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Copyright ©2008 by Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

First published in ebook, 2008

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Author's Notes

About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

* * * *

A Ghost from the Shadows

Book 2

Shannon Delaney Paranormal Mystery Series by

Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

© 2009 . All Rights Reserved Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

First Electronic Edition, January, 2009

© 2009 cover art by Shelley Rodgerson

Photo taken by Christopher Cox

Publishers Note: This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

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Chapter 1

The taxi pulled up to 2892 Sunrise Drive. I got out, paid the fare and turned to face what would be my temporary home for the next few weeks. Standing on the sidewalk in front of the bungalow with its wide porch and heavy broad beam supported by massive square columns at both ends I was in awe of its size. Somehow, the word bungalow had brought to mind a cottage-size home and what I was looking at was a manor house. I gazed at expansive front steps flanked by river stone buttresses and immediately fell in love with the MacArdle Bungalow.

My eyes pored over the craftsman exterior of dark teal green wood siding and golden tan trim. Leaded windows divided into small triangular panes lent an unexpected European flare. The second story was every bit as impressive as the first, practically a piggyback mirror image of the ground floor, except for the steeply pitched roof. The builders weren't stingy with the windows on the second floor; they were as plentiful and as beautiful as the main story. At the very top of the red tile roof my eyes latched onto a glint of sparkling metal. Could it be? I stepped back about four feet to the curb to get a better look. Yes, indeed, it was a weather vane, slowly rotating in the island breeze. I laughed to myself. Zach told me the MacArdle family is of Scottish ancestry. But really—the last thing I expected on Santa Catalina Island was to find a house with a weather vane that was unmistakably a whimsical interpretation of the beloved water horse, none other than Nessie the mythological Loch Ness Monster. Unable to contain my amusement, I giggled out loud.

"Good to hear you laugh, again."

That voice shattered my enchantment! “What are you doing here?” I demanded. I held my head high and stepped up on to the front porch. I stopped within arm's reach and stood perfectly composed, arms at my side. I glared at Alex Blackthorne.

"I'm surprised you didn't see me, it's not as if I was hiding from you. Shannon, I was standing right here the whole time. I saw you exit the cab and stand in awe examining the home. It's a great bungalow, I guess you just didn't notice me,” Alex said with an awkward smile.

I wasn't deterred, “You have not answered my question?” I did not smile. Alex stepped back a little. I could tell I had caught him off guard.

"Uh, the owner, Shelly MacArdle, well actually she is Mrs. Tabor, but for this house, she uses her maiden name. Anyway, she asked that I stop by and take a look at the layout, ah, inside that is. She wants my opinion about how to set up the place for the dinner theater she and her husband Roy are turning it into,” Alex explained. He gave me such a sincere look, I was almost taken in. He stepped in front of me and pushed open the front door and then stepped back and gestured for me to enter first. “Shall we?"

I stepped over the threshold and instantly forgot about Alex, thankfully! The front door opened directly into the living room: a massive room that took up the entire width of the front of the house. I guessed it to be about twenty-four feet wide by sixteen feet deep. The ceiling was ample too, at least ten feet high. Light shimmered in from eight large sash windows, two from the front on each side of the door and three along each side. I stood in the center of the living room and studied the pencil-sketched floor plan that the owner had mailed to me. Across the expanse of the living room and directly facing the front door, a double doorway wide cased opening led into a dining room on the left and a hall on the right that divided the house down the center.

I started my tour with the dining room. I guessed the dining room to be a little more than half the square footage of the living room. Through a pocket door at the back left corner of the dining room was a large country style kitchen that would be easy to convert for commercial food preparation. On the other side of the kitchen was an open doorway that emptied into a short hallway that made a right angle and met up with the front hall. From each end of the hall there was access to the stairs up to the second story. My notes indicated there's a full bathroom, four bedrooms, and a small nursery up there. I gave a cursory look up the broad wooden staircase and then continued on the main floor following the hall to the other rooms. A large bathroom, a den and a small room, what would have been a sewing room in the era the bungalow was built, comprised the rest of the main floor. Returning to the center of the living room I turned around and looked at Alex, who had quietly followed me as I explored the MacArdle Bungalow.

"Alex, what do you know about this house?"

He looked at me with a sense of relief; evidently the anger had left my voice. “Shelly inherited the place from her grandfather, it was his father who built it, I think that was about 1924. The MacArdles are members of a Scottish clan that migrated to America in or about 1900. Angus MacArdle, the builder of this house, made his money in theatre promotions, vaudeville and that kind of thing. His son Graham, Shelly's grandfather, was the first MacArdle born in America. Very proud the family is of that fact, anyway he, meaning Angus, not Graham, came west to vacation here in Avalon and enjoyed it so much that he built this summer home. Most of the time Angus MacArdle and his family stayed in New York."

I nodded, “Thanks. I know that Zach has the entire history, but it's good to get some preliminary information about whom I'll be working for."

Alex smiled. “Any time that I can be of help. Just call,” he fidgeted a bit. I stood there and let him. “Guess I'll be on my way, for now. How about you?"

I peeked at my wristwatch and nonchalantly replied, “Oh, Zach should be here any minute. Don't let me keep you.” I stepped over to the door and opened it for Alex.

Was I surprised!

"Come here you tall dark and handsome fellow,” I said with great fondness as I knelt down to give my favorite Irish Wolfhound a big hug. “Atlas, I've missed you so very much,” I cooed.

"Atlas missed you, too,” Alex interjected. “When you arrived, he was sleeping under that bougainvillea tree over in the side yard. Ever since we got back from Hawaii, he's been lethargic."

I looked up at Alex. “It was seasickness that had him down. Remember Alex? I l know, I was there. Having a dog on a yacht rolling about on the open sea is not a good idea,” I couldn't help reminding him that I was right on this issue and I wasn't budging.

"Yeah, I admit you were right.” Alex stepped around us, out the front and onto the porch. When he reached the bottom of the steps, he turned and whistled for Atlas. Atlas ignored the whistle and gave me a big sloppy kiss on my nose. Alex whistled a second time and Atlas obeyed. Wagging his tail he turned and followed the voice of his master. I closed the door and went upstairs to settle into my guest bedroom.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 2

"Shannon, are you here?” I heard Zach's familiar voice call out. “Up here,” I called back.

No sooner said than I turned around and there he was, standing in my doorway. It was hard to contain my excitement when he stepped in and gave me a hug; I didn't want him to let go.

"I see you found your room. I hope you like it."

"Zach, it's wonderful. And I really appreciate that you asked Rosario to send my luggage ahead of my arrival."

"Hey, no problem. Um, I see you are still unpacking. Should I come back later?"

"I'm almost finished. And I'm hungry,” I looked at Zach with a smile of anticipation, he's always good at picking up on hints.

"I thought you would be, so I took the liberty of making reservations at this little café, it's a short walk from here. And I invited a surprise guest to join us,” he grinned.

"Well, we mustn't keep the mystery guest waiting,” I smiled. “Should I change?"

"Not at all, you're as beautiful as ever."

That said, Zach took my hand and we strolled over to the appropriately named Island Breeze Café. No sooner had we'd been pointed in the direction of our table did I spy the mystery guest. I couldn't contain my delight. I skipped ahead of Zach. “Francisco!” He stood up and gave me the biggest hug, ever!

Taking my hands in his, Zach's grandfather Francisco Zavala gave me an endearing look and proclaimed, “When I heard you had accepted the assignment for the MacArdle Bungalow, I told Zach that I would come over to Avalon just to enjoy your company. So I called up my cousin Jesse and told him to dust the cobwebs out of his guestroom. Shannon, I am at your service.” Francisco made a slight bow and then pulled a chair out next to him, “Please, Shannon sit here, so we may catch up on things,” he winked.

Francisco, who always seemed to know the best dish to order at every restaurant we dined at, ordered a sampling of all his favorite dishes. It made me feel that I once again had a family. Just us three sharing conversation and some of the most delicious seafood that Avalon had to offer.

"So, Rosario tells me there was a little misunderstanding between you and Alex? Things didn't work out as you hoped it would?” Francisco queried with raised eyebrows.

I took a deep breath and gathered my thoughts. Was he asking for his own curiosity? Or was he looking out for Zach's interests, too? After solving the mystery of Blackthorne Mansion B&B, it was obvious that my attention was torn between Zach and Alex. Seemingly I had chosen Alex.

"You know,” I looked at Francisco and avoided Zach's inquiring eyes, “after the stress of what happened at the Blackthorne Mansion, I was under pressure. The offer that Alex made was just too tempting—a one week chartered yacht cruise around the Hawaiian Islands—it was the call of paradise beckoning to me, and I answered.” I took a drink of water.

"Things started to go bad the first day. Alex had not made accommodations for Atlas, so he brought the dog on board. Just an hour out at sea Atlas began to get seasick. Oh, it was just awful! I felt so sorry for the big guy. I insisted we turn around and get Atlas to a doctor. Alex got very upset. He was convinced Atlas would be okay. However, I got angry and went to the captain. I pulled rank over Alex. When the captain found out that we had a very seasick dog, he agreed with me. After we made port Alex took off with Atlas, that was that. I took the next flight home to San Diego. End of story."

Zach gave me a side-glance and picked up the conversation, “It so happens on the very day Shannon was on her way home, I called Rosario to tell her that the Woodrows had changed their minds about turning their mansion into the proposed Deco Magic Dinner Theater. And wouldn't you know it, the Woodrows referred Shelly MacArdle to me that same day. I then referred Shelly to Shannon. In the end, it worked out for both of us.” Zach punctuated his explanation with a big smile.

Francisco patted my hand; “You did right, of course. Now it is in the past,” he raised his right hand and gestured the unpleasantness away. “Tonight it is like old times. We have each other as the best company and we have another mystery to solve, too."

That took me by surprise! Another mystery? I looked into Zach's face for a clue and found none. Once again, Francisco had trumped us. I kept my gaze on Zach and made a slight motion to him with my eyes, glancing over at Francisco.

"Grandpa, what mystery are you talking about?” Zach asked.

"Oh, the cold case file regarding the hidden pirate treasure from two centuries ago. I know that to some people it is just a myth, but the old-timers here, such as my cousin Jesse, they know better. Jesse has collected information about the treasure all his life. Now that he is in failing health I have taken up the hunt. And who better to help me than you two? Especially, our own Shannon Delaney, a writer extraordinaire who has the ability to speak to the past."

I let Francisco's exaggerated, albeit sincere, flattery pass, “I don't know, Francisco. Two hundred years ago? That's an awfully long time for a case to go cold,” I shook my head.

"Not to worry, I have faith,” Francisco smiled and reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out two envelopes, one each for Zach and me. “These are your assignments, should you decide to accept them,” he said with great flourish. “Read them tonight, it explains the history of the pirates. And Shannon,” he turned to me, “you need not fret about this little adventure of ours interfering with your work at the bungalow, nor Zach's work there, either. I promise both of you, this will be our leisure time activity."

I giggled and leaned over and hugged him, “Okay Francisco. I don't know if I can resist the temptation to hunt for pirates’ gold, but I do know I can't resist you! And as long at this project does not interrupt my work or Zach's restoration of the MacArdle Bungalow, I'm all for the fun of it!"

"Shannon I knew I could count you in. I propose a toast: All for one and one for all,” Francisco proclaimed. We clinked our glasses together.

"Grandpa,” Zach laughed, “that sounds conspicuously like the three musketeers! Have you been watching those old buccaneer movies, again?"

"Yes, I have. And many of them were filmed right here on Catalina Island,” Francisco said matter-of-factly. “But all of that is in the details of your assignment. And remember that when you muse about Hollywood productions, nothing is ever what it appears to be,” he wagged a finger to tease us.

With that last notation from Francisco we finished our dinner and stopped speculating about Francisco's latest proposal. Grandfather and grandson insisted on walking me back home. I said goodnight to them on the porch with a promise from Zach that he would be here at nine in the morning to fill me in on the continuing restoration of the MacArdle Bungalow.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 3

Zach had arranged for me to have the master bedroom suite at the back corner of the second story. Two windows faced a shrub-covered low hillside about twenty feet away. Without a neighboring house or any other building next to it, this side of the house was very peaceful. Across the hall was the small nursery, actually more of a child's playroom. And next to the playroom, down the hall were two more bedrooms. On the same side of the hall as my room, between my bedroom and the next, was a full bathroom accessed from the hall and from a door in my room.

Before settling in I moseyed through each of the rooms. All four bedrooms were different in size, but pretty much identical in appearance. As with the main floor, beige colored walls complemented golden oak wood flooring. The walls were finished in stucco, softly textured in hand-applied sweeping patterns. True to the personality of craftsman bungalows, all the bedrooms had built-in oak bookcases topped by closed cabinets on the same wall as the walk-in closets. Lighting fixtures were in the same period character, bronzed wall sconces topped off with geometric shaped glass shades in horizontal tinted panes of garnet, amber, butter yellow and frosted white. All things considered, it was a very cozy ambience. I could imagine that the MacArdles very much enjoyed this home.

The bathroom was to die for! A huge claw foot tub, deep enough for even the largest person to bathe in water chest deep was the center attraction. In the opposite corner there was a large glass enclosed shower. But it was the tub I had my heart and weary body set on. I took the old-fashioned rubber stopper and plugged the drain and turned on the hot and cold taps. Rosario had thoughtfully sent along some bubble-bath powder. I poured a generous amount of it into the running water and watched as thousands of tiny bubbles soared to the surface and filled the tub with jasmine-scented velvety foam. I dimmed the lights and made a mental note to pick up some candles for my next bubble-bath experience, which I planned to enjoy many more of. Sinking into the warm bath, I placed a rolled up towel behind by neck and reclined back to soak in this little bit of heaven on earth.

I had almost dozed off when the water began to get cold. Just as I reached for the hot tap, I heard the far away sound of tinkling glass. My best guess? Sounds carry in the island's clear air and neighbors must be up late dining and making celebratory toasts, much in the manner that Francisco, Zach and myself and clinked glasses together earlier today. I replenished the warm water and turned off the hot tap; leaned back, closed my eyes—

And gasped!

The tinkling was too close, as near as the hallway! I jumped up, grabbed my robe and killed the lights. Now what? My cell phone was in the next room, so too was my flashlight. Paralyzed in fearful silence, I listened. The tinkling wasn't as loud and it seemed to be moving away. I tiptoed into my bedroom, grabbed the clothes I had worn earlier, and my purse. I hastily dressed and then rummaged in my purse for my cell phone and small flashlight. The flashlight worked, the cell didn't!

Thinking it was better to take action than to be a sitting duck, I tiptoed to my doorway. I could here a faint tinkling sound and it was coming from the playroom. To be or not to be, crazy as that thought was, I had to decide. I decided to be. I crept over to the playroom door and ever so slowly opened the door; a gentle light shone through the open window. Odd? I don't remember it being open. And there in front of the open window, playfully twirling in the night breeze was a glass-paned wind chime. I stood up straight and sighed. At that very moment a stronger breeze buffeted the chime, creating a merry tinkling melody of fairy music. I exhaled a nervous breath of relief. Of all places to have a wind chime, of course a child's playroom was the perfect choice. I turned on the wall sconce light to get a better look. The four-tiered wind chime wasn't new, but was in excellent condition, no chipped edges or scratches. Reasoning it might be original to the house, it was better off to leave it alone, for now. I would mention it to Zach in the morning and ask what he knew about it. I turned to go and that was when I saw it!

The shadow was far too dark and defined to have been generated by the light from the sconce, yet it was there on the blank wall opposite the light and it was moving, gesturing, taking form!

The inky form swirled in a tangled knot of shapes and then imploded! In the next instant the form was unmistakably that of a man. A peculiarly dressed man that looked like images of William Shakespeare! I rubbed my eyes, but when I opened them he was still there and now his silhouette was precisely outlined. I was fixated, every thought, every instinct told me to get out of the room and to run for my life, but I couldn't. I was frozen in fascination.

The shadow man made a deep bow. In a knee jerk reaction, I curtsied. He stood in perfect side profile and moved his arm forward to his face. His hand touched his mouth and his lips moved in silent speech that spewed letters, phrases, onto the chalkboard-like surface of the wall. Black lettering on a near white wall: imagery of typed font on a parchment paper. And it was in a language I didn't know! So much for my William Shakespeare theory, ye Old English I had studied in college and could read.

What language is this? What to do now? He turned, as if facing me and placed his arms on his hips, impatient? With me? I looked across the hall into my bedroom, even in the darkness I knew where I had laid my writing tablet and pen. I dashed across the hall, grabbed them and came back. Astonishingly, the shadow man was still there, patiently waiting for me. I scribbled down the phrases:

Hermosa mujer

La lluvia en Espana se mantiene en la llanura principal

My hand raced to jot down his words and when I looked up from my scribbling he was gone! No shadows, no silhouette. And the night air was vapidly still. I closed the window and scurried back to my room. I pushed aside my purse and the envelope Francisco had given me and collapsed into bed. Assignments to search for pirates’ gold would have to wait. I pulled the covers up over my head and willed my brain to forget what I had just encountered. Sleep sent me into a chasm of unconsciousness I had never experienced before. I woke in the morning a bit groggy, but exceptionally well rested.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 4

"Good Morning, Zach. You don't need to ring the door bell, don't you have a key?” I asked.

"Um, yeah, but you're living here, now. I didn't want to barge in,” He explained with the sweetest smile. Then he held up a bag and said, “I brought breakfast: bagels with cream cheese and fresh strawberry jam."

"Yum!” I took the bag and led the way to kitchen. “Have a seat, I'll get plates and knives. Would you like coffee?"

"You bet. Hey, I see you read grandpa's assignment letter” he picked up the two-page letter and began to read some of my notes written in the margins.

I set plates and flatware on the table and then poured two mugs of coffee and sat down across from him. “I didn't have time to read it last night, so I thought I'd get a head start on it before you got here."

"I read it last night, looks like we have the same assignment, you have better notes, though. Too bad I didn't have you sitting next to me in college lit, what with your writing career, I bet I would've earned A's all semester.” He reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from out of my eyes. It was an unexpected and endearing gesture.

"Yes, and I could have used your mathematical brain power in my calculus class. As it was I had to make do with a tutorial CD and lots of time alone in a library.” I mocked a frown.

"Well, as grandpa would say, some things are worth waiting for. And look where we are today,” Zach reasoned. “You have a great writing career and I am here doing what I always wanted to do: running my own business of renovating and restoring grand old architecture. And once again, work and a mystery has brought us together!"

"And,” I wagged a finger at him; “we have your grandfather, once again, spurring us on. This assignment is stranger than fiction. I have to hand it to Francisco, he came up with a doozey this time. Zach, really, do you think he believes we can find the stashed pirate booty of, of...?"

"Hippolyte de Bouchard,” Zach offered.

"Yes, the French Pirate Bouchard who ransacked the California coast in 1818. How are we supposed to solve this case, when treasure hunters have been looking for that pirate's lost treasure for generations?"

Zach reached across the table and took my hands in his, “Shannon, by now you should realize that with my grandpa that the thrill of the hunt is far more enticing to him than anything else. You and I, our enthusiasm for him and our companionship with him, well, we are icing on the cake.” He let go of my hands. “And right now, we do have a job to do. I have a delivery of professional chef equipment and major appliances coming in today. By this afternoon this bare kitchen will be decked out the likes of which this house has never seen. It's going to be noisy around here today,” Zach said apologetically.

"Oh, I didn't plan on being here. I have an appointment with the curator of the Catalina Museum at ten-thirty this morning. And after that I am meeting with Shelly MacArdle. Her home is not far from here?” I questioned.

"Yeah, it's just one block left of here and one block up. You can't miss it. It is the most superb example of a 1930s Art Deco home in Avalon. Pink stucco, glass block privacy windows,” Zach advised.

I had my elbows on the table and my hands wrapped around my coffee mug: like a crane hanging in mid-air. I set my mug down and looked at Zach, “Are you disappointed that the Woodrows opted out of turning their mansion into a dinner theater?"

"At first I was. But not for long, especially since Shelly contacted me within minutes after I got the cancellation from the Woodrows. Now, instead of working on Deco Magic, I'm working on a dinner theater that will be called The Magic Manor. And, Shannon, I'll let you I on a secret ... I have always wanted to renovate a classic bungalow, such as this,” Zach looked at his watch. “What time did you say your appointment is at the museum?"

Not wearing a watch, I grabbed Zach's arm, “Yikes, it's in about thirty minutes. I better get going. I was told it's about a twenty-minute walk from here. Not having vehicle access on this island is going to take some getting used to.” I started to grab my dishes and Zach put his hand in the way.

"You go on, I'll take care of these. I'll see you later."

I squeezed his hand “Thanks.” I grabbed my purse and briefcase and rushed out the door and in doing so I nearly knocked Alex off the porch!

"Whoa! Where are you off too in such a hurry?"

"Alex, I have an appointment at the museum. I'm so sorry, I had no idea you were here.” I started to go, then turned around to face him, “Why are you here?"

"I'm meeting with Shelly to give her my plans for arrangement of the tables and tips for hiring magicians. I wanted to have one last look around, just to make sure of my plans. I'll be at her home for lunch, won't you be there, too?"

"Yes. But she said nothing to me about you being there.” I was visibly shaken by this new development. “I can't imagine what we would have in common.” I turned and left Alex staring at my back.

It was a short walk to the museum. The weather could not have been more perfect: deep blue sky with fluffy cotton clouds, a slight breeze. No wonder this place is called Avalon. I wondered if it was named for the idyllic island of the fairies in Celtic folklore.

The museum was located in the old casino, yet another stunning tribute to Art Deco designs. I approached the reception desk and asked for the curator. I wished now I had remembered to ask for a name. But when making the appointment, I simply said curator. The young man at reception asked me to follow him. We went through a hall with many vintage photos on its wall, I wished I had time to get a good look at them. I spied numerous old-time movie stars. I bet Francisco would recognize every face in all these photos.

We stopped in front of a nondescript gray door, the nameless young man knocked three times.

A very tall woman greeted us. I guessed her to be twenty-something, about my age, maybe a little older. She had coal black hair cut chin length in a pageboy style. Her eyes were a startling iridescent green that complimented her oval face and tan skin and straight features. Slinky and cat-like immediately came to mind. Her voice was an even-toned purr, “Please do come in.” She opened the door wide and ever so slightly nodded to the young man, obviously this was his cue to disappear. “Miss Shannon Delaney, isn't it?” I nodded yes looking up at her. I estimated her to be at least six feet tall. “Please be seated."

I took a chair across from her immaculate desk. She sat behind it. “I appreciate you seeing me on such short notice,” I opened with, and looked for a name sign on her desk: good grief, is her name really Miss K. Kitty? “Miss Kitty?"

"Yes, but please call me Kat for short, it's so much friendlier,” She smiled, and it wasn't the least bit toothy, no trace of feline imagery.

"Please call me Shannon,” I offered.

"Shannon, I have a file of various materials prepared for you,” she reached into her desk drawer and handed me a large manuscript size manila envelope. “I hope this will give you a good overview about Catalina's history and particularly, Avalon. Along with the history, I prepared a reference list of names and contact information for you, you'll find it on top."

For a second I wasn't sure what to do; it was another to-be or not-to-be moment. Do I give a cursory look inside or do I thank her and be on my way? “I can't thank you enough,” I slipped the envelope into my briefcase. “I do have one question, just trivia.” Kat gave me an affirmative nod. “On my walk here I couldn't but wonder if Avalon was named for the Celtic island of the fairies?"

"As a matter of fact, I do believe it was,” Kat said with a slow smile. “However, I must add the caveat that this is my opinion. Over the many years in Catalina's modern history, the belief of Avalon being named for the mythological Avalon in Celtic folklore has been played up and down, depending on who is doing the publicity. It would be more accurate if I said, simply, that I believe."

Her gaze was mesmerizing. I decided then and there, I best not become entranced into her spell. I stood up and held out my hand. Kat shook my hand and assured me that I may call upon her again if need be. She walked me to the door and I left with a final “Thank you,” then I turned and walked down the hall, out the front entrance and into the bright Avalon sun. My curiosity was peaked ... what would Shelly MacArdle be like?

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 5

I arrived exactly at noon to Shelly MacArdle's home. I knocked and Shelly greeted me herself. This was something I hadn't expected. By the looks of her home I thought she would have a butler or maid answering the door.

Shelly ushered me out to a covered patio dining area where a small buffet was set up. Alex had already arrived. We helped ourselves and sat down. Alex explained that he and Shelly were engaged in a conversation about hiring magicians, and asked for my patience while they wrapped up the details. I smiled and agreed, it gave me chance to unobtrusively study them. I guessed Shelly to be a little older than myself, closer to Alex's age, maybe late twenties. They had an easy banter, old acquaintances, I guessed.

Sitting across the table from Shelly and Alex I nibbled at a spinach and feta cheese salad and watched as they carried on a talk about hiring magicians. These few minutes of observation allowed me to ponder cultural identities.

Being of Irish ancestry I grew up with all the myths and truths about the land of my ancestors. I knew that the Emerald Isle was so named for its millions of shades of green found in the natural beauty of its landscape. I looked across the table at Shelly MacArdle and wondered why Scotland wasn't called the Crimson Island for its unusually large population of red-haired indigenous Scots. I remembered a study done in the late 1990s at the University of Edinburgh that was based on the discovery of the red-haired melancortine 1 receptor gene. That study proved beyond a doubt that forty percent of all Scots carried the red-hair gene, thus red hair is more prominent in Scottish culture than any other culture. Shelly MacArdle is an iconic example of why Scotland should be called the Crimson Island. Shelly's shoulder length mane of strawberry-hued curly locks glistened with all the colors of a fiery sunset. Her face had its fair share of freckles across her cheeks, which brought to mind an old Gaelic saying: A face without freckles is like a night sky without stars. Shelly has a natural beauty and she embraces her heritage instead of trying to cover it up. Her deep blue eyes were sincere and unassuming. I liked her the moment she answered my knock at her door and offered a hug, confessing that she had already read some of my work and was keen on having me take this assignment.

Alex gave Shelly a list of names; she studied it for a moment. “This looks perfect. I like the idea that all the magicians you suggest we interview are not male, nice to have women magicians in the group,” Shelly smiled. “And you're sure you don't mind calling them to arrange interviews?” she handed the paper back to Alex.

"No not at all. I'll get on it today. I should be able to call you back with confirmations and a schedule in, let's say, in two days. Expect a call from me on Friday, okay?"

"That works for me. Thanks Alex.” Shelly turned her attention to me. “Alex says you did a fantastic job with the publicity brochure for the Blackthorne Mansion Bed and Breakfast and when I saw an example of it, well I was impressed."

That compliment caught me off guard, I felt my face burn with a blush. “I very much enjoyed the work at Blackthorne Mansion. Did you know that the person in charge of converting it to a B&B inn is an old friend of my family, Sister Rosario Santiago?” I queried.

"Yes, I heard something about her. I think Zach Zavala mentioned her. Isn't she a friend of his family, too?” Shelly asked.

"Yes, Rosario is an old friend of Zach's grandfather, the retired San Diego police detective, Francisco Zavala,” I answered.

"And,” Alex interjected, “Francisco is well known for his expertise in stolen art and artifacts: that was his specialty when he was on the force.” Alex turned to look at me, “I could have sworn I saw Francisco here, in Avalon, this morning. As I was coming out of the stationary store in the village I thought I saw him enter a small café."

I smiled, “Francisco is here in Avalon, I had dinner with him and Zach last night. He is staying at a cousin's home, the same one that Zach is staying with."

"I would love to meet him,” Shelly suggested with a bright smile. “There's this old-time myth I would love to run by him. It has to do with a French pirate and his lost gold, or some other kind of treasure. Do you suppose that as a detective, Mr. Zavala would think it frivolous of me to care about such myths?"

Alex and I couldn't help but to look at each other and laugh. Alex was the first to gain composure. “Shelly, my dear, Detective Francisco Zavala would think of you as a kindred spirit. I'm sure one of us, Shannon, Zach or even myself can arrange for you to meet Francisco."

"I have a better idea. How about a small dinner party, here? This Saturday? Do you think he would agree?” Shelly's questions came in rapid-fire succession. Her excitement about meeting Francisco was electric.

"I'll run it by Zach this afternoon and either I, Zach or Francisco will call you this evening,” I promised.

"Well, ladies, that said, I need to get on my way. I know that you two have much to talk about,” Alex stood up. “Shelly stay put, I can see myself out.” He turned to me and said, “I look forward to Saturday evening."

No sooner had Alex left the table did Shelly invite me into her living room, “I have something for you to take back to the bungalow, it's in here.” I followed her into a room that reminded me of celebrity homes I had seen photographs of in architectural magazines, but the celebrities lived in Hollywood and Beverly Hills. When Zach said that her home was the height of 1930s Art Deco, he wasn't kidding. Everything was sleek and geometrically modern, decked out in primary colors. We sat on a cherry red sofa with a chrome metal glass-topped table in front. On which was the only object in the room that looked out of place, or even more so, out of time.

The footed small humpback wood chest was a little larger than an old-fashioned breadbox. Too large for a jewelry chest, I imagined it was used to store gloves, muffs and woolen scarves. Articles of clothing that would have been used in Scotland and New York, but not much in demand here in Avalon. Next to the chest were loose sheets of brown wrapping paper and a roll of masking tape.

"This belonged to my dad when he was little. His grandmother, Sheila Graham MacArdle, wife of Angus, gave it to him. Once she came to California she had no use for it, it used to contain all her woolly things, gloves and such.” Shelly had her hand resting lightly on the top. “My dad used it to keep all sorts of things in it. After he died, this was where we found his last will and testament, along with other mementos. Anyway, I have gone through it and I believe what is in here is the best source of information for you to use, I added some old photos,” Shelly took her hand off the chest. She looked at me expectantly, then added, “Oh, silly me, I mean for you to take it back with you to the bungalow. Here, I have this butcher paper to wrap it in.” She carefully covered the chest in paper. I held the top end as she taped it.

"Thank you. I promise I will not let it out of my sight. Is there anything else I should know?"

"No, not really. But if you have questions, please don't hesitate to call. Zach gave you my telephone number, didn't he?"

"Yes."

"Oh, and since I have a car, I'll take you home,” Shelly offered.

"You have a car?” I was amazed.

"Yes. My family has had one for, well, since the very beginning when Catalina allowed motor vehicles on the island. Now though, it is a different story. There is a ten-year waiting list to get permission to have a motorized vehicle here."

"I had wondered about that. It does seem as if walking and bicycles are the priority mode of transportation, and I've seen many golf carts. My taxi from the boat dock was a golf cart,” I giggled. “My friends in Chicago would be in culture shock, I know I almost was when I arrived."

Shelly receded to a quite mood, then looked up, with a pause of hesitancy she asked, “I know this is none of my business, but I was wondering, Shannon, is there still a relationship between you and Alex?"

My blank stare gave the wrong impression. Shelly grasped my shoulder and in a flurry of apologetic words confessed it was none of her business. I touched her hand on my shoulder and assured her it was okay.

"I'm not sure about Alex,” I confessed. “Why do you ask?"

Shelly sighed, “I have a friend who is crazy for him. And I know once she finds out about the Saturday dinner party, she will want to come. She attends all my dinners and such, I don't know how to not invite her."

"Then invite her,” I said with such conviction that I almost convinced myself. And I smiled, really big, to prove my point.

"Oh, Shannon, you're the best! Just name what I can do for you in return."

I glanced at my watch; it was a little after three. “By this time it should be quieting down at your bungalow. I should get going."

Shelly stood up; her entire manner made it evident that she was happy that I didn't harbor misgivings about her friend's crush on Alex, “Right this way, we keep the car out on the carport at the back of the house."

