Ghost Shadow

She kept her glass in front of her lips. “You died here.”

“Yes, I died here. I was snatched out of bed and dragged down to the hanging tree-for an act of piracy I did not commit. A bastard pirate named Eli Smith attacked an unarmed American vessel out in the straits, but when he was confronted by the authorities, he swore I was the guilty party, and I was hanged before the truth could be known. I was dead by the time a friend-the original Craig Beckett-came around to decry the act and tell them that I had truly turned merchant when my privateering days were over, and it was Eli Smith who attacked the vessel in the eight-gun sloop Bessie Blue. The true tragedy is that I, of all men, would have never attacked that ship. I was madly in love with Victoria Wyeth, and she died in the attack. Her father became a madman because of her death.”

“Why did they believe Eli Smith and assume you had attacked the ship?” Katie asked.

“Because Victoria had been the love of my life, and we were going to run away together. Her father sent her out ahead, pla

She forgot where they were, forgot that people might be watching, and set her hand over his. “Bartholomew, I am so sorry.”

He nodded. “Well, there were interesting years, and dreary years. I wanted to get to know Hemingway, he was an odd and interesting fellow-and that Carl Tanzler, he was certainly a curiosity. I wondered what I was doing here. My Victoria seemed to be long gone. Then I came across you, and well, if nothing else, Katie-oke is entertaining, and I think I’ve decided that I’m hanging around because you so obviously need help and guidance!”

“Bartholomew, that’s very sweet, but seriously, I’m all right.”

“I’d not be leaving you now, dear girl, for all the tea in China!”

“That’s kind, Bartholomew, but if the time comes when there’s a better place for you, I want you to go,” Katie told him earnestly.

He shook his head. “There’s the strange thing. Maybe I have waited all these years for you.”

“Really?”

“Well, you see, I was avenged,” Bartholomew told her.

“You were?”

“Oh, yes, and that’s probably why I like your boy David-even if I remain skeptical, wary and watchful. You see, his ancestor-Craig Beckett from many, many years ago-came back into town and saw that Eli Smith was hanged for his part in the attack and Victoria’s death. Maybe that’s what I hear!” Bartholomew said with a touch of bitterness. “Smith, eyes bulging, organs giving out, as he swung from the tree!”

As Katie glanced across the room, she saw a woman leaning against the wall near the ladies’ room. Her hair was loose, hanging down her back, and her clothing wasn’t the elegant apparel of a nineteenth-century lady, but more like that of a woman who worked hard in her home throughout the day. Her blouse was white cotton, open at her throat, which bore angry, red marks. She seemed very sad. Katie had seen her before, but the woman never spoke to her.

The ghost saw a table where a group of young children sat with a mother and father. The kids were drinking Shirley Temples and munching on fries.

The ghost drifted over to the table. She took an empty chair.

She looked longingly at the children.

The mother perked up, looking around. She nudged her husband, uncomfortable and not knowing why.

The husband asked for the check, and the family left.

The ghost faded away, still sad.

“I don’t believe that Da

“You’re back to the same question,” Bartholomew told her. “Were they both committed by the same person? Or was this a copycat killing?”

Katie stood, deciding not to order any food. She left the girl bills that were double the price of the iced tea.

“Let’s go. I want to see if Liam is at the police station.”

“What? Why?” Bartholomew asked her.

“I don’t know-you said something that made me start thinking that somehow we’re missing something.”

“Like what?”

“Motive.”

“The killer is crazy in the head, that’s a motive!” Bartholomew said. “I’d hate to tell you a few of the things I saw in my day-just because someone could get away with it.”

But Katie was already moving. She heard Bartholomew sigh-and follow her.

It took a few minutes to get through to Liam on the phone, but David knew his cousin would find the time to talk to him. Eventually, Liam came on.

“Sorry, David, this place is insane today. Procedure. We’re bringing in everyone who worked at the strip club, and we’re trying to track down anyone who was at the strip club that night.”

“Understandable. What about Mike Sanderson? Has anyone pursued that angle?”

“We’ve put through some calls. Apparently, he became a salesman, and he isn’t working by computer. We’ve reached his wife, and she said he was traveling. She gave us all his numbers, but we haven’t reached him yet. We’ve contacted the Cleveland police to let them know that we need their help in a cold-case investigation.”

“So no one knows where he is right now, right?”

“No. But to go assuming he might be in the Keys or Key West again is a long shot, David.”

“I know. But it’s not the time to ignore any suspicion, however thin.”

“We’re not ignoring it, I promise. I don’t have much time. I have to get back to questioning folks. No one is under arrest-everyone is coming in willingly, so we have to make it all quick and cordial.”

“No word yet on Da

“Nothing. There’s an APB out on him, and the black-and-whites have gone by his place to try to find him several times. We’re getting a search warrant.”

“Thanks.”

“So,” Liam said carefully, “what are you doing?”

“Following hunches.”

“Nothing illegal, please.”

“Liam, if I do anything illegal, I sure as hell don’t intend to tell you and compromise your position.”

“David-”

“Liam, I have the police reports and all the old crime-scene photos and info to study. Don’t worry, all right?”

“Keep me posted,” Liam said with a groan.

“I will,” David said.

And he would. After his next stop, he’d go by the station and turn in the credit card. The police might have already questioned the kid who had been with Stella.

He was glad to have the card; he wanted to talk to the kid. But he was pretty sure that Stella hadn’t been murdered by a chance john. Whoever had killed her had premeditated the murder. She’d been an easy mark. The display of her body had been far more important than her life.

He reached the house where Da

It was on the second floor. He climbed up the stairs, came to the door and rapped on it loudly.

There was no answer.

He hesitated, looked around guiltily, then pulled out his key chain and looked for a small tool that had helped him a dozen times in his travels in third-world nations when his belongings had wound up behind locked doors. He jimmied the little tool in the lock and it gave easily. This was the kind of thing that Liam didn’t need to know.