Randy White: Haunted

The third book in the Hannah Smith series, 2014

Sanibel and Captiva Islands are real places, faithfully described, but used fictitiously in this novel. The same is true of certain businesses, marinas, churches, and other locations mentioned in this book, including Babcock Ranch in South Florida. Hannah and Sarah Smith are iconic figures in Florida’s history and did exist. However, their relationship to characters in this novel is the author’s invention and purely fictional.

In all other respects, however, this novel is a work of fiction. Names (unless used by permission), characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to actual events or locales is unintentional and coincidental.

Contact Mr. White at WWW.DOCFORD.COM or on Facebook at Randy Wayne White

As always, this novel required research in various fields and disciplines. Before thanking those who kindly provided assistance, note that all errors, exaggerations, or misstatements should be blamed on the author or the exigencies of fiction. Boca Grande artist Shirley Cassady Goodwin provided inspiration daily via her watercolor interpretations of Florida. Mr. Steve Smith and the crew at Babcock Ranch of South Florida helped enormously by allowing me to observe and participate in igniting palmetto fields during a controlled burn-hazard reduction burning, as the technique is known. The Babcock folks were also very generous in sharing their expertise.

Florida’s role in the American Civil War has too often been overlooked or trivialized by historians, but not all. While researching Haunted , I read several credible books on the subject, as well as diaries and papers made available through the National Archives. Thanks to the generosity of a personal source, I was also lucky enough to have access to logs and records of an organization that was active during that time period. In this novel, many liberties have been taken with historical fact, but it is my hope that Capt. Ben Summerlin’s journal is accurate in tone, at least, and possibly hints at truths that, as of now, are unknown.

Over many years, encouragement was provided by my Iowa friends and teachers, Coach Bill and Sherry Freese, and Bill and Helen Wundrum. Dr. Joshua Sheridan, DVN, provided helpful (and chilling) research on behavior of chimpanzees. Also supportive were Mrs. Iris Tanner, the author’s friend and guardian angel; my wife, Wendy Webb; my partners and pals, Mark Marinello, Marty and Brenda Harrity; my teammates Stu Johnson, Bill Lee, Gary Terwilliger, Don Carman, Judd Park Miller, and Victor Candelaria; and former classmates Barry and Cathy Rubel, Gloria Osborne, Norm Fiser, Bob Repp, Marv Esterline, Alan King, Kris Clark, Jackie Ray, Deb Votaw, Shirley Sharon Martin, Cheryl Moore, John Haines, Lon Hersha, Mike Gallutia, Ed Ott, Daryl Franz, Daryl Long, Steve Joyce, Chester Rutludge, Chuck Carter, Keith Hess, Cheryl Hitchcock, Stella Hinkle, Becky Durey Walls, Janet Dohm, Ron Collie. Once again, I owe thanks to Dr. Marybeth B. Saunders, Dr. Peggy C. Kalkounos, and Dr. Brian Hummel for providing expert medical advice. Special thanks to Capt. Bill Bishop and Luciana Bishop Carbone, true Florida voices, and also to Brother Don Hensiak, Donald Wayne Hensiak, Joey Ann Kempson, Maggie Farley Bradfield, lovely Marla J. Martin, Ton Braciszewski, Kirsten Dickerson and Shane Traugott, Eric Pritzi, Sierra and Caiden Rainville.

At the Rum Bar on San Carlos Island, Fort Myers Beach, thanks go to Dan Howes, Andrea Aguayo, Corey Allen, Nora Billeimer, Tiffany Forehand, Jessica Foster, Amanda Ganong, Nicole Hinchcliffe, Mathew Johnson, Janell Jambon, C. J. Lawerence, Josie Lombardo, Meredith Martin, Sue Mora, Kerra Pike, Michael Scopel, Heidi Stacy, Danielle Straub, Latoya Trotta, Lee Washington, Katlin Whitaker, Kevin Boyce, Keil Fuller, Ali Pereira, Kevin Tully, Molly Brewer, Jessica Wozniak, Emily Heath, Nicole English, Ryan Cook, Drew Fensake, Ramon Reyes, Justin Voskuhl, Anthony Howes, Louis Pignatello, and John Goetz.

At Doc Ford’s on Captiva Island: Lovely Julie, Capt. Mario, Steve, Dominic, Nick, Clark Kent Hill, Kristin and lovely Adalynn Hill, Chef Greg Nelson, Chef James King, Alexis Marcinkowski, Amy Charron, Cheryl Erickson, Erica Debacker, Heather Walk, Holly Emmons, Isabel Garcia, Julie Grzeszak, Karen Bove, Larissa Holmes, Matt Ginn, Sarah Ginn, Shelbi Muske, Nick Hopkins, Thayne Fugal, Jon Calupca, Alexa Mozes, Hope McNulty, Ashley Foster, Chad Chupurdia, Daniel Flint, Dominic Cervio, Stephen Day, and Greg Barker.

Finally, I would like to thank my two sons, Rogan and Lee White, for helping me finish, yet again, another book.

– Randy Wayne White

Telegraph River Gun Club

BabcockRanch

In Florida, hundred-year-old houses have solid walls, so I guessed wrong when I heard my friend Birdy Tupplemeyer make a bleating noise downstairs. I figured she’d snuck a man into her room, which was unfair of me, even though Birdy admits to being free-minded when it comes to romance.

On windy October nights my imagination prefers love to spiders, I guess. That is my only excuse.

I was in a hammock on the second floor in what had once been a music room. Birdy, who lacks camping experience, had chosen a downstairs room for her air mattress because it was closer to the front door.

“I’d have to hang off the balcony to pee,” she had reasoned, which made sense even before the wind freshened and the moon rose. The house was abandoned; no electricity or water, and the spiral staircase was in bad shape. I myself, after too much tea by the fire, was debating whether to risk the balcony or those wobbly steps when, through the floor, I heard a thump, another thump, and then a mewling wail that reminded me of a cat that had found companionship.

She’s with that archaeologist, I thought, and buried my face in a pillow, but not my ears-a guilty device. My curiosity has always had an indecent streak. I also had a reason. That afternoon we had met Dr. Theo Ivanhoff, an assistant professor with shaggy black hair: late twenties, khakis low on his skinny hips and wearing a Greek fisherman’s cap. He was on the property mapping artifacts from a Civil War battle that had taken place before the house was built. Theo had struck me as an aloof know-it-all and a tad strange, but it had been a month since Birdy’s last date so her standards had loosened. Later, by the campfire, the two of us sitting with tea and marshmallows, she had shared some bawdy remarks including “hung like a sash weight” and “Professor Boy Toy,” referring to a man only a few years younger than us.

Naturally, I felt supportive of my friend, not alarmed. Until I heard: “My god… what is that?” which could have meant any number of things.