“Down on Duval. He was looking up at the strip club. He faded to nothing the minute he saw me.”
“I think that, unlike our other ghosts, Danny may know who killed him,” Katie said.
“Have you told anyone that he’s dead?” Bartholomew asked.
She shook her head.
“Why not?”
Katie sighed deeply. “Who is going to believe me? What am I going to say?”
“Well, that is a problem. You might suggest to someone that you believe that he’s dead.”
“Yes. But I don’t think they need me for such a suggestion. No one has been able to find him.”
Bartholomew waved a hand in the air. “They might believe that he killed Stella Martin, and that he’s in hiding. I’m pretty sure that’s what the lieutenant believes. When he left the station, he told Liam Beckett that he was sorry, but that he was going to damned well take care of the whole Danny Zigler disappearing act.”
“Katie!”
The sharp sound of her name startled her. She glanced up the stairway.
Sean was awake. He hurried down the stairs, his hair tousled, a worried frown twisting his features. He came to her at the table, looking around.
“What are you doing?” he asked her.
“I’m reading the Beckett family book,” she told him.
“Who were you talking to?” he demanded.
“I wasn’t talking.”
“Katie, I heard you-loud and clear.”
“No one, Sean.”
“Katie?”
She was suddenly weary of the doubt from her own brother. “Isn’t that what you taught me to say, Sean? People will think that you’re crazy, don’t ever tell them that you speak to ghosts?”
Sean groaned. “Oh, God, Katie, please!”
“Sean, I’m telling you the truth!”
He walked away from her, slamming his palm against his forehead. “I should never leave you. Screw the whole career thing. My only sister is going to wind up locked away in a nuthouse.”
“Thank you. Thank you so much for the vote of confidence!”
“Katie, the dead are-dead.”
“Fine. As you say. Therefore, I wasn’t talking to anyone.”
He stared at her and walked to the end of the table.
Right where Bartholomew was sitting.
He walked by Bartholomew, pacing. “All right, Katie, you talk to the dead. If you talk to the dead, why don’t you mumbo jumbo up one of the murdered girls and ask her who killed them?” Sean demanded.
“They don’t know who killed them.”
“Right.”
“The killer walked up behind them with some kind of plastic bag, slipped it over their heads and then strangled them.”
“How convenient. They never saw his face.”
“Well, it’s true,” she said stubbornly.
He reached for the chair at the end of the table. “Call one of them. Let me ask a few questions through you.”
He started to sit. She gasped as Bartholomew stood and angrily tugged at the chair. To Katie’s amazement, it moved.
And Sean plunked down on the floor.
“What the hell?” he muttered.
Katie cast Bartholomew a glance and hurried to help her brother to his feet, but Sean was already up.
And confused. He gripped the chair hard before sitting in it again.
He stared at Katie, folding his hands slowly before him. “Katie, you’re beautiful. And brilliant. And you have the voice of a lark. You love it here, you want to live and work here, and that’s all great. But maybe you shouldn’t be here. Maybe you’re just too steeped in the history-and water sports,” he added dryly.
“Sean, I talked to ghosts when I was in school, in New York, and in Boston,” Katie said.
“Is there a ghost in here now?” Sean asked.
“Yes.”
“One of the dead women?”
“No.” Sean was waiting. “A pira-a privateer named Bartholomew,” she said. “He moved the chair because you were mocking me.”
“Bartholomew. Bartholomew, can you hear me?” Sean called out loudly in a deep voice.
“Will you tell him that I’m dead-not deaf?” Bartholomew demanded.
“He said that he’s dead, not deaf,” Katie said.
Her brother shook his head. “Katie, I want to believe you. If he’s here, why can’t I see him?”
“Why can’t he see you?” Katie asked Bartholomew. “By the way, you can ask the questions yourself. I don’t need to repeat them.”
“He can’t see me the way some people can’t hear a tempo, the same way some people have no empathy for others, the same… He doesn’t have the right sense for it, and he just isn’t willing to try,” Bartholomew said. “No insult-most people don’t.”
“He says that you don’t have a sixth sense,” Katie said.
“Why is he here?”
“To protect you, of course!” Bartholomew said.
“He wants to protect me,” Katie said.
