Bone Island 03 - Ghost Moon (8 page)

They might have become a couple. They might have even married young, and then, like so many people she knew, grown apart, either apathetic or hating one another….

They could have been divorced already, she thought dryly.

But she didn’t think so.

Something inside of her seemed to ache. All the could-have-beens.

“Come on and lock me out,” he said.

She nodded, following him back down the stairs. When they came to the front door, they both hesitated a moment.

Such a hugging group. He was probably going to hug her good-night.

But he didn’t. He seemed to need to keep a distance. That was good.

“All right, then. Good night, kid.”

He brushed her cheek. She was suddenly tempted to step closer, to hug him. To cling to him for all the amazing strength he offered. But he offered a great deal more now. He was incredibly tall and well-built, and his eyes were hypnotic, blue like her own but different: more like silver-gray. She suddenly felt an odd jealousy, wondering what had transpired in his life over the years, what women he had known—and how it was possible that he was able to still be such a friend to her.

He walked out the door.

She made sure to lock it quickly behind him so he heard the clicks.

She heard him walk across the porch, and then she didn’t hear his footsteps as he reached the overgrown lawn and driveway.

For a moment, she was tempted to throw open the door and beg him to come back in. She was tempted to actually ask him if he’d stay the night…ask if he wasn’t the least tempted to sleep with her.

Her cheeks burned with the thought. And with the remembered brush of his fingertips upon them.

She turned to look around the house. The things that seemed so scary to others were not so to her. She loved the mummy—it had given her such great stories, both those told to her by Cutter and those she made up to scare her friends. She smiled at the thought of her dream, because, as Liam had once said, the mummy was dead and gone, locked in its elegant sarcophagus. That, she decided, must go to a museum. Cutter would have a particular museum listed, she was certain.

It was actually three hours earlier in California,
and she shouldn’t have been so tired. But she was exhausted.

She was going to go to bed and sleep, and in the morning, she’d start dealing with it all.

She started up the stairs and paused. She silently cursed all the rumors about the place.

Once again, she had the odd sensation of being watched.

With a shake of her head, she went up the steps and into her room. She fell down on the clean sheets without bothering to undress.

Cutter, forgive me,
she thought.

He emerged from his special place, that place that not even Cutter Merlin had known about.

And he watched as the car drove away from the house, a sense of elation filling him.

They didn’t know; they just didn’t know. They didn’t see him, and they wouldn’t find him.

They didn’t understand. He was protected by the power within. They would never see him.

Old man Cutter had thought that he’d understood, but he never had, not until the very end.

Cutter’s daughter… She’d known, and she’d seen. And the granddaughter had the same gift, so it seemed.

He was elated. What he had thought was lost might now be found.

She was back!

She was going to stay at the house. He thought of all the things that he could do, but he knew that he would wait. He had to wait. Kelsey Donovan was the only one
who could find the source of the power that he needed, the true relic and the true wealth.

People looked at the house, and they shivered, and they thought of horror movies,
Psycho, House on Haunted Hill…

And, yes, the house could seem to breathe in the moonlight, but… Ah, yes. Power. It lay in wealth. And in the ability to haunt and tease the mind. There was no weapon as great as the mind!

To Kelsey…he would do no evil.

He needed her, but then…

Great power did demand great sacrifice.

K
elsey woke with a hint of sunlight streaking through her windows; the curtains hadn’t been fully closed. She lay for a minute, enjoying the dazzle of the light on the dust motes in the air. She smiled and stretched.

She’d slept beautifully. No dreams, no bumps in the night.

She rose slowly and searched the closet for towels. She found that a stack had been wrapped in plastic as well and thanked whoever had helped Cutter after she and her father had left.

The concept of a shower wasn’t quite as appetizing. A patina of dust was on everything, and in the end, she decided that it was best to scrub down the bathroom, get all hot and sweaty and dirty first and then relish a shower. Luckily, cleaning fluids didn’t seem to go bad.

