excuse to show off the prettiest girl in Fernandina Beach.”
“Really? Because I think it might be more than that.”
He cocked his head to one side and squinted at me, and as he did so, his face drew into itself and grew as stern as it could without imploding. “Why don’t you just tell me what it is you’re reading into that picture from the newspaper.”
“I’ve been doing some online research on Jack Hawley, and there’s a story, a legend that supposedly happened exactly three hundred years ago.”
Mayor Bradford’s eyes darted around the room. He looked beyond me, to the open doorway as if searching for an escape route. “A legend,” he said.
“Carl,” I said. “Look at me.”
He did.
I said, “You’ve lived here all your life. You have to know what I’m talking about.”
He paused a moment before speaking. “If you’re referring to Abby Winter saving the town, I think that was just a story from a dime novel written back in the 1800’s.”
“The story I read didn’t say anything about a dime novel. But it’s a fascinating story either way.”
“Maybe you should re-write it.”
“Maybe I will.”
We sat there in silence. After a moment Carl clapped his hands and stood. “If that’s it, I guess I better get going. I gave Milly the afternoon off and was about to close the office when you came in. I’m meeting the Mayor of Fernandina for a little surf casting.” He pulled his bike off the bike hook and leaned it against his desk.
I stood and we shook hands again. I turned and walked to the doorway and paused.
“Was there something else?” he said.
“Yeah.”
“What’s that?”
“I think Libby Vail believed she was related to Jack Hawley through Abby Winter.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said.
“Maybe, but it would explain why she wanted to come to St. Alban’s to research her lineage.”
“It’s been done,” he blurted. Seeing my expression he realized he’d said more than he meant to. He hastily added, “What I mean is, back when Libby Vail went missing, that old story came out, the one about Abby Winter and Jack Hawley, and they did a whole search of Libby’s lineage at the library.”
“And?”
“And they couldn’t find any connection, or any evidence that those things ever happened. It’s just an ancient pirate’s tale. Hawley never threatened to destroy the town, and Abby never offered herself up as a sacrifice. Hell, the whole thing’s downright silly, if you think about it long enough.”
“Maybe that’s my problem. Maybe I haven’t thought about it long enough.”
Something flickered in Carl Bradford’s eyes. He wasn’t quite angry, but he was getting there. “What’s your interest in all this?” he snapped.
“I’m thinking about resurrecting the old legend and turning it into a promotional event for The Seaside guests.”
His look of great skepticism changed to a derisive sneer. “I sincerely doubt that,” he said, fairly spitting the words.
“And I doubt your account of Abby Winter and Jack Hawley.”
His jaw pulsed. Mayor Bradford was getting worked up, so I shrugged the rope off my shoulder and worked it in my hands a minute. He watched me do that, and it seemed to settle him down. He took a deep breath and said, “I told you about the search at the library.”
“You did.”
“It was quite exhaustive.”
“I’m sure it was.”
“Then what’s your problem?”
“I wouldn’t expect the library records to go back that far.”
Mayor Bradford looked exasperated. “Then why are you bringing this up?”
“Because I think there’s a better place to search for old records.”
“You do.”
“Uh huh.”
“And where might that be?”
“The old churches around town.”
He paused a long time before saying, “Any in particular?”
“Maybe I’ll start with the one on 8th and A1A.”
