“Two—possibly three—people are dead,” Vanessa said sharply.
“Oh, of course! I mean, that’s the most important part of all this, the really tragic part,” Jay said. “And they deserve justice. And if Carlos is innocent and out there somewhere…alive, well, we owe the truth to him, too, right? And if he did murder poor Travis and Georgia, and he didn’t get swallowed up by the Bermuda Triangle, he deserves to go to prison. Or be executed. The whole thing screams for answers, don’t you agree?”
“Answers, yes,” Sean agreed. “Whether there’s a prayer in hell that a set of filmmakers could get the answers, I don’t know.”
“I’m good, I swear, ask Vanessa,” Jay said.
“Vanessa?” Sean asked politely.
“He’s good. He knows boats and he can dive,” she said, still not facing Sean. Her cheeks seemed flushed.
“I’ll take it all under consideration,” Sean said. “And, of course, discuss it with my partner.”
He started to rise.
“Please. Please consider me,” Jay said. He sounded humble. Sincere.
And desperate.
“I can’t tell you what it means to me. Honestly—yes, yes, other than the dead—this didn’t affect anyone as badly as me. I can’t tell you… I still spend my life wondering,” Jay said.
Sean shook his head. “There’s not even a real suggestion that we can find any answers,” he said.
“Please,” Jay repeated.
“I’ll discuss it with the others,” Sean said. He left then, aware that Vanessa’s eyes were following him as he walked across the room.
He hadn’t realized that Bartholomew had been behind him until he felt the pressure when the ghost bumped into him.
“Such a skeptic!” Bartholomew said.
“Sorry, I don’t like it.”
“Don’t like what?” Bartholomew demanded.
“I decide to go her way—and suddenly her old friend is here, asking for a job.”
“She didn’t know he was going to come here,” Bartholomew said.
“Are you sure?”
“She seems honest. I don’t think she knew.”
“Either that, or she was just hoping to use David and me as saps.”
“Ouch. There’s a chip on your shoulder, my friend. Wait—better call it a boulder.”
“I intend to be careful,” Sean said.
“So—what is there to be so careful about? I’d say that it’s natural. If you’d been involved in something like that and you heard that someone was doing anything that touched upon the mystery, wouldn’t you jump it on it like a starving tick on an Irish wolfhound?”
“A starving tick on an Irish wolfhound?” Sean repeated.
“I make my point—and if you tell me no, I’ll call you a liar of the worst kind.”
“All right, yes, I’d be after anything that could get me close again,” Sean admitted. He paused. His sister was singing an old Beatles number, giving all due honor to the Fab Four. He paused, clapping, and watching David clap, watching the pleasure on his face. The world seemed so strange. David Beckett was seriously in love with Katie. It was nice. It was the kind of thing you had to admire—and envy.
He gave himself a mental shake. He’d had his share of relationships, most of which had ended decently, and he was long past the stage where he understood anyone who tried to hook up with a stranger in a bar purely for the purpose of sex. But somehow, looking at his sister and David, he felt a strange sense of emptiness he’d never known. He’d liked his life; come and go as you please, come and go anywhere in the world. Appreciate family and old friends, and look for new adventures. But now…
He took his stool back at the high-top table with David.
“So?” David asked.
“That is Jay Allen—the director of the movie that went so astray,” Sean explained.
“Ah, the plot thickens,” David said.
“He thinks it’s strange that Jay just appeared,” Bartholomew said, rolling his eyes. He jumped up suddenly.
“What? What is it?” Sean asked sharply.
“Lucinda lingers just outside. You’ll excuse me…?” Bartholomew asked.
“Why doesn’t Mistress Lucinda just come in?” Sean asked. “Damn, Bartholomew, the way you jumped up…I thought something had happened. Invite the lovely and ethereal Miss Lucy in.”
He shuddered. “Good God, she’d never!” he said.
“Wait—are you insulting my uncle’s establishment?” Sean teased.