“Next time Smith rings, are you going to ask him?”
“Now who’s being the smartass?” I asked, watching Jun smile. “The St. Augustine museum. I know they have a number of diaries belonging to Rogers. I’m curious about their contents, but especially 1871, when Smith died. Grief knows no bounds, after all.”
“You think Rogers would have made a notation if they were involved?”
“Yes. Have you ever seen Theodore Roosevelt’s diary from 1884?”
“I can’t say I have.”
“His mother and wife passed on the same day,” I explained. “Within a few hours of each other. All he wrote was ‘The light has gone out of my life.’”
“That’s terrible,” Jun said quietly.
I fiddled with my phone. “Well… the point is, he didn’t even need to mention names. If Rogers and Smith had—something—perhaps there is an entry of similar despair.”
And even though both men had been gone from this world for a long, long time, part of me hoped that wouldn’t be the case. Despite a relationship being a clue to help unravel the story of One-Eyed Jack and who might have killed Cassidy, I didn’t want the truth to be a secret love affair. Not because it meddled with the history, but because the endings of men like me—back then—were so often fraught with tragedy.
I SLEPTthe rest of the drive back to Stock Island, which turned out to be too long, and I was groggy as fuck. I dialed a number on my cell before yawning and stretching my arms overhead as Jun and I walked across the station parking lot for the second time that day. I put the phone back to my ear just as someone answered.
“Museum of St. Augustine Nautical History, this is Amy.”
“Hello, I’d like to speak with your manager, if they’re around.”
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Aubrey Grant, property manager of Smith Family Historical Home down in Key West.”
“One moment.”
Crappy hold music began to play.
I stopped outside the front door beside Jun. “If St. Augustine wasn’t a seven-hour drive, I’d want to go see these diaries myself,” I said before someone picked up. “Hello?”
“Mr. Grant? My name is Lucrecia Kennedy. How may I help you?”
“Pleasure, ma’am,” I said. “I first wanted to share some good news with you.”
“Is that so?”
“Local police down here have recovered a diary belonging to Edward R. Rogers, reported stolen from your museum about a year ago. Dated 1867.”
“Oh good lord, are you serious?” she exclaimed. “This is incredible! When will we get it back?”
“I’m sure a Detective Tillman will be in touch with you soon regarding getting it to you.”
“This is such good news! Thank you for the call,” Lucrecia said. “We were beginning to fear it’d never be returned.” She sighed, sounding relieved. “Was there something else I can help you with?”
“Actually, yes. As you’re probably aware, I research and maintain reports on Captain Thomas J. Smith. I have records on my end that indicate he’d worked with Captain Rogers a few times throughout his career of delivering goods to Key West.”
Lucrecia hummed in response. “Indeed.”
“It was recently brought to my attention that the two men might have been better friends than I originally thought, and I’m hoping you are able to provide insight from Rogers’s side.”
“Oh. I see. Well, I’ll help you in any way I can, but I’ll be the first to admit that I don’t do property managementandhistorical research. So you may need to be specific in what you’d like me to look for among our artifacts.”
“I’m interested specifically in Rogers’s personal diaries. He first met Smith in 1855 and knew him until Smith’s death in 1871.”
“You want me to go through over fifteen years of—”
