Wednesday morning broke fair for Oak Island and the temperature quickly to a muggy height. At seven-thirty the Yearbright drills were grinding into gear, churning dirt and mud out of the massive shaft upwind from the lighthouse. They were soon joined by the echo of Clemens' drill at Borehole 12B.

No one sleeps late here, Lauren thought irritably as she dressed. The beam from the tower was enough to give even the soundest of sleepers insomnia, and about the time daylight eclipsed the beacon the drilling would start.

"This is for you." Carlos handed her a rolled up shade as she came into Rudy's small kitchen. "Captain Maruso brought it this morning."

"He's here?" She looked at the new shade fondly. "I forgot to get one when we were in town."

"He brought some replacement panels for Rudy. They're up at the light now." Carlos cleaned his glasses carefully, letting Lauren serve the biscuits and tea. "A pit we couldn't get more from the libraries, but at least we have a few excellent maps from the early Maritimes. This one especially." He took a copy Lauren had made. "It matches the one in Brielle's diary exactly."

Lauren almost dropped the tea pot. "You found a map? When?" She sat beside him, eyeing the shoebox next to the plate of biscuits.

"Last night." Carlos smiled. "It was late. You were sleeping. That blasted light was bright enough to work by so --"

"You didn't Carlos." He was still recovering from minor eye surgery and she was constantly reminding him of his limitations.

"No. I used a lamp. But I did find the map. Now eat first before Rudy comes in and slaps some salsa on your bread." He took a long drink of tea and cautiously took the diary out. "The first reference of the nature was to what Brielle called Port Gloucester. This chart," he sorted through the copies, "here, has the same longitude and latitude as Mahone Bay. It was drawn by a British cartographer in 1776. The bay was also known, although not commonly, as Mecklenburgh Bay, and Oak Island as Gloucester Isle.

"Most references use the name Oak Island rather than Gloucester," he insisted, finding another chart. "The first survey of the island was in 1762 by the province's Surveyor-General. It's labeled Island No. 28, and consists of one-hundred-forty acres divided into thirty-two lots. In smaller print it's also called Oak Island, Gloucester Isle and Smith's Island. According to public record, it was uninhabited.

"When Brielle mentioned Port Gloucester the Lady Grey was in Mecklenburgh waters. Here." He pointed to a smudged page in the diary. "It doesn't mention Nova Scotia or Canada, but Brielle says they sailed north past the Colonies, lists the position and states an 'isle of discretion will surely be found to suit our needs'. He lists Port Gloucester, Port Sable and the Mecklenburgh waters here, too. Those are the only names in the text." Carlos sat back. "He mentions bypassing Port Shannon in Virginia where he was supposed to pick up cargo for the throne."

"He already has the payroll?"

Carlos nodded and turned two pages. Lauren looked at the map sketched in ink.

"If this copy were reduced about thirty-percent it would fit exactly."

She looked at the old navigating chart. "It's Mahonne Bay."

"Yes. The French spelling for Mahone. It was named after a favorite ship used by Mediterranean pirates. The island isn't mentioned by name on Brielle's map, but the similarities in names are beyond coincidence."

"You're convinced?"

"Yes. The only names are the bay and these two islands, Gloucester and Sable. Gloucester is never identified on the map; only in text." Carlos skimmed the page, consulting his notes briefly. "Here. Brielle doesn't write why the Lady Grey is in the bay. The whole matter is quite vague, as if he fears someone may be trying to read the entries."

"Stuart?"

"Possibly. Drink your tea before it gets cold, Lauren."

She obliged, found it already too cool, and pushed it out of the way. She watched as Carlos read.

"He spent a good deal of time convincing Stuart to take the risks, too. Down here he writes ' . . . view of nothing save a few natives, which take their leave hereafter. The Port provides a natural shelter for repairs and utter privacy. The dear Stuart has agreed, as I predicted, and we shall scout the Port shortly'. There it is. The collaboration."