I picked up the chest, hugging it with both my arms and followed her. Within twenty minutes I was standing in the bungalow's kitchen, I placed the chest on the same small table that Zach and I had sat at for breakfast. I looked around the kitchen. The table was the only thing that looked the same from when I had left this morning.

Zach stepped in from the back porch and stood beside me, waiting for my reaction.

"Wow! And Wow, again!” I exclaimed.

"Yeah, I'm sorta proud of it too.” Zach beamed.

"Sorta? Zach you have accomplished an exceptionally professional transformation. This kitchen would make any chef worth their knives and apron think they had died and gone to culinary heaven!” I grinned with pride. “I'm stunned by what you accomplished in the short time I've been gone. You did all this, and all I bring back is this chest,” I pointed to Shelly's humpback chest on the table, still shrouded in butcher paper.

Zach turned to look at the chest, “Hey this is a prize in itself, let's unwrap it.” He carefully removed the paper and gave a low whistle. “Nice piece of craftsmanship.” He picked it up, and gently shook it from side to side, like a kid with a Christmas gift hoping to guess what's inside. Then he moved his fingers over some carving on the top. “Look, it reads: What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us."

"I think that's a quote from Ralph Waldo Emerson,” I suggested.

Zach tapped his fingers on the table top. “Have you opened it yet?"

"No."

"What are you waiting for? Aren't you curious about what lies within?” his eyes danced.

"Okay, but first, call your grandfather and invite him to a dinner party at Shelly's this Saturday night. And if possible get him to call her and confirm. She is very excited to have him as a guest and it will thrill her to get a personal call from him. I'm going upstairs to change, I'll be right back down and together we'll open the chest.” I looked at Zach for agreement.

"You bet,” he rubbed his palms together as if summoning a genie from a magic lantern. “I'll even put some coffee on."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 6

I changed into some jeans and a yellow eyelet short sleeve blouse and flip-flops. Passing the playroom on my way downs stairs, I remembered to ask Zach a question. Zach was sitting at the table drumming his fingers. Two mugs of coffee sent forth a fresh-brewed aroma.

"You're so efficient!” I teased.

"Wearing those flip-flops I can hear you clip-clopping all the way down the stairs. You gave me fair warning. Don't ever try to sneak up on anyone with those on your feet."

I laughed. “Seriously, though,” I tapped his hand which was already on the chest lid, “before we open this, I want to know about the cute vintage wind chime in the upstairs playroom?"

I have never seen Zach looked confused, “What wind chime?"

"The one that is in the window of the playroom. Last night it gave me the worst scare. I was in the bath, then all the sudden I heard the tinkling music of the chime. Imagine my surprise when I get scared out of my bath, I jumped into my clothes and discovered the window in the playroom open and the chime dancing merrily away in the breeze!"

Zach got up, “Shannon, something is not right. No windows were open yesterday when we left for dinner, unless you opened them?” I shook my head no. “And I know every inch of this house, no wind chimes or any other window fancies or knickknacks were left in place: that's too much of a hazard to my work crew.” Zach took off, “Come on, I want to see this wind chime."

He beat me upstairs. I came into the room and Zach was staring at the window, sure enough, I had not imagined last night's odd occurrence. He turned to me, “I know this was not here, I know it."

"I believe you, Zach. Maybe someone on your work crew found it in a cupboard and thought it would be cute here?” Zach did not agree with my suggestion. He turned to me.

"This isn't a joke, no crew member of mine would do this, but on your behalf I'll ask them tomorrow. In the meantime, I'll take it down—"

"—No. Please leave it? For now?” I stepped next to him and took his hand, leaning over I whispered in his ear, “Besides, we have a mystery waiting for us in the kitchen.” I stepped back and frowned, “And my coffee is getting cold."

"Oh, alright. come on.” This time I beat him down the stairs and into the kitchen.

Zach open the humped back lid and we peered inside. “Shall I?” He asked.

"Be my guest."

Zach lifted a ribbon-tied packet of miscellaneous photos; some were in frames, some not. He handed them to me and I set them far off to the side. Next came a ruffled stack of old brochures and various kinds of paper memorabilia, and I set these off to the side. After that Zach cautiously pulled out a tangle of red string and glass pieces. Instantly I knew what it was!

"Oh-my-gosh! It's identical to the wind chime in the playroom!"

"Hey, look at this little tag of paper.” Zach fiddled with a small piece paper that dangled from the lowest pane of glass, he held it up to the window's light. In faded ink of tiny handwritten script is said: Spare, keep for emergency. Our eyes met, inexplicably drawn together in kindred conjecture.

"Would Shelly have put the wind chime in the playroom while we were at dinner?” I asked.

Zach laid the chime down on the table. “Not possible. I know for a fact that Shelly was over on the mainland yesterday and did not get back until after grandpa and I saw you home. I talked with her shortly after I dropped you off. Her boat had just made dock, so I walked over to greet her. She and her husband Roy were together, we talked a few minutes then they got in their car and went home. I saw them drive off. And by that time, you had been home at least an hour."

"Oh, well. For now, asking your crew is the best we can do.” I looked over at Zach. “What else is in there?"

He tipped the open chest in my direction, “Empty.” I guess my disappointment was a bit too visible. “Here, see for yourself,” He turned the chest in my direction.

I looked inside, then for a reason I will never be able to explain I was compelled to put both my hands inside and feel around. This amused Zach to no end. But I was not discouraged. “Laugh all you wan—Hey, there is something under here!"

"Let me see."

I tilted the open chest toward Zach, my right hand was still inside, I pointed to the back corner on the left, “Right here Zach. I think this will lift up. Do you have a small knife?"

No sooner said than done. Zach pulled out a small penknife and pried up the corner, “What do you know, it's a false bottom!” He lifted out the bottom to expose a hidden packet of old papers.

"Oooh!” I squealed. “What do we have here?"

Zach set the chest on the floor. We carefully unfolded the papers. Each sheet was about ten inches by fourteen inches. Once unfolded, we counted a series of eight pencil drawings on typical art tablet paper from several decades ago. “I don't think this kind of paper is made any more. Look at how rough textured it is and filled with wood pulp,” I said. He set the drawings in the center of us, careful to keep them in the order we found them. Zach picked up the first drawing.

"That one looks familiar to me,” I told Zach. But I didn't tell him it was an accurate depiction of the shadow man I met last night. “What do you think it looks like?"

Zach held it up and mused, “Maybe one of the three musketeers, or maybe a Spanish conquistador. See...” Zach explained, “look at his long sleeve shirt, that's called a camisa, and the long breeches tucked into knee-high boots, plus this vest-looking apparel, that would be a chain mail vest. And the sword, that's a cutlass styled sword: very common for a Spanish soldier."

"How do you know?"

"Because I'm California born, raised and educated. Every kid from fourth grade on learns about the Spanish conquistador exploration period of the sixteenth century. It would not be California without this part of our history. California was under Spanish rule from the early 1500s up to 1812, when Mexico declared its independence from Spain. After that, California was part of Mexico until the Mexican American war in 1848, when it became part of the United States."

"Were there many conquistadors?"

"Dozens. Some became famous, others not so much. But they weren't called conquistadors during their lifetime, that description was applied to them at least a century after they were long dead. They were soldiers of the Spanish Main, more properly called in their lifetime: licensed corsairs."

I nodded. “This is all part of your cultural history?"

"Yes, sure is. On grandpa's side, our name of Zavala is traced back to the earliest Spanish colonists and then grandma was Mexican. Her family came here in the early 1800s."

"You never speak of her, did you know her?” I asked.

"Oh, sure. You would have liked her as much as you like grandpa. Her name was Maria Ynda. Her surname is a distortion of an ancient Aztec name. She was beautiful and always so happy. She had a smile that welcomed everyone. She passed away about six years ago. That was when I went to live with grandpa. I was in college at the time, studying at San Diego State University, so it was a natural move for me. It was a good move. Good for both of us.” Zach had the most heartfelt expression when he spoke of his family.

"How about some of these other drawings?” I asked.

Zach held up the next picture, another shadow man, perfect in every angle to the one I met last night. I looked at it and nearly jumped out of my chair. “Shannon! What's wrong?"

"Just a minute!” I ran upstairs, grabbed my notebook from last night and rushed back to Zach. Out of breath, I showed him my notes and gasped, “Aren't the phrases the same?"

Zach studied the picture and the two phrases scribbled below it. He looked at my tablet. “How can this be?"

"It is Spanish, isn't it?” I asked. Zach nodded yes. “Then tell me what it means and I'll tell you what I know.” I stared into his hazel brown eyes and marveled at how radiantly gold his irises became when he was excited.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 7

Zach looked down at my note tablet and then at the old picture. “Yeah,” he said in a whisper, “the sentences are the same.” He looked up and met my eyes.

"This short phrase, Hermosa mujer, it means, beautiful woman,” Zach smiled, “If the mystery man is addressing you, I can't fault him for saying this."

I rolled my eyes in exaggeration, “Okay Romeo, what else does it say?"

"The other phrase doesn't make sense, but it's very simple to translate.” He pointed to the words one by one. “It says: The rain in Spain stays plain on the main,” Zach looked up at me with a question mark hanging over his head.

"Hmm,” I surmised, “I guess because it's backward, that is, it should actually read: The rain in Spain stays mainly on the plain, that maybe this is an attempt at a code?"

"Could be, it seems the emphasis in on the key words of Spanish and Main. And maybe a connection to the phrase from the stage play, My Fair Lady? Which would account for addressing you as beautiful woman. This is probably the closest similarity to the description of a fair lady in proper Spanish."

"So, maybe the shadow man picture is communicating that the man is of the Spanish Main? Like a conquistador, or what you described as a licensed corsair?” I questioned Zach.

"Ohh-kaay,” Zach said very slowly, looking at me with caution. “But Shannon, if these pictures are of a conquistador, why? What is the mystery?"

I shook my head sideways, “I don't know."

Zach took my hands and gently held them in his, prompting me to look directly at him. “Shannon, where did you get these phrases. C'mon, owe up to your part of our bargain,” he urged.

"Follow me,” I told Zach. I led him back upstairs to the playroom. We stood facing the wall where the shadow man had played out a charade. I explained to Zach exactly what I had experienced. He listened thoughtfully, no doubt taking into consideration the recent course of events that had happened to me, to us, surrounding the mystery at the Blackthorne Mansion.

"So, it's happening again, just like grandpa said. Shannon, you do have the ability to speak to the past. Do you want to stay somewhere else? I can make the arrangements?"

I diverted my attention from Zach's questioning eyes and looked around the room, uncertain, searching for answers. “I don't think so. I'm not scared, and in a way I can't even begin to find the words for, I feel drawn to this place, to this assignment."

Zach stayed still and nodded affirmatively. “Okay, what can I do?"

"Would you examine this room, especially that wall?” I pointed to the wall that had served as a projection screen for last night's shadow play.

"You bet, I've got the original blue prints downstairs and you can help, together we'll explore, and or eliminate, or prove, depending on your point of view, all the possibilities for what you experienced. My only concern is, do we do it now or after I take you to dinner?” His smile was captivating

"Now."

We spent the next hour measuring, comparing, knocking on walls and looking for hidden crevices and trap doors, and double-checking every measurement, every calculation, and every examination. “As you can see everything checks out,” Zach confirmed what I already knew in my heart. “How about we discuss this over dinner?"

"What about the other drawings?” I asked.

"Let's take all the drawings along,” Zach suggested, then jokingly added, “Solving mysteries on an hungry stomach isn't a good idea. And if you need an expert opinion on my advice, I'll call grandpa to help convince you."

"I like that idea. You call him while I freshen up."

"Good. I'll make the call, get the drawings and meet you downstairs."

In twenty minutes we left the bungalow for the restaurant we had dined at the night before. Zach said we should stroll because Francisco needed a little more time and that he would meet us at six. That gave us an extra ten minutes. I asked Zach for a short tour of the neighborhood. Stepping off the bungalow's porch I pointed to the hillside next to the house.

"How is it in a resort town like this that no one ever built next door on that hill?"

Zach looked over at the hillside, “That property has never been up for sale, it's federal land. It's natural wilderness. I know that early on in Avalon's history it wasn't unusual for the residents here to wake up in the morning and find bison grazing on its plateau top."

"That's interesting. I remember reading something about buffalo roaming around Catalina and into the neighborhoods of Avalon. I think they were imported to Catalina about the time the MacArdle home was built?"

Snatching this little known fact that I had tucked in a corner of mind pleased me to no end. “Imagine the novelty of waking up to grunting bison instead of a rooster's crow?"

"Yeah, well you may not think it such a pleasure if you were the one who had to go out and pick up buffalo chips out of your lawn and garden!” Zach said. “It was because of that kind of thing that the residents protested and eventually the herd was driven into the less populated areas. Though I've heard they still favor the lawn on the golf course up near the arboretum. Uncle Jesse lives near there, and every once in while a lone buffalo wanders over to his garden, gets Uncle Jesse riled up. And yes, you are right about the time frame of when they were brought here. The herd was supposed to have been brought over for the filming of a cowboy-type movie. Grandpa would know the details, I bet."

"What happens when they wander out onto the golf course?” I asked.

"Not much, the bison are protected, and besides, this isn't the Wild West, so no one goes all western on them. Uncle Jesse planted skunk cabbage around the outside perimeter of his garden. The bison don't like it, so most times they travel on to greener pastures and sweeter corn, so to speak. Still, once in a while there will be an maverick buffalo who decides he can tolerate the skunk cabbage if it means he is rewarded with the sweet flavor of the other plants in the garden."

"Ah, and speaking of sweet rewards, here we are. And there's Francisco.” I pointed over to the right, from the front of the Island Breeze Cafe. Instead of sitting inside Francisco had reserved a cozy table in the well-lit corner of the outdoor patio.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 8

I sat at a right angle to Francisco and Zach sat at a right angle to me, we formed a triangle at a square table. “Francisco, I'm glad you could make it."

He smiled, “How can I refuse an invitation to dine with the most beautiful woman in Avalon,” His eyes twinkled with amusement and sincerity.

"Hmm,” Zach interjected, “now where, very recently, have I heard that phrase: beautiful woman?"

Obviously this little inside joke baffled Francisco, he gave Zach a quizzical glance, “Is there another man in Shannon's life I should be aware of? Another man who so deliberately insults my protective affection for her, that he would offer such flattery without making his intentions known to me?” I couldn't tell if Francisco was kidding or serious, I hoped Zach knew a good comeback.

"Whoa, Grandpa, no need to get your detective and protective instincts riled up. I was just making a little inside joke, between myself and Shannon."

"Oh?” Francisco turned his attention to me.

"Um, yes, it seems I have a secret admirer, one that prefers to remain in the shadows.” I almost chuckled at this bizarre, yet revealing tidbit of information. I made an exaggerated wag of my right index finger at Francisco, “But, you'll have to wait for the details, after all, Zach has warned me that we should not delve into a mystery on an empty stomach."

Francisco took up the challenge, “I see I shall have to pay to satisfy my hunger and my curiosity. I had planned on picking up the tab anyway,” he sighed with comedic expression.

That said, we ordered and got almost all the way through our seafood-sampler dinner without even so much as suggesting the mystery at hand. We made easy conversation about the seasonably warm and tropical weather and speculated about Shelly's upcoming dinner party. Francisco was very much looking forward to it. Then the waiter asked about dessert. I begged off, so did Zach, and so did Francisco with one catch, he pardoned the waiter and turned to me, “Of course the sweetest reward of all is solving a mystery."

In response to his cue, I spent the next twenty minutes explaining the latest turn of events, right up to Zach and I examining the playroom.

"Zach,” Francisco said in all seriousness, “you are absolutely certain that the playroom holds no logical reason for what happened to Shannon?"

"No doubt about it,” Zach confirmed.

"Then, could this be some kind of magic trick or illusion?” Francisco looked at both of us.

"I have no idea,” I said and looked at Zach, who agreed.

Francisco was quiet for a moment then very cautiously said, “I propose we bring in an expert, one who will understand Shannon's situation and the unique nature of our investigation. We need a person who knows what to look for based on an appreciation of Shannon's unique ability and yet is an expert in the many guises of manufactured illusions.” Francisco looked at me; “We must include Alex and ask him to survey the bungalow for conjurer's tricks."

My back went rigid, had I been a dog, my hackles would have been up. “I don't like this idea. You really think this is necessary?” I tried to contain my discontent, I knew Francisco's advice was sound, but still, I questioned it.

Zach spoke up, “Shannon, I agree. Who better than Alex? He's a topnotch magician, he knows about the history of magic as well as the latest technology in the art, he knows a little about architecture, at least more than the average person does. And...” Zach emphasized his next sentence by taking my hand, “...Alex has a first hand experience as to your abilities, he's a believer."

"And,” Francisco offered, “I will call him to make the arrangements. I'll suggest that since he will attend the MacArdles’ dinner party on Saturday that he come over a few hours early to examine the bungalow. Zach and I will meet him and explain the details."

"Yeah, great idea Grandpa. Shannon you won't have to meet with him at all. We'll handle it.” Zach looked at Francisco and then at me, they had such a comforting manner of assurance, I had to agree. “Okay, I suppose while the two of you and Alex are investigating the bungalow, I could do some research at the museum. But, please can I have the bungalow to myself by six that afternoon?"

"Absolutely,” Francisco confirmed. “And while we are on the subject, what pictures have you two brought?"

Before we left for dinner Zach had slipped the shadow man drawings into a manila envelope file for safe transport to the café. Now he extracted the pictures from the envelope, I cleared off the table and he set the pictures on top. We looked at the pictures one by one, noting that each picture was only slightly different from the one before it, in that the shadow man figure was posed nearly always the same. And only the second picture had writing on it.

Francisco was immediately engrossed. Zach and I observed in silence as the wily detective took out a small magnifying glass that was ever present in his pocket paraphernalia. Francisco held each picture up to the light and after scrutinizing all the drawings, he leaned back, “These look genuine, every one of them is made from paper that I suspect was manufactured almost a century ago. And, I believe this paper has not been manufactured since the start of the Great Depression, which would be 1929. If I am correct, this type of artist's sketch paper was used from about 1890 to 1929. It was first manufactured at the height of the Industrial Revolution in paper factories up in New England, in the areas where there was a mammoth logging industry. The timber pulp rendered from manufacturing architectural and furniture building materials was a natural boon to the paper industry at that time."

"And what about the black ink used to draw the shadow man figure and the lettering?” I pointed to the first drawing, the only one with script on it.

"Good point,” Francisco said. “Quite possibly the paper is genuinely old and the ink is not. That would be a trick I have seen before with scam artists who seek to sell authentic old documents. They manufacture old documents by using genuinely old paper and modern ink made to look old. We should have the ink date tested, and I know exactly whom to call."

"So, Grandpa, will you need to take these pictures?"

Francisco drummed his fingers on the table. Ah-ha! I thought, I now know where Zach gets it from. “Shannon, if you will allow me, I will take these pictures to have them tested tomorrow. I will not let them out of my sight. What with all the technology we have today in crime labs, it is no longer necessary for it to take days on end for this type of test, and we will have the results tomorrow, in time for dinner!"

"I think, I hope, Shelly MacArdle will understand,” I answered.

"Chances are, Shelly doesn't even know about these, after all, we found the drawings in a hidden false bottom part of that chest,” Zach said. “And you know Grandpa will be careful,” he added for good measure.

Okay, sure,” I agreed, looking at Francisco. “Besides, your offer is too good to refuse. A little bit of the mystery solved and another dinner date!"

Zach winked at Francisco and gave him a slight nudge with his elbow, “Grandpa, I think I should hang out with you more often, what with the way you get the prettiest ladies to agree to dates."

We all laughed at that one. Once again grandfather and grandson walked me home. I used the rest of the evening to work on my writing of the brochure. By the time I finished it was almost midnight, but the extra hours were worth it. I had a good draft and I knew I could finish the assignment with a bit more research. After a hot shower I was completely relaxed and ready for a good night's sleep. Thankfully, that night, no odd occurrences or strange dreams haunted me. I awoke the next morning feeling better about my future than I had in weeks.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 9

Zach had warned me earlier in the week that Thursday morning and afternoon would be busy, in other words noisy. The day had been earmarked to begin a major transformation of the downstairs bathroom and sewing room. The bathroom, which was quite large to begin with, had the bathtub and separate shower removed in order to make room for three individual stalls, one of which would be handicap accessible. The vanity cabinet sink was left in place with another wash sink, at a lower level for handicap access added just to the right of it. This bathroom was to be the women's restroom. Meanwhile, the former sewing room was being transformed into the men's restroom that would have a very similar floor plan. This was an ideal setup for public restrooms since both of the restrooms were off the main hall. Zach estimated the total renovation would take four days, much of the detailed work for installing the amenities had already been done. The renovation meant that water to the bungalow would be interrupted during the hours they were working on the bathrooms for the four days, starting today and continuing on Friday, then the following Monday and Tuesday. However, Zach assured me I would have water and plumbing upstairs and in the kitchen at the end of each workday.

I got up early and dressed by eight, I didn't want Zach and his crew to be delayed because of me. They showed up just minutes after I had made a full pot of coffee for them.

"Good Morning, Zach. I made coffee for your crew,” I pointed to the coffee carafe and a stack of paper to-go coffee cups I had set out along with sugar and creamer.

"Hey, that's really thoughtful of you, the guys will appreciate it. What are your plans for today?” He asked as he helped himself to coffee.

"Well, I'd made arrangements to use one of the research rooms at the museum for the next few days, while the restrooms are being done, so I'm heading over there."

"Oh, good. I'm sorry about all the mess and noise. Grandpa said we could meet him at six tonight for dinner, if you don't mind the same restaurant?"

"Oh, not at all. I consider this a date,” I smiled. “I can leave from the museum and meet you there?"

"Yeah, that will work. Oh, and I asked my crew about the wind chime in the playroom. Not a one of them has ever seen it before,” He looked up from his clipboard of assignment sheets.

"Somehow, that doesn't surprise me. I'm pretty sure that no living person put it there.” Zach wasn't paying attention to me; he had his mind on the workday ahead of him. I walked over to the table where he was standing and where my purse and briefcase were. As I reached for my stuff, Zach looked up and came in close, I thought for sure he was going to give me a hug, but wouldn't you know it, at that exact moment his lead crewman walked in the back door.

"Excuse me. Mr. Zavala, uh, we were wondering if we have time to go over to the café and pick up coffee?” he nervously looked at Zach.

"Not necessary,” Zach replied. “Miss Delaney has provided us with coffee,” Zach gestured to the countertop by the coffeemaker. “Tell the men to come on in and help themselves."

The timing was perfect, I picked up my things and bid goodbye to both men. Before walking out of the kitchen, I turned, smiled and said, “Gentlemen, I'll leave you to your work. Have a great day."

As I walked through the village the aroma from the bakery drew me in. The fragrance of baked bread was intoxicating, but it was the fresh doughnuts that caught my eye.

"Yes, may I help you?” A cheerful middle-age woman with upswept gray hair and a smiling face asked. I ordered an apple fritter and a cup of coffee and took a chair in the corner at a small table. I nibbled and watched an array of patrons pass in and out, all leaving with a smile of anticipation on their lips. What fun this is, I haven't had a good session of people watching in months. It's of my favorite pastimes, especially for taking in a few moments of leisure. I finished the last bite of my fritter and downed the last drop of coffee. After tidying up my crumbs and tossing the paper plate, cup and napkin into the trash, I gave the baker lady a nod and wished her a good morning. She returned the courtesy. I stepped out onto the main street in the village, the sun was warm on my face and a lazy breeze played with my hair.

I arrived at the museum just as they were opening up. The young man whom I had met at the reception desk the other day was there. This time I made a point of introducing myself. I learned that his name on Ron Jones. He said that Miss Kitty has instructed him to open up a back room for me to use for research and allow me access to all their archives.

The room was ideal for my needs. There was good lighting from overhead lamps and a wide window provided the tempting diversion of looking out onto Avalon's azure harbor. An old library table allowed plenty of room to spread out my materials. The filing cabinet archives were about twelve feet away through an open doorway in the next room and I was given a key to the staff break room and restrooms. Miss Kitty's arrangements were more than accommodating; she had perfectly anticipated my needs.

I opened my briefcase and pulled out the other materials we had found in Shelly's chest. I set the stack of old photos to one side on the table and then picked up the collection of paper memorabilia. This odd assortment called to me. I sat down to sort through them.

Several tourist brochures were included. These were obviously created to draw attention to Catalina's numerous attractions. Browsing through them I marveled at how the tiny island had grown from an obscure little resort town to a major vacation destination in the span of about fifty years. By the 1960s, Catalina was a major contender for tourist dollars that put to shame many of California's larger destinations, not the least of which was Los Angeles and San Diego. I studied each brochure, making notes of key advertising phrases. In all my publicity writing I strive to not overuse catch phrases, these can wear badly on the public's eyes and ears.

Next I rifled through the odds and ends of paper memorabilia. A few that caught my eye were three old menus from the restaurant the MacArdle family had owned and operated in Avalon. One menu was especially eye catching: the restaurant's name, Kilt Lifter Cafe was emblazoned in red at the top. Below the title was a caricature cartoon of a Scotsman decked out in a plaid kilt and playing bagpipes. He strolled along in front of the restaurant while a few paces behind him; a cartoonish image of a puffy cloud with the face of an old man blew a plume of air in the Scot's direction. Sure enough, the gust exhaling from the cloud's puckered mouth was enough to lift the hem of the Scot's kilt above his knees, stopping short of revealing what a Scot wears under his kilt! I chuckled and made a note to include a copy of this cover for framed art to decorate the bungalow's dinner theatre hallway. This artwork along with the other two menu covers would add a touch of personal interest to the hallway's décor. I opened the menu and out slipped an old black and white photo, a very curious one indeed! Not a single person was in it. And the photo was created from an obsolete process, not at all like the ones taken today. I wondered when it was taken.

Immediately I recognized the photograph's background as the bungalow's playroom wall, just inside of the door. The wall sconce was the same, but unlike today below the sconce hung a large framed needlepoint sampler with a parable on it, at least that's what I thought it was, until closer examined proved otherwise.

Unlike so many other needlepoint samplers I had seen over the years that were typical of the 1800s and early 1900s, this one was not of an alphabet and numerals, nor was it a Mother Goose rhyme. This sampler was painstakingly executed in blackish needlepoint thread. Its warning was eerily simple. I wrote it verbatim:

From Ghoulies and Ghosties

And Long-Leggedy Beasties

And Things That go Bump in the Night,

Good Lord, Deliver Us!

I made note that the only decorations surrounding the phrase were tall, lanky fully branched-out trees fashioned in the same dark thread and entirely devoid of leaves, were they dead trees? I set the photo aside. Why would someone take this photo, no persons were even in it? I wonder where that sampler is today? It spooked me!

The room grew dark, shadowy. I looked out the window, but the sun was still there shining brightly. The lights above the table hadn't dimmed and yet darkness hung over me, I couldn't shake the creepy feeling that I was being watched. Oppressed heaviness in the air around me was like a vacuum sucking air out of me. I inhaled deeply and coughed, there wasn't enough oxygen! The flesh on my arms crawled with goosebumps. I pounded my chest and again tried to inhale but it was no good! Gasping for air, I dashed out into the hall and went down on my knees. I hung my head down and began taking slow, deep breaths. Out here in the hallway I could breathe! Several minutes passed before I regained normal breathing and felt calm enough to go back into the room. I took less than a minute to gather up all my stuff and leave. Looking around the empty hallway it occurred to me that not a soul had witnessed what just happened. And without mentioning my harrowing experience to Ron Jones, I dropped off the key, left the museum and headed up to the arboretum hoping some fresh air and a stroll through gardens would clear my thoughts. It did the trick and I walked back through the village, stopped for a tall cool glass of iced tea and did some shopping. In one shop I bought the candles I had been meaning to get and in another store I purchased some picture postcards to mail to my friends in Chicago. The afternoon was taken up in no time at all. Refreshed from my unplanned shopping spree I was ready for dinner with the two Zavala men.

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Chapter 10

I arrived at the Island Breeze Cafe a little early, so I secured a booth inside and ordered coffee and mentioned to the waiter that two friends would join me. He brought my coffee and left three menus. I decided to use this little bit of time to address some of the postcards, which I was just finishing when Francisco and Zach walked in together.

"Looks like you played hooky from your job and spent the day shopping,” Zach joked as he slid into the booth right next to me.

"I confess, you're right.” I looked up and put the postcards away.

Francisco sat down across from us, “Shannon, hand me your things, we'll set them here next to me, looks like my grandson is crowding you.” Francisco reached for my briefcase and shopping bags.

"Hey, I'm not crowding her, I'm keeping it cozy. Besides, you just want to rummage through her bags,” Zach teased back.

"Francisco looked up and feigned a hurt puppy look that quickly morphed into a look of authority “One never knows what a beautiful woman will buy, and finding out is a clue to her innermost self,” Francisco replied.

"Ah!” I countered with. “All that you will learn is that I adore lemon scented candles and I have friends in Chicago to correspond with. Pretty dull stuff,” I confessed.

"Hmm,” Zach said with curiosity, “how many of these Chicago friends are men?"

"Oh, stop it, both of you,” I scolded. “I want to eat and then find out the news Francisco has about the old drawings. Let's order.” We picked up the menus and as if by magic the waiter appeared, he took our orders and left.

Francisco looked at us. “I'll keep this simple. The ink and the paper are dated to the same era, early 1920s and available wherever artist supplies were sold, and could have been ordered from one of a dozen or so catalogs."

"Then do you think that a member of the MacArdle family was the one who drew the pictures and wrote the phrase?” I asked Francisco.

"That would be the most plausible conclusion. If, of course, Shelly can vouch for that humpback chest having always been in the possession of her family and that it was kept at the bungalow during that time period,” Francisco said.

"Hmm,” Zach said, “does this mean we have to let her know?"

"Not necessarily,” I said. “Look, what I mean is that we need not tell her everything, not yet. Because I didn't notice the carved quote on top of the chest,” I turned to Zach, “you know, the one by Emerson? Well, I can tell her I was curious about it and then weave my way around to asking her if the chest had always been in her dad's possession, and if it was always at the bungalow."

"Brilliant idea!” Francisco commended.

"When do you think you can do this?” asked Zach

"At the dinner party this Saturday. I'm sure I'll have a few moments alone with her at sometime or another, it will be easy for me to work it into a conversation.” I smiled, very pleased with my idea.

The waiter delivered our meal. We chatted about so many other topics that evening, topics having nothing to do with any mystery whatsoever, that by the time dinner was over, I was ready for a good relaxing steep in the tub with my lemon-scented candles perfuming the air. Zach and Francisco walked me home. I said goodnight to them on the front porch.

Once inside I skipped up the stairs and turned on the tub faucet and poured in a generous dose of bubble bath. I lit the candles and walked back into my bedroom to undress, it was then that I heard the musical melody of tinkling glass. Uh-oh! Shadow man or no shadow man, I better not let the tub overfill. I rushed into the bathroom and turned off the water. Calmly I picked up my notebook and pen and then cautiously walked into the playroom.

As before the window was open and a cool evening breeze tickled the glass wind chime. I switched on the sconce wall light and looked to the opposing wall. This time there wasn't a show of swirling black shapes. There in plain sight, projected onto the wall, was the shadow man. He was tapping his foot, again, as if impatient.

I curtsied. The shadow man put his hand, I'm pretty sure it was his right hand, up to his lips and pulled his hand away in a sweeping manner. This caused words to appear on the wall:

Buenas noches.

This I knew, “Good evening,” I replied. He was very pleased, he bowed to me. He made another hand-to-his-lips gesture:

Tenga cuidado con los signos de trios.

