Bone Island 01 - Ghost Shadow (7 page)

“My grandfather isn’t here,” he said.

She smiled. “No. When did you see him last?”

“Right before I headed out to Kenya,” he said, looking toward the mausoleum.

“Oh,” Katie said.

He looked at her with a tight smile. “I didn’t desert my grandfather, Miss O’Hara, though that seems to be the consensus here. I didn’t like my home anymore, and I can’t help it. I like living a life where you don’t stare into faces every day that are speculative-are you or are you not a murderer? I met Craig in Miami often enough, even Key Largo and sometimes Orlando. Imagine. Craig loved theme parks. Here’s the thing of which I am certain-if there is a heaven, Craig is there, and he’s with my grandmother. They had a beautiful love that was quite complete. They will not be misty ghouls running around a graveyard.”

“You know, you sound defensive,” Katie observed.

He shook his head. “Yep. I have a big chip on my shoulder.” He lifted his hands and she saw that he carried a beautiful bouquet of lilacs. “Gram’s favorites,” he said.

The tourists were gone. Katie followed him back to the Beckett mausoleum. He set the bouquet right before the wrought-iron doors.

“Very nice-pretty flowers,” Katie said.

“They seem forlorn,” David said.

She shook her head. “No, that’s forlorn,” she told him, pointing to a family graveyard that was surrounded by an iron fence. Cemetery maintenance was kept up, but no one had been to see the graves in decades. The stones were broken, a stray weed was growing through here and there and all within the site were long forgotten, not even their names remaining legibly upon the stones.

“That’s life,” David said flatly. “Well, I’ll leave you to whatever you were doing,” he told her. But as he turned, he stopped suddenly.

Katie saw that he was looking at a man across from them, in another section of the cemetery, one that was bordered by Olivia Street.

She knew that Tanya Barnard was buried in that section; most people knew that she was buried there, even though her marker wasn’t on her grave. Because of the Carl Tanzler/Elena de Hoyos story, the powers-that-be at the time of her death, along with the family, had determined that no one but Tanya’s parents would know exactly where she had been buried; there would be no grave robbing. In death, Tanya had become a celebrity.

Katie had never seen Tanya’s astral self, soul or haunt.

She had seen Elena de Hoyos frequently. Then again, if anyone had the right to haunt a place, it was poor Elena. Ripped from her grave, her body adored and yet desecrated, she had missed out on the beauty of youth and the sweetness of aging in the midst of normal love.

She didn’t weep when she walked. She did so with her head high. And sometimes, she danced, as if she could return to the dance halls of her day, as if she imagined herself young again, falling in love with her handsome husband-happy days before tuberculosis, desertion and the bizarre adoration of Carl Tanzler.

Would she know Tanya if she saw her? She had heard the story about the woman, of course. It had been Key West’s scandal and horror. Her picture had certainly been in the newspapers. But Katie had never really seen Tanya.

“Damn,” David murmured.

The man across the way seemed to know exactly where he was, and what he was looking for.

Katie stared, squinting against the sun. He was the man who had been in O’Hara’s last night, the man who had appeared to be familiar, who had tried to buy her a drink. He had flowers; he laid them at the foot of a grave.

“Who is it?” she asked.

He didn’t glance her way. “Sam Barnard. Tanya’s brother,” he said.

Katie stared, looking at David, and then at the man again. David left her, striding across the cemetery. He passed the brick vaults and kept going, at last calling out. His voice carried on the breeze. She heard him calling out, “Sam!”

Sam turned slowly. He was clean shaven now, in Dockers and a polo shirt, and she wondered if he had been as drunk as she had thought last night, or if he had been playing the drunk, watching folks at the bar. He had to have been familiar with O’Hara’s-her uncle’s bar had been there for twenty-five years. But her uncle, Jamie O’Hara, had not been there. Jon Merrillo had been on as the manager, and Jon had only been in Key West for five years.

Katie felt her heart thundering. For a moment she thought that she should turn away, that none of this was any of her business. But then she felt a trigger of unease. No, fear. What if the two men were about to go after one another? Maybe Sam Barnard had vengeance on his mind. David Beckett had just returned, and suddenly Sam Barnard was back in the city, as well.

