The Detective, the Woman and the Pirate's Bounty

By Amy Thomas

In The Detective, the Woman and the Pirate's Bounty, Sherlock Holmes and Irene Adler retrace the steps of pirates as they uncover a conspiracy at the heart of Florida's islands. Death threats and gangsters are not enough to stop the pair as they meet new friends and enemies while seeking pirate treasure and preserving law and order.

• Language: English
• Publisher: MX Publishing
• Release date: Mar 6, 2019
• ISBN: 9781787054158

Amy Thomas

Amy Thomas is a New York–based writer who, for two lucky years, got to call Paris home. In addition to working as a copywriter in advertising, she writes about food, travel, design, and fashion for various publications such as the New York Times, National Geographic Traveler, Town & Country, and Every Day with Rachael Ray. She is slightly obsessed with sweets.

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The Detective,

the Woman

and

the Pirate’s Bounty

A novel of Sherlock Holmes

Amy Thomas

Copyright © 2019 Amy Thomas

The right of Amy Thomas to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.

All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without express prior written permission. No paragraph of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted except with express prior written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright Act 1956 (as amended). Any person who commits any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damage.

All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any opinions expressed herein are those of the authors and do not necessarily represent those of MX Publishing.

Published in the UK by MX Publishing

335 Princess Park Manor, Royal Drive, London, N11 3GX

www.mxpublishing.com

Digital version converted and distributed by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

Cover by Mary Smiecinski

For Sky Danvers, who inspired me to write.

Acknowledgements

The majority of this book was written during a challenging time in my life, when I was undergoing cancer treatment. It could not have been completed without the selfless support of my family - David, Chris, and Ashley Thomas. I am grateful for them.

Designer Mary Smiecinski continues to amaze me with her artistry. I am thankful for her continued partnership as cover designer of this series.

I am forever grateful for the friendship and association of my fellow Baker Street Babes, who never fail to astonish me with their wit, intelligence, and undying love for all things Sherlock Holmes.

I also owe a debt of gratitude to Steve Emecz of MX Publishing for his many areas of help and expertise. This book could not have happened without him.

Finally, I am thankful for the Floridian historians whose records of the history and legends surrounding Florida’s pirates aided me in the writing of this book.

What you do in this world is a matter of no consequence. ... The question is, what can you make people believe you have done?

-A Study in Scarlet

The Beginning

I’m going back to Florida, said Holmes. Would you like to come along? My friend was seated in his usual place, the black wing chair in my sitting room, with pipe in hand. He’d been in Fulworth for three full days before telling me the reason for his visit, but I’d detected from the unusually bright gleam in his eye that he had some reason for coming other than a relaxing stint in the country, though I’d refused to give him the satisfaction of acting as if I was curious.

What about Dr. Watson? I asked.

He is much taken with courting your housekeeper of late, he answered, glaring at me as if it was my personal fault that Mrs. Turner and the doctor had taken a fancy to each other. I did, however, sympathize. Since her engagement, I had been forced to give up Mrs. Turner for visits to London and to lose her, even when at home, to long walks with her betrothed upon the Downs during his frequent visits to the area. I did not begrudge either of them the company, but her absences made me acutely aware that I must soon make do without her entirely.

What is the reason for this sudden journey? I enquired.

Morris, answered the detective. I owe him a favor. Holmes did not explain whom he meant, but I recalled the name easily. It belonged to the unflappably courageous sheriff who had helped to foil a plot against me in south Florida and whose investigations had assisted us when Roy Calhoun had threatened our safety in London. To say that we owed the man a debt was, I thought, stating the case mildly.

What does he want? I asked.

He wants us to find a pirate’s treasure, said Holmes, his mouth curling into a smirk, or at least disprove its existence. He asked for you specifically. I believe his memory of you is very fond. I cared little for Morris’s memory at that moment, my mind entirely engaged with the romantic idea of treasure hunting.

When do we leave? I wondered aloud, thinking that I could easily hear the specifics of the case on the journey. My eagerness was rewarded with a smile.

Tomorrow, answered Holmes.

You could have told me three days ago! I exploded with all my pent-up irritation at his reticence.

And deprive you of the excitement of an impromptu adventure? said Holmes. I’m not cruel.

I rose and went to my room to pack my suitcases, only turning back to ask, How long?

Who knows? asked my friend. The case will decide. He handed me a gold coin, dulled by age, but large and heavy and of a design I had never seen.

What is this? I asked.

Pirate treasure, he answered. The real thing. I was given it by a man I once saved from hanging. It’s said to bring prodigiously good luck.

I hope so, I said, and I closed my hand around it, feeling the cold metal against my palm.

* * *

Sherlock Holmes had not been out of England for quite some time, and as he felt the first movement of the train vibrating around him, he was pleased to embark on a longer journey than that from London to the Downs. The Woman sat across from him, dressed in a practical grey shirtwaist and brown skirt, and also wearing the determined look that meant she would not rest until he had explained the particulars of the case, which he fully intended to do.

The rhythm of working with Watson had years and memories behind it, but there was a certain rightness to the current state of things, too. After all, it had been Irene who had once traversed Florida with him for the mad whirlwind of a case that had made them allies.

