“She said I couldn’t do my Heritage Day project on Cap’n Bill.”
Topher flashed back on his own third-grade Heritage Day project. Every third grader in Magnolia Harbor had to do a project that would be displayed in City Hall during the festival that marked the anniversary of the hurricane of 1713, the storm that sank the Bonnie Rose, Captain William Teal’s pirate ship.
Topher had done a report on hurricanes of the eighteenth century and why the 1713 storm had been so devastating. All the rest of the kids had done projects featuring pirates. This propensity for going geek had been one of many things that had marked Topher as the bullies’ favorite target in elementary school. Until Granddad had taught him how to throw a football, he’d been a nobody. Less than that, really.
So he certainly understood Jackie’s problem. “Everyone does projects on pirates,” he said in an encouraging tone. “What’s your mother’s problem with that?”
“She thinks it’s not healthy for me.”
“Why?”
He shrugged. “I wanted to interview him, you know?”
“You wanted to interview William Teal?”
“Yeah. He’s here. He’s always hanging around this spot.”
A shiver ran up Topher’s spine. He didn’t believe in ghosts. Much. But even theoretically allowing for the existence of a ghost, Topher could certainly understand why Ashley didn’t want Jackie interviewing one for a school project.
“You know,” the preacher said, crossing the lawn as he continued to toss and catch the football. “If you wanted to do something different, you could study Henri St. Pierre. He was a pirate too. Everyone forgets that.”
The kid blinked up at the minister, and the tiniest of smiles tipped his mouth. Oh yeah, Jackie and Micah had a special thing going.
Disappointment, like the unrelenting pull of gravity, settled on Topher’s shoulders. For an instant he’d thought he might be able to help the kid. But it looked like a far more qualified man had already signed up for the job.
“What’s there to know about Henri St. Pierre besides the fact that he didn’t drown and he helped Rose Howland plant daffodils?” The kid rolled his eyes. “I’d be laughed out of class if I did a project about a guy who planted flowers.” The kid’s shoulders slumped again, and the spark vanished from his eyes.
“I wasn’t talking about the flowers,” Micah said.
“Then what?”
“Well, there’s a family story…”
“What kind of story?” Curiosity laced the kid’s words.
The preacher smiled and leaned in, speaking in a low whisper. “A story of buried treasure.”
“Really?” The boy’s eyes grew round.
“Yup.”
“Where?”
“Well, that’s the hard part. They say Rose Howland wrote letters to her father that have a secret coded map to the treasure.”
“Really?”
“Yup.”
“Where are these letters?”
“In the library.”
“Come on, I don’t—”
“I know it sounds far-fetched, but here’s the thing. Only direct descendants of Rose Howland are allowed to read the letters. And you, my boy, are a direct descendant.”
“Really?” Topher asked, suddenly caught up in Micah’s narrative. “Why the restriction?”
Micah shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s been a bone of contention in my family for years.” The minister turned back toward Jackie. “But that means you’re the only kid in your class who can read these letters.”
“Wow. That’s kinda cool. I could read them, then go looking for the treasure. And if I find it, that would be a really great project.”
“Exactly,” Micah said.
“Oh boy. Can you help me?”
“Well, I’m kind of busy, you know. I’m helping to organize the Heritage Day celebration, and I’ve got sermons to write and…stuff.”
“Oh.” Jackie’s shoulders slumped again.
“But maybe Topher can help.”
What the hell? The damn preacher had just played him.
“Would you?” The boy looked up at him. Damn. Only a real jerk would stand in the way of the excitement on the kid’s face. He’d been well and truly trapped.
“Uh, yeah, sure,” Topher found himself saying.
“You’ll talk to Mom? ’Cause I’m not sure she wants me to do any kind of pirate project.”
Topher nodded again.
“Great. So, uh, can I play?” Jackie nodded toward the football.
“Sure,” Micah said, handing Jackie the football. “And if you really want to know how to throw it, you should ask Topher. He was the quarterback who took the Rutledge Raiders all the way to the South Carolina state championship.”
“Really?” The kid looked up at him with that expression he’d once seen on the faces of his classmates at Rutledge High. He hated that awe-filled look.
What was wrong with people anyway? The ability to throw a tight spiral wasn’t enough to make a person a hero.