"I shoulda gone out to do the fishin' today. It's a great fishin' day."
"You fished Sunday to free up today—and you brought in a big catch that day."
"I don't think this is a good idea."
"You've been thinking this was a good idea for a couple of weeks. You couldn't help but show your interest when I mentioned it. I bet you've been hard ever since."
"I don't like comin' in to Shernhaven harbor. I said I'd never—"
Driving into the north end of town and turning onto the Upper Head road to rise to the top of the bluff where the three rambling old mansions stood, Eddie Geer wondered why it had taken him so long to visit Shernhaven. He'd always been told that the small, harbor village where his English ancestors had settled in America three hundred and fifty-five years ago was picture perfect and worth a visit. It was less than twenty miles from Boston and he'd traveled the world, but this was his first visit
It was so dark and the waves near the shore were so choppy that Tab had difficulty seeing the little beach on the ocean side of the Lower Head lighthouse, and he almost was at the entrance into the Shernhaven harbor before he got his bearings. He brought the motorboat he'd borrowed from Keith Dodson in to land as close as he dared, dropped the anchor, and slipped over the side of the boat and into the water with his bag of tools hung around his neck.
It was a tiring swim to the li
Crashing through the undergrowth of the tropical trees in the hot, humid air, Kweku fought to understand where he'd gone wrong. It wasn't his fault that Nana Opuku Ware, the Ashanti King, favored him, a by-blow, over the son who would be king, Okyere.
Kweku had overheard Okyere whining to the king, telling him that Kweku was revealing to the Dutch team camped out on the river bank the locations of the locations of the gold digs the Ashanti had concealed between the Ankobra and Vo
The July 4th weekend had been a high celebration in the harbor town of Shernhaven since before anyone in the town could remember. And, being a seaside town, celebration here was largely conducted on the water. The whole weekend the harbor itself was packed with pleasure boats from as far south as Martha's Vineyard and north as Gloucester. Only a single channel was kept clear for the movement of vessels in and out of the harbor.
The highlight of the weekend was a Sunday afternoon r
John Dungan, the third son of Archibald, the Baron de Blaguere, of Ardkill, Londonderry, was a man of few words but of precipitous action. When the Irish potato famine started destroying the lives and working ability of the families producing the Irish whiskey at his family's distillery in Londonderry—and particularly in challenging his endurance at watching families that had worked for his for generations starve—John took action.
John started by pleading to his father, the baron,
"The interview went well?"
"Yes, it did."
"You didn't think it would, did you? You thought Cole would queer it."
Tab and Ben Semple were sitting out on the deck of Tab's waterside cottage overlooking the north end of Plymouth Bay on the estate of the man Tab had found handyman work with and who wanted Tab near enough to visit when his family wouldn't miss him from the big house up on the bluff.
"The manager at the cranberry packaging bu
He felt the weight of his body pulling on his wrists where they were chained to the wall in the dungeon of the ritter's castle. His cheek rested against the clammy stone wall of the chamber. Still, though, the sweat was dripping down his brow and into his eyes. There was nothing he could do about that now.
Von Rostock had left him, saying he'd be back after refreshing himself.
If he stretched out his legs and perched on the balls of his feet, he could just manage to
"Where did you get those? Those look fresh. You said that Cole didn't . . ."
"No, it wasn't Cole. It's OK, it doesn't hurt much."
Tab had called the bank and asked Ben Semple if he was interested in a nooner at the apartment.
"Always," Ben had answered. "I'll be there in ten."
Ben was already stripping his shirt off as he entered his apartment, and that's when Tab had seen the welts on his back.
"God, Ben. They're on your
The gentlemen, the three principles of the expedition, Peter Cushing, Daniel Hobart, and Addis Shern, were conversing at the rail when Captain Lynch sidled up to them from out of the darkness. He always felt so inferior—and, he thought, was treated as such—when he approached their counsel. But he was the captain of this vessel, not any one of the three of them, and that meant something, even if they did not act as if they countenanced it. They were not in command until they reached land. Out her
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