She dug into her handbag for her phone, ready to dial 911.

But she didn’t.

The two men embraced like old friends. They began speaking to one another, and walked toward the grave together.

She felt a strange sensation-not cold, not heat, just a movement in the air. She turned her head slightly. Bartholomew had an arm draped around her. “That’s touching,” he said. “Seriously, you know, I like that fellow. He reminds me of someone I knew years and years ago…” He shrugged. “Hey, it might have been one of his ancestors, come to think of it.”

“I thought he was a jerk and you were going to protect me from him,” Katie said dryly.

Bartholomew shook his head. “He’s redeeming himself. That’s what life is all about, eh? We make mistakes, we earn redemption. So, you want to join up with them?”

“No. No, I want to slip away.”

“Wait.”

“Wait-for what?” Katie asked.

“Maybe Tanya Barnard is hanging around the cemetery.”

“Do you see anyone? I don’t,” Katie said.

“No,” Bartholomew admitted. “Maybe she’s gone on all the way. But she was murdered, and her murder was never solved. You’d think, with her brother and ex-fiancé together, she would make an appearance.”

Katie looked around the cemetery. No ghosts were stirring. None at all.

They were probably unhappy with the laughing tourists.

Every man and woman born came to the end of their lives. Death was the only certainty in life.

But ghosts could be touchy.

“Let’s go. I have to go to work tonight and I want to do some searching online,” Katie said.

“You go on. I’m going to hang around a bit longer,” Bartholomew said.

“Snooping-or looking for your lady in white?” Katie asked.

“A bit of both. I’m looking for my beauty…or waiting for you, my love. But you’re awfully young, so I’d have a long wait.”

“Well, thanks for that vote of encouragement,” Katie said.

She walked quickly, exiting the cemetery from the main gate. Neither of the men, now involved in a deep conversation together, noticed that she left.

Sam Barnard was David’s senior by four years. He’d been in college when David had been in the military, so they hadn’t hung out, but they’d shared many a holiday dinner with one or the other’s family.

“I heard about Craig’s death, and I’d heard they were trying to reach you,” Sam Barnard told David. “To be honest, though, I didn’t come down to pay my respects to anyone. I’d heard a local was trying to buy the museum. It brought everything back. Not just the fact that my kid sister was murdered, but the way she was left…and the fact that her killer was never found. Hell, I didn’t come down to start trouble. I’ve spent the past years not even a hundred miles away, and I haven’t made the trip down here since my folks left. But now…”

“I’m not letting anyone reopen the museum,” David told him.

They sat at a sidewalk bar on Front Street. Sam lifted his beer to David. “Glad to hear it. And I’m not here to hound or harass you, either. I know you didn’t do it.”

“Do you?” David asked.

Sam nodded. “I guess a lot of folks think I’ve followed you down here to pick a fight, beat you to a pulp, something like that.”

“Probably.”

“My folks knew you didn’t do it. I knew you didn’t do it.”

“That means a lot.”

“You know, I knew what was going on. She was my sister, but I never put her on a pedestal. I really loved her, but she was human, you know. Real. From the time she was a little kid, she wanted to live every second of the day. When you left for the military, I had a bad feeling. Tanya was never the kind to wait around. She was never going to find true love with that football jock-he had a roving eye. I told her so. She’d made all her arrangements for college in the north. But she wasn’t leaving until she had talked to you. I’m pretty sure she was going to make a stab at getting back with you. That’s why she was drinking. She needed courage.”

“She never needed courage to see me.”

“You didn’t know-you really didn’t know that she wanted to make up, did you?” Sam asked.

“No. And no matter what, we would have stayed friends,” David said. “I didn’t hate her. Maybe I understood.”

“She’s just a cold, closed case now,” Sam said.

“I hope not. I hope there’s still a way to find the truth,” David said.

“How, after all this time?” Sam demanded. “Hey, you didn’t secretly go off and become some kind of investigator, or medium, eh? What the hell could anyone possibly find now?”

