“She wasn’t running away. And she wasn’t meeting anyone.” He was quiet for a minute, then looked at Caleb as if sizing him up. “She was pretty wasted, though. Just on beer—she didn’t smoke weed. But she had a lot of beer. She was dancing around the fire and pretending it was some kind of an old Maypole or something.”

“Really? Why do you think that was?”

“She liked to read creepy stuff, books about black magic and crap like that. She was kind of Goth for a while even.”

“So did she believe in ghosts and that kind of thing?” Caleb asked.

“Oh, yeah. She wanted to experience all that spooky stuff, you know? See the real thing. She was the kind who would turn out the lights and make noises to scare you, and then laugh. She wasn’t afraid of anything. She used to climb into cemeteries at night and dare us to come after her.”

“Did she know anyone who she felt might help her experience the real thing?” Caleb asked.

“I don’t think so,” Nigel said, his brow furrowed in concentration. Suddenly he brightened. “She did talk to a weird woman on the beach.”

“A weird woman on the beach?” Caleb asked, trying to sound casual. This was something new, and maybe it meant nothing. On the other hand…

“She came over while we started setting up.” He stared at Caleb. “She looked like a hippie. She scared us at first,” he admitted, flushing. “She just walked out of this grove of scrub right when we started building the fire. We thought she lived nearby or something, and that maybe she was going to threaten to call the cops on us. But all she said was hello, and that we should be careful. Hey wait!” he said suddenly.

“What is it?” Caleb asked.

“She said that she was there communicating with the elements, that she was some kind of medium,” Nigel said. “I figured she’d been hiding out back there, smoking weed. But now…I hadn’t even thought of it. There were only three of us there. Mindy Marshall, Winona and me. She told us to be careful, said the moon was at its most powerful peak or some weird shit like that, and it brought out all kinds of spirits. I thought she was a kook. Winona thought she was cool and talked to her for a little while, but I wasn’t really paying attention. I can’t believe I forgot all about her ’til now.”

“What happened then?”

“She walked away.”

“To where?”

“I don’t know. Probably down the trail that led back to the road.”

“Did you see her again?”

“No. She just told us to be careful and left.”

“What did she look like?”

“I told you, a hippie.”

“A tall hippie? Short, dark, light?”

Nigel frowned in concentration. “I don’t know. She was wearing some kind of a kerchief thing on her head, and she had on really big sunglasses.”

“Okay, was she tall or short?”

“Medium,” Nigel decided after a moment.

“Five-five?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“Do you remember anything else about her? Anything at all? Was she wearing perfume? Did she walk with a limp? Did you see her hands? Anything.”

Nigel looked away for a moment, then faced Caleb sheepishly. “I’d had two beers, maybe three by then. I was pretty looped by the time I saw her. You really won’t say anything to my parents, right? You’re really not a cop?”

“I’m really not a cop.” Caleb drew a card from his wallet and handed it to the boy. “I want you to do me a favor. If you think of anything else—and I want you to really think about this woman and see if you can remember something more—give me a call. Please.”

Nigel took the card and looked at Caleb again. “Okay. You might want to talk to Mindy. She might remember something.” He looked down, wincing. “Thing is, the three of us…we had a twelve-pack to start and it was pretty much gone by the time the woman showed up. So…I kind of doubt she’ll remember anything, either, know what I mean?”

“Point taken,” Caleb said. “But I’m going to go talk to her anyway. So where exactly was this beach party?” he asked. He had directions; they were in the file Jamison had given him. But he wanted the kid’s directions, as well.

“I’ll draw you a map,” Nigel said, taking a napkin from the counter and a pen from underneath the cash register.

“While you’re at it, draw me a map of the area and show me where the woman came from, and where you think she walked off to,” Caleb said.

Nigel did as asked, then looked Caleb straight in the eye and asked, “Do you think you’ll find Winona?” he asked. “Alive?” He looked a little sick, as if he were afraid of the answer.

“We’re all trying.”

When he left Nigel, Caleb headed back for his car. Mindy Marshall was next on his list of people to question, but before he talked to her, he wanted to walk on the beach where Winona Hart had last been seen.

He had just found another connection between the two missing women.

Both of them had wanted to be frightened.

Frightened—to death?

Vicky Hind was pleased when Sarah returned. “This is so exciting,” she said. “Well, sad, too, but not that sad. I mean, Mrs. Abrams was ninety-two, and she died in her sleep.”

“Pardon?” Sarah said.

“Not ten minutes ago, we received a donation from Ethel Abrams. Well, from her estate. She lived in the old Pickens-Aubrey house down the street. You must remember her,” Vicky said. “She was always trying to do something good for the city.”

“Mrs. Abrams…” Sarah mused. “Oh, yes, I do remember her. She seemed old even when I was young, but she was always dressed up, wearing a hat and gloves.”

“That’s her. Was her,” Vicky corrected herself. “She passed away about a week ago. Anyway, she left us some old boxes of papers from her attic, and I thought that you might enjoy looking through them. Her husband inherited the house from his grandmother, and she was here during the Civil War. I found a journal I thought might help you, and you can help us, too. You’re a historian, so you can catalogue the contents.”

“That’s wonderful. I’d love to read it,” Sarah said. “Would you mind, though, if I logged onto the computer for a few minutes first?”

“Help yourself,” Vicky told her.

Sarah was familiar with all the genealogy Web sites and immediately signed onto her favorite—and entered Caleb’s name.

Then she paused. Where was he originally from? Virginia? Worth a try.

She filled in the state, without a clue as to the city, then paused again. She didn’t have his date of birth or a current address.

Giving up on that approach, she filled in Cato MacTavish’s name instead. Birthplace, St. Augustine, Florida. Year of birth? She gave a range in the 1830s. He’d served in the Confederate Army, so she entered that information, too, along with the address of the house that was now hers, then clicked on Search.

Thirty seconds later, she had her results.

A death certificate had been filed for a Cato MacTavish in 1901, in Fairfax, Virginia. He’d left behind one son. There was no mention of a wife, just a son, Magnus, who in turn had died in 1919.

Magnus had been survived by his three daughters, Emily, Elisabeth and Edna.

Sarah kept filling in information and refining her search.

In 1901, Emily MacTavish had been granted a marriage license and wed a Mr. John Anderson of Colonial Beach, Virginia.

For a moment, Sarah stared at the screen, amazed that she’d found the proof she was looking for so easily.

Then she started searching again.

John Anderson and Emily MacTavish had one son in 1903, Ellsworth. Ellsworth married a woman named Dorothy Sweeney in 1926. They produced two daughters, Michaela and Genevieve, and one son, another John. In 1950, John’s son, Andrew, was born, and then…

Andrew and his wife, Cynthia, had their first child, a son named Caleb.

Caleb Anderson.

The beach was exquisite. Off the beaten path, it was surrounded by pine trees and washed by gentle waves.

Caleb found the place where the kids had built their bonfire. Though they had conscientiously doused the flames and broken down the remains, the evidence was clear in the scraps of burned wood. They had picked up all their beer bottles, cans and leftovers, though. The place was amazingly clean. It was also the kind of place a person had to know about to arrive at, secluded from view and at least a third of a mile off the road.