This phrase was way beyond my limited Spanish. I carefully wrote it down on my notepad and then looked up. He was gone. The wind chime was silent. The air was still, yet electric; hairs on my back and arms were standing on end. I walked over and closed the window then turned out the light and walked back to my bedroom. Glancing down at my notebook, I didn't know what else to do so I put it by my purse on the dresser and commenced with my bath. The rest of my evening was uninterrupted. And though I took a leisurely bath, I couldn't help thinking about the phrase as I soaked in the bubbles. And I wondered: maybe I should get a Spanish-English dictionary?

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Chapter 11

I was up and dressed early, not yet seven. I gave Zach a call to let him know he need not wait on me if he wanted to get an early start, he said he'd be right over.

He came to the back door, “Hey, you're alone?” I observed.

Zach helped himself to coffee and sat across from me. “Yeah, what with it being Friday, I told the crew to head on over to the café and that breakfast was on me. How was your night?” He looked at me questioningly.

I had anticipated this moment, my notebook was off to the side, I pushed it in front of Zach, “Have a look, and interpret, please?"

Zach opened up my notebook and read, then looked up at me, “So, this is another conversation with the shadow man?"

"More like a dictation, though he is always very polite, and could we give him a name, or at least a code name, for our frame of reference? I like the sound of Conquistador.” I smiled and batted my eyelashes in the best flirtatious exaggeration I could muster.

"Sure, we can call him that. Now about this message. It says, Beware signs of threes,” Zach shook is head slightly, “This makes no sense, Shannon. Maybe your Conquistador is leading you on a wild ghost chase?"

I wasn't paying much attention to Zach, I was staring out the window, looking at the flower garden. “Beware signs of threes? Aren't those lilies out there by that bird bath?"

"Huh?” Zach turned his attention to the garden. “Yes, matter of fact those are lilies. What does that have to do with this warning?"

"Lilies are the sign of the fleur de lies, the three petals of the lily flower shown in profile, you know, the French symbol?” I got up, Zach reached out to me.

"I'll go with you."

"They are beautiful, aren't they? Look at all the colors! These pinkish ones, they are called stargazer lilies. I wonder who planted them and when?” I looked at Zach.

"Well, it looks like they were planted in an arrangement around this bird bath, let's take a look at the base."

We knelt down on the ground, careful not to crush the lilies. Reaching into the flowers, Zach carefully parted the plants near the base of the bird bath pedestal. “Hmm, I see something here,” he pointed to the base, “it looks like it says 1924, in honor of the beautiful woman, whose reflection will always be my guide."

We stood up. “Shannon, the date of 1924 makes sense, but the phrase? I wonder what that means?"

At that point I wasn't looking at Zach, instead I leaned close to the so-called bird bath and was gazing into the large round bowl. “Zach, this is not a bird bath, look inside, at the bottom, it repeats part of the phrase carved into the top of the chest. It says what lies within us."

"Okay, so maybe it is another clue, but what do you mean this is not a bird bath?"

"Well, look at it. There's no wear from birds landing on it; it is smooth, almost flawless black marble. And this wide flat lip, I'm pretty sure it's a deck, used for placing candles around in a circle. Zach, this is not for the birds, this is for scrying."

"Scrying?"

"Yes, a form of hydromancy, water gazing, used to foretell events or speak to the past, as you and Francisco are fond of saying. And the dedication and date fits perfectly with what Shelly told me about the chest. She said it originally belonged to Sheila Graham MacArdle, the wife of Angus, it was he who built this home. One other thing, in the Gaelic language, be it Irish or Scottish, the name of Sheila means blind."

Zach gave me a doubtful look, “I think you might be reaching for it, pulling clues out of thin air. I just don't get it."

"In Celtic culture a scrying bowl, such as this, is filled with water and then a pebble or two is dropped in to create a pattern, much like skipping stones across the surface of a pond. The ripple effect sends circles in time outward, leaving the center clear for gazing. I'm not explaining it very well, but I do remember from my childhood having an aunt who believed in this. My Aunt Jayne O'Casey. She said it was a Celtic form of meditation, to help one see which way was the right path, the right answer. Zach, Conquistador is not warning me against this, instead he is telling me to beware, as in to be aware and wise to it, to its potential."

"I suppose you should have company if you're going to do this? And I suppose that means this evening?” Zach gave me such an unwavering look, I knew in my heart he was sincere.

"Yes, just after dark. Will you meet me here?"

"Of course I will."

That decided we went back inside, his crew was arriving so I said my good-byes. The remainder of the day was uneventful; I didn't go back to the museum, instead I found a quite picnic table at the arboretum and used it for doing work. I called Shelly at noon, she confirmed my suspicions: Sheila Graham MacArdle was an exquisitely beautiful woman, who had more than looks going for her. She was intelligent, intuitive and charitable. By all outward appearances her blindness was not visible. Sheila's eyes remained crystal clear and deep marine blue her entire life, though in actuality she was legally blind and could only see vague shapes and shadows. Shelly told me to remind her and she would show me a photograph of Sheila Graham MacArdle.

After returning to the bungalow in the afternoon, I passed the day in quiet preparation for the evening. In a phone call to Zach I begged off having dinner with him and Francisco, Zach understood and said not to worry about Francisco. When Zach showed just before nine that evening, I was ready.

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Chapter 12

"Should I stand next to you?” Zack asked.

"Maybe we should stand facing each other on opposite sides of the the bowl?” I suggested.

Zach did as I suggested. He looked at me with a completely blank face. Good, he's open to this experimentation, I can't think of any other person who would be. He looked down at the scrying bowl, “What kind of water did you fill it with?'

"Oh, just out of the kitchen faucet,” I answered. “It's pretty isn't it? The way the reflection of the moon and stars illuminate the water?” I gazed into the mirror-like reflection. The black marble bowl lent a sense of infinity to the water, as if it was much deeper than just a few inches, a portal between here and, where? I wondered.

"Yeah, it is pretty, and with the light of the full moon, you don't need candles,” Zach commented with nervousness in his voice.

I leaned over and took his right hand, “Zach, don't be uneasy, if nothing comes of this, then, I won't bother with it again, okay?” He nodded. I continued, “I thought I would gaze into the water for a moment or two, to allow my vision to adjust. Then I will gently drop three little pebbles in one by one and see what happens.” I looked to Zach, he obviously agreed, or didn't know what else to do.

We stood there. I was relaxed, Zach was a little tense, but he tried not to show it. We were quiet as mice in a cheese cupboard, hoping to steal a week's worth of dinner. I tried to relax my eyes and gaze, rather than stare, it took me a moment but I began to feel very relaxed, and in good spirits about this event. I took three small pebbles from my blouse pocket and one by one drop them in, waiting for each one to complete a ring of ripples before dropping the next pebble in. I gazed, very much aware that with each pebble's ripple effect, clarity seemed to come forth from the bottom of the bowl, from the deepest center of the watery portal? I could see my own likeness and Zach's, too.

Our images disappeared and glistening silver forms swirled up from the deep. Alphabet letters appeared in a spiraling upward movement that was the exact reverse of a whirlpool; they ascended to the surface instead of going down a drain. We waited for the water to calm and in a split second it did exactly that. I stared into the pool of water. The crisp clarity with which the word appeared came as a surprise. The word rested on the water's surface. Each letter appeared three-dimensional. Fearful it would disappear before my eyes, I said the word out loud: “Goliat!"

"Shannon!” I looked up and instead of seeing Zach, much to my confusion, it was Alex! He lifted me up from the ground.

"Alex? Huh? What happened? Did I faint? Where's Zach?"

"Dear Shannon, you are confused, look around you.” Alex gently set me on my feet.

I was not in the garden, and Zach was no where to be seen. I was in the front parlor of Blackthorne House Mansion, as it must have been originally when it was first built in the 1880s. No mistaking the Victorian surroundings, I knew this scenario all to well. I looked to Alex and nearly fainted again.

"Dear, dear! Now don't swoon again. Let us sit down over here,” Alex guided me toward an overstuffed wing chair; he pulled up the ottoman and sat in front of me. “Shannon, I regret giving you such a fright. I apologize, the last thought on my mind was to scare you, I am here to help, not hinder.” He stood up and gave me a sweeping bow, “I am at m'lady's service.” To my dumbfounded amazement, Eric Blackthorne, the master magician and original owner of Blackthorne Mansion, who died in the 1880s and whose death was a mystery until a few weeks ago, was standing before me every bit as real as his decedent Alex.

"Eric?” I questioned.

"None other, I assure you,” He replied.

"But how can this be, I solved your mystery, You've been laid to rest?” I leaned forward, within inches of him, “Eric, you should be at peace."

"Dear Shannon, I am at peace.” Eric stood up and walked a few steps away; turned slowly with his arms held slightly outward as if he were surveying his surroundings. “And I am home and very much at peace. That is why I can come to your assistance, in fact I insist on aiding you. I consider it a purpose-driven, and highly spirited existence.” He smiled.

"I'm dreaming, right?” I looked around to find us alone, not another soul in sight. “Any moment I will wake up and Zach will be here, well, not here, not in Blackthorne Mansion in San Diego of the 1880s, but back on Catalina Island in present time?” I looked at Eric.

"Hmm, yes, about that. You are momentarily indisposed. And do not fret about Zach, he thinks you have fainted and he is handling it with proper caution. In a moment you shall awaken,” Eric explained with such simplicity that I wondered why I bothered to ask.

I stood up, took a few steps toward him and asked, “How is it that you can help me?” I looked up into his face, same strong features, black hair, dark brown eyes that were at once knowing and ingenuous, and, well let's just say he had the quintessential romance novel looks that is iconic of the tall, dark and handsome master magician portrayed in novels and movies. And yes, he was identical to Alex, or vice versa, since Eric had lived and died long before Alex was born.

Eric placed his hands on my shoulders, cupping my shoulders in an affectionate manner that reminded me of, of, hmmm, I couldn't quite think of whom, but his touch, his gesture was comforting. “Shannon, you have embarked on another mystery, another step into a realm you have intuitive talents for, but are inexperienced at. I am your guide and you may call on me."

I looked up to meet the steady gaze of his eyes, “Are you sure you aren't here to plead Alex's case?"

He laughed, not wickedly mind you, but more like a laugh of disbelief. “How ever foolish Alex behaves is not my concern. If my great-great grandnephew cannot win your heart on his own accord, I assure you I have no sympathy for him whatsoever. Shannon, I am your guide, not his or anyone else's, for that matter. Time is of essence. This is what you must remember,” he leaned close and whispered in my ear.

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Chapter 13

"Shannon, wake up,” the whisper was close, the voice familiar and sobering. I opened my eyes and was greatly relieved to see Zach. He held me close. “You fainted, maybe we should call a doctor?"

"No, I'm okay.” I sat up and took Zach's hand as assistance in standing up. He stood close with his arm around my shoulder. I smiled at him, “I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare you. I promise, I'll never do this again."

Zach turned to hold me in his arms, “I'm holding you to that commitment, and since you didn't specify which you meant not to do again, I'll make it simple, no more of this scrying business, and no more fainting, Okay?"

I pulled back a bit, but didn't break our embrace, “You drive a hard bargain,” I teased, attempting to lighten the moment. “I'm sure I'll never need to scry again, as to fainting, I can't complain about waking up in your arms."

Zach pulled me in close. His right hand caressed my hair, my cheek, his left hand rested snugly on my hip. I let my arms encircle his waist and I lifted my face to his, our eyes met, our lips touched. We paused, locked eyes and kissed again, this time deeper, longer and intensely more romantic. Zach pulled apart and whispered, “I like you waking up in my arms.” He slowly released his hold, and we walked back inside holding hands.

"How about a nightcap?’ I asked, relying on the very old and corny standby.

Zach playfully tapped my nose, “Naughty girl. Haven't you had enough drama for the night?"

"Spoil sport,” I argued.

"Shannon, your offer is tempting, but at this moment I am concerned about your health. And if you won't go see a doctor or allow me to call one, then I insist you at least humor me and attempt to get a good night's sleep."

"Ugh! Okay."

"Good, what with tomorrow being Saturday, and what with Shelly's party and Alex coming here beforehand, maybe we should plan to take off for the day, until you need to get ready for the party?'

"Those are thoughts that certainly dampen the romantic spirit of the moment, planning so far ahead,” I gave him a look of wounded disdain, “and just to avoid a certain someone."

Zach gave me a melodramatic I-give-up gesture with his hands, “You have a better idea?"

I sat down at the kitchen table and Zach did too. “Zach, I've decided I want to be here when Alex shows up to examine the place for hocus-pocus scams and such. I've thought of a few ideas I want to run by him,” I looked into his eyes for a reaction.

Zach gave a nod of his head, “Should I be here, as well?"

"By all means, if you wouldn't mind, Francisco too, if he is interested."

Zach's smile brightened the mood, “You bet. I'm sure Grandpa will want to be here, just as originally planned."

"Now that this is settled,” I smiled, “Zach do you remember what word I said before fainting?"

Yes, definitely, you said goliat, it's Spanish, and it means Goliath.” He looked at me with curiosity.

"I haven't a clue why I said that,” I shook my head, steeped in my own foggy thoughts. “Do you think it means Goliath, as in the Bible story?"

"Maybe, or it might be a way of identifying a monster of sorts, you know, in everyday culture we often do that, or we use it to indicate something of mammoth size,” he suggested.

"Hmm, I guess I'll have to sleep on it,” I smiled.

"Don't spend your dream hours trying to figure it out. Shannon, you really do need to get caught up on sleep,” Zach insisted. He stood up, I did too, and we walked to the front porch. He gave me a hug and a long lingering kiss, “Good night gorgeous, sweet dreams."

I fairly floated up the stairs to my bedroom. This time I opted for a long hot shower and I luxuriated in the driving force of the water raining over me, allowing all the stress of the day to flow down the drain. After toweling off I slipped into an old ankle-length nightshirt that I had kept from my college days, on the front was a declaration that reminded me: Well-Behaved Women Rarely Make History.

I had worn this nightshirt every night for an entire week when I was writing a semester report on Joan of Arc. Just the month before my friend Jasmine had moved to New Orleans to attend Tulane University. She sent me two gifts: a printed photographic poster of the larger-than-life statue of Joan of Arc astride her horse, proudly claiming the city of N'Orleans is under her sentry. The poster was long gone, but the second gift I still wore. It was a highly stylized sterling silver ring in the shape of the fleur de lies. Jasmine had bought it at a silver shop in the same French Market where Joan of Arc stood sentry. I looked down at the ring on the center finger of my left hand. I loved the feel of its smooth satiny finish. In stressful moments, my absent-mindedly twirling of the ring around my finger was a worry-bead gesture that always helped to ease my anxiety. I twirled the ring now, not for nervousness, but for old-times sake. I crawled into bed, switched off my bedside lamp and drifted off to sleep thinking of good friends.

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Chapter 14

I'm sure I would have slept dreamily the entire night had it not been for the early-morning yapping of some annoying little dog. I tossed and turned, putting my pillow over my head did not muffle the rapid-fire yaps that got louder every time I tossed onto a different side. Finally, in total exasperation I decided to go outside and to listen, to see if I could pinpoint the neighborhood location of the little monster. I slipped on my robe and made haste for the stairs. No sooner had my feet hit the first landing did I realize I was running in the wrong direction. I ran back upstairs to the playroom: “No way!” I swore out loud.

I barged through the playroom door and flipped the light switch. I glared at the shadow man's wall: what I saw sent a hair-raising sensation of ice cold fingertips running up my spine.

Shadow man, AKA my Conquistador was mirthfully tossing a stick to a tiny shadow dog. An itsy-bitsy dog that resembled a little deer and had it not been for its ferocity of fetching and canine yapping, I'd wonder if it were a dog at all. Conquistador would toss a stick outside the frame of vision and the frisky little dog would fetch it, return, do a jig of a dance on its long hind legs and then sit in excited anticipation for the next toss. This bizarre scenario repeated itself several times before I interrupted the play.

"Uhmm!” I cleared my throat with the angriest sound I could muster. I stood straight with my arms bent at my side and my hands planted on my hips.

Yapping shadow dog stopped in mid-fetch, dropped his stick and returned to Conquistador, sitting a few inches in front of him. Conquistador looked down at his dog and shook his head in sad disbelief and then turned to me. He bowed. He straightened up and this time he did not turn in profile, rather he spoke and I heard his voice!

"Senorita Shannon, pardon our enthusiasm. It is with great pleasure I join in play with my little companion, Goliat. We beg your understanding.” He reached down and in one graceful swoop gathered the little dog in his arms.

My throat closed in, my heart pounded, I dared to find my voice; it was no more than a whisper: “Who are you?"

Conquistador placed his little dog on the shadow ground, and told his dog to stay. Then, Conquistador took six steps forward, toward me and out of the shadows. Now, standing before me in flesh and in every appearance of human dimension was the shadow man I called Conquistador, and my nickname was far more accurate than I could have guessed.

He approached within two feet of me. Taller than I expected, handsome, too. He had the fine straight features of a Spaniard; light olive complexion, neatly trimmed black hair, beard and mustache, touches of steel gray framed his temples. His eyes were a lively warm brown. Elegantly he reached for my right hand and lifted it to his lips and then ever so softly caressed my skin. He held my hand for just a moment, then gently released it.

"Senorita Shannon, I am Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo,” he bowed his head slightly, but not so he could not see my face, “I am at your service."

I fainted, or as my ghostly guide Eric Blackthorne would say, I swooned. And speaking of Eric, he had a lot of explaining to do. Which I set him to task on has soon as I woke from my faint. Eric was fretting over me, that is how I woke up. I was on my bed and Eric was sitting beside me. A few seconds before opening my eyes I heard Eric's voice scolding the conquistador: “Juan, I told you we must make her aware of your presence in a subtle way."

"Pardon, I could not contain my amusement of having Goliat returned to me, it was, after all, an innocent game of fetch.” Conquistador was pacing back and forth behind Eric.

I sat up. Had the ghost of Eric Blackthorne not been with me, I would have fainted, again.

"Dear Shannon, what a fright this must be. I do hope you will allow a discourse of the facts before you take another swoon,” Eric stuffed my two pillows behind my back, I adjusted my sitting and drew my knees up to hug them. He took my right hand. Conquistador peeked over Eric's shoulder. I looked from Eric to Conquistador and back again at Eric. I snatched my hand out of Eric's hold and I pointed my index finger at him, “First you, I want a through explanation, and Eric this better be a good one,” I demanded.

As Eric stood up, Conquistador removed himself to my doorway. He stood there, taking up the space, leaning in the doorway, his left shoulder against the frame. His was an air of curiosity and something else, but distracted by the events, I couldn't discern his mood.

"Shannon,” Eric smiled, that charming and debonair smile of his, but I wasn't taken in, “When you scryed you released the name of the dog, Goliat. Quite amusing actually, to name a tiny deer-legged Chihuahua Goliath. And Juan, or your Conquistador, as you refer to him, was delighted to have his dog back with him,” Eric turned to look at the doorway, a cue of sorts.

Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo approached, standing to the right side of Eric, facing me at the foot of my bed. “Senorita Shannon, you have done me a great favor in returning my little Goliat to me. I am much obliged. I pledge my service to you,” he placed his right hand over his heart.

"There, you see, Shannon,” Eric was doing his best to diffuse the situation, “you now have two spirit guardians, though I dare say, Cabrillo is temporary."

"Temporary? Why? For what?” I questioned Eric. It was a query that made Eric visibly anxious; he paced slowly back and forth across the floor to the side of my bed. I kept my eyes focused on him. “I'm waiting?"

Eric stopped, he turned to me: “Until you can locate the pirate's treasure."

That got me out of bed and on my feet. I was in Eric's face; “You mean the same pirate booty that Francisco and his cousin Jesse have Zach and I looking for?"

"Yes, exactly. And you'll find it. Shannon, if anyone can, it is you,” Eric beamed. I meant to ask Eric to be clearer about his theory, but the noisy little mutt jumped into my room, and ran over to me. I picked it up and held it up to get a good look. “It really does look like a miniature deer. Why is it called Goliath?"

Juan came forward and extracted the dog from me. “Follow,” he said and we walked back into the playroom where Juan set down Goliat. Eric reached over and turned on the lights and then motioned toward the shadows cast on the chalk wall. The three of us stood in silhouetted images, like images cast out of a distorted carnival funhouse mirror, our shadows were tall and comically deformed. But the dog's shadow was hilarious; Goliat had a tiny body and tall stilt-like legs, he was a giant. I giggled to see such a sight. “Now I understand.” I canted the old Scottish prayer: “From ghoulies and ghosties and long-leggedy beasties and things that go bump in the night, good Lord, deliver us!” And like magic, Conquistador and Goliat vanished into thin air.

Eric turned to me, “If their play interrupts your sleep again, say that prayer.” He walked me back to my bedroom, but remained at the door, “Good night Shannon, sweet dreams for the sweet."

I slept peacefully the remainder of the night.

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Chapter 15

I answered Alex's knock on the front door, “Hey, come on in,” I greeted him with a big smile.

He looked at me with quizzical suspicion, “I thought you were taking off for today.” He lugged in a big case.

"What's that?” I avoided his question.

"Oh, jut a few things, tools of a magician's trade. I'm making sure that my inspection will leave no room for doubts. I'll take this up to the playroom.” He disappeared into the hall, I hollered after him; “Come back down for coffee before you set up, okay?” I heard him answer yes.

I had the coffee carafe setting on a warming stand in the middle of the small kitchen table. I had hoped Alex would arrive a little early, I wanted to pick his brains. He walked in just as I sat down. I grabbed a mug, “Do you still take it black?"

"Yes.” I poured the coffee and set the steaming cup in front of him.

I glanced down at my own coffee cup and stole a look at him: same Alex, just as finessed as ever, from his casual elegance in jeans and a sliver blue v-neck sweater to his matching socks and Italian leather slip-on loafers. I gave a private shrug and made a memo to myself: Don't blame Miss Kitty for falling for him, he's a catch, to be sure. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I didn't noticed Alex studying me. He had a thoughtful expression. “You look like you're caught in a net of melancholy,” I prompted.

"Maybe a little, it's hard to sit here across from you and not consider what might have been."

"Then don't. I don't. I prefer to think of what can be,” I said with determination not to fall under his spell. “And along those lines, I'd like to know, will you be testing the playroom for Pepper's Ghost?"

"What!” Alex exclaimed. “Shannon, how do you know about Pepper's Ghost?"

"How? Well I researched, that's all. I tried to think like a magician and detected that what I described happening to me in the playroom, that which I told Zach and Francscio about, could be a scam called Pepper's Ghost. It only seems logical that you would want to eliminate it as a possibility.” I did my nonchalant best not to look directly at Alex and gloat in the surprise I launched on him.

He laughed, “Okay, that's a good one on me. But come on Shannon, how did it occur to you to research the scam of Pepper's Ghost?"

I shook my head, “Uh-uh, I'm not telling. Besides, it was told to me in confidence, by someone who knows more about magic than you do.” I countered.

"Let me guess, you contacted a magicians’ union, or maybe one of the special effects team members at Disneyland, at the Haunted Mansion? They employ a variation of Pepper's Ghost."

"Alex, I never thought I could stump you, and imagine that, you trying to get me to give up the ghost, so to speak. Why don't you just fill me in on the how-to of it?” I giggled.

Alex looked down at his empty cup; “It'll cost you. At least another mug of coffee."

I refilled his cup and leaned over, “Do tell.” I smiled coyly.

Alex launched into what I call his professor persona: an evenly deep voice, with just enough intonation in his speech pattern to keep one's ears up and open. “John Pepper lived in London in the 1800s. In 1848 he became a lecturer at the Royal Polytechnic, an academy of sorts, dedicated to researching the latest technology. Society was much involved in scientific arenas then, especially as it related to light, sound and transference of energy. Pepper revised a method of creating ghostly illusions made famous by Henry Dirks, which Dirks called Phantasmagoria. Problem was that with Dirks’ method, theaters at that time had to be expensively renovated for the special effects to work. Consequently, Dirks’ Phantasmagoria never caught on. Pepper worked on the same concept and invented an affordable way to project the same haunting illusion and in fact it was employed with huge success during a theater production of Charles Dickens’ The Haunted Man. After that, Pepper's name was popularly linked to the effect."

"But what are the nuts and bolts to the operation?"

"The nuts and bolts are better to be seen than heard. I brought all that is necessary to set up a small Pepper's Ghost effect in the playroom, but you have to promise not to peek while I'm setting up. You may not so much as tiptoe up the stairs until I say so."

"Okay, I promise. I'd love a demonstration, and I know Francisco and Zach would be interested, too.” And as if by magic, the two Zavala men knocked on the back door.

Alex got up to let them in, then excused himself to go set up. I stood up.

"Good morning, Gorgeous,” Zach gave me a hug.

"I agree with my young and amorous grandson", Francisco said, “but I need some coffee before I get up the nerve to call anyone gorgeous."

"Oh, you two!” I rolled my eyes and got two more mugs. “Sit down and I'll fill up your cups and I'll fill you in on what Alex is up to."

They obeyed like the hounds at the feet of the goddess Diana.

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Chapter 16

We chatted easily enough. Francisco was in high spirits speculating on this evening's upcoming dinner party at Shelly's home. He gave Zach and I a dish-by-dish list of the menu we were to expect. He suggested to Shelly that he would make arrangements for the catering of the dinner buffet if she would honor him by agreeing to his unusual request. “I must admit,” Francisco confessed with great relish, “I have exceeded my own best efforts. Never before have I scored such a magnificent caterer! Tonight's dinner shall be the talk of Avalon."

Francisco's melodramatic presentation earned an equally dramatic response from Zach, “Grandpa, you talk as if the party is at your home. Imposing on Shelly the way you have, it wouldn't surprise me if she never invites to her house again!"

"Oh, now don't be so harsh, Zach. I happen to know that Shelly has a soft spot in her heart for Francisco, besides, if I were in Shelly's shoes, I'd have said yes in a split-second."

Francisco laughed heartily and boasted, “See, grandson, I know how to impress the beautiful women. You could take a cue from me, you know,” He winked at me and I giggled.

"So, what have I missed out on?” Alex walked into the kitchen.

Francisco stood up, “Alex, good to see you. I was just giving my grandson a few tips on how to get along with the ladies."

"I see, maybe I should pick your brain on that topic. But for right now, I want all of you to come upstairs."

We filed into the pitch-dark playroom one behind the other: Alex, Francisco, Zach and me. Zach reached for my hand and drew me to him. At that very moment, an eerie specter of bluish light shot through the darkness, crossed the room, and fully materialized in a shimmering cloud of smoke near the chalk wall. I couldn't help but wonder if Conquistador Cabrillo and Goliat could see this display from the other side, wherever the other side is.

The image grew larger and seemed to move closer, toward us, but I couldn't be sure. In fact I couldn't discern what the image was. Smoke-like fog filled the room in wispy swirls that glistened like spider silk. The swirls disappeared from sight, at first floating toward us, swallowing us and then disappearing behind us. The image was now crystal clear, a half size version of Alex's dog, Atlas, the giant Irish Wolfhound sat before us, suspended in air just above what I would call kitchen table height. Atlas pawed at the air, giving us his typical high-five welcome with his left forepaw. His head moved from side to side, viewing us one by one. Alex said his name and commanded him to lie down. Atlas obeyed. Next, Alex told him to stand and then, quite unexpectedly tossed him his favorite red rubber ball, Atlas caught it, dropped the ball and barked once: the all-too familiar signal that indicated Atlas was ready for his treat!

Alex tossed Atlas a Milkbone dog cracker and then Alex clapped his hands, Atlas disappeared into the same bluish fog that had summoned him. We all clapped our hands. The lights were switched on. I looked around the room for Atlas, he wasn't there!

"Where is Atlas?” I asked.

Alex explained, “He was never here, no need to bring him along."

That was when I saw the cleverly disguised Pepper's Ghost apparatus.

I studied the hocus-pocus set up, knowing darn sure that this smoke and mirrors stuff was not what my Conquistador and his dog were about, but I kept my thoughts to myself. And thankfully, Francisco was all questions and Alex had no time to consider my reaction.

Alex held up both hands in a comic fend-off of Francisco's questions, “Okay, okay, let's all go back down stairs and I'll explain how I did this.” He turned to Francisco, afterwards, you can help me disassemble this stuff and that'll give you a really good chance for inspection."

Francisco was pleased with this offer, so we headed back down to the kitchen. On the way down the stairs, Zach held back and I took his hint. He whispered in my ear, “This is not at all what you have experienced is it?"

I whispered back, “You're right about that. My ghost doesn't require hocus-pocus."

Zach and I entered the kitchen last, Francisco, the dutiful host that he cannot help himself to be, brewed another pot of coffee.

"Alex, please explain to us what you just did up there?” Francisco asked.

Once again, Alex was very much in his own element, “The process is really very simple. It has been used for over a century and half to fool people into thinking the spirits of their family and friends have come back from the dead to visit with them. Anyway..."

I zoned out at that point, and I thanked my lucky stars that I was not in direct line of sight to Alex. I had pulled up a chair that faced the kitchen window, looking out on the lily garden, and the birdbath scrying bowl. I pondered what to do next. Do I owe up to the fact that Alex's display of Pepper's Ghost was not at all my ghost? Do I dare tell Alex that his ancestor master magician was my guardian? Should I attempt to explain about Conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo and his little dog Goliat? I drifted in and out of my meandering thoughts just in time to hear Francisco summarize what Alex had explained.

"Hmm, the way I understand it, by using a plate glass and special lighting methods, Pepper's Ghost technique can make an object, or person, seem to appear and disappear, or make them morph into another being or object. And for the trick to work the viewer must be able to see into the main room, while not seeing into the secondary neighboring mirrored room? Correct?” Francisco asked Alex.

"Yes. In many such situations, the edge of the plate glass mirror is disguised in the pattern of the floor, which is what I did. Unbeknownst to you three, I used the closet as the mirror room and camouflaged the bottom edge of the plate glass along the natural grain of the wood floor. It worked beautifully.” Alex answered.

Francisco nodded his head then asked, “For certain, then, this technique is used to have an actor reflected in the mirror image turn, or morph, I should say, into another being?"

"As a matter of fact that trick is often employed in Halloween haunted houses, where a person looks into a mirror, they morph into the likeness of something scary, like a ghoul or a skeleton. It's a simple trick that's been around for decades and is the origin of the smoke and mirrors description for explaining a hoax,” Alex answered.

"I see,” commented Francisco. “But what about Atlas and his in-the-moment reaction to your commands?"

"Oh, that. That was a video I had recorded earlier and I projected the video into the mirror, then I mimed my reaction to Atlas. Well, as much as I am enjoying this conversation, I need to get the playroom back in order, Francisco, are you still game?” Alex queried.

Francisco stood up, “By all means, please lead the way."

Alex and Francisco left Zach and I in the kitchen. Zach got up, took the empty mugs over to the sink and rinsed them out. “You know,” he turned to me, “I'd stay, but I have some errands to run. You're welcome to tag along?"

His smile was inviting, but I said no, that I needed to get a few things done around here. We agreed that he and Francisco would pick me up later. Shelly had insisted that Francisco use her car for this evening, this didn't surprise me in the least. I imagine that even in the worst of circumstances, Francisco could persuade a cat to hand over its whiskers!

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Chapter 17

Francisco and Zach picked me up about a half-hour early with the explanation that Francisco needed to oversee the catering. I was glad to have a few extra minutes to be alone with Shelly; we sat at a quiet end of her patio, the casualness of the setting gave me the chance to pick her brain.

"Shelly, I was wondering, should I mention a few of the more unusual features about the bungalow, such as its grounds and family history, in the brochure?"

"Unusual? I'm not sure I know what you mean?” Shelly answered with a smile.

