Ghost Night (8 page)

“The Bermuda Triangle did not decapitate two people and leave their heads and arms in the sand,” Sean said.

“Ugh. Scary!” Jaden said.

“Who says that there isn’t some form of really vicious creature making its home in the Triangle?” Ted asked.
“They’re finding new species of fish constantly—things like the megamouth shark that was supposed to be extinct. They
know
that giant squid exist, but they know almost nothing about the habits of the creatures,” he said triumphantly.

“A giant squid didn’t do it either, Ted,” Sean said.

“Ah! But what happened to the boat? If there’s an explanation, go ahead—you find it!”

“A half-dozen law enforcement agencies, including the Coast Guard, couldn’t find it—I’m not so sure I’m going to,” Sean said.

“And what about the killer? If it’s a man, he’s out there somewhere. Or, like I said, he’s a victim of the Triangle. The Bermuda Triangle harbors some form of evil, and that evil got into the man, and then the man killed the actor and actress.”

“You sure it wasn’t aliens?” Sean asked dryly.

“Evil aliens living in the Triangle!” Ted agreed.

“I don’t think that Sean’s accepting any of your theories, my love,” Jaden said. “Sean, before he starts to argue UFOs, I suggest you get out of here. I’m going to get right on this piece—I’m really excited, it just might be something unique and historic. I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Be good to that young woman,” Ted advised. “Poor thing!”

“Yes, be kind,” Jaden admonished.

They were staring at him like a pair of proud parents on prom night. “I’ll do my best,” Sean said. He offered a grimace, waved and left the shop.

Key West was a small island. Pretty soon, everyone would be talking. And like Ted, most people liked to
believe there was
something
about the Bermuda Triangle. Or aliens.

As he headed out, his phone rang. It was Liam Beckett. “I’ve checked out everything possible on your Miss Loren.”

“She’s not exactly
my
Miss Loren,” Sean protested.

“Well, she came to you,” Liam said. “Anyway, she appears to be everything that she claims on paper. She went to college, and she’s worked on prestigious projects since. Apparently, she invested about fifty thousand dollars into filming the movie and her partner, Jay Allen, did the same. But it doesn’t seem that she’s in any financial trouble—in fact she was recently very well paid for a project. I have a list of her work, some of which can be pulled up on YouTube.”

“I don’t know why I had you do extensive work on her background,” Sean said. “I didn’t think that you’d find anything.”

“She’s the real deal, so it seems.”

“Thanks.”

“So?”

“So?”

“So, if you’re doing this—I want in on it. I have to apply quickly for the time. Hey, you two are going to need me. Yeah, yeah, you’re tough guys, but I’m a cop, and three of us who completely trust each other are better than two. You need me,” Liam repeated.

“You were always invited, whatever the end choices. I just didn’t think that you could get off with everything that has gone on lately.”

“Oh, no. I’m there,” Liam said. “I’ll see you later.”

“You will?”

Liam laughed. “Katie-oke at O’Hara’s. David sips a beer and munches on conch fritters every night she works, as if he’s still afraid to let her out of his sight.”

Yes, I understand that feeling. So why am I even considering doing this?

Because he knew, too, what it was like not to know the truth, to mistrust your best friends and wonder as the years rolled by.

“You are going to be following the route of the film crew, aren’t you?” Liam asked.

He wanted to protest again that he wasn’t working alone, that the business venture was between him and David Beckett.

But David had already handed the decision over to him.

“Yes,” he said simply. “I’ll see you later tonight.”

He headed over to the Beckett house; that afternoon, they were interviewing for positions for the shoot.

One, he knew, was already taken. Two. Liam was in, as well. And if they were all going, well, then, he could guarantee that his sister would be with them, as well.

There would be two boats, as always planned.

It occurred to him that the film crew who met the tragic and traumatic fate had also started out from Key West with two boats. Wasn’t that the point? He mocked himself.

They were re-creating history. Seeking the truth.

And they were probably fools.

But, he determined, they’d be fools who came on the journey aware and alert—and well armed.

The Smallest Bar in Key West was very small. Vanessa had gotten to know several of the bartenders, and
they were nice—even when she just wanted to order a soda or a bottle of water. She was certain that they knew who she was—her picture had been in the papers and on the news.

