He nodded. “Well, keep your door locked, all right?” he asked.
Her smile deepened. In the muted light her eyes were truly a crystal that seemed hypnotic. He reminded himself that she was Sean’s little sister.
But Sean’s little sister had grown up.
“Well, good night,” he told her.
“Good night.”
She closed the door; he heard her lock it. He turned and walked slowly back to the Beckett house.
He paused on the street. He loved the house but tonight, it seemed cold, empty and forlorn.
And down the street, he could see the museum. He wasn’t given to anything illogical, but it seemed that night that the museum had a life of its own. It looked large in the shadows, dark and evil.
Irritated, he let himself into the house he now owned. He went to bed, and lay awake a long time, staring up at the ceiling.
Katie was exhausted, but the events of the past few days seemed to rush through her mind. She was restless, jumping at sounds. But then she grew angry with herself; she wasn’t easily scared. For God’s sake, it wasn’t as if she thought there was a ghost in her closet.
There might be a ghost in her closet, but if there was, she wasn’t afraid of it! Ghosts reached out. They needed help. They weren’t evil puffs of air or mist or…whatever. They were lost, and frequently, in pain.
She wondered then if there were evil ghosts. In her experience, no. For her, they were a part of life-just like allergies were to some people. Sometimes startling and annoying, and sometimes, like Bartholomew, they just seemed to hang around endlessly.
She was fond of Bartholomew. And he actually made her feel safe. In his odd, ghostly way, he was a very good friend. He was fond of her, as well.
She thought about David, and what he believed-that surely there was nothing in the world beyond the obvious. David wouldn’t be a big believer in ghosts.
She tried counting sheep. That was ridiculous. She looked at the clock. It was 4:00 a.m. She prayed for sleep.
At last, she drifted off, and then fell deeply asleep. She woke slowly in the morning, feeling the coolness of her sheets, hearing the hum of the air conditioner. Her drapes were closed, but the sun was filtering into her room. It was day; she had rested. And she felt good.
She stretched, and then rolled over, cuddling her pillow, wanting just a few more minutes in bed.
She froze.
Despite herself, she screamed.
She wasn’t alone in bed. The woman she had seen on Duval was there, lying next to her, staring into her eyes.
The woman was dead.
Her eyes were wide open, huge and blue, and staring sightlessly.
She was a ghost, of course…
The ghost of Tanya Barnard.
No matter where he went, no matter the project, David preferred staying close to the sea.
Actually, one thing that he had missed about home was the guarantee that the water was going to be temperate and beautiful. Sure, in the middle of winter even the Atlantic and the Gulf could be cold. But usually, nine months out of the year at least, the water was beautiful.
Today he felt the need for the water. He thought best when he was in the water, and he wasn’t feeling close enough to anyone else from his past to ask for company-not true, he’d have asked Katie O’Hara, except that she had kept her distance the night before-and though he knew damned well he shouldn’t plan on going out by himself, he was going to do so. He’d had good friends, expert divers, who had actually died by believing that they were so good they didn’t need company. He preached diving with a buddy.
But today, he was going to live recklessly. He was going out alone.
He knew that his grandfather had kept the Lucky Life in good repair at the dock; he knew that Liam took the boat out often enough, as well. He walked the distance to the boat, knowing that Liam kept dive equipment on her. The dive shop right at the docks rented tanks, and he could also buy sandwiches, water and beer.
Lainie Regent still worked at the dive shop; she greeted him and rented him four tanks with thirty minutes each. These would work as long as he controlled his breathing and kept his dives around sixty feet. He assured her he wasn’t doing any of the deep wrecks, and that he’d be fine.
“Welcome back, David,” Lainie told him. “Be nice if you stuck around a bit. Hey! I saw some of your work in that national earth-thingy magazine. David, what great pictures!”
“Thanks, Lainie.” He bid her goodbye without making any commitments and headed on down to the Lucky Life. Craig had never really been much of a fisherman; in his younger days, he’d been an avid diver. The boat was designed to that end with eight tank holds, a freshwater hose and bucket, a small cabin with a very small working galley and a head. Since David had been gone, sonar equipment and global positioning had been added.
Nice.
He checked his gas, then started to slip the ties that tethered the boat to the dock.
“David!”
He looked up, startled by the sense of pleasure that seemed to wash over him.
Warmly.