Chapter Twenty-Four
Twenty-Four
Boneyard Books was one of the only shops in town that had always been a bookstore. Just about every other shop on this street had once been something else: bank, hardware store, grocery. Everything a small town needed to keep itself running. But of course these days Boneyard Key ran on tourism, so everything was geared toward tourists, with most of the shops selling airbrushed T-shirts, shot glasses, and other crappy souvenirs—basically anything you could slap a cartoon ghost on. The formerly utilitarian buildings were now painted in eye-catching pastel colors, perched on the edge of wide sidewalks that invited strolling. Come spend your money , the pale blue and pink and yellow paint said. Then go home.
When Cassie paused at the doorway to Boneyard Books to study the facade, Sophie didn’t argue. She seemed to be stalling anyway; she really didn’t like this guy.
“Oh, this is cool.” The outer wall near the door was made to look like carvings of various children’s book characters, all of them reading books. Depicted across the bottom of the facade, along the sidewalk, was a long line of books on a long bookshelf. The titles were all classics: Dickens and Austen and Hemingway and Fitzgerald. Cassie ran her fingers over The Great Gatsby .
“Yeah.” Sophie’s voice was flat. “It’s neat.”
“Oh, come on.” Cassie straightened up to smile at Sophie. “He can’t be that bad.”
Sophie didn’t respond, she just folded her arms and waited. Cassie shook her head and reached for the door. The old-fashioned bell over it announced their presence, and their feet echoed in the empty shop. Cassie didn’t see a single soul among the stacks.
“Huh,” Sophie said. “Doesn’t look like he’s here. We should come back…”
“Can I help you?” The voice came from the front counter, behind an enormous stack of books. Cassie ventured farther in, peering around them to find a man who could only be Theo.
He was a little younger than she was, and a little bit taller. His sandy-colored hair could use a cut and, let’s face it, a style a little more modern than the 1960s. With his tortoiseshell glasses and button-down shirt with an even more buttoned-down vest over it, he looked like a time traveler come to visit modern-day Florida.
Despite his buttoned-down look—not to mention Sophie’s prejudice—his smile was open and friendly.
“Anything I can help you find?” He closed the book he was reading—something leather bound and old—and unfolded himself from the stool behind the counter. Oh. Never mind. He was more than a little bit taller than Cassie.
“Yes, actually,” Cassie said. “Are you Theo?”
“I am.”
“Yes” came a voice behind her. Sophie had finally followed her into the shop, and as she and Theo stared at each other, Cassie could have sworn the temperature dropped about twenty degrees. Not from a ghostly presence this time, but from pure animosity.
“Sophie.” So much for open and friendly, but the nod Theo gave her at least bordered on polite.
Which was more than could be said for Sophie. “Hey.” Well, this was going great.
Cassie forged ahead. “I…well, we…okay, I…was hoping to find some more information on the town’s history. Something that’s maybe…ah, a little more in-depth than Boneyard Key: A Haunted History ?”
His eyebrow went up in a perfect arch. “More historically accurate, you mean?” From behind her, Sophie sucked on her teeth. Loudly.
“So you know for a fact that it’s not?”
He waved a hand. “Oh, it’s fine for tourists. The rudimentary history of the town is correct—Cemetery Island, the Great Storm, the founding of the town—that’s all basic stuff and covered pretty well. Have you been on the ghost tour yet?”
“Yes, she’s been on the ghost tour.” Wow. Cassie had never heard Sophie so snippy before.
“I sure have!” Cassie said cheerfully, as though she could talk over Sophie’s ire. “That’s why I’m here, actually. There’s…” What should she say? I’m here to fact-check the ghost tour ? She couldn’t say that in front of Sophie. “The ghost in my house would like her story to be told correctly.”
Theo said nothing for a long moment. He opened his mouth, closed it. “Are you…” He cocked his head. “You’re not Cassie Rutherford, are you? You own the Hawkins House now?”
“That’s me,” she said. “Word’s gotten around town, hasn’t it?”
“It has,” he agreed. “Not that it takes long. If you’re wanting local history, real local history, I have a couple things you might like.” He moved out from behind the counter, his walk brisk, and he didn’t look back; he seemed to just assume Cassie could keep up. “Along this wall is our local interest section.” He gestured toward a shelf as he walked, but he didn’t slow down. “University press stuff, local authors, books about the Indigenous history of the town, its role over the years as a colony before Florida became a state. If you’re wanting to delve into the town’s past, that would be a great place to start. It’s mostly accurate.”