"You won't have to translate it all, Carlos," Lauren said hastily. "Just find the map or plans. He'd have to write them down."

"Yes, but that's exactly what he did." He smiled at her eagerness. "My dear, this is the only map in the journal. Brielle never made a map -- a treasure map, if you will -- with an X and all that. He wrote out the directions."

She groaned. "How tedious."

"Yes. Words on a page are one thing; Maps would draw attention."

"Stuart?"

Carlos shrugged. "Perhaps. I don't think Brielle trusted anyone completely."

"Every word will count."

"Nearly so. That's as far as I got last night. Much of it was belly-aching on Brielle's behalf."

"Is that it?" Rudy as he and Maruso stepped in from work on the light. Carlos threw a shoe box over the diary as the door opened.

"The map, yes." Carlos gently removed the box, relieved no damage was done to the aged book. "It's the only one included, and gives few particulars."

"That's the bay," Maruso said as he and Rudy settled across from Carlos. "Rudy was saying something about a Port Gloucester."

Carlos told them over lunch the recent updates on their progress. Both were disappointed Brielle had no used more maps, but understood that the one drawing would show a direct link between Brielle and the bay.

"Include that, too," Carlos told Lauren as she made notes for a letter to Stends and Cooper. He looked to Maruso. "I hope you're taking that sixty day option seriously. I think we're going to need it."

"The Second Wind is yours."

"Brielle is certainly taking his time getting to the operation," Rudy growled.

"He's a deliberate man," Carlos said. "He was trying to take advantage of the war's confusion to pull this off. I don't think he trusted anyone else with the plans."

"Not even Stuart?" Rudy asked.

"If he trusted Stuart he would have let him live," Carlos determined.

"Unless he really was killed by accident," Rudy argued. "Maybe the Lady Grey was attacked by American privateers like Brielle claimed."

"There wasn't much of that until the War of 1812," Maruso recalled.

"Brielle never mentions an attack in the journal; only the ship's log," Carlos said.

Maruso finished his ice tea and stood up. "I've got to get back to town for a fishing party this afternoon."

"I thought you were retained for Carlos and Rudy," Lauren said.

"I am, but I have to at least give the appearance of still working."

"What about the union? Won't they get nosey if you don't report income from the musume?" She looked uncomfortably at Carlos. "Are we on the level this time?"

"Of course we are," the curator sniffed. "You know better than to ask something like that, Lauren."

"Last summer --”

"If you must know," Carlos interrupted quickly, "Captain Maruso is completely legal. All monies are reported to the transportation union. Their records are open to anyone with a direct court order, and the only reason anyone would be wanting to get an order is if Captain Maruso doesn't look like he's working."

"Which he is," she said drearily, reaching for her tea. "I understand. What a cover up."

"You wouldn't believe the arrangements we've had to make," Carlos said. "You'd better go with him to the dock. For appearance. Besides, we need the Jeep back for tonight."

Wednesday nights Rudy played poker with Togan Geiger, Mel Francis, Bill Ramsey and Ramsey's brother-in-law Kent Palmer. Geiger was a retired doctor who had moved to Oak Island several years ago, and it was his house they used for these poker games. Mel Francis was also retired, from the Lunenburg shipyard, where he had lost an eye.

If anyone looked like a throw-back to the pirate days, Rudy had said on more than one occasion, it was Mel. The ex-dock hand added to the illusion, too, spreading stories of being related to Anne Bonnie and/or Mary Read, depending on what he was drinking at the time, of seeing the Young Teaser burning across the bay in a light fog, and of even being keelhauled when he first crossed the Horse Latitudes as a young man.

All of Mel's stories were colorful, but hadn't a hair of truth in them, Rudy assured Lauren. The farthest south Mel had ever been was Yarmouth, and he was a full-blooded Micmac Indian. As for seeing the ghost ship, Mel may well have seen something on the night seas, but it would have been alcohol influenced.

