As she stood, though, she saw the shadow again, the black mist-like shadow.
“Cliff...” she said.
“It’s Ferrer, has to be,” Cliff whispered. “Arnold Ferrer.”
Then she heard the man’s raspy words again. “Get out, get out, get out.”
“I have to help Colleen,” she said.
And then, someone walked through the mist, oblivious to it. Someone smiling, and wielding a knife.
“Kody. Dakota McCoy. The amazing Miss Dakota McCoy. You never could just let things be, could you? Oh, Kody, perfect Kody, voice like a lark, energy, kindness, smiles... God, how I hate you!”
* * *
Brodie had turned the cup over to Crow’s FBI forensic team. They were starting on the dinghies.
Ewan Keegan had been down with his divers. Brodie was waiting for him when he came up.
Ewan looked at him as if he were a protective pit bull—who just got kicked by his master.
Brodie waited until Ewan had unstrapped himself from his tank and set it down.
“What? What the hell?” Ewan demanded, standing on the deck, dripping.
“There was a cup in your cabinet, Ewan. It’s from the Drunken Pirate.”
Ewan shook his head. “I don’t keep those plastic cups, Brodie. But if you’re looking for one, you’ll find it in the bags of half the tourists down here.”
“This one is encrusted with something creamy. Cliff Bullard was killed with almond milk.”
“Cliff Bullard, what the hell? I thought I was being accused of killing Arnold Ferrer!”
“How did that cup get in your cupboard?”
“I—I don’t know! I told you, I don’t keep cups like that.”
“But it’s your cupboard.”
Ewan stared at him, shaking his head. “Brodie, you know that I let these guys use the place. Hell, almost everyone on the island knows that the boat is here. It’s been here since just about the time we started. Anyone could have put it there.”
“Someone washed it out—poorly—and put it on a shelf,” Brodie said.
He walked closer to Ewan, not wanting to be heard by anyone else. “I don’t think you put it there. But I don’t know who did. They are going to check it for fingerprints, everything else.” He hesitated. “I’m going to have you go with Jackson. If one of these guys is guilty, he’ll be glad and give himself away, maybe.”
“You want me to go with the FBI guy—as if I’m under arrest.”
“We’ll be polite about it, but... Ewan, help us here. I believe in you.”
Ewan shook his head. “Brodie, you know me, dammit. I’m not a killer. And neither are these guys... We’re careful when we hire people.”
“Help me out.”
Ewan stared at him another moment.
Jackson walked over to him. “Mr. Keegan, are you ready?”
Another crewmate, the local guy Josh Gable, had come up after him. “Toss me a shirt?” Ewan asked, stripping off his half suit. In his swim trunks, he accepted the shirt and slid it over his head. “Yeah. Let me get my shoes.”
Those onboard watched as Jackson Crow led Ewan to the starboard side of the ship where a Coast Guard cutter was waiting to bring them back to shore.
“That’s bullshit!” Josh Gable exclaimed.
“He’s just being questioned,” Liam told him.
Gable looked at Brodie and then at Liam. “Bullshit!” he repeated.
Others just stared. Then, man by man, they left the deck.
Brodie looked at Liam. “I know he was framed.”
“Then we need to prove who did do it.”
Brodie nodded.
Four of the dinghies were up on their hoists.
Two were in the water.
“Guess I’ll start that way—the one the crew isn’t in,” he said.
Liam nodded. “I’ll see that we get the others down.”
Brodie went to the aft and the dive platform. One of the dinghies was tied to the staff on the port side.
He hopped over, feeling irritated—and weary. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Ewan—who had spent so much of his life defending mankind—could have become a murderer.
He jumped down into the dinghy. It was empty except for one broken flipper.
He moved the flipper.
And then, to his amazement, he saw something else. Small, fragile, glittering gold.
He picked it up; it was another piece of the chain. Except that it was more than a chain.
It was a gold charm the shape of Key West. It had the words “Conch Republic” written on it.
And a name.
Suddenly, the pieces fell together for him.
He leaped out of the dinghy, shouting for Liam, digging out his phone.
He dialed Kody’s number.
It rang and rang.
And rang.
* * *
Kody stared at Rosy Bullard, emotions running through her like electric bolts.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
“Precious Kody, no, I’m not kidding. I’m so sorry. No, I’m not. You’ve always had everything. Born to a rich and famous father...and just so damned sweet and good and everybody loves you. Well, that’s a nice life—when you just fall into it.”
“You married Cliff for his money? But...you? You did all this? Or...or you just killed Cliff?”
Cliff was standing near Kody.
“Rosy killed me?” he said, his voice incredulous, broken.
He had really loved his Rosy.
“I don’t have to explain anything to you. You’re going to get me the song.”
“The song?”
