Ghost Night

“Then let’s get out and get you a towel.”



“It’s a good plan,” she said.



She hurried ahead of him and found her towel. He had worn cutoff chinos into the water, and just the edges were wet. He reached for the polo shirt he had thrown on the sand near her things and skinned it over his head. She towel dried quickly and slid on her dress, and still she was shaking.



“Ah, you know what you need?” he asked, taking her discarded towel and wrapping it around her shoulders and rubbing them.



“Dry clothing?” she suggested.



“A hot toddy—and Irish whiskey. I know where they make the best.”



“Would that be a place south on Duval known as O’Hara’s? I hear that it’s a real hangout for actual locals—conch-type people—and that the tourists crash in sometimes, wanting to hang with the locals,” she said with a smile.



“That’s the place,” he agreed.



He was pleasant and easy, charming, in fact. She wondered how she would have felt about him if they’d met on different footing. If she’d just come in with Katie somewhere and it had been, oh, Vanessa, you’ve met my brother, Sean, right? No, after all these years, imagine. Well, anyway, then, Sean, this is Vanessa, Vanessa, Sean.



She had chosen their meeting. Katie had offered to introduce him. She hadn’t wanted friendship to be a part of it. Maybe she had made a mistake. What did it matter? She was getting what she had set out for—another chance to discover what had happened. At the very least, a chance to feel that she had done everything in her power.



“So, seriously, how did it go?” she asked.



“Brilliantly. Better. I don’t know if I would have thought of having an intro with Marty if I hadn’t wanted to see what Jay could do. And Marty was wonderful. He’s a natural before the camera, and he absolutely loves his history, so it was all great. Jay is editing now.”



“He brought all his equipment?”



“No, he’s at my house.”



She was silently impressed—with Jay. She was surprised that Sean would trust a stranger with his work system, and she said so.



“You left him—at your house—alone.”



“Yes.”



“You’re a trusting soul.”



“Hardly.”



“But?”



She started to sink in the sand while taking a step. He took her hand. The feel was a jolt. A nice one. She liked the scent of him, too. Ocean and…him. Clean and fresh.



She didn’t want to feel so attracted.



She didn’t want to break free from his hand.



She walked casually, thanking him.



“I looked around at costumes today. This is really one of the best places to purchase. A lot of the retailers have researched the period thoroughly. They have great poet’s shirts, vests, jackets, hats, corsets, blouses, skirts—you name it. Oh! I bought a piece today. A replica of one worn by Dona Isabella,” she said.



He nodded and continued walking.



The vendors had covered up their wares; some were still around, chatting, eating sandwiches and keeping a firm eye on their goods, while others were off, trusting in hired security.



“I drove down here. Let’s get to my car,” Sean said.



They hurried along, Sean still holding her hand. He unlocked the car and opened the passenger-side door for her.



It was a car she might have expected for him, and she liked it. A Jeep. New enough, but not brand-new, a car that could go just about anywhere. It fit Sean very well, down-to-earth, utilitarian, and somehow, though anyone could buy the car, it seemed rugged and sensual and masculine.



She really had to stop her mind from wandering in that direction.



It was difficult. A St. Nicholas medallion hung from the rearview mirror, and she wasn’t surprised to see that he honored the patron saint of the sea. An O’Hara’s sticker was on the front windshield, low, on the passenger side. The rear of the Jeep was filled with a stack of neatly piled clothing, as if he had just been to the laundry, though she wasn’t sure why he would go out since she was certain that the house—which had actually been bought by Katie—had a washer and dryer.



He saw her looking at the stack of clothing. He winced. “I suck at it so I take it to the Laundromat to get it done for me. I’ve had too many white and beige things wind up an ultrafeminine shade of pink.”



Vanessa laughed. Good God, she found even that endearing.



“Let me see your piece,” he told her.



She dug in her tote and took out the box that carried the mermaid pendant.



He took it and stared at it, and then at her.



“What?” she demanded. Something about the way he looked at her made her shiver.



“I just saw this same piece,” he told her.



“Oh? Did you go by the vendors?” she asked. Her voice seemed faint. And hopeful.



He shook his head slowly. She thought she knew his answer before he spoke, and she was oddly afraid without knowing why.



“This is the piece you found at the shipwreck site the other day. Where the Santa Geneva went down. It’s—it’s the exact piece,” he said at last.