“Actually, cold cases do get solved. Not all of them, no. And no-I can’t conjure up Tanya to find out what happened.”

“So you are a photographer?” Sam said, frowning. “And you film stuff, too, for nature films? Underwater-like Sean.”

“Yep. Oddly enough, yes, Sean and I wound up doing close to the same thing. I do more straight photography than Sean, though.” He waited a minute, but Sam remained silent. “And you-you’re still running charter fishing boats, right?”

Sam nodded, rubbing his thumb down his beer glass. “Yep, I do fishing charters.”

“Is there a Mrs. Sam yet?”

“No. And you-you never married either, huh?”

“I’m all over the globe,” David said.

Sam leaned toward him, his grin lopsided and rueful. “Neither one of us has married because we’re both fucked up. The murderer might as well have strangled my folks right alongside my sister. And let’s see-the girl you thought you were going to marry winds up dead and replacing an automaton, and everyone thinks you did it. Hell, yeah, I can see where you’re pretty screwed up in the head.”

“Oddly enough, I’ve been fairly functional,” David told him. “But I guess maybe I thought that my grandfather would live forever. And I sure as hell never thought anyone would want to open the place again. Hell, I had told Liam to do whatever he wanted with whatever. I got back here just in time to stop him from selling the place.”

“So, what, are you just going to let it decay, crumble into itself like the House of Usher?” Sam asked.

“No, my plan with the place is to clear it all out, whitewash it and put it on the market. Liam’s parents are living on their private island now so he’s got a house-his mom and dad sold it to him for a dollar since he was their only child. I have my grandfather’s house, so I don’t need another one. And I’m not staying forever.”

Sam laughed. “And you think folks will just forget about what happened here? The ghost tours will go by there, night after night. Tanya was killed and discovered in the museum, and the story will never die.”

“Nor will the suggestion that I managed to kill her and carry her into the tableau,” David said. “Unless-”

“Unless you discover who really did it,” Sam interrupted. “Yeah, well, I can see that. And I’m here, if you need me. I’ve rented a house up at the end of Duval. And here’s my cell.” He scratched out a number on a cocktail napkin. “Call me if you need me.”

“Yeah, I will. Actually, I do have some questions for you,” David said.

“Like, where was I the night of the twelfth?” Sam asked.

“Sure. That would be good to know. Did you see your sister that night? I’m trying to trace her footsteps.”

“Trace them until they walk you right up to a killer?” Sam asked.

David nodded. “So?”

“So?”

“So where were you that night?”

“That night? You found her in the morning… Oh, right. The police said that she was killed sometime between seven and nine on the twelfth, the night before. The museum was open until midnight, so sometime after midnight, the killer brought her body into the museum for you to find during the first tour the next morning.”

“Everyone thought she had left for Ohio,” David said. “Your parents thought that she had left for Ohio, and I think they were just angry at first that she had gone without her final goodbye. I wasn’t expecting to see her, so I wouldn’t have looked for her. The killer held her-somewhere, and then brought her into the museum after closing.”

“I was on Duval Street the night she was killed, drinking it up with a bunch of friends. Did I see my sister? Yes. I yelled at her for drinking.”

“Drinking on Duval? How bizarre,” David said dryly.

“Hey, those of us who live in paradise know that you can’t drink yourself silly every night. You know what she told me?” Sam asked.

“What?”

“Just what I was trying to explain to you. She wanted some liquid courage. She wanted to be strong when she saw you. She wasn’t sure anymore. She’d seen you from a distance, and she felt as if the years had all gone away. She needed courage, but not to tell you goodbye. She needed courage because she was afraid she wanted to ask if she could come back, instead of telling you goodbye, and she was afraid of what you would have to say to her.”

He’d heard it before. Somehow, that information, coming from Sam especially, still hurt.

He didn’t know if it was true or not.

He just knew that it hurt.

Dying Love, Dead Loss was the name of the most popular book that had been written on the subject of Tanya Barnard’s murder. Naturally, there had been dozens of newspaper reports and the sensationalism of the way she had been left had drawn coverage from across the country.

