Ghost Night (17 page)

“You’re mistaken,” he lied.

Jay shrugged.

Vanessa was waiting for Jay on the sidewalk. He joined her, and Sean watched as they started north on Duval together.

“Well, that was interesting,” David commented.

“I’m sorry—doesn’t it feel a bit weird to you? First
Vanessa shows up, pitching her slant to our project, then Jay. Then we think that it might make for a really interesting piece and put out a call to find the rest of the crew, and almost
instantaneously
they all show up?”

“Yes and no,” David said. He shrugged. “Maybe they did all hear about it and contacted one another. I don’t find it all that odd if they did. Trust me, I know. Events can change your life and haunt you day after day.”

David Beckett had once stood accused of murder—if not by law, in the minds of many people who had heard what had happened.

Sean let out a long breath.

Back then, he and David had been friends. Close friends. And he hadn’t known what to believe. All he had known was that he had wanted to get away from home, and for years and years he had traveled, staying mainly away from home. Knowing the truth about the past—even though he had not been directly involved, like David—
had
changed everything.

And it was true, too, that he had returned home in all haste when he had heard that David Beckett was here. And then he had been glad as hell, because he had found that David and his sister had become a duo.

“Honestly, I don’t care one way or another,” David said. “Here’s what I care about—Liam doing background checks on them, finding out their work schedules—or with the young ones, their graduation status—whether they’ve really got the credentials they claim, all that. Parking tickets are okay—I get enough of those myself. But nothing else.”

Sean shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do. You know that you’re more intrigued
by this now than ever,” David said. “And hell, Vanessa Loren is like a damned dousing rod. One day, a pendant. The next, a chest. With a body. Let’s face it, we’re in it now.”

“Have you talked to Marty? And Jamie? Are they in?”

“They were in from the beginning, too. I say we get Liam on the background checks and plan to head out soon. I’ll warn Katie.”

“All right,” Sean said.

She had just walked away.

Clarinda came out to finish clearing the table. “Hey, this is really getting wild, huh? All these people—and a body!” She shivered, placing empty glasses on her tray.

“It’s a very old body, Clarinda,” Sean said.

Katie came out the back door and strode toward them. Sean and David had taken their chairs again—at opposite ends of the long oblong table.

“Well. I guess you two scared everyone off,” she said. She frowned and looked at Sean. “Where’s Vanessa?”

“She went to her room.”

Katie’s brows shot up. “What did you do to her?”

“Not a thing. She chose to go home,” he said, irritated. He didn’t feel like explaining himself to his sister. Somewhere in his mind, he recognized the double standard—he had felt like a pit bull when he had first found out about David and Katie.

“You must have done something,” Katie persisted.

He stood. “Katie, you and Jamie set me up with her—under false pretenses.”

“What?”

“You didn’t mention that she was a friend of yours—you had Jamie call me in to talk to her, and you knew all along what she wanted,” she said.

“Hey, hey, let’s not have a sibling war here,” David protested.

“No war,” Sean said. “All I know is that Key West is suddenly hosting a whole crew of people—who, incidentally, were all on that island when the murders happened—and it all started with your friend, Miss Loren, and now she’s mad at me for what I consider a perfectly reasonable question about how it all came to happen!”

“You probably accused her—basically—of being a liar,” Katie said.

“I did not,” he said.

“Then you implied that she was a liar.”

“Who are you related to here?” Sean demanded.

“Never mind. I’m going to go and get some sleep. We’ll talk in the morning. Oh—Katie, sign the bill to me, will you, please. And make sure that you—”

“Take care of Clarinda. Of course.”

“Good night,” he managed, waving to the two of them.

As he walked the back way to his house, he wondered if he had been unreasonable.

But there was something everyone did seem to be forgetting.

Those six people had been on Haunt Island when Georgia and Travis had been murdered, decapitated and chopped into pieces.

Filming a horror movie that had turned very real.

Jay was cheerful as they walked. “You seem to have some kind of a regular homing beacon for finding things on that wreck. Wonder who the body is. Think it could really be Dona Isabella?”

“I don’t know. And I don’t care right now. I’m exhausted.” They had reached Vanessa’s inn. She gave him a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “We’ll talk tomorrow, all right?”

“Okay, kid. Sleep well.” He started away and turned back. “Hey, Nessa.”

“Yeah?”

“Love you, kid. As a friend, you know.”

She laughed. “Love you, too. Good night.”

Upstairs, Vanessa was glad that her room was on Duval, and that she could hear the faint sounds of music, laughter and conversation. She turned on the lights, wondering if she had done the right thing or not. She cared about Sean, she was attracted to him in a way she might never have been to anyone before, but he had looked at her with suspicion when all four of the others had walked in.

