Ghost Night (24 page)

“Well, a boat had to have come in—I think,” Barry said. He was frowning. “I mean, if a boat didn’t come in, it means…Carlos…or…” He fell silent.

The group was silent.

The fire snapped and crackled.

“One of us will be on guard all night, every night,” Sean said.

“One of us?” Jake asked.

“One of us who
wasn’t
with the original crew,” Sean said.

There was silence again. “Well, good night, all,” Katie said, and she left the group.

Sean rose and talked to Marty for a moment. The others began to rise and murmur good-nights and head for their tents.

Vanessa realized that Marty was going to bed; that Sean was taking the first watch.

He looked at her and she smiled, nodded and turned
to head for their tent. She slipped inside and almost started—she still wasn’t accustomed to Bartholomew showing up all the time.

“Sean is on first watch,” he said softly.

She sat at the foot of her canvas bunk, smiling. “And you’re watching over me?”

He winced. “Hey, I can
watch
over you at least. And I can make a few things happen. I can push buttons…I can trip people. I’m not bad at manifestations, but…”

“What?” Vanessa asked.

“I was listening to that fellow tonight, the Bahamian, Lew Sanderson,” Bartholomew said.

“He was telling a story,” Vanessa said. “An African legend.”

“Yes, of course. But often…well, gods and goddesses, angels and demons…it’s strange how the world can be so different, and yet so much the same. The Norse had Odin, the Romans, Jupiter, and the Greeks had Zeus, and he was nearly one and the same. The Christian, Jewish and Muslim faiths recognize one God, but he lives in Heaven with the angels, and the angels often have characteristics that line up with the lesser gods in other religions.”

She was startled at first that he seemed so philosophical, but then she realized that he was seriously troubled by Lew’s story.

“You’re talking about the fact that people here thought the bitter sister’s soul haunted the ocean, while many people now believe there’s something eerie about the Bermuda Triangle?” Vanessa asked.

He nodded. He stared at her. “Well, I told you—the legend that has come down about Mad Miller and Kitty
Cutlass…well, there’s just something wrong with it. Mad Miller got his name because another fellow was making fun of him one day and called him
mad
because he was…well, he was a bit of a fop. He hated blood. And Kitty…Kitty was in love with Mad Miller because he was the best thing that ever came along in her sad and pathetic life. You were making a film about them and Dona Isabella. I was thinking that…well, obviously,
I’m
still around, and maybe they are, too.”

“Bartholomew, we’ve all agreed that ghosts couldn’t have committed the murders,” Vanessa said. “I mean, thank God…thank God we do have you, because we know what ghosts can and can’t do. And I always believed that ghosts stayed behind because…they were lost, or they needed help, or justice, or they stayed behind to help others.”

“Maybe,” Bartholomew said.

“What do you mean
maybe?
You are a ghost!” Vanessa reminded him.

He nodded. “It doesn’t mean I have all the answers. Hey, I was a decent fellow in life. I’m a damned decent fellow in death. But perhaps, if you were a bastard in life, you stay a bastard in death.”

“You keep telling me that Mad Miller was basically a prissy-ass pansy,” Vanessa said with a sigh.

“Yes, I know, though your language is quite colorful,” Bartholomew said.

“Sorry.”

“That’s why I’m perplexed,” Bartholomew said. “Ah, well, you had best get some sleep. I think you’ll need it in the days to come.” He stood. “I’ll be near,” he promised her.

She smiled, thanked him and bid him good-night.

It wasn’t until he was gone and she lay back and watched the fire dancing on the canvas of the tent that she felt alone and uneasy—and suddenly fully aware of the last time she had lain in a tent on the beach at Haunt Island.

She remembered dreaming first that Georgia had come to her. She had almost heard the young woman’s voice in the shadows of the night as tears streamed down her cheeks.

I told you there were monsters.

Then Georgia’s image had faded, and she must have seen the shadows against the canvas of the tent even in her sleep, because they had seemed like giant monsters rising from the sea, made of seaweed, forming arms, reaching into the sky.

She sighed and lay awake, and thought that she would do so until Sean’s watch was over.

