The Taylor family had been joined by Maddie, Belinda, Tobie and Josiah, the Rosewoods. The newcomers asked about the Siren’s history, and Hannah assured them that she would talk about the house when the others arrived. Agent Samson, she saw, seemed comfortable with everyone. He was capable of casual, friendly conversation—just not so much with her.
Two couples, a lone college student and a family of three arrived, completing the group of sixteen.
“It happened out back, right? Really close to the house?” George Taylor asked.
Hannah felt a cold chill seep over her. It was natural, she supposed. The murder had taken place practically in her yard. Tourists whose interests ran to a ghost tour were bound to ask about it.
Once again, she didn’t have to say anything, because Dallas stepped in. “In the alley that runs behind the house,” he said. “But the police are still working the scene, plus it’s cordoned off, so it will help if we just steer clear of the area for now.”
“You a cop?” someone asked him.
“No,” he said, and smiled at Hannah. “But we’re all here for the history and legends that Miss O’Brien is about to disclose, so why don’t we give her our attention and let the authorities handle the information about the murder?”
“Of course,” George said, clearly sorry and slightly ashamed he had spoken.
“I’ll start out with the house we’re in,” Hannah said quickly. “Please, take a bottle of water from the table over there and grab a seat.” Her guests obeyed; those who didn’t find room on the sofa or nab one of the armchairs—mostly the younger members of the party—simply found comfortable spots on the floor. “The Siren of the Sea is named in tribute to the original owner—a merchant who followed the siren call of the sea, at least until the tragedy that befell his ship, which went down in the early 1850s. I’m sure you’ve already heard some Key West history, but this house figures in that history—as will a lot more of the places we visit tonight—so I’ll briefly recap. The Spanish were the first to arrive on this island, which they called Cayo Hueso, or Island of Bones. That’s because the bones of the indigenous people lay everywhere. When the English arrived, they bastardized the name to Key West. In 1763 Key West passed into the hands of the British for a mere twenty years before it was returned to Spanish control.
“By the early 1820s, when Key West became an American territory, piracy was raging on the high seas. Commodore David Porter planted the American flag here on the island, complained about the pirates and was ordered to subdue them. He immediately instituted martial law, something that didn’t go over well with the citizens, mainly fishermen and divers who either called the island home or made use of its resources. The pirates were pretty quickly expunged by the Mosquito Squadron, a fleet of small ships that Porter commanded. After that, salvage became the order of the day.
“There are many stories about so-called wreckers setting up lights to lure ships onto the reefs, but most of those stories are fiction. The wreckers of Key West didn’t need to create any maritime disasters. The shoals and reefs off the shore were deadly all on their own.
“When Ian Chandler arrived in the early 1840s he built this house, and in its day it was considered an appropriate residence for a prosperous businessman. Mr. Chandler wasn’t a wrecker, of course. He was, as I said, a merchant, one in possession of a number of ships. His Wind and the Sea was a three-masted schooner, a beautiful ship—as you can see by the painting above the fireplace. In September of 1857 the Wind and the Sea sailed from her berth in Key West carrying all kinds of goods, cigars from Cuba, sponges from the local waters and jewelry from workshops in Colombia. She’d barely left home when a vicious storm came tearing across the Florida Straits. The ship was tossed back on the reef, where it struck a coral shelf and began to sink. Ian Chandler was on the ship himself, but his beautiful young daughter was still at home.
“When word came that the ship had foundered and was sinking, the cry went up. Now, here’s the thing about wreckers. The first man or company to get out to the wreck lays claim. Others who help with the salvage are entitled to a share of the goods and/or what they brought in. But the first wrecker on the site is the one to call the shots and divvy up the haul.
“As it happened, Ian’s daughter, Melody, was in love with a young wrecker, Hagen Dundee. Ian—a widower by then—frowned on their relationship, despite the fact that Hagen was well liked and respected in the community. The two were planning on marrying but were still hoping for Ian’s blessing. Diaries and letters left by those who lived in the area at the time suggest that Ian Chandler would have disliked anyone who won his daughter’s love, because Melody was the light of his life.
“At any rate, when the ship went down, Hagen was quick to assemble his men and get out to the wreck. His plan was to return everything to Ian Chandler and thereby win Ian’s approval to wed his daughter. And so, in the midst of horrendous weather, Hagen and his crew set out. But Hagen was a decent man. Lives had to be saved before material goods. And he knew Ian Chandler was sailing on the Wind and the Sea that night.
“Hagen was the first to reach the site—the salvage claim was his. But there was something far more important, and that was saving the life of the man he hoped was his future father-in-law. So imagine Hagen fighting the wicked battering of the wind and the tempest of white-capped seas, trying first to pluck survivors from the waves. Many had made it into the lifeboats, but those were being tossed about like volleyballs on the high seas. Bold, dashing and daring, eyewitnesses attest to the fact that Hagen dove into the churning waters himself to save his prospective father-in-law. Success was within his reach when one of his rivals, Valmont LaBruge—a man who wanted to ruin Hagen Dundee, because he also had his heart set on winning the hand of Melody Chandler and taking over her father’s empire—reached the wreck. He maneuvered his ship Mademoiselle into position close to Hagen’s Saint Elizabeth.
