He headed back to the bed-and-breakfast where he was staying, not far from the house on Caroline where he had just left Kody McCoy.
* * *
Kody walked into the long hallway that stretched from entry to end of the house and turned left, into her parlor. She couldn’t help but note her eclectic decorations; she had framed posters of a few of her father’s rock concerts, old street markers and signs, and pictures—her family, her friends...
Including one great picture of her dad with Cliff Bullard. They’d been playing at a small Irish bar up in Marathon; both men were wearing kilts, holding their guitars as if they were bagpipes, arms around one another’s backs as they grinned at the camera.
She sank down on the sofa, not adding more light to the room, and not turning on the TV or the sound system or anything else.
She just sat. She wondered if she should have stayed with people.
She still couldn’t believe Cliff was gone. He had died in the middle of playing his favorite Michael McCoy song—while she’d been singing along.
She wondered if she was in shock. She wasn’t crying anymore. She was staring into the shadows in the house.
She felt something beside her. Her cat, Godzilla, coming to instinctively give her what comfort he could.
She stroked the cat. And then she realized that the captain was there, too. As much as a ghost could be there.
Captain Blake Hunter had been killed off the coast of the Keys in 1864.
From the time Kody had been in high school, she’d saved to buy a house, and when she’d managed the down payment three years ago, she’d discovered that the captain came with the house.
That was all right; the dead had never frightened her. She’d been just a child when her grandfather had first appeared before her, shushing her with his finger to his lips in a mischievous way. She had learned quickly that mentioning his presence only upset her mother. He’d told her that only certain people—lucky people—got to see the dead. He would stay around awhile, and make sure they were all okay. Then, he would move on.
And he did move on—the minute her grandmother passed away.
Kody had never doubted her own grip on reality—she knew what she saw and heard, and she had a few friends on the island who also had the ability—her friend, Liam, for one, along with his wife, Kelsey.
It was just something unspoken around others. She’d always been very careful not to talk about the people she had seen before—the dead people, that is. Even to her closest friends—other than those who were like her.
That the captain enjoyed the house was fine with her. He was fascinating; he was a large part of the reason she had wanted so badly to open her museum.
Captain Blake Hunter had been born in the house back in the 1820s. Why he stayed in spirit, he didn’t really know—but the decades upon decades that had passed since his demise had been incredible, in his mind. He spent his time watching people and studying human nature. His death had been lamentable—certainly, to himself, he had assured her—but fair. It had been a time of war. Maybe he’d needed to learn; maybe he’d stayed to help others. He was kind and wise, but not particularly humble. He’d told her at times that he’d helped many a person through the years, those who had died suddenly, or been cruelly and unfairly taken from life—murdered.
The cat sat at her one side. The captain took a seat on the other. She couldn’t really feel him, and yet she could, since she sensed him. And she sensed the warmth and comfort he tried to give her, setting a ghostly arm around her shoulders.
“Kody?”
“A friend died tonight,” she told him softly. “Cliff. Cliff Bullard. Captain, he...died right in front of me. I was with him onstage.”
“Oh, Kody, I’m so sorry.” He was quiet a minute. “Cliff—there was a good man. I know how it must hurt to lose him, but that is the way of our existence. We’re given so many years on this planet.” He was silent for a minute. “Trust me, I know this well.”
“Of course,” she said softly. “It’s just that...”
“Hmm?”
She looked at him. “There was something wrong with him dying. I mean, the police came, there will be an autopsy because...because he did just drop dead. But...”
“Perhaps a heart attack?” he asked.
She shook her head. “I don’t know.” She frowned. “Cliff was deathly allergic to nuts, but he knew it. He was very careful.”
“Kody, maybe it was just his time. You lost a dear friend. You want to deny it—that’s natural.”
She let out a sigh. “There was a murdered man found today. Out on the slave ship.”
“Out on the slave ship?”
She nodded.
“A diver who...who shouldn’t have been diving? Anyone you knew?”
“I don’t know. They haven’t identified him as yet. But I doubt it. Liam was on the call, and if he was from here, or frequently down here, Liam probably would have known him.”
“Ah, I should have been out and about today. So much happening. I didn’t even turn on the television.”
Kody smiled, glancing at him. Blake was a practiced ghost. She hadn’t known him, of course, in his early days. But he’d been around quite some time. He materialized easily; he could make all kinds of ghostly sounds which she knew he enjoyed. He wasn’t beyond playing tricks. She often wished that he was alive—flesh and blood. The history he’d gone through since his death had taught him so much. He was careful in his thoughts and judgment; she thought that he could have been a great statesman now. He’d learned so much about people, their differences and all that made them alike, as well. He was tolerant, and while he did enjoy his practical jokes, he was careful not to frighten the elderly or anyone who wouldn’t be delighted by the possibility of a ghost.
Flickering lights, going bump in the night—and turning on a television—were nothing for him.