"Oh, I was thinking of the lily garden, you know the one that encircles the scrying bowl? Or maybe the quaint needlepoint sampler you gave me a photo of, the one with the old Scottish prayer on it. And the wind chime in the playroom along with its twin that was in the chest you lent me. These novelties might be worth mentioning as trivia in the brochure,” I looked at her for clues of uneasiness.

"I'm not sure I know what you are referring too. Let's see,” She held up her hand as if she were going to count out the reasons why I should or shouldn't do what I suggested, “I remember the lilies, they are very pretty this time of year, but isn't that a birdbath that they are encircle?"

Her look was so open I had no reason to doubt it,” I guess so, maybe I was just equating it with another one I seen somewhere else. But what about the chime and the prayer?"

She laughed, “Oh, those! Well, it is an old Scottish prayer and we, the Mac Ardles are an old Scottish family, I never gave it much thought. I do remember my dad telling me that it was fun to chant that prayer on Halloween night when he and his friends would go out trick-or-treating. I removed the needlepoint sampler when I was going through the house a few weeks ago. I was thinking of having it cleaned, remounted and framed. I'm so sorry if it caused you concern.” Shelly reached over and patted my shoulder, an endearing gesture that spoke volumes about her nature.

"And the chime?"

"I only remember one chime, and yes I put it in that chest, too. But for safekeeping, thinking that with all the work going on, it might be accidentally jostled. Seems to me it belonged to my dad. Yes, I recall he said his grandmother Sheila gave it to him. But, getting back to your questions, I see no reason to mention these things in the brochure.” Shelly stood up, “I promised to show you a photo of Sheila Graham Mac Ardle? Follow me."

Shelly was right on her account of her great-grandmother's beauty. The sepia tone Victorian-age photo showed in three-quarter profile an exquisitely lovely woman with upswept dark hair. Sheila Graham MacArdle stood at the playroom's open window gazing out; the wind chime was behind her. She held up her left hand holding a lily against her bust, the effect was one of haunting beauty. I handed the photo back to Shelly, “A treasure to be sure."

Our quiet moment was broken by hearty laughter filtering in from the front room, “That must be Francisco!” Shelly said.

And I thought I had taken to Francisco's charm like a fish to water. My fondness for him paled in comparison to Shelly's. I think in some way she had adopted him as the quintessential favorite uncle that every child longs for. The one who is your dearest fun-loving friend and protector. I watched her with delight as she gushed over his finessing the catering of the dinner.

"No, no. Really, I must insist, this is nothing, nothing, I assure you,” Francisco did his best to deflect Shelly's praises. “Let's stop all this fuss and get down to the business of enjoying this feast,” he proclaimed with such authority I knew Shelly would immediately begin directing her guests to the buffet line.

We dutifully filed into line, and it was an easy command to follow, all we had to do was obey are noses, the aromas were irresistible! I noticed that Miss Kitty, uh, Kat, had latched onto Alex the moment she appeared on the scene. I fell back a bit to allow a better viewpoint of the two. It was then that I felt Zach's arm encircle my waist. “Where have you been hiding?” he whispered.

I turned and whispered, “Remember, I said I would get Shelly alone to get answers to our questions?” I raised an eyebrow at him, “Well, I was successful.” I punctuated my sentence with a little finger poke into his rib cage.

"Ouch, don't go poking me there, it's pretty empty and susceptible to damage,” he argued with a pretend grimace.

We stepped up in line, I handed him a plate; “Here, you can fix that."

Then I heard a small voice behind us, one I never imagined I'd hear in this place. I turned around to answer the query and there was no mistake ... the snowy white hair that curled around her head in a halo, a little shorter than I, petite and spry. And her eyes, dark and sparkling, they betrayed her years with a depth and brightness that seemed ageless, smiling eyes, that's how my mom would have described them. She was adorable! Alex's Aunt Dora was a pixie and she was standing right behind me!

"Aunt Dora!” I broke Zach's embrace and reached around to give her a delicate hug, “How wonderful to see you again!"

"Yes, and it is good to see you, dear. Alex invited me. I've known Shelly since she was just a little sprite. And I've always admired her Art Deco home,” Aunt Dora motioned me in closer to her, with a little come-here gesture of her right hand, “but Shannon, the real reason I'm here is that I have an incident to relate to you, but not now, after dinner. You go back to your young man,” She gently pushed me toward Zach. I looked over my shoulder and gave her a wink. Aunt Dora's words nagged at me all through dinner.

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Chapter 18

The feast was a global tour. How Francisco pulled it off I'll always marvel at! He managed a catering menu that sampled international cuisine. From Alaskan crab to Indian curried rice and New Zealand caviar to German chocolate cake with French vanilla ice cream, we traveled many different continents dish by dish. Finally I begged off, just as Francisco was opening a bottle of Russian Vodka to offset the Italian expresso!

"No, really, Francisco, I cannot take another bite. In fact I am going to insist on walking home tonight just to aid my digestion of this fabulous culinary masterpiece!"

"Of course, whatever you desire, but I insist you not walk home along,” he gave a knowing look to Zach.

"Grandpa! I'd never let Shannon do that,” Zach said.

"Okay, so Zach will walk me home, but for now, I want to catch up on conversation with Aunt Dora,” I looked at her, right across from me to see if she concurred.

"Oh, yes, dear. Do let us take our leave and find a corner for girl talk."

Alex sat next to Dora; he stood and seamlessly helped her up. I took that as my cue and walked around to her and in doing so I stole a look at Alex, he caught me and smiled, gave me a nod. Obviously, whatever Dora was up to, it had Alex's approval.

We settled into a corner on two comfortable chairs, I pulled in close to Dora.

Dora gazed at me for a moment and said nothing. I knew from experience with her that this was her way of adjusting her vision. She blinked and smiled. “I wore this dress for the occasion. You see, it has pockets. Nowadays, dressmakers don't make dresses with pockets, I had to have this one made to order,” She reached into her right pocket and pulled out an envelope. She kept it in her lap.

"What do you have there?” I asked, discreetly pointing to her lap.

"I'll get to this in a moment. First I have a few words to say to foreshadow this,” She tapped the envelope. “Shannon, Alex may have related to you that when he was young and lived at Blackthorne House, that I lived there, too?"

"Yes, I recall him saying that."

"And did he ever mention that I would dream walk?"

"Yes, something to that effect, though Alex didn't go into detail,” I wanted to make sure she knew Alex would never betray a family confidence. “Is that what this is about?” I chanced a guess.

"Yes, and no. You see, after dream walking, I would journal my experience. Well, that has not happened in years, perhaps decades, I simply do not recall. Until, two night ago,” she paused lost in thought.

"And?” I queried.

"I had a most curious dream, a dream in which an old friend visited me. He is named Hugh. He and his wife, Joyce were very good friends. Joyce preceded him in passing and Hugh stayed close to their circle of friends and relatives. I was one of those in their circle. I helped to care for Joyce when she was in hospice. It was hard on Hugh; they were very dedicated to each other. Joyce died peacefully, but Hugh was never the same.

"Hugh lived next door and I often visited him. One day I went over to remind him of travel plans he had made for an upcoming elder-hostel trip and to ask if their were errands I could do for him while he was away. He so enjoyed getting away to the mountains and taking nature trail hikes. It was a life-long passion of his. It was about noon, we visited for a little while then he told me about an unusual dream. It was unusual for two reasons: Hugh could not remember ever having dreamed in his entire life, and the dream itself was odd. He asked me to write out the dream for him. So I did. That was about ten years ago. Two weeks ago Hugh passed. He died peacefully too, just like Joyce did. I went to his funeral and afterwards one his sons gave me a small box that had my name on it. He said his dad wanted me to have it. Inside was this envelope,” again she tapped the envelope in her lap, “with instructions to me. I was to give this envelope to you. Very specifically Hugh said to give this to the young woman named Shannon who helped with the Blackthorne House mystery. I had forgotten about it until two nights ago, that was when Hugh came to me in a dream and said that this party would be the perfect chance to fulfill my obligation to him."

I was speechless, and the look on my face must have shown it, “I can't imagine why?"

Aunt Dora placed the envelope in my lap. “Whatever reason Hugh had, it must be for a good cause. One more thing, Shannon. I do not know what is in that envelope, but I recall that after I wrote out Hugh's dream, he slipped the paper into an envelope just like that one.” Aunt Dora added, “Dreams can be very private, I'd wait until you are home and alone to read it."

I stared like a deer caught in headlights. Dora's pixie face gave not a clue as to how I should react. “I'll be sure to do as you say.” I accepted the envelope and slipped it into my slacks’ pocket. Thinking the whole time that it was an uncanny choice I had made earlier in choosing what to wear, that at the last moment I switched from a pocketless skirt to the my charcoal gray silk slacks that had pockets in them. “Aunt Dora, in your dream of two night's ago, did Hugh have anything in particular to say to me?"

She looked down at her lap and paused for a moment. The she turned a bright smile to me, “Why yes, dear, as a matter of fact, Hugh said I should remind you that dreams are answers to questions we have yet to ask.” Dora blinked twice and looked around the room. “Now, if you'll pardon me, I should not monopolize your company, I do believe that handsome young grandson of Francisco's is giving us a look from across the room,” Dora giggled a delightfully girlish chuckle. She got up and floated off toward Alex and Kat.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. In fact, I wished it to end prematurely, especially so, since the envelope seemed to be burning into my leg. I tried in vain to think of an excuse that would allow me to make an inconspicuous early exit, but I couldn't come up with one. When we finally got around to saying our good-byes and thanking Shelly, I had a headache that was my new worst foe. Zach could see I was not feeling well, and offered our closing comments. He ushered me out into the cool night air.

"Are you sure you don't want a ride home?"

"I'm sure,” I smiled wanly.

We walked in silence at a leisurely pace, hand in hand, the thirty minutes it took to reach the porch of the bungalow. Zach knew I was not feeling better and suggested he come in. I declined and said I would let a hard shower rain down on me, and I'd take two aspirin and call him in the morning. I closed the door behind him and went up to shower. It did make me feel better, at least enough to climb into bed and switch on a low light to investigate the envelope that Aunt Dora bestowed upon me.

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Chapter 19

Using a letter opener I sliced open the envelope and peeked inside and then let slip out a tri-folded letter of several sheets of paper. As Dora suggested it was an account of Hugh's dream, with a difference. Paper-clipped to the opening page was a smaller sheet of paper, obviously written by Hugh:

Dear Shannon,

I know not who you are. On a visit to my homeland in Ireland I sailed down the Shannon River. Afterwards in a dream I was told that I should convey what I had learned to a young woman I saw in my dream, a young woman with the name of the river I sailed on. She walked along the harbor boardwalk in a village by the Avalon Bay, very deep in contemplation concerning a cross in the road she must choose. I'll never know of her choice, but I do believe that my dream, once dreamt a decade ago and carefully transcribed by my good friend Dora Blackthorne, shall have a say in Shannon's decision. I also know that it will be Dora who will deliver my message to the person it is meant for.

Years after Dora transcribed my dream, I decided to take the dream and try my hand at turning it into a short story suitable for publication. To my good fortune an Irish periodical publisher liked the story and offered me a goodly sum to publish it. At first I was ecstatic, but the more I accustomed myself to the idea, the more I knew it was not meant to be. Therefore I declined publication and have kept the dream story to myself. Now, as it is meant to be in your hands and for your eyes only, I present my dream story.

Old Shoes by Hugh MacAodhagain

"I had an odd and somewhat whimsical dream last night,” I slumped in a chair and put my elbows on the kitchen table. In an effort to take part in the world of the living, I rubbed my face with both palms.

Joyce gave me that quizzical look she pulls off so adeptly. Looking down at me with her eyebrows raised she set a cup in front of me. “Here, wake up and smell the coffee."

I cradled the steaming cup in both hands and sipped. “Great coffee. What flavor is this?"

"Hazelnut, laced with a dash of freshly ground nutmeg. Only the best for my sleeping handsome,” Joyce smiled. “Hugh, what about your dream?” She put the carafe back on the counter and sat across from me.

"To begin with, my name was Hume, not Hugh. And I was only twelve years old. In fact, just like today it was my birthday."

"Just like today? Hugh dear, I hate to be the one to blow out all the candles on your birthday cake, but you're long gone from twelve."

"Yes, I know. No big deal."

Joyce couldn't resist chiding, “Big deal? I'll say! It's big enough of an issue to inspire a dream about your carefree youth. No intuition or pop psychology feedback is needed to figure out the anxiety association of your dream."

I took a deep breath and sighed, “Joyce, I don't care about the over-the-hill age thing. This dream was different. It was funny, in a nostalgic sort of way."

"Okay junior, I'll take the bait. Tell me about your dream."

"Well, like I said, my name was Hume and it was my twelfth birthday. I lived in a small village called Saint Crispin. It was the type of village one reads about in an old-fashioned book of fairytales; there were quaint thatched-roof cottages, cobblestone lanes and grassy knolls. Anyway, my mom gave me twelve coins for my birthday and told me to take them to the village cobbler to have knew boots made."

"Given your penchant for shoes, it sounds like a dandy dream,” Joyce smiled.

"Oh, it was. Except for the quirkiness of it. You see, in my dream the cobbler wasn't a run-of-the-mill kind of fairytale shoemaker. No indeed, in my dream the cobbler was a bell troll,” I looked at my empty cup, and got up for refills. In mid-pour I paused and put the carafe down, “Actually, now that I think of it, he was one of the Bell Trolls. That's with a capital ‘B’ and ‘T,'” I sat back down.

Joyce humored me with an exaggerated nod of her head. “Oh! Bell Trolls make shoes? Why don't they make bells?"

"That's what was so weird about my dream. Nothing was as it should be in the village. At least, not according to the tradition of the Brothers Grimm,” I looked at Joyce to see if she was paying attention. She nodded. “Anyway, Bell Trolls were shoemakers. Farrier Trolls baked pies—"

"—Let me guess,” Joyce interrupted, “Farrier Trolls made horse shoe-fly pies?"

I wagged my finger at her. “I don't remember what kind of pies they made, and it's not important. Anyway, Baker Trolls taught at the village school, and please, no wisecracks about them not making a lot of dough,” I warned. Joyce rolled her eyes at me and made a motion of zipping her mouth closed.

"Okay, I get it,” She admitted. “No troll worked in an occupation indicative of his or her name. Please continue."

"Okay. So, I get to the Bell Trolls’ shop and a kindly old troll sets me down on a stool and measures my feet. When he finishes, he asks me to stand up so he can measure my height. I ask him what my height has to do with making shoes to fit me. And then, he says that however tall I am now—at the age of twelve—will determine my shoe size when I'm an adult. I don't believe him, but I don't want to be rude, so I humor him and stand up straight and tall. He measures my height—sixty-four inches—and says I will need new boots when I retire."

"Hugh, or Hume, or whomever you are, this really does sound like an age-crisis dream. Maybe you should consult with a professional?"

"Joyce, I'm sure this is not about counting the months until my December years, it's just a dream, a whimsical and fun dream. Getting back to it, I stayed at the shoe shop and watched as the Bell Troll cut the leather and sewed my new shoes. All the while he's telling me stories. One tale, in particular, I recall perfectly, it was about robins."

"Robins?” Joyce asked.

"According to the shoemaker, robins are the first sign of spring. And the Bell Trolls made shoes for robins. Tiny leather shoes with lace-up ribbon ties. You see, robins need shoes to keep their feet dry as they hop over rain puddles to peck into the ground for worms. They collect worms to give to the Smithy Trolls, who were the fisher-folk, and they used worms for bait. Trolls live on a diet of fish and nothing else."

"Imagine that!” Joyce broke into giggles; “I had no idea that trolls, of any sort, dined exclusively on fish."

"Laugh all you want. I did warn you that my dream was nonsensical,” I pointed an accusing finger at her. “After that I put on my new shoes and then paid the troll. He winked at me and cautioned me to watch my step on the way out, because the robins were due at any moment. Sure enough, I opened the door to leave and there on the stoop were a dozen red-vested robins."

"Don't you mean red-breasted robins?” Joyce queried.

"No, these robins all wore nifty button-down red vests made from various fabrics: velvet, corduroy, and such. I could've told you more about robin apparel, but Ernie sounded is purr-box alarm and pestered me into waking up with his incessant head-bonking against my nose."

"Hugh, it serves you right, dreaming about birds and fish around Ernie. I think you got what you deserved. After all, cats instinctively know our thoughts and I bet Ernie wanted in on the action.” Joyce got up, rinsed out her coffee mug and gave me a peck on the cheek. “I'm sorry to cut this short, but if I don't leave right this minute, I'll be late for shopping with Gladys.” She trailed off down the hallway. “Oh,” she shouted from the door, “I almost forgot, the UPS guy delivered a package for you, it's here on the hall table. Bye dear."

I finished the last of my coffee and then I sauntered down the hall with Ernie tagging at my heels with both of his six-toed front paws. The package was bigger than a breadbox and wrapped neatly in brown butcher paper. The left front corner displayed a symbol I'd not seen in a lifetime of years: the mark of Mom: two exclamation points underscored by a half circle smile. Who could have sent this? I mused. I carried my present back to the kitchen and sat down.

"Well,” I said to myself, although I knew Ernie was paying attention, “Let's see what's in here."

I stripped off the wrappings to discover a box that looked suspiciously like a shoebox. “Hey, hey, what do we have here?” I opened the box to find a great-looking pair of hiking boots. The tag said size ten. Just right.

"Look Ernie, aren't these great? And just in time for tomorrow's hike up in the mountains."

Ernie looked up at me in mid-action of grooming one of his paws. He was non-committal toward the boots, but was intensely interested in the large box they came in. I pushed the box toward him and an orange flash jumped in. A moment later all I saw of him was his long orange tail peeking out.

I slipped my stocking feet into the new boots. Surprise! These real boots felt just as good on my feet as my dream boots had. I took a few steps around the kitchen grinning like the Cheshire Cat and feeling darn good about my—"Ouch!"

What in the devil! Something sharp was digging into my right big toe. I yanked off the boot and stuffed my hand inside. What's this? I pulled out a piece of folded paper, unfolded it and held it up, it said:

For Hume,

The Bell Trolls

The End.

I sat back on my bed and laughed. Very cute story, Hugh, you should have sold it. I pondered why it was meant for me. Could it be, because I am the only young woman named Shannon that Dora knows? Possibly, but that didn't seem right, too simple. Maybe a connection between Ireland and my Irish ancestry? Exhausted and a little annoyed by the recent events I decided to sleep on it. It could simply be that Aunt Dora, getting up there in years was getting a little loopy. I set the letter on my bedside table and turned off the light. Tomorrow, I thought, tomorrow will be a better day, answers will be evident instead of foggy.

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Chapter 20

I woke to the soft sounds of meowing and light scratching at my bedroom door. Fuzzy thoughts invaded my sleep-drugged brain: Could a cat have gotten in, did I leave a window open? I got up and in bare feet shuffled to the door, when I opened it I was greeted with a loud “Meow.” There on the floor outside my room's threshold sat a shiny orange cat with six toes on each of its front paws. I knelt beside it, “Hello puss, are you lost?"

The cat ambled into my room and jumped up onto the foot of my bed. I gawked at it. From my vantage point, it looked too healthy to be a stray and far too well groomed. It sat, lifted its right six-toed front paw and licked it, stopping short of the third lick, it glanced up at me and said, “Beg your pardon, Miss Shannon, but I prefer being addressed by my name,” the kitty resumed grooming.

"Ah, of course, so rude of me to refer to you simply as puss. By the way, what is your name?"

"Got curious, did you?” the cat interrupted its grooming once again. It sat upright, very alert and looked up at me with uh, well, a smile on its face. Not quite toothy enough to be the Cheshire Cat, but the expression was similar.

"I shan't keep you in suspense,” the cat winked. “I am Trivia and I have a story to tell you about me."

"Shall I remain standing for this entertainment?” I asked Trivia.

"Oh, by all means make yourself comfortable. Join me here on your bed if you like."

So I did. I went back into bed and sat against the headboard with pillows behind my back. Trivia remained at the foot of the bed and turned to face me. “Okay, I'm cozy, please begin,” I asked.

Trivia cleared her throat and spoke, and in that moment I noticed that Trivia's voice sounded a lot like Kat Kitty's voice, how odd?

"Once upon a time the goddess of love, known as Venus, shared her life with me. I was her favorite feline. Oh, I do say it was a lovely life, Venus adored me and I, in turn made her my pet, too. For of all the two-legged creatures in my world, Venus was my favorite.

"One day in our garden we were being entertained by a group of young men who were contortionists—I think in today's world you would call them acrobats. I fell in love with one; his name was Ennod. But of course a love match between us was impossible, I being a cat. So I requested of my mistress Venus that she transform me into a beautiful damsel, a young woman that Ennod would fall in love with. Venus granted my request. Oh those were wonderful times! Ennod was the perfect match for me. We enjoyed many hours together until—” Trivia looked down and lightly pawed at a tiny piece of lint on the bedspread, then looked up—"Until Venus desired an experiment. Ennod and I were relaxing in our courtyard discussing our plans for the day, when Venus let loose a mouse into the middle of the yard! I, forgetting my present transformation, jumped up from the couch and pursued the mouse, finally catching it, and eating it! My lover Ennod was aghast with the horror of what I had done. He abandoned me. And to add insult to injury, Venus was disappointed by the experiment and changed me back into my former self,” Trivia looked at me with sad eyes.

"I'm so sorry, but don't you think you are better off being who you really are?” I reached over to pet her; she pushed her ears into my palm.

"You mean to say,” she stopped the petting and pulled away from my open hand, “that appearances are deceptive?” she asked with a wide-eyed expression.

"Hmm, yes that can be true, but in your situation what I meant is that nature exceeds nurture."

Trivia moved back to the very edge of the bed, she turned and looked at me, “I shall remember you fondly, and do recall that there are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy. Good night.” Trivia jumped off my bed and padded over to my bedroom's open door and out into the hall, I watched as the door mysteriously closed behind her.

I reached over to my nightstand and grabbed a notepad and pen. I managed to get the entire dream scribbled down before I collapsed onto my pillows. When I woke the next morning the notepad and pen had dropped to the floor. I scrambled to pick it up and flipped through pages. Yes! My account of the Trivia dream was there! And it made sense to me! Ideas raced around in my mind, what to do first?

I could hear church bells ringing nearby, it was Sunday, the perfect day to follow clues and my dream. I dressed quickly and then called Zach to get his help. What with his knowledge of the layout of Avalon's neighborhoods, I figured he had some good street maps or at least the sources to obtain them. A to-do list of thoughts raced around in my brain: First: brew coffee. Secondly: make a list of clues and be ready to explain them to Zach. Last of all: get out into the streets and neighborhoods of Avalon. There is a mystery to solve and pirate treasure to be found!

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Chapter 21

Zach was enthusiastic about my idea. He knew exactly where to get a mother lode of maps. It so happens his Uncle Jesse had a collection of them for this very purpose. Not surprising given our assignment and I thought it was befitting that Zach used treasure trove to describe Uncle Jesse's map collection.

By the time Zach arrived at the kitchen door I had coffee set out. We agreed to skip breakfast and wait until our appetites caught up with our frenzy to get out into Avalon. Zach had an old leather cache of maps at his side; he took a seat across from me and carefully placed the cache out of harm's way of potential coffee splatters. I looked at him with admiration ... we were of like minds and heart when it came to following the scent of a good hunt. I laid my several pages of clues out for him to see, we went over them one by one:

1. Clue: I follow the sound of wind chimes to the playroom and I meet shadow man and he tells me that “The rain in Spain stays plain on the main."

Conclusion: I now know this is a direct reference to his identity, it is a telltale play on words indicating he is a licensed corsair of the Spanish Main. He is the conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo.

Wind chimes were/are used to signal Cabrillo's arrival in the playroom.

2. Clue: Shelly lends to me a small humpback heirloom chest that has info in it to use for writing the advertising brochure. The chest has a cryptic message carved on top: What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us—Ralph Waldo Emerson.

Within the chest are two very curious clues, not connected in the least to the advertising brochure: An identical wind chime to the one in the playroom, which has a note claiming it is a spare to be used in an emergency. And a packet of Shadow Man drawings hidden within a false bottom, the drawings are identical to the shadows I met in the playroom. A test shows that the drawings were made in the early-mid 1920s, the same era the bungalow was built. Shelly knows nothing about the drawings.

Conclusion: According to Shelly the small chest last belonged to her father, it was a gift from his grandmother Sheila Graham MacArdle, wife of Angus who built the bungalow. Possibility is strong that it was either Sheila who made the drawings or Shelly's father (but would he have been alive in 1924?). And she, he or both knew about Cabrillo. Does this have bearing on the pirate treasure?

3. Clue: In the material Shelly gave me is a photo of an old needlepoint sampler of a Scottish Prayer: From Ghoulies and Ghosties and Long-Leggedy Beasties and Things That Go Bump in the Night, Good Lord, Deliver Us!

Conclusion: I now know it is an old family heirloom and when I say the prayer it makes Cabrillo vanish.

4. Clue: Cabrillo tells me to “Beware signs of threes."

Conclusion: I become aware of signs of threes: the lily garden outside the Kitchen window. Upon inspection of the garden, Zach and I discover a scrying bowl. It is dedicated in the year 1924 (same year the bungalow is built) and is referenced to a Beautiful woman whose reflection will always be my guide. Also, inscribed in the bottom of the bowl is the part of the Emerson phrase: What lies within us.

Later that night I scry and release the name Goliat which turns out to be the name of a long-leggedy “beastie” of a little dog that is a deer-type Chihuahua, he is the pet dog of Cabrillo. Goliat means Goliath; it is a play on words in regard to the dog's miniature size, but very big personality.

Questions: Could the beautiful woman be Sheila Graham MacArdle?

If so, then she would be the most likely person to be the one who was in contact with the conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo and his little dog Goliat. Sheila was partially blind, did she use the wind chime to signal to Cabrillo, or he in turn? What was the benefit to their relationship?

Also, on this same night that I fainted during the scrying, in those few moments Eric Blackthorne appeared to me in three-dimensional form and explained he is my guardian spirit and that he is confident I will find the hidden pirate treasure.

5. Clue: Later same night, loud yapping wakes me. In the playroom I discover that the shadow likeness of Cabrillo is playing a game of fetch with his little dog Goliat, I'm angry about the noise waking me up. Cabrillo materializes from out of the shadows and appears in three-dimensional form (so does Goliath). Man and dog are lifelike in all appearances. Cabrillo speaks in English with a Spanish accent; he introduces himself to me. This is how I know his true identity. I faint. I wake up with Eric fretting over me, and Cabrillo is there too. Cabrillo expresses his gratitude for me releasing Goliat and the conquistador promises his assistance to me. It is now very evident that it is important to Cabrillo for me to find the pirate treasure.

Conclusion and Question: Cabrillo's clue about signs of threes may have only served the purpose of releasing his dog, can't say for sure.

Near as I can discern from cursory research on the Internet:

A. Cabrillo lived in the early and mid-1500s, he died in 1543. He is buried on any one of the four islands off the southern California coast: Santa Rosa, San Miguel, Santa Cruz or here on Santa Catalina Island, no person has ever discovered his remains.

B.The French pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard ransacked the California coast in 1818. And although he was French, he was acting under orders from Argentina. After pillaging the nearby city and mission at San Juan Capistrano, Bouchard is chronicled as sailing back to one of the nearby islands to recoup, then he sailed back to Argentina. However, the loot from his ransacking of San Juan Capistrano was not reported when he landed in Argentina. He lived out the rest of his life in South America.

Why is it so important to Cabrillo, (a conquistador who lived nearly three hundred years before the pirate Bouchard), that the pirate's treasure be found?

5. Clue: Alex's Aunt Dora gives me a letter from a friend of hers who died recently, his name is Hugh MacAodhagain. For whatever reason, Hugh insisted Dora give the letter to me, as I am named Shannon. Hugh's letter explains a little as to why I am the recipient. The body of his letter is a dream sequence he rewrote into a short story. Clues from his letter and story are as follows:

The River Shannon, old shoes, Joyce, St. Crispin, red-vested robins, Brothers Grimm, a cat named Ernie, so named from a play on reference to author Ernest Hemingway, and “For Hume, The Bell Trolls.” Oh, and the Cheshire Cat—maybe from the Alice in Wonderland stories?

Conclusion: Lots of odd possibilities regarding an Irish connection: Shannon, Hugh's name (which is pronounced as MacEgan), Joyce, as in the Irish writer James Joyce.

Anything to do with Ernest Hemingway, his books or his love of cats. Other: robins, St. Crispin, shoes?

Also, a village where things are not what they seem to be, or at least what one would expect them to be according to common frame of reference.

6. Clue: Last clue so far: The same night I have a dream episode where a orange cat is at my bedroom door. The cat is a very pretty orange with six-toes on each forepaw (maybe a connection to Ernest Hemingway's cats?). The cat comes in and tells me a story. Cat's name is Trivia and is female; she is the pet of Venus, goddess of love in Roman mythology. In the story, Trivia the cat falls in love with a young man named Ennod. Trivia asks Venus to change her into human form, Venus does. But when a mouse is let loose Trivia's feline nature takes over and in front of the horrified Ennod, Trivia catches and eats the mouse. Two possible morals/clues of this story: Appearances can be deceptive. Or, Nature exceeds nurture.

Conclusion: Yet another reference to a cat. The six toes on Trivia might be a reference to the famous six-toed cats that Ernest Hemingway kept at his home in Key West, Florida. And Hugh's cat Ernie has six-toed front paws and he is orange.

An Internet search indicated that the goddess Trivia was the goddess of crossroads, especially where three crossroads meet or lead. Is this related to the signs of threes?

Question: Should I be on the lookout for deceptive appearances and or a place, event or person that clearly is the product of nature exceeding nurture?

Summary Question: Some of what has happened (or events) have pointed to the involvement of Shelly MacArdle's father and possibly her mother. Yet, strangely enough, Shelly has never referred to her parents by their names or volunteered any other information about them. I can't help but to wonder if Shelly's father is critical to the mystery of the pirate's treasure or...

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Chapter 22

"Wow! Shannon, why haven't you told me about all of this before?” Zach looked up from the notes with a surprised look on his face. I knew I owed him a truthful explanation.

"Zach,” I leaned toward him over our coffee “If I had told you, as all this happened, would you have believed me?"

He took my hand in his, “Yes, I would. It's no secret to me that you have an uncanny ability, an intuitive sense. I suppose some people would call it supernatural or a sixth sense, whatever. I know that it works for you. I don't need to understand it to believe in you."

Tears welled in my eyes and trickled down my cheeks, Zach reached over and ever so gently wiped away my tears. “Sometimes I think I must be going crazy ... that is, if I really start to question all these happenings. But,” I looked up to meet Zach's eyes, “if I don't question what is happening, then I'm much less worried about it and I can think clearly, as if these dreams and apparitions are real honest to goodness clues that are meant for me to pursue."

Zach smiled, “I think you are frightened of this awakening of your abilities, and rightly so, in the sense that it seems to be happening to you all of the sudden, Right? Just since you came to California?"

I nodded silently in agreement.

"Shannon, it seems to me that when your home in Chicago burned down and the offer came for you to move here, and work here, that you followed a natural course of events. In doing so, you closed one door on your life and opened another in turn: a natural succession in your journey. You crossed over a threshold"

"Yes, I can see that now. And I remember my dad saying that life is a journey, not a destination. But, Zach, it's so weird! I see ghosts or as Sister Rosario would explain them; I experience spirit visitations. Zach, Eric and Cabrillo are as real to me as, well,” I reached over and squeezed his right shoulder, “as you are."