Finally, refreshed and clad in shorts and tank top, she headed downstairs. The morning light pouring into the house gave her pause—the task ahead of her was daunting.

“Cutter, what were you doing?” she asked aloud.

She walked into the kitchen and winced. Before
anything else, the kitchen had to be cleaned. Then she’d be able to brew coffee and buy food. The thought that she really wanted coffee put everything in order. Kitchen first, then a trip into town for a new coffeemaker and some groceries. Then dusting and vacuuming her room. Then she would delve into Cutter’s office and try to discover what was in some of the boxes. She wanted to go through Cutter’s things carefully. She didn’t want to discover that she’d thrown away what appeared to be junk and was really a precious relic belonging to an obscure religion.

The kitchen didn’t appear to be quite as bad as the rest of the house. Cutter had used the kitchen, whereas he probably hadn’t been in her room since she had left. Delving under the sink, she found sponges, scrubbers, dishwashing detergent and all kinds of cleaners. It took her about thirty minutes to do a thorough go-over, and then she was happy to find a coffeemaker, and some coffee in the refrigerator. She prepared a single cup in the little coffeemaker and enjoyed it without cream or sugar.

She started to make a list of things she would need for the next few weeks, then remembered that she was hosting a barbecue and added the items she assumed she’d need for her impromptu party. While she was mulling what the group would enjoy, her cell phone rang and she answered it.

“Kelsey?”

“Hey, Liam.”

“You’re all right?”

“Of course, I’m fine. I told you I’d be fine. You sound so distressed.”

“You were supposed to call me and tell me that you were fine,” he said.

She was disturbed by the flutter that teased inside. What was the matter with her? She hadn’t seen him in years, and yet those years had melted away. She’d naturally been attracted to several men throughout the years, and she’d had friends who’d made her laugh, who intrigued her with their interests and hobbies, but she’d never known someone who seemed to have such a physical pull, and who haunted her soul and mind, as well. Liam still cared, after all this time. She didn’t think that he’d spent his life waiting for her; he was an extremely attractive man physically, sensual, vital, honed, and she was sure he’d had his share of relationships. But he wasn’t in one now, unless she was imagining things and he was about to tell her that he was bringing his wife or his girlfriend to the barbecue.

Maybe he’d been a lot like her—meeting people, enjoying them, their company, and spending time, even making love, but never finding whatever it was that was needed to make it a real and total commitment.

Or maybe she was reading far too much into a friend’s concerned call.

“I’m sorry. But I slept great, and everything is fine,” she said.

“So, what’s on your agenda?”

“The grocery store, and a call to Joe Richter, and probably a drive over to his office. I was Cutter’s only living relative, and the only one mentioned in the will.
But I knew even when I was a kid that he kept a log—he wanted a lot of his pieces in various museums. He trusted his family never to let greed get in the way of what he wanted, and he wasn’t all that fond of paperwork and lawyers. So…it’s good and it’s bad. I have a lot to figure out, trying to fulfill all his wishes. Anyway…that’s the agenda.”

“If you need anything, don’t hesitate to call.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you later, then.”

“Great.”

Kelsey hung up. She hesitated, and then dialed him back on his cell phone.
Later
was a little too vague.

“Is everything all right?” he answered.

She hesitated again. Maybe he was just concerned about her welfare. But they had been friends once—sparring, perhaps, but close.

“How do you feel about dinner?” she asked.

“It’s a necessary meal,” he said. “Just teasing. Was that an invitation?”

“Yes. I’m going to the store. What do you like?”

“I’ll tell you what. We’ll head out somewhere tonight. You can make use of all your culinary skills tomorrow.”

“I don’t remember saying that I had any,” she said, smiling.

“Ah, well, that’s to be seen, then, hmm?” he said. “I’ll be around sometime after five. I’m day shift—unless something serious happens at night,” he added.

