Ransom

I was given a heavy, cast iron and enamel Paella pan many years ago. I made the seafood version of the dish, but if memory serves, I thought it sort of labor-intensive to make. However, I was young, not much into cooking then, and using a TimeLife book on Spanish cooking, which probably wasn't too user friendly. LOL It will be interesting to see what recipes you get. If they aren't too exhausting, I'd give the dish another try.

WOW, Patrick, that is awesome. I second Eyes. I want a patch to sew on my Land Army Coat. Maybe I'll pirate the picture, and embroider it on canvass and make me own patch. Really, outstanding design.

Wow, it's been awhile since anyone stopped by. What are you all doing over the summer? New ideas, designs, materials? As for me, I'm still plugging away fiddling with wire, along with my beaded pieces. It's been fun, and as I get better at working the wire, I get braver and more inventive. LOL Oh, and we have added a heat pump to our house, which also does A/C, which makes working much more pleasant, instead of having sweat running down your back and the pliers slipping. Currently trying to get enough stock made up to have a holiday jewelry show sometime in October. I've had a few more sales from the Esty site, and I've added new pieces just this week. Decided I really need to make some kind of light box, so I can take better photos, and be more consistent with the backgrounds. I've been using sections of slate, which work well for some pieces, but not so well with others. Anyway, stop on by, sit a spell, and I'll serve up iced tea, since the weather seems to be pretty hot no matter where you hang your jeweler's hat.

A grand birthday to ye, Luv. Hope we'll see you and Mr. Titmouse at Ojai come September. And remember, Saturday is still girly-girl day. This time we'll bring the Krispy Kremes.

Kewl stuff, Patrick! But...I think the Plunder Bunny looks more like a Playboy Bunny! LOL

**Sigh** Come on, folks, let's keep this discussion civil.

Welcome, Toothless, from a fellow Oregonian. The Pub is a fine place to hand your hat.

