The door swung open.
Her ghost was waiting for her; he backed away from the door, looking curiously at Brodie. Brodie smiled his way.
“You’re all right?” the ghost asked anxiously.
Brodie figured Kody wasn’t going to answer—not with him there.
The ghost stared at Brodie.
Brodie studied the ghost.
He must have been Captain Blake Hunter, the Confederate blockade runner killed during the Civil War. He wasn’t, however, decked out in his military uniform—he was wearing a gray velvet frockcoat, red silk vest, black trousers, white shirt, and a sweeping plumed hat. His hair was long; the man had golden curls, much like the Union cavalry man, George C. Custer.
The ghost didn’t acknowledge Brodie.
Brodie didn’t acknowledge the ghost.
Kody took the first door off the hallway; it was the parlor. A grouping of handsome Victorian furniture—sofa, love seat and armchair—faced a large screen TV. An old ship’s trunk in front of the sofa served as a coffee table.
Kody swept out a hand. “Please, have a seat. Can I get you anything?”
“I’m fine. Thank you. Have a seat with me.”
He waited for her. She perched on the chair. He took a seat near her at the end of the sofa.
Her body language was, at best, taut. Absolutely rigid.
“Kody, you’ve been convinced that Cliff was murdered. People are seldom killed accidentally by ingesting nuts when they know they’re highly allergic. That would mean that Cliff was murdered by someone who knew exactly how allergic he was. Someone with a motive. I don’t know these people. Who could have a motive?”
“That’s just it—you’re going in the wrong direction. Rosy—his wife. Adored him. They were still basically newlyweds—they were married just a year ago. Sonny? She doesn’t even live down here. Her home is up in Miami. Cliff admired her, and she respected him, too.
“Bill Worth is an exceptional man, in my opinion. He and Cliff were close. They’d have the longest conversations about history—argue sometimes. Bill says he finds the most fascinating stories—truth is always stranger than fiction, so if you twist it around, you’ve got great fiction. They loved to uncover some new bit of trivia to share with each other.
“Emory... Emory is an administrator at Granger Research—they do marine studies. He supported Cliff, was always at his shows, especially his Sunday-night-close-out-the-weekend shows. Bev and her husband, Dan, own a B and B. They’re lovely people—they were regulars, too. Liam—he’s a cop. I’ve known him ever since I can remember—Oh, well, he’s not on your suspect list, right? He’s your friend. And Kelsey is Liam’s wife. Had you met her yet? She does great stories for children. Oh, yes, she did inherit a historic or “haunted” house, but then again, everything here is haunted, you know. Age does that to places!
“Who did I miss? Me. I really loved the man. He was my father’s dear friend, always there, always supportive—ignoring any kind of fame and fortune and misfortune, keeping his feet on the ground at all times. I don’t imagine that you also meant the waitstaff at the restaurant today—some of them were there the night that Cliff keeled over.”
“Kody,” the ghost of Blake Hunter said softly. “You’re being very defensive.”
“You are being defensive,” Brodie said.
Kody appeared to be perplexed. “What?”
“I agreed. You are being defensive.”
“I...”
“He sees me,” Blake Hunter said. “Kody, he sees me.”
Kody blinked. “Really, I’m honestly not being defensive.”
“I do see him,” Brodie said.
“Who?”
“Captain Hunter.”
She stared at him as if he was a snake. She stood. “Are you making fun of me? Because a Captain Hunter owned the house? And you know that. Did you look him up?”
“Kody, it would really help if you quit fighting me,” Brodie said patiently. “I can see Captain Hunter. He is standing right there, behind the love seat. Great hat he’s wearing—love the feather. And the velvet coat is pretty amazing, too.”
“I—I don’t believe you. You’re...”
“Kody, come on, you have to know that there are other people like you.”
“Of course... I have friends on the island, but...” She sank back down in the chair.
Brodie rose and looked over at the captain. “How do you do, sir? It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Captain Blake Hunter swept off his hat and bowed low in return. “Mr. McFadden. The pleasure is all mine,” he said.
Kody had found her seat on the chair again—Brodie wasn’t sure if she sat, or rather fell back into it.
“This can’t be real,” she whispered.
“Really? You know that ghosts are real.”
She was quiet for a minute, absorbing his words. “So,” she said finally, “you really are a seer.”
“I’m whatever you call it.” He glanced at the captain.
“Dear Kody, most obviously, the man is,” the captain said. “And quite nicely, too! I personally find it to be delightful—there just aren’t enough people on this island who can see.”
“There are others?” Brodie asked.
“Your detective friend for one—not as strongly as Kelsey, his wife. But...yes, there are others. Perhaps it is Key West. Perhaps there are many others, all afraid—some too afraid to accept it. But now that we understand each other...sir, what is going on here? Kody is indeed overemotional over all this—”
“I am not overemotional!” Kody protested.
The captain went on as if she hadn’t interrupted. “But the thing is...while he didn’t see me, I saw Cliff Bullard quite often. He was no fool—he was very aware of how serious his allergy was, and would ask every time if something contained nuts. Even here in Kody’s home, when she hosted and she’d tell everyone that she didn’t want any nuts of any kind in the house. Someone out there must have wanted that man dead—for whatever reason, I do not know.”
