Deadly Waters Read Online Free PDF Page A

are.”
    â€œThat’s because…you don’t know….”
    â€œDon’t know what?” Bridger pressed.
    â€œNothing,” Ashley muttered, setting her jaw in a way that meant she wasn’t going to talk anymore. From experience, Jack knew that if something was bothering her it would come out sooner or later. It was best to let Ashley settle things in her own mind. Whatever it was, she’d reveal it soon enough.
    After they stepped off the dock and onto the shore, they headed for the ring of trees huddled around the edge of the clearing. Some of the trees were different from the ever-present mangroves, and Jack guessed someone must have planted other varieties to break up the monotony of the mangroves’ black, gnarled limbs and webbed roots. Or maybe these were exotic trees, as he’d heard them called, that didn’t belong there, that had washed in from the Gulf and threatened to take over the native trees.
    As they walked, tall grass brushed against Jack’s bare shins like thousands of fingers. He tried not to let himself think that snakes might be crawling in the dense underbrush. Bridger didn’t seem bothered by the thought of bugs or reptiles; maybe it was because his boots would protect him from almost anything that could bite at an ankle.
    The cleared space was cut in the shape of a half-circle whose edges touched the water. Jack saw grass crushed into flat circles and rectangle shapes. Campers must have stayed here. Even though the sign said “No Campfires,” charred tree limbs and a couple of burned spots told him someone had disobeyed the warning.
    It didn’t take them long to explore the open field. “What’s that thing over there?” Jack asked. “Looks like a big pot with a bunch of bricks around it.”
    â€œIt’s for making syrup,” Ashley answered.
    Before Jack could ask her how she knew such a thing, Bridger broke in with, “There’s some concrete over there that a house must have stood on once, but nothin’s left.”
    â€œProbably blew away in a hurricane,” Jack said.
    They ended up back at the picnic table where their cooler now sat. Jack flipped open the latch and pulled out some colas, handing one to Bridger and one to Ashley.
    Pushing back his hat, Bridger surveyed the landing and said, “Watson, whoever he was, must have cleared this spot. Would have been hard. I’ve cut my share of sagebrush at our place in Montana. Land always wants to go wild again.”
    â€œThis used to be an ancient oyster-shell mound,” Ashley said quietly. “From the Calusa Indians. Bloody Watson took it over and turned it into a farm in the 1890s. Behind that big poinciana tree is another 40 acres where he grew sugarcane and did…other stuff.”
    Surprised, Jack asked, “‘Bloody Watson’? When did you learn about this place?”
    â€œYesterday, when Mom took me to Smallwood’s Store in Chokoloskee to buy postcards. That’s when the lady in Smallwood’s told me all about it.”
    â€œAll about what?”
    â€œThe things that went on out here, at the Watson Place.” Biting her lip, she added, “I don’t think you want to hear about it. We can’t leave this place, at least not for a while.”
    Bridger snorted. “Ghost stories? Girls are always believing stuff like that.” He winked at Ashley in a way Jack knew Ashley would hate and added, “I’m not afraid.”
    â€œThey’re not ghost stories, Bridger,” Ashley shot back. “Everything I heard about is true. A Calusa medicine man warned that a lot of bad things would happen unless people listened to him and changed their ways. No one did. And the medicine man was right. The Watson Place was cursed!”
    One corner of Bridger’s mouth lifted slightly in a lopsided grin.
    â€œI’d like to hear the story,” Jack told his sister. “Tell us what