Zach was quiet. He looked out the window for a minute and then turned his sincere straightforward gaze to me. “Maybe it's because you have strong unwavering convictions that you were chosen for, or open to, this kind of phenomena. I believe a lot of life's pathways must be followed on faith.” He smiled, his open, no-holding-back smile that chases away all dark shadows of doubt.

I nodded, feeling one hundred percent better than a few minutes ago. “So, let's explore the maps,” I smiled.

Zach rubbed his palms together in a gesture I loved, it was his way of expressing an enthusiasm that warmed my heart and made me laugh. With Zach in my world, life wasn't just a journey—it was adventure!

After he had four small maps spread out, Zach explained various changes that had happened in Avalon's land development over the last century. It was easy enough to understand. Basically, Avalon was by nature of its environment and the natural lay of the land, restricted to a small area of development. And since we decided to look for crossroads where three roads intersected and or came together at their ends, we focused on the earliest roads and then looked to see if with later developments, those roads were revised, deleted or expanded on. I let Zach do the walking with his fingers over the maps’ terrain. I jotted down notes.

"Okay, look, here's a possibility.” Zach traced a course with his left forefinger, “These two roads, Cortez Avenue and Cruse Drive intersect with one other road, it's Cabrillo Street, maybe, the name Cabrillo is the clue?” Zach looked up.

"Got it,” I jotted down and looked at him. “Three streets intersect: Cortez, Cruse and Cabrillo. Any others?"

Zach studied and again traced a route with his finger. “Hmmm, looks like there is this really old street, dates back to the 1920s, its Cruse Way, not the same as Cruse Drive. When I trace it around this curve, near a hillside, up by Uncle Jesse's house, Cruse Way connects up with Hagan Avenue, then they cross and then split again.” Zach was still tracing the streets. “Then both streets curve toward each other and form a point and come together at a crossing of Travis Street.” Zach looked up. “This route has twists and turns in it, that's because it's in the older neighborhoods up near the hillsides.

Zach bent his head again and buried his face into the maps. “Here's another possibility. This one picks up at Travis Street, the same one I just mentioned, and heads down toward the harbor side, takes a sharp turn and runs parallel with the much newer street called, Heming Way! Hey maybe that's the clue we need?” Zach smiled.

"Good, but we need a third street,” I punctuated my plea by tapping my right forefinger on the map.

Zach had already focused in on the problem. “Okay, it looks like Heming Way and Travis Street continue on parallel paths until—” He silently walked his finger over the routes, “—until they each make inward turns and come to a perfect dead-end V-point at Cruse Way."

"Near your uncle's home?"

"Sort of. It looks like this tri-crossroad connection meets together at a piece of property that is on the hillside down a block and across from my uncle's place. I'm pretty sure it's vacant property."

"And after the hill the roads don't pick up again?"

"Can't. There's no place for them to go. After that hill it's all undeveloped land, never has been built on,” Zach explained.

"And the other two possibilities, are the cross points on developed land?"

"Excellent question,” Zach smiled. He studied the first two possibilities. “Hmm, the first one, Cortez, Cabrillo and Cruse, looks like they intersect in an older commercial neighborhood, where some of the first hotels were and it's still a neighborhood that has homes and a few commercial establishments. I'm pretty sure there's a florist shop, a tavern, and that sort of thing. Then the second possibility, it's up in the curving neighborhoods, still mostly homes in the at area, might be a church or two."

"Which do we try first?” I asked.

"Let's take them in the order we found them, that's how you wrote them down, right?” Zach said.

"Yes it is and I like that order. So what do we do first?"

We busied ourselves the next few minutes. I packed flashlights, drinking water; the maps and I stuffed my notes and a few reference materials into my small backpack. In no time at all Zach had his truck ready and we drove away. Zach showed me how to use his GPS navigation system and we were off, on an adventure that was the journey of a lifetime: a lifetime of living in the moment.

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Chapter 23

Because Zach new the layout of Avalon it took only ten minutes for us to get to the older neighborhood where Cortez Avenue and Cruse Drive intersected with Cabrillo Street. We parked on Cabrillo Street at curbside near the front of an eatery called the Crow and Quill, Ye Olde Publick House and Parlor. Keeping in mind we might need a place to eat later on, I walked up to the front of the restaurant. It looked like it had been recently refurbished in an English tavern theme. Out front to the side of the door was the explanation that the parlor was the family-friendly pizza restaurant side of the eatery and the pub side offered traditional tavern foods and spirits, without the kids games appointed to the parlor side. I turned to Zach, “This is a possibility for later, don't you think?"

"Sure, as long as we avoid the pizza side. I suspect we'll need a quiet table to talk about our day's adventure.” He took my hand, “Ready to explore on foot?"

We walked to the corner of a three-point intersection where the roads of Cortez, Cruse and Cabrillo met. Zach took out his digital camera that has an instant playback viewer and carefully took pics of the area, panning in a 360-degree circle. When he finished we checked them to make sure he covered all of it.

"Looks good to me,” I commented. “Zach, do you know anything of this area's history, or does anything about it look, well, hopeful in regard to all my clues?” We walked back a few paces to the side of the Crow and Quill and stood under its awning. Zach looked out at the intersection and quietly contemplated the scene. I waited and watched. I look around again and again; hoping something I spied would trigger recognition.

Zach broke our silence, “The florist shop, over there on Cortez, it's called the Lily Garden, maybe that's a clue?” He looked at me.

"Yeah, I noticed that, too. It's closed, but maybe we could look around it?"

"Sure,” Zach agreed. We walked over to it and around it. The back was closed off with decorative iron fencing, so even though we could not get inside the shop, we did get a good look around. The name aptly described the back of the shop. Instead of a grubby alley or trash storage, we found a garden in full bloom with a great variety of lilies and other flowers. There was a storage shed about fifteen feet away at the very back of the property. It looked to be a garage that had been converted. Zach took a once over look at it and came to the same conclusion. “Unless there's some deep dark secret in that shed that we can find out about right away, I think we best be on our way."

I looked at the shed and couldn't draw my attention away from it.

"What's up Shannon?” Zach looked from me to the shed.

"I don't know, it's just a feeling I have. But I don't have a reason or even an inkling why. Let's be on our way.” I smiled and took his hand, hoping that my momentary discomfort with the florist shop wouldn't dampen Zach's mood.

He smiled and announced; “Next stop on our Avalon tour is the intersection of Cruse, Hagan and Travis streets."

We drove along the winding streets of the hillside area of Avalon. These were the older homes of some of the first residents, the yards were larger than in the newer neighborhoods and it seemed to me that every homeowner was an avid gardener: the properties were lush and verdant with vibrant spots of flowering color. We pulled up in front of a church and parked at the curb of its parish hall. I got out and looked up at the quaint structure. It was typical of churches built in the 1930s, slightly Spanish colonial with a hint of a mission style from California's heritage. The pale coral-hued stucco lent a dramatic flair to the low-pitched red tile roof. Overall the effect was one of serene coolness. I noticed that Eucharist services were given twice on Sundays and once every day throughout the week at seven in the evening. The name above the church service board said Saint Crispin's Church! I turned to Zach and pointed at the sign. As it was Sunday, I expected to see people lingering about. But a glance at my watch confirmed that it was two hours after the end of the last service and there was plenty of time for parishioners to have returned home, not a soul was in sight.

"This has got to be too much of a coincidence,” I announced as I walked up to the front of the church. Zach followed.

"Shannon, we can't go snooping around a church. Come on,” he grabbed my hand. I stopped in place. “Zach, this is the best clue yet. Let's just look around the outside and the grounds, okay?” I let go of his hand and took quick steps toward the long side of the church that faced Hagan Avenue. “Wow! Look up at those stained-glass windows!” I pulled out my notepad and began taking notes, “Zach can you get some really good detailed pics of the windows?"

"Sure, which ones?"

I stopped my writing and looked at him, “All the windows.” In fifteen minutes Zach finished with taking pictures and was standing beside me. I was still scribbling notes.

"Okay, got it,” I announced with a smile. When I get home tonight I am going to scrutinize all these pics of stained-glass windows, I have a hunch there is something here."

"Okay, but for now how about if we take a look around the rest of the intersection?” Zach was getting impatient.

"Sure.” We surveyed this intersection in the same manner we had the earlier one. But after twenty minutes, neither of us found anything remotely interesting about it.

"I'm ready for the last stop, how about you?” Zach asked.

"Ready"

It was a brief ride. We parked right next to a home that was authentic adobe brick and was meticulously whitewashed. It sparkled in the afternoon sun. It appeared to be a hacienda-styled layout, a rectangle of four wings and I imagined it must have a lovely center courtyard.

Zach opened my door for me, “I promised Uncle Jesse you'd come in and say hello."

I grinned, “So this is where you're staying?"

We walked up a path of red brick. Just as we approached the large oak front door, it opened. “Mi casa es su casa. Please come in.” The woman's bright smile welcomed us. Zach stepped aside and gestured me in front of him, we stood in a wide entry hall where tan adobe walls and curved hallway openings hinted at the warm ambiance that lay ahead. “Aunt Louisa, this is Shannon Delaney,” Zach beamed. It made me wonder if this was a replay of many other dates he had introduced to his family. If so, Aunt Louisa gave no clue, she made me feel special.

"Shannon, we are very pleased to meet you. Jesse has been talking about you all day, from the very instant that Zach asked him about the maps this morning. Please, this way.” Aunt Louisa was vaguely familiar looking to me, she reminded me of a secretary I once dealt with at a publisher's office. She was of medium height and medium build, nothing extraordinary in her general appearance. It was the way she wore her upswept dark hair that had platinum silver highlights, choosing to keep her hair long instead of cutting it as so many women do as they get older. In Aunt Louisa's case it was a beautiful choice, her hair was her crowning glory and her style was classic and timeless. Her face aged every bit as gracefully, she had a natural bloom to her high cheeks that set off the brilliant sparkle of her dark brown eyes.

We followed her into the family room. Zach stepped slightly ahead of me, once I peeked around him, I knew why. His Uncle Jesse was sitting in a winged-back chair and his face lit up at the sight of us, he reached for a cane that was leaning against his chair and started to get up. Zach insisted he stay comfortable. “Uh-uh, Uncle you stay put, I'm going to set this chair next to you so you can visit with Shannon. Zach moved a small armchair near to his uncle, “Shannon, please,” he motioned and I sat down. Uncle Jesse reached over in an affectionate manner and patted my hand.

"It is good to meet you, young lady. Francisco and Zach cannot say enough good things about you,” his hazel eyes smiled in a face framed by thinning gray hair and offset by a complexion of deeply tanned wrinkles that drew up into a bow on each side of his wide smile. I guessed him to be considerably older than his wife, maybe by twelve or more years. His face was lively and his voice was strong, but his frail arthritic body betrayed him. I had seen this happen before to men who had led very active lives and it always saddened me, the unfairness of it all.

"Why, thank you. I appreciate the use of your maps, already we have put them to good use.” His uncle nodded at my comment and looked at Zach.

"Uncle Jesse, we've only begun our hunt for the day. I don't have anything to report, yet. I just wanted to stop in for a few minutes so Shannon could meet you and Aunt Louisa. We really do need to get back on track.” Zach looked at me for concurrence.

"Yes, that's true. In fact, this is a surprise to me. I had no idea I would get to meet the two of you today. It's a very nice surprise,” I added.

Louisa caught our drift. “Would either of you care to freshen up before you continue on your way?"

Zach stood up, “No, I'm good to go. Shannon?"

I stood up; “I'm ready. Though I suppose if you look out your windows, you'll notice us snooping about just down a little way from here."

"Ah, good point Shannon. Uncle Jesse,” Zach faced him, “one of the areas we want to look at is that piece of property that's down a block and across from yours. It's the property that is kind of behind the far end of your property that's around the corner where Travis Street, Heming Way and Cruse Way meet in an odd V-point. Do you have any ideas about it?” Zach remained standing, so did I. I figured it was his way of letting his uncle know we had a small amount of time.

"As I recall it belongs to the people who were in business with some others who once owned a restaurant in Avalon,” there was a long pause, Uncle Jesse closed his eyes,"yes, seems to me the restaurant was called something foreign, like Kilties, something along those lines."

I sat back down and turned to Uncle Jesse, “Could the name have been The Kilt Lifter?"

Uncle Jesse grinned, “Yes, by golly, that's the name: The Kilt Lifter. Now I remember, it's not the majority owner who bought the property around the corner from here. It was a minor partner, seems to me he was the chef at that café, then the terrible accident happened and, well after that, I never really heard much more. I suppose the same people still own that property, gone to weed, it has. Wish they would do something about it.” Uncle Jesse slowly shook his head back and forth, obviously annoyed with the present-day unruly condition of the property.

I looked at Zach, he could read me well enough to know I was burning with a mighty itch to question Uncle Jesse more about the property owner's connection to The Kilt Lifter and Shelly's family. But Zach gave me a side glance look that clearly meant not now. I stood up and again stepped in beside Zach.

"Well, Uncle Jesse, we'll talk about that another time. Right now we really must get on our way,” Zach went over and gave him a gentle hug. I took his hand and told him I was very happy to have met him. And I promised I'd return another day when we had more time to visit. He said he would hold me to my promise. At the door on the way out Aunt Louisa gave me a hug, and reminded me that her door was always open to me.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 24

We grabbed our stuff from Zach's truck and walked around the corner where the three crossroads converge. Just like we expected the property was on a slight rise, and like Uncle Jesse had commented on, there was a tangle of overgrowth. Near the center of the property was a small cottage, that for what its age was, appeared in stark contrast to its surrounding because it was very well kept. We stood off to the front of the cottage because it appeared to be inhabited and we weren't looking for a confrontation with a resident. I stood facing the property and briefly glanced over the area as I turned my back to it, pretending I was talking to Zach. It gave him the opportunity to look directly over my shoulder at the property and survey it while pretending to talk to me.

"Other than overgrown plants and such, I don't see anything unusual,” I said.

Zach gave the property another once over, “This time it's me who has the odd feeling about a place. But like you and the florist shop, I can't say why.” Zach leaned in close and whispered, “This place gives me the creeps, Shannon, I don't even want to take pics of it."

I looked at him and nodded agreement, “Uh—"

"—Oh, excuse me, are you here to give estimates on the yard?” A woman's voice called to us. We turned to face her. She had just come out of the cottage on the property in question. She stayed on the front porch and waved to us. She was a pleasant looking, middle-aged woman with a bob of curly blond hair and an oval cheerful face. She held up her left hand to shield her eyes from the sun.

Zach walked over to the front yard, but didn't enter the little picket fence gate, “I'm sorry, we didn't mean to disturb you. My aunt and uncle are your neighbors, over there,” he pointed off toward the direction we had walked from. “I was showing my friend around the neighborhood, sorta a walking tour. She's from out of town."

The lady came down to meet us, “Oh hi, I'm kind of new here myself. I inherited this place. My name's Joelyn,” she offered her hand to Zach and then he introduced us.

Joelyn turned to Zach; “Do you know of a reliable crew I could hire to cleanup the property? A fellow was supposed to come by this morning to give me an estimate, but he never materialized."

I could hear the wheels spinning in Zach's mind, “Yeah, I do know some very reputable yard maintenance crews. How about if we take a look around and you can explain to me what you have in mind. I'll get in touch with the people I know and I'll line up some courtesy appointments for tomorrow. It's the least I can do for a neighbor,” Zach smiled. I turned away for just a moment and mused; all the Zavala men must possess the same like-flies-to-honey charm. It was a good thing I had on sunglasses to mask my eyes-to-heaven gosh-almighty expression.

I tramped along behind Joelyn and Zach taking digital pics here, there and everywhere, even of her house and two out buildings. There was not time to really investigate the overgrown grounds, but at least Joelyn understood our need to take lots of pictures for Zach to show to potential contractors. We spent an hour going over Joelyn's plans for the place, ending up back out front with Zach shaking her hand and giving her his business card. He promised to find good referrals and said he would be in touch with her in the morning, no later than noon. We said our good-byes and walked back to the truck and drove off.

As we turned the corner from his Uncle's place Zach commented “I like Joelyn and my family will be glad to know she is trying to cleanup the property, but that place sure gave me the creeps."

I looked at Zach, he wasn't kidding, the look on his face was one of brooding discontent. “You mean the whole time we were tramping about and you were being so charming that it gave you goose bumps?” I queried.

"Charming? You thought I was being insincere?"

"Zach, that is not what I said. I know your intentions to help a neighbor are sincere. I know you'll follow through on your promise. It's just that you are so much like you grandfather. He can charm the whiskers off a cat and the cat will stroll away not even noticing the loss until a cool winds hits its face."

Zach feigned a hurt look, “Say what you want, but I had a creepy feeling the entire time we were there. And it has nothing to do with Joelyn. She seemed nice. In fact, I will see to it that she gets a good cleanup crew at a fair price and you know, she should meet Uncle Jesse and Aunt Louisa. Then, maybe you can get another woman's opinion about what you call the Zavala charm,” he reached over and playfully pinched my cheek.

"Ouch! I think I heard your stomach grumble and you're getting a bit testy,” I poked him in his ribs.

He turned and smiled at me, “How about a late lunch back at the Crow and Quill?"

"Yes, let's do that."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 25

We took a table in the far corner of the pub, near a window that looked out on Avalon's neighborhoods terraced below. A young woman came to take our orders and explained what the special of the day was. I decided on it, since it was a Cobb Salad and I was in the mood for something I could pick and poke at. Zach opted for an old-fashioned burger with country-cut fries. It was after the Sunday brunch crowd and too early for dinner, only one other couple was in the pub. The waitress delivered our beverages: iced tea for both of us. I reached into my backpack and pulled out my reference e-reader. Zach raised his eyebrows and reached over to grab my e-reader.

"Hey, this looks like a miniature magnetic drawing pad, like the one I had when I was a kid, where's the knobs to make the squiggly lines?"

I grabbed it back from him, “Silly, this is an electronic book reader, it's like reading a book on a desktop or laptop computer but in a smaller hand-held form.” I flipped my e-book reader over so he could see, “It's the same size as a hardback book, but thinner and not as weighty, and I have dozens of books in it.” I grinned at my techie know-how. “Watch,” I showed him how to turn it on and then navigate my personal bookshelf list of titles I had stored in it. “Next I'll choose the title of the book I want to read and with a click here, it comes up on the screen. I go to the chapter list, for fiction, or in this case, because I pulled up a dictionary, I page through to the word I want to look up."

"Wow! I'm impressed. You can carry around dozens of books in that little gizmo and it's still like reading a page out of a book. So what are you looking up?"

"Right here,” I pointed to the word travis. “I thought there was something unique about that street name, see it says here that travis is from the Old French and it means to cross over. Okay, now I want to see about a few more words,” Zach watched as I flipped a couple more pages of words, “look, it says here that cruz and cruse are forms of the word cross in Spanish.” I continued looking up definitions. “Nothing unusual about the other street names we came across.” I set aside my e-book reader just as the waitress showed up with our lunch.

Zach dove into his burger. I picked up my fork and contemplated the definitions I had just uncovered. I thought out loud, as much for my sake as it was for Zach's. “So, two of the intersections we investigated today may have additional clues hidden in the name of the streets. The last two, Cruse Way and Cruse Drive could literally mean the way of the cross and Travis Street means it is the street to cross over. Then, we have both of these roads associated with Hagan Avenue at one intersection and at then again, at another entirely different intersection paired with Heming Way. On Hagan street is the church with the same name from Hugh's dream.” I turned to Zach who was now completely distracted by dipping french-fried potatoes into ketchup. “And then there is the indirect reference to author Ernest Hemingway at the other intersection that is paired with the same two cross streets.” I nibbled on my salad and looked out the window to ponder my thoughts.

"Yoo-hoo, Earth calling Shannon,” Zach nudged my shoulder. He was still munching fries and ketchup.

"Hmm?” I hummed.

"What do you want to do next?"

"I want to go home and get on the Internet. Also, can you download into my computer the digital pics we took today?"

"Sure, and after that?"

"After that I want to be left alone. I need to study and research,” I said in a serious tone.

"Ahhh, Shannon, come on! It's a beautiful day out, we have the whole evening ahead of us. Let's go do something,” Zach protested with an arm around my shoulder.

"Actually, I do have a request of you,” I whispered in his ear.

"Yesss,” he purred.

"Yes, pretty please, go and strike up a long conversation with Uncle Jesse and find out all you can about Joelyn, that property she inherited and who the original owners were who had a partnership with Shelly's family."

"That's it? That's all the plans you have for me?"

"Hmm, well one more thing I am curious about,” I teased.

"Oh?"

"Yeah, why is it that Francisco refers to Jesse as a cousin and you call him Uncle?"

"Oh, that. Technically he is a cousin. But because of his age, you know he's almost eighty, well, I have always called him my uncle. Rightfully, he is my cousin."

"I thought it was something like that,” I noted. Then noticing how disappointed Zach looked, I had to find a way to make it up to him. “Zach, you know, I'll finish the brochure ahead of time. In fact I'll put the finishing touches on it this week. After I present it to Shelly and she approves it, I'll have next weekend free and clear. Hint, hint, hint!"

That got a grin out of him, “Hey that's more like it! How about if I plan the entire weekend, and I'll keep it a surprise until Friday? It'll be my treat!” He promised.

"Okay, and I promise, I won't let anything interfere,” I clinked my glass against his glass to seal the deal.

Zach and I arrived back at the bungalow at five. He took a few minutes to load the pics into my computer than I shooed him off by reminding him that it would soon be dinner time at his uncle's house and that was a good reason for him to get going. He protested saying he wasn't hungry. That I could believe, but I didn't concede. I retaliated with the scheme that dinnertime is the ideal time to strike up a long conversation with his Uncle Jesse. And I told him to clue Aunt Louisa in on our plan, so she would help move things along if Uncle Jesse began to ramble off the topic. Zach reluctantly agreed, but not without turning on his charm and embracing me into a long sweet kiss on the front porch.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 26

I got the pictures up on my computer screen and enlarged them as much as possible. Studying the three different intersections didn't do much good, at all. Everything Zach and I saw in person was repeated, no telltale shadows or hidden signs. Disappointing, to be sure. All the way home I mused that for certain I would discover something!

Zach's photos of the stained glass windows at St. Crispin's Church were expertly framed and focused. He captured every hue of amazing color and every line of detail. These pics were greeting card worthy, maybe Zach had a talent he has never given much consideration to? It made me smile to think of how carefully he captured the exact images of these windows, when at the time he feigned a disinterest in my request to photograph them. However lovely the windows are, most were what I expected, except for one. It was the window that stood alone at an alcove in a side chapel off the garden side of the sanctuary. This window was of Saint Crispin, and he was portrayed as a cobbler, a shoemaker. He was hunched over a table and was tip-tapping a small hammer over the surface of—what I assumed—to be shoe leather that was stretched over a shoe last. He looked quite pleasant and content in his vocation. On the wall, over the table was an open window showing a rolling green countryside, in the distance was a large oak tree that appeared to be several smaller trees entwined into a singular thick trunk. Next to the tree and slightly hidden from view was an angel and standing next to her was a cow. I guess this scenery was the window artist's depiction of a peaceful landscape. I scratched a note to myself as a reminder to do a little research about St. Crispin and this church.

Next, I dug into research in earnest. I spent the next three hours following one train of thought into another, by the time I shut down my computer my brain was once again buzzing with all sorts of possibilities. I made a cursory list:

1. Pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard was officialy listed as a citizen of Argentina when he looted the Califirnia coast in 1818, yet he may have had an alliance, of sorts, with the Baratarian Pirate Jean Laffite, who allied with the American General Andrew Jackson at the Battle of New Orleans in 1814. Curious, indeed!

2. Get more info about a potential, though very vague, reference that turns up in conjunction with Bouchard and Laffite, called Ligue du Cordonnier.

3. Absolutely no real connection to Bouchard and conquistador Cabrillo, they lived nearly three hundred years apart. Only coincidence is that they were both here in southern California, in the same area and probably this same island, maybe in the same place, here, in what is now called Avalon. According to research, Bouchard died and is buried in Argentina: this is well documented. While no one really knows where Cabrillo is buried, possibly here on this island.

4. Contact. St. Crispin's Church and get info about its background.

5. Call Francisco and see what he knows about these clues.

For reasons I can't even begin to explain, I made a photo quality printout of the Saint Crispin window. Then I logged off my computer. The grandfather clock downstairs struck ten times. Good grief! I'd spent my entire evening glued to the Internet. I rubbed my eyes and wandered into the bathroom. I undressed and hopped into a hot steaming shower. To my relief, nothing, not a chime or whisper, interrupted the rest of my evening. I slept soundly all night long.

My cell phone woke me up. I wrestled with the sheets to reach over and grab it off my nightstand. It was Zach giving me a head's up that he and his work crew would be here in about ninety minutes. I jumped out of bed and rushed to get myself ready. I hate being caught off guard. First, I called St. Crispin's Church and got a brief background on it and made arrangement to go there and talk with the parish administrator. Then I gave Francisco a quick call before heading to the kitchen to put coffee on. He said he'd meet me at St. Crispin's and that he was confident he already had the answers to my questions about Bouchard and he already knew about the history of Saint Crispin! I thought that was peculiar, but then I was never one to question Francisco's savvy ability to see through and around all sides of what might seem to be flimsy associations, he was far too experienced in these matters.

I was dressed, smiling and gathering up my stuff when Zach knocked on the back door. I opened it with a mug of coffee in my hand and presented it to Zach.

"Good Morning, here's your coffee, I gotta go. I'm meeting Francisco at St. Crispin's."

He was a bit taken back, “Well! You recover quickly. Just a little while ago on the phone you sounded too sleepy to even know what day it is.” He stepped into the kitchen and gave me a hug, but I shooed him off.

"Not now, really, I'm in a hurry. I'll call you if something turns up,” I pecked him on his cheek and took off. The taxi was pulling up to the front of the house, I dashed out to the cab, hopped in and we took off. Within ten minutes I was shaking hands with St. Crispin's parish administrator. A slight-framed dark-haired young man with bright blue eyes, not much older than myself, named Hank Pratter. We had just finished our introductions when Francisco walked up. Obviously, Hank knew Francisco.

"Detective Zavala, I'm pleased to have you here. I've prepared all the materials you requested.” Hank handed Francisco a manila file of papers. I guessed there were about six pages in all.

Francisco opened the file and carefully, but quickly, flipped through the paperwork, he closed it and looked up at Hank, “I am much obliged. If you would be so kind to allow Miss Delaney and myself a few minutes to look this over, then we'll get back to you about the tour you have offered."

"Oh, by all means. Come this way, I have a quiet table over here at the far end of our library room, it's this way.” We entered a well-kept office and then went through a short hallway; Hank opened the door to a small library room. Floor to ceiling shelves filled to the brim with books lined all four walls. Two tables took up the remainder of floor space. One was a long table with eight chairs around it. The other, by a window, was a small four-person table. What my mom would have called a card table. We sat there. Hank offered us coffee or water. We both declined. Francisco assured him we would only need a few minutes. Hank said he checked back in fifteen.

In that little bit of time Francisco quickly scanned the paperwork Hank gave to him. He looked up at me. “What we have here is a confirmation of what I already know. This Saint Crispin's was built between 1925 through 1928. Originally the older church was over on the lot next to this one. But in November of 1915 there was a fire that swept through Avalon, destroying half of the town's residences and buildings, including the older church. For the next ten years parishioners of St. Crispin's held their service at neighboring church buildings, until late 1924 when an association of shoemakers, mostly manufacturers and a few shoe retailers, contributed the funds to build the newer church. The shoemaker association is called, in French: Ligue du Cordonnier, meaning League of the Cobbler,” he looked at me and continued, “This could be the same association, or rather a modern-day counterpart of a league that was founded in New Orleans in the early 1800s."

"Oh, I get it, League of the Cobbler, and Saint Crispin is the cobbler. But does this have anything to do with the Pirate Bouchard?"

"That I do not know, and my dear Shannon,” Francisco reached over and cupped my shoulder, “I have a hunch that when you look around today at this lovely old church and its grounds, that something from the past will speak to you!"

I was going to rebut Francisco's hunch, but Hank entered at that exact moment. Francisco stood up and I followed. Hank gave us a thorough tour of the church and he answered our questions with intelligence and good humor. After we left the church proper, we strolled around to its garden and old churchyard. Hank explained that unlike today, parishioners were buried just across the way in the old graveyard. That practice stopped in 1947 in accordance with Los Angeles County laws. I looked across the peaceful little church graveyard hoping something would call out to me or catch my attention, but this did not happen. I allowed my eyes to wander absentmindedly across at the empty space where the old church had been. It seemed to be no more than a grassy knoll with a few trees, a park like setting of maybe two acres. I asked about it.

Hank explained, “We still use that area for church picnics and our annual yard sale and in October we have a Blessing of the Animals there. You're welcome to roam about it, if you like."

I was about to agree to Hank's offer when out of nowhere an orange cat moseyed up to us, from behind me. It curled around my ankles and purred. I reached down to pet it and it sat up on its hind feet and reached out to me with its front paws, and all twelve toes!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 27

I cuddled the purring cat and noticed it was a he, not a she, like Trivia cat from my dream. Hank frowned, and I wondered if he wasn't a cat lover.

"Horatio, where have you been?” Hank walked over to me and lightly scratched Horatio on his ears. “Horatio is our church cat. He's a good mouser, if you know what I mean."

"Oh, yes I do,” I confirmed. I cuddled Horatio a little tighter, hoping Hank wouldn't offer to take him away. This cat, with it's orange color, two forepaws with six toes each and named Horatio—right out of Shakespeare, I noted to myself—was an inkling of something to come that I couldn't put my finger on or wrap my brain around. But I knew I wasn't ready to surrender this purring talisman. I looked at Hank and smiled, “He's a lovely cat, I hope you don't mind if I keep him as company while I explore the little park?"

Hank laughed, “Not at all. I bet Horatio knows all the nooks and crannies, especially at the trees. When you're through, just drop him off at my office. Horatio didn't show up for his morning saucer of cream, that's why I was wondering about his whereabouts.” Hank walked away and soon as he was out of earshot I turned to Francisco.

"This cat is a clue, it's too detailed for me to explain right now, but I'd liked to walk into the center of the park and let Horatio down,” I looked expectantly at Francisco, hoping he didn't think I'd gone stark raving mad.

He smiled, “You won't get an argument from me. Shall we?"

At the center I turned slowly around in a circle surveying the area. At one end there were a few more trees than any other area. At the other end, the park disappeared up an embankment into the wilds of nature. I turned toward the tree end and set Horatio down. He turned and looked up at me. I smiled, “Haven't you something to show me?” It was a cue that Horatio understood purr-fectly. He trotted off toward the cluster of trees. We followed a few feet behind trying our best to seem casual.

Horatio stopped in front of a large oak tree. I looked at it with whimsy, “Can this be?” I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out a piece of paper I had printed earlier. I opened it up and held it up to study, this gesture was enough to tempt Francisco to lean over my shoulder and look at it, too.

"Shannon, the tree where Horatio is appears to be the tree in the picture. Where did you get that?"

"If you look back over your shoulder at the little chapel of St. Crispin's you'll see a stained-glass window of Saint Crispin, this is a picture that Zach took yesterday. And yes, I agree with you, that old oak tree where Horatio is looks identical to the one in the window. No mistaking how three young oaks came together and created this one massive trunk, but the angel and the cow? What's that about?” I asked Francisco.

