“I know that,” she said quietly. “But the funeral director didn’t make it sound as if it were so terrible that I shouldn’t have seen him. Sadly, I’m not a stranger to seeing the bodies of those I love when they’re in their coffins.”
“I don’t think you should see him, Kelsey. That’s all.”
“No, it’s not.”
He sighed. “I gave you his belongings. His ring, his watch—and the book and casket he was holding when he died.”
“You’re still not telling me everything,” Kelsey said, confused.
“All right, Kelsey. It appeared that he’d been scared to death.”
“Scared to death? You mentioned that before, but I thought you were just trying to get me to be more cautious,” she said incredulously.
“I’m trying not to make you nervous,” he said.
She laughed. “You don’t want me to be nervous, but you don’t really want me staying in my own house. I guess it’s better if you’re staying there?”
“Of course.” He paused, looking down at her. “And what’s with you? We lock the house—but you want the bedroom door locked, too.”
She shrugged, looking away. “I don’t know. If those kids did break in again, I wouldn’t want to be taken by surprise, that’s all.”
“That’s not why,” he said.
She stared at him. “Yes, yes, it is.”
She was stubborn, and she wasn’t going to say anything else. That was that.
“Breakfast?” he asked her.
“What?”
“Breakfast?”
She smiled and nodded. “That sounds good. Blue Heaven still here?”
“It is.”
They walked down Duval. On a Sunday morning, despite the fact that some of the musical acts were already starting up, the street was fairly quiet. Kelsey commented on the slogans on the T-shirts in the windows they passed, Liam pointed out that the models in the windows now had gigantic breasts.
They were halfway down the street when Liam’s phone rang. It was David, asking him if he wanted to meet him and Katie for breakfast. Liam told them to head over to Blue Heaven.
The building had been there for over a hundred years. Once, the structure with its great patio beneath an array of trees had served spirits to thirsty guests. Then it had been a venue for cockfights, and, at one time, there had been boxing matches that took place there, with none other than Key West’s famous one-time-resident Ernest Hemingway presiding. In the early nineties it had become a restaurant, and since then, its popularity had grown.
The food was good. There was usually a bit of entertainment going on. The place had a Ping-Pong table for idle guests as they waited for their tables, and, of course, a shop.
Kelsey and Liam opted for Ping-Pong, which was fun, with both of them spending most of the time chasing after the ball rather than hitting it back across the table. David and Katie arrived, and they tried doubles, which worked somewhat better, with all of them arguing over who got a ball in bounds, and who didn’t.
It was during the game that Liam saw Bartholomew. He was standing beneath the old almond tree, his arms crossed over his chest as he watched. Liam, distracted by the ghost, missed a ball as it went flying by him. Kelsey batted him on the shoulder, laughing.
Bartholomew nodded to him, as if he had something to tell him.
Katie O’Hara was the one in their group who tended to see and befriend ghosts. David could see Bartholomew now, as could Sean, though the others didn’t have the same talent as Katie to sense, feel or see other spirits that might be around.
If it had been just the three of them, they could have spoken to Bartholomew as they ate without anyone noticing.
Frankly, Liam hadn’t believed that spirits could roam the earth after death in any way—until, of course, he’d found out about Bartholomew. Katie insisted that she wasn’t psychic—she simply saw ghosts. She couldn’t tell the future, and she didn’t read palms. She had always seen ghosts. Sean had kept her from admitting it until Bartholomew had come so strongly into all their lives.
Liam found himself wishing that he could introduce Kelsey to Bartholomew. But things between them were on the edgy side. He knew she wasn’t telling him everything.
But he could ruin whatever tenuous relationship he had with her now if he sat down and tried to explain that his friend, the dead privateer ghost Bartholomew, had something to tell them. Bartholomew, meet Kelsey; Kelsey, meet Bartholomew. It was difficult enough as it was. He was a high-ranking officer in the police department. Best for people not to think that he was a total lunatic.
“Game!” Kelsey said, lifting her arms.
“What?” David protested. “No, it’s game point now.”
“I say we call it a draw,” Katie said.