Confessions of a Pirate Ghost (Gambling Ghosts Series Book 3) Read online

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Quote

  1. Escape

  2. The Poker Game

  3. On the High Tide

  4. Dead Sexy

  5. Slimy Predtors

  6. It's All in the Leaves

  7. Secrets

  8. The Break In

  9. Crossing Paths

  10. It's All in the Family

  11. A Kiss is Still a Kiss

  12. When all Else Fails

  13. Risking it All

  14. The Yacht Called Paradise

  15. T'is a Pirate's Life for Me

  A Note from Jo-Ann

  Other Books by Jo-Ann Carson

  About Jo-Ann Carson

  Confessions of a Pirate Ghost

  Gambling Ghost Series, novela 3

  Jo-Ann Carson

  JRT Publications

  Nanaimo, B.C., Canada

  © 2017 Jo-Ann Carson Terpstra

  JRT Publications

  ISBN 978-0-9949556-3-0

  Cover Art by Steven Novak

  Confessions of a Pirate Ghost is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places and incidents are the products of my imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this story to all the readers out there who dream of having their lives unsettled by a handsome pirate.

  Contents

  Dedication

  Introduction

  Quote

  1. Escape

  2. The Poker Game

  3. On the High Tide

  4. Dead Sexy

  5. Slimy Predtors

  6. It's All in the Leaves

  7. Secrets

  8. The Break In

  9. Crossing Paths

  10. It's All in the Family

  11. A Kiss is Still a Kiss

  12. When all Else Fails

  13. Risking it All

  14. The Yacht Called Paradise

  15. T'is a Pirate's Life for Me

  A Note from Jo-Ann

  Other Books by Jo-Ann Carson

  About Jo-Ann Carson

  Introduction

  Confessions of a Pirate Ghost

  Gambling Ghosts Series, Novella 3

  Everyone has secrets.

  Escaping the clutches of a mobster, art forger Harley Davis dives off a yacht in the middle of the night and swims ashore to Sunset Cove, a small town in the Pacific Northwest, where the only light she sees comes from inside a haunted teahouse. Soaking wet and shaking, she pauses at the door. No one in their right mind would enter such a creepy place, but she has no choice. She needs to hide.

  Pirate ghost, Three-Sheets, enjoys his extended life on earth, gambling and flirting with the ladies, but when he meets Harley, he discovers he wants more out of death than a good gambling hand.

  As the charming Three Sheets woos Harley, her former boss puts a contract on her head. What do you get when you mix a saucy thief, a pirate ghost and an angry godfather? Another fun, Gambling Ghost story.

  Quote

  “Life’s pretty good, and why wouldn’t it be? I’m a pirate, after all.”

  ~Johnny Depp

  1

  Escape

  “Who says life is fair? Where is that written?”

  ~ the Princess Bride

  Well past midnight, Harley Davis crept up the long, creaky staircase to the front entrance of the Victorian teahouse, leaving a puddle on each step. Swimming to shore in the frigid, ocean water had chilled her to the bone, but she had no time for self-pity. Everything should be easy now that I’m on land, she told herself. A light inside the house shone brightly through the front window, a warm glow that promised sanctuary. It had been the only light visible in the small sea-side town. Slowly, she curled her stiff fingers into a fist and knocked on the old wooden door. Silence. Shivering in the brisk night air, she tapped again. Nothing. She called out, “H-hello. Anyone? I need help.” Her teeth chattered. With a blue hand she reached for the door handle. It felt ice-cold, and as she turned it, a chill spiraled up her arm sending a dark sense of foreboding flowing through her senses and settling into her heart. But she had no choice. She pushed on the door and entered.

  “H-hello.” She said it louder this time.

  The sound of faint laughter and people talking came from further inside. They must not have heard her. But the sense that all was not right sat heavily on her shoulders.

  “H-hello. M-my name is …” There was no point saying her name if no one was listening, and enunciating words was so darn hard. Her eyes felt heavy. If only she could lie down. Nausea rose in her throat.

  She took a step inside and the door slammed shut behind her. She was surrounded by darkness, and a tingling sensation crawled along her scalp. And I thought I was too cold to feel anything. The silence in the entrance way had a graveyard quality that she didn’t trust. Desperate to stop her creepy thoughts, she reached for the wall and fumbled for a light switch. Finding one, she flicked it on.

  The noise of people continued, a distance away.

  In a glance she took in her surroundings. Beyond the entrance alcove, there was a sitting room with faded rose wallpaper and a collection of well-worn wing chairs, small tables and a sofa. An antique, Tiffany lamp stood in one corner and a chandelier hung from the middle of the ceiling. The air smelled of cinnamon and coffee, and beneath that lay a note of mustiness, as if the house breathed its age.

  “H-hello,” she called out again.

  It was warmer inside the house, but her body continued to shudder. Hypothermia had set in. She needed to get warm. A blanket would help. She would give all her worldly goods for a blanket and a wood fire.