The afternoon had gone well. The warm shower, food and the Irish car bomb the bartender had suggested had done a number on her and she’d slept like the dead for almost four hours. Once she awoke and thought about the night, she didn’t want to be alone and she didn’t want to sit by the phone waiting to see if Sean was going to call her.

She decided to head south on Duval for O’Hara’s. Katie should have been setting up the karaoke by then. Not that she had to set up much—it was her uncle’s bar, and nothing was going to happen to any of her equipment there.

As she walked down the street, she knew that many of the shopkeepers and servers at outside restaurants watched her as she went by. Just another reminder that people would not quickly forget her face, or the story that was associated with it.

Such gruesome murders did not occur without a great deal of sensationalism.

She wondered sometimes if whoever had killed Travis and Georgia—she didn’t believe for a minute that it had been Carlos Roca—had relished the attention that the killings had brought. The police had questioned both her and Jay about their enemies. To the best of her knowledge, she didn’t have any. Nor did Jay. They had led simple lives, gone to college, gone out into the world, worked really hard and survived. That had come from a lot of twenty-hour days at film school, but they had paid
off. She knew she was lucky, too; she knew the water, thanks to her father.

Ah, her father! As far as her parents knew, right now she was just in the Keys with Katie. She knew they wouldn’t be happy if they knew what she was doing—trying to retrace the steps she had previously taken and find out if there was an answer anywhere. Maybe, if she had convinced Sean, they would find nothing. But she would have the satisfaction of knowing that she had tried everything that was in her power to find out the truth.

When she reached O’Hara’s, she found that Katie and David were seated at the bar. Katie was ready to go when the time rolled around, and she was snacking on conch fritters with David and sipping a soda. The two were in deep conversation when she arrived. She wondered what they were talking about—they shut up the moment they saw her.

David Beckett stood politely, offering her the stool next to Katie. She tried to tell him to sit, but he wouldn’t, so she thanked him and sat down. “I hear we’re on,” Katie said happily.

“We are?” Vanessa asked.

“Sean called and asked if I was sure it was a direction I willing to go in—and I must say I’m intrigued. We’ve had Liam studying what information he can from various sources, and it is one of the most disturbing mysteries of recent time,” David told her.

Katie looked at Vanessa with triumph. She had an “I told you so” look in her eyes.

“We started interviewing for researchers and our film crew today,” David said.

“And how did that go?”

David grinned. “Sean said that not one of the people we saw had your credentials. But some seemed okay. We actually have a number of friends who are top-notch, but most of them are already committed to projects—it’s tough, even for the best people, so when something is up, you commit fast. And I admit, we didn’t set this up ahead very far, which might have helped in that area.”

“I’m still sure you can find the people you need,” Vanessa said.

“Oh, yeah. But it would have been easier to hit the folks we know—and whose work and work ethic we know,” David said.

“Everyone has to start somewhere,” Vanessa said.

“That’s true, and now I have to go to work,” Katie said. “I’m counting on both of you if it’s a dead crowd,” she added.

Vanessa smiled and shook her head. “A group number!” Katie said.

There were about twenty people in the bar when Katie started up, singing a number with a friend of hers, Clarinda, who was also one of the night servers at O’Hara’s. The two sang a country number that was beautiful and sexy. By the time they finished, other people were walking in the door.

“I don’t think that she’s going to have any problem with this crowd not getting up,” Vanessa told David.

“Probably not. We’re off the hook. Oh, and she’s trying to get Clarinda to get up enough confidence to take it over when she’s not here,” David said.

“Oh?”

David smiled. “You don’t think we’ll all be going on this excursion without Katie, do you?”

Vanessa smiled. “So it’s a done deal?” she asked.

“It seems to be so,” David told her. “I heard about your dive today—and that you might have discovered a relic of some kind.”

“Hopefully. And hopefully, it is a real relic, and not a watch lost recently that encrusted quickly,” Vanessa said.

“I don’t think so,” David said, “Sean has a good eye for things like that. The sea can play games, that’s for certain, but anyone who has grown up diving down here has found something lost from a boat from some period of time—he’d probably know if it was just a twenty-year-old barnacle crustation.”

“I found it awfully easily.”

“The current is always moving and the sand is always shifting,” David reminded her.

She faced the doorway where, in ones, twos and threes, others were now coming into the bar. She saw Marty and he waved to her as he headed up to Katie and her computer area to request a song.

