“It makes sense if that’s where Elvira is.”
St. Augustine’s downtown area was packed with pedestrians and pedicabs. A trolley, similar to the ones in Savannah, passed them going in the opposite direction.
“This reminds me of home,” Carlita joked.
“Me too. I would rather be walking.” Mercedes slammed on the brakes as a couple darted onto the road and directly into their path. “People need to watch where they’re going.”
After making a wrong turn and circling the downtown area, they reached the inn Carlita had booked. Check-in was quick and easy. Their shared room was on the second floor. It sported a set of twin beds with an antique dresser separating them. The adjoining bath was small but had everything they needed.
Carlita set her makeup bag on the narrow bathroom counter and limped into the bedroom area. “I need to stretch my legs, and I’m starving. Let’s go explore and find somewhere to eat.”
“I’m ready.”
On their way out, they stopped by the small reception area to ask about restaurants within walking distance.
“Are you looking for something historic – perhaps maybe even haunted?”
“Yes.” Mercedes clapped her hands. “The more haunted, the better.”
“Then I recommend Scarlett O’Hara’s. It’s listed in the National Directory of Haunted Places and is rumored to be inhabited by the man who built the house in 1879. Make sure you visit the Ghost Bar upstairs.”
“No.” Carlita nudged her daughter. “Nothing haunted.”
The woman chuckled as she handed them a map of downtown. “My second recommendation is Harry’s Seafood Bar and Grille. The food is fantastic. It’s two blocks up. You can’t miss it. It’s on the main strip.”
Carlita thanked her for the suggestion and followed Mercedes onto the front porch. The Florida fall air was warmer than what they’d left behind in Savannah. “The weather is perfect. I don’t even need a jacket.”
Although the city reminded Carlita of Savannah, she thought Savannah’s courtyards, the tree-lined streets and the canopy live oaks dripping with moss topped St. Augustine in the cozy charm department.
Mother and daughter found Harry’s easily enough. It was busy for a Friday evening. They wandered past several tables to the check-in stand, admiring the lush landscape along the way.
Carlita added her name to the waitlist, and several minutes passed before they were led to a courtyard bistro table for two.
Mercedes perused the menu. “Everything looks delicious. A New Orleans’ Style Restaurant.” She read the menu’s description. “We should try a local specialty.”
While they waited for their food to arrive, the women enjoyed the balmy temperatures and acoustic guitar player. Their food arrived, and they sampled each other’s dishes, both proclaiming theirs to be the best.
Carlita was hungrier than she realized and polished off her dinner in record time. After paying for the meal, the women wandered out onto the sidewalk.
“Check it out.” Carlita pointed to the fort across the street.
“I read about it earlier. It’s the Castillo de San Marcos.” Mercedes studied the sign adjacent to the parking lot. “It’s closed for the day.”
“Crud. Now what?”
Not ready to return to their cramped room, they meandered through the historic district, stopping when they stumbled upon a walking tour in progress.
“…and if you’re here late at night after everyone has gone home, listen closely. You might hear the bell ringing from the grave.”
The tour guide, dressed in a long cape and top hat, motioned for his group to follow him.
“Let’s see where they go,” Mercedes whispered.
Carlita reluctantly followed her daughter as they trailed behind them. The tour group circled the cemetery before crossing to St. George Street.
The guide stopped every few feet to point out landmarks or give them a little history. Carlita found the most interesting stop was the one of the oldest wooden schoolhouse in the United States. It dated back to the seventeen hundreds.
“I feel like we should pay for the tour.” Carlita pointed to a sticker one of the women was wearing. “These people all paid.”
“We’ll wait until the tour is over.”
The group continued down St. George Street before crossing to the Castillo, the oldest masonry fort in the continental United States.
Spotlights illuminated the imposing walls. “The Castillo is one of only two fortifications in the world built out of a semi-rare form of limestone called coquina.” He pointed to the spotlights. “As with many historic structures in St. Augustine, the Castillo is rumored to be haunted, in this case by an Indian war chief. If you tilt your head and squint your eyes, you may be able to see his profile on the fort wall.”
Carlita nudged her daughter. “I don’t see anything.”
“Me, either.”
The ghost tour ended on the sidewalk near the fort’s entrance. Several people in the group thanked the guide, and a few even handed him a tip. Carlita and Mercedes hung back and waited for the crowd to fade away.
“We thoroughly enjoyed your tour,” Carlita said.
“You were part of the group? I don’t recall meeting you.”
“We weren’t.” Mercedes shook her head. “We joined the group after you started. How much do we owe you?”
“I appreciate your honesty.” The man removed his top hat. “The ticket booth is closed. I have no way to process your payment. We’ll catch you next time.”
“We would at least like to give you a tip.” Carlita fumbled inside her purse, pulled out a ten-dollar bill and handed it to him.
“Thank you.” He shoved the money into his jacket pocket. “Is this your first visit to the area?”
“It is,” Carlita said. “We’re here to track down a friend.”
They made small talk before thanking the guide again and began walking in the direction of the inn. The women made several wrong turns.
