by Patti Berg
Again she heard the knock, and she stumbled from the storyteller’s chair, with a whispered prayer flowing from her lips: “Please let it be Morgan.” They needed to talk—or maybe she just needed to listen. In spite of the evidence, she found it impossible that the man she loved could have killed so brutally.
She wanted to show him the wallet and ring. She wanted him to stare at them and look puzzled. She wanted him to say he didn’t know where they’d come from.
But they’d been in his room, hidden away in one of his socks. He’d said they were nothing more than dispensable trinkets—things he could replace quite easily with just another slash of his blade.
She put her fingers to her lips to stop their trembling, then opened the door. “Good evening.”
Gordon Lancaster stood on the other side of the screen door with his hands tucked into the pockets of khakis. He wore a dark blue summer-weight blazer, a pale blue shirt, and a smile that conjured visions of Count Dracula—charm and sophistication masking an evil mind.
She shivered. “What are you doing here?”
“We were invited to dinner with your friends. Had you forgotten?”
“No, I hadn’t forgotten, but I never accepted.” He continued to smile. “I hope you will. We could talk about our common interest in sailing ships, maybe old clothing,” he said, his laughing eyes trailing up and down the velvet coat she wore. “Or we could merely talk about each other.”
“We could also talk about how you found my house. I didn’t tell you where I lived, and I doubt Nikki did, either.”
His smile turned to a much wider grin. “I met your aunt a few days ago. In fact, we had dinner together just the other night—even your daughter joined us.”
Now she remembered why his name had sounded so familiar when they’d met in the alley. Mr. Lancaster—Gordon—was Evalena’s A-l husband material.
“Your aunt told me a lot about you, and I was quite pleased to learn that Evalena’s cherished niece was the same beautiful woman I’d bumped into on the street.”
“My aunt talks too much sometimes.” The grandfather clock struck and Kate turned to look at the time. Eight o’clock. “It’s late,” she said, facing Gordon again. “My daughter’s asleep, and I honestly don’t feel like going out.”
“I understand completely. However, I am in town for only a few brief days. Perhaps I could keep you company here this evening? There’s no need to entertain me. We could simply sit out here on your porch and talk.”
“Not this evening.”
He put his hand on the door. “Just an hour or two. That’s all.”
The phone rang, its piercing chime skittering through Kate’s nerves. “Excuse me a moment.”
She rushed to the phone. “Hello.”
Nikki was on the other end, her voice scolding as she asked what Kate was doing at home when they had plans for an evening out.
“I couldn’t shuttle Case off to Evalena’s tonight. She needed me, and besides, I told you I didn’t want to go out.”
While Kate listened to Nikki’s lecture, she caught sight of Gordon leaning against the newel post, his penetrating eyes studying her through the screen. “Gordon Lancaster is here,” she told Nikki. And it didn’t look like he planned to leave. “Why don’t you and Jack pick up some Chinese and come over?” she asked, quickly coming up with a way not to be alone with the man.
There was happiness in Nikki’s voice as she gave Kate a definite yes.
“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”
Kate put down the phone and ran her fingers through her hair as she walked toward the door. Pushing open the screen, she stepped onto the porch. “Nikki and Jack are coming here, instead of us joining them.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but a smile quickly replaced his frown. “It will be delightful to see your sister-in-law again.”
“I hope you like Chinese.”
He nodded.
“I need to change,” she said, remembering that she was still bundled up in Morgan’s coat. “Why don’t you make yourself comfortable out here on the porch? I’ll be just a few minutes.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, she attempted to walk casually back into the house, feeling the glare of his eyes on her back with each step she took.
Rushing up the stairs, she peeked in on Casey and tucked the sheet and blanket that had drifted down to her waist back around her shoulders. She brushed a curl away from Casey’s lips and planted a kiss on her cheek.
She wanted to crawl in bed with Casey and sleep just as soundlessly, anything to block the memories of the days she’d spent with Morgan, to interrupt the persistent need she had to see him again, in spite of everything.
