He shook his head. “They say it’s haunted, and not haunted by good. You know what happened there. Murder!”
“It was very sad, and a long time ago, Marty. What happened was tragic-some idiot making use of someone else’s dream for a dramatic effect, but it’s all in the past now. I’ll be all right, Marty.”
“They never caught the killer, missy,” he reminded her.
“And I’m thinking that the killer moved on, Marty. Nothing like it has happened again.”
Still shaking his head, Marty left her.
“I think he must be right. It doesn’t sound like a good place to be,” Bartholomew informed her, leaning near and whispering, though why he whispered, she didn’t know. “Hey! That man is still behaving in a rude and disrespectful way toward Clarinda. Should I do something about it?”
Katie grated her teeth and looked toward the bar and the revenant of the man who stood next to her. She was sure that to the rest of the people present, there was nothing to be seen.
Or heard.
She lowered her head and spoke in an intense whisper. “Bartholomew, if you wish to maintain a mortal friend, I entreat you to cease and desist-shut up! You make me appear unbalanced, talking to myself all the time.”
“That chap is an utter ass,” Bartholomew protested. “Oh, and there she goes again, out on the street.”
Katie looked up. She couldn’t help herself.
It was true. A woman in white was walking along the sidewalk, staring straight ahead. She was in a Victorian white dress, and she knotted a handkerchief in her hands. She looked so sad that Katie felt a pang in her heart, and she bit her lower lip to remind herself that it was a curse seeing ghosts, that she couldn’t become involved with all of them-there were simply too many in Key West-and that the woman was long dead and needed only to discover some kind of inner peace to move on.
“She haunts me so,” Bartholomew said. He grimaced. “No pun intended.”
Katie looked around as Bartholomew chuckled. His long-dead state did not seem to dampen his good spirits. He’d been an adventurer in life-and a privateer, not a pirate!-and his sense of curiosity and longing for new experiences had not deserted him in death. He stared at Katie. “You really don’t know who she is? And she won’t talk to you?”
“She never has,” Katie said.
“Watch it,” Bartholomew warned.
She realized Clarinda was staring at her with concern in her eyes.
Katie knew that thus far in her life, only she seemed to be blessed by Bartholomew’s presence.
He was quite the dandy. His shoes were buckled and bore heels, his hose didn’t display a single knot and his breeches were impeccable. He wore a ruffled shirt, red vest and black jacket. His hair was jet-black and neatly queued beneath his tricornered hat. She knew he was especially fond of the Pirates in Paradise festival himself, and he insisted that they spend their time watching the musicians and joining in with the festivities because he loved to comment on the modern-day pirates roaming Key West.
“Are you all right?” Clarinda asked, coming back up to Katie’s equipment stand and sidling around to stand next to her chair. “You’re talking to yourself again,” she warned. “One of the fellows over there wanted to buy you a drink. He thought you were already well on the way.”
Katie looked over to the group where her would-be admirer was sitting. She frowned, recognizing the man, but not knowing why. “I don’t want a drink-thank him for me. I was singing under my breath to the song, that’s all. Clarinda, who is that guy?”
Clarinda turned and waved a hand. The fellow shrugged. He had tawny-blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and appeared to be in his midthirties. He was so familiar, and not anyone she saw on a daily basis.
“He does look-like we should know him, huh?”
“But I don’t think he’s a local,” Katie said.
“Maybe he’s on the news-or a fishing show, or something like that,” Clarinda suggested.
“Well, let’s not make enemies. Tell him thanks for me but no thanks, and that I don’t drink when I work. I was just humming and halfway singing along with the music,” Katie said.
“Of course. And don’t worry. I already told him that you didn’t drink while you were working. He said all karaoke hosts drank. I said you didn’t.”
“Thanks. Just be pleasant to him. I can always take care of myself, honestly,” Katie assured her.
“Indeed! Because I’m at your side,” Bartholomew said. “And I can take my cutlass to any rat bastard’s throat.”
Katie glared at him.
“All right, all right, so I can’t master a sword anymore. I can trip the bastard,” Bartholomew assured her. “I’m quite an accomplished trip artist for a ghost, if I do say so myself.”
“Lovely,” Katie said.
“What’s lovely?” Clarinda asked.
“That it’s finally near closing time. Marty is about to come up. Oh, and it’s thinning out, so…ah! I know what we’ll do.”