“Mostly?” Cassie tried to speed-read the titles on the local history shelf while Theo zoomed past them. Dude was tall and he could walk fast . “You mean as accurate as A Haunted History ?”
Theo threw a smirk over his shoulder. “Something like that.”
“You could have told me, you know.” Sophie’s voice was breathless; she was a good foot shorter than Theo and was struggling to keep up with them. “That A Haunted History wasn’t accurate. That the tour wasn’t accurate. Instead of just letting me run around all this time, telling everybody fake stories.”
That stopped him in his tracks, so suddenly that the two women nearly crashed into his back. He turned to them with a puzzled expression. “I thought you knew,” he said to Sophie.
“How was I going to know?” She put her hands on her hips and glared up at him, like a mouse staring down a giraffe. “I was going off of the book, which I was told was a good source!”
“I certainly didn’t tell you that,” he retorted. “And your tour is fine. I never said it wasn’t—”
“No, except when you scoffed your way through it!”
Theo continued as though she hadn’t interrupted. “And it’s fine for tourists. I figured you were selling them on a fun time, getting them to buy the book at the end. I didn’t think you cared.”
“Of course I care.” Her voice was small, hurt. A staring contest ensued between the two of them, and Theo was the one to blink first, a sheepish expression coming over his face.
“I’m sorry,” he finally said gently. “And I’m sorry that I scoffed at your tour. It’s just that…That damn book’s been a thorn in my side for years. Historical inaccuracy bothers me like nothing else.”
“Me too,” said Sophie. “Believe it or not.”
Theo considered that, then nodded decisively. “I believe it. Come on.” He led them to the back of the shop, to a curtained-off doorway leading to what looked like a storeroom. A small sign to the right of the doorway read BONEYARD KEY CULTURAL CENTER AND MUSEUM . It seemed like a lot of pressure for one storeroom to handle.
Theo pushed the deep burgundy curtain to the side and ushered them inside. “I usually ask for donations, a couple dollars, something like that. But you’re both residents, so…”
“Thanks,” Cassie murmured as she stepped through the curtain. The place looked…well, it looked like a museum that was set up in a storeroom. It was larger than she’d expected; each of the four walls had groupings of what could generously be called museum displays: framed photographs of varying ages and degrees of disintegration. A glass cabinet in the center of the room held antique fishing implements, along with pieces of brick that must be important for some reason, while a shadowy corner in the back had two tall filing cabinets with a card table set up next to them.
While Theo headed directly for the filing cabinets, Cassie found herself wandering to the far wall, which focused on the early history of the town and its settlement. Her attention was caught by black-and-white photos of a cemetery. Some of the tombstones had toppled over or were broken in half, and most of them were overgrown with vegetation. Cemetery Island, 1954 , read the small placard next to the photos.
“Oh, wow.” Her fingertips hovered over one of the photos, tracing the curve of a tombstone. She could just barely make out the name on it. Royer . A shiver prickled the back of her neck. That was Nick’s family, right there in front of her in literal black and white. His attachment to Boneyard Key made a lot more sense to her now. His link to this town wasn’t just sentimental. It was tangible. His roots were right there, where he could visit them. She wouldn’t want to move away either if she had something like that.
“This cemetery really still exists?” She aimed the question at Sophie, Theo, anyone who cared to answer.
“Yep,” Sophie answered from right behind her, while Theo’s assent came from the other side of the room. Cassie glanced over her shoulder to see Theo’s back to them, a drawer to a file cabinet open as he rummaged through it. “You have to take a kayak out there,” he said, “and make sure you hose yourself down with bug repellent first. The mosquitoes are merciless.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” she said. “But these photos are from the fifties. And the tombstones look in pretty rough shape back then. You sure they’re still there now?”
“They absolutely are.” He sounded certain, and a little pissed off—who was Cassie to doubt him? “The historical preservation committee goes out twice a year to clean up the graves.” He had come up behind her while she was studying the black-and-white photos and stood next to her now, two file folders under his arm. He tapped a fingernail against the glass of a framed picture she hadn’t noticed, off to the right and in color. “That’s from the early 2000s.” The broken tombstones were still broken, but one of the toppled-over ones had been set to rights. The sun streamed down on the little cemetery through the Spanish moss that hung from the live oak trees around it. Where the black-and-white photos looked more…well, haunted , the color photo showed the cemetery in a serene setting.
“Historical preservation committee?” Cassie asked. “Is it really a whole committee, or is it just you?”
Theo pretended to look offended. “Sometimes I can rope a couple people into helping me.” He gave her an assessing look. “How good are you at kayaking?”
