“Hey,” GP said, “Wake up.” He was jostling her shoulder. “We’re here.”
She sat up, blinking at the bright sky. They were beached on a crescent of pale, pink sand, snugged between two rocky headlands.
“I fell asleep,” Kip said dully.
“Understandable,” GP said. “That jump from Iceland put us all out of whack with the local time. I could use a nap myself.”
Kip stood, unsteady. To judge from the sun, it was mid-afternoon, but it felt like long past midnight. She shook the muzziness from her head. “So, this is the place?”
“Yep,” GP answered. He went inside the cabin, and when he emerged a moment later, he was carrying two shovels and had the rolled up map tucked under his arm.
“You ready?” he asked, handing her a shovel.
They climbed down into the sand and began trudging up the beach. GP led the way, shovel on his shoulder, whistling bits of Pay Me My Money Down and the song about the singular lass from Tallahassee. Kip still groggy, dragged along a few steps behind.
“So,” she asked, “how do we know where to dig? This is a pretty big beach.”
“Mmm,” GP agreed. “Fortunately, we are not obligated to dig up the whole thing.”
“Well, okay. But…where do we start?”
GP stopped and planted the blade of his shovel in the sand. He pulled out the map and unrolled it for Kip to see. Continue reading “Voyage of the Ballyhoo (Part Six)”