I checked along the basement walls, under paintings, everywhere without any luck.I finally gave up (for the time being), and turned the key in the vending machine to close the opening to the cave. I knew if I thought about it long enough, I’d come up with a solution. I may not be very well educated, but there’s nothing wrong with my brain. I’m generally pretty good at figuring shit out.I discovered the house was already internet connected when I turned on the TV and pushed the Netflix button on the remote. I tossed a bunch of pillows on the floor, got comfortable, and brought up an old Clint Eastwood movie (Unforgiven). But I was bone-tired after a long, eventful day and started to drowse about halfway through the movie, so I turned off the TV and headed upstairs to go to bed. I stopped to looked around in the study and found the router/modem for the internet connection and a MacBook Pro. I’d have to figure out a way to make it mine, if I could get into it.After a quick shower, I. She was a soft, young beauty, about shoulder high and dressed in a tattered gown, short corset and apron.“Who’s this?” I asked him, reaching down the pat the girl’s firm behind. She flinched but stood her ground.“One of a pair,” he said, “Pretty near fresh off the boat. Bought their paper for a song t’other day; cap’n was in a hurry to weigh.”I asked the girl her name, and she looked at the bar man before she cleared her throat, sniffed and said, “Nancy, sir,” with another quick curtsey.“Don’t drop your knee to me, girl,” I told her. “We don’t do that on this side of the water.”“Sorry, sir,” she said quietly, almost doing it again.“Don’ you spoil ‘em, y’big galoot,” my sometimes-friend cried, slapping my shoulder. “I ain’ even broke ‘em good and proper.”Behind the girl, another appeared, dressed and looking much the same, rather wan and a bit frightened. “This is Becky, Rebecca,” the first girl said. “My sister.”She bobbed up and down and how-dee-doed me. I put a crown on the counter.
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