Echoes of Evil

by Heather Graham

“That’s incredibly nice of you,” Kody assured her.

  “No, it’s just...I love this place, too,” Colleen assured her.

  “Thanks. I’ll just see how they’re doing.”

  A single man in his late thirties or early forties was in the first room—one that described Key West from the time Ponce de Leon sailed by the southernmost islands and called them “Los Martires” or island of martyrs, to the time, about a hundred years later, when the island appeared on most maps—called Cayo Hueso, or Bone Key. Early indigenous tribes had been pressed south as European settlers arrived on the Eastern seaboard of North America. The Calusa were forced south until they fought a last battle with other tribes—and their bleached bones were left upon the sand and those who survived found refuge in Caribbean islands and were swallowed into history. The British wound up with possession for about twenty years; the islands were then inhabited frequently by Cuban fishermen, new Americans and the British, with none of the above really exerting any kind of control. At the end of the American Revolution, Florida, along with the Keys, was ceded to Spain. In early 1819, all of Florida was then ceded to the United States.

  And it was time to go on to another room.

  Kody caught up with a family of four in the “Arr! The Pirate’s Place!” room. The kids were playing at a table where she left bandanas and sweeping hats and plastic swords specifically for children. The parents were studying a poster on Commodore David Porter, who had rid the Keys of pirates but who had also been almost as disliked by the residents as he was by the pirates.

  She greeted them, and they told her what a great time they were having—the museum had been designed with work tables for children in every room—and the kids were having fun while they were learning about the island.

  She thanked the family for coming and, as Colleen had, told them they were welcome to stay as long as they liked.

  Her next stop was in the room that focused on the Civil War—a tough time for Key West, though no battles were fought there. Florida had seceded from the Union; the Union held staunchly to the forts. And, of course, Union ships out of Key West played havoc with Confederate blockade runners. The end of the war once again started a new era for the area.

  The young couple there was admiring the display that held uniforms from the day. Kody smiled and left them to look.

  In the Artist’s Corner, she found another family, a teenaged son and mother and father. They were fascinated with the intimate information on her father, even more so than with the display on Hemingway.

  She quickly left them, lest she get into a conversation about being her father’s daughter.

  Back at the entrance, she praised Colleen. “I’m so pleased. They all seem happy.”

  “Well, of course. Kody, few people love this island the way that you do, and it comes through in the museum. You’ve done a beautiful job here.”

  “Thank you.” She couldn’t help studying Colleen. The girl looked so different. Blushing, bright—pretty.

  “I can’t get over how nice you look,” she said. Then, of course, her words sounded terrible to her own ears. “I mean, you always look nice. Just especially today. Did you do something...go somewhere...see someone?”

  She was startled by the flush that crept over Colleen’s cheeks.

  “In my dreams, I guess,” she whispered.

  “What?”

  “Silly, huh?”

  “Um, what’s silly?”

  “Last night... I had an amazing dream. There was...a man. He was by my side. Oh, I mean, it wasn’t an X-rated dream. Nothing like that. He was just there, touching my hair, telling me that I was beautiful and that I was sweet and that I needed to let my beauty shine. Kody, please, don’t laugh at me. It was so...real. I could have sworn that...whatever. It was nice. He said that he would write a song about me. I felt like this incredible person was there flirting with me and... Please, don’t laugh.”

  “I would never laugh. Dreaming was apparently great for you.”

  “I may even go out tonight.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Oh! Is that wrong? I mean...with what’s happened here...”

  “No, it’s not wrong. Go out and have a good time,” Kody told her. “In fact, go now. I’m restless and at loose ends. You go!”

  “Really? I mean, it was just a dream.”

  “Use it!” Kody told her.

  Colleen smiled as she picked up her things and walked to the door. She hesitated. “I didn’t know Cliff the way you did, but he seemed like a great guy.”

  A great guy—Cliff had been a great guy. But suddenly Kody wondered...was he now running around flirting?

  She’d seen it before; ghosts often appeared as if they had regained health—in appearance younger than the age they had been when they’d died.

  Or maybe Colleen had simply had a dream in which she’d met a flirtatious musician.

  “Hey, it’s okay,” Kody assured her.

  Colleen left and Kody took a seat behind the desk.

  She thought about the room on the era of the Civil War and the slave ship. Soon after the Victoria Elizabeth had gone down, the importing of slaves had become illegal. Kody drew out the work pad where she had been planning the movement of some pieces so that she could dedicate one wall to the ship and the horrors of the slave trade.

  The front door opened and closed. She’d forgotten to lock it behind Colleen.

  She looked up, about to apologize and say that the museum had closed.

  But the words froze on her lips.

  It was the man she had just met last night; Brodie McFadden. Maybe it was the way the light created a silhouette of him in the doorway, but she felt something shoot through her body.

  She felt an instant attraction—and was then ashamed that she did so. She had just lost a friend; Brodie had been there. That was it.

