Ghost Night (23 page)

He was Jay again. The Jay she had known forever. She felt silly, being afraid of him.

“Let’s get that drink,” she said.

They had fun. Vanessa was pleased that she hadn’t insisted she was going back.

The bar was composed of a small number of tables with palm-frond shelters over them, their waitress was nice, and a single guitarist played and sang.

When they returned to the boat, Marty was on deck, taking his guard duty very seriously.

“Ahoy, who goes there?” he demanded.

“It’s us—we’re back,” Vanessa told him. She was capable of jumping down to the deck, as were Zoe and Jay, but Marty rose, ever the gentleman, to help them on board.

“Are the guys back yet, Marty?” Vanessa asked.

“Jaden and Ted came back half an hour ago, and they’re both in bed. Sean, Liam and David are still out, but they’ll be along soon, I warrant,” he said cheerfully. “I’ll be right here, right here on deck, if you need me, though.”

“Thanks, Marty,” she told him. “I guess I am calling it a night. Good night, Jay.”

“Good night, Vanessa,” Jay said. “I’ll hang out here with Marty a bit, I guess.” He was silent, looking at
her. “Good night,” he said again, and then, his back to Marty, he mouthed, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

She smiled and nodded. “See you in the morning.”

In the master’s cabin, she started. Bartholomew was next to the bed, one ghostly buckle-shoe foot upon it as he stood in a Captain Morgan stance. He gave her a start, and she thought again that she was having trouble with reality and fiction or imagination.

He was a ghost, he was real. As real as a ghost could be. Others saw him.

He was glaring at her.

“What?” she murmured.

He shook his head, and then wagged a finger at her.

“I followed you today,” he said.

“You did? Well, that was…nice of you? Or nosy of you?” she asked.

He sighed, set his foot on the floor and walked to her. It was odd. She could feel him. At first, she had thought that he was cold. A cold breeze.

But now she thought that he offered a strange warmth. She saw his eyes, and he was concerned. Bartholomew liked her. She was glad.

She would have liked him.

“Vanessa, I don’t know what you’re thinking, but you have to tell Sean the truth,” Bartholomew said. “What truth?”

“That Carlos Roca was in the park, following you. At least, I think that’s who it is. And he was in Key West, too, at the pirate festivities. He’s been watching you—and following you,” Bartholomew said.

Vanessa gasped. She sank down on the bed in the cabin, and Bartholomew sank down beside her.

“He’s real,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Bartholomew said.

“Real—and alive?” Vanessa asked.

“The man was no ghost. Trust me, sadly, I know,” Bartholomew said. He sighed. “Obviously, I can tell Sean and David, because they have a right to know. But I really don’t like telling tales when it’s someone else’s business. But people were killed. They might have been killed by Carlos Roca. The man might be stalking you. You might be his next intended victim. Vanessa, this is scary. Terrifying. And I think you’ve suspected that he’s out there. Why haven’t you told Sean?”

She was about to answer when she heard Jay’s voice, whispering to her from just beyond the door. “Vanessa? Is something wrong? Are you all right?”

“Fine, Jay!” she replied in a loud whisper. “Fine—I was singing, that’s all. Sorry!”

He laughed. “Now you’re singing! Night, sweetie.”

“Night!”

Vanessa waited until she heard him move away and then she whispered to Bartholomew. “I just can’t believe it. I really can’t. What if Carlos is trying to reach me because he is innocent, because he needs my help, because he suspects or knows what really happened?” she asked.

“You still need to tell Sean. Look, there are other lives at stake here,” he reminded her.

He touched her cheek with a ghostly hand. She thought that she could feel the warmth and tender
ness. “I’m going topside, help old Marty keep watch,” he said.

She nodded. He stood and looked at her.

“I’ll tell him,” she said.

He nodded, and disappeared through the door.

Sean was surprised and glad when he arrived back on the boat to find that Vanessa was awake. She stirred when he quietly entered the cabin and stripped down to join her in bed.

“Hey,” he said softly.

She smiled in the dim light that filtered through from the dock.

“You aren’t on guard duty,” she said.

“Ted is taking a turn,” he told her. “Had to get Marty to get some sleep,” he added dryly. “Did you have a nice night? What did you do?”

She studied him carefully. “We went to a park. Jay took some footage. Let’s see, Bill and Barry went barhopping, but Zoe, Jay, Jake, Katie and I went to a park. Jay had an idea for a scene, and he’s all excited. He thinks you’re going to like it.”

