“On December 18, all contact with the charter boat was lost soon after the Delphi sailed due east of Miami, approaching the southern Bahamas. Relatives were concerned because the captain excused himself in the middle of a phone call and never came back on. None aboard answered cell phones, and radio contact could not be made. American Coast Guard and Bahamian officials began a search that continued with daybreak. Many speculate that the Bermuda Triangle has taken more victims, while others rationalize that traffic has been heavy through the straits since the beginning of the passage of Spanish treasure fleets, has always been heavy, naturally accounting for more misfortune. Until early in the nineteenth century, the region was constantly plagued by pirates, a rising concern among seamen and carriers as piracy resurges in contemporary times, even within such heavily traveled waters.”
Sean glanced at the sea chart spread out on the table between them. He stood, glancing at his computer, checking latitude and longitude on the charter ship’s last known location.
“This disappearance—last contact with the boat was right about where the Mad Miller’s pirate ship went down, right where the pirates met their demise,” Sean told David.
“Interesting. I thought I had another, but they caught the culprits. Idiots pirated another charter boat and threw the crew overboard. They wanted to hijack it to Cuba. They didn’t realize it needed gas,” David said, shaking his head.
“Maybe,” Bartholomew mused, twirling a lock of ghostly hair—great hair at that—as he leaned against the table, “there is something to be said for the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe it emits…evil,” he suggested. “Evil creates a vortex, and men become mad in that vortex, and begin to rip one another asunder.”
“Bartholomew, Mad Miller’s ship went down in a storm,” Sean reminded him.
“I believe that something happens in that area,” David said. “But I don’t think it’s evil oozing out of the earth. There is a scientific explanation.”
Bartholomew studied his fingers and said dryly, “Yes, of course. And I’m here—through the effects of man’s science. You see me, some people don’t. Ah! There’s a genetic trait that allows certain eyes to pick out roving ectoplasm in the air!”
Sean sat back in chair, nearly grinning. “Bartholomew, you may have something there. It is possible that some people are born with something within their genes that we haven’t discovered as yet.”
Bartholomew threw his hands into the air. “Something that can be developed? Such as a talent? My friend, ye of little faith, who could not see or hear me for the longest time? Ah, trust is something that cannot be touched, either, and you needed proof rather than trust your own sister for a very long time. Everything is not science, indeed, it is not, my ever wary and doubting friend. Take faith—faith is belief in the unseen. If you have any kind of faith, you already believe in the unseen. We all believe in good—and trust me, I believe in the evil that lies in the hearts of mankind! Anyway, here’s what throws me. I knew Kitty Cutlass, and I knew Mad Miller, and yes, Mad Miller turned to piracy, but the legend that has come down about him is pure bunk—which I’ve told you. If he slaughtered men in the water and murdered Dona Isabella in a rage, it would be a surprise to me. And Kitty! The most naive harlot I ever did come across!”
“Naive harlots can be jealous and vengeful,” Sean commented.
“True, maybe,” Bartholomew said.
“You saw the chest—tell me something, Bartholomew. Was that Dona Isabella? You may not have known her as an acquaintance or even a friend, but you saw her around town,” Sean said.
“We did not socialize,” Bartholomew said. “I spent my time with the English and Americans, while Dona Isabella was the elite of the remaining Spanish society. But yes, I saw her.”
“So?”
“So?” Bartholomew shuddered. “I didn’t stare into the chest, my good fellow! That was a horrendous sight, what was once life…so heinously destroyed and mangled and…ghastly! And if I had stared and stared, the way that the decay had set in and the bones had mummified and the fabric of the clothing had clotted with blood and ooze…I’d not have recognized my own dear mother!”
“Have you heard any more from Jaden and Ted?” David asked Sean. “When is the forensic anthropologist due?”
“Later today, I believe,” Sean said. “I talked to Ted earlier—a Dr. Tara Aislinn is due in with her colleague, Dr. Latham. I believe they’re planning on bringing the body back to a lab in Gainesville. They have the facilities for all the testing they want to do. They’re extremely excited, they can find out about dental hygiene, diet, health, parasites—all manner of information.”
“You saw today’s paper?” he asked Sean.