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Emily spotted them before the bell above the bookshop door chimed. She rushed over, weighed down by the stack of books cradled
in her arms. “What are you two still doing here?” she asked. “I thought for sure you’d leave the minute the conference was
over.”
“Someone has to pick up where Hemingway left off,” Leo deadpanned.
“Oh, please do!” Emily implored them. “I hope you both stay, get a villa, and fill it with artist friends. Start a salon.
That would be iconic.”
Why does that sound so enticing? Leo wondered. For months, he’d been feeling directionless. Apparently, he only needed an idealistic twenty-two-year-old to
point the way.
July was already moving the conversation forward. “I’m hoping you could help us with some research. We’re interested in the
history of our inn, The Aurora. With so many ghost stories swirling about, we wondered what you knew.”
“I’m not surprised you have questions,” Emily said. “The ghost tours gloss over that property because there are so many more
salacious stories to tell. Tomb robbers, pirates, polygamists, and all that. But The Aurora has its own twisted history, and
it’s fascinating. There are several versions of that one story. It all depends on whom you ask.”
“You’re busy,” July said. “Could we meet later to discuss it?”
“My lunch break is coming up in half an hour. If you’d like, I’ll meet you at The Pink Pelican at the corner. We’ll go through my notes.”
“See you there,” Leo said.
The eatery was a popular lunch spot. While they waited for a table, an older couple approached. Husband and wife wore baseball
caps boasting their newly retired status. Leo recognized them as fellow guests at The Aurora. He’d seen them lounging about.
When he mentioned it, they set him straight.
“We checked out yesterday. That place is too spooky for us.”
“How can you stay there?” the woman asked. “It’s like the sun never shines over that old house.”
Leo repeated his standard answer. “I like it.”
“You look like you would,” the man said boldly.
The woman turned to July. “So happy that you have a friend! Each morning, we see you at breakfast, looking so isolated.”
Unsettled by this characterization, Leo jumped to provide context. He introduced her as a fellow author, a bestselling one
at that, who needed to isolate to focus on her work. The couple didn’t seem to buy it.
“It’s okay,” July said when they were gone. “They’re not wrong. I was feeling lonely and isolated at breakfast.”
“Even though I sent you flowers?” he asked.
She shrugged. “The flowers only made me miss your company.”
Leo loved that she never masked her feelings to protect her pride. “In that case, why did you stay away so long?”
Her answer surprised and scared him. “To prove to myself that I could.”
A table opened on the terrace. Emily had joined them in time to order a grilled cheese combo and a Diet Coke. She drew a large
notebook covered in stickers from her tote bag, going on about how happy she was that she hadn’t called in sick to nurse a
hangover like she and her boyfriend had initially planned on doing.
“This is a pinch me moment,” she said. “I get to share my notes with two of my favorite authors!”
“You’re doing us a favor,” July assured her. “Thanks for letting us pick your brain.”
“Happy to share!”
Between sips of soda, Emily set the scene: Key West in the mid-1880s, a thriving port city. “It happened so fast. Aurora Martinez
marries Jacobsen in January 1886. She dies before the first heat wave of the summer.”
“Let’s start at the beginning,” July said.
A pattern established itself. She would lead the interviews, asking questions only for clarification, never breaking the speaker’s
flow. Leo would take notes in his usual way, adding sketches to illustrate his thoughts.
“Jacobsen commissions his young bride’s portrait,” Emily said. “That’s how word got out that she was practically trapped in
that house and depressed. The artist was the town gossip. He led a salon and shared what he observed at each visit. It was
no secret that she was unhappy. The big secret was that she was heartbroken, too.”
“How do we know this?” July asked.
“We don’t.” Emily paused to take a bite of her sandwich. “There are no hard facts here. It’s all speculation.”
“Gotcha.”
“They never met. He was hanging around the block, and she caught sight of him. They might’ve locked eyes. Keep in mind, she’s
a teenager trapped in a mansion. She has too much time on her hands.”
“What’s his name?” July asked.
“Luis,” Emily replied. “He was hot. All the girls wanted him and—”
Leo interrupted her. “Are you sure? I heard it was Leopold or Leonard.”
“De Leon,” Emily said. “They’ve pinned this story on Luis De Leon, a nineteen-year-old cigar factory worker.”
“Ah.” Leo jotted down the young man’s name, grateful that it was different enough from his own.
“You’ve heard this story before,” Emily observed, disappointed.
“Not like you tell it,” Leo said.
July encouraged her to continue. “Please go on. This is all new to me.”
