“I know. I realized right away that I was being ridiculous. I can’t wait to show the picture to him, though. There’s obviously some connection here. He has to be related somehow to Cato MacTavish. I know—when Cato MacTavish left St. Augustine, he changed his name to Anderson.”
Sarah shook her head, smiling. “Even if he is somehow related—and I admit it looks likely—the connection might have come down through the maternal line.”
“Maybe. But I’ll have to research it later. Right now I have to get back out there and talk about Henry Flagler,” Caroline said, glancing at her watch. “What’s up at your house today, by the way?”
“I don’t know. I’ve been at the library, but I think I’ll head back home now. And, Caroline, I don’t think you should look into Caleb’s connection to Cato here at the museum.”
“Why not?”
“Because…Caleb is here on business. I don’t think he’d want to become a sideshow oddity.”
“You’re right.” Caroline studied the photograph for a long moment, then offered it to Sarah. “You hold on to it.”
“Thank you, Caroline.”
Caroline looked at her and smirked. “You’re really going to go back to the library to try to trace Caleb Anderson’s background, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
Caroline studied her. “You like him, don’t you?”
“Yes,” Sarah said, then hesitated for a moment. She felt silly for keeping secrets and decided to confide in her. “Caroline, here’s what’s so strange. I must have remembered this photograph in the back in my mind somewhere, because last night I had a nightmare about this man, dressed just this way, standing at the foot of my bed, telling me that he was innocent.”
“Innocent?”
“I didn’t know what it could have meant then, but now that I know this is Cato, I think he meant he was innocent of kidnapping and killing those girls.”
“How bizarre.” Caroline grinned suddenly. “Did you think you were dreaming about Caleb all dressed up or something?”
Sarah grimaced and said, “Actually, I thought it was really him and he’d broken into the carriage house. I went over to Bertie’s and burst in on him, and accused him of trying to scare me half to death.”
Caroline gasped, then laughed. “You didn’t! What on earth did he say? No, wait. More importantly, does he sleep in the buff?”
“No.” Sarah said. She hesitated. “He was wearing boxers.”
“Still…oh, Sarah!” Caroline started to laugh.
“Stop it.”
“Sorry. So—does he think you’re crazy? Too crazy to maybe go out with? Wait—how did he look?”
Sarah paused, then admitted, “He looked damned good. Now let me out the back,” Sarah said. “I don’t want to run in to anyone right now. Be sure to lock the door behind me.”
“Okay, okay, come on.”
Sarah had just stepped outside when Caroline stopped her. “Sarah?”
“What?” Sarah asked, turning back.
Caroline was grinning. “Go for it. If he looks good in boxers, chances are he looks equally good out of them.”
Sarah groaned and made her escape.
Nigel Mason looked like a typical high school kid, hovering between adolescence and adulthood. He was tall, and extremely lean and lanky, with long hair that he had tied back and covered with a bandana as he served ice cream. Caleb recognized him instantly from his picture in the file Tim Jamison had given him.
He observed the boy before approaching the window. He saw Nigel perk up when a trio of young women came to the stand, and after they had paid and departed, he leaned an elbow on the counter and looked glum.
Caleb approached him. “Nigel?”
Nigel looked up and straightened, a wary look coming into his eyes.
“Yes?”
Caleb offered him a handshake. “Hi. My name is Caleb Anderson.”
“You another cop?” Nigel asked.
“Private investigator.”
A flash of pain crossed Nigel’s features, making him young and vulnerable all of a sudden. He looked around for a moment, as if praying for someone to come over to buy ice cream. “You’re here about Winona, aren’t you?” he asked Caleb.
“Yes.”
“I wish I knew something,” Nigel said.
“Can you just tell me about the night she was last seen? I’m coming in fresh, and something might hit me that the cops missed, or maybe you’ll remember something new.”
Nigel looked around again, still hopeful that a customer would appear from nowhere. “I wish I knew something,” he repeated.
“Anything that you know will help me. Where were you? Who was there? What was the night like? Like I said, I’m not a cop. I’m not going to turn anyone in, or tell anyone’s folks they were drinking or smoking pot or anything else,” Caleb assured him.
Nigel inhaled deeply, then exhaled loudly, as if he’d made a decision. “Okay, so we had this party at the beach—out on Anastasia Island, not far over the bridge. There’s a place that’s kind of off the beaten track. We had a bonfire going, and…and yeah, there was booze and grass.” He went quiet, remembering.
“You dated Winona for a while, right?” Caleb asked, prodding him.
“Yeah, kind of. Last year. But it felt too weird. We’d gone to grade school together, you know?”