Ransom

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!

Right before we broke camp, Claire and I grabbed Eyes, the whole group stood around cheering as we pushed him on the ground, holding down his arms, while Weezer gave a short speech, and then baptized him by pouring water from a mug over his head. It was grand fun!

Oh, and in my description of NorCal, I forgot to mention the...umm, amazing, and very..err, suggestive giant "Wanking Kraken" blow up kids ride. Fortunately, kids wouldn't "get" it, but for us adults, it was hilarious!

Ah, NorCal, what a blast—literally and figuratively.

Firstly, we touched bases with Quartermaster James, Gunpowder Gertie, and Black Tess at the Best Western Hotel in Benicia on Thursday. It was great fun to be able to review the days events over breakfast each morning. And the four, late night, after event evenings, out of garb and relaxing with Quartermaster James in his hotel room, as we (myself, QMJ, and Chain Shot) sipped Absinthe and talked of Life, the Universe, and Everything. Such a sublime treat.

Friday

We spent Friday with QMJ exploring Chinatown, which included a lovely Dim Sum lunch at the Oriental Pearl restaurant. From there we walked through North Beach, and on to Pier 39 at Fisherman's Wharf, where we stopped for alcoholic refreshment at the Crab House. LOL We must have walked ten miles that day playing tourist. We had hoped to hook up with Eyes, Gertie, and Black Tess, who had gone off to find out if they could take the tour of Alcatraz. (We had all ridden over to SF on the ferry from Vallejo, then split up to go on our separate adventures). As it turned out, that wasn't happening, so we hopped back on the ferry and returned to Vallejo, the other three catching a later crossing. We enjoyed a lovely dinner on the waterfront, then headed back to the hotel.

Saturday, and NorCal.

It was so grand seeing all the Tales gang again, and also being able to introduce them in 3-D to QMJ, who fit in with the group as if he'd always been a member. Also, Patrick let me know that I would not get my ray gun until Sunday, when he would be in Airship Pirate garb, so the suspense was killing me!LOL

First was gate duty from 10-11. QMJ had me rolling with his running commentary while handing out programs for the event. "Collect them all, valuable coupons inside!" or "Extra, extra, pyrates invade Vallejo, read all about it!" Then we strolled the event site, meeting people, checking out the many vendors, and listening to the music on the main stage, which was just across from the Tales encampment. Kate, from the Tales group, was singing with a group of women calling themselves Queen Ann's Revenge, and they were awesome! The crowd loved them.

Then, at around 2 o"clock, Chain Shot and I headed for the yacht club, to meet up with a guy called Russ, who would ferry us out to the Aldebaran. This we did, but as we came up alongside the ship, I quickly noticed that the Aldebaran was not going to luff-up and slow down. Russ's boat kept going faster and closer to the ship. It was at this point that I realized this was going to be a "moving" transfer. Kewl! Russ's small boat, still jetting along, came alongside, tied on to the Aldebaran, and then we scrambled up on deck. Too fun! From then on, we got battle ready, and had a great time firing at those British landlubbers. Then, after the photographer had been off-loaded, we sailed around the area for about an hour. This was when Jill and I went below to toast our mutual birthdays. As we were below, and the ship was leaning at about 35-45 degrees, we leaned back against a top bunk, braced our feet against the bottom bunk on the other side, and sipped our rum quite happily. Then we went back up on deck to assist with the final salute of the day for the Guiness Book record. Chain shot and I helped as much as we could with taking down sail, putting out fendors, etc, to get the ship ready to dock. When all was secure, the toasting rum appeared! A VERY good time was had by all. Chain Shot and I returned to camp to collect QMJ so he could meet everyone on the Aldebaran, and that was very fun. Then, as we had already promised to meet some other members of the Tales gang at Pizza Pirate, we bid the Aldebaran goodbye until the morrow. Dinner at Pizza Pirate is always fun, as they love us there. After that, we returned to the hotel with QMJ.