“Just as Hagen saved Ian Chandler, Valmont dove into the water himself, throwing both Ian and Hagen from the lifeboat Hagen’s men had maneuvered into place. To the astonishment of those watching, in the midst of the raging storm Valmont swore he’d see Hagen dead before allowing him to claim the salvage from the Wind and the Sea—or the hand of Melody Chandler. In the fighting that followed, both Ian and Hagen disappeared below the surface.
“But before he was swallowed by the black depths, Hagen shouted out a curse. He cursed Valmont LaBruge, the seed of his loins and whatever treasure he might claim. The curse may have had some effect, because Valmont didn’t make it back to shore. Despite the storm, despite the wisdom that the salvaging of goods was best left until the storm abated, Valmont was determined to find something he believed was aboard the Wind and the Sea. He forced his men to create a safety line so he could board the quickly sinking ship. The line broke, and Valmont LaBruge died that night, victim of a curse spoken by a good man, so they say. Many lives were lost that night, but many others were saved due to the courage and determination of Hagen Dundee.”
“But poor Melody!” Belinda said. “She lost her father and her lover the same night.”
Hannah nodded. “The body of Ian Chandler washed ashore on what’s now Stock Island about three days later. Crushed and disconsolate, Melody buried her father. You can find his grave in the Key West Cemetery. But Hagen was not to be found. So, night after night, Melody went to the beach to stare out at the sea. Some think she walked out into the water. I believe she saw a light out at sea and simply tried to get a closer look. At any rate, she didn’t believe Hagen had drowned. She was certain he was out there somewhere. And, in searching for him, she was drowned herself. Neither her body nor Hagen’s was ever discovered. And because they weren’t given a good Christian burial, they are said to have remained behind in spirit form, together at last for all eternity.”
“What a sad story,” Maddie said.
“Hagen’s and Melody’s spirits can so
metimes be seen right here in this house. Melody often walks the widow’s walk on the roof, searching the sea for her missing lover. Hagen comes to the door seeking Melody, or he stands looking up at her window, singing to her. Local records show he often came to serenade her. Hagen and Melody were tragic lovers and, some say, are now doomed to haunt Key West until they come to peace with themselves—or the world. Anyway, everyone have their water? We’ll head on down the street, and I’ll tell you the story of the poor woman I consider Key West’s most tragic haunt, Elena de Hoyos.”
“We’ve already heard something about Elena,” Tobie said excitedly.
“And Robert the Doll,” someone else said.
Hannah said, “We’ll go by Artist House, too.” She looked across the room and caught Agent Samson watching her with a gleam of amusement in his eyes.
Fine, be a skeptic, she thought.
But, of course, he probably knew all the Key West legends, seeing as he was from here. Still, she thought, it did seem as if he’d enjoyed her rendition of this one and its connection to her house.
Hannah led her crowd down toward Simonton Street and stopped across from the Dean Lopez Funeral Home.
“This,” she began, “is another story of love gone awry—and the strangest thing about this story is that it’s fairly recent history, and everything I have to tell you is true and documented. It all began over eighty years ago.
“Maria Elena Milagro de Hoyos, a lovely Cuban-American, was born in 1910. In 1930, she came down with tuberculosis. At the time, it was still an incurable disease. She received her diagnosis when she came to the United States Marine Hospital in Key West. Elena was dark haired, vivacious, filled with life—loved by her family, but perhaps not so much by her husband, who left her almost immediately after the diagnosis. There was a German-born radiologist at the hospital named Carl Tanzler, who went by the name Count Von Cosel. He was thirty-three years older than Elena, but he saw her and he was in love.”
“Yuck!” someone said.
Everyone turned to look. It was one of the young girls in the group—Belinda, Hannah thought.
Belinda cleared her throat awkwardly. “He was...what? Fifty-three? And she was twenty? That’s gross.”
Hannah laughed. “I never said that Elena fell in love with Carl Tanzler, just that Carl Tanzler fell in love with Elena. But that was how things stood. Elena had a husband, but he wasn’t about to stick around as his lovely young wife sickened and died. And in fact Tanzler had a wife, but she lived up in Zephyr Hills. So he convinced the family that he could treat Elena with all his radiology equipment and save her. He visited her house and ingratiated himself with the family. But poor Elena died despite his best efforts. Her wake was held right here at the Dean Lopez Funeral Home, which, as you can see, remains in business today. Tanzler offered to buy Elena a beautiful mausoleum at the Key West Cemetery, and she was laid to rest. But here’s where it starts to get really creepy. Tanzler visited her nearly every day, playing music for her, reading to her, speaking to her constantly of his undying love. This went on for two years, and then Tanzler suddenly stopped visiting.”
“I know!” Tobie Rosewood said. “He stole her body!”
“Yes. He stole her body from the grave in the dead of night,” Hannah agreed. “Now, Key West is known for having residents who are a bit eccentric. So when Carl Tanzler began buying piano wire, mortician’s wax, women’s lingerie and perfumes, no one really seemed to notice.