"Let us inspect what Horatio has found.” Francisco smiled and as we walked over to the tree, Francisco filled me in on his research I had asked him about in my early morning phone call to him. “The angel with a cow represents a belief that Saint Crispin, who made shoes for the poor in his village in France, always said that the abundant supply of shoe leather came from an angel. To this day that belief holds true. And speaking of Saint Crispin, the French phrase you asked me about: Ligue du Cordonnier? It is the same League of the Cobbler I mentioned earlier in the library. My cursory research turned up with a few facts. There is believed to have been such a league, not necessarily comprised exclusively of cobblers, in fact many of the league's members were privateers, in other words, pirates. The league operated in the New Orleans area during the American War of 1812. That was when General Andrew Jackson formed many, shall we say, fortuitous alignments with persons of questionable intentions. Of these various associates, Jackson's agreement with Jean Lafitte, the Pirate Lafitte, was crucial in winning the Battle of New Orleans in 1815."

"The same time frame that the Pirate Bouchard was busy sailing up and down the California coast pillaging villages?” I queried.

"Yes,” Francisco confirmed. “Then after the Americans won the War of 1812, Lafitte and his band established a colony on Galveston Island off the Texas coast. Lafitte managed to keep his colony of privateers in a manner of lawful order that the American's could accept, or at least turn a blind eye to, until 1821 when the less lawful-minded residents got out of hand. The American Navy issued an ultimatum to Lafitte, which basically required the colony to disband, or suffer the consequences of a military attack. Lafitte refused the American's request and it is believed that under the cover of darkness the cagey Lafitte escaped with his life just prior to the attack. Some historians speculate he sought refuge in the Yucatan. In truth, no one really knows what became of Lafitte.” Francisco looked down at Horatio who was silently and very determinedly pawing at the ground about two feet away from the root base of the old oak tree.

"I think we should dig here,” I knelt down and looked at Horatio. He was preoccupied with digging at the hole he had created, and continued to dig deeper with a dreamy eyes-shut expression on his face. I looked up at Francisco, who remained standing, with his neck bent, watching Horatio.

Francisco nodded in agreement. “I'll go ask Hank about allowances for what we will want to do. And I'll call Zach. He's the best bet for having equipment that we'll need. You'll be okay here?"

"Oh, sure. I'll keep an eye on Horatio."

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 28

Horatio definitely didn't mind my solitary observation of his behavior. I looked around where I was kneeling and noticed we were in complete shade and it was a bit chilly. A cool ocean breeze was drifting inland and I was caught in it. I stepped out of the shade, but remained a few feet from Horatio—no reaction on his part. I knelt down in a sunny spot, just on the edge of the tree's shady border. The mid-morning sun warmed me. In glancing around I noticed that the slant of the sun was casting long shadows. My own shadow was a parody of a carnival mirror distorted image; I had a giraffe-long neck and a squat body! The comic relief made me giggle loudly and then in a fit of embarrassment I glanced around to make sure no one noticed. My outburst had not interrupted Horatio, who by now seemed to be on a mission to dig through the earth all the way to China! I looked up and across the park, that was when I noticed my shadow had vanished—well not exactly—more like it had been swallowed up!

I froze. Steady on my knees, I pretended not to notice the shadow hovering behind me. I stared straight in front, pretending to admire the view. No mistaking the shadow's image: an arm slightly bent, ready for action, ready to lift and wield the deadly sword outlined in the pirate's silhouette. Closer it crept, larger it grew, bearing down on me. If I ran now, could I escape?

I leapt from my crouched position, dashed over to Horatio, swept him up in my arms and took cover behind the huge oak's trunk. Horatio didn't make a peep or move a muscle. I peeked around the trunk; the pirate stopped short of the tree's umbrella-like shadow. Do I dare utter the Scottish prayer? Would it work on a French pirate? What is taking Francisco so darn long!

I closed my eyes and whispered loudly the prayer that had worked before. No sooner had I issued the ending plea of Good Lord, deliver us! did another shadow appear from beside me. My conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo lunged out to meet his match. The pirate drew his sword, but it was too late, Cabrillo had already struck. And there in the safety of a tree's shadow under the bright sun of Avalon's late spring morning, I watched in horror, and in relief, as Cabrillo's sword sliced through its mark. The pirate's shadowed head rolled several paces down a gentle slope and then melted into the ground. What was left of the menacing pirate's headless body disappeared in an imploded shroud of blackness and in its place silvery mist formed that swirled and then ascended into the bright blue sky, disappearing from sight.

I nearly fainted. I clung to the tree's trunk with one arm and Horatio stayed snug in my other arm. I inhaled a deep breath and looked over at Cabrillo, fully formed, fully fleshed out.

Cabrillo stepped closer in toward me, but remained out of the oak's shadow. He bowed, “The ruffian is not a concern, nor will he cause further interruptions.” Cabrillo turned his attention toward the church, “Your escort returns."

I looked away and saw that Francisco was hurrying back to me, and Zach was with him. Both were carrying long handled shovels. When I turned back, Cabrillo was gone.

I stepped out from the shadow of the tree to meet them. I was composed and sure of myself, or at least fairly sure that neither Francisco nor Zach witnessed the last few amazing moments. A minute before Zach spoke, while he was still out of earshot range, I whispered into Horatio's ear: “Shakespeare is right, there are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio—"

"Sweet talking to a cat?” Zach teased.

"I promise you, this is no ordinary cat. He deserves your respect and gratefulness,” I spoke with authority. “Furthermore, according to this kitty, we need to start digging right over there,” I looked over to the patch of ground that Horatio had led us to.

"No time like the present, “Zach had come prepared, he rolled up his sleeves and knelt down to examine Horatio's dig. “Grandpa, let me have that narrow nose shovel, there's a tangle of roots right here, I'd like to avoid them if I can.” Zach dug around a bit and found an atypical vein of sandy soil. “It looks like this sandy soil is a fill of some sort, but look,” he brushed away several handfuls of the loose muddy earth he had unveiled, “the sand is in a vein and makes a well-defined line, heading out from this tree.” Zach stood up, “I think we better get permission before we excavate any further."

Francisco had been quiet and thoughtful at what we had discovered. He looked to Zach, “While I was waiting for you I found out from Hank that the church's ownership stops short of this tree, about a hundred feet from over there, a little behind us. From this tree and out in the sand line's direction up toward the incline of the grassy bank, all of this property is under private ownership."

"Wow, I hadn't counted on that kind of twist to our investigation,” I exclaimed, holding onto Horatio, who was settled into my arms and purring contentedly. “How long will it take to locate the property owner?” I asked.

Francisco grinned, very mischievously, “Oh, I've taken care of that. We have the owners’ okay to go ahead, but we must wait for them to arrive first, before we continue."

At the sound of a passenger truck pulling up at the church parking lot nearest us, we turned our heads in anxious curiosity. “I do believe the owners have arrived,” Francisco announced.

"Nah, that's Uncle Jesse and Aunt Louisa. I gave them a call to let them know what was going on,” Zach said.

We watched as Jesse and Louisa exited the truck, Louisa deftly helped Jesse into a motor-driven wheel chair. I was pleased by how easily Jesse maneuvered across the grassy landscape. As they approached I could see how much the both of them enjoyed this adventurous turn in events.

Jesse spoke first, “We're here, what are you waiting for? Zach get busy,” Jesse grinned.

"No way!” Zach exclaimed. “You mean to say that you're the owners of this property?"

We all laughed; Louisa explained, “Zach, my family has owned this little piece of property since I was a little girl. Originally I was going to build on it. But when I married Jesse, we decided that his lot would have a more peaceful setting for a home. Several years ago the deed to this land passed to me. So, please, let's see what we have to dig for."

Zach got busy and Francisco pitched in, much to Zach's objection. Within fifteen minutes they uncovered a five-foot stretch of sandy soil in a perfect line out from the tree.

"Whew! At this rate, I think all that we will find is a long line of sandy soil. There's got to be more to it than this?” Zach looked at me.

"Yeah, I know what you mean.” I stepped over to the sandy line and looked down, “Zach there's something below the sand we are meant to find,” I looked up and met his gaze. He needed more, “There is something that lies within,” I pronounced this clue in a lowered-voice serious tone. I put Horatio aside on the grassy patch near us and I knelt down and began digging into the sand with my hands. Zach knelt down and with a hand-held small shovel he dug deeper, and deeper. Over a foot of sand had swallowed his arm and he continued to dig.

"Hey, I have something. I can grab it.” He yanked. Nothing gave. “Whew! It's in tight.” He gave it another hard yank and up came a fistful of rusty chain. “There's a whole lot more of this. I feel it, it's a chain line leading way out from here."

We looked in wonder at the large grizzly piece of heavy rusted chain. “I've seen the likes of that kind of chain before,” I offered. “It was when I was at the San Diego Harbor Master's Museum. That's an anchor chain.” I knelt down to inspect it, and looked out on the horizon where in my mind's eye I could see where the chain was leading. “We should follow this chain, it's a lay line, of sorts. I'm sorry, I can't explain how I know to do this,” I looked to Aunt Louisa.

She hugged me and turned to Zach. “Well, I'd say woman's intuition is ruling this day. Because you see,” she smiled at me, “for reasons I can't explain I insisted on bringing Jesse's newest contraption, that high-tech metal detector I gave him for Christmas. It's in the back of the truck. Zach, would you please?"

Zach fetched the detector. It was a piece of work. Jesse showed him how to use it and what to look for. After thirty minutes had passed Zach had followed the chain line sixty feet out to the foot of the embankment. The detector beeping stopped there, indicating this was the terminus end of the chain.

In the meantime, Hank had brought out several chairs for us and provided water and sodas. He was excited about the prospects that lie ahead. I also think he was relieved that it turned out that where we wanted to excavate was not on church property. Once Hank was satisfied that we were doing fine on our own, he returned to his duties at the church office. Walking away he told us to call if we needed anything. This entire time Horatio stayed with us slinking from one open hand to another, nuzzling our palms.

We moved our chairs over to the embankment. Zach took a short break, mopped his forehead and drank water and then using the narrow-head shovel began to dig. “I guess X marks the spot,” He grinned. We watched and waited. Zach was getting worn out, who wouldn't? It was now almost noon. He was four feet down into sand and dense dirt when we heard a soft dull clunk. We stood up and hovered around the hole. I shone a flashlight down on the area while Zach crouched and reached in. He dug around with his fingers until he grasped the edge of something soft.

"It feels like heavy material or maybe leather or a rug. I think it was used to wrap other things in,” Zach wrestled with the object. Slowly he uncovered the muddy dirt enveloping it to expose a bundle about three feet by two feet. It was grungy. Francisco leaned down to help Zach lift the bundle. Once the musty bundle was on the ground surface and in bright sunlight, it was obvious what it was. A bundle of stinky old cowhides tied with leather strippings. And to think, I was expecting a pirate's chest! Francisco extracted a small penknife from his pants’ pocket and handed it to Zach. Ever so carefully Zach cut the leather ties and peeled away the cowhide wrappings. What we saw astonished us!

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 29

Among a few pieces of tarnished candlestick silver glinted the shimmering gold of dozens upon dozens of coins. Lucky for me, I stood right next to Francisco, because when I grabbed his shoulder, I didn't do so for the shock value, but to steady myself—

"—Francisco, can this really be?"

He turned to me, “I think we should all sit down for this."

Aunt Louisa scooted her chair closer, and Uncle Jesse glided up to get a better view. Zach picked up a few coins and handed them to each of us. Francisco took his ever-present magnifying glass out of his pocket. He held a coin up to the sunlight. He asked Zach for a few more coins to examine. In all, he examined about a dozen, though I'm not sure why, they all looked the same to me. They had identical markings and were similar in size. We waited in nervous silence for Francisco to pronounce a conclusion. He turned to me with an expression of utmost amazement.

"Shannon, you have struck gold, real gold. These are Spanish doubloons! Congratulations!"

"But, there not mine!” I protested.

"In California, under U.S. law, they might very well be yours,” Zach said.

"No, that can't be, it was found on Aunt Louisa's land, this is hers. Or maybe, maybe who ever lost it to begin with,” I stammered.

Uncle Jesse laughed, “Lost it? No! That scalawag pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard looted all of this! I'd bet my decades of research that this is the booty he stole from the village of San Juan Capistrano in December of 1818. He burned all the houses and pillaged the entire village. Of course when he sailed back to Argentina he never reported this loot. No, instead he reported his earlier pillaging from up the coast in Monterey and the Sandwich Islands. This booty he had other plans for."

"But,” I protested, “aren't there records that would prove what was taken and from whom?"

Zach took pity on my well meaning, albeit feeble, observation. He came over and put his arms around me. “Reports were not that accurate in the early years of California's colonies. Keep in mind that colonies were far apart, and reports would have been recorded and sent back to Spain. All of California's coast and south into Mexico, Central America and South America were the Spanish Main. Piracy was common, rarely ever punished and recovering stolen goods was a lost cause."

"What my grandson tells you is true,” Francisco confirmed. “And what Jesse refers to is also true. For over a century and a half treasure hunters have believed that the Pirate Bouchard did not report all his spoils to the Argentinean Government. Jesse is not the first treasure hunter to spend a lifetime looking for Bouchard's pirate gold."

"That is true!” Jesse smiled, slapped his right knee and added,” But I am the last!"

Zach was still sifting through the grundgy mess of coins and antique silver pieces when he came upon a narrow cylinder-shaped brass case. “Hey Grandpa, what would this be used for?” He held it up for all to see.

Francisco leaned in for a closer look and Zach rotated the cylinder in his hands. “To small for a spy-glass. I have seen an object like this once before: it is a courier case. Zach, does the far end look like it will unscrew?"

"Zach took an old-fashion handkerchief bandanna out of his back pocket, he turned the case on its end and wiped off the dirt. “Yeah, I think it will,” Zach opened the tube and looked inside, then he dropped the contents out into his right hand. A single roll of paper uncurled. Without touching it, he handed it to me.

"What am I to do with this?” I asked wide-eyed.

"Gently unroll it and read it,” Francisco said in a matter-of-fact directive. “It is in French, no doubt, and you did say you can read French."

I laid the loose scroll of paper on my lap and lightly rolled my fingers over it to straighten it. I read in a whisper, pronouncing the words to myself twice over to make sure I was correct in my understanding:

Decembre 1818;

Jean, cequi garantit de longues annees pour la Ligue du Cordonnier.

En confiance, HB.

"It says,” I looked up to make sure I had everyone's attention, then turned my eyes down to the scroll, “December, 1818. Jean, this will guarantee long years for the League of the Cobbler. In confidence, HB."

"Ah-Ha!” Uncle Jesse exclaimed. “Then the myths are true! I remember as a young child the stories that were told of a secret alliance between Jean Lafitte in New Orleans and Hippolyte de Bouchard, that they created a secret organization called the League of the Cobbler, based on the story of Saint Crispin. They imported California rancho cowhides to give to the merchants and traders on their Galveston Island colony, and in each roll of cowhides they hid secret gold!"

"Makes one wonder,” Zach conjectured, “if Lafitte and Bouchard had their own plans, I guess will never know. Lafitte escaped the American's raid on his colony, never to be seen again. And Bouchard?” Zach looked to Uncle Jesse.

"Bouchard lived out his life in Argentina. He died in 1843. I guess he never came back for this treasure after he was arrested in Argentina in 1819. He was brought up on charges of treason. However, they didn't stick. Still and all, sailing back here may have raised too much suspicion that he could not afford to risk,” Uncle Jesse explained.

"What do we do now?” I asked.

"I will see to the authorities,” Francisco said. “Louisa, there will be papers to file, perhaps we should meet with your family attorney, soon?"

"Yes, of course. I'll make the appointment for tomorrow. And if you are too busy for a daytime meeting, I assure you that our lawyer, Frank Walters, will not mind taking care of this over dinner. He is as much a friend of our family as he is our legal counsel."

"But for now, what do we do with all this?” Zach asked

Francisco answered, “For now, we will load it into Jesse and Louisa's truck and take it back to their home,” Francisco looked to Jesse, “You still have that 1880's solid steel-clad railroad safe?"

"You bet I do, nothing like it in the world."

It took two hours for us to accomplish this task. We finished with packing the treasure in Uncle Jesse's safe. All of us were dazed from our discovery, too numb to talk. I wanted to get back to the bungalow, I longed for some time in solitude where I could sort through perplexed feelings that had seeped into every fiber of my being. Today's discovery and the way in which it happened was so bizarre and beyond my comprehension. I guess I acted as dazed as I felt. Aunt Louisa was genuinely concerned for my well being. She insisted that Zach take me home and stay while I freshened up.

Zach grabbed a change of clothes and we agreed to meet in an hour at a restaurant in town for an early dinner. None of us had even so much as thought of food, yet we had missed lunch. On the ride to the bungalow I began to come out of my daze when telltale grumbling in my stomach signaled that reality refused to be ignored. I told Zach that I'd take a quick shower and promised I could be ready in thirty minutes or less. He waited in the kitchen and made some coffee, which summoned my senses into waking up. Funny how that works, that just the delicious aroma of good coffee can make me feel better.

I bounced down the stairs after twenty minutes. Dressed in a change of clothes, in a good mood and looking forward to the afternoon and evening ahead. I told Zach that I'd sip coffee while he ran up to shower. It took him only fifteen minutes. Within an hour of leaving Louisa and Jesse's home we were parked at the curbside of the La Fiesta Restaurant.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 30

Francisco, Uncle Jesse and Aunt Louisa had arrived just moments before and garnered a small private dining room for our dinner. It was ideal for our dining arrangement, especially if anyone dared bring up the subject of our day's discovery! The round table seated eight, there being only the five of us, the table left plenty of room to easily accommodate Uncle Jesse’ wheel chair. I sat next to Louisa on her left; on her right were Jesse, then Francisco. Zach was next to me, on my left. Knowing Francisco it did not surprise me in the least when he said he had called ahead and taken the liberty to order a sampling of all the entrees on the menu. And he added that the food would be served family style on large platters, so we could pick and choose what we liked. He also ordered two pitchers of iced tea and a carafe of coffee. Two waiters brought in the food and beverages, and then quietly disappeared. Francisco and Louisa took charge of serving from the platters and pouring beverages. Zach took a sample of everything passed to him. I insisted on being careful about my selections and opted for the choices I was familiar with: a cheese enchilada salsa verde and a beef tamale with rice and a side salad. We dined in warm camaraderie with interruptions of pleasant chatter. About half way through dinner, Francisco cleared his throat, then tapped his water glass to get our attention.

He looked directly at me, “Shannon, Louisa and Jesse have decided that whatever proceeds shall be realized from the discovery we made today, will be split equally between the five of us here, at this table.” Francisco winked at me and added, “Absolutely no objections from you will be considered."

I was shocked and speechless, I turned to Louisa: “I insist, and I will not negotiate this arrangement,” she said in a quiet and determined tone. “Tomorrow I will meet with our family attorney and he will take care of necessary arrangements, then we five will meet together at our home or at his office within the next day or two.” A hush fell over us.

Zach broke the pregnant silence with a toast, “Just like Grandpa said in the very beginning of this adventure, we are all for one and one for all!"

The rest of the dinner seemed surreal in its ordinariness. We said good-byes at the curb. Zach and I drove off to the bungalow. Afterwards we sat on the back porch. I was still stunned by the day's events and my silence was filled with questions, some of which I had completely forgotten about until now. With a look of surprise I turned to Zach, “Oh, I forgot, what did you find out about that property next to Uncle Jesse's and any connection between it and Shelly's family?"

"Haven't you had enough mystery for one week on this island?"

"Zach, no! Are you saying there's a questionable connection?"

"There might be. Uncle Jesse and Aunt Louisa remember that there was trouble related to it. As far as they recall, Shelly's mother and father were in partnership with the man who owned the property around the corner from them, where we met Joelyn, she is probably that man's daughter, at least that's what Jesse and Louisa assume, so for now, so will I. Anyway, Shelly's parents were the majority owners in the Kilt Lifter, and the other guy was a minority owner. Shelly's parents and Joelyn's father were out on a cruise on this guy's yacht. It was at sunset and they had just made dock but were staying out there in the harbor to have dinner on the boat. That evening, just after dark and shortly after dinner, Shelly's dad became violently ill—the newspapers said he was struck very suddenly with a toxic reaction—his motor skills were severely impaired and when the paramedics arrived at the boat, Shelly's dad attempted to come up from the bedroom below. When he stepped out on deck he lost his balance, as if he had an epileptic episode, and he tumbled over the boat's railing. In falling over the deck's railing he hit his head on the side of the boat and lost consciousness, probably before he hit the water. The medics jumped in, but Shelly's dad had sunk to the bottom of the harbor and by the time they got him on deck it was too late, he couldn't be revived. After that, there was an investigation and an autopsy. It turns out that the violent illness was caused from honey cake that Shelly's dad had eaten for dessert. Shelly's mom had made the cake the day before as a special treat; she had no idea that her husband had an allergy to it. He said he loved honey cake and this was a recipe that was tried and true, so she thought nothing of it. She had made only a small cake, really not much bigger than a muffin. Neither she nor their partner liked honey, so the cake was meant for Shelly's dad. After the estate was settled, Shelly's mom sold the Kilt Lifter to the partner and then two years ago, the Internal Revenue Service investigated the partner for tax improprieties. He was found guilty of skimming off the top. The Kilt Lifter was sold."

"That's horrible! It's no wonder Shelly did not mention her parents. What happened to her mother?"

"Uncle Jesse didn't remember. Aunt Louisa said she had heard that the mother went crazy in grief and now resides at an assisted-living community over on the mainland.” Zach turned to me, “Shannon, you are not going to get involved in this, are you?"

I was a little indignant about his question, “Why? Would it bother you if I did?"

"No, but I think it isn't any of your business."

I countered, “Oh, and finding pirate booty is?"

"Look, I'm saying that if Shelly wanted you to know about her parents, she would have told you."

"I know that, Zach, but I can't help feeling there is another reason—besides pirate treasure—for why I'm here."

He took my hand, “Promise me you'll think long and hard before getting involved with this topic."

"Cross my heart and hope to die, stick a needle in my eye,” I swore in my best little girl voice.

"I give up on you,” he tugged on a loose strand of my hair.

I knew what I wanted to do, and it meant getting Zach to leave as soon as possible without raising his suspicion, “Zach, I'm bushed, really tired. Do you mind if we call it a day? I'd like to crawl into bed early and get good sleep before I meet with Shelly tomorrow. After all, I did promise you I would tie up this assignment so we could have this coming weekend together."

Zach took the hint, “Sure, I wouldn't want any reason, or excuse, to ruin our weekend,” he smiled. I saw him to his truck, leaned over and gave him a kiss that left no doubt in his mind. And then, as soon as he was out of sight, I ran inside and called Alex.

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Chapter 31

The next morning I met with Shelly at her home. She was ecstatic with the results of the brochure and advertising campaign. We went over the campaign from start to finish and to my surprise and relief, Shelly didn't ask for a single change! That meant I was finished with this assignment! Shelly wrote a check for my fee and handed it over with a personal invitation that I stay on at the bungalow until the end of the week or whatever was convenient for me. Her only request was one that I would not have refused: Shelly asked that I attend the private performance of a few magicians, including Alex, on Friday evening. She tempted me with the fact that she knew Francisco and Zach had already confirmed their attendance. Of course, I agreed.

I left Shelly's in the nick of time to hop on board the eleven forty-five Catalina Express commuter ship from Avalon to Long Beach. Alex had agreed to meet me for a late lunch in Long Beach at the Aquarium of the Pacific. Within ninety minutes from the time I left Avalon, Alex and I were inside the Aquarium and seated at a café table.

A waitress appeared and gave us menus. We ordered salads. Alex attacked his salad with gusto; I nibbled and played at mine with a fork. I looked up at him and couldn't help but to wonder that what had gone wrong with us was a little regrettable. He was as handsome has ever and his willingness to help me was tugging on my heartstrings.

"Shannon,” Alex set aside his fork, “what you told me last night about Shelly's parents and the death of her father got me to wondering. I've known Shelly for a very long time, most of my life—and by the way, her parents’ names are Lila and Liam—anyway, I too, have always second-guessed how Liam died. But not until your call to me last night did I think there was a real possibility of foul play.” Alex leaned toward me and said, “I think you are on to something and I'm in this with you. Where do we begin?"

I had to avoid leaning in close to him in order not to get caught-up in his charisma, but I also did not want to discourage his enthusiasm. I needed his help and right now, Alex was my greatest asset. I took a sip of water and asked, “What did you find out?"

"The pics you e-mailed to me? You're right about the overgrowth of bushes on Joelyn's property. Oleander and mountain laurel are all common in this region, and all have varying levels of high toxicity."

My eyes widened at this news, “I know about those particular plants and their poisonous nature! But being a city dweller from Chicago, I would never have been able to identify them as quickly as you did."

Alex smiled, “That's not all I noticed about the pics you sent. Your inclinations about the intersection: the one where Joelyn lives, well, that was her father's residence and his name is Berk Steel. He was the chef at the Kilt Lifter and he owned a minor percentage of it. His name is Americanized from his Turkish birth name of Berk Celik. When he applied for citizenship ten years ago he changed his surname of Celik to its defined meaning, in Turkish, Celik means steel,” Alex laughed. “Now his name sounds like a character out of a TV show."

I giggled, “Yeah, it does. If ever I decide to write a novel I should make a note of that name and save it for a villain. Oh, and Alex, I didn't mean for you to go through all those pictures. I was in a hurry and I couldn't figure out how to isolate and send only the few pics I wanted your help with. I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to cause you extra work."

Alex looked up, clearly bemused, “No problem. Besides, it was only the photos of the church and its windows that didn't fit into this investigation."

Now it was my turn to look puzzled, “You mean the other pics have something to do with this?” I quizzed.

"Yes, you didn't know that?"

"Huh-uh,” I shook my head.

Alex caught my confused expression and with a straightforward look, he locked my eyes to his and he held my attention for a minute before saying, “Are you in for a surprise! The Crow and Quill pub used to be the Kilt Lifter.” Alex paused to let this reality sink in, “And the little florist shop adjacent, on the corner? That was a small apartment owned by Steel that he rented out. After getting ownership of the Kilt Lifter, he renovated that place into a little store and sold it to the florist who now has it.” Alex paused, and raised his right index finger, “Except, he did not sell the storage garage in back of the shop. He kept that to use for restaurant storage and it was not sold with the Kilt Lifter, he still owns it. Also, you were right about having a creepy feeling about it. As it turns out, that is where he hid his illegal ledgers. Steel wasn't just cooking for the Kilt Lifter, he had been cooking its books, as well!"

"The plot thickens! Alex, do you know of a way we could get inside that storage building, without Joelyn knowing why?"

"Legally? Probably not.” He paused and looked down at his salad plate, now almost bare, he seemed to be mentally searching for the answer disguised among the few leaves of ignored lettuce. “I know,” he looked up and smiled very slyly, “I'll contact Joelyn and ask if I could rent that storage place for a few days, I'll need it to store magician's props in for the upcoming performance."

"Do you really need space?"

"No, not at all. I moved all that I need to Shelly's house over this last weekend. But Joelyn will not know the difference and I can come up with a few large boxes and such for this purpose.” He reached over and took my hand; “This will work Shannon. I'll make the arrangements and meet you there tomorrow. I'll call later tonight and give you a time, okay?"

I glanced down at Alex's hand on mine and wondered if I was unintentionally leading him on, “Okay, sounds good to me. Alex do you know where Shelly's mom lives?"

"Yes, I have visited her now and then. Lila resides at an independent-living retirement-park residence,” he winked at me, “actually, you have been there."

"Do you mean she lives where your Aunt Dora does?"

"Certainly does. She and Dora are old friends, they go way back."

"Would Aunt Dora ask her a few questions for the sake of this investigation?"

"Shannon, my aunt is very fond of you, she would do anything for you within her capabilities, and if you intend to help her friend, I'm sure Dora would welcome a call from you. In fact, Dora may have the answers you need; she was by Lila's side following the ordeal of Liam's death. It was by an act of fate that Dora was not on the yacht with them that tragic day. Dora had promised to hostess a tea for a benefit and declined the cruise invitation.” Alex looked at his watch, “I need to get back, my colleague took my afternoon class for me in exchange that I give a lecture to his class this evening. Hmm, that means my call to you tonight might be late, probably after ten."

"Oh, that's not a problem,” I admitted without telling him why.

Alex stood up, so did I. We walked together to the exit and out to the parking lot to Alex's car. He offered to drive me to the Catalina Express dock. He saw me off with the promise he had the rest of the week off and except for the magicians’ performance, he was willing to devote the time to our investigation. On the boat ride back I had a chance to catch my breath and reflect on the rapidly developing clues. I decided the first action I would take would be to give Aunt Dora a phone call. I should have enough time to do that before Zach picked me up to go to dinner.

[Back to Table of Contents]

Chapter 32

I was saying good-bye to Dora when I heard a knock at the front door. I hung up the phone confidant that Dora understood the investigation and, just as Alex had said, she had the answers I was looking for. She and I agreed it was best not to upset Lila with our suspicions, we needed concrete details before approaching her. Dora was very excited about the investigation. She said good-bye with the encouraging words of “You go girl!"

I was a bit out of breath when I answered the door, “Hey, Zach, let me grab my purse and we'll go.” Zach waited right inside the door. We were off to dinner, but where I forgot to ask. And we chatted so much on the drive that when we pulled up beside Uncle Jesse and Aunt Louisa's home I was a little surprised, “Oh, were having dinner here?"

"Yes, I thought you wouldn't mind” he grinned. “According to Aunt Louisa, she has very good news for us!” Zach opened my door and we walked up together, he gave a quick 1-2-3 rap on the door and entered without waiting for someone to open it. I followed Zach into the kitchen, Louisa and Jesse were there, and Francisco, who looked quite dapper in an apron, was helping with the dinner. He turned around when we entered, “Good evening, we have prepared a feast for celebrating our good fortune!"

"Hey, Grandpa, sure smells good and I'm really hungry!"

Louisa had been busy taking a large roasting pan out of the oven; Zach helped her set it on a sideboard. She looked up and smiled, “Zach, show Shannon where to set her purse and you two go on into the dining room."

Their dining room was elegant and welcoming. I had been a little intimidated by the thought of a formal dinner that I had not prepared for, but the ambiance of the table setting was warm and inviting. At a long cherry wood table that easily would have seated twelve people, all but four chairs were set aside against the wall. A chair at one end, two chairs together on one side and another single chair opposite it. Zach and I guessed at the arrangement and we sat at the two chairs that were side by side. I admired the crocheted lace tablecloth, “This looks hand-crocheted, isn't it beautiful?"

"Oh, yeah, it is,” Zach gave a cursory glance at the cloth, “I'm pretty sure it's been in Louisa's family for a long time. And this china, that was a wedding gift to them from Uncle Jesse's family."

"It's equally as beautiful, I love the elegance of its thinness and the touch of gold trim along the rim. It reminds me of my grandmother's Irish Belleek china. I suppose the initialed linen napkins are a wedding gift too, and the crystal stemware?"

Zach gave me an I-dunno look, “You need to ask Aunt Louisa about this stuff. I've never paid much attention to it. I just remember that whenever this tableware was put out, I had to be on my best behavior.” Zach laughed nervously. His antsy behavior puzzled me, what was this dinner gathering about?

Uncle Jesse came in next and wheeled up to the table end that was vacant of a chair. Next, Francisco and Louisa entered with platters and bowls of food. They made two trips back and forth, and then Francisco sat down across from us and Louisa sat at the end. Uncle Jesse said a prayer of grace and then Louisa passed food around. If I had never tasted a dish before, she explained what was in it and how it was cooked. The food was delicious beyond description. I couldn't help but to ask about some of the dishes. Louisa explained that what is generally called authentic Mexican cuisine is actually a combination of Spanish and Aztec food. It was the Spanish who introduced beef to the New World. When in fact, the ancient Aztecs ate very little in the way of meat. Wild turkey was prized as a food fit for a king and it was served with a mole sauce. Also, that some seafood was eaten, but mostly it was turkey that was served on special occasions. I found this topic fascinating, however the men at the table were getting bored, Francisco changed the subject.