“Ah, good, Marty is here. We’ll be getting a good sea shanty,” David said.

She smiled at him and noted the door again.

She stiffened where she sat at the stool, dead straight.

She didn’t believe it, didn’t believe that she was seeing the man who was walking in.

A man obviously looking for someone.

Her.

S
ean arrived at his uncle’s bar around nine-thirty. Katie-oke was in full swing.

He saw David at one of the high-top tables in the rear of the karaoke area and came to sit by him at one of the free bar stools. There was one left; Bartholomew sat in it as if he and Sean had come in together like any friends out for a drink together.

David acknowledged Bartholomew’s presence with a nod. He could hear Bartholomew at times and see his faint outline at certain times, too. Sean didn’t think that David had any kind of a sixth sense, but Bartholomew had become so entwined in the events that had nearly cost all of them their lives that David did have a sense of him. It was often a relief for Sean to be with his sister and David, who knew about Bartholomew’s presence. That way, when the pirate goaded him, he could reply without appearing to be talking to an imaginary friend.

“Liam here yet?” he asked.

“Not yet. But I talked to him after you did. Seems he’s in on this one way or the other,” David said.

“Which is great—having a skilled cop with us cannot be bad,” Sean said.

“You really think that we might have trouble?” David asked.

“Two people were murdered, maybe three, when they were making the film. I think that the only rational explanation is that Carlos Roca was the killer, and that he’s out there somewhere. But will he come after our crew? Probably not. He got away with murder—and a good boat. I don’t think he’d come back. Is there the possibility of something going wrong, such as idiot drug smugglers, human traffickers? Sure, always. We both know that. So it’s good to have a cop along. We can watch each other’s backs. Yeah, I like that,” Sean said.

“The pickings seemed slim today at the interviews,” David said.

Sean shrugged. They had talked to a couple of “possible people.” He wished he could have Frazier, from Key Largo, but he was working on a
National Geographic
project. There were other friends he’d known for years and years. Of course, they could delay the project. But now, he didn’t want to.

“We’ll be all right,” David said. “You know Katie is coming. And she can help with lights, sound…cameras. She says she hung around you enough when you first got into it, and we’ve been out doing some fooling around filming on the reefs since we decided to do this.”

“Two and two,” Bartholomew said. “Always close enough to be in easy vision, that’s the way to do it.”

David gazed in his direction. “And which boat will you be on?”

“Whichever appears to be more comfortable. Or, perhaps, more in danger,” he said.

“You’ll leave Lucinda, Lucy—your lady in white—for that kind of time?” Sean asked Bartholomew. He realized, oddly enough, that as much as he didn’t want to be “haunted,” he did think it was a good thing that Bartholomew was ready for the trip.

“Can’t leave you folks alone. And who knows, maybe Lucy will be up for the voyage. Though she does hate the water. And boats,” Bartholomew admitted.

“A long time to be away,” Sean noted, mumbling so that only David could hear him.

Bartholomew slowly lifted an aristocratic brow. “Time is irrelevant, my dear boy. You must remember, Lucy and I have both been drifting these streets for many, many a year now. We’ll be fine with a few weeks apart—as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He frowned. “Alas, you should be worrying about a living vision of grace and beauty!” Bartholomew said gravely, looking toward the booths in the bar area.

“What?” Sean turned to stare.

Vanessa Loren was seated in one of the booths, oblivious to his presence—and all else, including the slightly inebriated college student attempting a rap number on stage. She was facing a man; Sean could see shoulders and a head of dark hair. She was speaking passionately, and seemed to be upset.

“Who is it?” Sean asked David, frowning. “I didn’t know Vanessa was in here.”

“I don’t know who it is, and you didn’t ask about her. We were talking. She saw that fellow in the doorway
and excused herself, telling me it was an old friend she was surprised to see.”

“Really?” Sean said.

So who was the guy?

Yeah, right, and what was it to him?

That morning she had attracted him. In fact, he realized, he was more than attracted, and he didn’t want to be. He wanted everything professional, every single decision he made. But she had slipped into him, mind, soul and substance, since he had first seen her sitting here in O’Hara’s, and he wondered if that was why he had wanted to fight anything she had to say to him—it was far safer, it was far more
professional
not to be attracted to an employee, especially when employment started out with such a story.

