Brodie McFadden looked at her as if she had said the most ridiculous thing in the world.
Maybe she had.
He leaned forward. “I believe it might have been some kind of a statement, actually. He was left in an old slave ship. There are dozens of good ways to get rid of a body in South Florida. Take it up to the Everglades, sink it in the swamp. Toss it out of a boat and let it float to the surface, or, weigh it down out in the Straits and let it sink until nothing else can be found.”
“Interesting,” Kody murmured, looking at him, “that you...know how to get rid of a body here so...well.”
No one had a chance to reply—or, if they did reply, Kody didn’t get a chance to hear what the reply might be.
Cliff Bullard was calling her name from the stage.
She grimaced but decided not to make a big thing out of it. She wasn’t her father. As a child, she’d been studious—and probably way too quiet. She’d known enough about her father’s younger years and sex, drugs and rock and roll to not want to live them. He’d never cared that she hadn’t wanted to follow in his footsteps—but he had been proud she’d been in the church chorus.
“Sorry! Gotta do this, can’t help it,” Cliff was saying. “You know how I loved your dad—and love you.” He took a sip of a drink and then tossed the contents, and the cup, just behind the stage.
Kody gave him a weak smile. “‘Ghosts are Walking Bone Island, Girl,’” Cliff said.
“Wouldn’t you rather do something you were in on—or maybe your song that dad played with you—‘Love in the Sun’?” she called out as she walked toward Cliff.
“Naw, your dad’s song tonight, Kody!” he said.
“Friends, I’ve a special treat for you all—you regulars know my girl, but for all of you Sunday-night newfound friends, this is Kody McCoy, daughter of the late great Michael McCoy. Welcome her, please, for a rendition of her dad’s first big hit, ‘Ghosts are Walking Bone Island, Girl.’”
There was a burst of applause. The original published version of the song had been enhanced with drums, a violin, a bass and a rhythm guitar. But she knew her dad had written the song on his Fender, and he’d played it that way at home. Cliff had played with her dad often enough; she had to admit that doing the song was as easy to her as reciting the Pledge of Allegiance.
She started the song, with Cliff playing:
Ghosts come down Duval, my friend, listen to their words,
They haunt us for the things we’ve done, and whisper softly
Bone Island, nevermore, and I whisper back, Bone Island,
I have heard, and nevermore...
Nevermore...
Nevermore...
It was on the tail end of that last “nevermore” that Cliff Bullard suddenly stopped playing.
Kody turned to look at him.
He stared at her, eyes alive with confusion, his face constricted, his body taut.
Then he keeled over, falling in a contorted ball on the little platform stage where he’d been playing.
Kody screamed; a man in the audience hopped up.
“Let me through—I’m a doctor!” he cried.
Kody leaped off the platform, giving the man room. She reached in her pocket for her phone, but she didn’t have it. It didn’t matter; she saw Jojo, the bartender, was already calling 911. Then she watched, unaware of anything around her but Cliff and the doctor working so strenuously over him.
Cliff had allergies! He was always so careful, and he usually kept an EpiPen in his jacket pocket. His jacket was lying over a chair near the bandstand. She hurried to it and searched through his pockets.
No EpiPen.
“He has allergies...he may have eaten something, gotten something that...he needs an EpiPen!” she cried.
The doctor nodded to her.
“Allergies? What are his allergies? Anyone carry an EpiPen?”
No one did.
But they heard sirens almost immediately. It was a small island.
The next minutes were a nightmare and a blur. Liam took charge and cleared the area. They left her alone. Moments passed that were endless, so long, and so short.
The EMTs had epinephrine, but it was too late. Then she saw the paramedics and the doctor step back, defeat in their postures.
“No,” she whispered.
Tears instantly sprang to her eyes. It was impossible. But the doctor was checking his watch and conferring with the paramedics. And she knew that they were establishing time of death.
She sank down on her knees, sobbing softly.
Someone was behind her. Liam, she realized. He drew her to her feet. “Come on, Kody, I have to stay here, but I’ll get Brodie to bring you home, or to my house—you shouldn’t be alone.”
“I can go to the hospital with Cliff, until they can reach his wife. I can stay with him—”
“Kody, he’s dead,” Liam said gently.
“No...he was playing, we were singing...”
“Kody, we’re all so sorry. We all loved him. I have to stay. The coroner is coming.”
“I... This can’t be, Liam. It just can’t be. He was fine, Liam. He was just fine. And then—he was dead.”
“His heart must have given out.”
“He didn’t smoke. He seldom drank. This is—”
“Kody, I’ll be here. I’ll be with him.”
She looked around. They had cleared out the tiki hut. She didn’t see Sonny or Bill or Emory—or anyone. Her handbag and phone were no longer on the table; someone had taken them for her.
“He was allergic to nuts, but he knew it. He carried an EpiPen. Liam, it isn’t possible!”
Liam looked at her sadly.
Because it was possible. Cliff was on the floor; dead.
She suddenly felt the touch of strong hands on her shoulders.
