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held in one hand. He cut his eyes up to Kim who was laughing, watching Max, and serving a charter boat captain a beer. O’Brien thought Kim resembled the woman in the picture. He said, “She’s very beautiful. I can understand how your great, great grandfather would have commissioned a portrait of this woman, his wife. I’ve tracked down a lot of things in my life, but I’ve never searched for a 160-year-old ghost.”
    “I’ve been blessed, very successful in business. My time is running out. I’m battling pancreatic cancer. Before I die, I’d love to see this solved. I’llpay all of your expenses, plus ten-thousand to search for the painting. Fifty-thousand if you’re successful. Will you do it, Sean?”
    “What was your great, great grandfather’s name?”
    “Henry Hopkins.”

K im Davis filled a cold mug with a craft beer, handed it to a customer at the bar, and watched the old man shuffle out the Tiki Bar door into the wash of bright sunlight in the parking lot. She tossed Max a piece of cheddar as Sean O’Brien set the folder on the bar. Kim said, “Well, well, looks like whatever’s in that folder was enough to make you want to keep it.”
    O’Brien smiled. “Nothing to keep, really. Just a copy of an article in a newspaper, a photograph, and an address.”
    “Okay, I’m curious. If you don’t mind me asking, what did the gentlemen want?”
    “He’s looking for something long ago from his past…something, that if found, might change a long-held legend or perception of his family.” O’Brien told her the story the man had left with him.
    Kim splayed both of her hands on the top of the bar and leaned closer to O’Brien. “So, are you going to take the job?”
    “I don’t know. On first pass, I’d say no. But there’s something in the old man’s eyes, a quiet dignity, a long-distance stare…a last hope. I don’t know if I can help. I said I’d think about it and let him know.”
    “Seems innocent. I mean, you’re just looking for a painting, right? Not an old body, a fresh body, or anything threatening. The change might do you some good, Sean. Can I see the picture?”
    O’Brien opened the folder and slid the copy of the photograph onto the bar. Kim looked at it, her eyes growing wider. She moistened her bottom lip.“That, woman…she looks familiar…like I’ve seen her somewhere before, at least I’ve seen the image. I just can’t say exactly where. So this woman was that man’s great, great grandmother?”
    “That’s what he says.”
    “She’s beautiful.”
    O’Brien looked up from the picture to Kim. “That’s what I thought. She’s striking. So you really think you’ve seen this before? He said it was on the news, CNN, in this USA Today story, and other news outlets.”
    “No, I didn’t see it on TV or online. I believe I saw it somewhere else. I just can’t place it. It’s like trying to recall puzzle pieces from a day-old dream. Oh well, maybe I’ll think of it. You said the man left an address, too. Whose address?”
    “The home of the person who donated the photograph to the Confederate Museum.”
    “What real use is that if whoever donated it told the museum they didn’t know the identity of the woman in the photo?”
    “Because sometimes an old photo is stored with other things that might shine some light into the past.”
    “Hey, Kim,” shouted a charter boat captain at the end of the bar. “Turn up the sound on the TV. Looks like some poor bastard got nailed in the Ocala National Forest.”
    “Hold your horses, Bobby,” Kim said, reaching for the remote control. She pressed a button and the sound became louder.
    On screen, a news reporter stood in the Ocala National Forest, the images quickly cutting to video of flashing blue and red lights from police and emergency vehicles. Police and paramedics worked the scene behind yellow crime tape wrapped around cypress trees laden with Spanish moss. A white sheet was pulled over a body lying on a