Rudy had skipped last Wednesday night's game because Carlos and Lauren had just flown in, but tonight Carlos was going, too. Lauren talked her way out of accompanying Carlos. She knew he wanted nothing to do with the game, but, as he was always reminding her, appearances were vital.

Lauren saw Carlos and Rudy to the door, then switched on the small kitchen radio, thankful of the silenced drills, and brought out Carlos' notes. She heated water for tea and listened to the deejay's spiel touting festivities scheduled for Canada Day.

Already she and Maruso had made plans for Saturday, and this time they were for real. All the libraries and most other public information sources would be closed for the holiday. She didn't mind keeping up appearances this time, she admitted to herself, pouring the steaming water into the delft tea pot.

Not that she didn't get out enough since working with Carlos. Quite the opposite. There were trips to the Far East, Western Europe, Australia and more local destinations like Mexico to look at Mayan etchings. It would've been a blue of fascination to an observer, but quite different to live it.

She wasn't bored with the work. No one with even the slightest interest in the field would call Carlos' work dull; but there were less exotic aspects of being aide to a musume curator, despite the field.

She had discovered a certain loneliness in being Carlos' assistant. Most of her professors at school recognized and credited her field experience, but the hands-on training did little for her social life.

Maruso had wondered just how anxious she was to be Carlos' permanent assistant. Now she wondered, too. She knew she wanted it more than anything else -- more than Beth York or Allison Mullins did. That she knew to be true, even if they didn't.

The small monster of loneliness raised its head occasionally, but she always pushed it away. There would be times to tend that beast later. If Carlos was going to make the discovery of the twentieth century -- or any other century -- she wanted to be there.

She had been working for two hours when the sounds of the Jeep pulling up met her ears. Rudy looked in on her momentarily before activating the light. Unlike Country Island and other surrounding lights, the one Rudy tended was manual with no automation whatsoever. It was also one of the oldest, being built in 1893. The only modification of any real consequence was electricity in the early 1930s. Even that had only been a generator until power was run out to the island in the sixties by cable.

Only the beacon's centennial anniversary several years ago had kept the Oak Island light from being converted to modern automation. There was even a special interest group forming that tried to make all off-coast lighthouses fully automatic by the turn of the century. For economical reasons, they claimed. It helped, too, that Rudy's father Sebastian Maddock had tended the light since its original prisms. Rudy took over the keep when Sebastian died forty years ago.

Lauren had just poured herself another cup of tea after Rudy left when a second vehicle was heard outside. She could tell it wasn't the Jeep. She peeked through the kitchen window and groaned.

Barely had the diary and notes been towed in the secretary when Miles knocked on the door.

"Good evening, Lauren," he said with a grin when she answered. "I didn't think anyone was home."

"You didn't?"

If Miles had lived on the island as long as he had he would certainly be aware of Rudy's Wednesday night poker games and what time the light was activated. Rudy was punctual where the light was concerned. Miles had probably even passed the Jeep on the way.

"You thought I played poker?"

"Well, not that," Miles admitted. "But I didn't think your old man would leave you here alone." He was peering over her shoulder into the small sitting room beyond the kitchen. "You are alone?"

"Yes." She had to tell Miles to buzz off sometime. It may be as well now. "Would you like to come in?"

"Sure." He looked around casually, but his covert interest was evident to Lauren.

She laughed. "What are you looking for?"

"Me? Oh, nothing." He took the tea she gave him and sat at the kitchen table. "Have a nice time at the Cabot Pageant?"

"Very nice, but what a trip." She took the chair beside him. "I didn't realize what a train ride it was going to be." She sipped her tea, planning how best to tell Miles he needn't waste his time with her.

"Canada Day is this Saturday," he reminded needlessly. "I suppose you have plans."

"Actually," she said, relieved he'd brought it up, "I do. In fact, I'm going to be busy while I'm here." She watched his face hopefully.

"I see." He frowned. "That does complicate things."