Put him out of your mind, she told herself. Forget him.
Wandering to her room, she removed Morgan’s coat and draped it over the back of a chair. Suddenly she saw him sitting there, the velvet stretched across his muscular arms and chest, his hair cascading over his shoulders, his devilish smile watching her as she removed her shorts and blouse, then went to the closet and pulled a flowered sundress from a hanger and slipped it over her head.
His make-believe smile turned to a look of need, of desire, and her body ached, wanting so much to be held by him again.
But he was only a dream this time. A dream that would fade eventually—if she could find the nerve to push him from her heart.
She went downstairs again. She was almost to the front door when she heard the familiar squeak of a floorboard. Gordon Lancaster was standing near the back door when she entered the kitchen, his hand braced against the wall next to her key rack, staring out into the yard.
“I heard a noise,” he said, turning slowly. “I had the oddest feeling that someone had sneaked into your home, but I saw no one inside or out. I hope I haven’t frightened you.”
She shook her head, but he had frightened her. His very presence made her uncomfortable, but she didn’t know why, and she wished he were still outside on the porch, wished Nikki and Jack would arrive shortly.
She peered out the door, hoping the noise Gordon had heard had been Morgan stalking around outside, but all she saw was darkness. She latched the door and turned to Gordon. “Would you like a drink?”
“Brandy, if you have it.”
“I have wine.”
“That will do, thank you.”
He wandered about the kitchen, just as Morgan had done that first time, touching the refrigerator, the stove.
“You have a lovely home,” he said, when she handed him the glass of wine.
“Thank you.” She leaned against the kitchen counter and sipped her Chablis. When she heard footsteps on the front porch, she sighed with relief.
“Nikki and Jack are here.”
“Good. The more, the merrier.”
She hadn’t seen Jack in several weeks, and he hugged her when they entered the door. His sandy-colored hair was windblown—but it looked that way even when the weather was calm. He wore wire-rimmed glasses and looked far better than she ever imagined a museum curator should look. He reminded her of Indiana Jones, and he was the perfect man for Nikki: rugged, intelligent, and definitely in love.
Introductions were made, white containers of Chinese food were heaped in the middle of the kitchen table, and Kate set out plates, silverware, and wineglasses while Jack popped the cork on a better bottle of wine than the one she’d already opened.
Nikki laughed at one of Jack’s jokes, Gordon sipped at his wine, and Kate tried to relax. It had been far too long since she’d sat at the kitchen table and enjoyed the company of other adults—without any children present.
“I’ve been to England many times,” Jack said, leaning casually in his chair as he talked to Gordon. “Where exactly are you from?”
“Dover. Ever been there?”
“Once,” Jack said. “I took part in an archaeological dig in the area. I wouldn’t mind going back.”
“It’s a beautiful place,” Gordon stated. “No matter where I travel
, I’m always eager to return home.”
Kate dipped a battered shrimp into tangy sauce and nibbled at the end while Gordon talked of his home, a magnificent estate not far from the white cliffs.
“Has it been in your family a long time?” she asked.
“Several centuries. It was a gift, for services rendered to the Crown.”
“Pretty nice gift.” Nikki laughed.
Gordon nodded slowly, swirling his wine before taking a sip.
“Nikki tells me you’re a historian,” Jack said. “Any particular era?”
“Late-seventeenth, early-eighteenth centuries. I consider myself an expert on the pirates of that period. That’s why I find the ship that appeared here so interesting.”
“Jack thinks it’s authentic,” Nikki said to Gordon. “What about you?”
“I’m not the expert that Jack is, but from the little I’ve seen of it, I’d venture a guess that it’ close to three hundred years old, and that it’s a ship called Satan’s Revenge that disappeared in seventeen-oh-two.”
“I agree,” Jack said. “It’s aged better than any other ship I’ve seen, which is a mystery. Of course, there’s also the mystery of where it’s been for the past few centuries.”
