She knew that, around the room, the conversation was about Cliff—as it should have been. And then, of course, people would talk about the weather, and the water, and what was happening in their own lives. It was a way of accepting that a loved one or a friend was gone; it was the living going on after death.
And Kody did talk about Cliff; like others, she would remember stories that involved him, and in remembering, she would smile. As she circulated around the bar, she noted that Bev and Dan Atkins were there. Ewan Keegan and the crew from Sea Life had come out—all ten of them, spread over two tables. She spoke to them all briefly, and talked with Ewan about the find and how they would make sure that everything was properly handled between maritime law, the company and her museum. They were a polite group, all of them extending sympathy and praising Cliff.
Of course, she couldn’t help but wonder about Cliff’s own words the other night: Which of you bastards killed me?
“We’re working again, you know, Kody,” Ewan told her. “I have pictures I’ll be emailing to you. We’re in a quandary now about the remains we have found. Just bones, really. No complete skeletons, but... I don’t know. Maybe we’ll have a service at sea, and see that the bones remain where they were found. To me, that seems proper. The sea is a grave for so many.”
“I’ll be part of whatever you plan,” Kody told him.
She gave them all a little wave and moved on. She greeted any familiar faces; but even while listening to their stories, she was plagued with wondering about the body that Liam and Brodie were investigating right at that moment.
She went to check on the widow.
Rosy didn’t need anything; there were a lot of people looking after her. She whispered to Kody that she was maintaining, but that she was more of a private person, and really wanted it all to be over.
“Cliff was a man of the people. I don’t have his charm or easy ways,” Rosy told her.
“You leave whenever you feel you need to.”
“I need to be here until the end. For Cliff.”
“I’m sure he’d be very proud of you.”
Rosy smiled. She picked at the spread of food set before her. Every once in a rare while, she sipped at her glass of wine. She thanked everyone who came by.
She shivered. “It’s so cold today,” Rosy said softly.
What she didn’t know was that Cliff was standing near her, in his ghostly form.
Kelsey Beckett caught Kody’s eye and nodded, aware of Cliff as well, but they would be careful not to speak.
Kelsey had been gone from the island for a long time after her mother had died, but she and Kody had been friends before she’d left—and it had been quick to restore that friendship. Kelsey was well aware that the dead could come back in a form that only a few people were privileged or cursed to see. She also knew that Kody’s mom had none of the sense—and would seriously worry about Kody if she knew that her daughter was “seeing spirits again.”
Young children often had imaginary friends. It was only something to worry about when they thought it was their deceased grandparents or other known friends who had departed their earthly coils.
As Kody came back to her friends’ table, Colleen suddenly said, “I feel him. I feel him—as if he were here!”
“Cliff? Well, of course you feel him, dear. He’ll always be with us, in the heart, of course,” Sally said. “Especially here—at the Drunken Pirate.”
“Oh, yes, in the heart,” Kody murmured. She excused herself; Bill Worth had brought her a glass of wine, but she didn’t feel like drinking it. She wanted some water or tea.
And she wanted to be away from anyone “feeling” Cliff.
Walking over to the bar, she told Jojo, “You should have had this time off.”
He shook his head. “This was what I could do. I’m working for free. It’s my way of honoring a great guy. What can I get you?”
“Water.”
“Wild woman.”
“Yep. Can’t help myself,” she said, grimacing.
As he brought her a large plastic cup filled with water and ice, she asked, “Jojo—how the hell do you think Cliff’s drink got contaminated? You worked with him all the time. You know how careful he was. When we went out, he always asked to make sure that his food wasn’t being cooked anywhere that was used for cooking with nuts. He really was so savvy about it.”
Jojo paused, shaking his head. “Kody, I wish I could remember the night better. He came in—ordered his food and started setting up. His plate went down there—right where it always goes. So many people bought him drinks—it was the end of your festival and everyone was in a great mood. I just can’t see it. I don’t get it. The way he died...it was almost as if he swallowed a damned handful of peanuts.”
“Which he definitely didn’t do. We would have seen that.”
“I guess,” Jojo said, “though...maybe not. I always saw to it that Cliff got his drinks—and usually watered down whatever it was, which could be anything. He knew he wasn’t really going to drink it, so he’d just say, ‘Surprise me!’ But I can’t say that I watched him.”
“Do you remember what Cliff’s last drink was? Or who bought it for him?”
“I wish I did. I’ve talked to the cops and to that PI, McFadden. I don’t remember. Everyone here bought him something, seemed like. I know that he was walking around with something that looked like a White Russian, but for some reason, it seemed that everyone was ordering drinks like that the night Cliff died. White Russians, Kahlua and cream, Baileys and cream...” He paused for a minute. “Maybe Cliff picked up the wrong drink...except that I don’t even keep almond milk or anything like that back here. I just don’t know, Kody. I wish that I did.”
“Thanks, Jojo,” she said. “Hey.”
“Yep?”
“Did you pick up a cup out of the foliage by the stage by any chance?”
