chair.
I swatted. Missed. Coop yipped once, then sauntered from my bedroom.
“Ungrateful mongrel,” I called after his retreating tail.
Safely back in my townhouse, I’d scoured the Internet for mentions of Anne Bonny. In the process, I’d unearthed a mountain of info on local buccaneers. Hundreds of links.
“This calls for backup,” I told the empty room.
Opening iChat, I checked to see who was available. Clicked Hi’s icon.
He’d recently switched avatars and was now the Green Lantern. I was still the Gray Wolf. Classics never die.
Wolf: Got a minute? I have a . . . plan? An idea. Sort of.
Green Lantern: Do I need life insurance?
Wolf: Haha. Come over now. Grab Shelton if you can.
Green Lantern: Boo. I thought you were hitting on me.
Wolf: Nope. Still intimidated by your good looks.
Green Lantern: Understandable.
Wolf: Try to grab Ben too.
Green Lantern: Will do.
Five minutes later, in strolled Shelton and Hi. Hi wore an eye-jarring orange Kool-Aid Man T-shirt, paired with khaki shorts. Shelton was sporting his favorite—a brown tee with “n00b” printed on it. Together, they looked like a Reese’s peanut butter cup.
Hi flopped on my bed and kicked off his shoes.
“Ahh! Lady pillows. So much fluffier than mine.” He took a giant whiff. “Why does everything girlie smell so delightful?”
“Because we acknowledge the importance of basic hygiene. And periodically clean our bathrooms.”
“Brilliant. I should write that down. After all, it takes a village.”
Shelton shook his head. “I’d never let him roll in my bed. I’ve seen his . Not pretty.”
“Believe me, I’m not thrilled.” I noticed Coop was missing. “Have you seen the dog?”
“On the prowl,” Shelton said. “He ran right by us.”
“Great.” Coop had snuck outside. Again.
“You try stopping that mutt when he wants to go somewhere,” Hi said. “I don’t get between wolves and their goals. Safer that way.”
“No biggie.”
Charleston has a leash law, but on Morris Island, what’s the point? Isolation is the one advantage to living so far out. Collared, tagged, and chipped, Coop wouldn’t be mistaken for a stray.
And by whom? The neighbors all knew Coop and had accepted him as my pet. To varying degrees.
The dog would return when hungry. Count on that.
“Ben’s on the dock changing an oil filter.” Mercifully, Hi abandoned my coverlet and moved to the ottoman. “I just shot him a text.”
“What’d you find, anyway?” Shelton slouched on my daybed by the window. Outside, the ocean steadily lapped the shore. “Hi said something about selling junk bonds?”
“Hilarious.” I hesitated. Was my idea any less crazy? But four eyes watched me expectantly.
“Have either of you ever heard of Anne Bonny?”
“Of course.” Shelton.
“Aye, matey! I knowest that foul female brigand!” Hi.
“Oh, good. I just found out about her.” I hedged. “Her story sounds fascinating.”
“She was awesome,” Shelton agreed. “There used to be lots of pirates around here. From, like, 1600 to 1750, this area was swarming with them.”
“The golden age of piracy!” Hi spread his hands wide. “Now you have to go to Somalia, and they use rocket launchers. That’s no fun.”
“I found a ton of stuff.” I chin-cocked the computer. “And was hoping you guys could help me sift through it.”
“Sure,” Shelton said automatically. “But why? Some kind of paper?”
“Did you know that Blackbeard himself was killed off the coast of Ocracoke, right here in the Carolinas?” Hi continued with his documentary shtick. “Ambushed, he fought valiantly, absorbing twenty sword wounds and five pistol shots.” Dramatic tonal shift. “When Blackbeard finally fell, the British navy hung his severed head from a bowsprit to prove that he was really dead.”
“Nice,” I said. “We didn’t study that in central Massachusetts.”