All right, face it, he didn’t want her bothered by anyone. All right, in all honesty, he wasn’t sure what he wanted, but he didn’t want her there with anyone else.

He had no right to feel that way—he still barely knew her. A day of diving did not a long-term friend make, nor did standing near her, realizing just what a chemical mystique she possessed, give him the right to go interrupting her conversations with other men.

He stood. He suddenly felt as if he were a jealous boyfriend, irked that his girlfriend was flirting with someone else. Ridiculous feeling—but she had pursued him, determined on her course of action. And people
had
been murdered. He’d agreed to what she wanted—he did have a right to find out why she appeared to be so disturbed.

If she was happy speaking with an old friend, fine.
But if she wasn’t, well, she had appealed to him for help in one way already.

Even as he approached the booth, he didn’t think that this was anyone with whom Vanessa had an intimate relationship. They were on opposite sides of the booth. Her hands went from the table to the air as she spoke but never touched his. When he was speaking, she sat leaning back, arms crossed over her chest, and she seemed annoyed.

He reached the end of the booth. The man was talking, but he fell silent when Sean arrived and started to get up. He was about Vanessa’s age, tall, well built and well bronzed, as if he spent a lot of time in the sun.

Sean set a hand on his shoulder. “Sit, sit, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt a conversation. I just came by to say hello to Vanessa.”

“Hello, Sean,” Vanessa said, her voice tight.

“Sean—Sean O’Hara?” the man asked.

“Yes. And…you are?”

The young man stood quickly, offering his hand. “Jay. Jay Allen.”

Jay Allen.

Producer, director and the man who had lost a small fortune because of the murders on Haunt Island.

“Please, sit down, please, please, join us,” Jay said.

Vanessa didn’t seem to want to have anyone—more specifically him—join them. Her jaw was set at a rigid angle and she stared at Jay as if her eyes were vivid blue daggers.

He was definitely going to join them.

Vanessa didn’t move; she didn’t look away from Jay
and she appeared rigidly angry. Sean slid in beside Jay as he scooted to the inside edge of the booth.

“Frankly, I’m here to apply for work—with you,” Jay said.

Sean thought that Vanessa kicked Jay under the table.

“Oh?” Sean asked.

Jay nodded. “I heard that Vanessa was down here and that there were filmmakers about to embark on a historical documentary. I was working—filming tourists while they played with dolphins—in the Bahamas.”

“I see,” Sean said.

“I’m— Honestly, I know everything—or at least something about everything—from shooting, lighting, sound, editing, you name it. Seriously, ask Vanessa. Oh, and I have a boat. It’s got some equipment. I can work anything on any vessel you’ve got, my diving certificate is a master’s and I wash dishes,” he said. “I’ve directed, but don’t worry—it’s not an obsession. I can take direction, as well.”

Jay seemed earnest. It was just too bizarre—him being here, right after he had agreed to film in the direction Vanessa had petitioned.

Or maybe it wasn’t bizarre at all. Vanessa was here. Maybe she’d been elected to be the one to get under his skin and get it all going.

He stared at Vanessa. Obviously, she knew what he was thinking. Or she had known exactly what his thoughts might naturally be once Jay had shown up.

“I didn’t know Jay was coming in,” she said flatly.

“Sure,” he said.

“Hey, look, I just arrived with a tremendous amount
of hope,” Jay said. “I went down like a lead balloon in all that, you have to realize.”

“Two—possibly three—people are dead,” Vanessa said sharply.

“Oh, of course! I mean, that’s the most important part of all this, the really tragic part,” Jay said. “And they deserve justice. And if Carlos is innocent and out there somewhere…alive, well, we owe the truth to him, too, right? And if he did murder poor Travis and Georgia, and he didn’t get swallowed up by the Bermuda Triangle, he deserves to go to prison. Or be executed. The whole thing
screams
for answers, don’t you agree?”

“Answers, yes,” Sean agreed. “Whether there’s a prayer in hell that a set of filmmakers could get the answers, I don’t know.”

“I’m good, I swear, ask Vanessa,” Jay said.

“Vanessa?” Sean asked politely.

“He’s good. He knows boats and he can dive,” she said, still not facing Sean. Her cheeks seemed flushed.

“I’ll take it all under consideration,” Sean said. “And, of course, discuss it with my partner.”

He started to rise.

“Please. Please consider me,” Jay said. He sounded humble. Sincere.

