“She must have made someone very angry,” Jaden said.
“It’s going to be just fascinating to try to discover just who she was!” Dr. Aislinn said. “Of course, I understand all of you are heading out soon to start filming—a most fascinating documentary, I must say! But I’ll be in touch constantly by cell phone, and you can reach me anytime you like.”
“Thank you,” Sean told her.
“So,” Ted said, “we’re packing her up—the chest and the mummy—in the university van tomorrow morning. Tara and Dr. Latham are leaving then. But Jaden and I are about to take them out for a night on the town, Key West–style. Can you join us?”
Sean didn’t have a chance to reply.
Vanessa spoke quickly. “Oh, thank you, and I hope you’ll forgive me. It’s been a long day, and I didn’t get a lot of sleep last night, I’m afraid. But hey, you guys—take them to O’Hara’s. They’ll have a great time there.”
“O’Hara’s?” Dr. Aislinn said, grinning and looking at Sean.
“It’s my uncle’s place, and you will have a great time,” Sean said.
“Sean, I’m sorry, I’m really exhausted, but you, of course, are more than welcome to join them,” Vanessa said quickly.
She seldom looked vulnerable; for some reason that night she did. Sean felt a surge of tenderness, wanting to make sure that she was safe and warm and protected at all times.
“Sorry, all, and forgive me, too. These have been really long days. My uncle’s place has good food, reasonable drinks, and my sister is doing karaoke tonight. It’s a bit of a walk down Duval,” he said.
“Well, I do love walking, and I don’t get down here nearly enough!” Dr. Aislinn said.
Sean and Vanessa left, thanking them again. As they walked down the street, he took her hand—it was crowded that night. Girls were out in skimpy outfits and wench attire; some men were still in pirate costume while others were in jeans and T-shirts. It was Key West. A little cool that night for anything so simple as body paint, but anything might have been worn along Duval.
Vanessa was quiet, and she still seemed disturbed. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.
She made a face. “The body is creepy. I’m glad they’re taking it to Gainesville.”
“It’s not really creepy. It’s another mystery. We—you—found a pendant, which did belong to Dona Isabella, at least according to historical sketches. Then, we—you—find a body in a chest, and it proves not to be Dona Isabella. That’s interesting. I don’t remember anything about a maid traveling with her, though, of course, a woman of her stature probably did travel with a servant. Ah, maybe Mad Miller threatened her by killing the maid, and then gave her something of a decent burial. Or, God knows, maybe Kitty Cutlass did the deed.”
Vanessa shrugged. “I don’t know. We’ll have to see what they discover. Both of those doctors seemed fascinated and thrilled, so it was an incredible discovery.”
She was silent.
“Hey, you all right?”
“Of course.”
“You’re the only person who makes incredible finds who seems depressed by their talent. The pendant…well, I can see that as a fluke. But none of that chest was showing above the sand. How in hell did you become so certain there was something there?”
She paused and stopped walking and stared at him. “You really want to know? If you make fun of me now, I’ll never forgive you.”
“I will not make fun of you.”
She took a deep breath, her eyes sharp on his. “I keep thinking that I see a figurehead in the water. I dream about it, actually. It’s scary and creepy. It has Dona Isabella’s face.”
He felt his lips start to twitch and remembered he had promised not to make fun of her.
“I see,” he managed to say.
“You don’t believe a word,” she said.
“I’m not saying that!” he protested quickly. He started walking again, eager to get to his home on Elizabeth Street before he somehow managed to lose her once again. “Here’s what I think,” he said, still holding her hand, and swinging their arms easily between them as they walked. “The story goes that poor Dona Isabella was kidnapped from her transport to Spain by Mad Miller and his pirates. She was forced to Haunt Island and either murdered by Mad Miller or Kitty Cutlass, or still a prisoner—probably one who was raped and abused—when the pirate ship went down in the storm. So you see the face of Dona Isabella because you feel such sympathy for her. And it would be natural that you see the face in the water—as a figurehead—when you are instinctively honing in on something. How’s that?”
“Psychology 101?” she asked dryly.