Ghosts ⚔️ Blackbeard's Treasure

Chapter 6.

"It's nice to meet you, Jack. I'm Lizzie." Outside, lightning and thunder crack, making me jump. I imagine the tavern's timber beams creaking with the powerful wind.

"May I?" The stranger holds out his hand. His clear blue eyes shine with interest as he examines my antique bell. His finger tip traces the three engraved letters on the side. I can't help but notice he has nice hands. "This bell is very old. May I ask where you acquired it?"

"It's one of my grandmother's theater props." I want to tell him she has a Louis Vuitton chest in our attic filled with old knickknacks, but I can't breathe. His face is floating inches away from mine. His breath smells like wintergreen. When his eyes lock with mine, I'm mesmerized by his sexual charisma. It's as if all his civility and restraint's been stripped away, leaving only pure male heat.

"We may have something in common," he says, looking me straight in the eye.

"I don't understand." My body trembles.

"The bell's from the Piccadilly market," Julia interrupts. "I travelled to Europe when I was an actress.

Without missing a beat, he asks, "Do you want to sell it? I've searched for one a long time."

"You have?" I can't fathom why Jack would be searching for an antique bell.

"It's not for sale." Julia reaches over and plucks the bell out of his hand. "It's part of a set. I have no intention of parting with my Pirates of Penzance theatre props. If you want this, you'll have to wait until I die." She gives him a cold look. "Don't get your hopes up, I'm sure I'm going to live a lot longer than you."

Jack sips his drink, the smile slipping from his face. "Fair enough. I'm a man of principle–or not–whatever the situation calls for." He performs a slight bow. "May the odds be with you, madame." He turns to me. "If you'll excuse me, Lizzie." Without further explanation, he disappears into the crowd. I will myself not to follow his broad shoulders with my eyes, but I'm captivated. What's this fugue state I'm experiencing? It's like I'm under a spell. It must be the triple rum concoction.

"Stay away from that man." Roland sweeps in and glares at the spot where the stranger's disappeared. "He's the devil—a full-blown lunatic."

My lucid dreaming stops and my free floating consciousness snaps back into my body.

"He's a high powered attorney with the mayor's office. His maniac boss is after my property. If you want to stay alive, avoid him," the bartender warns. "People have a way of disappearing when he's around."

Why is he being so curt and surly? He's like dog with his hackles raised at some invisible threat.

Julia chimes in. "He's right, Lizzie. That man was up to no good. He was too Ken-doll-plastic with his perfect dimpled chin. Real men are rough around the edges, like Dylan. By the way, have you forgotten you have a boyfriend?"

"I haven't forgotten about Dylan. I was talking about work. He seemed nice, and he is a lawyer with the city. We were discussing the mayor's renovation project —how it's destroying the ghost tour business."

"There's a reason Shakespeare said, "Kill all the lawyers." Julia interjects.

I feel someone tap me on the shoulder. Looking up, I'm surprised to see Blair. She's wearing one of her latest designs, a bewitching raspberry Matador jacket and black silk Latin dance pants. Instead of a matching montera, her sleek black hair is tied up under a velvet glengarry bonnet. It's like she's Cleopatra and just returned from conquering the Highlands. She looks at me quizzically. "What's wrong, Lizzie. You look like you've stepped on a rat trap. Are you alright?"

Snapping back into awareness, I blink stupidly. "Blair, how did you get in here without an invitation?"

"What're you talking about. I'm a witch." With her bronze skin and jet-black hair, Blaire does look like a witch—an exotic ancient Egyptian sorceress. According to polite society, one of Satan's many hell-brides. "Dylan's here, too."

"What?"

"I'll be back," Which translates into meaning, "I'll be gone all evening." She expertly weaves through the crowd, not spilling a drop of her pink Pirate's Kiss drink. I have a suspicion she chose the colorful fuchsia drink because it matches her outfit.

My boyfriend appears at my side. "What were you saying to that man, Lizzie?" My Aussie hunk leans down and kisses me. He's dressed in jeans and my favorite leather jacket.

Looking at his green, guileless eyes and handsome face, I feel guilty. I wrap my arms around my boyfriend's neck. "Just how sexy you are. I'm so glad to see you." Dylan's my soulmate. My other half. How could I have been distracted by anyone else? "What're you doing here?"

"Blair texted me for a ride."

"She probably couldn't drive in that tight jacket. I don't know how she can breathe. I have some good news. I may have found us an apartment."

He wraps me in his muscular arms. "Really? That's wonderful." Dylan smiles and a thrill zings through my bloodstream.
He releases me and glances towards the exit. "We'd better leave, the weather's getting ugly. You can tell me about it in the car. Blair's going to drive back with Julia."

My boyfriend goes to track down Blair, while I wait with my grandmother. An alert pings my phone—it must be about the weather. A news bulletin pops up on my screen. There's a picture of the young man we saw in the parking lot. My mouth drops open when I read his body's been recovered from the bay.

I barely hear Blair and Dylan return with the loud noise rushing in my ears. I scan the alert's details. Suspicion of foul play. The young man drowned two days ago. He's a ghost.

My grandmother appraises the black silk bustier under Blaire's jacket. "Oh, that's darling."