since Jennie Lawson’s picture had been up all over the city and no one had come forward, he didn’t think that avenue would take him far, either. Still, he had to follow where the trail led.
“There was one more thing,” Mina said, surprising him.
“Oh?”
“I’d forgotten all about this. She told me she was going to get a reading. You know, a palm reading or the cards or something. She wore a pentagram around her neck, and I asked her if she was a witch. She said no, she just liked it. There was a ruby set in one of the points of the star. She said she wasn’t a believer, but she liked the stories. I guess that’s why she was going to take that ghost tour.” She fell silent, then sighed again, shaking her head as she looked at him. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t think of anything else.”
“Do you remember what she was wearing?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. Jeans and a red T-shirt, and she was pulling a black, white and purple suitcase. She said it was wonderful—she could always find her luggage at baggage claim.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” Caleb assured her.
“Really?” She seemed genuinely pleased. “It’s terrible. And sad. And now another girl’s missing, and she looks…so much like Jennie Lawson.”
“Yes, she does,” Caleb acknowledged.
“I hope you find her. Jennie Lawson, I mean. And the other girl, too, of course,” Mina told him, then stood and offered her hand. He thanked her again as they shook, and then she left and went back to work. He would have thanked Harold Sparks again, but the man was behind the counter, pretending to be busy. He nodded Caleb’s way, so Caleb nodded in return and left.
He had learned something new, something no one had mentioned, something that wasn’t in any of the police files. Jennie Lawson hadn’t been on her way to explore Ft. Marion. She hadn’t been planning to explore the bar scene or seek out a dance club.
Jennie Lawson had been in search of something scary.
Sadly, it seemed that she had found it.
The United States took control of Florida in 1821, and it became a territory in 1822.
Sarah already knew that her house had been built that year as a home for Thomas Grant, a statistical consultant advising the politicians and military men intent on making Florida a state. Apparently he’d been talented enough with numbers to parlay his own earnings into a small fortune. The home had originally been built to accommodate his wife and seven children, and he’d owned it for thirty years, after which it had been sold to the MacTavish family. It had remained in their possession through the Civil War, after which it had been abandoned when Cato MacTavish had suddenly left the state.
Sarah had always known the basic facts and figures that went with the house, and she’d heard the rumors that it was haunted in the way all old places were supposedly haunted. There was a rumor that Cato’s father had a woman working for him who was the child of a Haitian—descendent of refugees from the Haitian revolution—and an Indian, though no one knew exactly what tribe. There was a white man somewhere in her genetic background, as well—a plantation owner or an overseer. She had been the “spell queen” of the area, selling love potions and other such supposed magic.
There were stories, too, that women had died and disappeared during those years, and that Cato MacTavish had killed his wife, or possibly his fiancée, and that he had abandoned the property rather than face justice and the hangman.
What she knew for a fact was that the MacTavish family had used the house as a mortuary at the beginning of the Civil War, and that it had been abandoned after the war, then bought for back taxes by the Brennan family—who had used the house as an address both before and after the sale, which was very strange, unless it was an error in the record keeping. They had used it as a mortuary again, and it had remained in the family until it had been more
“There was one more thing,” Mina said, surprising him.
“Oh?”
“I’d forgotten all about this. She told me she was going to get a reading. You know, a palm reading or the cards or something. She wore a pentagram around her neck, and I asked her if she was a witch. She said no, she just liked it. There was a ruby set in one of the points of the star. She said she wasn’t a believer, but she liked the stories. I guess that’s why she was going to take that ghost tour.” She fell silent, then sighed again, shaking her head as she looked at him. “I’m sorry, but I really can’t think of anything else.”
“Do you remember what she was wearing?” Caleb asked.
“Yes. Jeans and a red T-shirt, and she was pulling a black, white and purple suitcase. She said it was wonderful—she could always find her luggage at baggage claim.”
“You’ve been very helpful,” Caleb assured her.
“Really?” She seemed genuinely pleased. “It’s terrible. And sad. And now another girl’s missing, and she looks…so much like Jennie Lawson.”
“Yes, she does,” Caleb acknowledged.
“I hope you find her. Jennie Lawson, I mean. And the other girl, too, of course,” Mina told him, then stood and offered her hand. He thanked her again as they shook, and then she left and went back to work. He would have thanked Harold Sparks again, but the man was behind the counter, pretending to be busy. He nodded Caleb’s way, so Caleb nodded in return and left.
He had learned something new, something no one had mentioned, something that wasn’t in any of the police files. Jennie Lawson hadn’t been on her way to explore Ft. Marion. She hadn’t been planning to explore the bar scene or seek out a dance club.
Jennie Lawson had been in search of something scary.
Sadly, it seemed that she had found it.
The United States took control of Florida in 1821, and it became a territory in 1822.
Sarah already knew that her house had been built that year as a home for Thomas Grant, a statistical consultant advising the politicians and military men intent on making Florida a state. Apparently he’d been talented enough with numbers to parlay his own earnings into a small fortune. The home had originally been built to accommodate his wife and seven children, and he’d owned it for thirty years, after which it had been sold to the MacTavish family. It had remained in their possession through the Civil War, after which it had been abandoned when Cato MacTavish had suddenly left the state.
Sarah had always known the basic facts and figures that went with the house, and she’d heard the rumors that it was haunted in the way all old places were supposedly haunted. There was a rumor that Cato’s father had a woman working for him who was the child of a Haitian—descendent of refugees from the Haitian revolution—and an Indian, though no one knew exactly what tribe. There was a white man somewhere in her genetic background, as well—a plantation owner or an overseer. She had been the “spell queen” of the area, selling love potions and other such supposed magic.
There were stories, too, that women had died and disappeared during those years, and that Cato MacTavish had killed his wife, or possibly his fiancée, and that he had abandoned the property rather than face justice and the hangman.
What she knew for a fact was that the MacTavish family had used the house as a mortuary at the beginning of the Civil War, and that it had been abandoned after the war, then bought for back taxes by the Brennan family—who had used the house as an address both before and after the sale, which was very strange, unless it was an error in the record keeping. They had used it as a mortuary again, and it had remained in the family until it had been more
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