“Tell him that I’m home now.”
“He can see that.”
“So why won’t he leave?”
“Because he’s got the sense and intuition of a peg leg!” Bartholomew said.
“You’ve got the sense and intuition of a peg leg,” Katie told her brother.
“Lord help us all!” Sean muttered.
“All right, Katie, he’s your brother, but he’s just about daft,” Bartholomew said. He walked to the book. She saw him concentrate.
Then he picked it up; it floated in the air.
He let it fall with a heavy thud.
Sean leapt out of his chair, staring. He looked at Katie, then at the book. Naturally, he picked up the book, searching it for wires.
“I told you,” Katie said, “I am good friends with this fine fellow, Bartholomew.”
Sean set down the book. “Katie… Look, whatever this was, whatever you see…hear, you still have to keep it quiet. Do you understand? A man like David will think you’re crazy.”
“I didn’t think that you were happy about David to begin with,” Katie said.
“David was my friend. An all-right guy. But he’s bitter, tainted. Life hit him hard, and now he’s back, and there’s been another murder. It’s almost like someone is trying to frame him-or he is a murderer and brilliant and I’ll have to shoot myself when I haven’t saved you from him.”
“He’s not a murderer.”
“And how do you know that for a fact?”
“Because he was sleeping with me when the last murder was committed.”
Sean groaned. “Oh, good God, I don’t want details.”
“You asked!”
“All right, then. Here’s the truth of it. He’s gone off and gotten rich on his own, and pretty damned famous and respected in his field, as well. He isn’t going to stay here. He hates Key West. He’s going to care for you-and leave you.”
“When he leaves, I’ll be glad of the time we shared,” Katie said stubbornly.
Sean looked around the room. “Bartholomew, talk some sense into her.”
Sean started for the stairs.
“Sean,” Katie said.
“What?” he turned to look at her, a hand on the banister.
“Danny Zigler is dead.”
Sean let out a long, low groan. “Do you happen to know who killed him? I mean, does he happen to know who killed him? Or where he is, for that matter?”
She shook her head. “He-he doesn’t really know how to be a ghost yet.”
Sean just continued up the stairs.
Katie sat back down at the table. Bartholomew perched on the edge of the table again, grinning. “Actually, your brother is not wretched. After all, he’s an O’Hara. They usually knew how to drink, and how to fight-and all in all, remain honest men!”
David was glad of the phone call when it came. He’d been reading computer screens for so long, his eyes were blurring. He was going to find the truth. Where Mike Sanderson had been and when.
Thanks to Liam-and the fact that everyone knew Pete tolerated him, and he’d gone to school with half the force-he was able to hang around the station and make use of it.
“David, it’s Sean.”
“Is everything all right?”
“Yeah, everything is fine.” Sean hesitated a minute. “I just wanted to check in. Any word on Danny? Katie is really worried about him. She thinks he might be dead.”
David was quiet a minute. “I think he might be dead, too. I don’t think he could have been the killer. I think Pete does, though. He’s been out most of the day, hunting for Danny. I’m not sure if he thinks Danny was guilty, or if he’s angry that he’s disappeared. Or if he’s worried. He’s getting a search warrant for Danny’s place, and he’s going to serve it himself.”
“All right, well…I’ve known Danny a long time and I was just thinking about him.”
“Thanks.”
When he hung up, David stood and stretched. He closed the files and glanced at his watch. It was eight o’clock, and he was getting hungry. He thought about stopping for takeout, but decided that though he could call, he’d just walk back to Katie’s house and find out what she wanted to do for dinner.
What they wanted to do. Her brother was home now. Sean would be included.
He stuck his head into Pete’s office, where Liam was still working. “Do you ever go home?” he asked his cousin.
Liam looked at him bleakly. “I want to be on the street. Can’t-not with Pete out. Sure, I get to go home. I usually have it pretty easy. But, sweet Mother Mary, this is just not good. Fantasy Fest-in the midst of all this.” He sat back and tapped a pencil on the desk. “Mike Sanderson is back out there now, and Tanya’s brother is out on the street, as well. No one seems to care too much about Stella Martin, other than her friend Morgana. She’ll wind up in a pauper’s grave.”