“I’m so worried about Rosy,” Kody murmured.
“She will endure—people do,” he said softly. Then he asked, “Who drove you home? Such a strapping man! I’d have loved to have had him in my command. Except I’ve seen that we were wrong—though, you must remember, back then, men were loyal to their states. It’s good that the Union was preserved. And slavery was an abomination, truly. That’s so clear to me now. And that ship being discovered...maybe it upsets some people.”
“Captain, I really don’t believe that there is a person out there who doesn’t realize slavery was a horrible thing—wherever and whenever it took place, from Ancient Egypt down to the European trade and certainly here, when it existed. It’s an important discovery—it’s important that we remember the bad so that it’s never repeated.”
He nodded. “You didn’t answer me. Who drove you home?”
“Oh. A stranger.”
“You took a ride with a stranger?”
“No, no, sorry. He’s a friend of Ewan’s—you know, the guy from Sea Life. He’s been here.”
“Of course, of course. Does he have a name?”
“Brodie McFadden.” She hesitated. “He behaved as if...”
“As if?”
“As if he might have believed me. About Cliff being murdered.”
The captain made a sound as if he sighed—which of course, he couldn’t possibly do. Inhaling and exhaling were things that not even such a ghost as he could manage.
And yet the soft sound came to her.
“You need to try to sleep. You’re somewhat in shock, and in terrible pain. Please, go to bed.”
“Yes, I know.”
“I will be watching over you,” he told her.
She smiled again. He was a valiant captain. Stalwart, kind, courteous...
Everything she wanted in a man. Maybe she was searching for someone who didn’t exist; she didn’t fully understand why she couldn’t seem to find the right relationshi
p. She was always looking for something special. She’d even dated really nice people. Just never the right ones. Maybe she was looking for someone out of the past, someone who admitted mistakes, who looked to learn as time went on...who was careful of others...
Yep. She was looking for someone just like him.
Except that she was looking for someone who was alive.
Captain Blake was dashing, charming—perhaps too excellent a companion. Even as a ghost, he cut quite the figure with his long curling hair, jaunty, feathered hat, bright blue eyes and aquiline features. And he had never been anything but courteous and completely respectful. Maybe she had been a little bit in love with him at first; now, of course, she just loved him. But he was dead—
She couldn’t help but wonder if people did fall for ghosts.
“I will watch over you,” he repeated. It was almost as if she could feel a gentle finger on her cheek, brushing away a tear.
She did have to try to get some sleep.
Tomorrow would be a very long day.
She started to get ready for bed; then she remembered someone who was living.
Her mother.
She hesitated, not wanting to make the call. But she didn’t want her mother hearing about Cliff’s death from anyone else.
So she dialed.
Sally McCoy—Frampton now, Kody needed to remember—answered the phone quickly. “Hey, darling. I would have called you, but I thought you might be celebrating. A friend of Frank’s came up last night—left Sunday morning early, trying to get everything in—and he said that you did a fantastic job. I wish I could have been there, Kody. But what we’re working on is so important. People are so divided on sea creatures these days. Frank’s starting that documentary about the amazing care sea mammals receive at a lot of the facilities under attack for keeping them. Take Jax up at the Dolphin Research Facility. He was chewed to pieces by a shark. He wouldn’t be alive if they hadn’t saved him and he couldn’t live as he is now. There’s a baby up here—a dolphin—her mother was killed by idiots out on the water. They’re trying so hard to save the calf, and Frank—”
“Mom. Mom! We talked about it. I was fine with you being up there, honestly—I love what Frank is doing and agree it’s important. The festival went very well. That’s not why I called.”
“Oh?”
“Cliff... Mom, I’m so sorry. Cliff died tonight.”
“What? How?”
Kody tried to explain.
She could hear Frank, comforting her mother. He was a good man; she really liked and respected him.
He took the phone. “Kody, we’ll get right home.”
“No! No, there’s nothing you can do here. There’s going to be an autopsy.”
“Of course,” Frank said. “A sudden death like that. Did his heart just give out?”
“Maybe. They don’t know. Frank, don’t let Mom come yet. When there are funeral arrangements, I will make sure you all know. Okay? Please, there’s nothing either of you can do. I’m just going to do my best to help Rosy. Okay?”
“I’ll do my best to keep her here, Kody. Cliff was a friend to your family. A dear friend to all of you.”
“And he loved dolphins and sea creatures, too.”
“Your mom is going to be worried about you, Kody.”
“I’m fine. I have Rosy and Colleen and a host of friends down here. I promise I’ll let you know when you need to be here.”
She spoke to her mother again, and she managed to convince her at last that there was nothing she could do for the moment.
While Kody loved her mom, she just didn’t really want her around right now...
Not when she was wondering if Cliff Bullard had been murdered.
Inconceivable! The man had been loved.
And still...
Maybe someone hadn’t loved him all that much.
