“Did you talk with Mr. or Mrs. Daniels about Celeste?”
“I went to the principal, Sister Mary Thaddeus,” he recalled. “She thought it best if we left the family alone and let the authorities deal with the matter. I think she worried it might reflect badly on Catholic High and hurt enrollment.”
He walked around the library, glancing at the books, then stopped at the window. Outside, the day was bright and young and a tabby cat chased butterflies along the stone walk. His eyes filled with tears.
“The Daniels family fell apart when Celeste disappeared,” he said. “Stan went to college and became a successful lawyer, but his parents were never the same. I left Catholic the following year. The tragedy had taken away from me the joy of teaching there. I dreaded walking the halls.”
“But you remained a teacher,” I said.
“I took a break and enrolled in the Masters in Educational Leadership program at the University of West Florida,” he said. “Ruth’s parents helped us make ends meet, and I worked part-time at the campus library.”
He pointed to his framed diploma on a stand in the bookcase. “When I graduated, the Escambia County School District hired me as a dean at Booker T. Washington, which put me on the track to be the school’s principal. I never taught in the classroom again.”
Celeste Daniels’s disappearance clearly ate at him, like it did her brother, Stan. Did it bother Hines and Wittman? The tabby cat pounced on the butterfly, crushing it. Mr. Solomon winced.
Thanking him for the lunch and the interview, I headed for the door.
“Would you ever be available to come speak to our book club?” asked Mr. Solomon as he shook my hand. “Caleb would be so happy to meet you. You can talk about whatever you like.”
“Sure, it would be an honor,” I replied, thinking, if I’m not in jail.
31
While I visited with Mr. Solomon, a scheduled blog post went live:
BUZZ: HINES CASE TO GO TO TRIAL
Sources inside the courthouse tell the Insider the embezzlement trial of road contractor Bowman Hines is back on track, and the state attorney will be ready for trial in two weeks, despite earlier rumors it would be delayed for Hines to work out a plea agreement.
Assistant State Attorney Spencer wouldn’t be happy. Neither would Hines. I should be in Bo’s head right about now, which was exactly where I wanted to be.
I had left my cell phone in the car and missed another dozen calls from the usual cast: Dare, Gravy, Spencer, Hines’ attorney, and a few numbers I didn’t recognize. Several left voice messages, which I never intended to listen to.
I called Harden about Childs. He said, “My buddy found her early this morning in a coffee shop. When she heard that Hines was blaming her for the missing funds, she agreed to come meet with you. She should be on the road now and will be in Pensacola tonight.”
“Where do I meet her?”
“O’Riley’s on Creighton Road about nine o’clock,” said Harden. “Do you want me to go with you?”
“I’ve got it. Thanks.”
I checked my emails and saw the city clerk had the documents regarding the site work for the maritime park. That would be my next stop after I typed up my notes on meeting with Jacob Solomon.
Finding a table at the Whataburger near the Pensacola Bay Center, I wrote up what I recalled from the conversation. Remembering what I heard was never the issue, but not letting my slow typing skills hamper the flow of words and thoughts was often a problem.
Accessing the diner’s Wi-Fi, I made another post to the blog, one that would further push my insane plan:
WHAT TROUBLED CELESTE DANIELS?
Friends of Celeste Daniels, who has been missing since 1973 and presumed dead, tell the Insider the teen was very upset in the days leading up to her disappearance. Why? No one has come forward with that information . . . yet.
At Pensacola City Hall, my reception was formal but not hostile. Florida had one of the most liberal public records laws in the country. All state, county, and municipal records were open for personal inspection and copying by any person. Some officials, like Sheriff Frost, tried to play games in releasing information, but in the end, they released just about anything you requested.
The bored security guard always enjoyed my visits. I broke up his day of leaning over the desk and flirting with the secretaries.
A secretary escorted me to a conference room where the proposals for the park project were stacked in neat piles, each about two inches thick. The only documents I wanted to read were those concerning Bo Hines’ portion of the original bid. I found the scoring sheet on which the staff had given Hines high marks for his company’s site preparation and infrastructure plan for the park. I reviewed the amendment from the development team dropping Hines Paving Company from their group after his arrest.
Since the maritime park site was on Pensacola Bay where a fuel storage facility once stood, the land had some serious environmental “challenges.” The naysayers also complained about it being in the flood plain where it would be susceptible to hurricanes, so dirt had to be trucked in to raise the site fifteen feet. Those issues meant the site work was worth $9.5 million to Hines.
All the bidders listed their subcontractors. Reading through Hines’ portion of the original proposal, I found $200,000 for JW Safety Consultants. I had never heard of the company. The bid gave a Pensacola post office box as the subcontractor’s address. I paid for copies of the pages referring to Hines Paving Company and went to find a place to hide out until my meeting with Pandora Childs.
It was 3:58 p.m. The state attorney would figure out in a few minutes I was a no-show. He would have sheriff’s deputies look for me downtown. My hideout needed to be in the open but away from the happy
