The staff at the Brewster Store looked happy to see us.
“Sirena!” cried the woman behind the fudge counter.
“Monica!” cried Sirena.
The two of them leaned in and made air-kissy noises.
“I see you’ve brought a crowd,” said Monica. “We’re gathering upstairs, ladies. Treats are on their way.”
“Fudge, I hope,” murmured Cha Cha, eyeing the display behind the glass counter. “Mermaids love chocolate.”
We took up the entire first two rows. A scattering of people were seated in the back, some with copies of the book in hand, others who were probably just there for the free treats. After working at Lovejoy’s Books, I could scan an audience like a pro.
“How nice of you all to come!” The author made the rounds, shaking hands. I’d seen her type before. She was wearing what Hatcher called an I-am-an-artist outfit—the kind a person wears when they want to make a statement, like Augustus Wilde and his purple cape. In Amanda Appleton’s case, her statement seemed to be, I may have been a pirate in a previous life. Oversize white shirt? Check. Wide black belt with a gold buckle? Check. Large gold hoop earrings? Check. All she needed was a red bandana and an eye patch to complete the outfit. “Are all of you together?” She peered at us from behind a pair of big, black-rimmed glasses, her blue eyes alert.
“We are indeed,” Sirena answered.
“A family reunion?”
“You might say that.” Zadie gave her an impish smile. “We’re sort of a seafaring family.”
“You’ve come to the right place, then!” enthused Dr. Appleton. “I have a salty tale to tell, so let’s get started.” She turned to face the audience. “The main question every author is asked is, ‘Where do you get your ideas?’ With Saga of a Ship, I didn’t get the idea, it got me.” She nodded at my cousin and friends and me. “When I was about your age, girls, I was walking on a nearby beach one day, and I spotted something in the sand. At first, I thought it was a piece of trash. For some reason it caught my attention. When I leaned down to take a closer look”—she paused dramatically, reaching inside the neckline of her shirt to draw out what looked like a slightly squashed fifty-cent piece on a silver chain—“I realized that I’d found something special.”
“A piece of eight!” said Jasmine. “Just like at the pirate museum.”
“That’s exactly right,” Dr. Appleton told her. “It’s a Spanish coin called a ‘cob,’ worth eight reales—hence ‘piece of eight.’ Its shape is somewhat irregular, since they didn’t have the equipment to make perfect coins back in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. They just sliced off pieces of a silver rod instead and stamped them by hand. This one was minted in Bolivia in the early 1700s.”
She handed it to Monica, who passed it around so that we could all take a look.
“This one coin was all it took to shape the course of my life,” Dr. Appleton continued. “I was hooked, and from then on pirates and pirate treasure have been my great passion. And since I live here on Cape Cod, it was only natural that I developed an interest in the wreck of the Windborne. Fortunately for me, I have friends and colleagues who share my interest, including one who built a whole museum devoted to it! Isn’t that right, John?” She smiled at a man with a gray beard and a Jolly Roger T-shirt seated in the back row. Skipper John Dee! I thought as he smiled and waved back.
Dr. Appleton went on to explain her research process, and how, in order to try to track down the history of the ship, its crew members, and their tragic fate, she’d sifted through all sorts of stuff called “primary source material.” I was pretty sure I’d heard that term before. Professor Rusty, maybe? No, wait—it was that research assistant of his with the weird hair: Felicia Grunewald, the one we’d seen at the road race. She’d used the term over Spring Break, when we were trying to figure out my ancestor’s connection to the Underground Railroad. It meant original letters, diaries, newspaper reports, and stuff.
“Most of my research starts at the library,” the author continued. “One of the most exciting primary sources I came across recently was a letter that had been accidentally filed with another document, and thus overlooked by previous scholars. It was written to Isaiah Osborne, the ship’s carpenter who survived the wreck only to be caught and hanged as a pirate. We already knew from Isaiah’s testimony at his trial that after he washed ashore, he’d entrusted his share of the treasure to a shipmate he called Dandy Dan. The two had split up and run in opposite directions, planning to meet up again later. This letter mentions Cherry Island”—I nudged Mackenzie when I heard this—“and names a date for the two to meet, but of course Isaiah never made it to the rendezvous.”
Someone in the row behind us raised a hand. “Finding the pirate treasure would be a big deal, right?”
“Oh yes,” Dr. Appleton replied. “A very big deal indeed.”
“A real career maker,” added Skipper John Dee. “Just like finding the Windborne was for me.”
“Would you get to keep the treasure if you found it?” someone else wanted to know.
The author pursed her lips. “It would depend on where it was found. Many states have so-called ‘finders keepers’ laws, but they are interpreted differently. In this case, the statute of limitations would have long since run out for heirs to claim it, so I suspect that yes, I would get to keep it.”
I blinked. So even if Dandy Dan were actually my relative, Amanda