“I wish it hadn’t shown up here,” Nikki said. “But unfortunately it was in the harbor a few minutes ago.”
“It’s still there?” Kate asked, her heart slamming hard against her chest.
“Where else would it be?” Gordon asked, a well-defined black brow raising slightly.
“Oh, I don’t know.” Kate laughed nervously. “I thought someone might have sneaked on board and tried sailing it away.”
Nikki frowned at Kate, and she was afraid she’d said too much.
“It would be impossible for one person to sail a warship like that all on his own,” Gordon said. “It would take an entire crew, or at least two very skillful sailors.”
“Kate’s one of the best sailors I know,” Jack said. “Think you could handle something that size without any help?”
“Of course not. I wouldn’t even want to try.”
Gordon refilled his glass of wine and took a sip, staring over the top of the glass at Kate. “I’ve heard stories that the pirate Black Heart once tried to sail Satan’s Revenge by himself—and failed.”
“Did he drown?” Nikki asked.
“No,” Gordon said, “he disappeared, just like his ship. No one knows what happened.”
“It shimmered,” Kate said, then noticed all eyes had turned to her for an explanation. “I read an account about it. There was a prisoner on board. Thomas Low. He was thrown overboard in the storm, but he saw Satan’s Revenge vanish in a flash of light.”
“Lightning, more than likely,” Nikki stated. “Things don’t just disappear into thin air.”
“It seems highly plausible to me,” Gordon said. “I’ve heard many such stories of ships disappearing in the waters not far from here.”
“The Bermuda Triangle?” Jack asked.
“Yes, exactly.” Gordon poured himself more wine. “This story of Low’s has me puzzled, though. I was under the impression he disappeared at the same time as the ship.”
“No. He died at home. In Dover,” Kate said.
Gordon laughed. “I assure you, he did not die in Dover. He was an ancestor of mine. A great-uncle many times over on my mother’s side. A remarkable man, by most accounts.” He sipped his wine. “I can only assume the man who told that story about the ship disappearing in a flash of light must have been an impostor. I know Low’s true history inside and out—and Kate, he disappeared the same time as Black Heart and Satan’s Revenge.”
Kate’s hands shook. She put her glass on the table and stuck her hands between her knees so no one could see them trembling.
Nikki reached across the table for the wine and refilled her glass. She was laughing. So was Jack. So was Gordon Lancaster. But Kate didn’t find anything humorous in the ongoing discussion.
“You know,” Nikki said with a grin, “a pirate’s been roaming the streets lately. I even saw a pirate on that ship. Maybe it’s Thomas Low. Maybe he’s the one responsible for the murders in town.”
“Highly unlikely,” Gordon said. “Thomas Low was an honorable man. I would imagine if you wanted to place the blame for these killings on an eighteenth-century pirate, you should look toward Black Heart. You may not be aware of this little known fact, but Black Heart was such a vile and despicable man that he murdered his own family.”
“That’s impossible,” Kate blurted out, just as a streak of lightning bolted across the sky and thunder shook the pictures on the walls. “He wouldn’t have done something like that.”
“You act as if you knew him personally,” Nikki said.
“No, of course I didn’t. But Joe knew everything about him.”
“History books are not always full of accuracy,” Gordon stated. “The truth is often stretched or misrepresented. Would you like to hear the actual facts about Black Heart?”
“No,” Kate said firmly.
“I would,” Nikki said. “Come on, Kate. There’s a storm coming. This will be just like telling ghost stories when we were kids.”
Jack refilled everyone’s glasses. “Go ahead, Gordon. I’m always ready for an interesting tale.”
“The story isn’t pleasant, but it is the truth.”