Kody was nodding in agreement. Captain Hunter continued, “Now that we’re all out in the open... Sir, you must do something. Aye, and indeed. I am distressed over the man killed and left down on that wretched ship. God forgive me. I did not own slaves, but I did nothing against those who did. What I am saying here, sir, is that both events were murder—and in each situation, a killer must be brought to justice.”
Brodie lowered his head, trying not to smile. He liked the man very much. The captain was wonderfully passionate; he must have been a man of tremendous integrity in life.
“Bravo, sir,” he said softly. “Captain, a true pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise, sir,” the captain said.
Kody turned to Brodie with new respect in her eyes, as if she hadn’t denied his capabilities—almost as if she had just been given proof that he was indeed a private investigator. “I know that I felt from the start that something wasn’t right. But I can’t begin to figure out why anyone would want to kill Cliff. It just makes no sense. None of the people who were at lunch today would have wanted to harm him.”
“Here’s the thing, Kody. Whoever killed Cliff had to know that he was so violently allergic to nuts—that would suggest someone close.”
“Yes, but it wasn’t a secret.”
“All right,” Brodie said, and rose.
She seemed startled that he had listened to her so quickly. She rose, as well.
“Where are you going?” she asked him.
“Back to the bar.”
“Okay...and?”
“I’m a private investigator by trade. I’ll start doing that now.”
Kody frowned, shaking her head. “I can’t begin to fathom how the two deaths—murders—could be related.”
“I can’t, either. But I don
’t believe in coincidence. I’ll call you later. All right? You going to be here?”
“I’ll probably go by the museum,” she said.
“I’ll find you there.” He started back into the shotgun hallway, then popped his head back through the doorway.
“Lock your door.”
“Yes, I will.”
He paused, looking at the captain. “Sir, I’m so glad to have met you.”
The captain lowered his head courteously. “No, sir, the pleasure was mine.”
She followed him, and, when he was out, she locked the door.
The day outside was Florida warm, but a breeze was coming in off the water. The sun had already begun to slide toward the west; the afternoon would wane soon.
Brodie made his way through groups of tourists and locals, pausing to help an elderly woman move her garbage can.
Soon enough, he came to the Drunken Pirate bar hut at the Tortuga Shell Hotel and found a perch at the bar. He ordered a beer.
“Thanks, Jojo,” Brodie said as the young bartender set a sweating bottle in front of him.
“Yeah, no worries. Uh—have we met?”
“I saw you the other night. I heard someone calling you Jojo.”
“Oh, right, you were here with Liam,” Jojo said. “Bad night, huh?”
“Very sad.”
“Hey, buddy,” someone called.
“Excuse me,” Jojo said, starting to turn away. But he hesitated just a moment and then said, “I’m so sorry about Cliff—ah, man, it’s so rough—and sorry you were here for that. I’ll check back with you later.”
Brodie nodded.
He noted that the tables surrounding the bar were filled with couples and a few families, and a group of four men—possibly captains of dive or fishing boats, all bearded with ruddy skin—were seated around on the other side of the bar.
After a minute, Jojo returned. He appeared to be maybe just under thirty. He had curling brown hair and a neatly kept beard. “Are you doing all right there?” he asked Brodie. “So, are you friends with Liam and Ewan?”
“Yup,” Brodie said simply. Then, wanting to create a friendly feel, he added, “I’ve known Ewan a long time, and Liam a few years, too.”
“Ah, man, cool. Heard Ewan was a hell of a military man.”
“That he was.”
“You’re a diver then? With Sea Life?”
“Not officially. Ewan was still in the service when I was. He retired, and I wasn’t career military, but I served under him and he was a good guy then—good guy now. He’s head of the dive, so he had me in to work with him.”
“Cool,” Jojo said. “Ewan’s a good guy. And Liam—salt of the earth, eh?”
“And you’re Canadian?” Brodie asked him.
“I give it away every time, somehow,” Jojo said. “Yeah, Canada is home. But when I came here...I fell in love.”
Brodie nodded. “Easy to do.”
“You’re not from here.”
“Virginia,” Brodie said.
“It’s good here. Paradise. Usually. It’s been a weird few days. A good friend dying in my bar, and hearing about the man on the ship... Weird.”
“Strange anywhere, I’d like to believe,” Brodie said. “Really sad about your musician here, though. Hey, did Cliff eat here often? You know, he died of anaphylactic shock.”
“No! I thought it was a heart attack.”
The man’s surprise seemed real.
“No. Allergic reaction.”
“Oh, no, no, no, no. Cliff was careful. Always asked the waitstaff what was in food if he ordered it—and the waitstaff knew about his allergies, and I knew.”
“So, he would eat here?”
“Yeah, it was a perk. He was always offered a meal. Every night before he played.”
“What did he eat the other night?”
“Mako taco—it’s a specialty. Not really shark meat—fish tacos. Mako taco just sounds fun—people order them frequently.”
“What do the tacos come with?”
“White rice, black beans and plantains.”