His smile said that he was kidding, but now that he mentioned it, Cassie could think of worse ways to spend an afternoon. “I could be taught.” She indicated the folders under his arm. “What are those?”
Theo looked down at them, as though just remembering they were there. “Ah. Yes. This one is for you—” He handed one folder, so thick it was practically overflowing, to Sophie. “This is all documentation that focuses on Beachside Drive and the downtown area. If you really wanted to start looking for ways to improve your tour…”
Sophie took the folder with a firm nod. “This is great. Thanks.” She started to open it but it was so full that documents began to spill out. She slammed it closed again with a sheepish look.
“There’s a table right over there.” Theo indicated a small table near the entrance, under a huge framed painting of a blond woman. Then he turned to Cassie, handing her the other, much thinner folder. “Hawkins House,” he said. She followed him to the card table by the filing cabinets, setting the folder down. While there wasn’t a lot of documentation, the folder was filled with photographs taken of the house over the years. Cassie spread them out gently, taking her time to study each one.
The first black-and-white photo she picked up was badly faded with age. But Cassie recognized the lines of the house, the rooftop and the gingerbread trim around the balcony. Even the picket fence looked the same, and right behind it…Cassie knew the general shape of cabbage roses by now. Mrs. Hawkins’s roses.
“I don’t know if the photos themselves are helpful at all…” Theo’s voice sounded apologetic. “While I have plenty on the Hawkins House, I don’t have all that much on Mr. and Mrs. Hawkins themselves.” He shook his head. “They’re not in the Founding Fifteen. That’s really what my focus is here.”
“Right.” Cassie let her gaze wander over the room, at the photos and displays, as though an answer might jump out at her. “But where did Sarah come from? She’s not in the Founding Fifteen, so she must have moved here, right? But where were her people? Were there other Blankenships in town?”
“Blankenships?” Theo blinked. “Who are the Blankenships?”
“Sarah Hawkins. Her maiden name was Blankenship.” Had she really stumped the history guy?
He looked thoughtful. “Are you sure that’s right? I don’t think I’ve seen that name anywhere. In any of my research.” He gave a pointed look toward the filing cabinets. “And I’ve done a lot of research.”
“I can see that.” But Cassie had her own research, and she dug in her bag for it now. She handed Theo the marriage license she’d printed out, and he studied it thoughtfully.
“Obviously you’re right,” he said, handing her back the paper. “But I don’t know of any other Blankenships. None are buried at Cemetery Island, and none appear in Boneyard Key. So where did Sarah come from?”
“That’s what I’m asking.” They both turned back to the documents on the table, and Theo pulled out photocopies of records and handed them to Cassie.
“Original deed, in the name of William Donnelly.”
“No way! I’d been looking for that!” She seized it as though it would hold all the answers. But of course, it held zero answers. It was a land deed, in very fancy and almost illegible handwriting, granting Donnelly the land on which he later built the house. Which was great, but it didn’t tell her anything she couldn’t get out of A Haunted History.
“Warranty deed.” Theo handed her another piece of paper. “William Donnelly to Charles S. Hawkins in 1904.”
“1904. That’s when Charles and Sarah got married. But…” The chain of title was clear, even to Cassie, who didn’t know squat about real estate. Donnelly owned it, then C.S. Hawkins. Why did Sarah insist it was her house, if it was never really hers? There must be something she was missing.
She put the papers aside and turned her attention back to the photographs. Theo narrated as she worked her way through them.
“These came from all over. Some were from the newspaper, which was started in 1899, once Boneyard Key—well, Fisherton, as it was called then—was established. Like this one”—he plucked one from the pile—“I’m pretty sure that’s William Donnelly there. He was an architect, originally from Cincinnati, and he had a hand in designing most of the downtown area, as well as a few of the more prominent houses.”
“So why wasn’t it called the Donnelly House?”
“Alliteration?” Theo’s lips quirked up in a smile but Cassie couldn’t tell if he was serious, so she made a noncommittal hum. The photo in her hand was likely the oldest one in the folder, since the home looked newly built. A man—Donnelly, she presumed—stood at the garden gate, wearing pants and a long coat in the noonday sun. Cassie couldn’t imagine dealing with all those layers in the Florida heat. And before central air-conditioning? People must have been built differently back then. The wide brim of his hat obscured most of his face, but what wasn’t obscured were the roses. More cabbage roses, by the garden gate.
Cabbage roses. In 1899. Years before C.S. Hawkins bought the house and lived there with his wife, Sarah.