  A loud chorus of laughter broke out and she turned towards it. Light leaked from beneath the door of the room where the sound originated. They must be really busy not to hear her. Surely someone would help her, if they knew she was in such bad shape.

  Her heart raced and her breathing with it, yet her darned feet moved slower than the last drops of molasses in a bottle, so painfully slow she wanted to scream, but she knew she shouldn’t waste her energy for that. Step by step she willed herself forward, hoping she wouldn’t fall before she reached someone. “H-hello,” she continued to call in a slurred and raspy voice. “H-hello.” The light called to her.

  When she reached the door, she didn’t bother knocking. Desperate, she grabbed the door handle. Its ice-cold surface sent swirling vibrations up her arm, vibrations that carried with them dark, haunting images. But she would not be stopped, by tricks of her mind. She opened the door so wide it banged against the wall.

  Silence. The room was empty. A single candle burned in an elaborate candelabrum.

  She wanted to scream at the horror of the moment. This room had been her last chance. The laughter must have been a recording or maybe a radio. This would be her end. “N-no,” she screamed, hearing the hysteria in her voice. This can’t be the way I die.

  Out of the dark emptiness came a man’s voice. “Woman, you’re dripping.”

  Harley turned towards the sound, but no one was there.

  2

  The Poker Game

  “We cannot change the cards we are dealt. Just how we play the hand.”

  ~Randy Pausch

  The Pirate-ghost known as “Three Sheets” looked at the woman standing in the doorway. “You’ve got the shivers, love.”

  Before he finished his sentence, she collapsed on the floor. “This is why we don’t take women on ships,” he said
to his friends at the poker table. “They’re so dramatic.”

  “The woman doesn’t look well,” said his friend, Erik the Viking.

  “Looks to me like she’s been swimming,” the pirate replied. Six ghosts gathered around the woman as the color drained from her face, but none of them could take her pulse. “Let’s get her on the sofa.”

  While Three Sheets took care of her, his friends returned to their card game. Using his kinetic powers he covered her with blankets, retrieved from the basement, and turned up the electric heat in the room. She was a gorgeous specimen of a woman: petite, with nice curves and strong muscles. Crystal-blue eyes dominated her perfectly sculpted face. Her skin was the color of warm butterscotch and her short, jet-black curls framed her face. Why would she be swimming at midnight in the ocean? Her skin looked soft enough to touch. If only he could. It had been three hundred years since he had touched a woman.

  Was someone after her? His desire to protect her surprised him. Back in the day when he could still breathe, he would be considering his odds of bedding her. He groaned. I’ve been dead too long.

  The woman needed help. Abby, the night cleaner, should be around somewhere. But he didn’t want to leave the woman to go looking.

  As if she heard his thoughts, Abby came into the room. “What are you doing?”

  Three Sheets shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see him, but sensed his presence because of the cold spot in the room. He didn’t need another hysterical woman, so he chose his words carefully. “She’s wet and shaky.”

  “Oh my goodness. Hypothermia?”

  “We called it the shivers in my day. That’s what happens when you swim in the ocean at midnight.”

  “Is that you, Three-Sheets?”

  “Aye. Would you take her pulse, deary.”

  Abby held her fingers to the side of the woman’s long neck. Abby shook her head. “I can barely feel it. I’ll call 911.”

  The woman grabbed Abby’s wrist. “N-no. N-no police.” Then her hand dropped and she fell unconscious again.

  3

  On the High Tide

  “Trust everyone but always cut the cards.”

  ~ Benny Binion

  Returning to consciousness, Harley felt as if she was kicking in the water miles below the surface of the ocean. She kicked and kicked her way up towards the sun. The journey felt long and arduous, but the glimmer of light never moved, so she kept kicking. Finally, she surfaced.

  Where the hell am I?

  She lay naked underneath a pile of blankets on a sofa in a strange room. A small electric heater was turned on full beside her.

  Every part of her felt numb and colder than the last time she had jumped into a Polar Bear Swim. She pulled her knees up to her chest and hugged them. Slowly the memories of the night before filtered into her mind. She had witnessed a murder … escaped the yacht … almost died from the cold water of the Pacific.

  Drawn to the only light in town, she had found an old, creepy house. A shiver stole up her spine.

  And there were ghosts. More than one. Ghosts? I must be losing it.

  She swallowed down her growing fear. The room smelled of mildew. The low ceiling, cement walls and dampness screamed basement. Had Michel’s henchmen found her and thrown her into some kind of dungeon?

  Daylight streamed through the only window, a slit in the wall above her head with bars across it. Covered in blankets, she sat on the sofa in the middle of the room. Her bones ached from the icy-coldness of the ocean water. At least she was alive, but Michel would be after her.

  The smell of coffee wafted in the air. Coffee! Where the heck was she?

  A cold breeze touched her cheek, followed by the low baritone voice of a man, which came out of the air. “You’re safe, and, by the look of you, you’re recovering.” His words would have been comforting, if she could see him. But she was the only person in the room. The hair on the back of her neck rose.

  “What’s going on?” she said.

