Ghost Shadow

David took her home. She wondered that he was with her, and she felt a little numb, and a little awed. He probably wanted to be haunting the police station. He’d want to know what happened to Da

At her house, she ran up and showered the minute they were inside. The smell of death had seemed to permeate her. She scrubbed her hair several times. At last she emerged and wrapped into her terry robe.

David had evidently decided to use her brother’s shower-the scent of decay and death had been too much for him, too. He was out of his pirate garb and in Sean’s clothing, something she was certain he would explain and Sean would understand. He had made her something hot.

“Tea-with a good dose of whiskey,” he told her, handing her the cup.

“I’m all right. I’m really all right. I knew that Da

“Death is seldom gentle,” he told her.

She sipped the tea, and noted that it was very strongly laced with whiskey. She carried it out to the parlor and saw that Bartholomew was seated on the sofa, watching her with sorrowful eyes. “I wish I had realized, Katie. I can’t really…I don’t get scents and odors anymore. I would have stopped you. I tried to stop you, and you didn’t even see me.”

“It’s all right,” she murmured.

David had come behind her. He set his hands on her shoulders. “Go on up to bed, Katie. Try to sleep.”

“I can’t.”

“You will. I’ll be here.”

She nodded after a moment, draining the tea. The whiskey washed through her, warm and soothing. “All right.”

She gave him the cup and headed for the stairs. She heard him make a startled sound. On the first step, she turned back.

David was still standing in the middle of the parlor, holding her cup.

He was staring at the table.

The ledger, the Beckett family ledger was moving.

Bartholomew was pushing it toward him, of course. He didn’t see Bartholomew.

But he had to see the ledger moving.

She went on up the stairs. As he had said, despite all that was haunting her mind-or perhaps because of it-she slept.

He’d had one beer. One damned beer.

And it seemed that the ledger on the table was moving. It was open.

He was tired. So damned tired. And more disturbed than ever. When Katie had gone on into the pub, Liam had told him that the police had gone into Da

There had been no sign of books about the history of Key West.

There had been no money.

“You’re sure it’s what you saw, David?” Liam had asked him.

“Yes, I’m a photographer. I have pictures,” David told him.

“Then someone else let themselves into Da

“Liam, don’t do anything just yet. Give me a little more time before I get arrested myself, thrown off the island, or until Pete decides he’s not letting me move out the door.”

“David, I’m feeling pretty damned slimy right now,” Liam told him.

“Pretend I never trusted you. Just give me a little more time. I don’t know why-I’m feeling that I can almost touch the last piece of the puzzle.”

He hated what he was asking Liam to do. But he also knew that someone out there was wearing a facade of complete normalcy-and killing people under that cover.

The ledger had been moving. In his mind’s eye, anyway. It was subconsciously telling him that the answers were right in front of him-he had to find them.

He set Katie’s empty teacup down and walked toward the ledger. It was open to a page filled with elaborate script that was somewhat difficult to read. But he knew the book; it had been in the family forever. Craig had told him that Alice and Esther had decided that their role in life was to preserve family history. They had recorded births and deaths, and events that had occurred in Key West during their lives.

Before Alice and Esther had recorded in the book, the task had been taken on by Josiah Beckett, his great-grandfather. Before that, it had been Helena, youngest daughter of the first Craig Beckett. And before that, it had been Beckett himself who had kept the records.

None of that mattered. The book was open to a page that recorded when the territory of Florida had become a state, and when David Porter had brought down his Mosquito Squadron, and piracy had been brought to an end.

He read over and over the part about the assault on the ship, the death of Victoria and the lynching of Bartholomew. He read about his ancestor’s fury and insistence that an i

He definitely hadn’t been cursed, David thought. The first Craig Beckett had lived out a long and prosperous life.

The key turned in the outside lock and Sean O’Hara came in. David glanced at his watch. It was nearly 5:00 a.m. He should have been sleeping himself.

Sean came into the parlor. “Katie?” he asked.

“She went to bed several hours ago,” David said.

Sean nodded. “What a night, huh? Life is so-messed up, really. And then, maybe not. Maybe we all know that we’re mortal, and we live just like Poe suggested in ‘The Masque of the Red Death.’ Dance until we drop ourselves. A man was found dead-even the most dense person has to assume murdered, since it would have been impossible for him to stuff his own corpse in an effigy. The revelry continued though. Cities have lives of their own, I suppose. And since tourists didn’t know Da

Sean left off. “Did you wonder why I came home, David?” he asked then.

“Because you knew I was coming here,” David answered.

Sean nodded. “Bizarre, really. I knew that you hadn’t killed Tanya. Or, should I say, I believed that you hadn’t killed Tanya. But there was just something about the fact that you were going to be here. I didn’t know that you were seeing Katie, but I knew she wanted to open the museum. Maybe I knew that you would try to stop her. God knows, you’re the only one not trying to make a buck off of tragedy! But something is going on. Something that started when we were kids just out of school and heading into college. It’s still going on.” He reached into his pocket. “I’ve made a list.”

“Yeah?”

“You’re on it, and I’m on it.”

“Naturally.”

Sean came in and sat down on the end of the sofa, spreading out his list, made on a cocktail napkin.

In a neat row Sean had lined up names.

Pete Dryer

Pete Dryer’s family

David Beckett

Liam Beckett

Mike Sanderson

Sam Barnard

Sean O’Hara

Jamie O’Hara

Da

“I’ve made a similar list a dozen times in my mind,” David said. “We can scratch out Da

“And I’m going to scratch out you and me.”

“You can scratch out Jamie, your uncle, too. A dozen witnesses knew that he never left O’Hara’s that night,” David said.

“Okay, so that leaves Tanya’s brother, Sam Barnard, my cousin and a cop, Liam Beckett, and Pete Dryer, a major-league cop,” David said.

“That’s right.”

“My cousin was nowhere near the museum that night,” David said. “Pete was.”