“I probably will. He’s good.”

She was still searching out his eyes. He smiled and kissed her lips. She drew the covers more tightly around her and she frowned, trying to understand her sudden reticence with him.

She let out a deep, pent-up breath. “Sean, I saw Carlos Roca.”

“What?” He sat up, staring at her, trying to fathom her eyes in the shadows.

“Actually, I had just
thought
that I’d seen Carlos,
but…Bartholomew was with us, following us, and he said that it was Carlos Roca.”

“So the man has been hiding in Miami,” Sean said, “hiding in plain sight.” He started to rise.

“Sean, wait. Where are you going?” she asked.

“To notify the authorities,” he said.

“But what if he’s in hiding—because he’s innocent?” Vanessa asked.

“Vanessa, if he’s innocent, he’ll be able to prove it.”

“How? We both know that he looks guilty as hell, and that innocent men do go to prison,” she argued.

He stared down at her and shook his head sadly. “Vanessa, I have to notify the authorities. If he’s been living here—”

“He hasn’t been living here,” she said.

“What? How do you know? Did he accost you?” he asked, coming down beside her again, drawing her to him. “Did he hurt you, did he threaten you, did—”

“No, no, no. I never got close to him. But he was in Key West.”

He eased away, trying to study her face again. “You saw him in Key West, and you didn’t tell me?” he asked her.

“I didn’t know that I had seen him. I
thought
that I might have seen him,” she said. “But then, God knows what I see anymore!”

“So he is following you,” Sean said.

“I don’t know that. And if he is, I swear, I think it’s because he needs help.”

“Vanessa, what happened to the trust thing that was
supposed to be going on between us?” he asked her softly.

“I do trust you. I just know how you feel.”

He nodded slowly. “You wouldn’t have told me now—except that Bartholomew saw him, too.”

“Your
ghost,
” she reminded him dryly.

He stood. He reached for his jeans again. “Sean—”

“Vanessa, I’m really sorry. The authorities have to know,” he told her. He walked to the deck. Ted was leaning back on the aft cushions, watching the stars—and the dock.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“A Carlos Roca sighting,” he said. “I’m going up to radio the Coast Guard and let the police know that the man was seen in Miami.”

“Roca?” Ted sat up straight. “Do you think… Wow. Do you think he’ll come after the rest of that crew?”

“Ted, we’re traveling the way we are just to make sure we don’t have trouble and that no one can take us by surprise. But if you’re worried about you and Jaden, I can leave you here and you can get a rental car to take home.”

“No. No,” Ted told him. “We’re on this. We’ve discussed it. We’re with you all the way. And I’m ready. Trust me. I’m ready.” He showed Sean that he had a speargun down by his side. “I know how to use this faster than a winking eye, and you know it.”

Sean nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

He radioed the Coast Guard first, and then called the police, and then David. Bartholomew was seated in the companion seat, aware of Ted just below.

“She told you,” Bartholomew said.

Sean nodded.

Bartholomew looked out at the water, at the various boats docked at the public marina. “You had to know,” he said.

“Yep.”

“I’ll be on deck,” Bartholomew said.

Sean smiled. “Thanks.”

He went back down, telling Ted that he’d spell him in three hours.

He went back to his cabin.

Vanessa’s eyes were closed. He didn’t think that she was sleeping, but he lay down beside her without touching her.

A moment later she spoke in the darkness. “You called the police?”

“Yes.”

She was silent, staying on her own side of the bed. He didn’t press the matter. He had done what he had to do, even if he understood that the man had been her friend and she believed in him.

But everyone on that island had been her friend. She trusted them all.

And the more he thought about it all, the more he learned, Sean didn’t believe that there had been someone in a boat who had slipped onto the island, killed Travis, gone after Carlos Roca and Georgia, killed Georgia, dismembered two bodies, and escaped with the boat and Carlos Roca, who was now miraculously alive and well.

That was too suspect.

Someone in that film crew had been guilty. Someone knew more than they were saying. And with the violence
and brutality of the murders, he doubted that it was someone who had killed only once, for a purpose. That someone had killed before, had probably killed again, and would keep killing. It seemed likely that maybe that person was involved in a murder conspiracy with Carlos Roca.

“I’m sorry,” Sean said.

“So am I,” she said.

