Spirits of the Pirate House by Paul Ferrante Read Free Book Online Page A

something right because he was pals with the governor
and lived past the age of 40, and pretty comfortably, by all
accounts.”
    “So, why is he haunting this Hibiscus House?”
said T.J.
    “Well,” said Bortnicker, “if you owned a
mansion on a tropical island would you want to leave?
Ever?”
    “But that’s the thing,” said LouAnne. “It
seems the encounters have really only kicked into gear during the
past seven months or so. Something must have triggered it. Remember
the deal with Major Hilliard?”
    “Yeah,” said T.J., “what brought him back was
when the grounds crew at the Battlefield Park unearthed his bones
while they were digging a storm drain near the Emmitsburg
Road.”
    “Exactly. So my guess is he’s got a reason
for coming back, just like Hilliard. And it’s going to be up to us
to find him and figure out what the story is.”
    “And we’ve got two weeks at the most to do
it,” stated T.J. seriously.
    “And it’s gonna be on TV,” added
Bortnicker.
    “Yikes,” said LouAnne. “Hey, by the way, what
are you guys bringing over there?”
    “Well,” said T.J., “we’ve got all our basic
dive gear, supplied by our guy Capt. Kenny. All we have to pick up
there is our tanks. And then, enough shirts, shorts, and footwear
for a couple weeks.”
    “Don’t forget your track shoes,” admonished
LouAnne. “We’ve got to fit some running in—”
    “Including a 5k race.”
    “Uh-huh. Are you ready for it?”
    T.J. winked at Bortnicker and said, “Well, I
just got done with baseball here, so it’ll take me a few morning
runs to get back into cross country mode.”
    “You mean, like last year when you came down
to Pennsylvania and almost died on our first run?”
    “Busted!” laughed Bortnicker.
    “Very funny,” said T.J., as his face grew hot
with embarrassment. “Don’t worry, I’ll be prepared. And, oh, don’t
forget a change of nice clothes. Mike Weinstein said we might have
to go out in public a couple times, and being underdressed in
Bermuda is a real no-no.”
    “No problem,” said LouAnne, “I’ve got a
couple cute sundresses I’m packing.”
    “I’ll bet she does,” whispered Bortnicker,
and T.J. punched him in the shoulder. “And don’t forget your
bathing suit!” he added impishly.
    “Bortnicker, really . How could you go
to Bermuda and not bring a suit?”
    “I’m just saying.”
    “Okay, guys,” she said finally. “I’ve gotta
go. Are you as nervous about this as I am?”
    “We can handle it,” said T.J. somewhat
confidently. “Remember, Mike will be there to help us out.”
    “Maybe so,” she said, “but I wouldn’t get too
carried away. If you remember last year, he was a mess after
Hilliard spooked him on the battlefield.”
    Indeed, the cousins’ chance encounter with
the then-inebriated paranormal investigator had occurred in the
deserted bar of the inn were LouAnne worked as a Civil War
reenactor.
    “Don’t worry, luv,” said Bortnicker in his
best Beatle twang, “a splendid time is guaranteed for all.”
    “Sergeant Pepper ,” she countered.
“Talk to you soon.”
     

Chapter Eight
     
    “ We’re here!” crowed
Bortnicker triumphantly as he emerged from the plane into the
brilliant sunshine of a Bermuda morning. He smacked high fives with
T.J. and Tom Sr. as they made their way down the mobile stairway to
the tarmac of Bermuda International Airport.
    Overall, the trip over had gone quite
smoothly. A large SUV limo had come for them at 4:00 a.m. for the
ride to LaGuardia Airport in Queens, NY, and the boys had been
chatting away ever since. Check-in went without a hitch, with the
teens securing their dive equipment and clothes while Mr. Jackson
stowed his travel set of golf clubs.
    “Some of the best business deals are struck
on the back nine,” he was always saying—for a few rounds on the
club course he hoped to be renovating. The only thing they’d have
to buy in Bermuda was a golf shirt for Bortnicker, who didn’t