Something in the background caught her attention too. “What’s that?” She pointed at an out-of-focus smudge. She could barely see a peaked roof, but it was out on the water. Who would build a house on the…She let out a soft gasp as it clicked into place. “Is that the Starter Home?”
“Good eye.” He took the photo back. “Donnelly designed and built that too.”
“Wait, he did?” Sophie’s voice came from the other side of the room. “I’ve been telling everyone…Mr. Lindsay said in his book that nobody knew who built it.”
“Mr. Lindsay never asked me,” Theo replied dryly. “Maybe that’s the first part of the tour you can revise.”
“You bet your ass I’m going to revise it,” Sophie grumbled as she turned back to her reading.
“Anyway,” Theo continued. “The sand the Starter Home was built on proved to be unstable, so it wasn’t lived in for very long. The pier leading out to it fell apart years back, and of course there’s not much left now.”
They continued sorting through the photos, but this time Cassie took care to notice the Starter Home in the background. For many of the photos it looked the same, but eventually she could see the house begin to deteriorate. It seemed the damage occurred when a hurricane swept through; every time the Starter Home lost part of its roof or another stilt or two, the Hawkins House would lose some of the Spanish moss on the trees or entire branches. One photo even showed roof damage partially repaired; Cassie made a mental note to have her roof checked. Just to make sure.
Eventually, Cassie and Theo put the photos of the house itself in chronological order, lining them up side by side along the edge of the card table. There were a few non-house photos left in the folder. One was a posed studio portrait of a young woman with dark hair piled in curls on top of her head. Even though the photo was in black and white, her eyes were startlingly light—blue or possibly green. Cassie reached a hand up to touch her own messy bun. She didn’t look a thing like the woman in the photo, but there was something in the way she wore her hair. The shape was the same. And there was something in her expression that made Cassie feel like she was seeing an old friend for the first time.
“Sarah,” she said softly, and Theo nodded.
“Correct. That’s Sarah Hawkins’s wedding portrait.”
Cassie couldn’t take her eyes off it. All this time she’d been picturing Mean Mrs. Hawkins, a grumpy old lady who chased children with sticks. But before she was any of that, she was young Mrs. Hawkins. Young Sarah Blankenship, even. Her whole life ahead of her, with no idea that she would end up dying old and alone, haunting the house she had lived in for so many decades.
She put the photo down and picked up the matching photo: a wedding portrait of Sarah and a man who had to be C.S. Hawkins. But her mind rejected it at first. “Oh God,” she said. “He’s so old!” Mr. Hawkins had a white beard, dark brown eyes, and an expression that could only be described as hard. He didn’t look particularly happy in his wedding picture, but then again, neither did Sarah.
“Mr. Hawkins was definitely an older gentleman.” Theo sounded like he was doing his best to be diplomatic. “They were only married about a decade or so before he died. Heart attack, they say.” He shrugged. “Of course, they blamed it on Sarah. Gossip about him not being able to keep up with such a young and lovely bride.”
“Ew.” Cassie clucked her tongue. Based on these two in their picture, there was no way that this was any kind of a love match. She studied Sarah’s expression again. Resigned, sure. But there was something in the set of her eyes, almost pinched. Her hands were clenched tightly together in her lap, not holding on to her husband’s arm. His arm was around her, though; his fingers dug into her waist so tightly that Cassie could see wrinkles in the fabric, even in this old a photo.
She remembered the words on the fridge this morning: my man bad . He sure as hell looked it.
She put the photo down; she didn’t like the vibe it was giving off, and if there was one thing she’d learned about this town, it was that vibes were to be listened to. She cast her gaze across all the photos: the house, the wedding portraits, the cabbage roses. There was something, just in the corners of her brain, but she couldn’t catch the thought. It was like she was looking at a jigsaw puzzle; she knew she had all the pieces but she couldn’t see how they fit together.
God. Living in this town was becoming a bad scavenger hunt. What the hell was the prize at the end going to be?
She looked up at Theo. “I don’t suppose I could borrow these photos? Just for a little bit? Or make copies?” Maybe if she could spend a little more time with them, figure out what questions she could ask Sarah with her limited ability to answer, Cassie could discover what she was missing.
Theo was silent for a long moment. “Well,” he said finally, “that depends. How well do you think you’d be able to kayak in oh, say, three or four months from now? Follow-up question: How do the both of you feel about grave preservation?”
A groan came from the other side of the room, but a slow smile spread across Cassie’s face. “I think we can work something out.”