“And then one day, in 1940, Elena’s sister, Florida, heard rumors about Tanzler, so she confronted him. He was living in a broken-down plane on the beach, because he wanted to fix it and fly away to the heavens. She saw that he had her sister’s body, and that was the end of Tanzler’s ‘romance.’ The authorities came, and he was arrested. He claimed that although Elena never so much as agreed to date him in life, she had married him in death. He was given a psychological examination and deemed mentally competent to stand trial.
“And here’s where it got tricky. He hadn’t murdered Elena, and the statute of limitations on grave robbing meant that it was too late to charge him with stealing her body.
“Newspapers around the country hailed Tanzler as a great romantic. But back in those days, the press didn’t reveal every salacious detail the way it does now.” She paused, looking from person to person before revealing the next detail. “In his efforts to preserve Elena’s body he used wire and plastic and whatever else he could find. And he maintained a relationship with her as if she were alive, as if they were truly man and wife.
“After her body was found, poor Elena was given another viewing here at the Dean Lopez Funeral Home. This time thousands of people came, some to pay their last respects but most, I’m sure, to stare at what remained of her corpse. She was buried once again at the Key West Cemetery, but only the sheriff and a few other people knew where. Rumor says she was actually buried in several pieces in several places. Carl Tanzler’s last words to the judge were a question. He wanted to know when he could get his Elena back. He never would, of course.
“Soon after his release, the mausoleum he’d had built for her exploded and Carl Tanzler left town. But the story gets even stranger. He moved up to Zephyr Hills, where his estranged wife helped him find a place to live and get on his feet. He died on July 3, 1952, and some say he was found in a coffin with what must have been an effigy of his Elena. Or was it? I personally believe our medical examiners would have known the difference between an effigy and a corpse. All I can say is that if anyone deserves to haunt Key West as a ghost seeking something better, that person is Elena de Hoyos.”
Next she led the group to Artist House to tell the story of Robert the Doll, encouraging them to check out the East Martello Museum to see the doll and many other artifacts of Key West history. She followed that with the story of the children who’d died at the old theater and several other local legends, then led them to the haunted Hard Rock Cafe, where she told them the story of the Curry family and the tragic suicide by hanging of one member of the family in the building that now housed the restaurant.
She waited until everyone had ordered something to drink, sodas or one of Key West’s famous libations, then left the group happily talking about the ghosts of the past rather than the present.
“Good job,” Dallas told her as they started back toward the Siren of the Sea.
“You think?” she asked him.
He shrugged. “Absolutely. Just the right amount of history, and no ridiculous emoting, but enough drama and enthusiasm to keep the crowd riveted.”
She laughed. “Well, thanks.”
They walked through milling crowds of shoppers, partyers and lovers until they turned the corner. Moments later Hannah opened the door and stepped inside, where she was immediately assailed with the notion that someone had been in her home.
“What?” Dallas asked her, apparently sensing her unease.
“Nothing,” she said.
“We’ll do a walk around,” he told her.
It was more than evident then that the man was an agent. He moved through her house as if he knew it inside and out. She followed a little nervously. “Anything out of order?” he asked a few times.
“No, nothing—I don’t think,” she told him.
They wound up back in the parlor.
“Would you, uh, like something? A drink? Tea...water. Anything?”
“Sure, tea sounds good,” he said.
She fled to the kitchen. Setting water on to boil, she looked around. “Melody? Hagen? Come on, please. I need you to forgive me and get back here.”
There was no answer. When the water had boiled, she set out a tray with cups and tea bags, milk and sugar.
When she walked back into the parlor, she nearly dropped everything.
Melody was elegantly perched on the sofa. Hagen was standing by the mantel. And
Agent Dallas Samson was seated across from Melody, looking as if they had just been deep in conversation.
Dallas turned to Hannah. “I’ve just met your charming residents,” he told her, then continued with a slight rebuke in his voice. “It would have been polite to introduce us.”
6
Machete was watching the house again. He’d left it fifteen minutes ago, even though he hadn’t found what he was looking for. Still, he’d known what time she was due back, and he hadn’t wanted to take a chance of being caught.
So he left.
And he watched.
She didn’t come back alone.
Damn. He sure as hell couldn’t go back in again tonight.
Not when she had a Fed in the house. He realized it wouldn’t bother him a bit to kill the Fed—he’d killed before, and he would kill again.
He just didn’t want to kill her.
And it was more than the fact that he had a crush on her. Every man had his ethics. Machete killed those who were in the game. Those who knew what they were risking—like the Fed, who knew he was putting his life on the line every day—or other criminals. He didn’t kill children, and he didn’t kill women. Although the Wolf always told him that women wanted equal treatment and therefore they should be murdered just as often as men.
Machete was too old school. He just didn’t see it.
Not that his feelings mattered at the moment. There was a Fed in the house, which meant that what he had told Wolf was even truer now. They had to hold off. They needed safe access to the house until they found what they were looking for. He was close—he knew he’d been close.
The lights remained on in the parlor. Maybe the Fed would be leaving soon. Maybe she would go to sleep. Maybe he could slip back in tonight, after all.
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