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“Fair point. What was your big idea the other day, anyway?”
He grimaces. “The one Royal shot down?”
I nod and freshen Boo’s water.
“We have some blind spots. There’s the will and then everything we don’t know. Chip left you a pillow and a pocket knife. Ever thought about why?”
I exhale a sigh. “Not really. Have I ever understood why our grandfather did what he did? Rhetorical question. No.”
“He always had a reason.”
I drop onto a kitchen stool. “I take it that he left me the pillow because I’ve slept many times without one and maybe because he probably thought I ought to take a rest.”
“And the knife?”
“It was his father’s, our great grandfather’s. Handmade in Brazil. If you didn’t know, I have a sizeable knife collection. Admire the craftsmanship.” I’ve carried it every day since the reading of the will and study the wooden handle, inlaid with mother-of-pearl and abalone that looks like moving water if you stare at it long enough.
“Admire it a little more,” CJ says, taking the last bite of his sandwich.
I roll my eyes.
“While we’re asking questions, any info on the brigantine?” he asks.
“Right. On it.” I pull out my phone and log into the government database that’s been slow to deny my access since retirement. I don’t get anything about a ship that matches the description. Then again, I have almost nothing to go on other than Dark Seas.
I send a couple of texts to guys I know who might be able to tell me more, but who knows where they are in the world? I’m used to operating in different time zones and CJ’s comment about patience comes to mind.
However, my phone instantly beeps with a reply. I take the call from my buddy, call sign Dallas, who used to fly with me. After twenty years in the military, my superiors identified my strengths, in particular, my focus and targeting accuracy. I didn’t only fly fighter jets. I spent plenty of time with boots on the ground. My call sign in the air wasMagic—because it was anow you see me, now you don’tsituation in the skies. When I shifted lanes, the guys called me Magnum, after Magnum PI the old show, and because for a while I sported what Ryan called an epic mustache, but mostly because I never missed. Not once.
When I get off the phone with Dallas, I tell CJ what I learned.
On the books, and as we already know, the brigantine is called Dark Seas. It docks in Porto de Santos.”
CJ nods at this additional info. “São Paulo.”
“And was allegedly registered to Benecio Estevão, but the records are spotty.”
“Let’s find him.”
“Not so fast. The info is from 1911 before registration laws were in effect. It was more on the honor system, but ships were still accounted for. Do the math. There’s no way Benecio is still sailing the shining seas.”
“I suppose not.”
“That makes it a ghost ship.”
“A pirate ship,” CJ whispers.
“But why?”
“Maybe my idea wasn’t so bad after all.”
“What idea?” I ask.
“The one where we fill in our blind spots. We have to talk to the Pirate Defense League.”
Laughter bursts out of me. “Chip’s old game night cronies? Half of themareblind.”
“Not Ray Higbee. He warned Isla and Royal. Fishy, right?”