He smiled. “Are you sorry that I called the police—or sorry that you didn’t tell me earlier?”

“Both,” she said after a moment.

He rolled toward her and reached for her, pulling her into his arms. “Please understand. It’s a dangerous world out there,” he said softly.

“I know,” she told him gravely.

He nodded. He wasn’t sure what else to say. He kissed her. And then he knew that he’d have to leave soon enough, take his turn on guard duty.

He made love to her, slowly, tenderly, and she responded, making love in turn, her kisses gentle, her whispers soft…her movement fluid. They winced together at one point—it was a boat, and they were trying to be quiet, and they were, but…

They lay together afterward, and the boat rocked gently, and he heard a distant bell.

“I don’t think that it will matter that I called the Miami police,” he told her.

“Why not?”

“Because I think he’s already out there. Carlos Roca knows where we’re going, he knows our route, and he knows we’re headed for Haunt Island.

“And he’s already on his way.”

“L
et’s head straight on over, set up camp on the island and work backward from there,” Sean suggested. He and David had met at the breakfast bar near the marina. He opened the book he kept on their schedule with relevant sea charts and maps. “We’re clear with the Bahamian authorities, and I started doing calculations on what I could find regarding the current at the time, the time of year and the storm—and I think that once the pirate ship started to take on water and break up during the storm, it would have been forced out of the deep water where it was always assumed to have sunk, and that the debris field would stretch out not far from the first drop-off to the southwest of Haunt Island.”

“I like the logic of getting there, setting up a base and moving on from Haunt Island,” David said. “You like the split that we have of people? Yesterday was the first time it seemed you didn’t trust everyone with us.”

“I don’t. I don’t trust anyone right now.”

“Especially Carlos Roca? And you really think that Vanessa saw him—and that it was him?”

Sean shrugged, looking toward the marina. “There are just so many factors in this situation that make no
sense. I’m going to try to get Vanessa to take me through it all again, step by step, from earlier in the afternoon
before
Georgia Dare came running down the beach. The thing is, I don’t think that one person could have done all this. I think that if Carlos was guilty, he had to have had an accomplice. If he wasn’t guilty, two people had to be involved. Yes, it’s possible that there was a boat at anchor near the island that was hidden from view behind palms or foliage or even the curve of the shoreline. But the thing is—
why?
Don’t you think that someone must have had a reason—no matter how psychotic—to butcher bodies and leave them on display?”

“There’s the outside chance that an islander, dismayed with what they were doing on Haunt Island, lay in wait, and that the murders were because of outrage over making a film based on the massacre,” David said.

“Yes, there’s an outside chance,” Sean agreed. “I know that Liam ran everything he could on Lew Sanderson, the Bahamian guide who was with them.”

“The man is squeaky-clean. He’s worked with dignitaries from around the world. He’s a family man, married twenty years, two children, and known for helping out in times of distress, such as doing volunteer road work and clearance after storms. His neighbors love him—he’s an open book, so it seems,” David said. He drummed his fingers on the breakfast table. “I think your idea of matching up people and places over the last two years is a good one, and I know that Liam is on the computer now. It doesn’t seem possible to me that someone could commit such a horrible crime, then go back to a normal life as if nothing ever happened.”

“That’s my point. And I still say…I don’t know, we’re
missing something, and I think it has to do with the
why,
and if we could just figure that out, we’d discover the
who.
”

David leaned back, shaking his head. “Well, there are plenty of theories. First, chalk it up to the Bermuda Triangle. Second, it
is
called Haunt Island.”

“We both know that a ghost—or even ghosts—didn’t commit those murders.”

“Agreed—I’m just throwing out the theories,” David said.

“Right,” Sean agreed. “Third theory—modern-day pirates, cleverly plotting. They committed gruesome murders and stole a boat and dumped Carlos Roca’s body overboard. But now Carlos Roca has been seen, so that theory is out. Okay, fourth theory. It was Carlos Roca, and he had friends—modern-day pirates—in on it. Fifth theory, Carlos was innocent, and he was hit on the head and is walking around suffering from amnesia. But that’s unlikely, considering the fact that there was an intensive manhunt going on for him after it first happened. Sixth theory—someone on the film crew was in on it with Carlos Roca. That’s why he’s alive and well, it’s how he managed to stay ‘missing’ all this time, and it’s why he seems to be following us now.”

“We’re still back to why,” David said. “All those people had good careers. What would make a professional with no record whatsoever suddenly commit murder?”