But somewhere along the line, she fell asleep, and she didn’t dream. She was vaguely aware of Sean coming into the tent, and she was comfortably aware that she tried to get close to him.

Then she let out a startled little cry—completely unaware that she had fallen.

“Vanessa!” It was Sean’s voice, and a light suddenly flared in their little tent. She was on the ground between the two cots. They’d been pushed together, but in trying to get too close, she had wedged them apart.

Sean was stretched out on his own, flashlight in one hand as he smiled and reached for her hand with the other.

She grimaced ruefully. “I suppose I forgot where we were.”

“Hey!”

“Vanessa!”

“What’s going on?”

There was a chorus of voices just outside the tent. She scrambled up, glad that she had chosen to sleep in an encompassing flannel gown. She pushed open the flap to the tent just as Katie was nervously opening it.

“Vanessa!” Katie said.

David was behind her, Liam was behind him, and it seemed that everyone was gathered outside their little tent.

“You screamed!” Zoe said.

Barry cleared his throat. “Um, it didn’t sound like a scream of…um, er, happiness.”

Sean was behind her then. “Sorry, all.”

“I fell off the cot,” Vanessa said, aware of the flush that was rising to her cheeks like fire.

“What?” Bill said, and then started to laugh.

“Oh, Lord! You scared us silly,” Zoe said, laughing, as well.

“No more even slightly scary stories around the campfire,” Lew Sanderson said, shaking his head. “May I suggest you pull the cot mattresses down and leave them on the sand?”

“Great idea, Lew, thanks,” Sean said. “Forgive us, folks, and get some sleep.”

The good thing was that everyone seemed to be amused. The negative, of course, was seeing just how on edge they had all been.

And probably would remain.

Sean looked down at her, his grin broad. He pulled her into his arms. “Let’s get those mattresses down, huh? We’ll fold up the bunks—I think we’ll wind up with more room.”

She agreed. It was really late; they were both exhausted, and aware of the thinness of the canvas that separated them from the others.

And still…

It was good to be close. Seaweed monsters were just shadows on canvas, and Georgia Dare did not return that night with tears streaming down her face to plague Vanessa’s dreams.

She thought the morning might be bad as well, with the interviews on the beach. But the sun was shining, the day was bright, and it was hard to imagine that anything horrible had happened in such a beautiful place on such a pristine beach.

They were surrounded by people.

That was good.

Marty and Jamie O’Hara seemed large, wise and imposing, and as she watched the men, naturally taking positions that seemed to guard the group from opposite angles, she realized that they had been asked along from the very beginning because Sean had felt that he needed a security force of those he knew and trusted. They were able seaman, divers and outdoorsmen, but they took no part in any of the filming. They simply watched, interested.

The only one missing during the morning was Liam. Sean told her he was doing some work on his computer on the boat. He didn’t mention what. But Liam was a
police officer, and he had taken leave at a time when the force was short, and she assumed he was keeping in contact with his colleagues, keeping up on events in Key West.

She was interviewed with Jay, who was matter-of-fact. She spoke about seeing the heads when she had come down the beach. Jay walked to the sand and winced as he told about his disbelief at what they had come upon.

They were all quiet and somewhat mournful when they finished the segment. They walked back to the encampment in comparative silence. Once there, however, everyone set about the business of a light lunch, since they’d head out to the reefs and an afternoon dive soon after. Zoe and Katie went about setting out the sandwich meats, cheeses, lettuce, tomatoes and condiments, but everyone helped themselves, and everyone picked up after themselves.

It was decided that Lew, Marty, Ted, Jaden and Zoe would stay behind to keep an eye on the encampment. They would take out Jamie’s boat, the
Claddagh,
because he had recently purchased new sonar equipment, and Sean and David were eager to see if his calculations might be right, if they might find some of the debris from the pirate ship in shallower water.

There was an hour of busywork, coming and going from the
Conch Fritter
and the
Claddagh
as they transferred dive equipment and supplies from one boat to the other, but in the end, once again, it seemed that they all moved smoothly.