“I don’t think so. But all of us are always picking up any trash. I even throw away cups from other places all the time. Most islanders are good—but hey. People sometimes forget that they left trash around the tiki bar.”
She smiled and started back to the table. Rosy was speaking softly with Bill Worth.
He was so attentive. He was great.
Great...
Was he being more than attentive?
The idea was ridiculous. They’d all been friends. And now...
“He’s too close. That rascal, Bill.”
Kody almost dropped her glass. She didn’t know how Cliff’s ghost managed to get her by surprise, but she had started.
He was watching the table, too.
“Hell, I’m barely cold, and that bastard is flirting with Rosy.”
“Cliff, Bill and Emory have been trying to help her through this whole thing,” she said. “And you—you’ve been flirting with every girl on the island.”
“No, I’ve been like a counselor—a therapist,” he argued.
“Bill is a good guy,” Kody reminded him. “One of the best.”
“Yeah, yeah...and old Emory is there, too. I guess I should just be grateful, right? Nice of the Drunken Pirate to do this, yeah? And our boy Jojo, doing it all for free.”
“You will always be loved,” she told him.
And then she realized, of course, that people were looking at her.
It appeared that she was having a conversation with herself. And she didn’t even drink. She had a glass of water.
Maybe people already considered her a little weird.
She just smiled and headed toward the table. She could see the way that Kelsey was looking at her.
Have to be careful, that look warned.
Kody kept her smile glued in place and rejoined her table.
“So, really, what do you know about this Brodie McFadden?” Sally asked her. “I mean, Liam does seem to like him. And h
e’s very courteous. And...”
“And?” Kody asked.
“Your mother thinks he’s very good-looking,” Frank told her. “She doesn’t want you falling for a man for his looks.”
“He is really...um, tall, dark and rugged. I think you’re right, Mom. He is good-looking.”
“Oh, both of you!” Sally protested. “No, I mean, I even know who he is. I know about him. His parents were Maeve and Hamish McFadden, very well known in my generation. And you have to be careful...”
“Mom, my dad was Michael McCoy. That hasn’t tainted me in any way—that I know of, anyway!” Kody said.
“Yes, but...”
“Sally,” Frank warned.
“No, no, he seems great. Wonderful. Perfect.”
“Liam says that he is all those things,” Kelsey put in. “And Liam does know people.”
“But what future is there in...in him?” Sally asked.
“I don’t know what the future is with anyone,” Kody said. “And please, please, please—don’t go asking him what his intentions are, or anything like that.”
“Well, of course not,” Sally said, but she looked sheepish.
Kody glanced at Frank and grinned. “What were you doing, Mom, fooling around with a rocker like my dad?”
“Oh, Kody!”
Frank laughed. “Hey! Let’s call a truce here. We’re not going to ask about his intentions!” He was silent for a minute and then added softly, “You know, though, it’s the kind of thing Cliff might have done.”
Kelsey smiled. “I’m sure, in his spiritual way, he’s looking at us all—and certainly at Brodie McFadden.”
Kody narrowed her eyes at Kelsey.
Kelsey grimaced.
Cliff’s ghost was now with them again, leaning against Kelsey’s chair.
“I know his immediate intentions!” he said. “They were crystal clear. He’d just better remain...well, a gentleman!”
Kody smiled at Kelsey. “Right, because if we’d seen Cliff flirting around, we’d be certain to ask his intentions!”
“Ah, Cliff! He was a flirt—a sweetheart of a flirt,” Kody’s mom said.
“But,” Frank added, “he loved his Rosy!”
“And, oh, indeed he did,” Cliff’s ghost said sadly. He stepped back, his expression changing.
One of the entertainers for the evening—a young guitarist Kody didn’t know—approached the table.
“Miss McCoy?”
“Yes?”
“These guys were all hoping you’d do something with us.”
“Oh, no, no. My dad—”
“Was the singer, but you did sing with Cliff.”
“Yes, I was singing with him when he dropped dead,” Kody said flatly.
“Yeah, we know. One of your dad’s tunes. But we were hoping you’d do that one Cliff was so well known for doing. ‘Love in the Sun.’”
“Oh, um, no...it’s...”
“Oh, Kody,” Cliff’s ghost said softly. “Please!”
She let out a long sigh and nodded. She walked with the guitarist to the dais where she had been so recently—with Cliff.
But Cliff was still there...
And he wanted this.
The guitarist announced that she was going to do “Love in the Sun.” It was a beautiful song, a ballad. About the days of youth and love and believing in living forever...and then how love could live on forever, even when someone was gone.
Kody gave it her all. When she finished, the room was silent; then there was wild applause.
But then, she glanced at Rosy, and she was looking at her so strangely. Tears fell from her eyes.
Kody hurried over to her table. “Oh, Rosy, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“No, dear! You should have. That was beautiful,” Rosy said.
She stood and hugged Kody.
Long minutes passed before Kody could return to her own table.
* * *
A sketch artist was going to be called in, but it turned out not to be necessary.
