Katie went on in and set the ledger on the dining-room table. She wished that she had the books from the library as well, but they were at David’s house.
She couldn’t read more than one at a time anyway, she told herself.
It had been hot outside. She ran upstairs, jumped into the shower and afterward slid into the coolest cotton dress she could find. The shower refreshed her, and she went back downstairs. She set the kettle on the range top to boil. Now that she was cooled down, she was in the mood for a cup of hot tea.
She turned away from the stove and went dead still.
Her heart thudded against her chest, and seemed to stop.
Danny Zigler was here.
She looked to the door, and saw that it remained locked.
She had seen him last night; it might have been a dream, or something like a dream, but she had already seen Danny, and she had thought that he was dead.
But now she knew.
How she had ever imagined that he might be flesh and blood, that he might have broken into the house, she didn’t know.
He began to fade even as she stared at him. He had his old baseball cap in his hands, and his hair seemed unkempt. His clothes looked mussed and dirty.
“Danny,” she said softly.
He faded away completely.
Then he reappeared. He pointed to the table.
She frowned, looking down.
He was pointing at the journal she had taken from the Beckett house.
“Danny, what is it? What am I looking for?” she asked.
He faded away again, his arm, hand and then fingers disappearing last.
Then, there was no one there at all.
13
Craig Beckett wrote a wonderful log. It was personal, but she assumed that he had gotten accustomed to keeping such a diary because he’d been a ship’s captain.
He had lived a long life, dying at the age of ninety-six in eighteen ninety-five. He painted a vivid picture of when Key West had been little more than a trading post with a hardy group of settlers working to turn it into a place that would boast, in the Victorian era, the highest per capita income in the United States.
It was the early pages she turned to first. He wrote about being a young sea captain in the navy and his decision to leave the navy and work for David Porter as a civilian.
He described the events she had learned about from Bartholomew in detail. Of course, he hadn’t seen the attack that had taken Victoria’s life-the attack that Eli Smith had blamed on Bartholomew-but described it from imagination and experience. The canons firing and fire streaking through the sails of the ship, men and women screaming as smoke, fire or the tempestuous sea threatened their lives. Pirates killing everyone in their path with their broadswords. It was an unprovoked attack, and one that shocked the town, because David Porter had all but eliminated piracy a few years before it had taken place.
Craig Beckett wrote about his friendship with Bartholomew. “A man of my heart; a man who loved the sea, and his country. He might have remained a brigand, but he knew that I spoke to him truly, that I understood how he had taken enemy ships and no others. In the city, he was a model citizen, but also a man, who came to love too deeply if not with sense. I sincerely doubt that the rascal Smith could have ever started such a rumor, one so vile as to take a life, if Bartholomew had not so deeply loved Victoria. It was with the heaviest of hearts that I learned of the crowd that formed, a lynch mob, one with no more sense than that of a school of fish, darting here and there at the whim of one, that burst in upon that good fellow and dragged him to the hanging tree. They say that he died with dignity, claiming his innocence and showing no fear.”
Katie was surprised to feel her eyes stinging, and then she realized that tears were dampening her cheeks.
She wished that she could hug Bartholomew.
Not that she knew where he was!
Ah, well, she would do her best when she did see him next.
When he had seemed so taken with the woman in white-the one he now knew to be Lucinda, whose brother had died in a storm-he had told her with a certain wistfulness that Victoria had moved on. She was not among those walking the streets of Key West in any spectral way. She must have been a very strong woman-killed so ruthlessly, and yet able to move on to the higher plain of heaven, or wherever it was that the souls of the dead finally found peace.
Katie turned a page in the book, careful to dry her hands so as not to smear the ink or hurt the delicate pages.
Bartholomew’s story was a sad one. She could certainly understand it if he was to walk around near the hanging tree, still crying out his innocence.
She started reading again. The days of the bold wreckers came into play. Sponge divers, builders, settlers…
After a while, she felt a presence near her. She looked up, thinking that Sean might have awakened, even if he had said that he could sleep for a week. But it wasn’t her brother.
Bartholomew was back. He was perched on the edge of the table.
“I was reading about you,” she told him. “I’m so sorry.”
He waved a hand in the air. “Yes, it was quite unjust, but a very long time ago.”
“Where have you been this time?” she asked.
“Police headquarters. Apparently, Lieutenant Dryer has been combing the streets, and he’s quite irritated by all the shenanigans for Fantasy Fest. Seems he can’t get in the questioning he wants at various bars because there are so many people in the streets. Anyway, that’s left most of everything at the station in the hands of Mr. Liam Beckett, who is dealing with all competently, even if his frustration level is quite high.”
“Did you learn anything new?” she asked him.
“Not at the station,” Bartholomew said.
“Then?”
“Well, I can tell you this-Danny Zigler is dead.”
“I know.”
“You’ve seen him, too?” Bartholomew asked.
“He was here-for a split second. He pointed at the book,” Katie said.
“And the book is?”
“Captain Craig Beckett started it, and other Becketts over the years have kept it up. It’s not exactly a family bible, but it’s history as the Becketts saw it over the years,” Katie explained.
“There we are-back to the past,” Bartholomew said, deep in thought.
“Where did you see him?” Katie asked.
“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?”