Sunday

First off, Patrick Hand finally presented to me the Bombardier's Thunderbuss ray gun. It is just awesome! I am so lucky to have such a grand work of art, from a man I admire so much. Thank you Patrick, a million times! I was also allowed to wear Admiral Crab's white wig for a time, which itched. LOL I thought his crab leash looked more like his crabs were in bondage! More visiting with friends, talking to the public, answering questions, etc. Then at 2:00 back to the Aldebaran for the Sunday battle, taking Eyes and Rob Anybody with us as new recruits. Off we went, hoping the ship would not get hung up in the mud because of the low, low tide. That hazard overcome, we sailed out to meet the British again. The Aldebaran crew worked like clockwork, firing at least two and sometimes three rounds per pass. At one point I was holding two lintstocks, leaning over and using one to fire Wee Babbett, and one to hand to Bob Neese, as he was slower in getting his gun ready to fire. Very exciting! Chain Shot and Eyes worked together flawlessly, keeping the rail guns firing, while Iron Jack and Red-Handed Jill worked like lightning at swabbing and reloading the two cannons midships, for which Rob Anybody and I were in charge of firing. It was just an incredibly grand time! But all grand times must come to an end. The tender came out to pick us up, we did another moving transfer from the ship to the small boat. We all cheered our great time, then Eyes, Chain Shot, Rob Anybody and myself were taken back to the yacht club as the Aldebaran sailed home for Port Richmond.

We got back to the event site just in time to catch the last gig by Pirate Charles. What a kick butt way to end the day. Despite the heat, me, Eyes, Bilgemunkey, D Man, Victoria, and Gertie rocked out to the music, then were joined by Weezer and Lady Jaxx. Just WAY too much fun. LOL I'm sure there will be many "interesting" photos of that showing up sooner or later!

A rousing closing performance by Queen Ann's Revenge, along with many of the other entertainers closed the event, up to the final cannon blast which signaled the end of another outstanding Northern California Pirate Festival. After "baptizing" Oderlesseye into the company of Tales of the Seven Seas and taking a group picture, we broke camp, many hugs were exchanged, and it was over until next year.

Monday

A final breakfast with QMJ, and farewell to Gertie and Tess, and then for us, the long drive back to Oregon, with a whole shipload of grand memories.

CAN WAIT UNTIL NEXT YEAR!!!!!!

NOW, THAT'S WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!!!!!

I am now the proud owner of the Bombardier's Thunderbuss! In a word...AWESOME! I showed it off to everyone I could think of, and maybe a few others. Everyone loved it.

And yeah, I almost did wet myself! LOL It is just the kewlest ray gun, and will be the focal point of my costume for SteamCon in November.

A zillion thank you's, Patrick, for making me such a grand work of art. I will take your excellent suggestion and make a picture-frame hanging mount to show it off when it is not on my belt.

Hope you can use the goodies I gave you...oh, and the disco hamster stickers were a last-minute toss in, because I thought they were just too dang funny.

And it was great to see you at NorCal again. Don't be such a stranger. We all miss you when you're not around.

Michael, I know that forum is really a mess, but as it stands right now, event postings get buried as soon as another post is made. Is there any way to set up a calendar, with links to the thread for each event...or at least the main ones? I'm just trying to figure out a way to give event postings more front page time, as opposed to "Gee, yesterday I posted something about .....event, and now it's buried already and no one will see it."

This is just a suggestion, but...yeah, you know.

Ta,

R

I'ts done....Ransom's ray gun....

can't post th' picture until after next weekend (Nor Cal....th' farbist fest in the Would)

It came out nice..... (an' Ransom would peek if I posted the pictures)

So... I will post pictures mayby next Monday.....

Dang.... she's goinna wet herself when she see it... it's that cool..........

pictures next week....

Yikes, does this mean I should bring an extra pair of panties? Really, I am sooooo excited, I just might wet myself. LOL

And I'm bringing some Thank-you goodies for you, but I don't think they are so exciting that you'd wet yourself. Least, I hope not!

BTW, I am going to base my costume for SteamCon around your ray gun. Maybe, as I show it off, I can drum up some business for you, if you're interested.

See you soon, Patrick.

Also, you can post pictures anytime from Thursday afternoon on. We're leaving Thursday morning, and I will be off-line until we get back. I won't be able to peek. ;=}

PM sent.

Also, to all involved: Remember to include a SASE for the return trip. . . .Shame on you Ransom. . .