She smiled, a little dismayed that the fact that he was coming over seemed so wonderful. She realized,
too, that coming back was easy. The property was just as it had been. The house seemed like home. Even as cluttered and dusty as it had become. Her mother had died here, but before she had died, there had been many good times. She remembered the grand parlor when it had been all decked out for Christmas—her parents had always gone all the way. There had been ornaments on the antlers of the mounted animal heads on the walls, and the mantel had been strewn with decorations, from a Nativity to Christmas-clad Disney characters. Lights in a multitude of colors had blazed all around the property, making it a beacon in the night.

“I’ll see you soon, then,” she said softly.

They said goodbye and clicked off. Kelsey decided to put her call through to Joe Richter and then decide whether to shop first or drive out to see him.

Dialing, she left her list on the table, walked to the family room and then outside. Looking northward, she saw nothing but the endless horizon. The sky was a beautiful blue; the ocean was calm. The little snatch of sandy beach was inviting.

As she stood there, though, she thought that she smelled something unpleasant.

Death. It was the smell of death and decay, organic matter.

It was gone with a whisper of the breeze. She shook her head and winced. Cutter had died inside. She didn’t smell it inside. Whoever had been there had cleared the house of the smell.

Liam had probably seen to it.

Her heart seemed to take a little lurch. She had to
stop; she was getting sucked back into the past far too quickly.

Determined, she turned around and headed back inside.

The phone call to Joe Richter put the day in order; she’d stop by to see him, and then she’d head out shopping.

But when she stepped out of the house to drive to the lawyer’s office, she was struck again by a strange and haunting scent on the air.

Death.

It was in her mind, she thought. It had to be.

Franklin Valaski was in the middle of an autopsy when Liam arrived at the morgue. His receptionist, Lizzie Smith, had worked for the county almost as long as Franklin. Between them, the pair might have been an advertisement for clean living and longevity, except that Liam knew well that Franklin enjoyed an evening glass of single-malt Scotch—perhaps several—during the week, and also indulged in cigars.

So much for clean living.

Katie had always said that the old folks from the morgue had hung around their embalming fluids for so long that they were alive and well and preserved. Since everyone liked both Franklin and Lizzie, it was a good thing.

“Lieutenant, what can I do for you today?” Franklin asked, coming out to reception. He had stripped off his gloves, but he still wore his magnifying goggles, and
his eyes appeared huge. He might have been the mad professor from a movie about aliens.

“Hey, Franklin,” Liam said. “Who is on the table? Anyone I should know about?”

Franklin shook his head. “No, thank the good Lord above! No young traffic fatality or victim of foul play, though, of course, by law, since Mrs. Annie Merriweather died alone in her trailer by the sea, I am responsible for assuring the state that she indeed died a natural death. Alas, good Annie produced three children, outlived all of them, and actually has doting grandchildren and great-grandchildren who were not present when she expired in front of her television. Annie recently turned one hundred and one, and indeed the autopsy has proven that she expired when her dear old heart gave out probably while she was dozing through an episode of
Jeopardy.
What can I do for you?”

“I just thought I’d stop by. I know that you ruled Cutter Merlin’s death as natural, but I was still curious. You commented about his expression. And you said that you’d seen it before on his daughter’s face. You didn’t find
anything
out of the ordinary during the autopsy, did you?” Liam asked.

“Like Mrs. Merriweather, Cutter Merlin expired when his heart gave out,” Franklin said. “But I am having a strange anomaly with the man,” he said.

“Oh?”

“Come, I’ll show you.”

Liam followed the M.E. down the hall, trying not to breathe too deeply. There was an excellent air-conditioning-and-exhaust system here, but even so, the smell
of chemicals clung to the air: chemicals that spoke of death.

In the area Franklin referred to as “the fridge,” the medical examiner went straight to a metal door that was second down from the top and pulled. Cutter Merlin, covered reverently in a sheet, lay on his cold metal bed.

Franklin pulled down the sheet that covered the face. To Liam’s surprise, he saw that coins had been set on the eyes, something he had seen before only in historical pictures.

