Heather Graham - Ghost Shadow

Danny was eternally thin. His brown hair, long and worn in a queue at his nape, was now beginning to show threads of gray. His face was pockmarked from a now preventable childhood illness and his features were lean. His eyes, however, were a warm brown, and he did well with people. He excelled at telling stories, and he’d been a wonderful guide years ago, when he had worked at the museum. David wondered if Danny’s life hadn’t been altered by the events at the museum, as well.

“Thanks, Danny,” David said. “So how are you doing?”

Danny shrugged, wiping his hands on the white apron he wore over his jeans and a Metallica tee. “I can’t complain, can’t complain. They’re getting more and more letters on what a great ‘ghost host’ I am for the weekend tours and, hey-I can have all the free ice cream I want. I have a sunset every night, and saltwater and sand between my toes.” He frowned. “Hey, there’s a rumor that you’re refusing to sell the museum to Katie O’Hara. Is that true?”

David nodded. “I’m sorry, Danny.”

“Your museum, your call.”

“It’s not actually my museum. I do have the major interest, but my grandfather left Liam and me in charge of his estate. We have to agree on everything, and I just don’t agree with reopening that place.”

“I understand, man.”

“I’m sorry, Danny. You were the best guide known to man.”

“No skin off my nose, David. Seriously. I just live, and I get by, and that’s what makes me happy,” Danny assured him. “Katie would have done a good job, though. She’s a great little go-getter, good businesswoman. But you know her, right?”

“She was a kid when I left.”

“Hey, we were all kids when you left. So, where have you been? They said you became some kind of a big-shot photographer. A photojournalist.”

“I’m not sure if I’m a big shot. I make a decent living,” David told him.

“I’m sorry you missed Craig’s funeral,” Danny said.

“I saw him when he was alive. He was always the mainstay of my life,” David told him.

“You been to the grave site?”

“Not yet.”

Danny obviously disapproved of that fact, but he didn’t say so. He asked, “So how long do you plan on staying around?”

“I’m not sure yet. I haven’t made any commitments for the near future. We’ll see. Tell me how you’ve been, Danny.”

“Me? I’m fine. I don’t need a lot. Just enough to survive and enjoy myself.”

“Still never married? Is there a special girl?”

Danny laughed. “Well, I know several girls who are special. Girls I like, and girls I see. But they’re not the kind you bring home to Mom, you know what I mean? But, hey, I know the scoop around here. I’m just looking for fun, and they’re just looking for a few bucks. It’s cool, it’s the way I want it.”

“Sure.”

“No commitments, and that’s the way I like it. Don’t be feeling sorry for me, I’m a happy man. Really.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Danny looked at him thoughtfully. “So, what are you up to?”

“Settling affairs.”

“Of course. Hey, I have one of the ghost tours Saturday night. You should come. I’m in rare form, and I really do a good job.”

“Maybe I will.”

Danny hesitated again. He winced. “You know, they usually do mention Tanya now in the tours. They say that she’s a ghost, and that she haunts the museum house.”

“And you tell the story, too, right?” David asked.

“I’m sorry,” Danny said.

“If you’re doing a ghost tour, I’m assuming it makes a good story, and it’s not your fault,” David assured him.

Danny looked around awkwardly for a moment. “Hey, you want some ice cream?”

David shook his head. “No, thanks, Danny. You know, you said that you retell the story on your tours. What do you say?”

Danny looked pale suddenly. “I-I-”

“You say that I was under suspicion, right?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” He was lying; he was lying out of kindness, so it seemed.

“Do you remember what really happened?” David asked.

“What do you mean, what really happened? I wasn’t working either day. You were working for me, don’t you remember?”

“Of course, I remember that. But what do you remember?”

“Not much, man.”

“What did you do the night of her murder with your free time?”

Danny thought a minute. “I had a few drinks at one of the joints on Duval. And I was down at Mallory Square. Then I went home. I woke up the next morning when I heard all the sirens-I was living in an apartment on Elizabeth Street back then. I came outside and saw the cops and the M.E.’s car over at the museum and walked over.”

“Did you see Tanya at all that night?” David asked.

“No…yes! Early. Well, it was late afternoon, I guess. Around five. I saw her down in one of the bars. I talked to her, I think. Yes, I did talk to her. I’d heard she was leaving town, and that things had kind of faded apart between you two. She said she had a few people to see that night, and that she’d be taking a rental up to Miami, and flying out from there the next day.”

“So, five o’clock. Where?”

Danny shook his head. “I think…maybe, yeah! I was toward the south side of Duval. It might even have been Katie’s uncle’s place.”

“Thanks, Danny,” David told him. “Did you tell the cops that at the time?”

“I’m sure that I did,” Danny told him. “Why?”

“Because her killer has never been caught,” David said.

“Right,” Danny said.

“Well, good to see you, and thanks again,” David told him.

“Sure thing. Sure. And I really can’t give you an ice cream?”

“No, but thanks,” David told him.

He waved to Danny and left.

Five o’clock. If Danny was right, Tanya had been at O’Hara’s at five o’clock on the Saturday night she had been murdered.

And Danny hadn’t seen her again.

Important, if it was the truth. If he wasn’t covering up.

For himself.

Or for someone else.

It was Danny’s story then, and it was Danny’s story now. He had seen Tanya at five. Sometime in the next few hours, she’d been murdered, and sometime after that-certainly after midnight, after the museum had closed-she had been laid out in place of Elena de Hoyos.

David had returned for the first tour the following morning.

Had she been laid out just for him to find?

The answer to that question might be the answer to her murder.

“People aren’t really to be found at the cemetery, you know,” Bartholomew said. “Well, most people. The thing is, of course, that most of us move on. And we remain behind only in the memories of those who loved us. Or hated us. Well, usually, people move on. Okay, okay, well, sometimes you can find people wandering around a cemetery, but… Well, that’s because they have to remain because… Wait, why am I remaining? Oh, hmm. I think it may be because of you. But I digress. You will not find Craig Beckett in this cemetery. He was a good man, and his conscience was clean. He’s moved on.”

“I know that he’s not in the cemetery,” Katie said.

“Then…why are we here?” Bartholomew asked.

“You don’t have to be here,” she said.

“No, I don’t have to be here. But you do not behave with the intelligence you were granted at birth. Therefore, I feel it is my cross to bear in life to follow you around,” Bartholomew told her.

“Hey! I am not your cross to bear, and I do behave intelligently,” Katie said, shaking her head and praying for patience. “It’s broad daylight. There are tourists all over the cemetery.”

“But why are we here?”

“Whether the person is here or not-and, of course, I don’t begin to assume that Craig Beckett’s soul would be in his worn and embalmed body in his tomb-I just like to come. It’s beautiful, and it’s a place where I can think. When other people, alive or dead, are not driving me right up the wall.”