Katie had never purchased the book. She didn’t feel that anyone should make a profit off such a contemporary tragedy.

That day, however, on her way back from the cemetery, she stopped by a store to purchase the book. She bought it in one of the tourist shops on Duval that sold sandals, clothing, souvenirs and about ten titles that were pertinent to the Keys. Two of the books held maps and histories, two were on water sports on the island, another was on housing styles. There was a book on Carl Tanzler, one on Key West ghost stories and one on the murder of Tanya Barnard. The shop was owned and operated by Eastern Europeans new to the area, but it was still a small world. It wouldn’t be any secret that she had bought the book.

She picked up a tuna croissant sandwich from one of her favorite restaurants and headed home with her book. She had several hours before she had to return to work.

Saturday night.

It was going to be busy.

Friday nights started the craziness of weekend revelers, bachelor parties, bachelorette parties and general let’s-drive-down-to-Key-West-and-get-plastered celebrations. Also, Fantasy Fest would be starting the next week, so many people who intended to enjoy that week of bacchanalia would start filtering in.

As she walked to her house, lunch and reading material in hand, she suddenly felt an odd sense of apprehension.

It was broad daylight. Tourists were everywhere, walking, on bikes, in rental minicars. Music was blaring from a dozen clubs. She wondered at first if she was being followed by a ghost who had suddenly discovered the need to talk.

Tanya. Maybe Tanya Barnard was walking around Key West, and she had seen her brother and her onetime fiancé again, and discovered the need to try to help them find the truth.

But looking around, she saw no one, not even the usual crowd she sometimes saw, all from their different eras, sometimes seeing one another and sometimes not. There were a few Spanish conquistadors who hung out near the wharf fairly frequently, and many of the seafarers seemed to see one another and gather near the docks, almost as if they could taste the beer and grog being served by the waterside restaurants now. An early-nineteenth-century pirate seemed to look around Captain Tony’s now and then, and rumor had it that he’d been seen by a number of people.

But the dead were quiet this afternoon. She had no idea why she’d felt the chilling sensation, as if she had been watched.

She felt it again when she reached her house and turned the key in the lock, so much so that she turned around to assure herself that she hadn’t been followed. “Bartholomew?” she muttered, turning one last time before releasing the knob. Her ethereal houseguest might be feeling that she needed to be more careful than she was. But, apparently, Bartholomew was still hanging around the cemetery. Every now and then, he got a kick out of trying to breathe down someone’s neck and give them a chill or a scare. He could also make leaves rustle, and sometimes, tap on glass or some other hard surface. He loved seeing pretty young women squeal with fear.

Sometimes, he followed the ghost tours around. He’d stand next to the guides, and blow out their lanterns now and then. She didn’t really blame him. Surely, after nearly two hundred years of hanging around, he needed a form of entertainment. But Bartholomew didn’t seem to be playing jokes-not on her-at the moment.

She stepped inside and quickly closed the door behind her, locking it. Once inside, she felt somewhat silly, but she still checked the locks anyway. With her sandwich, a cold glass of tea and the book, she curled up on the sofa in the parlor and started to read.

The author first painted a picture of Key West at the time of the murder; then she told the Carl Tanzler story, and gave a history of the Beckett family. Their history was similar to that of her own family. David Beckett-the original David Beckett-had been a pirate who had claimed that he had actually been a privateer, attacking only Spanish ships in the name of Great Britain. The Becketts purchased lands, probably with ill-gotten gains, became wreckers and salvage divers, supported sponging and, by the eighteen hundreds, had become rich. They were able to shift with the winds of time, owning tourist businesses as the days of wrecking became bygone, investing in a number of different ventures. Into the mid-nineteen hundreds, the family was still hanging on, but with their worth more in property than bank accounts. Few families were more respected. Her own family was named along with the Barnards. They weren’t the earliest, like the Whiteheads and Simontons, but they had family members who had remained through the decades.

Then-the murder.