“His eyes keep opening,” Franklin explained. “This is an old method of keeping them closed, but…well, I am an old man, nearing retirement, you know. Best I can do until his granddaughter tells me where she wants the body taken. I expect I’ll hear shortly—talked to Joe Richter earlier, and he said that he was expecting her to make final arrangements today.”

“She just got into town yesterday, after hours, so, yes, I’m sure she’ll make her decisions today, though I’m assuming she’ll have him interred in the family plot at the Key West cemetery. Her mother is there,” Liam said.

“Yes, of course, I remember that interment. So very sad,” Valaski said, shaking his head. “Such a young and beautiful woman. Such a tragedy.”

“You performed her autopsy, right?” Liam asked.

Valaski nodded.

“And she died of a broken neck from a fall down the stairs—but her eyes were open, as well,” Liam said.

Valaski shrugged. “When I first arrived at the Merlin house, she was in her husband’s arms. But, yes, her eyes were open.”

“And you’re certain that Cutter Merlin died of heart failure, or cardiac arrest?” Liam asked.

“As certain as I am that night follows day,” Valaski said.

“I’m still wondering how Chelsea Merlin Donovan managed to fall down a stairway she’d known since childhood. She was young, thin, coordinated, and she managed a terrible tumble. And yet you said that she had the same terrified expression that Cutter was wearing when we found him,” Liam said.

“She saw that she was tumbling down a staircase,” Valaski suggested. He waved a hand in the air. “Liam, I know you’re busy, so I never should have spoken that day. I didn’t mean to suggest anything. Naturally, they resembled one another. Chelsea was Cutter’s daughter. And good God, man, Cutter was nearly as old as Mrs. Merriweather, since he didn’t settle down to procreate until he was in his fifties!” He sighed. “Sadly, Cutter Merlin rather slipped through the cracks. He wanted to be a hermit. In Key West, we respect that. God knows, he might well have been suffering a form of age-related dementia. The human brain is the most miraculous computer out there, and we all know what happens when a computer gets a virus.”

Valaski studied Liam, frowning.

“Liam, you can’t be thinking that anything wasn’t what it seemed in either death…can you?”

“Hey, Doctor, you’re the one who mentioned that Cutter and his daughter had the same expression on their faces when they died,” Liam told him.

“Yes, yes, I did,” Valaski admitted, casting his head
to the side and staring at Liam with his still-enormous, magnified eyes. He shook his head. “But I’m good at what I do. Chelsea died of a broken neck. Cutter died of heart failure. Cutter was old. He had Lanoxin in his system.”

“A heart medication?”

“Yes. And it can cause hallucinations.”

“Can a person die of being frightened to death?” Liam asked.

“Sure—if fear causes the heart to give in,” Valaski said.

“Or if it causes someone to misstep, and they go crashing down the stairs?” Liam asked.

“They died years apart,” Valaski pointed out. “There were other people in the house—it was a normal house when Chelsea died. Well, an almost-normal house. It was still filled with all kinds of oddities. Hey, Ripley had nothing on old Cutter Merlin, really,” he added, and grinned suddenly. “What? You think the mummy arises and scares folks to death? If there had been something there, wouldn’t George Donovan have seen it, too? He was in the house. If I remember right, he heard his wife’s scream, and the thudding as she fell. He would have run to her in a split second. If he had seen something, he’d have been after whoever or even
whatever
in a flash. That man loved his wife.”

“I’m sure he did. What about Chelsea, though? She was young—she couldn’t have been on any kind of medication.”

Valaski was quiet for a minute, his brow furrowed. “Actually, if I remember correctly, Chelsea had been
taking a pain medication at the time. I’m…I’m thinking it might have been Darvocet-N. I’d asked about it, naturally. She’d been seen by Dr. Nealy, who has passed away now, too. He’d given her a prescription because she’d twisted her back on a dive excursion.”