“Oh?”
“Both Jennie Lawson and Winona Hart wanted to do things that were truly creepy, to be genuinely scared. I think they looked for—and found—someone deeply into the occult in a really sick way.”
“Mind if I suggest something?” Floby asked.
“What’s that?”
“Whatever you’re going to do, do it quickly. You’ve got to find this guy.”
Caleb found himself looking down at what remained of the face of the dead woman.
“I can swear I’ll do my best.”
I hate her, Nellie Brennan had written in her diary. She is a monster, but no one else sees it. The fools keep coming to her. All because she gave Loretta Mason a potion, and then Loretta managed to get herself a husband. He has one eye and one leg, but since the war, any husband is better than no husband at all.
Reading in the General’s Room, Sarah found herself fascinated by Nellie’s stories. She might not have been the most beautiful girl in St. Augustine, but she was accomplished with her pen.
We came here during the war, when I was fourteen, and I know why. My father. He is a monster, too, of course. He told me we came to St. Augustine so he could find work—but it wasn’t the truth at all. We came here because there was a terrible scandal about my father and Mrs. Pellingham back up North, where we used to live. The gossips said they had an affair, and then Mr. Pellingham found out about it. My father took me, and we headed south. But I know the truth because I came upon my father and that witch woman, Martha Tyler. She was telling him that he was indebted to her, that if it hadn’t been for her, he would have been ruined by the Pellingham incident, so he had to do as she told him. He told her that if she didn’t behave, he would sell her to a slaver, who would put her up for auction. That’s all I heard before they must have realized they might be overheard and closed the door. Of a house that shouldn’t be ours. Poor Mr. MacTavish, who was so dignified and kind, went broke and died while his son was away fighting. I think my father never paid him for our lodging, and that hastened his death. Before that, it was Mr. MacTavish, my father and myself—and often the young lady who was to marry Mr. MacTavish’s son Cato came by to visit and play the piano. I remember when Cato MacTavish came home on leave. He was in butternut and gray, and he wore a plumed hat. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a handsome man. I think he wanted his father to get us out of the house. I don’t know what Eleanora said to him about my father, but Cato didn’t like him. He was kind to me, though. But then the Yankees came and occupied the city, and Cato had to rejoin his unit, lest he be caught here and killed. Eleanora disappeared then, too. They say he killed her, but I don’t believe it. He loved her so much. They were so happy together. But it’s true that she disappeared, and other girls disappeared, too. But few people had time to pay attention. There was a war. Men were dying by the hundreds on a daily basis, and people had all they could do just to stay alive.
Sarah paused in her reading. What wonderful—if dark—insights into what life in St. Augustine had been like at the time. Was it skewed? Of course—everyone saw the world through their own eyes. But it was still wonderful information to add to her growing store.
She started reading again.
The authorities denied that the women were ever found, Nellie Brennan had written in her diary, but they were and are such liars. But I know the truth. Because I saw the body of Susan Madison.
10
Mindy Marshall was just getting out of a yoga class.
Caleb had found her schedule in the case file and headed to the gym, which was right on the plaza, to find her. He was waiting in the hallway, watching through the studio window as the class ended, and he knew who she was right away from her photograph.
Mindy was a pretty, slim brunette with large dark eyes, and she must have sensed that he was waiting for her, but she seemed in no hurry to come out and see what he wanted. Finally, though, as the students for the next class started arriving, with one sneaker still untied, she came out, and to her credit, she didn’t try to evade him.
“Are you another cop?” she asked him, tying the second sneaker and looking up at him.
“No.”
“But you’re here for me, right?” she asked warily.
“Yes. My name is Caleb Anderson. I’m a private investigator, and I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“You must be here about Winona,” she said miserably. “That body in the water…was it her?”