As the divers and crew climbed aboard, Vanessa
noted that Bill looked forlornly back at Zoe, and that Zoe smiled and waved.

The romance was blooming.

Bartholomew seemed torn. At the last minute, however, he came aboard the boat.

They set out, running slowly due southwest of the island. Sean grew excited at a blip on the screen, but a study of the sea charts showed that it was a World War II ship that had gone down in 1943; at war’s end, it was already becoming part of a growing reef.

“Wait,” Sean said. “Uncle Jamie, let’s bring her around. If there is something here, that could be a reason that it has never been found!”

“Sean, good call—worth an exploration, at least,” David said. “That happened with the old British ship
Renegade
in the Bay of Bengal. She had twisted beneath a trawler that went down several hundred years later.”

Barry was filming the discussion. “Wow, yeah, we might have found something!”

His excitement was such that he forgot that he was filming.

“Ahem, camera, my friend!” Jay reminded him.

“Let’s break out the diving gear and the casements for the cameras,” Sean said. “David, obviously, you and Katie. Jamie—”

“I’ll be aboard, keeping watch on the line and my boat!” Jamie said firmly.

“You want me on board or in the water?” Jay asked.

Sean seemed to hesitate for just a second.

He doesn’t trust Jay!
Vanessa thought.

“What about me?” Barry asked.

“Barry, you’re up here, camera ready, with Jamie,” Sean said.

Barry frowned. “I—”

“You’re the soundman, Barry, and you’re good with a camera, too. Be ready when we come up,” Sean said.

“Where do you want me?” Bill asked.

“Make it a threesome with Vanessa and me,” Sean said. “And, Jake—you tag on with Katie and David.”

He had done it again, Vanessa realized—divided the old group. Jamie would watch Barry. Marty was onshore, along with Ted and Jaden, keeping an eye on Lew and Zoe. Liam—David’s cousin and Sean’s close friend—would be watching Jay. David would have his eye on Jake.

Barry seemed unhappy but resigned. He brightened while the others got into their gear and asked Jamie if he had any fishing equipment.

Jamie scowled. “You’ll be catching the divers!”

“No!” Barry protested. “I’ll be catching fresh fish for dinner!”

Jamie shook his head but assured Barry he had fishing equipment, but that Barry needed to remember that he was in charge of filming when the divers surfaced.

As Vanessa slipped her mask and regulator on and held the mask in place in order to slip over the hull backward, she noticed Bartholomew. He was standing aft, looking back at the island.

As they descended, the water was clear and beautiful until they reached thirty-three feet and paused to pressurize. Another twenty feet down, and while visibility was still good, the sunlight didn’t penetrate as well.

Vanessa saw the hull of the old World War II vessel
and followed Sean around the portside, aware that Bill was keeping pace with her. Sean had the camera, and Vanessa was glad.

It was the camera lens that seemed to play tricks on her.

Sean motioned Bill, instructing him down to the sand where something peculiar seemed to be stuck just beneath the vessel.

It was while they were occupied that Vanessa saw the figurehead.

It was just feet in front of the men. She wouldn’t be leaving her partners to follow it, to see if it was real.

To see if it led her to an old treasure again, a pendant.

Or a dead body.

She moved toward it in the water and realized that it was actually within a torn segment of the World War II ship’s hull. No. She wasn’t going to follow—not without her fellow divers knowing that she was entering the wreck.

She turned, giving a massive kick with her flippers, only to realize that she was already inside the ship. She moved toward the hole through which she had entered, only to discover that the ship seemed to have shifted; the entryway—the exit!—was no more.

And there was no figurehead to be seen.

For a split second, she nearly panicked.

It had all scrambled her mind; she was going ever-so-slightly crazy—and now it was going to trap her and kill her.

She braced herself, checked her air gauge and her compass, and knew that her partners weren’t far away.
She moved in the opposite direction from the false lure of the figurehead with the face of Dona Isabella
that didn’t really exist.

The tear in the giant craft was just ahead of her. As she reached it, she saw that the ship had probably been sunk by a torpedo—there was a giant hole extending beneath its watery graveyard in the sand. And beneath it…

There was something.