Ghost Shadow

The house had been built sometime in the eighteen nineties, divided into four apartments in the nineteen seventies and had had little done to it since. If there was one thing David knew well, it was Key West architecture. Two nice old features remained-open beams held up the ceiling, and the original marble fireplace stood across from the entry.

He stepped into the room. “Da

But there was no reply. A quick look through all the rooms-kitchen, parlor, dining room, bedroom and bath-assured him that Da

A pile of books on the dining-room table drew David’s attention and he walked over to see what they were. He hadn’t thought of Da

They were all on Key West. One was on the New World discovery and Spanish settlement of the island, one was on David Porter, military rule and the end of piracy, and another was on the age of wrecking and salvage.

As he looked at the last, something fell out.

Money.

Ten thousand dollars.

Curiouser and curiouser, he thought.

Had Da

David wasn’t supposed to be in Da

He laid the bills out on the table along with the books and reached into his pocket for the small digital camera he carried as naturally as his wallet. He took photographs of the bills and then the books, then returned the bills where they had been and stacked the books in their original position. He quickly walked around the apartment, taking shots of each room.

At last, he left.

As he did so, he had the feeling that Da

Somehow, that didn’t seem to bode well for Da

Sergeant Andy McCluskey was at the reception desk when Katie reached the station. He greeted her warmly. Andy had been a few years older than she in high school, and had been with the police department for the past four years.

“Liam is pretty busy right now,” Andy told her. He leaned across the counter, his voice low. “Nasty business going on. He’s interviewing folks one by one.”

“Of course. Well, I suppose there are a lot of people he needs to interview,” Katie said.

“I can tell him that you’re here,” Andy offered.

“No, no, that’s all right, thank you,” Katie said.

“I really don’t know what you thought you were going to do here, anyway,” Bartholomew said.

She ignored him, thanked Andy again and headed back out into the sunshine.

“What are you trying to do?” Bartholomew demanded.

“I don’t know. But when we were by the hanging tree, I felt that we needed to be looking into more than we’re looking into. Let’s say that these murders were carried out by the same person. That’s kind of crazy in itself. Bizarre murders, or bizarre display of the victims. Over ten years apart. And both when people were suddenly reappearing in town. Sam Barnard is suddenly back. David is suddenly back.”

“That’s two people,” Bartholomew pointed out.

“My brother is due in soon.”

“Three people. What a horde.”

“Don’t be sarcastic. It’s not at all gentlemanly,” Katie told him.

“Hmm. Forgive me. You’re young. I decided that my function in death was to keep you alive, and if it takes sarcasm…”

His voice drifted. She saw that he wasn’t paying the least attention to her. He was looking down the street. “There she goes.”

“Who?”

“My lady in white.”

“From the story you just told me, you were in love with Victoria.”

He nodded.

“Is she Victoria?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know who she is.” He gave Katie his attention again. “Okay, so, you wanted old police records-that’s why we were visiting Liam. But I don’t think you were going to get anything. David might be able to get information from Liam, but they don’t hand out evidence to everyone on the street. We’re not going to get any further on this today so maybe we should look into something else. Maybe we can find out who the lady in white is through old records. Let’s go to the library.”

“Okay, but aren’t you a bit fickle? What about Victoria?” Katie asked.

“I know, in my bones-or lack thereof-that Victoria has moved on, and is happy. The woman in white needs help.” Bartholomew smiled. “She needs me. So…let’s go do some research at the library!”

After spending some time reading the history of Key West, Katie looked up at Bartholomew. She glanced at the book he was reading, and was surprised to note that he had managed to turn a page.

She looked around quickly, but they were the only two seated in that section of the library. Leaning across the table, she saw that he was studying wreckers.

“Anything?” she asked him.

“Yes!”

“What?” Katie asked.

Bartholomew looked at her. “I found my lady in white. Look-look at the picture. That’s her! You can see the picture has her in the same white dress we’ve seen her in. She’s Lucinda-Lucy-Wellington. Her parents died of a fever, and she and her brother were left in penury. The brother earned command of a ship. She watched every day for him to return from a voyage to Boston. Captain Wellington was caught in a storm just off the south side of the island. Lucy’s house was near O’Hara’s, and she spent the storm atop the widow’s walk, praying the ship would come home safely. The wreckers discovered the ship, but not the body of Captain Wellington. Some say that Lucy cast herself to her death from the same widow’s walk she had paced, and others say that she fell, trying to get a better view down to the shore when they were bringing in the flotsam and jetsam-and the bodies that washed up.”

“You were here then,” Katie reminded him.

He nodded. “Yes, I wasn’t hanged until a few years later.”

“But you didn’t know Lucy?”

He shook his head. “She might have been broke, but she was descended from…a better quality of people. I was a gentleman-surely you know that! But back then, social strata were strict. No matter what my demeanor, ma

“Bartholomew, I will try,” she said firmly.

He smiled. “Look, Katie, I’ve turned another page.”

“That’s great. Can we keep reading then?”

“Aha! I just found a reference to your house, Katie. It was sold to Shamus O’Hara in eighteen twenty-nine. He purchased it from a John Moreland, who had bought it from John Whitehead. Am I ever glad I was named Bartholomew! They were all John in those days. Thank the Lord.” He looked up at her suddenly. “Imagine that, Katie. Your ancestors would have watched me on the day that I was hanged. And they certainly didn’t lift a finger to stop the injustice of my execution.”