Oh, shyte! Apologies, mate. I owes ye one. I blame the Absinthe. LOL

Pew, my cards will be heading your way tomorrow.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

September 20

Artesian Spring, San Cristobal Island

When Helena reached the spring for the second time, she was grateful to see someone had draped a shirt over Tibbits’ face. Unfortunately, the shirt wasn’t long enough to cover the dark, crusted blood on his clothes, or drive away the thousands of flies. Sandy stood to one side of the body watching Bill take a picture of something by the spring. A shirtless Eamon was stationed on the path, apparently to prevent anyone getting closer to the body if they managed to get past Don and Christa on guard at the water tower.

Alex went directly to Sandy, whose expression was grim. “Did you happen to find the satellite phone? It’s not in Tibbits’ cabin. We looked.”

Sandy nodded toward Bill, who was crouched down and still taking pictures. “Unfortunately, we did. Not that it’s going to do us much good.”

Helena’s heart sank. “What do you mean?”

Bill stood and gestured for them to join him. When they did, he pointed to the spring, its clear water gurgling cheerfully over and between the black volcanic stones of its bed.

“Shit,” Alex said.

“My sentiments exactly,” Bill replied, putting the camera back in its case.

Helena closed her eyes, not wanting to believe what she’d seen. Wedged between two rocks, about a foot underwater, was the satellite phone. She opened her eyes and whispered, “Now what do we do?”

Alex shot her a fierce glare. “There’s nothing we can do until the ferry gets here. We’re on our own for the next three days.” Then he looked at Bill. “Let’s pull the thing out of the water and test it, just to be sure.”

Bill shrugged, pushed up his sleeve, then bent down and retrieved the dripping satellite phone, still in its waterlogged leather case. He punched a few buttons, but nothing happened.

Helena sighed. “Well, it was worth a try.”

“Is there a chance, once it dries out, that it might work?” Alex took the phone from Bill and looked at it.

“I doubt it, but I’ll ask around, see if anyone is familiar with electronics.” Bill said.

Alex handed the phone, still dripping water from its complicated innards, back to Bill.

“The satellite phone isn’t all we found. Whoever killed Tibbits went through his pockets and took whatever loose change he might have had, but tossed away a wallet stuffed with credit cards, and two twenties.” Bill gestured toward a stick that had been pushed into the ground to mark the spot. “We found it over there. I got a picture of it, then Sandy wrapped it in one of his spare latex gloves.”

Eamon approached, his bare chest tanned and lean with muscle. His physique reminded Helena of a gymnast rather than a body builder. His face had regained some of its color, but his eyes retained the spark of fear she’d seen in them earlier that morning. He looked to Alex. “We may not be alone, as we thought yesterday. I found tracks leading away from the spring and heading for La Perla. I also found where a boat may have been pulled up on shore. There’s no boat there now, but the tracks from La Perla are more than just one day’s worth. It looks as if someone has gone back and forth many times.”

Helena and Alex turned toward the islet. It looked innocent, a tiny jewel of green palms and gleaming sand. Was it hiding drug runners after all? Had they stumbled onto some trysting place where drugs changed hands? Had Tibbits accidentally interrupted a transaction, and been killed for his stupidity? Better that, she thought, than to think one of the PFCers had killed him.

Yet, as Alex had pointed out before, why would drug dealers steal food and clothing? Why would they remove their victim’s shoes? Was it their trademark warning, like serial killers who left notes or signature marks on their victims, as part of the ritual of the kill? Goose flesh rose on her arms, and she shivered.

Alex turned back to Sandy. “Have you decided what to do with the body?”

“Only thing we can do is find something to wrap him in and then bury him. Otherwise, he’ll be pretty messy by the time the ferry gets here.” Sandy looked at Tibbits, then back at Alex. “You realize, as soon as the ferry does get here, we’re going to have to call the police. They’re going to ask a lot of questions.”

“They’ll think one of us killed him,” Helena said, the sick sensation returning to her stomach.

“I hate to bring this up,” Bill said, “but everyone at the Bilge Rat heard both you and Alex threaten to kill him.” He held up his hands before either of them could protest. “I’m not for one minute implying I think you did kill him, I’m just pointing out what the police are going to hear, and warning you to be prepared.”

“What about the tracks Eamon found?” Helena asked. “Don’t they prove we’re not alone here, that someone else killed him?”

Bill shrugged. “The tracks could be anybody’s. Unless we catch someone, there’s no way to prove they aren’t Alex’s or yours.”

