“That’s something we have to find out,” Sean said. “It’s going to be interesting, though. All of us so close together. And that’s how we’re going to stay. The film crew—or at least the majority of it—wasn’t expecting anything bad to happen. They were working. They were in a place that was a pristine hangout for boaters. There was no reason to expect anything. And we know damned well that bad things happen. So…” Sean hesitated. “Maybe Katie should stay here, in Miami,” he said. “I asked Ted last night…but he wants in.”
“Katie won’t go back—you know your sister,” David said. “Look, I really think that we’re dealing with cowards here. The whole company wasn’t killed. Travis was probably taken by surprise. And as far as Carlos and Georgia and the boat…well, any way you look at it, it was one man who was the surprise, or was taken from the back in the dark. We’ll be all right. Marty and Jamie are fierce old pirates, we’ve got Liam, you and me. Once we’re on the island, we’ll have perimeter, with one us on guard at all times, maybe two of us. So here’s the thing. We do it or we don’t. And at this point, I say we do it.”
Sean nodded and called for the check.
It was a beautiful day for the trip across the straits from Miami to Haunt Island. The boats moved parallel across fairly calm seas, the sky was a pristine blue with only a few puffs of white clouds, and the sun shone down brilliantly throughout the day.
Seated in the companion seat, Vanessa was glad enough to laze the time away. Marty took the helm several times, and Jay and Sean spent the hours filming the voyage. Sean did a few minutes on the straits, the proximity of the Bahamas to Florida, and how the voyage would have been different in the eighteen hundreds when the wind played such an important role in travel. They pointed out the area where Mad Miller’s pirate ship had supposedly gone down, and Sean gave his calculations on the currents of the time, estimating that the debris field had to extend farther than it had often been presumed.
Vanessa was roused for a few moments to do a two-minute take on her research regarding Dona Isabella, Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass, and how they had followed the same path when they had been making the film.
She was surprised when Sean filmed Jay, asking him about his feelings on the distribution of the film. Jay sounded sincere when he said that he believed that Georgia and Travis would have wanted it shown—they had been actors, after all—and that he hoped they could find the truth, see that the murderer was punished and be able to distribute the film feeling that they had justice and closure at last.
Jay’s speech seemed heartfelt.
From her comfortable perch, a warm poncho around her shoulders against the chill of the wind, Vanessa observed Sean’s questions as he interviewed Zoe and Jake, wanting to know everything that had happened on the island the day that Georgia and Travis had been murdered. Jake had been in charge of props, and he explained that it was easy to understand why they had all dismissed Georgia’s fears—any one of them might have played a prank.
When she had come screaming down the sand, he had been in his little tent, getting ready to come on out and share the champagne.
Zoe talked about her love of the period costumes and relayed the story about the afternoon when they’d dressed Vanessa up as a deceased Dona Isabella and gotten a bit carried away, forgetting that she was floating in the ocean in heavy materials. She had last seen Travis that afternoon, when they had filmed the scene in which help had come to the island at last. She, too, had been in her tent, pleased with the film and hoping for great distribution and big notches on their résumés for future work.
Vanessa noted that Bartholomew was silent, watching their destination before them and listening intently to the interviews. He seemed thoughtful.
They arrived at the island at just about three that afternoon.
She rose and went aft, watching as they came upon Haunt Island and trying to remember when she had been there last. Now it all seemed such a blur. The island appeared lovely and tropical, totally benign in the bright sunlit day. She had thought she would feel something. She had thought that she’d be afraid. She wasn’t. It was just an island.
Lew Sanderson was standing at the end of the dock, waiting to greet them. He waved a welcome and caught the ties as the Conch Fritter drew in first. Vanessa hopped to the dock and was enveloped in a huge hug by the big man.
It felt good.