Besides, he thought to himself with inner amusement, nearly every legendary pirate had a lady. Of course, the captains of old were known to have preferred their feminine companions to be silent and ornamental, and Sherlock Holmes preferred something quite different.

Chapter 1: Irene

After enduring Holmes’s secrecy for days, I could hardly have been expected to forbear much longer, especially given that I had trusted him enough to prepare for a transcontinental journey without more than a story about pirate treasure and the name of an old friend. I felt slightly guilty as I thought of Mrs. Turner’s horrified face when, upon her return from shopping, I’d told her I was leaving the very next morning and had packed my own bags, but there had been nothing else for it. Now, however, I was ready for the full tale.

Holmes, I said, clearing my throat and leaning back in my seat as the train slowly gained speed, it is the time for stories.

So it is, he answered, and what a story it will be.

I had never seen such an eager, almost boyish, side of my friend. He appeared nearly gleeful at the prospect of explaining the particulars. I thought of teasing him about his frequent derision of the dramatic flourishes that issued from Dr. Watson’s pen, but I did not. I could not bear to snuff out the light that suffused his countenance. Perhaps, I thought, all boys want to be pirates. And maybe all girls, too. I certainly had, once.

The story begins in 1756, my friend began, with the birth of a Spanish child named Jose Gaspar, who became a young man and joined his country’s navy, where he was either a mutineer or so startlingly successful that he became an advisor to his king, depending on which version of the legend one chooses to believe.

I usually think of such romantic tales happening well before the second half of the eighteenth century, I murmured.

So you may, said Holmes, but exceptional men are born in every generation.

Indeed, I answered pointedly, as I have immediate proof.

My friend did not reply to my teasing, but continued, The salient point is that Gaspar’s naval career was cut short, either by mutiny or by unsubstantiated accusations of theft, some say of the Spanish crown jewels.

I feel as if I’m reading a penny dreadful, I put in.

As well you might, said my companion. There is no hard evidence for either story, but, thankfully, Gaspar’s early life is immaterial to the case.

At any rate, the man seized a ship, changed his name to Gasparilla, chose piracy as his destined profession, and the coast of Florida, which was under Spanish rule at the time, as his main haunt.

The Florida connection, finally, I said.

Quite, answered Holmes, though we’re still a full hundred years from the present, and many of those years are filled with legends of piracy of the usual kind - looting of ships and capture of prisoners. There’s an island off the coast of Fort Myers, where the man is said to have imprisoned his female bounty, thus lending it the name Captiva.

He doesn’t seem to have been a particularly remarkable pirate, even if all the local legends are true. He was wise enough to lie low and not reach beyond a reasonable area of operation, though, as most pirates do, he supposedly met his end in battle, jumping from his ship to avoid capture.

Certainly a dramatic enough story, I said, but what of the treasure?

Yes, the treasure, said Holmes, smiling. Many others, like you, appear to find that the most compelling aspect of the narrative.

Gaspar claimed a small Floridian island, now named Gasparilla Island, as his lair. According to the legends, he kept much of the treasure he gleaned from unsuspecting merchant ships in a vast den built for the purpose.

I take it, then, that we are bound for that island, I surmised aloud.

You’re quite wrong, Holmes answered. If that were the case, we would find ourselves far outside Morris’s jurisdiction. No, we are bound for a third island, barely connected to Captiva by a thin strip of sandy ground. Its name, supposedly given by Gaspar’s first mate, is Sanibel. You see, a letter has been found, allegedly written by Gaspar to the aforementioned first mate, a man named Roderigo Lopez. In it, he details a plan to retire from his pirating ways, but not until after transferring the bulk of his treasure to Sanibel.

Didn’t he die, though? I asked.

Yes, answered Holmes, just before this supposed retirement was initiated, as legend would have it. No one knows if he managed to take the gold to Sanibel, but there’s certainly never been any sign of it found on Gasparilla Island, however much the locals have searched.

Forgive me, I said, but this strikes me as a little bit-

Ridiculous, said Holmes. A local legend, but nothing to concern us.

Quite, I replied.

Clearly, you know there must be more, or I’d have hardly allowed myself to be lured to the American Continent over it, he said. Morris has asked our help to either find the treasure or entirely disprove its existence. His orders come from much higher, within the federal government of the United States. The problem is that criminal factions are aware of the existence of the letter and have begun to send representatives to search for the treasure, making Sanibel a rather less savory place, at the moment, than might be wished.

So we’re to go to a small island and look for a treasure that may not exist, all while fighting off gangsters? I asked wryly. Gangsters who are romantic enough to care about a legend of pirate treasure?

Precisely, said Holmes, nodding. "I believe that’s exactly what Morris had in mind. We’ll have assistance from his force, I expect, but he’s hired me so he doesn’t have to leave the city of Fort Myers without adequate surveillance.

I’m glad I brought my pistol, I said.

So am I. With that, my friend subsided into silence, and I knew that questioning him further would be of little use, so I picked up Wuthering Heights and prepared to lose myself on the moors with Emily Bronte.

* *