And he had been the one to say that he wanted them all!

Even if they hadn’t known each other long, they had known each other
well,
and it was disturbing to her to know someone that well and not be trusted by him.

They might have gotten together too heavily and too fast. They needed the night apart.

And she was right; she was not apologizing for what she didn’t do.

That didn’t change the fact that her room seemed
impersonal and cold. Nor that she felt incredibly alone, which didn’t usually happen to her. Normally, she liked her own company.

She couldn’t change things, and she was exhausted. She changed into a giant T-shirt, scrubbed her face and teeth and headed to bed.

She turned off the lights and tried to listen to the revelry from Duval Street.

It wasn’t enough.

She turned on MTV—music and videos. The two just might lull her to sleep.

She did fall asleep. And for a while, it was wonderful.

And then the dreams came again.

There was Georgia Dare’s head and sand.

Georgia’s lips were moving. She was talking.

“Oh, please! Listen. If you’ll just pay attention! You know now that I wasn’t being silly and hysterical and there were no jokes being played!”

One of Georgia’s disarticulated arms moved in the sand; she waved her well-manicured fingers in the air.

“Listen…pay attention, oh, please, Vanessa, you can do it!”

“Please!” Travis begged, his mouth moving. He moaned as his head rolled in the sand.

“There’s nothing I can do!” Vanessa protested.

She felt as if she were in a wind tunnel then, being sucked away from them. She was out on the sea, and then she was in the water, and she had a camera in her hand.

The figurehead appeared before her. It seemed that it,
too, had arms, and that the head was real and the entire thing was an animate object—a person.

She saw the face on it that she had always seen.

That of Dona Isabella.

The figurehead was smiling and beckoning to her.

She protested, speaking, or telling the figurehead how she felt in her mind, she wasn’t even sure.

“No. I don’t want to find more bodies.”

“But you want the truth,” the figurehead said to her.

“There should be justice.”

Suddenly, the image of the face began to change. It morphed, and it seemed that its cheeks struggled to stay cheeks.

Brows became higher and more arched and changed again.

The nose and mouth went through transformations.

The figurehead had changed. It held a different face. But she knew that face, too.

She had seen it that afternoon. She had seen it on the woman who had tried to talk to her. The pirate woman who had been sitting at the table on the patio.

The woman who had disappeared.

“Stop, please, stop, you’re being led, you must take care, you don’t understand the innocent!” the figurehead told her.

Then she thought she heard a terrible laughter.

“I’m trying to help you! I have helped you. Listen…listen…listen…your friends have pleaded with you, you must listen. Once you didn’t pay heed.”

The face on the figurehead began to morph again.

Then she saw…

The horrible, mummified, darkened, distorted and decaying face of the woman they had found in the sunken chest.

“H
ere’s another one,” David said. He tapped on his computer screen. “Another incident that might prove that what happened to the film crew wasn’t so bizarre. Bring up the
Herald,
December twentieth, last year.”

Sean typed in the key words and waited for Google to bring up the paper and the date, and glanced over at David. They were working together at the Beckett mansion, computers at opposite ends of the table, maps and charts spread out between them.

“Any particular page?”

“Front page. You can’t miss it.”

David’s eyes quickly scanned the bold-type headline. “Modern-Day Pirates at Work? Islanders Claim Devil’s Play.”

“Ah, I see,” Sean said. He read the article aloud.

Sean glanced at the sea chart spread out on the table between them. He stood, glancing at his computer, checking latitude and longitude on the charter ship’s last known location.

“This disappearance—last contact with the boat was right about where the Mad Miller’s pirate ship went down, right where the pirates met their demise,” Sean told David.

“Interesting. I thought I had another, but they caught the culprits. Idiots pirated another charter boat and threw the crew overboard. They wanted to hijack it to Cuba. They didn’t realize it needed gas,” David said, shaking his head.

“Maybe,” Bartholomew mused, twirling a lock of ghostly hair—great hair at that—as he leaned against the table, “there is something to be said for the Bermuda Triangle. Maybe it emits…evil,” he suggested. “Evil creates a vortex, and men become mad in that vortex, and begin to rip one another asunder.”

“Bartholomew, Mad Miller’s ship went down in a storm,” Sean reminded him.

“I believe that something happens in that area,” David said. “But I don’t think it’s evil oozing out of the earth. There is a scientific explanation.”

Bartholomew studied his fingers and said dryly, “Yes, of course. And I’m here—through the effects of man’s science. You see me, some people don’t. Ah! There’s a
genetic trait that allows certain eyes to pick out roving ectoplasm in the air!”