They were at O’Hara’s, where they had run into Katie and David. Sean had gotten Vanessa the promised Irish coffee. It was delicious. At O’Hara’s, there were equal parts Irish whiskey and Drambuie in with the coffee, along with a generous dollop of real whipped cream. The night was pleasantly cool with a southwesterly breeze, making the hot drink perfect.



She was still in her bathing suit, and the damp and the salt and the sand were irritating, and she was certain that her hair looked like windblown spiderwebs. If they were all about to take part in filming on boats and at sea, she supposed, they should all get accustomed to one another in wet and scraggly mode.



“Well, if it’s the original, eighteen or twenty-four karat, with rubies and sapphires, it’s worth a mint,” David said.



“I imagine,” Sean agreed.



“What will you do with it?” Katie asked.



“Do with it?” Vanessa said blankly. “Well, I don’t actually see it as mine. I was on a trial run for the film when I happened upon it. I don’t know—it should be in a museum, I guess. It’s confusing, though. It should really belong to Sean and David, I think. Isn’t that the way it works when you’re working for someone? Like Mel Fisher had all kinds of divers, but the finds were his—right?”



Sean laughed. “After he fought the state for a decade,” he said. “But he won. Nowadays, in territorial waters, it’s twenty-five percent to the state. The rest is yours. Jaden was beside herself with excitement when she called me. She says that it’s stunning. I haven’t had a chance to get over and see it in person yet. All I have is the picture she sent to my phone. She and Ted had a party tonight, so she locked it up tight. We’ll go and see it in person in the morning.”



“Wonderful,” Vanessa said. She wasn’t sure it was wonderful at all. She wished that she hadn’t found it. She could only imagine the terror of the woman who had worn it. By legend, Dona Isabella hadn’t died on the ship—she had been murdered with the others on Haunt Island, probably by Kitty Cutlass. In the movie script, she’d written in a spectacular scene of the beauty floating in the water. It was unlikely that had been the case—Dona Isabella’s bones were somewhere beneath the sands of Haunt Island.



Kitty Cutlass had most probably perished in the storm.



“Yes, that sounds fine,” Vanessa said.



“Oh my God!” Katie said. “You don’t sound excited. Vanessa, that’s a real historical find. It’s amazing. I’ve been on those reefs all my life. I found an old boot and a high school ring from Miami High, class of ’75. Hey, this is…treasure!”



Vanessa smiled and nodded. “I’ve got to get to work,” Katie said. She rolled her eyes.



“I’m going to go to Sean’s and see what Jay has done with the footage we took this morning,” David said. “Katie…do you mind? I’ll be back before you close.”



Katie laughed and touched David’s face tenderly. “I worked here long before you came back, my love. But, hey, I do appreciate walking home together, so thanks.”



She went off to introduce her show; a blonde girl was waiting impatiently to sing.



“So let’s head down to my house,” Sean said.



“Well, I’m off to shower and change,” Vanessa said, slipping from her stool. She paused. “Thank you, Sean, the Irish coffee was delicious.”



“Glad you enjoyed it,” Sean said, standing, as well. “Don’t you want to see the footage? I put some together from the dive, as well.”



“Sure, but…” She grimaced, indicating what she was wearing. “I really need to shower and change.”



“That’s easy enough. We’ll walk by your place, and I’ll wait for you.”



“No, no, that’s all right. It will take me a few minutes.”



“Not a problem,” David assured her.



“Sure—we haven’t looked in the T-shirt shop windows for a while,” Sean said, but he was smiling. “Actually, Irish Kevin’s has a great band. We can hang out and listen, and when you’re ready, head to my place.”



“You’re forgetting something,” she told him.



“What?”



“Your car.”



“It’s fine here. I’ll get it in the morning. There won’t be anyplace to park on lower Duval. I’ve left it before—it will be fine.”



Duval was crazy at night, with many people dressed up. Open containers were legal in Key West, and many a pirate and his dame walked about with their grog in a leather-bound drinking vessel of some kind or another. Some looked great and truly played the part.



“Hey, we wouldn’t be hard put to find extras, if we were filming a smashing pirate scene,” Sean said dryly.



“It’s happened every year for about a decade,” Vanessa said. “No surprise there.”