“Miss McCoy, I’ll get you home.”
She still just stood there. Her knees were weak. She remained in disbelief.
“Miss McCoy,” Brodie McFadden said softly.
Liam was still watching her. The doctor who had been in the audience moved over to her, looking at her sympathetically. “I can give you a prescription for something.”
She shook her head. “No, no, thank you.”
“Come away, please,” Brodie said quietly. And she didn’t have much choice. His touch was still gentle, but he firmly turned her away, and they left, walking down the little hotel path that led to the public parking lot.
It was extremely courteous and gentle, but he was a stranger. She wasn’t sure where he was taking her, and she didn’t care at that moment.
“It’s not right. There’s something wrong. I know Cliff...knew him. He didn’t just die like that.”
She was surprised when Brodie looked at her. “What do you think happened? You were next to him on the little stage.”
She glanced over at him, wondering if he was speaking just to let her talk, to help and let her say whatever was on her mind.
But his question was serious.
“I—I don’t know,” she said. “We’d been there an hour or so. I remember he did bring a drink to the table... He usually has a beer when the set is over, but before that, it’s usually water. He wasn’t inebriated by any means.”
“Hard life in his earlier years?” Brodie McFadden asked her.
“Like my father?” She couldn’t prevent the bitterness in her voice. “No. Cliff’s always been a moderate man. No hard drugs, ever. Probably smoked some pot in his day. Moderate drinker. He never needed to drink—he always had a soda water with lime when he was out with my dad.”
“Did he—have any enemies?”
The question startled her.
And the way that the man was looking at her...
He wasn’t behaving as if she was crazy or torn by grief, grabbi
ng at straws. “He had a drink—up there?”
“He tossed the drink—and the cup, in the little area behind the stage. The drink in some foliage...he tosses them all the time.”
“I’ll find the cup,” he said. “Can you think of anyone who would want him dead?”
“God, no! Everyone loved him. Everyone loved his music. He was easygoing—the kind of man everyone got along with.” She stared at him. He was a stranger, and that was hammered home by the fact that he didn’t know Cliff Bullard. “Have you ever been to Key West before?”
He gave her a little smile. “Of course. I dive. Who could resist Key West?”
She was surprised that she almost smiled in return.
“I just meant that...you didn’t know him. Everyone loved him. How long have you been friends with Liam?”
“Stay right here. I’m going to tell Liam to look for the cup. It might help the coroner.”
He stepped away, heading back toward the stage to talk to Liam.
Liam looked perplexed. But then he nodded, and Brodie came back to where Kody was waiting.
“Are you—friends with Liam?” she asked.
“I’m friends with Ewan Keegan. And, yes, through him, I’d met Liam before.”
“And you wound up with him here tonight because...?”
“Because of the body on the boat,” he said.
For a moment, she felt an irrational anger. They did have trouble in Key West; for far too many of the criminal ilk, it was a great place to prey on the unwary—and the inebriated.
But it was still a small community. People died, yes. Usually, it was through natural causes. Their average murder rate was one per year.
This man, this tourist, had found a victim on a ship that was over a hundred feet down in the Straits.
And now...
“Cliff was murdered?” she whispered.
“No, no, I’m not saying that,” he said. He opened the passenger door to his car and gestured for her to get in. She seemed to be having trouble moving herself, so he guided her to the seat. “I was here. I saw him. It looked as if he just keeled over. His heart giving out, or, perhaps, somehow, he did die from anaphylactic shock. He ate something he didn’t know was tainted with nuts and therefore didn’t think to use his EpiPen. Miss McCoy, we won’t know until there has been an autopsy.” Brodie shut her door and went around to the driver’s side. He got in and started the car. They drove in uncomfortable silence for a few minutes.
“He didn’t just die!” she said suddenly, passionately. She couldn’t help it; she spoke the words as if death were a choice. “He was smart about life and his allergies. He carried an EpiPen and I couldn’t find it. And he loved his wife!”
“Miss McCoy, Liam will look for the cup. Other than that, there’s nothing I can say right now. We’ll wait.”
“Someone killed him,” she said. “I know it, I know it, I know it!”
“Careful,” he warned her.
“But—”
He pulled off the road; she saw he had brought her home, to her old house on Caroline Street.
“If anyone did try to kill him or make him sick, that someone is out there. So, please, be very careful of what you say. We’ll probably find there was a natural reason for his death. And if not...”
“And if not?”
“Well, then...apparently, he did have an enemy. I guess it would mean that someone out there did want the music to end.”
2
“Should you be alone?” Brodie asked Kody, frowning as he studied her.
It was a really stupid question. No one should be alone after a friend had just dropped dead in front of them. He wanted to kick himself.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Well, I’m not fine. I’m incredibly sad. Cliff was an amazing guy—and a very good friend. And he was so in love with Rosy—the two of them are still kind of newlyweds, in a way. He was so much a part of my life for so many years...” She paused and looked at him apologetically. “Thank you for getting me home. You must have had a rough day all around.”