"Louisa, did you have a special announcement?"

"Louisa blushed, “Yes, and thank you Francisco for reminded me."

"Here, here,” Uncle Jesse gingerly tapped the tip of his knife on his crystal goblet, it made a lilting bell sound.

Louisa took a deep breath, and looked around the table. “I am pleased and very grateful to tell you that our family attorney has had the pirate treasure securely transported to a museum in Los Angeles and they brought in third-party appraisers. We have reached an agreement. Each of us, after taxes and expenses, will be given a check for $118,112 dollars."

"Wow! No way could I have guessed it would be that much!” Zach exclaimed.

I caught my breath and forgot to breathe out, Francisco looked at me and told Zach to “Give her a hard pat on her back."

He did and I nearly choked. I was so embarrassed by this I was speechless. I reached for my water goblet and took a few sips, “I'm okay."

I listened as everyone chatted in excited voices about what they would do with their windfall of good fortune. Francisco declared he would travel, Jesse wanted to travel, too. So that got them to talking about taking a cruise together. Zach said he would consider buying an antique home that he could renovate for himself, maybe a Craftsman cottage in Pasadena or a small Victorian in San Diego. Louisa was the only one to notice my awe-struck dumbness. She leaned over and took my hand. “These silly men, what do they know about spending money!” That got their attention! I looked at her and smiled without a clue to what she meant.

"Shoes!” Louisa announced, “And French perfume; those are the only luxuries worth splurging on!"

Nervous laughter jettisoned us into the stark reality of our good fortune and then in a split second, a sudden all-around-silence broke through the ambiance. “Seriously,” Louisa spoke, “our attorney has made arrangements for each of us to bank the money until we decide what to do with it.” She turned to me, “Shannon, all you need do is sign the check and sign the application for the bank to open an account, if you so wish, there is no pressure or obligation to do this. You can always take the check to your own bank, or cash it. It is your choice."

I nodded and thanked her. And I told her I liked the idea of putting it into the bank of her choosing.

The rest of the evening was a blur. I remember helping to clear the table and sitting and chatting in their living room for a while. It was about nine when Zach and I left. When we drove up to the bungalow I told Zach I was still in a blurry-sort of mind and needed to sleep on the happenings of the day. He drew me to him and kissed me in a way that was a promise. Then he said goodnight and whispered that this evening was the beginning of many wonderful days to come.

I waited on the porch and watched until Zach pulled out of the driveway. On my way upstairs I glanced at the grandfather clock in the hall and decided I had enough time to take a bath before Alex would call. I was out of the bath, cuddled up in my robe and sipping jasmine tea when the phone rang. I got it before the second ring, it was Alex.

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Chapter 33

I thanked my lucky stars that last night Zach had told me that today was the last day for him and his crew and that the little bit of work that needed to be done was odds and ends, so he had told his crew to show up mid-morning. Of course, I know Zach told me this in case I wanted to sleep in. But sleeping in is not what I did. Last night I asked Alex to pick me up early, well before Zach and his crew would be here, that way I could get away without having to explain. I left Zach a note by the coffeepot in the kitchen and simply said that I had a few errands I needed to take care of and that I would call him later in the afternoon.

Thirty minutes after eight, the ever-punctual Alex drove up in Shelly's car. I ran out to meet him and we were off. He held up the key to the garage, “Joelyn was more than happy to rent the garage to me,” He grinned, “she fell for it hook, line and sinker."

"I had good luck in my conversation with your Aunt Dora. Alex you are right about Dora, she has always had a suspicion that Liam's death was not what it appeared to be.” With that said, we parked at the curb at the Crow and Quill, directly across the street from the object of our investigation.

We got out. Alex opened up the car's trunk and extracted two large boxes. He handed one to me: “Can you mime? You'll notice it is light as a feather, empty to be sure, so pretend it's filled with something,” he winked. We carried our cargo over to the garage-slash-storage building. I set my box down and complained out loud it was too heavy to hold for very long. Alex unlocked the heavy-duty wood door and we stepped inside. He reached over to the right of the door and flipped a light switch. A bank of office-style overhead lights illuminated the full length of the building. Except for a layer of dust and an empty-looking carpenter's one-piece cabinet-workbench at the far end, the place was vacant.

Alex turned to me; “I don't suppose last night you had a prophetic dream about what we should do first?"

In that moment, I realized that this place was not the only thing vacant, my stare at him was void of expression. Every fiber of my being was void of feeling. I was numb and yet a trembling feeling vibrated throughout my body. Alex was in my direct line of sight to the carpenter's cabinet, and I wasn't seeing Alex. I was looking through him and through the walls of the cabinet. I saw a fury of bees that was an angry buzzing cyclone whirring around inside the cabinet, dive bombing at the floor in a kamikaze suicide mission. I backed away and was about to scream when I felt Alex’ hand over my mouth—

"—Good Grief! Shannon, don't scream. You look as if you've seen a ghost, and not the friendly kind, either.” He took away his hand from over my mouth.

I shook my head; “I'm sorry and—Hey, wait a minute! Alex what do you mean, a friendly ghost?"

"Huh? Oh, you know, like the cartoon ghost Casper, that kind of thing. Shannon, are you okay, maybe we should get out of here?"

I looked at him in a dead stare, for a split second, I had a feeling that Alex knew exactly what I meant, “Never mind,” I deflected. “Alex, we need to move that cabinet over there."

His reflex was a bit too quick for my satisfaction. Before I had put my purse down, Alex had crossed to the far side and stood at one end of the cabinet looking it over, hands-on getting a feel for how heavy it might be. “Together we can soundlessly slide this out of the way.” I stepped up to the other end of the cabinet and grasped the edges of the countertop, “Okay on the count of three. One, two, three."

We shoved the cabinet a few feet out of the way and then on another count of three, we slid it further out into the middle of the room. The lighting was good. I looked down and clearly saw where the mirage of bees had dived to their death. “Right there,” I pointed to a barely visible outline that looked suspiciously like a patch job in the concrete floor, “we need to break up that part of the floor."

Alex gave me a knowing look. “Somehow this doesn't surprise me in the least. I packed some handy-dandy tools in my magician's bag. Wait here."

As Alex left the garage I told him, “Leave the door open.” He returned lugging a large duffel bag. Alex opened it and took out a large heavy steel mallet and an old rag. He knelt down at the patch, doubled up the thickness of the old rag and placed it over the center of the patch. Alex took the mallet in hand and slammed it down, resulting in muffled whack noise. He removed the rag, and low and behold, a spider-web crack fissured over the two-foot square patch. “Shannon there's a small pick in the bag, hand it here, please."

I did. Ever so precisely Alex lifted the pieces of broken concrete and set them aside. What remained was a square of bare dirt. I knelt down to examine the dirt floor. “Now we dig,” I said. “By chance did you bring along small hand shovels?"

Alex answered my query by stepping over to his bag and bringing it closer, he reached in, “Ta-dah! And I have plastic bags, just in case."

"Just in case we need to bag evidence?” It was more of a confirmation than a question. Alex handed me a shovel. We dug in quiet determination for the next few minutes.

Alex was the first to hit pay dirt, “Hey, there's something here, sounds hard.” He tapped his shovel's head on the object of his discovery. “Shannon, let me try something, move a little.” I moved out of his way and watched as Alex took the tip of his shovel and outlined the outside edges of a rectangle. He knelt back, “It's a small box."

"I wonder how deep it is?” I asked.

"Only one way to find out,” Alex said as he leaned over the box-like object and began to dig it out along the outside edges. “If I can get enough of this dirt cleared away from the box sides, I might be able to get a good hold on it and lift it out."

It took only fifteen minutes and Alex had a grip on the sides, he lifted the box out with ease, little clumps of dirt fell into the miniature crater it left. We moved over to the center of the room and he set down the box

I looked at our prize. “It's a canning jar box, see the brand name on the sides. I bet it's filled with little quilted jelly jars inside, the kind that are just large enough to put samples in to give away at Christmas,” I explained in one long breath and with a tone of cynicism.

Alex gave me a questioning look, “Yeah, there could also be spiders inside. Wait a sec,” His hand disappeared into his bag and came up with heavy leather gloves. He put them on, “Shannon, just to be on the safe side, move out a few feet, please, until I have fully opened the box?"

I humored Alex. He opened the box and we peered in, myself from three feet away. “Alex move your head, you're blocking my view from this side of your world."

"Oh, sorry, it's okay, come on over."

Twelve little jelly jars with white lids stared up at us. Alex looked at me, “Why would someone bury jelly?"

I reached over and pulled up one of the jars and held it up to the light, “Because this is not jelly."

"What is it?"

"I would like you to be the judge of that, or more correctly, please take these jars to the lab at your university and ask them to run random tests on half the jars, but under no circumstance should they open the other half. Oh, and Alex, make sure that neither you nor anyone takes a taste test of this stuff. It is poisonous. I guarantee it,” I warned him.

"Shannon, why not just tell me what you think it is?"

"Because I want you to be completely objective. If the lab results convince you—and they will—then you will help me tell the story to Shelly. How soon can this be done?"

Alex packed the box into his bag and then together we moved the cabinet back into place. I stepped back to the center of the room, nothing appeared out of the ordinary. Alex brushed his hands off on his jeans, zipped up his duffel bag and said, “I'll get the box of jars to the lab by this afternoon before they close. I'll ask for a rush, we'll have the results sometime tomorrow. Good enough?"

"It'll have to be. I do hope we have the results before the Friday evening performance at the bungalow."

"Well, then, let get this place locked up and be on our way."

Alex promised me he would call as soon as he had the lab results. He dropped me off at the bungalow. It was only eleven in the morning, maybe Zach could get away for lunch?

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Chapter 34

When I walked through the bungalow's front door, I immediately turned around stepped back outside and checked the address on the front. I went back inside and the comically surprised look on my face earned an instant belly laugh from Zach, who was standing in the hall doorway with a woman who looked startled, no doubt from my exaggerated reaction.

"This place is amazing! I can't believe it's the same house I've been staying in,” I looked directly at Zach. “You, and what goddess of interior design accomplished all this?"

The lady next to Zach didn't wait for him to reply, she stepped across the living room and came right up to me, “I'm very pleased by your reaction, you're the first to see the transformation. I'm Annette Martinez,” she offered her hand.

I shook her hand and noticed the she looked like her name. Not sure what I meant be that, other than she was in her mid-thirties, professional looking with her brunette hair cut in a pageboy style, perfectly finessed make-up that accented her large almond shaped brown eyes. A touch of blush to her high cheeks and a muted rose shade of lipstick presented a friendly open face. I liked her on first sight.

"Annette, I am very pleased to meet you. I must say, this place is gorgeous!"

Zach was now standing by my side and he interrupted, “Annette, this is Shannon, the one I told you about?"

I turned and gave Zach a quizzical look, “You told her about me?"

"Yes, he did,” Annette interjected. “And it was all admirable,” she smiled and added, “I was just about to leave, there's a few more items I need to bring over this afternoon. I hope my work here won't interfere?"

"Oh, Annette, no not at all,” I assured her. “In fact I was going to ask Zach if he'd have time to get a bite of lunch and stroll along the boardwalk, maybe you would join us?"

"Thanks, but no thanks. Under different circumstances, I would. But I am so very close to finishing in here that I'm taking a working lunch and I'll be back within thirty minutes. You two go on."

"Zach?"

"Sure, let me go wash up. Maybe Annette can show you around?” Zach took off to the Kitchen. I looked at Annette. She was pleased to give me the tour.

Annette had magically turned the front living room and neighboring dining room into theater rooms suitable for intimate table dining. At the front of the living room, adjacent to the entry, was a compact rectangular stage, about three feet up, requiring four steps on each side. As Annette explained, on this stage a magician with a few props and up to two assistants would have plenty of room. The ceiling-attached rolled curtain was operated my remote control and when lowered it completely draped the stage on all sides. The audience-dining floor part of the room was equipped with six round black wood, with glass top tables that would seat up to six persons each. The floor was now a dark wood finish, and dark teal blue light-blocking roman shades covered the windows. Strategically placed diffused lighting from overhead created a theatrical dark mood. I noted how the light walls combined with the dark hues in the floor and tables, and the window coverings created an ethereal feel. The contrast in the light-colored walls lent a sense of infinite space. The back parlor was set up the same way, the only difference was that the scale was lessened since this room accommodated only twenty-four persons and each table sat four instead if six. The hallway itself was left true to its bungalow origins and it complemented the rest of the house. Annette had left the bathrooms in the same craftsman bungalow style but outfitted them with upscale brass appointments. We returned to the front room as Zach came out of the kitchen. I looked at Annette,” I can't imagine what else you need to do."

"That's a good sign!” she smiled. “Actually, the remainder of what I need to do is behind-the-scenes sort of stuff. Alexander Blackthorne gave a few suggestions for the room upstairs that will be used for the magician's break room, and I have a few things to get for it, then I'm done."

I nodded agreement. “Well, if Alex suggested it, then I'm sure Shelly wanted it. Alex knows what he is doing,” I said. “Zach, I'm ready."

We said our good-byes to Annette and took off. I suggested we have lunch at the Crow and Quill. Zach agreed.

Sitting at the pub I told Zach about the morning with Alex and our investigation. I made him promise not to discourage me. To my relief, he didn't even try. “That's your business, I won't butt into it,” He said rather nonchalantly.

I gave him a long side-glance and poked him in his ribs, “And you mean to say, you're not the least bit curious?"

"Not right now, I don't have time. Come Friday, after the performance, you and Alex can have all my curiosity. But ‘til then, Shannon I'm too busy making sure there's no loose ends at the bungalow."

I was a little disappointed by Zach's lack of interest, though I would never let him know it. I shrugged, “Whatever."

Lunch was boringly uneventful. Zach was preoccupied and I kept wondering about the lab results, hoping Alex would call me sooner than later. After a stroll on the harbor's boardwalk we returned to the bungalow and all was quiet. Annette had finished her last minute details. I went up to the second floor and looked in on the magician's break room. It looked remarkably like Alex's practice room at his Community Theater in San Diego. The room was well appointed without being lavish: no frills to get in the way of serious practice sessions. I closed the door and went over to my bedroom to read my notes. Zach and his crew were outside in back finishing up on the patio work and some final touches that Zach wanted to make perfect. I was on my computer delving into research regarding what Alex and I found when I heard Zach and his men drive away. I looked at the clock: it was only three in the afternoon. I felt restless with all that was happening. I was an Alice, who had inadvertently ended up on the wrong side of the looking glass. This made me smile and think of a saying my mom used to use whenever another person had a far-reaching and unrealistic suggestion, she would shake her head and say, things don't work that way on my side of the looking glass. I logged off my computer and sat on the bed gazing out the window at the hill. Sitting down, I could see just the tip of the green treeless hill where it flirted with the clear blue sky. When I stood up, I could see a clear horizon from the hill; it was a wide band of sky and it beckoned to me. At that instant an idea skirted my mind, I wonder what the view is like from there? I sat back down and stretched out on my bed. I didn't mean to nap, the bed was soothingly comfortable and I thought if I rested for a while, it would help me sort out the events and clues, from the right side of the looking glass.

The ringing of my cell phone woke me up, “Hello?"

"Shannon, it's Alex. My friend at the lab has run all the tests, he stayed late to do it. The substance is honey!"

I came out of my fog, and glanced at my wristwatch, it was almost six. “Yes. That's what I thought it would be. But, Alex, did your friend give a analysis of the type of honey?"

"What do you mean?"

"A lab can prove what kind of honey it is, you know?” I urged, “Results will show what kind of plants the bees gathered the pollen from to produce the honey."

"Yeah, just a sec,” I could hear him unfolding sheets of paper. “Okay, I've got that info, it says here that the pollen had been collected from the majority sources of oleander and minor sources of laurel."

"Alex, that's what I suspected. Now I know for certain what happened. Listen, can you meet me tomorrow at Shelly's? Please, you call her and set up a time in mid-afternoon."

"Sure, I can do that, but on what premise?"

"Tell her that we know it was not an accident that Liam died."

"Whoa! Shannon that's a fantastic claim to make. Can you be sure?"

I paused to collect my thoughts, “You're right, I need one more piece of evidence, but I know where to get it. So tell her that Francisco will be with us."

I hurriedly said goodnight and ended the conversation reassuring him I knew exactly what I was doing. My hands were so shaky when I punched in the next number, thankfully I got it right and the conversation confirmed that Francisco would be my cohort. Next, I made one more phone call conversation to cinch up my plan that would prove Liam's death was murder.

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Chapter 35

I hung up the phone and looked out my window, dusk had fallen and the evening was dark and deliciously warm and inviting. Gazing up at the hill where land met night-sky, I marveled at a whimsical sight I had not seen since leaving Chicago: at the plateau top of the hill a gathering of fireflies sparkled a net of enchantment that was echoed in the twinkling stars of the night sky. Earth and heaven in harmony. I imagined that if I were to stand there, in the exact spot that fireflies claimed as there own, I would see another echo: that of twinkling lights mirrored in the waters of the harbor were boats swayed in time to the ocean's rhythm. I made a promise to myself that on an evening to come I would climb that hill before I left Avalon.

I took a long shower and mentally indexed my to-do list for tomorrow. In my last telephone call—to Alex's Aunt Dora—once again she had the answer I needed, and she concurred with my conclusion. Now I had her as an ally, too. I went to sleep knowing that tomorrow could turn out to be a disaster if all matters concerning my suspicion were not handled exactly to the letter. Timing was crucial. I hoped and prayed that my determination to set the record straight about Liam's death was the right thing to do, I would then leave the legal ramifications up to the MacArdle family.

I slept soundly and woke early. By eight I was dressed, sitting at the kitchen table, tapping my fingers on my coffee cup, waiting for my phone to ring. But it was a knock on the kitchen door that got my attention. I could see it was Zach, so I met him at the door with a kiss and a mug of coffee in hand for him. We sat across from each other at the table. He reached into his shirt pocket and handed me a folded sheet of paper.

"Lucky for you, the clean-up crew I recommended to Joelyn was the one she hired. It's my old friend Tony Paez who owns that landscape company and he keeps meticulous records. He faxed me his assignment and work detail list this morning. It itemizes everything about the clean up and names the plant debris and materials that had to be hauled away. Nothing on that list has been disposed of, yet. I asked him to hold-off on doing that for a few days. It's all over at Tony's work yard here in Avalon."

I unfolded the note and read the itemized list. Zach looked out the window in quiet contemplation. I set aside the list. “If need be, there is more than one witness to the items listed here?"

"Sure is. Tony said it took a crew of six to do that job. And if need be he can prove it with the assignment roster he keeps."

"Zach,” I leaned over and laid my hand over his, “you have no idea how much help this is. I'm sorry I can't invite you to be at Shelly's this afternoon, but please know that I will tell her of your help."

He smiled, “I know. And Grandpa will be there, so you have a good ally on your side of this issue. What else can I do to help you?"

"Be there if I call?"

"You've got my number, and I'll be in Avalon all day until this afternoon. At six I am taking a helicopter commute over to Los Angeles. I have a couple of meetings there tomorrow. But I will be back in plenty of time for tomorrow's evening performance. You know,” he grinned, “tomorrow night is the start of our weekend together and I'm not going to let anything ruin our plans."

I looked at my watch, “Shouldn't we be leaving to meet with your Aunt Louisa's lawyer?"

"Yeah, if you're ready we can go."

Zach and I arrived at the lawyer's office on time. It was in a neighborhood of Avalon that had sprouted a few professional buildings in the last decade. We walked into a private consultation room; Louisa, Jesse, and Francisco were there. The attorney explained the details to us and one by one we signed the papers that closed the deal. We left as a group and went our separate ways, though Francisco took me aside and gave the details about the result of our conversation from last night. I nodded in agreement and told him we were to meet with Shelly at two this afternoon. Alex was taking care of a few things and would escort Aunt Dora to Shelly's. Also, I informed him that Alex had told me that Shelly's husband Roy was still out of town and might return by this afternoon, maybe, maybe not. As far as I knew, it would be Francisco, Alex, Aunt Dora and myself meeting with Shelly.

Zach and I went back to the bungalow. We visited for a while then Zach took off. I spent the rest of the morning doing a little bit of packing because I wanted to be ready for whatever surprise Zach had arranged for the upcoming weekend. As I set out clothes to pack, I crammed for the upcoming meeting, doing a mental play-by-play of how to execute my plan. At forty minutes until two, I freshened up and called a taxi. It was five minutes before two when the taxi dropped me off. I walked up to the door and could hear voices inside; thank goodness others had arrived. Shelly opened the door and invited me in. In the living room were Alex and Aunt Dora, who looked up at me with a very sweet smile. No sooner had I taken a seat next to Alex did the doorbell ring, Shelly went to get it and returned with Francisco. He sat down in an armchair across from the sofa. Shelly sat in a chair adjacent to him. The momentary quietness was awkward, to say the least. I was just about to introduce the reason for the meeting when Aunt Dora trumped me:

"Shelly dear, I have always believed that your father's death was murder and your mother was framed!"

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Chapter 36

"What!” Shelly exclaimed. “Dora why would you say that?"

Before Dora could speak, Alex interjected, “Shelly, I know this is a shock. But Dora speaks the truth and it was with her encouraging words that the three of us: Shannon, Francisco and myself have delved into this matter. Please, please,” He urged, “hear us out."

Shelly's blank look gave Francisco the opening he was waiting for. He looked at Shelly and gave her a sympathetic smile, “As you know, Dora has been a dear and long-time friend to your family since you were very young,” Dora nodded enthusiastically at this fact, “this is especially true of her friendship with your mother."

Shelly nodded in agreement, “Yes, I have known Dora all my life."

Francisco utilized Shelly's spark of acknowledgment to continue, “A few days ago Alex and Shannon were at a garage that Alex rented to store magician props and materials in for the upcoming performance—a few extra items that there was not room to store here at your house—while there, they found a remarkable discovery.” Francisco turned to Alex.

"Without going into a lot of unnecessary information,” Alex stated, “suffice to say that we unearthed a box of canning jars, all sealed and filled with an unknown substance. On Shannon's suggestion I took the jars to the lab at the university where I teach, a colleague of mine oversees the lab and he ran the tests on them. Of the twelve full jars, all of which were heat-processed and sealed, a random test on half the jars proved that all the jars tested had honey in them. And the honey was toxic.” Alex looked at Shelly to see if this registered. It did not.

"So,” Shelly queried, “how does this impact my father's death?"

It was my turn to speak up, “According to the police reports from the day of your father's death, he died from a toxic reaction to the honey cake he ate. Honey cake that was baked special for him and no one else ate it, it wasn't meant for anyone else.” I leaned forward so Shelly would understand my sincerity, “Shelly, everyone knows that it was your mom who baked that cake for your dad, but what no person knew until now, is that the honey she used was given to her from Berk Steel. He was a minor partner in your parents’ business of the Kilt Lifter and the only other person aboard the yacht that fateful day!"

"No! Are you saying that Berk Steel deliberately gave toxic honey to my mother for use in the recipe?"

Dora got up and went over to Shelly, she gently put her arms around her, “Dear, dear, I am sorry to say that not only did that demon Berk Steel give your mother the toxic honey but it was his recipe that she used! I remember your mother saying so. No doubt he knew what would happen and after your father's death, your mother was more than happy to sell her partnership in the Kilt Lifter to him. That monster! I bet he had been cooking the books of the Kilt Lifter's for months prior to that day and this was his way out. Though, he was eventually caught for tax evasion! Now if only we could have him tried for murder!"

We sat in silence for a few minutes then Shelly asked, “I'm still not sure how this came about, how did you put it all together?” She looked at Alex.

I held my breath, I hoped that Alex would not go into to great detail about my involvement. “Shannon you tell it best."

I looked at Shelly and took a deep breath, “I was with Zach when he met a neighbor of his aunt and uncle's. The neighbor is named Joelyn Steel, she said she inherited the house and it was in need of yard cleanup. I was there when Zach told her he would recommend a company to do the clean up for her. The yard was a mess; we took pictures of it on the basis that Zach would need them to get a good estimate about the cost of the clean up. Turns out it is a friend of Zach's that Joelyn hired.

"I noticed that in the messy yard toward the very back there were some old discarded bee hives and nearby there was an overgrowth of oleander and laurel, though at the time I wasn't sure about the plants’ identity. Based on the photos, Alex was able to make a positive identification of the plants. By the size and overgrowth I knew that the oleander and laurel were old plants, obviously well established. You see, a couple of years ago in Chicago I had reported on several cases of poisoning from home-harvested honey. For that report I delved into the history of toxic honey. To make a long story short, using honey to poison soldiers goes back to some of the earliest battle strategies in the Middle East, especially in around the region of Turkey. Honey produced from nectar of oleander and laurel is among the most poisonous kinds. It doesn't hurt the bees at all, and there is absolutely no telltale odor or taste. Nonetheless, just a taste of this honey can lame a large animal and kill a human. For this reason, in ancient times Roman soldiers would feed a small amount of wild honey to their horses before consuming it themselves. Many an army was made sick by an enemy spy who would taint food supplies with toxic honey,” I looked at Shelly, she was hanging on my every word.

"Shelly, I can't give you a logical point-by-point explanation for how my mind works in these cases, but when I met Joelynn, I had a hunch and then when Alex and I were at this garage that he rented, a garage that belongs to Joelyn and was part of the original property owned by Berk Steel—well I got an eerie feeling about it. That was when Alex and I noticed an unusual patch in the concrete floor of the garage. Upon close examination we became suspicious and dug into the concrete patch, that was when we unearthed the buried box of filled canning jars,” I paused for a moment to see if Alex was following my abbreviated version of our truth. He was and a nod from him gave me approval, I continued, “That night I did some more investigation and I enlisted the help of Francisco, Zach and Dora. In the end, here's what I have:

"Joelyn is not Berk Steel's daughter—she is his wife.

Francisco located their marriage record, which shows they married soon after your father died and Steel had ownership of the Kilt Lifter. Joelyn had been renting the little apartment that Steel owned, that same apartment is now the florist shop in front of the garage, the same garage Alex rented, where he and I found the buried jars of honey. Steel renovated the apartment and turned it into a shop, which he sold to the florist who now occupies it. However, Steel did not sell the garage. And when he was brought up on charges of tax evasion, it was in that garage that the federal investigators found the duplicate ledger books that incriminated Steel. By the way, I believe Joelyn had no part in the tax evasion or in the toxic honey, in many ways, she is also a victim.

"Berk Steel immigrated to America from Turkey fifteen years ago. He applied for and was granted American citizenship about ten years ago. According to information that Alex uncovered, Berk Steel changed his Turkish surname of Celik to its American counterpart of Steel. Going on this information, Francisco used his international contacts and determined that just eighteen months before Steel left Turkey to come to the U.S., his business partner in a café over there died of toxic honey poisoning. The result was that Steel became the sole owner and he sold the cafe. His partner's death could be an odd coincidence, but of course, knowing what we do, we doubt it.

"This morning, Zach gave me a copy of the paperwork concerning the yard work at Joelyn's—the same home Berk Steel owned and resided in during his years in Avalon prior to your father's death. And indeed, oleander and laurel are listed among the debris that was cleared, along with six commercial-style honeybee hive boxes. These boxes are being saved as evidence along with the oleander and laurel bushes. Zach's friend, the business owner who is doing the yard work is named Tony Paez and because Zach asked him, Tony has kept all these materials and isolated them to an area of his business lot. I have a list provided by Mr. Paez,” I showed Shelly the list, but she made no move to take it. Alex reached for it and then looked to Shelly.

Alex said, “Shelly, I know what we have here must seem perfectly strange, and bizarre. But do understand that it was because of a series of uncanny circumstances that we, the four of us, and Zach, wanted to prove that your mother is completely innocent. There is no way she could have known what Berk Steel had in mind. Furthermore, the original box and canning jars are in a safe at the lab. I'm interested in finding out what fingerprints a crime lab could lift from the jars.” Alex rested our case, but not before Dora added her own opinion.

"Dear Shelly, just think how your mother will be relieved. She has suffered so terribly since your father's death. It is because I have always thought Liam's death was not on the up and up that I agreed and encouraged this investigation. And when Shannon called me and included me, I was more than happy to help out, especially since we would not have to upset your mother with the bothersome details. Now we have the goods on that monster!” Dora pleaded our findings with such conviction I hoped it wouldn't intimidate Shelly from speaking her true feelings. Shelly had listened quietly all this time. Now she turned to Francisco and asked, “Legally what can I do about this?"

"I am most familiar with the legal process in San Diego County, naturally because that is where I retired from. The investigation I did on this was accomplished with the help of an old friend in the Los Angeles County Prosecutors Office,” he paused for a moment and handed Shelly a business card, “Mr. Santini is his name and he will help you. I have given him all the precursory information. And in fact, it would be my pleasure as your friend, to accompany you to his office."

Shelly's eyes were tearing up, Alex handed her a Kleenex tissue box from the nearby table, she pulled out a tissue and dabbed at her eyes, then crumpled up the Kleenex in her folded hands and smiled at us. “I can't thank you enough for all that you have done,” she looked to each of us in turn and stopped at Dora and smiled, “Especially you Dora, I know that your input saved my mother a lot of heartache in recalling the events of that horrible day. And I hope that one day very soon, you and I can explain all this to her. And Francisco, I will follow up on this and I do accept your offer. And Alex, if you had not been here, I'm not sure what I would have made of all this. Thank you for always being a good friend. And Shannon, well, I don't know what to say to you—you are truly remarkable!” Shelly stood up.

It was a good timing; all of us stood up. Shelly gave each of us a hug and asked us to meet for dinner, suggesting we go to a restaurant as her guests. But we declined, and we did so with a suggestion from Francisco that he and Shelly stay a little longer and talk out a plan of what to do next. Alex, Aunt Dora and myself left at the same time. Alex explained he would see Dora to the Catalina Express dock and make sure she got off okay. I volunteered to go with them hoping for an opportunity to talk with Dora and let her know that Hugh's letter had been a key to this investigation. Thankfully, she did not question my disclosure; she accepted it at face value. As I gave her a hug before she stepped onboard the boat, Dora turned to me and whispered “Us seekers must stick together. Not to worry dear, your secret is safe with me!"

I waved goodbye and stepped back off the dock's landing, all the while pondering the meaning of Dora's use of the word seekers? It was such a deliberate use, I'm sure it was not a mistake, though, I couldn't help to wonder; did she mean to say seerers, instead?

Alex insisted he take me out for dinner. I didn't argue.

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Chapter 37

At my suggestion we went to the Sea Breeze Café. Alex ordered the catch of the day and I opted for a shrimp and lobster salad. Finally, I felt relaxed, at ease, at peace. “Thank you, Alex, for your support and belief in me."

He was about to take a sip of white wine, when he placed the goblet down and reached over and took my hand, “I was a fool to let the Hawaiian get-away fiasco upset you so much. Shannon, I truly regret it."

I gulped hard and made a dry swallow, I hadn't expected this, at all! With my free hand I reached for my water glass, took a drink, a long slow sip and easily if not obviously extracted my clutched hand free on the pretense I need it to pat my mouth with my napkin.

"Alex, that is so sweet of you. But, really there is nothing to rehash. That mishap is so over with,” I smiled and placed both hands in my lap, out of his reach. It was awkward gesture, but it made its point.

Alex recouped with his innate grace, “Yes, I agree. Now we can talk about the future, what are your plans after this?"

Nice save, Alex “Uh, I think I will take a week or two off, go back to San Diego, for now that's all I have on my agenda."

"Good, then by next month at this time do you think you might be interested in another assignment, like this or along the lines of the Blackthorne House brochure?"

This peaked my interested, pirate treasure or not, I wasn't ready to toss out my pen and computer. “Maybe, do you know of one?"

