“It seems to be so,” David told her. “I heard about your dive today—and that you might have discovered a relic of some kind.”
“Hopefully. And hopefully, it is a real relic, and not a watch lost recently that encrusted quickly,” Vanessa said.
“I don’t think so,” David said, “Sean has a good eye for things like that. The sea can play games, that’s for certain, but anyone who has grown up diving down here has found something lost from a boat from some period of time—he’d probably know if it was just a twenty-year-old barnacle crustation.”
“I found it awfully easily.”
“The current is always moving and the sand is always shifting,” David reminded her.
She faced the doorway where, in ones, twos and threes, others were now coming into the bar. She saw Marty and he waved to her as he headed up to Katie and her computer area to request a song.
“Ah, good, Marty is here. We’ll be getting a good sea shanty,” David said.
She smiled at him and noted the door again.
She stiffened where she sat at the stool, dead straight.
She didn’t believe it, didn’t believe that she was seeing the man who was walking in.
A man obviously looking for someone.
Her.
5
Sean arrived at his uncle’s bar around nine-thirty. Katie-oke was in full swing.
He saw David at one of the high-top tables in the rear of the karaoke area and came to sit by him at one of the free bar stools. There was one left; Bartholomew sat in it as if he and Sean had come in together like any friends out for a drink together.
David acknowledged Bartholomew’s presence with a nod. He could hear Bartholomew at times and see his faint outline at certain times, too. Sean didn’t think that David had any kind of a sixth sense, but Bartholomew had become so entwined in the events that had nearly cost all of them their lives that David did have a sense of him. It was often a relief for Sean to be with his sister and David, who knew about Bartholomew’s presence. That way, when the pirate goaded him, he could reply without appearing to be talking to an imaginary friend.
“Liam here yet?” he asked.
“Not yet. But I talked to him after you did. Seems he’s in on this one way or the other,” David said.
“Which is great—having a skilled cop with us cannot be bad,” Sean said.
“You really think that we might have trouble?” David asked.
“Two people were murdered, maybe three, when they were making the film. I think that the only rational explanation is that Carlos Roca was the killer, and that he’s out there somewhere. But will he come after our crew? Probably not. He got away with murder—and a good boat. I don’t think he’d come back. Is there the possibility of something going wrong, such as idiot drug smugglers, human traffickers? Sure, always. We both know that. So it’s good to have a cop along. We can watch each other’s backs. Yeah, I like that,” Sean said.
“The pickings seemed slim today at the interviews,” David said.
Sean shrugged. They had talked to a couple of “possible people.” He wished he could have Frazier, from Key Largo, but he was working on a National Geographic project. There were other friends he’d known for years and years. Of course, they could delay the project. But now, he didn’t want to.
“We’ll be all right,” David said. “You know Katie is coming. And she can help with lights, sound…cameras. She says she hung around you enough when you first got into it, and we’ve been out doing some fooling around filming on the reefs since we decided to do this.”
“Two and two,” Bartholomew said. “Always close enough to be in easy vision, that’s the way to do it.”
David gazed in his direction. “And which boat will you be on?”
“Whichever appears to be more comfortable. Or, perhaps, more in danger,” he said.
“You’ll leave Lucinda, Lucy—your lady in white—for that kind of time?” Sean asked Bartholomew. He realized, oddly enough, that as much as he didn’t want to be “haunted,” he did think it was a good thing that Bartholomew was ready for the trip.
“Can’t leave you folks alone. And who knows, maybe Lucy will be up for the voyage. Though she does hate the water. And boats,” Bartholomew admitted.
“A long time to be away,” Sean noted, mumbling so that only David could hear him.
Bartholomew slowly lifted an aristocratic brow. “Time is irrelevant, my dear boy. You must remember, Lucy and I have both been drifting these streets for many, many a year now. We’ll be fine with a few weeks apart—as they say, absence makes the heart grow fonder.” He frowned. “Alas, you should be worrying about a living vision of grace and beauty!” Bartholomew said gravely, looking toward the booths in the bar area.
“What?” Sean turned to stare.