Heather Graham - Ghost Shadow

“Of course they are. He wouldn’t have told us to come if the keys weren’t here,” Katie said. “Oh, hell. It’s already heading toward sunset. I’m not going to have any time to read anything if we don’t hurry. I’m supposed to be at work soon.”

“Okay, where did he say-exactly-that they were?” Sean said.

“The third drawer, under the old guidebooks,” Katie said. “He was certain of it.”

“They’re not here,” Sean said.

Bartholomew had followed them in. “Impatient fellow, your brother.”

Katie sighed. “You, chill,” she said to Sean. “And, you! You just hush up,” she said to Bartholomew.

“Great. Your ghost is still with us?” Sean asked.

“Tell him that I’m learning to work a razor. I’ll shave his hair right off his head next time,” Bartholomew said.

“Bartholomew is with us, yes,” Katie said. “And David might have been wrong, or mistaken. Try the second drawer. Never mind, move. I’ll find the keys. I don’t mind messing anything up here. I was already in here with Liam,” Katie said.

She glanced up as she started rummaging through the drawers. Sunset was coming, and it was causing the light to play tricks.

It looked as if something was moving.

Something…a ghost shadow, in that first exhibit where Robert the Doll and the Otto family reigned supreme.

“Katie, you need to get out of here!” Bartholomew said.

“What the hell is that?” Sean demanded.

“Sean, let’s just go,” Katie said.

But Sean didn’t heed her warning. “Katie, call the cops,” he said. He started toward the exhibit.

“Sean, no, let’s just get out of here!” Katie pleaded.

“Whoever the hell you are,” Sean yelled angrily, his voice loud and deep, “show yourself. Come on out-you’re breaking and entering and the cops are on the way.”

Katie had dropped her purse when she’d started rifling through the drawers. She reached for it, couldn’t find her cell phone and dumped the contents on the desk.

“Sean!” she called.

Bartholomew swore; she saw the ghost go striding after her brother.

Sean became shadow, walking through the doorway to the Otto family tableau.

She found her phone. Her fingers curled around it. She keyed in 911, and to her dismay, got a busy signal. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

She searched her entries and found Pete Dryer’s cell number and punched it in. There was no answer.

“Son of a bitch!” Sean roared.

“Pete, Pete, it’s Katie O’Hara, I’m in the old Beckett museum, and there’s someone in here. Please, please get this, and come quickly!”

Sean let out an oath, and then it seemed as if the world exploded. The sounds of breaking glass, thumping, crashes, came shrieking out at her.

“Sean!”

Katie grabbed a paperweight from the desk, and went tearing in after her brother.

They were in the car, driving back to town. David turned to Liam.

“The killer is playing with Key West legend. He’s someone that history means a great deal to. He’s fascinated by all the legends.” He was quiet for a minute. “You don’t know anyone named Smith, do you?”

Liam laughed. “Smith? In my life, I’m sure I’ve met a number of people named Smith. And Gonzalez, Rodriguez, Jones…and I even know a pack of O’Haras, none of them related.”

“Okay, Liam. I believe that Tanya was murdered to hurt our family. So, there is someone out there who is carrying a grudge. And it seems to be a grudge that’s hundreds of years old. Okay, first off, think about it. It couldn’t be Sanderson to begin with-he was a tourist. He didn’t know the Elena legend, he didn’t know our family. He was an outsider.”

“An outsider with an alibi,” Liam reminded him.

“All right, as odd as it may sound then-Sam Barnard.”

“Tanya’s own brother?”

“He knew the island like the back of his hand. Knew all the legends. He admits that he saw Tanya the night that she was killed. He admits that they argued. He told me that he was angry with her for acting like a flirt-a tramp. And maybe it even went deeper. Damn it! If we’d just found Danny alive, he might have known something. He had the books, and the money. Lord, here’s what it has to be-the killer read something sometime, during his life that ticked him off about the Becketts. Maybe he’s like a functioning psycho. I believed from the time I came back here that the murder wasn’t random. Think about it. Stella Martin winds up dead. The method of death didn’t change. Danny winds up dead. Danny is small, but still, he might have put up a fight. Get him from behind. Smother him. Strangle him. And then here’s the piece that makes it the same-he is found in a giant effigy of Robert the Doll. Who else knows these legends and stories better than anyone else? A local. And when violence happens, don’t the police look at family members first?”

“All right, so what do I do? Well, I’ll give your reasoning to the team, of course,” Liam said. “But there’s the thing-we still don’t have a shred of physical evidence.”

“I know. And I’m not certain. I think I will be-if I just get through those books,” David said. “Maybe, by the time we get there, Katie will have found something. Maybe she’s already found something,” he said. He pulled out his phone and called Katie’s cell. It went directly to voice mail. He swore softly.

“What?”

“She’s either talking, or she never charged her battery,” David said.

He was already dialing again.

“Sean?” Liam asked.

David nodded. But Sean’s phone rang and rang-and went to voice mail.

“Hurry,” David told Liam.

“Hell, this isn’t a sci-fi car, even if I have a siren!” Liam said. “I can’t fly over those other cars.”

“Put the siren on, do your best. Hey, have someone get over to Katie’s house, and to my place, Liam. Please. Have them do it now.”

There were figures tussling on the floor. Sean. And someone else. Someone else big and brawny, rolling with Sean. She heard a whack-a fist connecting with flesh. She heard another whack.

Robert the Doll stood in place, looking at her with his ugly face and beady eyes. She looked beyond him to the small-scale model of Artist House.

“Bastard! Asshole!” Sean raged. “The cops are on the way, you idiot!”

For a moment, one of the shadow figures rose high above the other. He turned blindly, heading toward the archway that lead to the next exhibit.

“Hey!” Sean roared, making it to his feet. Ahead of him, as if he had hit a wall that wasn’t there, the big shadow figure suddenly fell back to the ground.

“Sean, stop it, let him go!” Katie cried.

The figure crawled to its feet, then doubled over and came at Sean like a bull. Katie heard the sickening thud as they met. Her brother went down with the lug on top of him. Katie found a piece of wood that had been used to construct the miniature of Artist House.

She wrenched it free, and brought it down with all her strength on the back of the man on top of her brother.

He bellowed in pain, rose and staggered toward her.

She held the wood, and whacked him again, as hard as she could, across the shoulder.

Sean was up, hurrying toward her.

Light suddenly flickered in from a car passing by on the street.

It was Sam. Sam Barnard. And he was stumbling toward her now with the ceaseless drive of a zombie, his face frozen into a mask of anger.

“Stop!”

Sam lunged for her. She tried to back up; she crashed against the Artist House miniature and fell flat back on the floor.

Sam came down on her.

She screamed.

Robert the Doll looked down at her with malign eyes.

Sean was on top of Sam next, dragging him off her. He straddled over Sam, punched him, and punched him again.