“Bartholomew, you’re like an old fishwife. Quit nagging. The story is intriguing. I have to see how I’m going to fit it in with the rest of the history we want to put out there—touching on enough, creating a story line—”
“You were creating a documentary about legends and mysteries in this area. Fits right in,” Bartholomew said.
“Hey, look—isn’t that the lady in white?” Sean asked, pointing toward the center of Mallory Square. There was no one there, but Bartholomew looked. He glared at Sean. “She has a name, you know. Lucinda, Miss Lucinda Wellington—Lucy.”
“Well, it’s just damned adorable to see you so smitten, my friend,” Sean said.
Bartholomew shook his head. “You won’t distract me. Lucy and I have a lovely relationship. We walk every afternoon through the cemetery, strolling and reading the headstones. And sometimes we stroll down Duval and observe the tourists. Ah, I can smell the rum, so it seems, at times. But, Sean O’Hara, God knows why, it seems I’m here still to help you, and my beautiful lady in white, dear Lucy, seems glad enough to be with me.”
“Great. Just great. Well, why don’t you go see if she’s in the cemetery now. I’m going to take a shower and then bring whatever that encrusted piece is that Vanessa found over to Jaden and Ted.”
He left the ghost on deck and went down to the Conch Fritter’s head. Twenty minutes later, he headed to his friends’ shop, curiously flipping the thing—trinket or treasure—in his hand.
Back in her room, Vanessa showered for a long time, luxuriating in the heat of the water, trying not to think. She emerged, and, convincing herself that she was overtired and suffering from the nightmares again, she went to the dresser and stared at the copy of the likeness of Dona Isabella that Marty had given her the day before.
She’d never heard that any ship had sailed with a figure head carved as a replica of Dona Isabella.
Of course. There was no figurehead. She was exhausted, and she’d spent the morning trying to prove that she was more efficient than the Energizer bunny.
She dressed quickly and looked at the time. One o’clock. She realized that she was starving and still really exhausted. Okay, she was pretty sure that she’d pulled the morning off quite well—she’d been efficient, she’d gotten good footage, the giant grouper had certainly allowed Sean to get some good footage of her with the fish, and she’d discovered something at the bottom of the ocean, where the ship had wrecked and broken up nearly two hundred years ago.
She could take a nap.
Food and a nap.
And maybe a drink to help her relax. She was just a few feet away from the Key West Smallest Bar. Food, something good and stiff and a long nap.
She had imagined the figurehead in the water. But, really, if she thought about it, if she was going to imagine images, maybe in her mind the poor martyred Dona Isabella was trying to help her, she wanted the history known, she wanted the world to know what horrible villains Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass had been.
Sleep.
And she would quit seeing things.
And with any luck, she wouldn’t dream.
Sunken Treasures was located on Simonton. The proprietors, Jaden Valiente and Ted Taggart, were friends of Sean’s from school. They’d lived and worked together for years without choosing to marry, but they seemed happy, had no children, kept five cats in the small store, and appeared pleased with every aspect of their lives. They never fought, which was nice, since Sean was good friends with both of them. He’d traveled so much working that he hadn’t been home much since high school, but when he was in Key West, with the two of them, it was as if he had never left.
“Hey!” Jaden said, looking up from her workstation as he entered. Ted was across the room at an identical station. They were both equipped with bright, twist-neck lamps, bottles with all kinds of solutions and brushes with varying degrees of bristles. The shop was decorated with old broadsides and sailing paraphernalia from every century and decade. It was eclectic and had one showcase—where they displayed the reproduction pieces that they made, much more affordable than the real items that could be purchased many places in the city.
Jaden looked at him through magnifying glasses that made her eyes appear huge. They were warm brown eyes, and she had curly brown hair past her shoulders that gave her the look of a new age hippie. Ted had the same look—he was wearing a Grateful Dead T-shirt and he also had curly brown hair that he wore long, a curly brown beard and mustache and an easygoing smile.
“Nice to see you in our neck of the woods. We usually have to go to karaoke down at O’Hara’s and warble out an old Cream number to get to see you, Sean,” Ted said, grinning.
“Speak for yourself. I do not warble, I sing delightfully off-key,” Jaden said. “What’s up?”
“A young woman diving with me this morning made a discovery,” Sean said.
“Oh? What?” Jaden asked, coming around from her workstation.