“De Leon returns to Cuba after the Great Fire in late March ’86. Aurora is heartbroken, she throws herself off the roof later
that spring.” She paused. “That’s one version of the story.”
Leo added a header to the top of the page: No. 1: Aurora and Luis
“Are you ready?” Emily asked. “Here’s where things get spicy!”
July nodded. Emily dove into the second version of the story.
“Some say the only reason De Leon was hanging around the block was because he was messing around with the housemaid. When
Aurora learns the truth, she’s so embarrassed and ashamed, she throws herself off the roof.”
“Do you know the name of the housemaid?” July asked.
“It never comes up,” Emily said. “Jacobsen might’ve brought her over from the Bahamas to maintain the household. Or she came
from Haiti to find work. I feel for her. Imagine your boss’s wife has a crush on your boyfriend, but you can’t put her in
her place because she can put you out in the streets.”
No. 2: Aurora, Luis, and ___?
“There’s a third version of this story and it’s the one I like best.”
July sat straight; the muscles of her neck drawn taut. Leo took in her lines of profile, the pointed nose and sharp cheekbones.
More than anything else, he wanted to solve the mystery of her inner world.
Why did you stay away so long?
To prove to myself that I could.
Was it necessary to exercise that muscle? Was she training for the day she’d stay away forever? In a desperate move to keep
her close or stake his claim or exercise the privilege while he still could, Leo rested a hand on her bare thigh. She laid
her hand on his and their fingers slotted together. Instantly, the knot in his chest loosened. He could think again.
“Aurora was trapped in that house,” Leo said. “How serious could she have been about this guy? They could never be together.”
“You have a point,” Emily said. “The housemaid has no agency, but more freedom of movement than Aurora. She had the privilege
to walk out without raising suspicion, run errands, do the shopping, and mingle with her peers. She could steal a moment to
meet with friends or take a lover. Meanwhile, Aurora is completely isolated, kept away from her family. Old man Jacobsen wants
an heir. I mean . . . she had her share of problems. If she were smart, she would’ve let it go.”
“The smart thing would’ve been to get the housemaid on her side,” Leo said. “She could’ve used a friend.”
“But the ladies are young, dumb, and infatuated with the same guy,” July noted. “De Leon would’ve come between them.”
“I have a theory,” Emily said. “When Aurora finds out she’s been crushing on her housemaid’s guy, she’s embarrassed, but not
to the point of harming herself. Anyway, he leaves shortly after, abandoning them both. Aurora would’ve learned not to pin
her hopes on a man. No prince will scale the tower to save her. She has to do it. When she leaps off the roof, she’s free.
I believe this with all my heart. I can’t tell you what happened to the housemaid, or even De Leon. He likely got married
back in Cuba and had kids, but when he closed his eyes at night, I’m sure he was haunted by both women, the one who loved
him and the one he loved.”
July abruptly withdrew her hand from his and rested it, clenched, on the table. Leo struggled to hide how much this disturbed him.
Emily shut her notebook. “I took some liberties there, but to me it makes perfect sense.”
Leo long figured that Aurora had taken her fate into her own hands, but the story did not end there.
Her lunch break over, Emily returned to the bookstore. Leo and July were at a loss as to what to do next.
“Do you think Daphne would know anything about this?” July asked.
“I owe her a visit,” he said. “It’s worth the try.”
Daphne wasn’t at the literary society. The receptionist suggested they head over to her restaurant. The lunch hour rush was
over when they arrived at Ciel. Daphne was at a table with a cup of espresso and a book. She looked up and smiled. “Please
let me officiate the wedding. I’ve willed this into existence.”
Leo hugged her. “Better you than my mom’s pastor who said I wouldn’t amount to anything.”
Daphne offered them coffee and lemon cake. “Jules, you look parched. Can I offer you anything else to drink?”
“Water,” she replied, taking a seat at the table.
Leo asked if she was feeling alright. She blamed the heat, but he wasn’t convinced. At lunch, she’d only picked at her club
sandwich.
Thankfully, Daphne was not one for small talk or fluff. Coffee, cake, and ice water served, she kick-started the conversation.
“What brings you by?”
“Strange happenings at The Aurora,” Leo replied.
Daphne dropped her fist onto the table. “For the last time! Why are you still there? Exercise free will and leave!”
“Not before we figure out what’s going down,” he said.
“Why?”
“Why not?” Leo said. “Check my bio. It’s my thing.”
“How about you, Jules?” Daphne asked. “What’s your excuse?”
July squeezed the juice of a lemon wedge into her glass. “It’s a long story.”