Everyone involved with the museum had been questioned. Pete Dryer, a uniformed cop at the time, had been at the museum during the discovery, and he had perfectly preserved the crime scene-except that the murder hadn’t taken place in the museum, according to the medical examiner’s report. Where she met her fate, no one knew. No one had broken into the museum, and there were no security cameras at the time. Crime-scene units had not been able to find hairs, fibers or any other microcosm of evidence. David Beckett had naturally fallen under suspicion; Key West was a small place. Though extremely improbable, it was possible that he had slipped out-and come upon Tanya.

Katie scrambled over to the kitchen counter for a notepad. The police were convinced that the murderer was someone who had lived on the island and knew their way around. They also thought that the murderer was probably a very strong man. She listed the people who had been on the tour: four female college students; Molly and Turk Kenward from Portland, Oregon; Pete Dryer; his sister, Sally; her husband, Gerry Matthews; and the Matthewses’ children, Suzie and Whelan.

She scratched out the names of the female college students, then the two Matthews children. She was about to scratch out the names of Pete Dryer and his sister and brother-in-law, but she didn’t. Nor did she scratch out David Beckett’s name. She did scratch out Molly and Turk. Not only were they not local, but they were also listed as “senior citizens.” It was possible, of course, that they had been a pair of homicidal octogenarians. It simply wasn’t probable.

She leafed through more pages, searching for the names of locals who had been questioned. Lily and Gunn Barnard, Tanya’s parents, were dead; Sam Barnard, Tanya’s brother, was alive and well and in Key West now. Danny Zigler had been questioned, and all the Becketts living in the Keys had been questioned, including Liam, who now worked investigation in Key West. Her own brother, Sean, had been questioned, along with many of those who had gone to high school with Tanya.

Katie frowned, seeing Sean’s name. She had never realized that the police had questioned him.

Bartenders up and down Duval had been questioned. Once again, Katie was surprised when she saw where Tanya Barnard had last been seen.

O’Hara’s Pub.

Her uncle Jamie had been questioned! Jamie, and Sean. She hesitated and wrote down their names.

She was still so stunned by what she read that she jumped a mile when her cell phone started to ring. She frowned, looking at all the numbers on the caller ID.

“Hello?” she said, feeling a strange sense of trepidation.

“Katie, it’s Sean,” her brother’s voice said.

“I was home because it was summer,” Sam Barnard said to David as they sat in the sidewalk bar. “I’d gone to college for a straight business degree, then decided I wanted a minor in marine sciences. It was going to take me five years to get my degree. I never went back for the last year. Doesn’t matter-I never wanted to breed trout anyway. I have a good business-I learned enough to keep up five charter boats and a Gulf-side house right on the water up in Key Largo. I was fishing with my dad during the day, and I saw Tanya around four when we came in. I think I told her she was a jerk. Because of the Ohio State guy. I was on your side, though, of course, now I know that none of us can ever tell anyone else what to do. But like I said, she didn’t tell me to fly a kite, kiss my ass or any other such thing. She said she knew she had messed up, but that if you didn’t want her, she was leaving. She asked me if I thought she was a bad person, not knowing until you were back-all in one piece-before thinking that she’d made a mistake. I told her, yeah, she’d kind of been a selfish bitch. She’d wanted everything-the parties, the good times and then the guy she’d cheated on. She didn’t even get mad. I was a jerk, and it was the last time I ever saw my sister alive.”

“So she left the house after four that afternoon?” David said after a moment.

Sam nodded.

“Danny Zigler saw her at five at O’Hara’s Pub. In the police reports, Jamie O’Hara said that he served her a pint of Guinness, and that she was nervous. She smiled at him, and told him to wish her luck, stayed until around seven-and then she left, and no one saw her alive again,” David said.

“You’ve seen the police reports?” Sam asked, curious and surprised.

“My cousin is working it as a cold case,” David said.

Sam pointed a finger at him. “I remember something. Your cousin, Liam, was one of the people who saw her at O’Hara’s.”

“At least ten people saw her at O’Hara’s that night,” David pointed out.