"In what way?"

"Oh, I was just thinking aloud," he added hastily. "You're not engaged or anything, are you?"

Lauren laughed.

"Well, are you?" he asked more pointedly.

"No. Why are you so interested?" For a moment the small room was quiet except for the radio announcer describing more weekend festivities. She had cornered Miles and he knew it. He was gong to get pushy, uncharacteristic to his nature. She decided to be as blunt as possible.

"I think you'd better leave. This isn't a good idea." She stood up.

"Now, Lauren, I'm sorry." Miles rose and tried to take her hand. She avoided him and stood next to the back door.

Miles didn't follow. Instead he took a step into the sitting room, pausing by the secretary. He picked up the pewter miniature of John Cabot she had brought back from Windsor.

"I don't give up that easily," he said deliberately.

She couldn't decide if he was talking about Maruso or if he had found out about Carlos' work. She didn't like his intentional vagueness.

"I suggest you do."

He put the figure down and stepped farther into the room. "You said you and Maruso didn't keep close contact before now. How'd you patch things up so fast? It's only been a week."

"That's really none of your business." He had dropped the facade of being jealous, but was still using it. Lauren hated being toyed with, especially by Miles. She joined him in the parlor, sitting on the sofa's cushioned arm. "A lot can happen in a week."

"I imagine so. Tell me about it." He had said the words easily enough. He'd found out something; she knew it. He knew Carlos was visiting Rudy for reasons beyond friendship. He wasn't so sure about the relationship between Maruso and Lauren, but that wasn't what he had been sent to find out.

Lauren shook her head.

"I'll find out why your old man is really here, Lauren," he said flatly. He stood directly in front of her. "What have you got? A map?"

"Is that what you're talking about? That damn pit again?"

"It's why you're here."

She stood up. "Get out."

"You may as well tell me now, Lauren. I'll only --”

"Get out!"

This time he did leave. Lauren slammed the door behind him, twisting the lock with relief.

Miles knew something was going on at the lighthouse. At least that was what he had been told to assume. If he'd come to the conclusion on his own he would have said it. Made some comment. Said he'd seen her and Maruso at one of the libraries. Intercepted Carlos' mail in West Winds. But he had no proof Carlos was studying the diary, no reason to believe her romance with Maruso wasn't genuine.

Miles was acting on Saul's impulse -- that was all. If they knew about the diary Miles would have said so tonight. He was trying to trap her into saying something she shouldn't.

She took a deep breath. Well, he had failed. She allowed herself a small smile, which dissolved quickly. She had made a new enemy, and one that would have to return. Perhaps she should have kept cordiality with him.

Saul may have Miles use other methods of find more about Carlos.

Both Carlos and Rudy shared Lauren's opinion of Miles' behavior when she told them about the Wednesday night visit. Carlos insisted they adhere to their original plan. This was merely a visit to an old friend who happened to live next to the Money Pit.

Carlos' work on the Brielle diary progressed steadily the next few days. The work was slow due to the admiral's exaggerated style and constant griping about the crew, ship and even Stuart. He was especially disgruntled when the ship's store of tobacco was depleted.

Lauren sat at Carlos' elbow in the afternoon sun, making notes and sharing the curator's perception of the admiral. It wasn't until they reached an entry dated in late May of 1777 that the diary mentioned Brielle and Stuart going ashore. For two pages and eight days they had been in Mahone Bay. Brielle wrote of two other islands he and Stuart considered, but they were dismissed without even being named.

Carlos read aloud. "Brielle and Stuart take a three man crew to the cove, seaward on Port Gloucester. Make a map, Lauren. That's good. Now, they landed at what is now Smith's Cove." He read silently for several long moments.

"'The savages residing on the other isles were a curious lot. Fortunately they have the courtesy not to inhabit our choice of port. We have seen so signs of other ships on the isle; I assume there is no reason to dock on this paltry spot of earth.'"

"He did see the Micmac," Lauren remarked.

