Well, that was good. Zoe would have Bill with her, and she wouldn’t be as nervous, and there was always safety in numbers.
“I think I’m just calling it a night,” Katie said, yawning. “I imagine we want to start out on a dive pretty early?” she asked.
“Actually, I was thinking just after twelve tomorrow,” Sean said. “I want to take some footage with the original film crew, each person talking a bit more about what they did. And we’ll take a walk down the beach, see what we see. Maybe discern if another boat might have come in during the night.”
“Well, a boat had to have come in—I think,” Barry said. He was frowning. “I mean, if a boat didn’t come in, it means…Carlos…or…” He fell silent.
The group was silent.
The fire snapped and crackled.
“One of us will be on guard all night, every night,” Sean said.
“One of us?” Jake asked.
“One of us who wasn’t with the original crew,” Sean said.
There was silence again. “Well, good night, all,” Katie said, and she left the group.
Sean rose and talked to Marty for a moment. The others began to rise and murmur good-nights and head for their tents.
Vanessa realized that Marty was going to bed; that Sean was taking the first watch.
He looked at her and she smiled, nodded and turned to head for their tent. She slipped inside and almost started—she still wasn’t accustomed to Bartholomew showing up all the time.
“Sean is on first watch,” he said softly.
She sat at the foot of her canvas bunk, smiling. “And you’re watching over me?”
He winced. “Hey, I can watch over you at least. And I can make a few things happen. I can push buttons…I can trip people. I’m not bad at manifestations, but…”
“What?” Vanessa asked.
“I was listening to that fellow tonight, the Bahamian, Lew Sanderson,” Bartholomew said.
“He was telling a story,” Vanessa said. “An African legend.”
“Yes, of course. But often…well, gods and goddesses, angels and demons…it’s strange how the world can be so different, and yet so much the same. The Norse had Odin, the Romans, Jupiter, and the Greeks had Zeus, and he was nearly one and the same. The Christian, Jewish and Muslim faiths recognize one God, but he lives in Heaven with the angels, and the angels often have characteristics that line up with the lesser gods in other religions.”
She was startled at first that he seemed so philosophical, but then she realized that he was seriously troubled by Lew’s story.
“You’re talking about the fact that people here thought the bitter sister’s soul haunted the ocean, while many people now believe there’s something eerie about the Bermuda Triangle?” Vanessa asked.
He nodded. He stared at her. “Well, I told you—the legend that has come down about Mad Miller and Kitty Cutlass…well, there’s just something wrong with it. Mad Miller got his name because another fellow was making fun of him one day and called him mad because he was…well, he was a bit of a fop. He hated blood. And Kitty…Kitty was in love with Mad Miller because he was the best thing that ever came along in her sad and pathetic life. You were making a film about them and Dona Isabella. I was thinking that…well, obviously, I’m still around, and maybe they are, too.”
“Bartholomew, we’ve all agreed that ghosts couldn’t have committed the murders,” Vanessa said. “I mean, thank God…thank God we do have you, because we know what ghosts can and can’t do. And I always believed that ghosts stayed behind because…they were lost, or they needed help, or justice, or they stayed behind to help others.”
“Maybe,” Bartholomew said.
“What do you mean maybe? You are a ghost!” Vanessa reminded him.
He nodded. “It doesn’t mean I have all the answers. Hey, I was a decent fellow in life. I’m a damned decent fellow in death. But perhaps, if you were a bastard in life, you stay a bastard in death.”
“You keep telling me that Mad Miller was basically a prissy-ass pansy,” Vanessa said with a sigh.
“Yes, I know, though your language is quite colorful,” Bartholomew said.
“Sorry.”
“That’s why I’m perplexed,” Bartholomew said. “Ah, well, you had best get some sleep. I think you’ll need it in the days to come.” He stood. “I’ll be near,” he promised her.
She smiled, thanked him and bid him good-night.
It wasn’t until he was gone and she lay back and watched the fire dancing on the canvas of the tent that she felt alone and uneasy—and suddenly fully aware of the last time she had lain in a tent on the beach at Haunt Island.
She remembered dreaming first that Georgia had come to her. She had almost heard the young woman’s voice in the shadows of the night as tears streamed down her cheeks.
I told you there were monsters.