  “That’s what I would like to know. For some reason, deary, you decided to take a swim in the ocean, in the middle of the night. By the time you made it into the house you had a bad case of the shivers, and we almost lost you.”

  She nodded. “I remember. You didn’t call the cops?”

  “No, we didn’t call any men in uniforms. You asked us not to.”

  Unfortunately, the events of the night became clear in her head. Too clear. She shivered.

  “We could call them today.” The man’s low, smooth voice sent prickles along her skin. It was both reassuring and sexy as hell. Too bad he was dead.

  She must be losing it. “No, I don’t like cops.” She licked her parched lips. “Thank you for your help.”

  Silence.

  “Wasn’t there also a woman helping me. A real one, I mean.”

  He laughed. “Yes, Abby the night cleaner is very much alive. She went home to look after her kids, so I’ve been watching you. I am real by the way.”

  “And you’re a …” She stopped. Naw, he couldn’t be. In her twenty-five years she had never believed in ghosts and she wasn’t about to start now. Someone must be playing a prank on her: or maybe she was still delirious.

  “They call me Three Sheets.”

  “As in three sheets to the wind?” This was getting stranger by the minute, but the warmth of his personality eased her rattled nerves and the hair on the back of her neck lay flat again. The goosebumps on her arms, not so much.

  “Aaah, so you’ve heard of me.” He laughed.

  Do dead guys laugh? “Sailing term, right.”

  “Aye it is. A sheet is a sailor’s term for a rope that’s used to hoist a sail. If three main sails are set to the wind a boat will shudder and roll, like a stumbling drunk on the water.”

  “Uh-huh. So you drink a lot.”

  “Not lately.”

  Was that a joke? She giggled, despite her rational mind telling her this was all in her head. “You know I can’t see you, right?”

  A force adjusted the blanket around her. “Aye, pretty lady, I do know that. But you can feel my presence and hear my voice.”

  Gosh darn. Who knew an invisible man could flirt? “What do you want from me?”

  “For starters you could tell me why you were in the drink at midnight.”

  Not likely. She shook her head. “Does anyone know I’m here?”

  “Abby, me and my friends.”

  “The ones I couldn’t see.”

  Silence. She imagined him nodding.

  “Does anyone live here? I mean regular people.”

  “I’ll make you a deal, deary. I’ll answer one of your questions, if you answer one of mine.”

  “Okay, but there are some things I can’t tell you.”

  “I understand. How about your name? Can you tell me your name?”

  “Harley Davis.” She put up her hand. “Before you start with the jokes, I’ll tell you up front, my dad wanted a Harley for his fiftieth and got me instead. Sometimes that makes him happy, sometimes not. At the moment, not.” She gave the space in front of her a big grin, the one that usually charmed.

  “That’s good. See, telling the truth isn’t so bad. Your clothes are drying on the line out back. How do you like your coffee?”

  Aaah, a man after her own heart. “Strong and black.”

  “Come up to the kitchen. The coffee is on.”

  She wrapped a blanket around herself. With legs that felt more like gelatin than muscles and bones, she followed him up a steep, creaky flight of wooden stairs. The door at the top opened to a large and efficient looking kitchen. It must be a restaurant.

  Sitting on a side counter, a six-cup French press rose in the air and poured dark coffee into a mug. Well, dead men could be useful. Who knew? When she neared the cup, she felt the chill of his presence.

  “Thank you,” she said as she took the offered mug of steaming coffee. “Am I dreaming this? Because if I am, it’s a pretty neat dream. Or am I dead?” She could be in some kin
d of limbo-land, before Anubis or Saint Peter or God knows who passed judgment on her far-from- perfect soul.

  “Sorry, princess, this is real. You’re in the teahouse in Sunset Cove. My friend Azalea runs it as a restaurant, but most people come here to have their tea leaves read. She’s the best medium on the west coast and she should arrive soon.”

  Great. Another person would discover her. “Will she mind me being here?”

  “I wouldn’t worry. Azalea is one of the most open-minded people I know.”

  Harley took a sip of the coffee. Pure heaven. She mewed.

  He laughed. “I like a woman who takes pleasure in the simple things in life.”

  “Coffee is not simple. It’s major.” She gave his space one of her studied smiles, the one that made customers buy her product.

  Silence.

  “So, you’re a ghost.”

  “Aye. It’s not such a bad thing. I’m a pirate by trade. My home was Tortuga. Here, I get to play poker and flirt with beautiful women.”

  “But you’re dead.”

  “There is that.”

  “Why? I mean, why didn’t you go on to heaven or hell or some other dimension?”

  “Not my style. I like it here on earth and I’ll stay here until I feel I’m done.”

  “How long now?”

  “Time passes differently for us. To me it seems like a week, but I believe it to be about three hundred years.”

  She spewed her coffee. “You’re that old?”

  He laughed. “My turn. Why did you jump ship? Man trouble?”

  “Big time. The owner took certain things for granted, if you know what I mean.” A plausible and not totally inaccurate account of what had happened.