“Blackbeard was a master showman,” Hi added. “Long hair. Wild beard. He
I swatted. Missed. Coop yipped once, then sauntered from my bedroom.
“Ungrateful mongrel,” I called after his retreating tail.
Safely back in my townhouse, I’d scoured the Internet for mentions of Anne Bonny. In the process, I’d unearthed a mountain of info on local buccaneers. Hundreds of links.
“This calls for backup,” I told the empty room.
Opening iChat, I checked to see who was available. Clicked Hi’s icon.
He’d recently switched avatars and was now the Green Lantern. I was still the Gray Wolf. Classics never die.
Wolf: Got a minute? I have a . . . plan? An idea. Sort of.
Green Lantern: Do I need life insurance?
Wolf: Haha. Come over now. Grab Shelton if you can.
Green Lantern: Boo. I thought you were hitting on me.
Wolf: Nope. Still intimidated by your good looks.
Green Lantern: Understandable.
Wolf: Try to grab Ben too.
Green Lantern: Will do.
Five minutes later, in strolled Shelton and Hi. Hi wore an eye-jarring orange Kool-Aid Man T-shirt, paired with khaki shorts. Shelton was sporting his favorite—a brown tee with “n00b” printed on it. Together, they looked like a Reese’s peanut butter cup.
Hi flopped on my bed and kicked off his shoes.
“Ahh! Lady pillows. So much fluffier than mine.” He took a giant whiff. “Why does everything girlie smell so delightful?”
“Because we acknowledge the importance of basic hygiene. And periodically clean our bathrooms.”
“Brilliant. I should write that down. After all, it takes a village.”
Shelton shook his head. “I’d never let him roll in my bed. I’ve seen his . Not pretty.”
“Believe me, I’m not thrilled.” I noticed Coop was missing. “Have you seen the dog?”
“On the prowl,” Shelton said. “He ran right by us.”
“Great.” Coop had snuck outside. Again.
“You try stopping that mutt when he wants to go somewhere,” Hi said. “I don’t get between wolves and their goals. Safer that way.”
“No biggie.”
Charleston has a leash law, but on Morris Island, what’s the point? Isolation is the one advantage to living so far out. Collared, tagged, and chipped, Coop wouldn’t be mistaken for a stray.
And by whom? The neighbors all knew Coop and had accepted him as my pet. To varying degrees.
The dog would return when hungry. Count on that.
“Ben’s on the dock changing an oil filter.” Mercifully, Hi abandoned my coverlet and moved to the ottoman. “I just shot him a text.”
“What’d you find, anyway?” Shelton slouched on my daybed by the window. Outside, the ocean steadily lapped the shore. “Hi said something about selling junk bonds?”
“Hilarious.” I hesitated. Was my idea any less crazy? But four eyes watched me expectantly.
“Have either of you ever heard of Anne Bonny?”
“Of course.” Shelton.
“Aye, matey! I knowest that foul female brigand!” Hi.
“Oh, good. I just found out about her.” I hedged. “Her story sounds fascinating.”
“She was awesome,” Shelton agreed. “There used to be lots of pirates around here. From, like, 1600 to 1750, this area was swarming with them.”
“The golden age of piracy!” Hi spread his hands wide. “Now you have to go to Somalia, and they use rocket launchers. That’s no fun.”
“I found a ton of stuff.” I chin-cocked the computer. “And was hoping you guys could help me sift through it.”
“Sure,” Shelton said automatically. “But why? Some kind of paper?”
“Did you know that Blackbeard himself was killed off the coast of Ocracoke, right here in the Carolinas?” Hi continued with his documentary shtick. “Ambushed, he fought valiantly, absorbing twenty sword wounds and five pistol shots.” Dramatic tonal shift. “When Blackbeard finally fell, the British navy hung his severed head from a bowsprit to prove that he was really dead.”
“Nice,” I said. “We didn’t study that in central Massachusetts.”
“Blackbeard was a master showman,” Hi added. “Long hair. Wild beard. He
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