Helena cursed silently, then said, “God, even dead, that man is still causing us trouble.”

Alex looked at the body. “Then we better get busy trying to find out who really killed him.” He said to Sandy, “I’ll send someone with something to wrap him in. Then I’m going to assemble everyone at the pub and tell them what’s happened.” He glanced over to Eamon. “Can you organize a crew to dig a grave?”

“It doesn’t have to be deep,” Sandy interjected, “just enough to cover him. And make sure it’s above the high tide mark.”

“Right.” Eamon nodded.

Before he could started down the path to the camp, Alex added, “Eamon, keep it quiet. Pick some guys from your Merry Death crew. I don’t want to start a panic.”

Eamon nodded again, and left.

Bill, the satellite phone tucked under his arm, said,“I’m through taking pictures. What do you need me to do?”

Alex scrubbed a hand over his face. “Sandy needs help getting the body down the hill. Find Don and a few others and meet back here. Don’t recruit Arthur. He’s already made it plain he doesn’t want anything to do with a dead body.”

“What about Eamon’s discovery? Should some of us search La Perla, see if anyone is still there?” Bill looked over at the islet, his expression unreadable.

Alex shook his head. “We’ll take care of Tibbits first, then let the rest of the PFCers in on what’s happened. Then we’ll decide.”

Bill nodded, and set off down the path.

Sandy came up to Alex and put one hand on his shoulder. “Things might get pretty ugly. You’re going to have forty frightened, angry people on your hands, especially when they find out the satellite phone has been destroyed.”

Alex gave him a sardonic smile. “Now I know how the captain of a sinking ship must feel.”

Helena, her anger at Alex’s harsh accusations gone, took one of his hands. “Your ship isn’t sinking, its just run into some rough seas. You have friends who will do all they can to make sure she stays afloat.”

“She’s right, Alex. This ship doesn’t go down without a fight. We’ve got three days to find the killer, assuming he’s still on the island. If we don’t find anyone, then the police will deal with the case. No matter what happens, you can’t blame yourself.”

The word case struck Helena as sounding strange and out of place. How could an event that promised a week of fun on an idyllic tropical island turn out to be such a disaster? Amid palm trees and cerulean seas, inviting as any travel poster, they were suddenly involved in a murder case. It seemed impossible, yet not ten yards away from her was the body of Charlie Tibbits, covered in blood, as incontrovertible proof. Whatever arguments she and Alex might have had, they were meaningless when compared to murder. He needed her support, and she would give it with her whole heart.

Alex seemed to feel the same. He smiled, gave her hand a little shake, then said, “Come on, H. H., let’s see what we can do to quiet the storm.”

On their way back, just before they reached the water tower, they met Julia coming up. Her expression was one of concern. “Bill told me what’s happened. Anything I can do?”

Alex shook his head. “No, Sandy is handling what’s left of Tibbits. What’s the mood in camp?”

“Quiet. No one has told them anything, but because of that, they know it’s got to be something pretty bad.” Julia gave Alex a look. “By the way, where were you this morning? I spent twenty useless minutes searching for you, before Bill jetted into camp looking for his camera and told me what had happened.”

“Sorry. I stayed with Sandy last night,” Alex replied.

Julia glanced at Helena, but didn’t comment, merely fell in step with them and returned to camp.

* * *

The light of the full moon was darkened by the storm clouds rolling in with the coming storm.

In the next flash of lightning, another ship's sails were sillowetted(?) against the dark sky and a warning shot was fired, so close that the spray hit Fletcher in the face.

are we designin' a tatoo fer Ransom's heinie, ...

Well to make absolootly sure everyone knows.... It will have ter be a "stand in" Heinie (Debbie Gibson's ).....So It won't really be Ransom's Heinie on alla th' cards......

So, Patrick, who is this Debbie Gibson whose heinie is standing in for mine?

And Nigel, ck the beginning of this thread, and it will answer all of your questions.

Ahoy ya raucous rabble!!! Count me in!!! Shar.... er, Ransom talked me into it!!!

Just to be clear, are we designin' a tatoo fer Ransom's heinie, or are we just doin' piratey art with a tattoo theme?

Let's be leavin' me heinie out of this, shall we! LOL

And as for the theme, it's either screwed, stewed, or tattooed. Pick your choice. But, really, no X-rated stuff.