“The damned song, Kody. Cliff told me that your father had a copy in his own handwriting. All right, the plan hasn’t been to kill you, Kody. Even if you are a royal thorn in my ass. I want the original copy of the song. I looked in your house—I’ve searched here, I’ve gone over this wall... Where’s the damned song, Kody? Your ever-so-sickeningly sweet mother told me that you could never let anything go, that you kept everything—even when she would have thrown the stupid napkins and whatever else shit out! So, you have it. And you know you have it.”
“She killed me!” Cliff repeated, tears in his voice.
The knife Rosy was wielding was a big one. A Bowie knife. Very sharp.
Kody was younger and probably stronger, but could she get a big knife away from Rosy?
“I want the song, Kody.”
“So, you’re going to kill me, but you want me to give you the song first. Rosy, what a fool you are. I would never have gone after the rights to that song. And what a seriously soul-sucking bitch! He loved you—really loved you.”
“He was an investment,” Rosy said simply. “And then someone else came along and...and it was time the investment paid off.”
“Oh, my God!” Cliff exclaimed, walking over to Rosy. He tried to hit her. Rosy saw nothing at all—but she did shiver.
“Damn it, you people freeze these places to death,” Rosy said. She took a step toward Kody. “I’m actually really good with this. I can carve up your pretty, pretty face until you’re ready to scream.”
“And maybe I can get the knife from you. And if I’m dead, I promise you—Liam and Brodie will catch you and you might well be executed in the State of Florida for the premeditated killing of so many people.”
“He will not catch me. Right now, he thinks that his friend Ewan is guilty of the other murders, and he’s going to think that the sweet little Adelaide girl killed you. I’ve set that up, too. They’ll never prove that Mathilda was murdered. She was, of course, but they’ll never prove it.”
“Why the hell did you kill them? How did you kill them?”
“Want to know the truth? It was unbelievably easy. Al
l I had to do was tell the idiots that we were meeting about a show, about getting together for a tribute to the great Michael McCoy. They came running. Oh, we weren’t good at it with Arnie—we were sloppy. But you see, Ewan let anybody on that boat—people came and went all the time. I figured if I put Arnie down below in the ship, everyone would think that it was a social issue—that someone was disgusted with what he did. Or someone was trying to hide something. And they did. Anyway...”
“Why?” Kodie demanded.
“You foolish girl. They all knew that your father had really written that song.”
She couldn’t help but remember the way Rosy had appeared to be in tears when Kody had sung the song.
Tears!
She had been edgy, of course.
But laughing.
“They all played together one day, and they all knew what Michael was writing. I need the song, Kody. I’m starting my new life now, a real life.”
“You killed people—over a song?”
“Not the song—the money! Do you know what it brings in each year? As Cliff’s widow, it comes to me now. I need that song, and that money, Kody. Now!”
“Come get me,” Kody said.
“Watch out!” Cliff warned.
There was someone coming behind Kody. Someone else in the museum.
Colleen had never had a chance to lock up. They had ambushed her, and now...
Strong arms suddenly gripped her even as she tried to turn.
“I’ve found it,” a male voice exclaimed. “We don’t need to do any cutting. We just need to get them out of here!”
“I want to cut her!” Rosy said.
“Dammit, no. Do you want to get away with this, or not? Oh, screw this!”
Something slammed down on her head. Kody didn’t even have time to think that she might really die.
Everything went black in an instant.
* * *
“Her name is right on the damned thing,” Brodie told Liam. “Rosy. Cliff must have bought this for her—he was so in love with her. Thing is, she couldn’t have acted alone. She isn’t that strong—or, she may be strong, but she didn’t maneuver the physical part of this by herself. Rosy isn’t a diver.”
“Bill?” Liam asked.
They were heading back to shore as fast as they could go.
Brodie had already called Jackson; Liam had called it in to dispatch.
Brodie’s heart was beating in a deadly race.
She hadn’t answered her phone. She hadn’t answered her phone...
“So Rosy and her lover killed her husband—but why Ferrer, and why Mathilda?”
Brodie shook his head. “I’m not sure, but...it goes back to Michael McCoy. His music, something. I don’t know. That’s been the link all the way through this.”
His and Liam’s phones rang at the same time.
He answered. Jackson.
“There’s no one here at the museum except for her assistant—the girl is in bad shape, EMTs are already here. But Kody is gone. I’d say she might have just left, except...the back room is trashed. Boxes dumped everywhere. We’re heading out—cops heading out in every direction.”
“We’re on the way,” Brodie said.
* * *
Kody heard water...water, splashing against the hull.
She hurt.
Her head was killing her. Her body...
She opened her eyes just a slit. She had been dumped at the aft of a small motorboat in a curled up and knotted position.
That’s why she hurt so badly.
But what was the plan? Throw her out in the water—as they had done with Mathilda Sumner? No, they had been subtler with Mathilda. They must have lured her out, then pushed her.
Maybe Rosy had done it herself one of the times when she’d slipped away from Sonny.
They had killed together, and they had killed alone.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. Because they were going to kill her, too.
With her head pounding, she cracked her eyes. She saw Rosy, alone at the helm.
But she hadn’t been alone. Where was...
