by Ghost Night
“It’s gorgeous. Truly, absolutely gorgeous,” Vanessa said.
“And more reasonable than you would think. Okay, truthfully? It’s done in ten carat—if I’d had my say, it would be fourteen carat at the very least. Eighteen for such a piece would be closer to the original. And the jewels—that really looks like a ruby, but it’s a garnet. And that’s not a sapphire, it’s blue topaz, and the yellow stones are citrine.”
“How much?” Vanessa asked.
The girl smiled and told her. The piece was more than affordable. Vanessa bought it.
She looked at an exhibition that was going to be on food, and she glanced through the costume racks, remembering when the world had been bright, when she had done so with high excitement, thinking that she and Jay were about to produce their first full movie. That was then, this was now. She walked around and saw some excellent outfits—should Sean and David want them for anything—then moved on to the beach.
It was a decent day, even though they were into fall. The air temperature was still rising to eighty-five, and the water at the shore was only about ten degrees cooler. She’d grown up in the chilly freshwater springs of north Florida, so it was a lovely temperature to her.
She lay on the sand, slipped on her sunglasses and watched the waves.
She tried not to think about the fact that she was ready to kill Jay. She could remember the look in Sean O’Hara’s eyes when he had met Jay, when Jay had said that he was applying for work. She looked like the agent sent in to scope it out.
What was, was.
Except that she needed the truth more than Jay.
She needed to silence the nightmares.
To keep from thinking too much, she headed into the water. She swam awhile, working her muscles, then ambled back toward the shore, watching a father play with his children—a boy of about ten and a little girl, around five—and as she walked, not paying attention, she crashed into someone. A hard body. She stepped back awkwardly and quickly apologized. Hands shot out to steady her.
It was Sean.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself. You’re hard to find,” he told her.
“Well, I would have been easier, if I’d known you were looking for me.”
He smiled. “I called.”
“Oh—my phone is with my towel and bag, on the shore.”
“Ah.”
“So—you were looking for me. How’d the filming go?” She realized she was shivering. It was getting later than she realized; the sun was beginning to sink, and while the temperature was still far from cold, being wet made her shiver.
He arched a brow to her. “Not that badly, trust me, no need to shake.”
She laughed. “Sorry, I’m suddenly freezing.”
“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 cof
fee. 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.”
“One of the parties is happening,” David said. “I think it’s down on Mallory Square, but I’m not sure. It won’t be in full swing for a while.”
“And hopefully, we’ll be out of here by then,” Sean said, grinning.
“Hey, I think it’s great. They do reenactments and all kinds of cool historical stuff. Kids can come to it, and face it, Key West isn’t always kid-friendly,” Vanessa said.
“Excuse me—I was a kid here, and I came out just fine,” Sean said.
“I grew up here, too. So we stayed off Duval growing up,” David said. “We had the water. Boats, the sea, diving. What more could you ask?”
They reached Vanessa’s place. When Vanessa ran up to shower and change, Sean and David walked across the street to Irish Kevin’s. She would find them there when she was ready.
She showered and shampooed, and though she was in a hurry, she discovered that she was determined to be thorough. She shaved her legs, dried her hair with the blow-dryer and despite herself, opted for makeup. She chose a knit dress that was both casual and slinky, and though appalled at her choice, she went for heeled sandals.
Dressing up as if out on the hunt, she mocked herself.
It wasn’t her—it wasn’t the way she lived.
And yet, that night, it was.
Impatient at last, she gave her hair a last brush and hurried out. As she crossed the street, whistles followed her from the tiny bar next door. She blushed and was glad.
The two men were hanging at the entrance to Irish Kevin’s—the music could be heard clearly from there. The band was good, playing something from Three Dog Night that she hadn’t heard in years and years but sounded absolutely great.
“Shall we?” Sean said, seeing her.
David whistled. “What a transformation.”
She laughed. “Thank you.”
Sean cleared his throat. “Yes, you look great. But transformation? David, are you implying that she doesn’t look great wet, in sand, with ratty hair?”
“Not in the least. And I’d have never said ratty hair,” David protested.
“Hmm. You’re right. I do apologize!” Sean said.
She grinned. “Thank you both, I’m pretty sure. Should we go and see if Jay is still at your house?”
They agreed. She walked between the two of them as they traveled the short distance from Duval to the O’Hara house.
Vanessa remembered it well. She had stayed here with Katie many a time.
It hadn’t changed much, though Katie had added a few little touches that made it her own. There were new seascapes on the walls, light, new upholstery on the furniture that still seemed to fit the Victorian period of the house, and there was a new entertainment center with a flat-screen TV in the parlor. Walking into the house was comfortable. She’d spent good times there.
“You know my house?” Sean asked her.
“I spent a lot of nights here,” she said.
“Pity. And I never knew,” Sean murmured.
“Hey! You’re back!” Jay called from the rear of the house, once an open porch, then a screened porch, now a glassed-in family room.
They headed toward the sound of Jay’s voice.
The rear of the house had changed. It was all Sean O’Hara’s now, with several screens set up, a large computer, camera equipment here and there, microphones, booms and more. Jay was in a twirling office chair
at the computer.
“Nessa, old gal, you’ve made it with the boys! I’m so glad. This is great stuff, great!” Jay said enthusiastically.
“He’s shy, never toots his own horn,” Vanessa said dryly.
“Let’s see it,” Sean said.
Jay hit a key that sent the film to the largest of the screens in the room. They moved around to perch on chairs to watch. As she took a seat on the divan by the back of the house, Vanessa felt a chill sweep through her and something almost like a gentle touch on her arm. She looked around, certain one of the men was near her. But Sean was perched on a stool and David had taken the wicker wingback chair to her far right. Neither was anywhere near her.
And Jay was at the computer chair still, arms crossed over his chest.
Vanessa had to admit that the footage was fantastic. Marty was an amazing subject and storyteller, and Jay had the editing just right. It ran approximately three minutes, with an extra twenty seconds of the old pirate historian playing his sea shanty. In all, it was fabulous footage.
“Well?” Jay demanded.
“You’re good,” Sean said.
“Yes, very good,” David agreed.
“Am I hired? Please?” Jay begged.
Sean was still staring at the screen, though it was dark. “Yes,” he said. “You’re hired.”
Jay let out a yelp of joy. He sprang from the chair and came to Vanessa, pulling her from her seat, swirling her around the room. “Thank God, thank God!”
She didn’t share his elation. She felt her cheeks redden, and she nodded.
Sean rose, ignoring the two of them. “This is what we got the other day,” he told David. He hit a few keys. Sean narrated what had been shot, and she knew that, beyond a doubt, she would watch the documentary even if she had nothing to do with it. His voice was a captivating tenor with the right inflection at every moment. There was footage she hadn’t even realized he had taken as she set her mask and slipped off the side of the boat. Her shots of the reef with the brilliant fish flashed by as he explained the wrecks and the delicacy of the reefs, along with the dangers they had, and still did, create. There was footage of her with the grouper as he talked about the wonder of the reef today—and then went into the sinking of the Santa Geneva as she was beset by pirates. He talked about the legend, about the film crew, and how they had chosen, in presenting unsolved mysteries, to focus on the legend of the Santa Geneva, Mad Miller, Kitty Cutlass and the sad plight of Dona Isabella. That legend had given rise to many others.”