“That’s something we have to find out,” Sean said. “It’s going to be interesting, though. All of us so close together. And that’s how we’re going to stay. The film crew—or at least the majority of it—wasn’t expecting
anything bad to happen. They were working. They were in a place that was a pristine hangout for boaters. There was no reason to expect anything. And we know damned well that bad things happen. So…” Sean hesitated. “Maybe Katie should stay here, in Miami,” he said. “I asked Ted last night…but he wants in.”

“Katie won’t go back—you know your sister,” David said. “Look, I really think that we’re dealing with cowards here. The whole company wasn’t killed. Travis was probably taken by surprise. And as far as Carlos and Georgia and the boat…well, any way you look at it, it was one man who was the surprise, or was taken from the back in the dark. We’ll be all right. Marty and Jamie are fierce old pirates, we’ve got Liam, you and me. Once we’re on the island, we’ll have perimeter, with one us on guard at all times, maybe two of us. So here’s the thing. We do it or we don’t. And at this point, I say we do it.”

Sean nodded and called for the check.

It was a beautiful day for the trip across the straits from Miami to Haunt Island. The boats moved parallel across fairly calm seas, the sky was a pristine blue with only a few puffs of white clouds, and the sun shone down brilliantly throughout the day.

Seated in the companion seat, Vanessa was glad enough to laze the time away. Marty took the helm several times, and Jay and Sean spent the hours filming the voyage. Sean did a few minutes on the straits, the proximity of the Bahamas to Florida, and how the voyage would have been different in the eighteen hundreds when the wind played such an important role in
travel. They pointed out the area where Mad Miller’s pirate ship had supposedly gone down, and Sean gave his calculations on the currents of the time, estimating that the debris field had to extend farther than it had often been presumed.

Vanessa was roused for a few moments to do a two-minute take on her research regarding Dona Isabella, Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass, and how they had followed the same path when they had been making the film.

She was surprised when Sean filmed Jay, asking him about his feelings on the distribution of the film. Jay sounded sincere when he said that he believed that Georgia and Travis would have wanted it shown—they had been actors, after all—and that he hoped they could find the truth, see that the murderer was punished and be able to distribute the film feeling that they had justice and closure at last.

Jay’s speech seemed heartfelt.

From her comfortable perch, a warm poncho around her shoulders against the chill of the wind, Vanessa observed Sean’s questions as he interviewed Zoe and Jake, wanting to know everything that had happened on the island the day that Georgia and Travis had been murdered. Jake had been in charge of props, and he explained that it was easy to understand why they had all dismissed Georgia’s fears—any one of them might have played a prank.

When she had come screaming down the sand, he had been in his little tent, getting ready to come on out and share the champagne.

Zoe talked about her love of the period costumes
and relayed the story about the afternoon when they’d dressed Vanessa up as a deceased Dona Isabella and gotten a bit carried away, forgetting that she was floating in the ocean in heavy materials. She had last seen Travis that afternoon, when they had filmed the scene in which help had come to the island at last. She, too, had been in her tent, pleased with the film and hoping for great distribution and big notches on their résumés for future work.

Vanessa noted that Bartholomew was silent, watching their destination before them and listening intently to the interviews. He seemed thoughtful.

They arrived at the island at just about three that afternoon.

She rose and went aft, watching as they came upon Haunt Island and trying to remember when she had been there last. Now it all seemed such a blur. The island appeared lovely and tropical, totally benign in the bright sunlit day. She had thought she would feel something. She had thought that she’d be afraid. She wasn’t. It was just an island.

Lew Sanderson was standing at the end of the dock, waiting to greet them. He waved a welcome and caught the ties as the
Conch Fritter
drew in first. Vanessa hopped to the dock and was enveloped in a huge hug by the big man.

It felt good.

The
Claddagh
pulled into the dockage behind the
Conch Fritter.
Vanessa and Lew caught her ties, and soon everyone was standing on the dock. Lew greeted those he knew and met those he didn’t, and the next two hours were spent setting up camp on the island.
There was nothing terribly rustic about camping on the island; the tents were large, the camp bunks were not uncomfortable, they had an impressive barbecue area and a battery-operated coffeemaker, not to mention that showers could be had back at the boats—they were well supplied.

