“Nope. A place. In 1559, eleven Spanish ships sailed into Pensacola Bay to start a colony under a captain named Don Tristan de Luna. Think of it —- a thousand people, leaving their homes, risking their lives, bringing everything they needed to survive in the wilderness, sixty-one years before the Pilgrims set foot on Plymouth Rock.”
Bessie was still bent over the book. “They brought everything they needed to survive —- slaves, priests, wine, horses. And their children.” She paused. “The colony was wiped out by a hurricane before they even finished unloading the ships.”
Louis shook his head. “Pensacola is way up in the panhandle. That skull couldn’t have come from there.”
“Didn’t say it did. I’m thinking this could be a baby that died at sea.” She turned a page slowly. “My husband, Bill, and me worked the wreck so I got pretty familiar with it. I remember reading about a baby’s funeral held on board before they got to Emanuel Point.”
She pointed to a paragraph. “Yup. I knew it. Right here in the Luna translation, from the manifest. ‘August ten, 1559. Infante Isabella Maria Carreira de los Reyes. Mortis A Seis Mes. Vios Con Dios Preciosa Angelita.’ ”
Louis bent to look at the line in the book under Bessie’s finger. Then he looked at the skull. He had been right. It was very old and very far from its home.
“Isabella,” he said softly.
He felt Bessie’s eyes on him and looked down at her. He could see there were questions in her eyes, things she wanted to ask him. Like why he cared so much about a baby who had died hundreds of years ago. He looked away.
“What you going to do with the skull?” she asked. “I mean, if you don’t want it, I’d love to —- ”
“No, I’m going to keep it,” Louis said.
She nodded, her eyes locked on his.
Louis put the skull back in its box and closed the flaps.
“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Levy,” he said holding out a hand.
She pulled off her latex gloves, gave him a smile and her hand. It was calloused, with a firm grip. “I could be wrong, you know. This might not be who I say it is.”
But he wanted it to be somebody. “How many old baby skulls could there be out there?” he said with a smile.
Bessie shook her head. “This place is built on skeletons, young man. Millions of humans, millions of sea animals, dead and gone. Florida is just one big long island of bones.”
She switched off the light and for a second the water lapping on the pilings below his feet made Louis think of someone sighing.
“Come on,” Bessie said. “I’ll motor you back to land.”
CHAPTER 11
Louis sat up in the Mustang’s seat and rubbed his neck. He checked his watch. After seven. Five hours of sitting down the block from Frank Woods’s house, another wasted day. The only thing the guy had done all day was take out his trash.
Enough of this shit. He turned the ignition, but saw a blue Honda pull into Frank’s drive. Diane got out and went to the front door.
Saturday...another one of their weekly dinners together. He shut off the motor and waited. Five minutes later, they came out and left in Diane’s car. He followed them to the Shoney’s restaurant on Cleveland Avenue and waited until they got inside. This time, he decided to go in and watch them.
He wasn’t sure why. Maybe just to see if Frank was acting squirrely or to get some sense of their relationship. Diane had clearly been upset after their dinner last week. Maybe it had finally dawned on her what might happen if her father did turn out to be a killer and she regretted having him watched. People who hired Louis often came to regret it.
He had discovered that relatives really didn’t want to know the truth —- whether it was about a cheating spouse or a violent weirdo hanging out in the far branches of the family tree. If Frank Woods turned out to be a killer, it was a sure bet that his daughter wasn’t going to be happy knowing that the same bad blood ran through her own veins.
He spotted them in a corner booth. Diane looked tired and distracted. Frank was hunched over, staring vacantly out the window. Louis slipped into a booth nearby, out of their sight lines. He ordered a cup of coffee and sat back to watch.
Frank lit a cigarette. Diane made a face and said something. Frank turned his face to blow the smoke away from her. They both hid behind their menus.
They spoke and Louis strained to hear. Diane was asking her father how his job was. He shrugged and muttered something, tapping the cigarette in the ashtray. Diane folded her hands in front of her face and looked at her father. She was facing Louis and he could see her expression. Exasperation? Or worse, contempt?