“No nuts in them?”
Jojo shook his head. “Please—the cops put everyone through a third degree already—though we didn’t know yet that he had died of an allergic reaction. The only place we even have nuts around here is at the salad bar—inside, at the restaurant. We don’t serve anything out here that has nuts. Trust me, we did not accidentally or otherwise let the man get them.”
“But inside—on the salad bar—there are nuts.”
“Sure. But Cliff knew it. He never went inside anyway. He came in early, put in his order, and set up his equipment.”
“Where did he eat?”
“Right there at the end of the bar, where those guys are now,” Jojo said.
“The server brings him his food?”
“Server brings it out, sets it at his seat, and when Cliff is—was—ready he’d come on over and eat. We’d talk. He was a good guy.”
“So I understand. I only met him briefly.”
“Sad.”
“Did you see anyone near his food the other night?”
Jojo solemnly shook his head. “No.”
“What about drinks? Heard he wasn’t much of a drinker.”
“No—but people always wanted to buy him drinks. Of course, he accepted. Said it was rude not to take a drink. Most of the time, he’d take a few sips and dump them.”
“Lots of people bought him drinks that night?”
“More than ever—the festival thing had just ended. Friends. Other folks. Some of the fishing captains who have known him forever. I know Cliff. He never got wasted—never even got close to drunk.”
“People use credit cards?”
“Sure. But a lot of people use cash, too.”
“So...someone might have been around his food—and tons of people were buying him drinks.”
“Sure, I guess.” Jojo looked puzzled for a minute, then his eyes widened. “Oh, no. You think that someone spiked his food or a drink? I mean, hell, you’d notice a nut in a drink.”
“Might have been a different form,” Brodie suggested. The ME had determined that Cliff had died of anaphylactic shock, but as yet, Brodie knew nothing about stomach contents. Surely, they’d been tested.
And the tests would come back.
“You have almond milk back there?”
“Hell, no. Too trendy for us.” Jojo shook his head. “However he got hold of nuts, it had to be accidental. No one would want to hurt Cliff. I swear, the man had no enemies.”
“He apparently dumped a cup that night, behind the stage. The cops couldn’t find it. You didn’t happen to toss it, picking up?”
“We all help clean up, but no. And I asked all the serving staff who were on that night—and the cops asked them, too. No cup. We have no idea what happened to it. Probably some do-gooder. In the Keys, people kind of look out for things like that. Litter. Most locals, anyway. I’m telling you, Cliff had no enemies—no one would have hurt him on purpose.”
Brodie was thinking of calling Liam; they’d need to go through the credit card receipts, even though they might not be definitive at all.
Liam came striding out to the bar, as if right on cue. He took a seat next to Brodie.
“Hey, Liam,” Jojo said. “You off duty? Can I get you anything?”
“Thanks, Jojo. A beer. Local draft.”
Jojo went to pour the beer.
“Anything new?” Brodie asked him.
“One thing that I thought was interesting—but could be nothing at all.”
“What?”
“Ferrer. He was a guitarist, too. Loved his guitars. He played with a local group out of one of the service clubs in his area. He wrote a few songs, as well.”
Brodie accep
ted that information.
“You know anything else about Ferrer?”
Jojo set the draft before Liam. “Thanks,” Liam said, and then swiveled on his bar stool to look right at Brodie.
“Adelaide Firestone, the ex-girlfriend, mother of his daughter, is coming down tomorrow. As soon as she can, she wants to bring Arnold Ferrer home—bury him with his family in their Savannah plot. We can talk to her.”
Liam was quiet for a minute. “You might be right, my friend,” Liam finally said.
“That the deaths are linked?”
“Maybe. I repeat, just maybe. I mean, half the guys I know fool around on the guitar.”
“Yeah, but are half of them dead?”
“I still say it might have something to do with the shipwreck.”
“It might,” Brodie agreed. “If only...”
“If only one of them had a ghost walking around who could simply tell us?” Liam asked him flatly.
Brodie stared at him, frowning.
“I just saw Kody,” Liam said. “Oh, I guess she forgot to tell you. I’m one of you guys—you know, a seer, the way she calls it. My wife is better at it, her sister is best. Thing is... I’ll be damned if I can get a read on either of our dead men. If their ghosts are running around Key West, they have yet to make it known.”
* * *
Kody walked quickly toward the museum.
She didn’t know why she was still so surprised that Brodie McFadden was able to see the dead. A seer.
She knew that others existed. It was Key West, and her hometown was open-minded about all things spiritual. But they were all very careful. In fact, she hadn’t known about Liam and Kelsey until it had come to the captain, when they had been at her home and seen him, and then she had learned about a pirate ghost by the name of Bartholomew who had been around for years, helping out first with Liam’s sister-in-law, Katie, and then with other relations until he was ready to move on, having apparently done all that he could.
Sure. Those who could see the dead existed. She’d never figured it was just her.
Why was she so surprised Brodie was one?
Because he wasn’t from here? Had she assumed it might just be a thing in Key West? The locals did have a reputation.
Liam hadn’t been surprised at all.
Echoes of Evil Page 11