  Still, the man was compelling in every way. She didn’t feel this way any time she met an attractive man.

  “Hello,” he said.

  She gave herself a strong mental shake.

  “Hi. I’m sorry. We’re not really open anymore. I’m just waiting for some visitors to leave. Okay, that was rude. How are you?”

  He smiled. “I’m doing fine. I just came by to see how you were doing. I was walking down the street, and I saw the museum and I thought I’d just pop in and see if you were here.”

  “I’m here.”

  “I see. I’ll get out of your way.”

  “No, no, no! I need to ask you—what about the cup? Did they find Cliff’s cup? Are they going to test it for what might have been in it?”

  “They couldn’t find it.”

  “What? I saw him—he had a drink.”

  “Liam believes that in the hoopla going on when Cliff died, someone just picked it up and trashed it.”

  “That’s—that’s...”

  “Not impossible,” he said gently.

  “No. Not impossible. Just improbable,” she said. “Well, thanks. Sure. Thanks. I... Wow. I am being rude. I’m sorry. Thank you. And thank you for coming by.”

  “Do you have dinner plans?”

  “Pardon?”

  “Dinner. It’s that meal that we all usually eat sometime around now. Do you have plans?”

  “Are you asking me to dinner?”

  “I guess I am.” He was quiet a minute. “We’ve made some discoveries. Liam is going to be talking to you soon...but it’s been on the news, so it won’t matter if we talk. Say yes—it’s just a meal.”

  No. She shouldn’t go out with him. It just somehow seemed...

  Dangerous.

  But there was something that had happened; she hadn’t seen the news. Liam was going to talk to her, but since it had been on the news...

  “I still have people in the museum.”

  “I can
wait. There’s no particular exact time established for this dinner meal.”

  She flushed and was annoyed with herself for flushing. Just say no. She wasn’t up to it.

  “Sure,” she told him. “I do have to wait for...”

  “I understand. Mind if I wander a bit myself?”

  “Um...not at all.”

  “Thanks!”

  He moved through the hallway to the exhibits and she just sat, staring after him, wondering what it was about the man that she felt something so strongly...

  Even though they had met just minutes before a very dear and old friend had suddenly dropped dead.

  4

  Dakota McCoy’s museum had been planned out extremely well. She had managed to set out history era by era, and add some fun.

  Real pirates, of course, were not fun—and the exhibits showed that they lived under harsh and hazardous conditions—and frequently came to a very bad end.

  Wrecking had once been king—and for a span of time, had provided the city with one of the highest per capita incomes in the nation. Some made their money very legitimately—some were suspected of having caused wrecks, luring ships to the ripping danger of the reefs.

  Brodie moved quickly, seeing that most of the other guests were leaving.

  He had been to the Keys many times—Key West, specifically. It was often thought of as a party town—and the bars and establishments on Duval and elsewhere did welcome many a bachelor and bachelorette party, reunion and celebration. But the history of the island was rich; it had always been a melting pot.

  He loved the room on the “Conch Republic,” the declaration that had created a little island nation—if only for a matter of hours.

  The room that drew him now because of his curiosity regarding Kody featured the arts and artists. She had an exceptionally fine tribute to Hemingway, but in Key West, that was almost mandatory. There was a wonderful dedication to Jimmy Buffett, and to the many other natives and visitors who had given their expertise in some ways to the island.

  Of course, he found himself most fascinated with the wall that featured her father, the late Michael McCoy.

  He was studying the wall that explored his early days playing in local establishments, and the rise of his band to worldwide recognition.

  He felt her walk in as he was reading dates and times and places.

  “Your dad,” he said, without turning.

  “I was very proud of him. Proud of his music, and then prouder that he turned his life around. He adored my mom, of course, but friends like Bill...and Cliff...really helped him.”

  He nodded and turned to her and smiled. “I’m glad you have this here,” he said. “Honest, and in the open. Your father was human, and therefore, like all of us, he had his frailties. You’ve managed to honor the man without putting him on a ridiculous pedestal.”

  “Thanks.”

  “He was an amazing songwriter and musician. He set the bar high.”

  “And for his only child. I loved him, love music and I can carry a tune—but I have different passions. I’m not my father. There have been times in my life when I’ve felt the need to explain that, but that’s not his fault. And even if I weren’t his daughter, I’d have to do a display for him—he was a major contributor to the music scene here.”

  He nodded. “I know what you mean.”

  “You do?”

  “About the influence of famous parents,” he said. “McFadden. Maeve and Hamish McFadden.”

  “Oh!” she said, startled. “Wow. I should have made the association. Your folks were so talented—together and apart. You’re one of their sons. They had three—I mean, you have two brothers, right?” She waved a hand in the air. “When I was in my teens, I saw a movie called Strive. They were both in it. Well, I guess you know that. Anyway, I thought they were amazing. A ‘Hollywood’ couple who really made it. I read up on them, and I probably should have known your name, but...”

  “That was a few years back. Hey, it’s okay. I always felt a little badly. Three of us—and not an actor among us.”