“The question is, which of those ten people weren’t seen in the bar after? Or, oh, hell, that would be the point here, huh? No one knows who saw her once she left that pub. Somewhere, in the next hour, someone found her and killed her. That’s nothing new, not really. I’m sure the police must have narrowed down the timeline when it happened. And, of course, the problem around here isn’t that there was no one on the streets. There were hundreds of people on the streets. And it was a long, long time ago now,” Sam said. He hesitated. “She wasn’t raped. So it’s not as if they can suddenly find a miraculous match with honed DNA science.”

“No,” David agreed.

This time, Sam let out a long sigh. “They figured it was some kind of psycho who lived here and then moved on. Hell, he could have driven north that night, or taken a puddle jumper up the state. But you don’t think that a whacko killed my sister?”

“I don’t know anything. I just don’t think it was a psycho. I think it was someone who knew the area and had an agenda.”

“Like what?”

“That’s what I need to find out.”

“I still don’t understand. I mean, obviously, I really wish we knew what happened-who killed my baby sister. But, what’s different now? The cops swore they chased down every lead, no matter how small. What’s different now? How do you think you can solve anything?”

David stared at him and smiled tightly. “I’m different now. I’m not a kid. And I don’t intend to stop, or be stopped by anyone. I know that I had nothing to do with her death, and I know that someone did. Someone got away with murder, and I believe that we do know the person who killed her. The truth exists. And I want it.”

“Hey! Where are you?” Katie asked her brother. “Far away still, I take it. It’s great to hear from you.”

“We talked a week ago on Skype,” he reminded her.

“Skype is great-when you have a sibling halfway across the world.”

“I’m in Hawaii now. I’m coming home for a while, kid.”

“That’s wonderful! It will be like old-home week.”

“I know,” Sean said.

She frowned. “How do you know?”

“David Beckett left me a message about going back.”

“He left you a message?”

“E-mail,” Sean explained.

“But I thought-”

“I didn’t have access for a few days, but the filming project finished up. I’m in Hawaii, and I head back to California the day after tomorrow. Then Miami the following morning-”

“I’ll come pick you up.”

“No, no, I’m going to rent a car. I’ll be there sometime on Tuesday or Wednesday.”

“That’s wonderful, Sean! Oh, watch the traffic. The first events for Fantasy Fest are starting soon.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the traffic. It will just be aggravating. I could hop a puddle jumper in Miami, but I kind of want to drive down. Even with the tourists clogging the road.”

“Okay. That’s super, Sean!”

He was quiet. She thought that she had lost the connection. “Katie?” he said then.

“What?”

“Don’t go telling anyone that…that you see things.”

It was her turn to be quiet. Sean had been amused the first time she had seen a ghost. She had been six, in first grade, and they’d been playing at the church. The ghost she had seen had been a nun. Sean had taken it all as a joke. Her feelings had been terribly hurt, but she had quickly realized that he had been trying to defend her. The other kids meant to torment her and laugh at her-which they did, until Sean turned it all around, laughing at them for falling for the joke.

Later, Katie had been alone at the playground. The nun had come to her, and spoken gently, assuring her that she had a gift, and that she must guard it carefully.

But when her grandfather had died, her mother’s tears had shaken her. She had seen her grandfather, trying to comfort her mother. She told her mother. Her mother believed she was just trying to comfort her-until she told her mother where Grandpa had left his old gold pocket watch, and that he wanted Katie’s father to have it.

Her mother had been looking everywhere for the pocket watch.

Katie was careful then. She didn’t tell anybody about the sailors, servicemen and pirates who roamed the docks.

She avoided eye contact with the ghosts. It hadn’t worked with Bartholomew.

She had thought that her brother had forgotten about her ghosts, because she never mentioned a ghost again. Sometimes, though, she had information or could tell him things because a ghost had pointed something out. She would remain stubbornly silent when he asked her how she knew something.

“Katie?”

“What?”

“Don’t go saying anything, anything at all-especially not to David. I know why he’s in town. If God himself comes down to speak to you, don’t say anything-do you understand?”