"It would seem so." Carlos pushed his glasses back on his nose. "But not on Oak Island. He goes on from there, jabbering about the red oaks and wildlife. Here . . . 'pocked with sink holes and sand pits. Stuart advises our fortune for these, but I hardly see the credit of such land marks'. He says he and Stuart scout the island. They finally make a decision. New entry dated June 1. Stuart has drawn up preliminary plans, but Brielle disagrees with the designs. On what matter, he doesn't say. Brielle writes of the argument, but he finally agrees to one set of plans on the second day of the month. He even apologizes to Stuart."

"Why the sudden approval?"

Carlos read on, shaking his head. "Of course. It wasn't consent. Not our man Brielle. He says 'I have found a willing course to utilize my colleague's last draft. Only minimal effort will make the correct appearance. I must enlist Ensign Williams to my mind. He is a ready and useful fellow, and given easily to brandy. He shares my sentiments of the savages, and no tongues will wag.' Another conspirator. That was June 5."

Lauren hurriedly finished her notes. "You want to request a crew list for the Lady Grey? We've worked with the British Naval Registry before with good results."

"Do that. Have we received anything from the estates yet?"

"No. Lewis checked this morning, Carlos. He said he'd bring any mail over immediately." She stood up. "Want some tea?"

"Hmm? Yes." His eyes followed the faded printing on the diary pages as she filled the kettle with water. When she sat down he resumed dictating. "Williams has been sent to the mainland with other crew members. They bring seventy-eight natives to Port Gloucester. Brielle doesn't say when Williams left, but it couldn’t have been before the first."

"That's still June fifth?"

"Yes. New entry. Two days later. He describes Stuart's plans as ingenious and resourceful. However, Brielle says the plans will not accommodate his. He will 'put hit mind to another course that will shun the pit completely.' Now take this down carefully on the back of the map. Uh, let's see . . . 'inland from the cove, westward, heading opposite the sun at dawn. Stuart has the mind to make use of a wide sinkhole, a natural depression, to discourage curiosity, engulfed in a copse of oak.'" He read on to himself, frowning. "That's the only practical reference."

"He expected to find the pit again with that one phrase and the map?" Lauren turned off the whistling kettle and made the tea.

"Brielle isn't overly concerned with the location of the actual pit because he doesn't plan to bury the payroll there." Carlos carefully cleaned his glasses before proceeding. "Another new entry. June eighth. 'Stuart insists supervising the night shift. Twenty-four of the crew will work the depository under my watch. Ensign Williams today will govern the forty heathen at Small Cove'. I would say that's our Smith's Cove. He also calls it South Cove."

Lauren nodded, her pen scratching a version of cryptic shorthand.

"'The clearing suits Stuart's plans. The sinkhole is widened to a breadth of about a rod.' That's about fifteen feet." He read on silently, lips moving as his eyes traveled across the frayed page. "Seems that the hole was dug angled to one side, not in the middle of the clearing. The plans include a flood tunnel from Small Cove. Brielle is rambling now. There is no new entry for two pages, but surely this cannot be a single day." He looked at the preceding page. "Well, we'll figure out his timetable later."

"Fire away."

"As he indicated, Stuart's plans will not comply with Brielle's, but he has found a way around the problem. The twelve hour shifts are tedious and unbearably long. Two mainlanders wandered onto the south shore, probably out of curiosity, and Brielle has them killed. Their bodies are burned. Two Indians are killed in a quell at the Small Cove, during Stuart's shift. Brielle and Williams find the location for Brielle's depository. Note that, Lauren; not their depository, but my own. Brielle's."

"Got it."

Carlos took off his glasses and rubbed his watering eyes. "He doesn't give a definite location yet. He does say that the Lady Grey is dry docked just up the beach at Small Cove."

"But we've got enough verification for Cooper to grant us more time if we need it," she figured. "There's no doubt now."