* * *
Brodie woke just as the sun was brightening his room and lay awake for a while, contemplating his day. He wouldn’t be heading out with Ewan—the Sea Life crew was off for the day; police divers were still investigating the site. But there was no way to be the kind of man who has a PI license, to have discovered a dead body, and not want to know who the man had been and how he wound up dead in a newly discovered wreck.
Brodie wondered if he’d be able to tack himself on to the local police investigation. He had met Liam Beckett a few times before on his trips to the Keys, but he didn’t know the detective well. He was someone Brodie had liked immediately. One time, he had actually been able to help him on a case. They had a tacit understanding: they were both “gifted” with a sixth sense, that of sometimes being able to see the dead.
Like the dark shadow on the ship, a remnant of the dead man who had led Brodie straight to his body.
He supposed the dead man would have been discovered eventually, but the shadow had been something.
He hoped that the man—whoever he might be—would find substance in something more than shadow. And point the way straight to his murderer.
It seldom proved to be that easy.
One dead man...and then another.
Naturally, the night haunted him—the musician he’d barely met dropping dead mid-song. And then, Dakota McCoy. Was she right? Had her friend been murdered? If so, his murder had been planned out and carefully executed. It was a stretch. Cliff Bullard had probably quite simply dropped dead from natural causes.
If Kody hadn’t suggested that something wasn’t right, would he even be questioning it?
He was incredibly curious about Kody. Attracted, yes.
Why had she been wary of her house when he’d walked her to the door?
She’d said that she lived alone. Maybe she hadn’t planned on being alone that night? He didn’t think that was the case. It didn’t seem as if she would watch a friend die and then head home to meet someone.
He rose, wishing that he did have authority in Key West. He felt incredibly restless, as if he needed to be involved in the cases. Last night, when the body from the water had been sent to the medical examiner up in Marathon, and Liam and his officers had gone as far as they could for the night, Liam had suggested that they grab a beer and something to eat at the tiki bar.
It was supposed to be a way to chill out after the long afternoon of corpse removal and what investigation could be done so far beneath the water’s surface.
Water. It was a great way to dispose of evidence. Especially salt water; it had a way of removing what little trace evidence that might have been discovered.
He was surprised when his phone rang; he glanced at it. He didn’t know the number, but it was local to South Florida.
Kody?
No, she wouldn’t be calling him. Not today, he was certain. She would be seeing Cliff Bullard’s wife and doing what she could to help.
It was Liam.
“You have plans today?” the detective asked him.
He should have plans. He’d taken himself on a vacation to decide what to do. He and his older brothers—Bryan and Bruce, both equally gifted—had talked about becoming a three-man investigation company. It would be easiest to work with each other. No explanations needed.
But first Bryan and then Bruce had decided that they wanted to join a unique unit of the FBI—a place where there would be no explanations needed, either. The Krewe of Hunters, as it was known, had been put together by a man named Adam Harrison—a very rich man and philanthropist who had learned after the death of his son that there were forces beyond what was scientifically known and accepted. He’d called upon a seasoned agent, Jackson Crow, to pull it together.
Bryan and Bruce had to apply to the academy and go through all the regimen that went with being a federal agent. But upon graduation, they’d go right into the Krewe—which even had its own offices.
Brodie had come down here, wher
e—usually—time diving and out on the water helped him reason through his next steps in life.
He’d been given an invitation to join the Krewe, as well—assuming he graduated from the academy.
“I don’t have a thing in the world planned,” he said.
“Good. I’m heading up to Marathon—it’s about an hour’s drive.”
“Sure. I’m doing nothing but spinning my wheels,” Brodie said.
“I’ll pick you up in thirty minutes. Enough time?”
“More than ample. And, hey, thanks for letting me in on all this.”
“My partner is up in Alaska, fishing, for the next three weeks. I like a back and forth conversation, a pro and con. We’ve kind of worked together before, and it went well. As far as solving the situation went.”
“Yeah. Thanks. Hey, did you find the cup that Cliff Bullard had been drinking out of?”
“No. In fact, three different people went through every bit of foliage anywhere near Cliff. There was no cup.”
“I think I even saw Cliff throw it down.”
“In all the melee, friends, the EMTs and the cops, it’s possible that someone just picked it up absently and threw it in the trash.”
“Possible,” Brodie said.
“You don’t think that’s likely?”
“I’m just saying that it’s possible that there was something in it—something that caused him to have a reaction. And it’s possible that person made a point of seeing that the cup disappeared.”
Liam was silent.
“You think that Cliff was murdered?” he asked. “Brodie, you’re not a local. I can’t think of a soul down here who didn’t like the man.”
“But there might have been.”
“Well, we’ll see.”
Brodie hesitated. “We won’t see,” he said softly, “if we don’t look.”
Again, Liam didn’t reply. “We’ll look,” he said after a minute.
They finished the call. Brodie headed into the shower. He was grateful to be involved.
Echoes of Evil Page 4