  “What do your brothers do?”

  “We are all licensed private investigators. My brothers are in the academy now.”

  “The academy?”

  “FBI.”

  “Oh. Well, good for them. Excellent.” She shrugged awkwardly.

  He smiled. “We really don’t act. Trust me—we’d be horrible. But I heard you doing your dad’s song. You, at least, have a talent.”

  “I was younger when he died. I did sit in with him now and then. But I love people, places and history. He always understood that. My dad told me that each person had to move in the direction that most beckoned to them. He was... Well, I’m sure he was a total ass for many years of his life. But by the time I came around, he was great.”

  “It’s wonderful to hear that.”

  “I miss him very much.”

  “I—um—miss my parents, too,” he said, looking away and trying to awkwardly smile.

  It wasn’t as if he was actually able to miss them. Maeve and Hamish had never left. In actual spirit, they were absolutely determined to remain and watch over their sons.

  He remembered after they’d died—it had been a freak accident in a theater—and how neither he nor Bryan nor Bruce had wanted to admit that they could see and hear them, that they were...there!

  His mother, still breezing in and out, opinionated, determined; his father, ever patient, kind, smiling over her antics, even in death.

  “Well...” Kody murmured. “I think the last of my guests just left. Shall we go?”

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  “Just going to check that I locked up the back.”

  “Sure.”

  He followed her. There were two restrooms in the rear, he discovered, and a hallway door that led to a staging room. There were desks, boxes and artifacts—some of them old Key West signs, some in boxes marked “art,” and a few old gravestones among other things.

  Interesting, but not what drew his attention at the moment.

  The back door had two bolts—no one would easily break in that way, certainly.

  “You usually keep this locked, right?” he asked her, indicating the back door.

  “Yes, always, really. Unless we’re having a delivery of some kind,” she told him.

  “Sorry. The PI in me, I guess.”

  “Not a problem.”

  She headed out then, pausing to lock the front door as they reached the street.

  “Where to?” she asked.

  “You know that better than me.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” she asked him.

  He laughed. “We’re in the Keys. Seafood.”

  She smiled at that. As they walked down the street, she pointed out things that had changed since she’d been a child—and things that hadn’t.

  “The water is always there,” she said, smiling. “I do love the water.”

  “You dive?”

  She laughed. “I was born here. Yep, I dive.”

  They moved on, and she led him to a place not far away and right at the dock. It was a large restaurant; she greeted the hostess and the waiter who came to their table.

  “You know everyone,” he said.

  “Nope, I’m just friendly. A lot of immigrants come here to work in the restaurants and shops. Cubans, South Americans, Central Americans—and a lot of young people from places like the Czech Republic, Albania, the Ukraine...you name it. Actually, I do get a lot of new friends that way.”

  “Nice,” he told her.

  They ordered, then she looked at him, growing very serious. “So what is it? What does the rest of the world know that I missed? Should have checked the news on my phone, at least.”

  “It might not be world news. We discovered the identity
of the dead man. He was Arnold Ferrer. His forefather was Mauricio Ferrer, a Portuguese man who had an interest in—”

  “Oh, my God!” she broke in.

  “So—you did have an appointment with him?”

  “I’d forgotten... Yes. I think I was supposed to see him tomorrow at the museum. Oh, he would have been to see Ewan or someone with Sea Life, too. I only met him over the phone, of course. Oh! I think Ewan—or someone with the company—referred him to me. He had a fantastic notebook filled with his ancestor’s observations and... Oh, no. He sounded like such a wonderful man. He said that he had friends who told him that he should never mention anyone in his past who was so horrible, but he thought the world needed to see how bad, how cruel it had been. This is so, so sad!”

  “I’m sorry to add to what you’re already going through.”

  She was quiet for a minute.

  “He was murdered,” she said.

  “Yes. The autopsy showed that he was hit in the back of the head. He tried to fight back, but he was probably dazed—nearly knocked out by the blow. He was then strangled with something like electrical cord.”

  “How horrible. How truly horrible.”

  Her voice faded. Her face was knit with taut concern.

  “Yes. Horrible,” Brodie agreed.

  “Why?” she wondered.

  “Maybe someone didn’t want the truth out.”

  “But...who would go against him on something like that? Especially in the Keys. Here’s a great thing—we tend to accept people for who they are. We don’t care a lot about ethnicity here, or religion, or sexual orientation, or...anyone’s past! It’s a tragic waste...”

  “I’m sorry. Wish I could have held off until after we’d eaten,” he said.

  “No, no...you had to tell me. Liam wants to talk to me, right?” she asked.

  He nodded. “He’s hoping to find a clue somewhere.”

  “I have emails we exchanged. I can get them to you.” She hesitated, studying him. “Were you...working with Liam today?” she asked.

  He nodded. “Not officially.”

  “But...can you investigate things here?”

  “Yes, Florida and Virginia offer reciprocal privileges.”

  “I see.”