Kate drank her wine, trying to steady her jittery hands while Gordon told a tale similar to Morgan’s. He painted a clear picture of the voyage to the West Indies, of hot days and balmy nights, and a party to celebrate an anniversary. And then he told of a mutiny attempt, when the sailors were drunk and didn’t know what they were doing. He told a tale that Kate found impossible to believe, of Morgan despising his father, of wanting him dead so he could inherit his wealth.
“The man who would someday be known as Black Heart had captured Thomas Low and part of the crew. The rest of the men he’d pulled under his spell. From all accounts, Morgan Farrell had a certain charm about him.”
“Morgan Farrell?” Nikki frowned, looking at Kate. “Isn’t that the name of your friend?”
“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Kate stammered, and even though she didn’t want to hear any more of the story, she insisted that Gordon continue.
“Farrell was mad with his sudden power,” he said. “He had control of the ship, he had control of Thomas Low, and he had control of his own father. ‘I have taken orders from you long enough,’ he said, standing before his sire, brandishing the cutlass he’d taken from Thomas Low.
“’Tis my turn to give the orders, and what I want most of all is for you to leave this ship.’”
“How was he going to do that?” Nikki asked.
Gordon grinned. “There was only one way. Overboard. Morgan Farrell was beyond reason. His mother was frightened and angry, and she slapped him, but Morgan laughed. ‘Bind them together,’ he shouted to the drunken sailors. ‘Toss them over the side.’ Thomas Low struggled in the arms of his captors. He wanted to save his passengers, but he could do nothing. He heard the Farrells begging for mercy. Suddenly…their cries stopped.
“That’s when the child—Melody was her name—grabbed a dagger from one of the sailors and ran at her brother. She slashed at him with the knife, cutting his face. He was enraged that his own sister would do such a thing. He told her to jump. Again and again he yelled at her. She was crying, but he didn’t care. ‘Jump,’ he said. ‘Say your prayers, and jump.’ And Black Heart laughed as the child disappeared over the side.
“It was at that moment that the sailors who’d turned against Low realized what had happened. Farrell had murdered his own family. They knew they couldn’t trust a madman, so they turned on him. Low was freed. He was back in command, and Farrell was taken prisoner. Twenty-four lashes with the cat-’o-nine tails was the order. Eight was usually the maximum, but Low tripled it—eight lashes for each victim.”
Kate pushed away from the table, refusing to hear any more. Her glas
s tipped, but Gordon caught it before the remnants of her drink spilled across the oak tabletop.
“Are you okay, Kate?” Nikki asked.
“It’s just the heat,” she said, going to the kitchen sink where the breeze blowing through the window hit her face.
Behind her she heard Nikki, Jack, and Gordon discussing the story. How could they believe such a thing? Morgan would never have killed his family. He’d loved them.
She’d seen the tears in his eyes when he’d talked of his sister. Seen them even in his sleep.
No man could cry that way if the deaths of his family had meant so little.
She looked out the window, into the dark, wondering if Morgan had gone, wondering if he was still waiting for his chance to sail away on Satan’s Revenge.
Damn it! He couldn’t go. Not until she knew the truth.
Outside she heard a noise, the rustle of bushes, the crack of what sounded like a fallen tree limb. Next door a dog barked. Further away another dog howled.
Suddenly, Gordon stood next to her, holding out another glass of wine. “I apologize if the story upset you.”
“I’ve just been a little on edge lately.”
“Drink this. Maybe it will help.”
She took the glass of wine from him. He was smiling. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Jack lean over and kiss Nikki.
Thunder rumbled again.
Lightning flashed through the sky.
And outside she saw a face.
Morgan’s face.
The wineglass slipped from her hand and shattered on the floor.
Another bolt brightened the night—and the face was gone.
Nikki was beside her, an arm around her, offering her comfort.
Jack was cleaning wine and glass from the floor.
One picture after another flashed before her eyes, like an old-fashioned movie, but the scene she wanted to see—Morgan’s face—didn’t return.
Gordon Lancaster was staring out the window. Frowning. “It’s getting late,” he said. “I hope you’ll forgive me if I leave.”