Sean sat back in chair, nearly grinning. “Bartholomew, you may have something there. It is possible that some people are born with something within their genes that we haven’t discovered as yet.”

Bartholomew threw his hands into the air. “Something that can be developed? Such as a talent? My friend, ye of little faith, who could not see or hear me for the longest time? Ah, trust is something that cannot be touched, either, and you needed proof rather than trust your own sister for a very long time. Everything is not science, indeed, it is not, my ever wary and doubting friend. Take faith—faith is belief in the unseen. If you have any kind of faith, you already believe in the unseen. We all believe in good—and trust me, I believe in the evil that lies in the hearts of mankind! Anyway, here’s what throws me. I knew Kitty Cutlass, and I knew Mad Miller, and yes, Mad Miller turned to piracy, but the legend that has come down about him is pure bunk—which I’ve told you. If he slaughtered men in the water and murdered Dona Isabella in a rage, it would be a surprise to me. And Kitty! The most naive harlot I ever did come across!”

“Naive harlots can be jealous and vengeful,” Sean commented.

“True, maybe,” Bartholomew said.

“You saw the chest—tell me something, Bartholomew. Was that Dona Isabella? You may not have known her as an acquaintance or even a friend, but you saw her around town,” Sean said.

“We did not socialize,” Bartholomew said. “I spent
my time with the English and Americans, while Dona Isabella was the elite of the remaining Spanish society. But yes, I saw her.”

“So?”

“So?” Bartholomew shuddered. “I didn’t stare into the chest, my good fellow! That was a horrendous sight, what was once life…so heinously destroyed and mangled and…ghastly! And if I had stared and stared, the way that the decay had set in and the bones had mummified and the fabric of the clothing had clotted with blood and ooze…I’d not have recognized my own dear mother!”

“Have you heard any more from Jaden and Ted?” David asked Sean. “When is the forensic anthropologist due?”

“Later today, I believe,” Sean said. “I talked to Ted earlier—a Dr. Tara Aislinn is due in with her colleague, Dr. Latham. I believe they’re planning on bringing the body back to a lab in Gainesville. They have the facilities for all the testing they want to do. They’re extremely excited, they can find out about dental hygiene, diet, health, parasites—all manner of information.”

“You saw today’s paper?” he asked Sean.

Sean nodded.

Neither of them had accepted an interview, and to Sean’s knowledge, neither had Katie, Jay or Vanessa. But it had been apparent yesterday that they had made a discovery, and there was an article stating that local divers had found a historical artifact and the object was under investigation now.

That afternoon, one of them would take an interview
so that the concept that they were “treasure hunting” would not be taken out of context.

David’s cell phone rang and he picked it up. He listened for a moment and looked at Sean, nodding.

He hung up.

“That was Liam. They checked out—the film crew, that is. The two grad students, Bill and Jake. And Barry Melkie has worked for several major motion-picture companies, and Zoe, though not as well-known, has certainly had an excellent employment record. There’s not so much as a night in jail, a dismissed charge or a single mark.”

“They’re just seeking truth,” Bartholomew said.

Sean started to speak, but he could have sworn that he heard Bartholomew mutter, “Dumb ass!” just beneath his breath.

“What was that?” he demanded.

“Pardon?” Bartholomew said innocently.

“You just called me a dumb ass!”

“Did I? I didn’t mean to speak aloud, which, sadly, in most cases, with most people, I actually don’t,” Bartholomew said.

Sean rose and approached Bartholomew. “Is it possible you could go haunt someone else for a while?”

“Of course. There seems nothing I can do about the fact that you—behave like a dumb ass.”

Sean let out a groan of aggravation. “Because?”

“That young woman did nothing to you.”

“Wow, excuse me. Are you missing the fact that two people were heinously killed?”

Bartholomew looked away. “Yes, there is that. But you know that she had nothing to do with that.”

“And how do I know that? Maybe she was the
murderer, maybe Jay is a maniacal killer—maybe one of the others,” Sean said.

“They were there,” David agreed.

“But do you really believe that bringing them all in was some kind of a setup?” Bartholomew said. “If so, you are certainly thinking and behaving as—a dumb ass.”

“Bartholomew—” Sean began.

“Yes, yes, fine! Remember, my friends, you may need me. But for now, I’ll go haunt someone else!” Bartholomew responded, aggravated. Shoulders high, posture proud, he strode through the room—and through the front door.

“They check out,” David said to Sean, when Bartholomew was gone. “So what do you want to do?”