******** Helena, and the others who had accompanied Alex to La Perla, stood staring at a small campsite. It reminded her of a transient’s nest. Strewn around a checkered tablecloth that had obviously been used as a bed, were root beer bottles, punctured beer cans, torn food packages, an empty basket, a pile of ratty looking clothes, and a pair of worn-out shoes with tarnished buckles. As she watched, Arthur picked up one of the shoes and examined it—turning it over and over, looking inside, even sniffing it, then jerking his nose quickly away. A look of puzzlement came over his face as he put it back with its twin. Then he knelt and examined the pile of clothes, pulling out a filthy shirt. Alex gestured at the rubbish. “It’s the stolen food. Or what’s left of it.” He circled the area as the dozen PFCers glanced warily around. “Do you think whoever slept here is still on the island? Maybe watching us?” Helena asked. Bill joined Alex. “Let’s spread out a bit, see what else we can find.” Arthur, Don, and Julia, also with the group, waited for Alex’s instructions. Alex nodded. “ Be careful. Stay in pairs. This is a killer we may be cornering.” To Helena, the situation became surreal. As the group fanned out, creeping through the filigree shade of the palms, they became in earnest the pirates they had for the last three days portrayed in fun. Each had removed his peace-tied weapon and held it at the ready. Each face wore a grim, intense expression. Alex’s rapier, the point no longer blunted by a practice knob, looked deadly. They could have been a raiding party stepped from the pages of a history book, their mission just as dangerous. “Ahoy,” Eamon called. “I found a boat.” They all rushed to where Eamon and Rum Runner were in the process of tossing palm branches away from what looked like a long boat. Eamon reached in and pulled up a pair of boots. “I think these belong to Flash.” Arthur leaned over the side, peering into the bottom of the boat. He ran his fingers over a drooping flap of the sail, then pushed it aside. Reaching under it, he came up with what looked like a water skin, with strips cut from the hide. He turned it over, examining it as he had done the shoe. “That’s interesting,” he mumbled. Helena looked at the skin, then at the sail, which was loosely wrapped around a small mast that had been removed from its brace and lay across the wooden benches. The canvas was mildewed, tattered, and patched in several places. The boat itself was crusty with barnacles, and showed signs of sea worm infestation. “I hope no one had to travel far in this thing. It looks like it would sink,” she said. As Helena watched, Arthur kept looking at the boat. Obviously fascinated, he ran his hands along the boards, picked at the sticky stuff oozing from between the slats, and even climbed on board, checking the benches, the oars, and tugging slightly on the short tiller. He looked even more puzzled over the boat than he had been over the shoes and clothing. “It is pretty beat up,” Bill commented. “Definitely not something a drug runner would be caught dead in.” “So it’s one of our own people after all,” Eamon said. Helena shook her head. “Not necessarily. Let’s face it, no one would risk going thirty miles in that wreck, so they didn’t come from Key Biscayne.” “Maybe Tibbits was right about a stowaway aboard the ferry,” Bill replied. Alex said, “I have a hard time believing a PFCer killed Tibbits.” “Well, whoever it is, there’s proof positive they’ve been stealing our food,” Rum Runner jerked his head in the direction of the intruder’s campsite. “And they didn’t do much to hide the evidence.” Helena was still unwilling to believe a murderer was living on the islet. She prayed whoever had killed Tibbits left after doing so. Hadn’t Eamon seen where a boat had been brought to shore on San Cristobal? It had to be some other boat, not this poor wreck. “Maybe it’s the island version of a transient camp,” she said. “Whoever stays here uses the boat for storage. It could be some homeless person. Maybe they steal food and clothes from whoever uses the campsite on San Cristobal. They may not have had anything to do with the murder.” Rum Runner looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “That doesn’t make a damned bit of sense. How would a transient get here in the first place? It’s not like they could just thumb a ride.” She fired back, “If a PFCer could stow away on the ferry, why not a homeless person?” Rum Runner, clearly unconvinced, shook his head and walked away. “Which brings it back to being one of the us,” Alex said. “Personally, I would prefer the killer to be a homeless person with mental problems. That might give them the semblance of an excuse. But I doubt that’s going to be the case.” Bill nodded. “I agree. The killing of Tibbits was too savage. And whoever did it left most of his money behind, so it wasn’t a robbery turned deadly.” Julia, who stood next to Bill, her cutlass gripped firmly in her right hand, looked at Alex. “So, what do we do next?” Alex paused a moment, looking at the boat. The group waited in silence. Then he turned back to them. “Just in case this boat is being used by someone, and until we know why they are here on La Perla, let’s make sure they can’t escape. We’ll remove the mast and oars and take them back to camp.” He signaled to Rum Runner. “You and I will hoist the mast between the two of us.” He turned to Helena. “Will you and Julia take the oars?” Helena looked at Julia, who nodded. Helena followed her and pulled an old oar out of the boat. Since the mast was already out of its brace, it was only a matter of moments before the group was ready to depart. Behind Alex, Rum Runner, with one end of the mast balanced over his right shoulder, asked, “Okay, now what, fearless leader?” Helena winced at the sarcasm, and saw Alex’s eyes narrow, but he merely adjusted his end of the mast more comfortably on his shoulder and replied, “We go back to San Cristobal. We post lookouts on the ridge and keep tabs on the isthmus. If there are strangers still on either island, we’ll find them. But no one accosts them. Got that? You see someone, you let me know, but under no circumstances do you attempt to stop them. One murder is enough. Agreed?” They all agreed and the group returned to the isthmus. As they waded through knee-high surf back to the big island, Helena thought it looked as if they’d been on some bizarre scavenger hunt—Rum Runner, with Alex behind him, carrying the mast and sail, Julia with an oar balanced on one shoulder, herself holding one end of the other oar while the paddle end floated behind her, Arthur with the useless water skin, and Eamon carrying Flash’s boots. As the tropical water lapped against her legs, Helena’s gaze turned to and was fixed on San Cristobal, its western slope lying in shadow, the late afternoon sun resting on the black, volcanic crest like a flaming torch. Somewhere among the rocks and palms of that peaceful paradise, lurked a killer.

I can understand why people would want an historic site to remain "pristine" if possible. But at least the fort is still there, and not being bulldozed. At least the wind turbines are a clean energy source, and not a nuke plant with waste that takes a zillion years to break down. As stated, they could have put tract houses, a mini-mart gas station, a Wallmart, or any other box store you can think of, which I think would be infinitely worse than wind turbines. In this case, I think the wind turbines are the lesser of two, or more, weevils.

I tried it this morning, just to see if I could get in. Had no problems. I'm running Firefox on a Mac OSX. An old Mac OSX. LOL

Maybe you should be thankful that it's wind turbines, and not a Wallmart. I'm with Foxe, Mission and Duchess on this one.

Oi, guys, we're almost three weeks behind here! I know some of you have been busy, but hey, the rest of us are wantin' to see those cards!

The Frenchman, seeing the confused expression on the faces of the men on deck, sneered in accented English, "You appear surprised to see us, mes pouvre enfants, but you will surrender your ship none-the-less."

So far as I know, Chain Shot and I will be there, hanging with all of our Tales of the Seven Seas gang. FYI, the Oakridge Inn is the closest hotel to the event, and fills up fast. If you do not intend to camp, that is the place to be. Nothing fancy, but better than driving up from Ventura.