She knew that Rosy still had her knife, and now, she wondered what shape she was in for a knife fight. And then she saw it—shoved against the starboard side of the little motorboat was a spear gun. If she was going to use it, she was going to have to be fast.
If it had been left loaded.
She waited, trying to make sure that her head was steady, that she could manage to twist and turn and...
The purr of the motor began to wane.
They were coming out to a point where Rosy was probably going to act...
Kody used all of her strength to unwind, come to her knees, and grab the spear gun.
Rosy heard her. She let out a scream of anger, looking like some kind of ancient evil witch.
She leaped up, her knife high.
No time! Kody maneuvered the spear gun with little precision. But the projectile flew out. It hit Rosy—in the arm. The wrong arm. While she screamed in pain, she still gripped the knife.
Kody threw herself into the water.
She dove deep, swimming hard into the water, darkening now, as the spectacular Key West sunset began to turn to blackness.
* * *
They were still on their way in to shore when Brodie’s phone rang again.
“You’ve found Kody?”
“No, no. But we did find Bill Worth.”
“And? Where is she? Demand that he tell you where they took her.”
She couldn’t be dead, dear God, she couldn’t be dead!
“Brodie, Bill never saw her. He says that he tried to visit her today, that he wanted to talk to her about his ancestor. Tell her that he knew—but that he was sorry as hell, he really didn’t have anything on the man, and it wasn’t something he bragged about. Brodie, he also told me something else.”
“What’s that?”
“He believes that Rosy...that Rosy was falling for another man. It just wasn’t him.”
“And something else. I went to her house. There’s a ghost there named—”
“I know about Captain Hunter. What did he say?”
“He knows who the man is—he saw him with Rosy. Nothing overt, but he knew.”
“Emory Clayton,” Brodie said dully.
“Yes. We have APBs out on both of them. But the captain thinks that they have some connections at one of the marinas, and little motorboats bought under assumed names. Oh, and get this—they make sure, unless it’s the dead of night, that they’re seen, and seen apart. They’ve used Ewan’s name with dockmasters when they have to.”
Where the hell was Kody?
He watched a motorboat, making its way through the waves. And another, following...
“I think we have something,” Jackson said.
“If not, we’ll keep going.”
Boats, two of them, moving over the water, lights low in the falling dusk, as if they didn’t want to be seen.
Brodie swore out loud, dropping his phone.
They had her. He knew where they had her.
But he had to be careful.
Because, it they were accosted, they would still kill her. Just out of spite.
“Liam, this is what we have to do!” he exclaimed.
* * *
Kody swam hard, but she was afraid she was losing consciousness. Her head throbbed. She was all right, she was all right...
She wasn’t all right. Everything hurt. And Rosy could maneuver her boat, get to her before Kody could swim far enough. No matter how many times Kody managed to go under, holding her breath and feeling as if she would black out again, Rosy could find her.
There was another boat nearby.
She swam to it. Swam hard. She clutched the hull. She
tried to hike herself up.
“There you are!”
She looked up. Emory Clayton was reaching down for her, a grim expression on his face.
“Oh, Kody, I don’t hate you the way Rosy does. And, I am sorry. This is no fun for me, I can assure you,” he said.
He’d pulled her up.
“Sorry?” she spat out. “Is murder usually fun?”
Why the hell hadn’t he just left her in the water?
Hadn’t they intended to drown her?
He threw her down and she collapsed onto the bottom of the boat. She was at just about the end of her reserves.
There were other vessels out on the water. It was Key West. She could see party boats and night-dive boats, and...
“Emory, you’re in love with Rosy, Rosy is in love with you. Great. Why didn’t she just get a divorce?”
“The money, Kody. I’m about to lose my job. They’re bringing in another scientist to manage the place. And Rosy...she was always broke, always working...don’t you understand? It’s our time, it’s finally our time.”
She looked past him. There was something dark on the water. Like a shadow.
The ghost of Arnold Ferrer? The man who had tried to warn her...twice.
No, it was something—solid.
And she realized that, impossibly, Brodie was there. In the water, coming up as quietly as possible, getting his hold on the boat.
She could hear Rosy’s boat swinging around.
“Kill her! Do it! Smash the hell out of her—Now!” she called over the sound of her engine.
Emory Clayton raised his arms over his head. He was wielding his boat’s anchor.
Brodie leaped onto the boat. He slammed into Emory with a physical force that sent the man pitching into the water, screaming.
Suddenly there were lights on the water, where there had been none.
And Liam was on a bullhorn, shouting out, “Rosy Bullard, Emory Clayton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Arnold Ferrer, Cliff Bullard, Mathilda Sumner and the attempted murder of Dakota McCoy.”
Kody smiled. Brodie reached for her.
And she came up, unaware of any pain as he folded her into his arms.
* * *
“They thought it out—from the time they heard that Arnold Ferrer was involved with the Victoria Elizabeth and coming down to Key West. His goodness did him in,” Jackson said.
Echoes of Evil Page 28