"Three, actually. One is in the mountain community of Julian, out in the back country of San Diego County. Another is in the Gas Lamp Quarter of old San Diego. And the third is in the historic district of San Juan Capistrano, which is in the southern part of Orange County, near the coast, between Los Angeles and San Diego. I've recommended you for all these jobs and I know Shelly will give you a glowing recommendation,” Alex grinned. “Of course whatever you decide, you know you are welcome to reside at Blackthorne House, you do remember that the yellow bedroom is designated as yours? Rosario keeps it locked up tight, only allows the maid service in on a weekly basis and always under the scrutiny of her hawk-like eyes! There's no reason for you to stay elsewhere, unless—you want to—but Blackthorne House is no charge to you and Rosario will be thrilled to have you back."

I smiled. Alex was doing his best to convince me to stay in San Diego. “Do tell me more?"

We closed off the night with me agreeing with Alex that he had made an excellent case for me to return to San Diego and take assignments there. In fact, left to Alex, I would be working in Southern California on prime pick-and-choose assignments for at least the next year. And as I said goodnight to him, I pointed out that while I agreed that the work he had rounded up for me sounded irresistible, that in fact I had not made up my mind.

But Alex got the last word. As I closed the door he put his foot in the way and stuck his face in the slot, “Do remember that I have yet to bring out the big guns in this battle, I have yet to call in Rosario to do my bidding!"

I skipped up the stairs feeling really good about the day's events. Just as I was running the bath tap, my cell phone rang. It was Zach. He called to tell me that his business dinner meeting was going well and that he would see me tomorrow night at the performance. He was catching the helicopter commute back to Avalon, and would arrive here a few minutes before curtain time.

I looked out my window and saw, again, the twinkling flight of the fireflies. It made me smile; a secret hug kind of smile that signaled it was the perfect end to a well-spent day. I rested easy that night knowing that I had done something really good for people I like and it had been a life-changing moment that was for the better—and I had a part to play in it.

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Chapter 38

I woke the next morning in a wonderful mood. I was up early, before seven, and was packing. This was my last full day in Avalon; at least I was almost sure of that, because of the hints that Zach had dropped. I doubted our special weekend would take place here, but where exactly I couldn't even guess. About eight I got a call from Zach and he asked me the most confusing question: What is my favorite shape? I tried to trip him with a few quick questions that would cause him to fudge a bit and drop a clue, but he didn't. He stayed on track and didn't give me the slightest hint. So I gave him my answer and told him my favorite shape is a heart. Then he told me that a heart would be the shape of things to come and I wasn't to say anything to anyone about this! Huh? What kind of a plan is he putting into action for our weekend? I was packed and quite literally drumming my fingers on the kitchen table when Alex called. All he wanted to know is if I was up and about, he wanted to come by early in the day to re-check a few details for tonight's performance. I had a cup of coffee ready for him when he knocked on the kitchen door.

We sat across from each other at the kitchen table and looked out on the garden and the hill above, it reminded me of the fireflies I had seen the last few nights.

"Alex, you know these grounds well, is there any way to easily climb that hill?” I pointed outside the window.

"Yes. Toward the back of the property, just outside the porch about twenty feet back, there is a rock stairway path. As kids, Shelly and I used to go up to that hill, the view is stunning."

"Did you ever go up there at night to see the fireflies?"

Alex averted his eyes from the window and stared at me, he leaned over and whispered, “You saw fireflies?"

"Yes, from my bedroom window. It looks right out on that hill? Haven't you ever seen them there?"

Alex leaned back and sat straight, he drummed his fingers ever so lightly for just a moment then with a steady gaze into my eyes he said in a very calm voice, “Shannon, fireflies or lightning bugs, whatever moniker they are called, do not exist here on the West Coast. Basically, there are only two known types of firefly in the U.S. The Pyralis, which is restricted in habitat to regions east of the Rocky Mountains and the Pennsylvania Firefly that is found from mid-Texas and east of there and north into the Canada. The West Coast, especially here in California, does not have fireflies, or any other insect that could be mistaken for them."

Now it was my turn to stare and I did so wide-eyed, completely mystified by what I knew I had seen. “I know what I saw. And I saw them, a net of sparkling yellow fireflies, up there on the hill, just as darkness fell and well into the evening. Several nights I have seen them! Come on, you can show me the path up there!” I got up and was out on the back porch before Alex could object.

Alex was in a serious mood, I imagine he was dead-set on proving me wrong. I followed his lead along a rock ledge that once was a clear-cut path of flat stones creating a step-by-step path up the hill from the back section of the property. We carefully made are way up, several times Alex reached behind and took my hand. Once we reached the plateau top I took the lead. Up here short wild grass covered the hill top, it was easy walking and by using my bedroom window as a compass point, I quickly found the exact spot that I saw the fireflies from my window at night. Alex stood next to me, I turned to him and looked down at our feet and stomped the ground to make my point. “Right here, this is where the fireflies are at night. I've seen them here in the air above this very spot."

Alex was very quiet and seemed to not pay any attention to me, he was looking out at sea.

"Alex?"

"Shhh, close your eyes and listen."

Now, who is acting odd? I thought. But I closed my eyes and I tried to shut out the call of the gulls above and the soft crashing of the waves below. I listened with my heart and mind, but I heard nothing out of place. I turned to Alex, his eyes were closed and he stood straight. I leaned over and whispered, “Alex, what is it?"

Alex turned his entire body to face me, he put his hands on my upper arms, a gentle clasp, he looked down and with his right hand he tilted my face toward him, “I wasn't completely honest with you the other day in the garage. When I mentioned a friendly ghost?"

"Yeah, I know you made a wisecrack about the cartoon ghost, Casper, so?” I glanced away.

"Shannon,” Alex once again tilted my face, this time to make sure I was seeing eye to eye with him, “I know about Eric.” He said nothing else. I stared into his eyes—the depth of them drew me in, into another time and place, into another world.

"You mean the ghost, Eric Blackthorne?” I broke Alex's hold on me and I stepped away from him, just out of his reach. I looked away to the ocean to clear my mind.

"Yes. I've known all along. You see, I know he is your guide, a protector. Aunt Dora knows, too.” Alex took a step toward me and once again, grasped my hands, tenderly he drew me back to his side, “Shannon, I have seen the fireflies. Right here where we stand and from the same window. When I was a teenager and would visit Shelly's family, the room you have, it was the guestroom; it was where I stayed. But for now, that is not important, now what you must realize is that something, some event or happening, for lack of a better word, will take place, and you must be prepared.” Alex's tone was dark, his facial expression was brooding, and it frightened me!

"What do you mean?"

"I mean that whenever the fireflies were seen that a disaster took place. It's as if their twinkling net is here to catch souls in, to keep the souls from falling down to...” Alex let his words trail off, and then he took a deep breath and said, “And this disaster doesn't happen to the person who sees the fireflies, it happens to someone the person knows."

"Alex, you're scaring me!” I stepped back.

"No. Shannon, I don't mean to frighten you, I want you to be prepared and to listen. Listen to your intuitive sense, listen to the voices that are proven to be your allies. And when possible, stay close to me, or to Eric."

I was dazed by his admission. I stepped closer to him. He was, once again looking out to sea. He looked at me, the spell was broken, “We should get back, I still have a few things to do and there's a storm coming in tonight."

I didn't see what he saw on the horizon, but he was a professor of sea merchant trade history and when it came to any aspect about the ocean I trusted him. We turned and walked back; I looked for one last time at the amazing vista. “Are storms very severe here?"

"Rarely, at least nothing like what you have experienced off the Great Lakes in Chicago. We may have some lightening and a strong gale, but nothing comparable to typhoon strength."

When we got back to the kitchen it was business as usual. Alex was every bit the gentleman I have always known him to be, except now there was a nuance about him that showed he was very much concerned for my safety. He saw me out the front door and made me promise to keep an eye on the weather and to return early if the storm came in suddenly. When I left the bungalow it wasn't myself I was concerned for, it was Zach I was thinking of. If Alex was right, and I had no reason to doubt him, then Zach and all other commuters should head back to Catalina Island before the storm approached. I tried calling Zach, but I got his voice mail, so I left a warning for him to return early if possible or instead, wait out the storm in L.A.

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Chapter 39

In the village I picked up a few more souvenirs to send to friends in Chicago and then headed back to the bungalow. I was pleased to see that Zach had left a voice message on the bungalow's telephone explaining he couldn't get through to my cell phone and he told me not to worry, that storms in this area aren't much compared to what I was used to. He said that he would arrive tonight just before the performance. His message left me feeling much better than when I had left the bungalow this morning. I went up to my bedroom and surveyed my packed bags, all that was left were a few items I needed today, and they were setting nearby the open satchel that I packed my laptop in. I felt at peace and knew that I needed to say my own fare-thee-well to this remarkable bungalow. If ever a piece of architecture could have a heart, it was this one. I walked into the playroom; the wind chime was silent in front of the closed window. I opened the window to let the chime's melody play for one last time. Its tiny bell-like song merrily brightened my mood. I closed my eyes and listened and in the enchantment of that moment, I knew I was not alone, a presence was beside me. I turned and there was my conquistador, in the flesh.

"Senorita Shannon,” He bowed and raised my right hand to his lips, as he did once before, his caress was soft, almost non-existent.

I made a slight curtsey, “Senor Cabrillo,” I smiled. And then I spoke, “May I ask you a question to clarify my knowledge of your explorations?"

Cabrillo stepped back and then paced back and forth a few steps in contemplation, he stopped and faced me, “I am at your service. Please, what is your query?"

I explained, “In order to understand the far-reaching legacy of Spain's exploration, of which you were a part of, I have sought to understand how the living remember that exploration. What I discovered is that on one hand, the explorers of the Spanish Main were considered conquistadors, men who are often remembered in the pages of history as harsh and brutal corsairs. Yet, on the other hand, many of the so-called conquistadors were not barbaric conquerors, they were—like you—explorers.” I paused to collect my next statement, “Is this true?"

Cabrillo stared at me, and for a moment I feared I had offended him, then he smiled, ever so slowly, “Senorita Shannon, your question is one I cannot answer. I can state myself as an example and allow your own judgment. As a young man in the army of Cortez I witnessed unthinkable acts of horror. Yet, as a licensed corsair with ships under my own command, I chose not to exemplify Cortez. I chose to explore and claim for Spain this beautiful land that is called California. It is here I choose to remain."

I nodded acknowledgment, “Then, I would say that how the living remember their dead and knowledge of any one person's death does not, cannot, define that person's life. Oh, one other thing, there's a statue of you in San Diego, at a monument for you! But,” I leaned closer to him and whispered, “the statue doesn't resemble you at all. It isn't as handsome!"

My conquistador laughed, it was a deep hearty laugh filled with great cheer. “Senorita Shannon, not in decades, not since I have shared the delightful company of Senora Sheila MacArdle, have I enjoyed a friendship as much as yours! You must promise to return, in your lifetime,” he winked.

"And if I do, will you be here?"

"Of course, where else would I be? It is here I choose to rest, eternally.” And with that, my conquistador walked over to the window and shut it; the chime song ended and Cabrillo vanished into thin air.

I walked out of the playroom and closed the door. Afterwards, I showered and changed and I sat in the kitchen, it was about forty minutes until anyone would show up. True to Alex's prediction the sky was darkening. I look heavenward and wondered: I knew that solving the mystery of Cabrillo's death could not define his life, then did that mean that the history of Cabrillo's life did not have an end? The lyrics of an old song came to mind, haunting phrases about a conquistador and his stallion standing alone, in need of company ... seems to me my dad would sing that song.

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Chapter 40

Alex showed up first and with him were two other magicians: a young woman named Esmeralda, I'm pretty sure that was her stage name, and an older gentleman named Waldo. And true to his name his specialty was disappearing, which of course prompted audience members to ask where's Waldo?

Waldo was dressed very much like Alex, the classic black and white magician's formal attire. Esmeralda was dressed like a mime, in black tights and long sleeve leotard. Her only bit of color was her platinum blond hair, pulled back in a shoulder length ponytail. Alex explained to them about the magician's break room. Waldo and Esmeralda went to check it out along with the general floor plan of the bungalow. Alex busied himself making minor adjustments to the stage and lighting. He sauntered into the kitchen just as I was setting out the silver coffee urn and service on a linen-draped buffet table. I explained that Shelly was having the dinner catered and the caterer would be here soon. The plan was to dine after the performance. Alex liked that idea, he said it gave people an opportunity to start a conversation based on the performance, making it easier to break the ice. The doorbell rang and Alex offered to get it. I finished setting out napkins and spoons for the coffee, and through the kitchen hallway walked Francisco, Shelly and her elusive husband, Roy and tagging right behind Alex was Kat Kitty. I greeted all of them and looked to Francisco, he knew what I was looking for.

"Not to worry, Shannon. Zach called an hour ago and said the helicopter was about to take off, he was in Pasadena at the time. He might be a little late, but don't worry. He said he'd come in through the kitchen if he was late, so as not to interrupt the performance."

"That's very thoughtful of him,” Kat spoke up. “Shannon you may want to seat yourself close to the back of the room, that way he'll see you first."

"Yes, good idea,” I stated, not quite sure whose interest she had in mind. I guess if I were sitting up front, Alex might choose me for his volunteer accomplice, since I knew his routine. Evidently, Kat had her own plans to be front and center tonight!

Alex suggested we take our seats. In the front room a wide half circle of chairs was set up about ten feet out from the stage. I took a seat at the far end, closest to the kitchen. Kat sat dead center. Francscio, Shelly and Roy filled in the blank spots.

Alex adjusted the stage spotlight so that it shimmered a soft white light. He stood in front and introduced his two colleagues, then Waldo stepped out of the limelight to stage left and Esmeralda did the same, but to stage right. They remained present, but in a marginal frame of vision. Without so much as needing to clear his throat, Alex commenced is a strong voice:

"Ladies and Gentleman, this evening's sampling of magic is to introduce you to the parlor magic of the late 1800s and early 1900s. An era that is iconic in the history of parlor magic: also referred to as cabaret magic as well as close-up magic, which brings me to my first biography.

"The Great Tony Slydini, whose birth name was Quintino Marucci, was a master of close-up magic. His finesse of the art of misdirection is studied to this very day. Slydini lived from 1901 to 1991. Miss Esmeralda will demonstrate.” Alex moved his left arm in a sweeping direction to welcome Esmeralda onto the stage and then Alex deftly walked out of the spotlight to the side where Esmeralda had been standing.

"Good Evening,” She said in a pert voice. We, as her audience, echoed this sentiment to her.

"For this first demonstration I will need a volunteer. Perhaps—"

"—Oh, I will!” Kat jumped up.

"Wonderful, and your name is?"

"Just call me Kat."

"Very good. Well, Kat, if you will step up here on stage and stand in front of me, with your back to the audience, please?"

Kat stepped into position like a trained poodle. Her eagerness was overkill. Esmeralda positioned Kat so that she was square in front, and Kat's back was square to the audience. Not ‘til then did I notice that Alex had placed a small high level black table on stage, the table was centered between Kat and Esmeralda, draped in black cloth, it was nearly invisible against the black-clad Esmeralda. There were sheets of white paper on the table. The two women were now about three feet apart. I turned to Francisco and whispered, “No wonder this is called close-up magic!” In a playful scolding, he shushed me.

Esmeralda handed Kat a small sheet of paper and in a clear voice asked her to ball it up and then hand it back. Kat did as she was told and when the she gave the balled up piece of paper to Esmeralda, in the flip of a wrist that was too quick to see, the balled piece of paper vanished from Kat's sight! Kat was astounded and said so. In fact, she dared Esmeralda to do it again, and again, and again. Each time the paper balls were created from larger and larger sheets. After the tenth time, when a paper ball the size of a tennis ball disappeared right before Kat's eyes, Kat, in a fit of good-natured frustration, demanded to know how the trick was done. By now, the audience was giggling uncontrollably, because we had been in on the illusion from the very beginning. Finally, Esmeralda directed Kat to turn around and to watch her step as she left the stage. The look on Kat's face was priceless! As soon as she turned around she learned the true meaning of misdirection. Every single one of the balled pieces of paper had landed soundlessly on the carpet behind her. All the while, the vanishing balls of paper were actually being tossed out of Kat's frame of vision, high over her head to land at the feet of the audience behind her! I couldn't help but to notice that while Esmeralda took a bow to well-deserved applause that Kat gave Alex a side-glance that wasn't very pleasant. I guess Kat didn't have the sense of humor that Alex had counted on. I had been the volunteer for this very same illusion one time before and I never got over how funny it was!

Alex thanked Esmeralda for the demonstration and explained that Slydini's mastery of making something disappear through the art of misdirection was what every aspiring magician sought to replicate. Then Alex introduced his other colleague with the common refrain of “Where's Waldo?"

Just as Alex stepped away from the spotlight, a loud crack of thunder hit the room and lightning lit up the sky outside the windows, creating a spooky illusion of negative-on-positive contrast of black walls and white curtains. Then the room went dark, pitch black! I heard a scream and Roy shouted out that he'd get the lights. Next thing I knew Roy said the power was out, and Francisco switched on a small pocket flashlight. From the small stream of light that Francisco held, order and calm returned.

Alex came over by my side and asked if I was okay. Meanwhile Francisco and Roy went into the kitchen—the room the scream came from. The caterer, Mrs. Cantrell, had just arrived a moment before the thunder cracked, the lighting hit and the lights went out. Francisco and Roy brought her out to where we were. Roy said there were flashlights and extra batteries in the kitchen cupboard, he took Francisco's flashlight, went to the kitchen and came back with enough flashlights for each of us to have one. Once each of us had our own light in hand we settled into a sameness of can-do spirit. Francisco said he would step out to the back porch to call Jesse, Roy said he would step out onto the front porch and call local authorities. Both men returned within seconds of each other.

According to Roy, the local sheriff and the harbor authorities said that there had been numerous strikes of lightning. At least one strike had hit a power-relay station and knocked out the power throughout Avalon and over on the other side of the island at Two Harbors. Basically, all of Catalina was without electricity. Francisco reported that Jesse had the same information, and that Jesse and Louisa were okay, several neighbors had gathered at their house.

"Have they heard from Zach?” I asked Francscio. He simply said no. I tried calling Zach on my cell, but I couldn't make a connection to Zach's phone, it was dead air.

Mrs. Cantrell said we could eat and that the food was still warm. And Shelly said she knew where candles were. The evening's prospects were beginning to look better: a stormy night in the company of good friends and eating by candlelight, not too bad! Now, if only Zach would show up!

We filed through Mrs. Cantrell's buffet line and then took seats at a few card tables that were set up. The general ambiance was cozy. I had just seated myself at a table across from Francisco and next to Esmeralda, when Francisco's cell phone rang: “Excuse me,” he removed himself from the room. I chatted with Esmeralda and told her I had been the volunteer for that same illusion and I loved it! We were talking about women in the profession of magic when Francisco came back; I looked up and saw panic on his face. Alex must have seen it too, in an instant he was at our side.

"It's Zach!” Francscio blurted out; “He's been in an accident. The helicopter was coming in for landing when lightening struck it. It's gone down in the harbor, the harbor patrol and coast guard are there!"

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Chapter 41

My heart sank that night; it stole away to a cold dark corner of my soul. I stood stiff with fear, as close to the end of the Avalon pier that police and emergency crew would allow. It was nine at night, abysmally dark and the waves were vicious in their attack of the land. Alex stayed beside me all night. Past the stroke of midnight we stood, the two of us were silent sentries looking out on the bleak ocean and at emergency lights bobbing up and down. Francisco had privileges given to law enforcement; he was on board one of the Coast Guard's ships. I doubted if he had cell service out there, and in a deep corner of my heart, I hoped he didn't. Whatever news there was I wanted to hear the report first hand and face-to-face so I could read the words that were not spoken, words that could only be seen on the face of the messenger.

At one-thirteen in the wee hours of Saturday morning a deputy approached us. He looked to Alex, and Alex tightly encircled my waist with his right hand. “Mr. Blackthorne, Detective Zavala has this message for you.” He handed Alex a slip of paper.

Alex read aloud the stunted phrases: “Zach is injured, is being transported by the Coast Guard to Long Beach, I am with him. Stay on Avalon. Stay with Shannon. Not safe to travel. I let Jesse and Louisa know. I will call when I have news. F."

I vaguely recollect the drive to Shelly's. I woke up the next morning at Shelly's home. The storm was gone. My luggage was there. When I got up and went into the living room, Alex, Roy and Shelly were there. I sat down in a chair and looked at Alex, he knew my thoughts before I said a word.

"Zach will be okay. Francisco called this morning and said his injuries aren't life threatening. He has a broken leg and a head injury—didn't say what kind of a head injury—only that Zach will be okay. His leg was in a cast and what swelling there had been to his head had been relieved and that he had come out of concussion."

"I want to go to him,” I said to Alex.

"Go get dressed, I'll take you. We'll take the Catalina Express."

Shelly and Roy took Alex and I to the Catalina Express dock. In ninety minutes we were at the hospital. Alex stayed with me. I had the unnerving feeling that he knew something and would not tell me. We approached Zach's hospital room and I started to dart through the door—when Francisco appeared outside Zach's room and caught me.

"Shannon—wait, wait, please?"

I panicked, “What do you mean, where's Zach?"

Francisco hugged me, and quietly said, “He's going to be fine, just fine, but for now you must remain calm and let me explain. Zach sustained some hard knocks to his head and a broken leg; his left leg is in a cast. The swelling that was putting pressure on his brain was relieved in surgery with a shunt. It is temporary, so the bandages around his head are just that, they are temporary. He is awake and in a good mood.” Then Francisco took a deep breath and I knew I was in for horrible news, “However, Zach has no memory of what happened."

"But,” I blurted out, “that's not unusual, right? How can anyone expect him to remember details about the crash?” I searched Francisco's face for words he wasn't telling me. Oh dear God I prayed, because in that moment what I saw in Francisco's expression made me gut-twisting sick.

Francisco pulled no punches, “Shannon, Zach doesn't know his own name, let alone who I am."

Suddenly, I realized what Alex must have known, or suspected. He stood behind me, his hands on my shoulders. I looked at Franmcscio and pleaded, “Please, let me see him?"

I heard footsteps approach, it was a doctor, she stepped up to me. With a kind face and soft voice she explained, “Miss Delaney, we understand your concern and Zach's grandfather explained that if there was one person in the whole world Zach would want to see, that it would be you. However, at this time, because of the amnesia, we, Zach's doctors, cannot allow you to see him. We fear that it would be too much of a shock and could jeopardize full recovery of his memory."

"When? When can I see him?"

I left the hospital that day with the doctor's words etched in my mind. I would not be allowed to see Zach until Zach's memory had recovered to the point of identifying Francisco and other close members of his family. According to his doctors, Zach must recover his memory in a timeline natural to its original development. And no doctor would give a prognosis when that would be.

Alex took me back to San Diego. We walked into the front parlor of the Blackthorne House Bed and Breakfast Inn where Sister Rosario Santiago greeted us with mother hen affection: “Shannon, it's good that you are here.” Rosario looked at Alex, “Alex, please take Shannon's bags up to her room.” I sighed, managed a weak smile and looked at my favorite nun.

"I'm glad to be back. I know this is the best move. Francisco said Zach will be transferred to a rehabilitation hospital here in San Diego."

We walked into the front parlor where Rosario had coffee service laid out, “Hmm, that's an aroma I missed,” I took a seat on the sofa and Rosario handed me a cup of coffee.

"Mexican coffee,” she explained, “just the way you have always loved it, brewed strong with a pinch of cinnamon.” Rosario sat next to me.

Alex entered into the parlor and helped himself to coffee, he remained standing, “Just a sip then I need to go, I left Atlas with a neighbor. Shannon, maybe one day this week you would like to take Atlas out for a walk?"

I looked up at Alex, and smiled, I knew he was trying to help, “Yeah, I'll get in touch with you. Also, since I will be here in San Diego, I would like to know more about the job assignments you mentioned."

"Job assignments, here?” Rosario chirped, she looked at Alex then me, “Shannon this is good news!"

I nodded my head. Alex said his good-byes and Rosario saw him to the door. I heard them whisper, no doubt their good-natured conspiracy was directed at me. I looked around at the quintessential Victorian mansion that was my home away from home. I felt comforted. Maybe things happen for a reason, I would have to take it on faith that whatever was in my future that it was meant to be. I whispered a desperate prayer for Zach. I laid back on the sofa and the last moment I remember was looking up at Rosario when she tucked an afghan quilt over me. In a sleep-induced trance, I chanted there's no place like home, there's no place like home.

The End

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Author's Notes

Cover

I am much obliged to Shelley Rodgerson Chase for her artful magic in the creation of the book's cover. And a big Thank You to Christopher Cox for his photograph of the shadow-man pirate which was taken for the exclusive use of this book.

Storyline

Can a song inspire a story? In this case, the answer is yes. Part of the inspiration for this story came from a song titled Conquistador, recorded by Procol Harum in 1972. I remember it well; the song went to the top of the charts in that era and has haunted me all these many years. Combine that song with the fact that the real conquistador, Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo died while on ship off the coast of California and was buried on one of the local islands off Southern California, and whose remains have never been found, hence, the seed for this story was planted. Add to this the factual account of the French pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard, who ransacked the California coast in the early 1800s and the conflict for the story took seed. However, I must ‘fess up to the whimsy of my own imagination in creating a possible link between the French pirate Bouchard and the New Orlean's pirate Jean Lafitte. While it is true that Lafitte was of crucial help to the American cause in the War of 1812 and Lafitte did colonize Galveston Island, albeit, a link between him and Bouchard has not been established, nor discredited!

Chapter Two

Santa Catalina Island has been used as a movie set from the early 1900s to present day. A Sampling of films shot on Catalina Island include: “Man's Genesis” (1912), “Treasure Island” (1918), “Ten Commandments” (1923), “The Black Pirate” (1926), “Captain Blood” and “Mutiny on the Bounty” (1935), “Rosemary's Baby” (1968), “Jaws” (1974), “The Hunt for Red October” (1990), and “Pearl Harbor” (2001). In addition to being a favorite colony for move productions, Catalina Island is a favorite resort spot for Hollywood celebrities.

Chapter Four

The French pirate Hippolyte de Bouchard (1783-1843) was born in France. He sailed to Argentina in 1809 and in 1813 became a citizen and a licensed corsair for Argentina in its efforts against Spain. In 1818, Bouchard relentlessly pirated California coastal villages and missions. Notable among his attacks was the pillaging of Monterey on November 20 and San Juan Capistrano on December 14. After each ransacking Bouchard would hide out on various California coastal islands. Shortly after his attack on San Juan Capistrano, Bouchard sailed home to Argentina, where is official report failed to mention his ill-gotten booty from pillaging San Juan Capistrano. On July 9, 1819, Bouchard was arrested in Chile, but not enough evidence could support charges of piracy and he was released. He lived out his life in Argentina, and was killed by a servant on January 4, 1843. In Argentina he is remembered as a hero.

Chapter Five

Shannon's truthful account of the percentage of Scottish persons that carry the red hair gene is based on the study performed at the Edinburgh Dermatology Department, Scotland. Professor Johnathan Rees first reported about the MC1R red-hair gene in 1995.

A ten-year waiting list to privately operate a motor vehicle on Catalina Island is true as of the writing of this book. Also true is that most residents and visitors get around the island via their own two feet, bicycles or hire a golf-cart taxi. For more information about Catalina Island, including its large population of bison, visit: www.CatalinaChamber.com.

Chapter Nine

Things that go bump in the night: Now you know where this iconic saying came from. The version of the old Scottish prayer used in the story is a popular adaptation of the lesser known, ancient invocation, written here in Scots’ English: Frae Witches, Warlocks, an’ Wurricoes, An Evil Spirits, an’ a’ Things That gang Bump i’ the Nicht, Guid Lord, deliver us!

Chapter Eleven

Shannon's familiarity with the ancient use of hydromancy is linked to her Irish heritage. An excellent study for Irish and Celtic beliefs was presented by James Bonwick in his exhaustive study published as a book: “Irish Druids And Old Irish Religions", London: Griffith, Farran [1894]. Original redaction by Phillip J. Brown, www.belinus.co.uk Reformatted, pagination, and proofreading at sacred-texts.com, November 2002. J.B. Hare, redactor.

Chapter Fourteen

According to Santa Catalina Island's official history, the first European to set foot on the island was Spanish explorer and conquistador Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo. On October 7, 1542 he claimed Santa Catalina Island for Spain and in doing so named it San Salvador. Not until November 24, 1602, when another Spanish explorer: Sebastian Vizcaino rediscovered the island did it get its present-day name. Vizcaino renamed the island in honor of St. Catherine of Alexandria.

Very little is known about Juan Rodriguez Cabrillo's early years as a child and young man. It is recorded that as a young man he served as a soldier in the army of Hernan Cortes during the horrific invasion and battles against Mexico's Aztec King Montezuma. In the course of his military career Cabrillo excelled at exploration and he was awarded his own ship and assignment. Sailing from Mexico on June 24, 1542 he explored the northern coast of Mexico (and present-day California), stopping in various natural bays and islands. In December he suffered a fall and broke a leg, some reports say it happened during a skirmish with natives. He died January 3, 1853 from complications of his injury. Exact location of his burial has never been known. It is known that his remains were not sent home and it is strongly believed he is buried on one of the islands of the coast of Southern California. The U.S. Department of the Interior has extensive research about Cabrillo, as does the San Diego Museum of History.

Deer-type Chihuahuas existed during the time of the Spanish Conquest of the Aztec culture. Many historians consider the Chihuahua to be the royal dog of the Aztec culture.

It is feasible that a Spanish soldier may have had one of these intelligent, feisty and fun-loving little dogs as a pet. I am grateful to members of the Chihuahua Club of America for background information about their breed.

Chapter Fifteen

The magical illusion known as Pepper's Ghost is true. Alex's explanation of it is exact, albeit very brief. Detailed information: www.PhantasMechanics.com.

Chapter Twenty-Six

As far as I know there is not a St. Crispin's church in Avalon. However, St. Crispin is the patron saint of shoemakers. And in 1915 on November 29, a devastating fire roared through Avalon, destroying half of the town's buildings and homes.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The reference to California rancho cattle hides is true. During the 1800s and into the early 1900s, cattle hides from California were so sought after they were referred to as California Dollars.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Toxic honey is a poison. More information at the U.S. Food and Drug Administration: www.fda.gov.

Chapter Forty

Alex's information about Slydini is true and so is Esmeralda's performance of Slydini's famous paper ball trick.

[Back to Table of Contents]

About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox

Elizabeth Eagan-Cox resides in California. She was a columnist for the Old California Gazette, authoring numerous articles on California history and America of the 1800s. In addition, Elizabeth has penned dozens of corporate histories for well-known national and international companies of which many are headquarterd in California.

Based on Elizabeth's experience and love for digging up lesser-known aspects of history she weaves intriguing bits of history into her stories. In this second book of the Shannon Delaney paranormal mystery series, Elizabeth included California's history of pirate attacks of the 1800s along with the legendary Spanish Exploration of the 1500s. Additionally, characters from her first book: A Ghost of a Chance, return in this second Shannon Delaney mystery to continue her homage to California's founding Hispanic culture and Elizabeth's own Celtic ancestry. Also, a Shannon Delaney mystery would not be complete without a lit bit of magic. For this purpose, Elizabeth once again delved into the classic era of parlor magic from the late 1800s and early1900s and included the magic of the master of misdirection, none other than Slydini.

Elizabeth is a member of National Society Daughters of the American Revolution, “D.A.R.” and the international Irish Clann Mac Aodhagain.

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Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Author's Notes

About Elizabeth Eagan-Cox