Helena and Alex stood on one of the picnic tables at the Bilge Rat, facing a crowd of sullen, silent PFCers. Alex had explained the situation to them, and it was brought graphically home by the burial of Tibbits’ tarp-wrapped body. Eamon and his crew had just finished filling in the grave, which was situated just outside the camp. Alex addressed the group in a steady voice, trying to keep everyone calm. “Eamon found evidence that we may not be alone on San Cristobal. It looks as if someone has been crossing from La Perla, maybe for several days. I’ll take a group over and see what we can find. In the meantime, no one goes anywhere on the island alone. In fact, I strongly advise you all to stay close to camp. We don’t know who or what we’re dealing with, and we’re out of communication with the mainland.” “Someone should have been smart enough to bring a backup phone.” Flash, his head still bandaged, glared at Alex. “It’s a little late for that,” Matilda snapped. “I agree, we should have had some kind of backup system, but we don’t.” Alex met Flash’s angry stare. “One of the crew of the Spotted Dick Tavern is attempting to fix the phone, if that’s possible. We have to take care of ourselves until he does fix it, or the ferry arrives from Key Biscayne on the twenty-third.” “Hell, that’s three days from now. If one of us is the murderer, who’s to say he or she won’t kill again?” A furious Rum Runner stood at the forefront of the group. “I’ve got kids here. They came for fun. They didn’t need to see some damned body being buried.” “You heard me instruct all parents to keep their children away from the grave site,” Alex countered. “If you chose to ignore those instructions, then whatever your kids saw is on your conscience, not mine.” “You act like it’s Alex’s fault Tibbits was killed,” Helena said. “Yet, he’s done everything he can to handle this ghastly situation. You shouldn’t be attacking him, you should be helping him keep things calm.” Rum Runner was still intent on placing blame. “How do we know Alex isn’t the one who killed him? Maybe the two of you planned it in revenge for what Tibbits did last night. We all heard you threaten him.” “That’s ridiculous.” Helena jumped down from the table. “How could you even think such a thing?” “Back off, Rum Runner,” Alex said, glaring down at the man. “I had nothing to do with Tibbits’ death, and you know it. I don’t mind admitting I would have loved to beat on him a little, but I didn’t kill him. Accusing Helena of anything is just plain stupid. You do it again, and I’ll break your nose the same way I did Tibbits’.” Rum Runner stepped forward to challenge Alex. Before he could, Helena pleaded, “Stop this!” She swept her gaze over the crowd. “We need to stick together, help Alex deal with the situation, not make more trouble for ourselves.” “She’s right,” Matilda said. “Yelling at each other isn’t going to change things, and I don’t believe Alex would kill anyone.” Rum Runner looked daggers at Matilda, then Helena, but kept silent and stepped back. Alex paused a moment, waiting to see if anyone else had accusations to make, then continued, “For the children’s sake, we’re going to carry on with their games and contests. Keep things as normal as possible. As for the adults, those who had classes scheduled can decide if they want to hold them or not. I hope you do, but it’s your call.” He stood, meeting Rum Runner’s still hostile stare. “I’m sorry this has happened and spoiled our event, but a man is dead. It doesn’t matter that he was unpopular. Until we can figure out who killed him, or turn over the case to the police when the ferry gets here, we need to stay calm, and we need to be careful.” “When are you leaving for La Perla?” Rum Runner demanded. “I want to go with you.” “Not for at least another hour. All those wanting to join me can meet back here at the Bilge Rat.” Rum Runner nodded, then led his family away from the crowd. “Should I cancel the treasure hunt?” Matilda asked. “I hate to say it, but I think it would be for the best. It’ll be too dangerous to have people out searching the island with a killer running around. I’m sorry, Matilda. I know how hard you worked to set up the hunt.” Her disappointment was plain. “There may be people out looking right now. I posted the third clue early this morning.” Alex, shading his eyes, looked toward the summit of the island. When he turned back to Matilda, he smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure if anyone’s up there, they’ll be fine.” Helena prayed he was right.

Cheeky, Mary, Longshanks, and Rats...you guys look very grand indeed! To Eyes...OMG, that is the best character you have come up with yet. Can't wait to meet him. I wish you could come to SteamCon in November. Actually, I wish you all could come to Seattle in November, for SteamCon. The theme is Weird, Weird, West. Think of the fun you could have with that!

As the strange ship got closer, a voice tinged with sarcasm hailed the group, "Mauvais fortune, mes enfants, non?"

LOL You should make this the avatar for Admiral Crab and bring his character into the Pub.

As a member of the Black Spot Dancers, I say.....WE ROCKED! LOL Thank-you, Quartermaster James for capturing us with Gertie's camera. That was a total hoot! Just goes to show you, a girl can spend an hour firing cannons shipboard, then come back and dance her toes off.

WTF!!! Now all the posts we just did about how great NorCal was, are gone until further notice! Thanks a bunch, Stynky!