And desperate.

“I can’t tell you what it means to me. Honestly—yes, yes, other than the dead—this didn’t affect anyone as badly as me. I can’t tell you… I still spend my life wondering,” Jay said.

Sean shook his head. “There’s not even a real suggestion that we can find any answers,” he said.

“Please,” Jay repeated.

“I’ll discuss it with the others,” Sean said. He left then, aware that Vanessa’s eyes were following him as he walked across the room.

He hadn’t realized that Bartholomew had been behind him until he felt the pressure when the ghost bumped into him.

“Such a skeptic!” Bartholomew said.

“Sorry, I don’t like it.”

“Don’t like what?” Bartholomew demanded.

“I decide to go her way—and suddenly her old friend is here, asking for a job.”

“She didn’t know he was going to come here,” Bartholomew said.

“Are you sure?”

“She seems honest. I don’t think she knew.”

“Either that, or she was just hoping to use David and me as saps.”

“Ouch. There’s a chip on your shoulder, my friend. Wait—better call it a boulder.”

“I intend to be careful,” Sean said.

“So—what is there to be so careful about? I’d say that it’s natural. If you’d been involved in something like that and you heard that someone was doing anything that touched upon the mystery, wouldn’t you jump it on it like a starving tick on an Irish wolfhound?”

“A starving tick on an Irish wolfhound?” Sean repeated.

“I make my point—and if you tell me no, I’ll call you a liar of the worst kind.”

“All right, yes, I’d be after anything that could get me close again,” Sean admitted. He paused. His sister
was singing an old Beatles number, giving all due honor to the Fab Four. He paused, clapping, and watching David clap, watching the pleasure on his face. The world seemed so strange. David Beckett was seriously in love with Katie. It was nice. It was the kind of thing you had to admire—and envy.

He gave himself a mental shake. He’d had his share of relationships, most of which had ended decently, and he was long past the stage where he understood anyone who tried to hook up with a stranger in a bar purely for the purpose of sex. But somehow, looking at his sister and David, he felt a strange sense of emptiness he’d never known. He’d liked his life; come and go as you please, come and go anywhere in the world. Appreciate family and old friends, and look for new adventures. But now…

He took his stool back at the high-top table with David.

“So?” David asked.

“That is Jay Allen—the director of the movie that went so astray,” Sean explained.

“Ah, the plot thickens,” David said.

“He thinks it’s strange that Jay just appeared,” Bartholomew said, rolling his eyes. He jumped up suddenly.

“What? What is it?” Sean asked sharply.

“Lucinda lingers just outside. You’ll excuse me…?” Bartholomew asked.

“Why doesn’t Mistress Lucinda just come in?” Sean asked. “Damn, Bartholomew, the way you jumped up…I thought something had happened. Invite the lovely and ethereal Miss Lucy in.”

He shuddered. “Good God, she’d never!” he said.

“Wait—are you insulting my uncle’s establishment?” Sean teased.

“No, you’re forgetting that such an establishment as O’Hara’s didn’t really exist in my lady’s day. Quite frankly, there was a house of disrepute on this very corner back then, and it was certainly no place where Lucinda would come. That’s why she wanders so much. Of course, she knows that it’s not a house of prostitution now, but still…memories will linger.”

With a touch to his hat, he was gone. Sean watched him. Out on Duval, a rather staggered trail of tourists was wandering by. Oblivious to them, Bartholomew met his Lucy, his lady in white, in the street. He took both her hands in his own and looked down into her eyes, laughing at something she said. The tourists continued to move on by…smiling, chatting to one another, unaware of the tenderness that went on beneath their noses. One young woman paused and looked in their direction, and then smiled. The young man at her side paused as well, asking her what she saw, what made her smile, so it appeared. She shrugged and replied, stood on her toes and briefly kissed his lips, and then kept moving.

Sean saw Liam beyond the door. Like the young woman, he paused, as if sensing something there. But he didn’t see the ghostly duo. He shrugged and came on in. He took the seat Bartholomew had vacated.

Liam knew about Bartholomew. One night, they had tried to explain. Liam tried to believe them; he just couldn’t. He didn’t see Bartholomew, or hear his voice. He didn’t show his skepticism, but Sean knew it was there. Liam seemed to think they were victims of a
shared hysterical hallucination, but he didn’t voice his thoughts or his doubts.