“Two boats,” Sean said. “Which is what we’ve always planned,
Conch Fritter
and Jamie’s
Claddagh.
Jamie can captain his own boat, and he’s a hell of a dive master. Katie and you with Jamie, and I’ll take Ted and Jaden, and we’ll bring Marty along, as long as he’s still interested, and, of course, Liam. Four of us on each boat. We’ll split up the six from the original trip.”

“You think that they were involved in a conspiracy—all of them—to kill their leading couple and leave them outrageously staged in the sand?”

“No. But two people died. Somebody killed them.”

David shook his head. “There have been a lot of disappearances and bad things happening out in that area—we’ve just dug up reports of several that occurred in the last couple of years. And it’s not like there’s one bad guy out there. There are probably a lot of less than honest people plying a pirating trade in the straits. Drug
runners, people who smuggle cargo, taking them for whatever they might have, to get them into the United States. Whoever committed the crimes may be long gone, killing people in the streets of Venezuela for all we know.”

“Those two weren’t just murdered,” Sean argued. “They were displayed. They were displayed in a way that played into the movie being made.” He hesitated. “As if someone didn’t want the movie made? God knows—but whatever did or didn’t happen, I think we need to keep the original six split up.”

“Agreed,” David said. “So when do you want to head out?”

“Day after tomorrow. I want to revise the original shooting schedule and make sure that we have both boats stocked. And—” he hesitated and shrugged “—I want to spend some time at the shooting range with Liam—it’s been a long time since I shot at something with anything other than a camera.”

“You really think we’ll come across trouble?” David asked.

“I really want to be prepared—hell, in the last few years, from what we’ve seen, too many charters and pleasure boats have been lost. Even without what happened with the film crew, I think it might have been a nice wake-up call to be ready—for anything,” Sean said.

His cell started ringing. He picked it up. Liam was on the line.

“Is David with you?” Liam asked.

“Yes.”

“Anyone else?”

“No,” Sean said.

“Put the phone on speaker, will you, please?”

He did so.

“I don’t know if this means anything or not,” Liam said. “But I have a report on my desk about another boat that has disappeared—with all four aboard. She’s called the
Happy-Me.
She’s a thirty-footer that can sleep six, top-of-the-line radio, sonar, all that. She was owned by a retired couple, Jenny and Mark Houghton, who were traveling with another couple, Dale and Gabby Johnson. They were headed out for a couple of weeks, stopping different places. They had notified the Bahamian authorities that they’d be visiting a few different ports in the Bahamas.”

“How long have they been missing?” Sean asked.

“A couple of days,” Liam told him.

“There’s still the possibility that they’re fine, that they had trouble, that they’re on an island, waiting for a search party,” David said.

“There’s the possibility. But the couples’ children have been calling every law-enforcement agency in the area. One of the daughters says she knows that her parents are dead. They
never
failed to check in,” Liam told them.

“Are there search parties out there?” Sean asked.

“Of course,” Liam said. “Coast Guard, Bahamians, volunteer rescue societies. But there’s been no sight of the boat or any survivors. Of course, it might have no connection with Haunt Island as well,
but
Haunt Island was on their agenda.”

“Thanks, Liam,” Sean said. “We were just reading
about another disappearance in the area. A boat called the
Delphi.
”

“The
Delphi
went missing a year ago,” Liam said. “So, two years ago, the film crew is attacked. Last year around the same time, a boat goes missing. And now another.”

“There have been other boats that have vanished,” David pointed out.

“Right. But these two went down somewhere near Haunt Island,” Sean said.

“If this one is down—we don’t actually know that yet,” Liam said.

Sean was thoughtful.

“So?” Liam asked.

Sean looked at David. “So I say that we really have to be prepared for anything and keep our eyes open at all times.”

“Did you hear anything about the body in the chest yet?” Zoe asked Vanessa.

Vanessa shook her head. She and Zoe were down by Fort Zachary Taylor, cruising through the many booths the vendors had set up near the “pirate” campgrounds.

“Not yet. I believe that the person Jaden contacted is on the way down but is planning on bringing the body back to a lab at the university,” she said. They were at a booth that displayed books—some old rare, and very expensive, and some copies—sea charts and maps. One large map that included the Gulf of Mexico, Caribbean ports, Florida and the Bahamas was hung on a supporting beam of the booth. It was large and glass-encased, and Zoe paused, looking at it and shivering. “I think I’m
crazy myself!” she said. She followed a path from Key West, up around the islands to Miami, and then across to Bimini. “That’s it—that’s our route. Look at all the little red crosses on it! Those are all ships that have gone down or disappeared over the last decades—and centuries! I think I’m crazy, wanting to do this. No, I have to do this. I can’t wait to actually sleep again.”