, she began the tour. She opened with a brief overview of the ghosts of Williamsburg. The Wren Building, which stood behind her, was considered one of the most haunted. It had served as a Revolutionary War hospital, had seen three major fires, and housed on its bottom floor the crypts of several important figures from Virginia’s history.
They moved along to the George Wythe house, where footsteps could be heard on the empty stairwell and the spirit of its namesake returned every year on the anniversary of his death to press an icy hand to visitors’ foreheads. Next they moved along to the Peyton Randolph House, haunted by the ghost of a Civil War soldier. As they continued on, Kendra pointed out sites of interest and shared anecdotes about sightings made by visitors and employees.
When they reached Gallows Road, so named for the iron gibbets that had once stood on this lane, Kendra segued into the story of Blackbeard’s final days, and the capture, trial, and execution of his crew. She mentioned two pirates by name: Caesar and a pirate named Israel Hands, who had received a last-minute, and most unexpected, royal pardon on the eve of his execution.
She next guided them along Hangman’s Lane, ending up at the gaol. The gaol, she explained, was a prime site for paranormal activity, due to the suffering and death that had taken place on this site. Up ahead, just outside the oldest part of the cell, stood a small group of people carrying flashlights.
“There’s actually a paranormal investigation going on right now,” Kendra said, lowering her voice. “We can observe them for a little while if everyone’s interested.”
“Hell, yes,” Bones said.
A few in the tour group glanced nervously at the gaol but most bobbed their heads eagerly. Cautioning them to remain silent, Kendra led them to a spot twenty paces away from the investigative team.
As they watched one investigator placed what Maddock assumed was a recording device on the sidewalk a few feet from the door to the jail. Another investigator placed two small flashlights, one with a blue filter over the lens, the other red, on the step in front of the door. After extending an invitation to any spirits that might be present, a short blond woman, who seemed to be the lead investigator, began posing questions.
“If someone is with us, please turn the blue flashlight off.”
Nothing.
She repeated the question and a wave of surprised whispers rippled through the tour group as the blue flashlight flickered.