Page 48 of All Along The Watchtower

Did it matter? I didn’t know, but I had to acknowledge—to myself anyway—that I’d missed Ford. Having him back in my life, even in this weird way, was making me realize exactly how much. The timber of his laugh, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, how he still ducked his head when he was uncomfortable. All of those tiny details were at once a comfort and an attack.

I didn’t know what to do with that. Didn’t want to examine too closely why my ribcage seemed to shrink every time I thought about it.

“C’mon.” I shook off the uncomfortable train of thought. “Let’s head back to the Jeep. You need anything before we head to the Brewhouse? Water? Snacks? A bathroom break?”

“Maybe a trip to the library, if there’s time? We got assigned a paper on piracy in the region, so I figure’d that’s the best place to start.”

“Not a bad option, but actually you probably want the island museum. Monty’s husband, Peter, volunteers there pretty often, and I know they’ve got a lot of exhibits on local pirate stories.”

“Oh, that sounds great.”

The island museum was quiet this time of day, the late afternoon sun slanting through the windows. Peter looked up from the desk as we walked in, his face brightening.

“Bree! What brings you by?”

“Hey Peter. This is Peyton. She’s doing a paper on local piracy.”

His eyes lit up. “Ford’s daughter? Monty mentioned you’d just moved to town.” He came around the desk to shake her hand. “Welcome. You’ve come to the right place. We’ve got quite the collection of artifacts and documents from the colonial period.”

I wandered over to the gift shop area while Peter led Peyton toward the exhibits, pointing out specific displays that might help with her research. The rack of maps caught my eye—reproductions of historical charts marked with shipwrecks and supposed treasure locations.

“These are new.” I pulled one down to examine it. The artwork was actually pretty impressive, with detailed illustrations of ships and sea creatures. “Way better than thecheesy ones they used to sell. See, look, the paper’s even artificially aged.”

“Oh, that’s a new program we’re trying,” Peter explained. “A bunch of local artists made their own renditions of local treasure maps. Aren’t they cool?”

Peyton joined me, peering at the map in my hand. “Are any of these real?”

“The shipwrecks? Most of them. The treasure… That’s more complicated.” I handed her the map. “But if you want the real stories behind them, Pop knows them all. He’s covering at the Brewhouse today. He loves telling the tales of Blackbeard and the other pirates who used to hide out in these waters.”

“Really? Like, actual historical stories or just tourist stuff?”

This kid wasn’t interested in being snowed. Good for her.

“Both. But he knows which is which. He’s lived here his whole life, studied all the history. Just maybe don’t get him started unless you’ve got some time to spare. He can talk about this stuff for hours.”

“That would actually be perfect for my paper.”

“Then let’s head over there. I need to check on things, anyway.” Noting the way she still stared at the map, I made a snap decision. “Want it?”

She started to put it back. “No, that’s okay.”

I snatched it back. “Every Hatterwick resident should get her own treasure map. It’s a rite of passage.”

Peter nodded with a faux serious expression. “She speaks the truth.”

“Do you like this one? Or would you rather have one of the others?”

Peyton seriously considered all the selections before making her choice. I hid my smile as I paid for the map, and we headed out to the parking lot. My skin prickled as I reached for the driver’s side door, the hair on the back of my neck standingat attention. I felt weirdly exposed out here in the open. As if someone was watching us from behind one of the scraggly live oaks, or maybe from a parked car. Paranoid, I did a slow sweep of the area but saw no one suspicious lurking in the shadows of the museum’s side garden or near the dumpsters.

“Something wrong?” Peyton’s question snapped me back to the present.

It was just a case of the heebie jeebies because David Galef's killer hadn’t been caught. The whole island was still on edge about it. “Nah. I’m fine. I think I’m just hungry.” The excuse was weak, but it was better than admitting I was jumping at shadows.

“Me, too! Can we have fries for a snack?” Her face lit up at the prospect of food, reminding me that teenagers were basically bottomless pits.

“We can have anything you like.” I forced myself to relax, focusing on her enthusiasm rather than my paranoia.

“Sweet!”

---