By the time all the work was done, they were exhausted, and Vanessa thought that they might have forgotten that terrible things had happened here. They had all seemed to work very well together, hauling boxes and bags to the beach, setting up the tents and then, when all was done, digging a pit and starting a fire on the beach. Sean had brought a good supply of torches as well, and as darkness settled, their area of the beach was still aglow. The sea remained calm and easy and the sound of the waves was lulling. She was amazed to enjoy the glow and the company as they worked together and finally sat down to a meal.

She, Jay, Sean and Barry had taken turns with cameras during the day, documenting their setup. She forgot that Barry was still filming as dinnertime rolled around—Zoe in charge that night, supervising Bill fondly as she barbecued hot dogs and hamburgers and warmed baked beans in a huge pot, and announcing—with a smile for the camera—that she also had spinach so that they could make certain the meal was healthful. They had to keep up their strength, of course.

Then they sat by the fire, eating. It seemed relaxed. But Vanessa was aware that five people had subtly been changing an important position throughout the day. Guard duty. As Sean took a seat beside her, she saw that his uncle Jamie was standing at the perimeter of the
group, watching the dock, the sea and the foliage. He was wearing a windbreaker, and she thought there was a bulge beneath his arm. Jamie was carrying a gun.

If there was tension within their group, Lew Sanderson didn’t seem to know it. He entertained them with a Bahamian tale about a talking raccoon, and they all laughed, and then he told them another story, his face dark and mysterious as it was caught in the glow of the fire. “They say we are in the Bermuda Triangle, but long before it had such a name, the people here knew that there was something special about the air. The earth herself is mysterious, and as man has come to learn all about technology and science, he has often forgotten that no matter how far we go, we are dots in the universe, and the universe itself is a mystery. Now, you know, my ancestors who came to these islands came as slaves, and they brought with them a certain magic that belonged to their ancestors. They were open to the world, open to life and death, and aware that all things were not to be seen. Nowadays, we claim that there are underwater forces here. There are the currents, there are the wicked wonders and destruction of the storms and hurricanes that ravage the area. Ah, yes! There are magnetic forces in the earth as well, and they cause confusion, the horizon itself can trick a pilot or a captain. But my people believed that there were gods and devils that dwelled on earth, between the realms of life and death. Forces, for good and for evil. Kiandra, the sea god, once appeared as an ugly thing in need before two sisters. The first spurned him and married a handsome man. The second felt pity, fed him and married him, and went to live with him in his fine kingdom in the sea, bearing
many children. The handsome man the sister married proved to be a
kishi,
an evil devil or demon. She had a child with a human head and a hyena head, and in the end, her husband devoured her. Her spirit remained, evil and bitter, and when Africans came here, many believed that what we call the Bermuda Triangle now was where the first sister’s bitter soul came to dwell and that now, while the sea god Kiandra and his wife seek to save those who travel the sea, the evil sister’s influence can make men crazy, can make the evil dead within the ocean rise and cause all kinds of havoc. There are those who believe that the magnetic forces that cause compasses to spin and ships and planes to go astray are merely the toys of the spirit of the evil sister, and that she teases her prey before she kills, just like a great cat of the sea.”

Zoe laughed softy, but the sound seemed a little nervous. “Lew! You don’t believe that story, do you?”

Lew smiled. “It is a tale, it is a legend. All people have tales and legends, and perhaps they come from a grain of truth.” He shrugged. “I do believe in good and evil, and they dwell within all of us.”

“On that, I’ll have more coffee!” Bill said. He stood, and having been sitting next to Zoe, he asked her, “Zoe, more coffee? You’re shivering.”

“I admit to being a little nervous,” she said.

He smiled at her. “Don’t be. I’ll protect you,” he said.

Watching them, Vanessa smiled. She hadn’t realized—though perhaps she should have—that Bill seemed to have a crush on Zoe. Ah, the slightly older woman. She smiled back at Bill. Maybe Zoe had a crush
on the younger man, as well. “Thanks,” Zoe said. “I’ll hold you to that!”

Well, that was good. Zoe would have Bill with her, and she wouldn’t be as nervous, and there was always safety in numbers.

“I think I’m just calling it a night,” Katie said, yawning. “I imagine we want to start out on a dive pretty early?” she asked.

“Actually, I was thinking just after twelve tomorrow,” Sean said. “I want to take some footage with the original film crew, each person talking a bit more about what they did. And we’ll take a walk down the beach, see what we see. Maybe discern if another boat might have come in during the night.”