Bone Island 03 - Ghost Moon

“That’s what I’m investigating, Mrs. Osbury,” Liam said.

 

“Liam, you have been out of school a very long time. Please call me Matilda. Now, how may I help you?”

 

“You knew Gary White?” Liam asked her.

 

“Of course,” she said.

 

“I’m sorry, Matilda, help me out here. How did you know him?”

 

“Why, he loved the library.”

 

“He did?”

 

“Oh, yes, he came frequently.”

 

“Did he have a library card? Did he take out a lot of books?”

 

She frowned, pursing her lips. “No. I told him he could get one. He didn’t want one. He just came and read all the time.”

 

“Did he ever go into the rare-book room?”

 

“Yes, I believe he did.”

 

“His name isn’t on the list of those who entered,” Liam said.

 

“Oh, it must be!” Matilda protested. “I brought him back there myself.”

 

“Matilda, I need you to show me the list.”

 

She nodded, rose and started off straight for the rare-book room. He followed behind her. She keyed open the door and showed him the book on the pedestal.

 

She frowned after a moment. “Well, I’m sure he signed in. I might have been a bit distracted, but I saw him at the book.”

 

“Matilda, I need to take this book. Can you bring out a new register for people to sign in?” Liam asked.

 

“Well, of course. Do you think it can help solve the mystery of his murder?” she asked. “Oh, Liam, this is so frightening!”

 

“Matilda, I don’t think you need to be afraid.”

 

She shivered. “But I heard the missing book is all about Satanism.”

 

“I haven’t read the book, but it’s not really about Satanism, Matilda. It’s about people who thought they could use it, and how they connected with Key West. I’m sure you’re safe. Carry on with the usual, Matilda. Lock your doors, don’t walk around in the dark…. You know all about being smart and safe.” He offered her a reassuring smile. “You taught us all about it. Now, if you don’t mind, will you help me again? Did Gary talk about any of his friends, or his work, or anything else he might have been doing or anywhere he was attempting to go or anything at all that might help me?”

 

She frowned again, pursing her lips. It seemed to be her mode for thinking.

 

She shook her head. “We didn’t have long conversations. We talked about books, and his guitar. Oh!”

 

“Oh?”

 

“Yes, yes, the last time I saw him—a week or so ago—he was in a bit of a hurry. He was about to go and do a few odd jobs for Jonas Weston at the bed-and-breakfast. Maybe Jonas could help you?” she suggested hopefully.

 

He smiled. “Thank you. I’ll check into that.”

 

He took the book and left.

 

 

 

“Avery, he knew,” Kelsey whispered.

 

“Hmm?” Avery looked up, and then came over to her. “Who knew what, honey?”

 

“Look at this, read this.”

 

Avery bent over her and read the notes. “Oh, Lord. This is frightening, Kelsey, really frightening. Your grandfather thought that—despite the fact that she fell down a staircase—your mom was murdered. But you were there, weren’t you? Wasn’t your father right in the living room?”

 

Kelsey closed her eyes and thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No. When I came running out of my room, my mom was already in my father’s arms, and rescue was on the way. But I’m pretty sure that my dad and Cutter had been right where you and I are now.” She shook her head, trying to conjure up a clear picture of the day she had long ago tried so very hard to forget. “My dad ran out to California. He was trying to get as far as he could from the site of my mom’s death without leaving the States, I’m certain.”

 

“I’m glad he picked California!” Avery said.

 

“And that explains so much!” Kelsey said excitedly. “My dad never hated my grandfather, but he wanted me away from him. He thought that Cutter might risk too much in order to find the person he was convinced had killed my mother. I know that my father believed that it was a tragic accident, and he spent the rest of his life brokenhearted. He didn’t want to risk keeping me in Cutter’s house.”

 

“So sad,” Avery said.

 

“So sad, yes. But here it is. Cutter owned a reliquary that was worth a million dollars. He also came into ownership of the copy. I don’t know which he owned first. But someone else out there knew that he had it. Cutter believed that people were breaking in. He believed one of those people managed to kill my mom, though I still don’t understand how or why. My father took me away, knowing that Cutter would spend the rest of his days obsessed with finding a murderer. Cutter died of a heart attack, with a shotgun, the fake reliquary and a book in his arms.”