But he found himself hurrying. He didn’t know why the theft of the body disturbed him so much. Liam had been right—it had probably been some kind of a prank. Or, God knew, maybe an eccentric collector had decided that he just had to have a mummified murder victim from the early eighteen hundreds.
Still, as he neared his house, he was almost running. It occurred to him that he’d been gone a long time. Liam had not been able to leave the station then—he’d been tying up his paperwork and transferring his workload to other detectives throughout the day in preparation for taking his vacation time with Sean and David and the crew.
An hour at the range had been good. He’d always had a clear eye and a steady aim, but since guns weren’t in his workaday world, he hadn’t carried one in a long time.
The day’s events at the fort and beach would be drawing to a close, but there would be parties, lectures and “pirate” entertainment as the night arrived. Once again, pirates and their consorts would be roaming the streets. At the moment, it was one of the most beautiful times of the day; there was nothing like a Key West sunset. The bright sunlight gave way to a gentle, pale yellow, and the brilliant blue of the sky overhead became a silver-gray. Then the sun started down, and it seemed that the horizon and everything around was shot full with a palette of unbelievable colors, from deep magenta to the most delicate pink, shimmering gold to gentle rose. It was most amazing to watch the sun set over the water, but to Sean, the colors were still visible, and the colors were what created the beauty.
The brighter shades were just giving way to violet, silver and gray when he reached his house. Once there, he bounded up the walk and fitted his key into the lock, calling Vanessa’s name.
In the foyer, he paused, calling her name again.
Vanessa was there. She walked to the foyer from the center of the house and the kitchen and dining-room area.
She stared at him with immense eyes that seemed to accuse him of the foulest of heinous deeds.
“Sean,” she said.
He noticed that she had shampooed her hair and that she was wearing a white halter dress that showed off the tan of her skin.
“Are we going somewhere?” he asked.
“Oh, yes. Bon voyage party at O’Hara’s. All of our friends will be joining us,” she told him. “It will be Katie’s last night for now, so she’s going to be there in case Clarinda needs her. David said as long as we’re all ready and aboard by ten we’ll be fine…oh, and Marty has turned his booth over to his friend for pirate fest—you have been gone awhile. Did you learn anything?”
“No. The police barely know where to start searching for the chest. I went—I went to target practice with Liam.”
“We’re having guns aboard?” she asked, frowning.
“Think about it. Yes,” he said.
“Well, we don’t have to leave right away. Come in and sit down and let’s talk for a minute, shall we? Sit, please. Can I get you something? It is your house, of course. Thank goodness, the choices here are much broader than what I have up in my room. Beer? Wine? Soda, soda and whiskey, or whiskey. Rum! That’s right. It’s a pirate drink. Strange, I’ve had this growing affection for a good stiff drink from just about the time I arrived here.”
She was definitely behaving strangely, and yet she certainly seemed stone-cold sober.
He followed her to the dining room. He noticed that Bartholomew was there. He was seated at the dining-room table. He looked at Sean with a guilty expression.
Sean frowned, feeling a sensation of dread.
“I’ll take a beer,” Sean said. “But I can get it myself.”
“No, no, let me. Sit,” she said.
He took a chair at the end of the table. Bartholomew—for once—was silent.
Vanessa set a beer in front of him. She had taken one for herself, and walked around to take a seat at the other end of the dining-room table.
“Sean, I mentioned to you that I see a figurehead—with Dona Isabella’s face on it—in the water, and it leads me to things beneath.”
“Yes,” he said slowly. Carefully.
She learned toward him, eyes snapping with light and anger. “You hypocrite!”
“What?”
“You tell me everything is a trick of the mind—when you live with a ghost!”
He was certain that his jaw fell. Then, of course, he gave himself away by staring at Bartholomew. She saw him! She saw Bartholomew.
“What a jerk!” she told him. “You might have mentioned your pirate friend to me!”
“Privateer,” Bartholomew said, but weakly.
“You see him,” he said, his voice just as pale.
“Yes, and he nearly gave me a heart attack. You should have told me. When I saw him, I thought that he might have been Mad Miller—”
“That was terribly insulting,” Bartholomew interjected.
“How was I supposed to know?” Vanessa snapped to him. She wagged a finger at Sean. “You should have told me!”
He opened his mouth but no sound came. He cleared his throat and tried again. “You would have thought that I was crazy.”
“Really? That’s great. Instead, I’ve been thinking that I’m crazy.”
“You can see him—clearly?” Sean asked.