I gave Sparrow the benefit of the doubt and waited until my legs worked again. I figured that would have been long enough for him to check on the ship and come back with a snack. By the time I'd helped myself to one of his shirts and a pair of his pants, I knew he wasn't coming back anytime soon. So much for my being there with him at the opportune moment.

At least he didn't lock me in his cabin again. I slipped out and made my way towards the stairs that would take me back to the cargo hold. Sparrow was up at the helm, talking to Anamaria. It looked pretty serious and I wondered if he was telling her who the killer was. She saw me and scratched her chin, which I guessed was some kind of code or maybe she just had an itch. It turned out to be a code, because Sparrow took the helm and she bounded towards me. Without breaking her stride, she headed straight past me and hissed at me to follow.

Once we were safely below deck, she turned and gave me a friendly punch in the shoulder. "What's afoot, Plum?"

"Didn't Sparrow tell you?"

She shot me a wicked grin. "No need. Ye made so much noise I bet they heard ye back in Port Royal."

"What?!"

"I'm kidding, Plum. Not that it ain't obvious, judgin' by the looks of the two of ye." She punched me in the arm again. "Ye won me a small bit, too. The crew had a wager on when the two of you would do the deed. The longest any lass ever held out on Jack was eleven days, but that was because she were a nun."

"A nun? Sparrow and a nun?!"

"Aye. Now there's a fine story. But that's not what got ye wanderin' about in Jack's favorite shirt, is it?"

I looked down at the shirt. It was a plain, white shirt, just like the other four in his trunk. "What's so special about this one?"

Ana shrugged. "Beats me, but that's his favorite."

"Sparrow knows who the killer is."

"And?"

"And I don't. He wouldn't share. It had something to do with four crates in the cargo hold."

Her eyes narrowed. "Four crates?"

I nodded. "Somebody opened them but didn't seal them up too well. Do you know what was in them?"

She raised a hand to the top of her chest. "About so high?"

"Yup."

"Huh."

"Huh? What's huh?"

"That was a haul from off the coast of Hispaniola. Small merchant ship." She nibbled her lip, thoughtfully. "It would have been a good haul, if there weren't that little complication."

"Complication? What kind of complication?"

"The merchant ship was part of a fleet that shipped coffee. Turned out the fleet's owned by some fancy Jew who has a friend or two in the East India Company. Long story short, it's been too hot to unload the coffee, if ye get my meanin'."

Oh, I got her meaning, all right. "That doesn't explain why somebody would open the crates of coffee, unless there was something other than coffee in those crates."

"Coffee's a rare enough commodity. What else would be in the crates?"

Somehow, cocaine didn't seem likely. "Guns? Money?"

"I like the way ye think, Plum. Just like a pirate."

Or the girlfriend of a vice cop. "Which brings us to the next question. How long have you been carrying the crates and what new crew-members did you bring on board since then?"

"Six months, just about. And we've only taken on one new scallywag."

We looked at each other.

Ana grinned at me. "Looks like we found us a killer."

"And a motive."

"Aye, and it's even better than revenge. Money."

Quick note: the idea for the coffee comes from the very excellent novel by David Liss, The Coffee Trader. Liss is also the author of two novels featuring Benjamin Weaver, a 17th century Jewish detective (thief-taker) in London.