Heather Graham - Ghost Shadow

Her voice had trailed as she stared at him. She looked nervous suddenly.

Was she thinking that no matter what the newspapers or police had said, he might be a murderer? A very sick one at that, setting a corpse into an historical tableau?

After all, she had said that her family had been here forever, and yes, he did know of O’Haras who were longtime residents, but…

“Katie O’Hara?” he said sharply.

“Yes, I just introduced myself,” she said with aggravation.

“Sean’s little sister?”

“Sean’s sister, yes,” she said. She left out the “little,” her aggravation apparently growing.

“Sean doesn’t have any part of this, does he?” His tone was sharper than he had intended.

“My brother is working in the South China Sea right now, filming a documentary, and no, he has nothing to do with this. But I don’t see what-”

“Nothing. Look, nothing has anything to do with anything. This place will never be a museum again, and I’m pretty damned sure you just looked at me and remembered why I feel that way.”

She inhaled, as if steeling herself to speak patiently. “Something terrible happened. You were cleared. Your grandfather closed the place, but he always wanted to reopen it. We will never rid the world of psychos. I intend to have security, and locks and make sure that nothing so terrible could ever happen again,” she assured him.

He leaned back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, and stared at her incredulously. “And a bunch of frat-boy idiots wouldn’t try to put a blonde mannequin in here, ever, or suggest that you do a mock-up tableau of Elena with Tanya’s body? Haven’t you ever watched those horror movies with parts one, two, three, four, five and so on, where the same stupid people keep going to the same stupid, dark woods to wind up dead? What if the psycho who did it is still hanging in the Keys? What do you think of that kind of temptation?”

“I wouldn’t let it happen. All people are not horrible, and it’s a wonderful museum. I’ve worked really long and hard-”

“Right. You must be all of what now, twenty-two, twenty-three?”

“Twenty-four, and that’s hardly relevant. I already have my own business-”

“Katie? Katie O’Hara?” He laughed suddenly. “Katie-oke! That’s your business?”

She stiffened and her face became an ice mask. “For your information, Mr. Beckett, karaoke is big business these days.”

“At your uncle’s bar, of course.”

“You really have matured into a rather insufferable ass, Mr. Beckett,” she said, her tone pleasant. “I will leave. I’ll see you with my attorneys tomorrow.”

“As you choose. Good night, Miss O’Hara. And forgive me. I didn’t mean to laugh at Sean’s little sister.”

She stared at him. “I really don’t care, Mr. Beckett. And neither would Sean. We’ve both worked hard and been responsible, and we make our way quite fine, thank you. And by the way, I never knew you were friends with my brother. Is he aware of the fact?”

He laughed then. He had been an insufferable ass. It was this place. It was the possibility that it might be opened again.

It was him.

He had left here. He never hid his past. People knew about Tanya, about what had happened. But outside of this place, no one assumed that he had done it, that despite his honest and upright alibi, his entire family had lied to save him.

Being back here…

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive. To you, Miss O’Hara, and not to anyone’s sister, younger or otherwise. However, the place is seriously not for sale. And my reasons are valid. I don’t want to see history repeating itself.”

“We’ll see tomorrow,” she said.

She moved away, but then turned back to him. “I should have known you. Recognized you, I mean. Your grandfather talked about you all the time. Craig Beckett was a wonderful man.”

He was surprised at how her remark seemed to sting. He had loved his grandfather-he didn’t know anyone who hadn’t liked and respected his grandfather. And he had seen him often over the years.

Just not in Key West.

“Thank you,” he said, lowering his head.

“I’m glad you’ve managed to make it back now, since you couldn’t be here for the funeral.”

“If you knew my grandfather, Miss O’Hara, you know that he didn’t believe much in funerals-or in massive monuments to the dead, caskets worth thousands and thousands of dollars or any other such thing. Memories exist in the mind, he always told me. And love was something distance could never quell. So I am fine with my memories, and in my conscience.”

“I’m happy for you. Personally, I find a funeral a special time to remember and honor a loved one, but to each his own, of course. I’ll get out of here, Mr. Beckett. I will see you tomorrow at the bank.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a shrug.

She was near the door. “I take it you’re not planning on staying in town long?”

“No.”

She hesitated again. “Then what do you care?” she asked quietly.

He didn’t answer.

“I would keep it alive with the dignity it deserves,” she told him.

“I apologize for being so rude. You seriously startled me, being here. I really do apologize for any offense given.”

She nodded and turned to leave.

He watched her go. Sean’s little sister. He and Sean had played high-school football together. She didn’t remember, but he had been in her home. She’d sported a head of almost orange-red hair back then, a lot of skinned and bruised knees and freckles that seemed to have faded now. She was definitely a striking young woman. She had unnerved him. He wasn’t customarily such an ass, and didn’t make light of the endeavors of others.

And yet, seriously…Katie-oke?

He started. It was suddenly cold-ice-cold-where he stood in the museum. He thought about the many sayings people had, such as, “It was as if a ghost walked right through me.” It was as if he had been…shoved by something very cold. Well, ghosts didn’t go around shoving people. Oh, and he didn’t believe in ghosts.

He went about turning off the lights and, when he left, he locked the place securely.

“I gave him a good comeuppance,” Bartholomew announced. “A strong right hook, right on the fellow’s jaw. And I could swear he felt it. All right, all right, so he didn’t crash down on the floor in a knockout, but I’d swear he knew he’d been given a licking of one kind or another.”

Katie waved a hand in the air, distracted. “I don’t believe it. No one thought that he’d even come home. He was supposed to stay off in Africa, Asia or Australia, or wherever it was that he was working. Why? Why? He’s got to be wrong on this. Liam was certain that he could go through with the sale, that David despised the place and never intended to come back.”

“You’re welcome. Yes, I would defend you to the death against such an oaf. Oh, wait. I am dead. And still, my dear, I did my best.”

Katie had offended Bartholomew, she realized. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Bartholomew. I’m sure you sprang instantly to my defense, and I deeply appreciate your efforts.”

“I will keep trying. As long as that man is in the city, I swear, I will keep trying,” Bartholomew promised.

“I don’t understand. He doesn’t want to be here. He plans on living elsewhere forever and ever,” Katie said.

She realized that he was silent then.

“What?” she demanded. “He hasn’t been here in ten years, Bartholomew. He doesn’t care about the place, and I don’t care what he said, he showed no respect, not making it home for his grandfather’s funeral.”

“I thought they couldn’t locate him-since he was off somewhere,” Bartholomew said.