He smiled, nodding with satisfaction. "I agree. Brielle's depository is not Stuart's pit. He doesn't plan to utilize the shaft at all." He blinked, wiping his eyes with a tissue.

"Let's stop for now," Lauren suggested. "You've been at this for hours. Dr. Wallace said no more than two hours at a time since your last visit." She fixed his tea, watching obliquely as he folded his glasses. "He had no qualms about enslaving the Micmac. Typical European attitude. And he never entertained the thought of actually using Stuart's shaft for the payroll after seeing how it was to be constructed. It was a simply a decoy."

Carlos nodded in agreement. He had just put the journal back into the shoe box when Rudy came in. The light keeper’s face was flushed and his breathing heavy.

"Every kid in the province must have booked a tour," he said, wheezing. "I usually have one, two buses a week. This week it's been three, and next week there's one every day. Two on Thursday and Saturday."

Carlos chuckled. "If there wasn't enough interest to have the tours they'd be automating the light and you know it. Part of the interest if because of the anniversary for the pit. It'll calm down in a few weeks."

"I know," Rudy said, rubbing the back of his neck. "Personally, I'm surprised Norman Manro is allowing tours at all. The last two years he's hardly let anyone in from the causeway. Of course, he might have made a deal with the local boys who work on the bay. That causeway would take a lot of their business."

"Miles said something about the tourism bureau taking more of an interest in the pit this year," Lauren recalled. "Does Monro own this whole island?"

"No. You had an old survey there, Carlos." Rudy accepted a cup of tea from Lauren. He reached for a bottle on the ice box. "Thank you. Yes, that's the one."

They looked at the survey chart from 1762. "Not much has changed, except the shorelines," Carlos said as he put his glasses back on. "There are still thirty-two lots?"

Rudy nodded. "Monro owns the western third roughly, to about here." He traced a line. "From there to the end of Lot 19 is the Neeley brothers' property. James has the west and east ends and Otis owns most of the middle. They're not the closest of kin. James leases to long term operation like Yearbright and Clemens. Both of them are on his Lot 18." Rudy paused to drink his tea. "Otis prefers short run hunters, like tourists up for a week, or the eccentric fringe. The Mahone Bay Historical Society own Lot 20, where we are, and have for over ninety years. They own all rights, and most of the rights on Otis' land, and refuse to lease."

Carlos took a deep breath and sat back. "I certainly hope Brielle buried it on Lot 20," he joked.

Rudy chuckled, shaking his head. "We may have quite a wait if he didn't. Even Otis' property would be better than James'. How far did you get today?"

Carlos highlighted their work on the diary as Lauren made supper. She only half listened to his recitation, her mind on the meal. One thing she missed traveling so much for the musume was a chance to cook. She decided against anything fancy. It was already getting late and Rudy's cupboards leaned toward the Creole palette. She caught sight of Miles' truck as she passed a window and hastily dried her hands.

"Miles is here," she told the men lowly. She instinctively escorted the shoe box and notes to the sitting room secretary. She was back at the sink when Rudy opened the kitchen door.

"Well, well. Saul. Come in."

Saul Clemens stepped into the crowded room, shaking hands with Carlos when they were introduced and nodding to Lauren. The kitchen seemed especially small with his large frame.

"Now I see why Miles is spending so much time over here." He winked at her.

"I don't think he'll be spending too much anymore," Rudy said. Lauren kept her back to them as she cut up the chicken.

"So Miles told me. Well, he'll get over it," Saul said with a short laugh. He sat down across from Carlos. "I hear you're interested in the pit."

Lauren swore softly to herself when he said it, nearly slicing her thumb open. She didn't turn around.

"The Money Pit?" Carlos said. "Who isn't? Any treasure hunt going on for a hundred years is --”

"Two hundred years," Saul corrected.

"Two hundred?"

Saul nodded briskly. "You didn't know that?"

"Lauren, I thought you said it was one hundred years this summer," Carlos said loudly to her.