When the body reached the morgue—which happened while Liam was still deep in paperwork and Brodie was reading documents—she was identified by one of the medical assistants, and the identification was accepted as correct.
Her name had been Mathilda Sumner. She lived in Marathon. By day, she worked in the local grocery.
Two nights a week, she played at Tortoise Cove, a little sea shanty bar on Grassy Key. She had been born in Miami and moved down to the Keys just about ten years earlier.
Liam listened to the call from the station and then repeated what he had learned to Brodie. “She was single—no family left, not that anyone knew about. She was well liked—loved where she worked, both in the grocery store and when she played.”
“Was she down here with friends? Why wouldn’t they have reported her missing?” Brodie asked.
“Well, so far, we have nothing on that. She was just recognized by one of the morgue staff as soon as she came in. She was very upset—she didn’t know her that well, but said she always had a smile for everyone, and just really loved living in Marathon. This had to have been some kind of an accident.”
“Yeah, maybe,” Brodie said. “She was out with friends, and she fell overboard—and no one wants to report it because they’re afraid that they might be accused of manslaughter or worse?”
“That is possible.”
“Someone had to know that she was going out—that she was doing something.”
“I’ll probably have to take a trip back up to Marathon to find out,” Liam said. “We’ll put out an appeal to the public.”
Liam parked in the public lot near the hotel and the Drunken Pirate. “I’m guessing the reception will be winding down soon,” Liam said. “It was good of the owners and management to plan this in memory of Cliff. But I don’t suppose they can let it go on forever.”
They were walking in when Brodie’s phone rang. He noted that the call was coming from Krewe headquarters, and he answered it quickly.
“Angela?”
“It’s me.”
“Please, say you have something.”
“I went through the names you gave me. Then I started cross-referencing with the names you had given me that had to do with the sinking of the Victoria Elizabeth. It wasn’t easy,” Angela said. “Very confusing following the lineage.”
“But?”
“One of the names on the list of locals connected to Cliff Bullard has a relationship to the ship.”
“Who? How?”
“Gonzales,” Angela said.
For a moment, Brodie’s mind was blank. Then he remembered. Of course, Mauricio Ferrer had addressed one of his letters to a Senhor Gonzales. Gonzales had answered; he had been interested in buying the slaves who had perished on the doomed ship.
“You found a real connection?” he asked, very impressed. He hadn’t even given Angela a first name; he hadn’t had one to give her.
“Yes, I researched rich men living in the south during the months before the ship went down. Hector Gonzales had a spread of land in southern Georgia. He already owned a hundred plus slaves and hundreds of acres. He grew cotton. I was able to find a few pieces on him. He was hated—even by his neighbors. One of them sent a complaint to a local politician. He was appalled by the man’s treatment of his slaves, which, of course, Gonzales considered to be his property—his to use as he would. Anyway, the neighbor, one Samuel Martin, stated in very eloquent language that no man should treat a mule so cruelly. Now, Samuel Martin was a slave owner himself. But it seems, according to records, he must have, at the least, been a kind man. His plantation—burned to the ground in the Civil War, during Sherman’s ‘March to the Sea’—was just as massive, but his records showed that he actually allowed his people to work only so many hours and that he never
allowed families to be split up. I believe for his time, he was trying very hard to be a moral man.”
“He was, in his way, but...what about Gonzales?”
“Hector Gonzales married a young woman named Massie Belaire. They had one daughter.”
“Back in the early 1800s,” Brodie said.
“Yes. They were too old to fight, really, but both Gonzales and Martin created companies and fought in the Civil War. They were both killed in the fighting. Gonzales’s wife and daughter were his heirs, but...by 1865, they were heirs to nothing. Anyway, Gonzales’s daughter moved out to California. She married a man named Tillerson. She also had one daughter.”
“Angela...”
“I’m getting to it. Gonzales’s granddaughter married a man named Worth.”
“Worth?” Brodie repeated. Worth.
As in Bill Worth?
“It’s a common enough name,” Brodie said.
“Yes, it is,” Angela said. “And God knows, this could just be happenstance. The man may not know anything about all this. Gonzales’s great-grandson is a William Worth. He moved to Seattle. The family was in that area from that time on. We’re talking about something that occurred almost two-hundred years ago. Generation after generation.”
“That’s what I mean. Angela—”
“You asked me. I researched. Like I said, nearly two centuries have passed since the sinking of that ship. We usually know something about our parents and even our great-grandparents. Gonzales was Portuguese, but over two hundred years in America, any family winds up mixed to the gills. Brodie, I followed a paper trail. Okay, a paper trail now a digital trail, but the documents are listed at various churches and in county registers. I was careful. Your William Worth is a descendant of the Senhor Gonzales who was interested in buying the Victoria Elizabeth’s wretched human cargo.”
“Maybe Ferrer wanted the truth out—but Worth didn’t,” Brodie said.
“Possibly,” Angela said.
“But even so...decades and generations have passed. A man living and working down here wouldn’t have any reason to kill over that—even if someone found out. I mean, you had to dig and dig to find that fragment of history, right?”
Echoes of Evil Page 19