“It’s a sad thing to find someone who was evidently murdered, yes. But while I can feel bad about what happened...it’s not the same thing that you must be feeling. It’s not like losing a friend.”
“It’s all right. I’m really all right.”
“You live alone?”
“Yes. But I’ll be fine. Truly. And, actually, I’m not alone—I do have Zilla, or Godzilla, my cat. He’s huge—over twenty pounds—and he’s almost as good as a dog—he’s an attack cat. I got him from the shelter up in Key Largo... He’s what we call a ‘Hemingway’ cat—he has the six toes. I swear I’m fine. You need to leave me and get on with...with what you need to be on with.”
She started to jump out of the car. He quickly exited the driver’s side and walked around.
“At least let me walk you to the door.”
“It’s not necessary.”
“Please. My parents taught me that you always walk a young woman to her door.”
“They’re not here right now, are they, though?” she queried.
“They’re deceased, but believe me, they had three sons and we were taught certain behaviors and—trust me—they might still be all-seeing.”
She managed something that was almost a smile. “Lovely. I mean—not that they’re gone. But those we lose live in our memories, right? By all means then, please, walk me to the door.”
He couldn’t help but be curious that she lived alone. Kody McFadden was stunning. Her eyes were a distinct color—not hazel, not green, not brown, but something of a golden color that matched her hair—although she wasn’t really a “golden” blonde; there was a deeper color, a warmth to it. Her features were fascinating, too. Her eyes were very large and her mouth was generous, and yet she seemed to have a delicate face. He was about six-four, and she was, perhaps, just five inches shorter, with her height all in the legs, it seemed. And she was definitely a Keys girl: tanned, fit and obviously a fan of the outdoors and the water.
She stood awkwardly when they reached the door. “I think I’m supposed to invite you in.”
“No, that’s okay,” he said softly. “Unless you need company. I’m a stranger down here—and to you. If you need me...”
She shook her head. “I guess I do want to be alone.”
She swallowed—as if her words made her feel a little guilty. But she glanced at the house as well, as if there just might be someone in it.
So, she lived alone.
Didn’t mean she always slept alone.
“Take my number,” he told her. “If you need me...if you need anything, please, let me know.”
She took the card he handed her and smiled grimly. “I’m sure we’ll meet again. My museum is all wound up with Sea Life right now, and you’re here with Ewan, so...”
“Ewan is an old friend, and it was great to get out with him. Not so great to have to call Liam about a dead man, but...yes, I’ll be down here for a while.”
“You know Liam, too, right? That’s what you said, I think.”
“I’ve met him a few times. This is one of my favorite places to get away. Whenever I can, especially when...”
“When?”
He shrugged. “I’m a PI.”
“Oh!”
“In Virginia. I like to come down when something...difficult has been solved. Get in the water.”
“You just solved something difficult, then,” she said softly. “Then found a dead man, and...watched another die.”
“I’m so sorry about your friend,” he said.
She lifted the business card he had given her and said, “Well, then, I look forward to seeing you again—whenever, and under happier circumstances.” Tears suddenly welled in her eyes. “I imagine I’ll be helping Rosy with the funeral and... Anyway. I hope to see you
again on a better day.”
“I hope so, too.” He hesitated. “Can I do anything for you? I know that you just opened your museum about a month ago. I know it’s small.”
“I have an assistant. She’s smart as a whip, great with everything,” Kody assured him. “Colleen Bellamy. She was up in Fort Lauderdale, working for a museum there. But she wanted to be closer to her aging grandparents...anyway, she knew Cliff, of course, but she’ll handle things tomorrow. And as long as I need her to. Thank you again,” she said. “I’m really all right. I’m brokenhearted, but truly, of sound mind.”
“I can see that,” he said with a smile.
She opened her door and went in. He waited, and he had the sense that she knew he was waiting. He heard her lock the door, and then he walked down the path back to his rental car.
He stared back at the house. It was an old place—not one of the mansions built when Key West had held the highest per capita income in the country because of wrecking and salvage rights, but a bit older. He reckoned that it might have been built right around 1820 or so. It was a shotgun house, he saw, meaning that the front door would lead to a hall that would head straight to the back door, allowing for any sea breezes to cool the house during the wickedly hot days of summer. Somewhere along the line, a second floor and little wing had been added on. She had a small patch of land around the house—the whole of it, house and yard, probably taking up about a third of an acre.
He watched the house for a minute and then gave himself a shake.
Hell of a day.
Two dead men.
One, obviously murdered. You didn’t wind up in more than one hundred feet of water without dive gear by accident.
And the other...
Kody thought that Cliff Bullard had been murdered. But why in God’s name would anyone want to murder a singing guitarist?
And how on earth could that connect with their finding of a body on a slave shipwreck?
Or did it?
Even with thoughts of the dead filling his mind, he couldn’t help but wonder about Kody.
It wasn’t easy being the child of famous parents; he knew that too well. Both his parents had been well known actors. Kody’s dad had been major in a few decades of music that still lived on and on. Brodie loved the man’s work himself.
Echoes of Evil Page 3