"No; I said two, Dad."

Saul wasn't convinced of Carlos' ignorance. "Listen, Rudy, I know you're friend is here for the pit," he said levelly. "I'm here to cut a deal. Now, you have no equipment, but you must have something to go on. We can work together. Share fifty-fifty, after royalties. I'm an honest man. I can provide men, engineering, pumps, all of it."

"What are we supposed to supply?" Rudy asked without pretense. "We're old men. Too old to look for buried treasure."

"You have a map," Saul said crisply. "We can do it together."

"You mean you've got all that equipment, but no map?" Carlos asked. His moderate surprise verged on mockery. "Isn't that an expensive waster? I think we've got a map if the island from --”

"Not a map of the island," Saul said tightly. His face was dark with suppressed frustration. "I know you've got a map, Maddock. Blackbeard made three that we know of."

"We don't have any pirate treasure map," Carlos admitted steadily. "And if you don't have one, Clemens, you're a bigger fool than the rest of these fortune hunters. Besides, the way Yearbright is going the whole island will go down before anything comes up."

"Has she been here?" Saul was at a sudden stall. "What did she offer? She won't hold to it, Maddock, Meade. She'll cut you out."

"Lucy hasn't been over," Rudy argued. "We have no interest in the Money Pit. Not the type you're suggesting."

Saul stood, his face still dark. "It's safer to work with me than against me, Maddock. You know that." He looked to where Lauren was watching with unmasked curiosity. "Think about it. I'm sure you wouldn't want anything unfortunate to happen to your sweet girl."

Carlos was on his feet instantly, a bony finger jabbing into Saul's chest. "You leave my daughter out of this, Clemens," he warned. "Keep your sorry son off the stoop or I'll have him permanently removed."

All three men stared at each other for a long stubborn moment.

"We'll see about that," Saul finally growled. He left, the door slamming so hard the windows rattled for a full minute.

Lauren whistled lowly. "I hope he isn't serious, Rudy."

"He can't be."

"If he tries anything," Carlos said heatedly, "or it that son of his --”

"They won't," Lauren assured. She recognized the onslaught of verbal convulsions sweeping over the curator. "I didn't tell Miles anything, but he might have made something up to appease Saul."

Rudy shook his head and poured Carlos and himself a couple of drinks. He offered one to Lauren, but she shook her head. "Miles wouldn't lie to his pop; Saul must have decided it was time for the direct approach. He'd have done the same thing no matter who was visiting the island this summer."

"I don't care if his threats are standard procedure." Carlos took a stunted drink. "If that boy comes anywhere near you, Lauren, I'll have the Captain rip him in half."

"Miles is harmless," she rationalized.

"Perhaps, but Saul may not be."

"I can take care of Miles," she promised. "Besides, he gave me the impression the treasure was forced south by the flooding when the pit collapsed. Why is Saul looking for map?"

"Because he's desperate to find any map that can be linked to Captain Kidd or Blackbeard and the island," Rudy explained. "Every couple of years someone unearths an old pirate map handed down from their great-grandpappy who usually got it from a pirate crew member. There are enough dying sailor stories and their 'treasure' maps to fill a textbook."

"Well, we haven't got a map to fit Clemens' needs, and I'm not going to tolerate his casual threats," Carlos said. "You keep a close eye on him and Miles, Lauren."

"I will. Now you two go in the other room. It's too crowded in here for all us and the chicken, too." She added lowly, "Take it easy, Carlos. Your blood pressure is worse than your eyesight.

"Stop burying me, Lauren. You'll get my job soon enough."

"Carlos!"

"Set them up," he called to Rudy in the sitting room as the lightkeeper took out the chess board. His face brightened when he looked to Lauren. "That is what you want, isn't it?"

Lauren watched the smile creep over him. "Well, yes," she admitted. "But not like that, and you know it. Stop joking about things like that. It's bad luck."

"Luck has nothing to do with anything, my dear."