The Heather Graham Bundle Read online

  The Heather Graham

  Bundle

  The Island

  Ghost Walk

  Killing Kelly

  The Vision

  ®

  Table of Contents

  The Island

  Ghost Walk

  Killing Kelly

  The Vision

  Copyright

  About the Author

  ®

  To Rhonda Saperstein,

  with lots of love and thanks.

  And to Coral Reef Yacht Club and

  its members, with deepest thanks,

  especially Fred and Marian Davant,

  Teresa and Stu Davant,

  Dr. Michael and Kelly Johnson,

  Jock and Linda Fink, and the Commodore

  and his wife: Eric and Elisa Thyree.

  Prologue

  “YOU’RE GOING TO FEED them again? ”

  Molly Monoco looked up at the sound of her husband’s

  voice. She had been busy in the galley, putting together a

  goodie bag filled with substantial meals. Ted, speaking

  with a growl in his voice, had been at his workstation. Ap-

  parently he had just noticed how industriously she had

  been preparing food.

  Her husband appeared both aggravated and disgusted.

  He knew what she was up to.

  She couldn’t really blame him for his feelings. Ted had

  worked hard all his life, and had earned every bit of the

  income they were now enjoying after his retirement. They

  both came from Cuban families who had made the move

  to Florida long before the refugees had begun fleeing the

  little island. While Molly’s maiden name had been Rod-

  riguez, her first name had always been Molly, just as Ted

  had been Theodore from the start. Their parents had

  brought them to the States, believing in the American

  8

  H E A T H E R G R A H A M

  dream, and teaching them a work ethic that would allow

  them to achieve that dream.

  Ted had started out playing the drums at nightclubs in

  Miami, not unlike a man who had become a lot more

  famous, Desi Arnaz.

  He had worked as a busboy, as well, then a waiter, a host

  and a dancer. From his playing, he had fallen in love with

  salsa. So he had kept playing the drums, kept dancing,

  kept bussing tables and being a waiter and bartender until

  he had made enough money to buy his first studio, totally

  dedicated to the art of salsa. Eventually he had owned

  several studios, then sold them for a nice fat profit.

  Work. Ted had known how to do it well. He had little

  patience with those who would not or could not help

  themselves.

  And she did understand.

  But she had her goals, too, trying to look after others

  who perhaps didn’t deserve help, but then again, who

  might turn their lives around with a little assistance.

  Now, as a retired man of means, he also had his hobbies,

  like all the sonar gadgets and other equipment on the boat.

  After all, he would have noticed what she was up to earlier,

  if he hadn’t been playing around so intently with one of

  his computers!

  She smiled. Even miffed, as he was right now, he was

  still as attractive to her as the young man with whom she

  had fallen in love forty-odd years ago. Tall, but not too tall,

  still fit. The hair on his chest was now gray—like the

  thinning strands on top of his head, but she didn’t care. After

  all those years of marriage, the ups and the downs, she

  loved him now just as much as she always had—even if he

  T H E I S L A N D

  9

  had decided to name the yacht Retired!, despite the fact that

  she could have thought of a dozen more charming names.

  His current displeasure with her wouldn’t last. It never

  did. Just as she loved the fact that he was always tinker-

  ing with some new kind of technology, he was secretly

  pleased that his wife was concerned for the welfare of

  others.

  “Ted, what else can I do?” she asked softly.

  “Quench the maternal instincts,” he said, rolling his

  eyes. “We may well be talking criminals here. Hell, we’re

  definitely talking criminals.”

  “Or misdirected young people who just need a helping

  hand,” she said firmly. All her life, Molly had been

  involved. Blessed with Ted, her high-school sweetheart,

  she’d worked alongside him at many a club. Then—when

  she hadn’t been able to produce the family she would have

  loved—she’d tried to help out where she could, at the

  church, with the homeless, and for various good causes,

  raising funds, even working soup kitchens. She could af-

  ford to, once Ted began making good money.

  And she remained blessed. At sixty-five, she was no

  spring chick. But she was in good health, good shape, and

  pleased, mainly for Ted’s sake, that people would say what

  an attractive woman she was.

  “It’s food, Ted. Nothing but a little food,” she assured

  him. “And the last handout we’re giving, since we’re

  setting off on our own excursion.”

  He sighed, and a small smile crept over his face. Coming

  to her, he wrapped his arms around her. “How did I get so

  lucky?” he asked.

  “Chance?” she teased, smiling.

  10

  H E A T H E R G R A H A M

  He gave her a swat on the bottom. She giggled. Flirt-

  ing was fun. They were older now, so a pat on the behind

  didn’t lead to an afternoon in the handsome master cabin.

  Forget Viagra. He had a heart condition; she wouldn’t let

  him take it. When there was this kind of amazing affec-

  tion and closeness after so many years, nothing needed to

  be pushed.

  In his arms, she thought with wonder what a great life

  they’d had together, and how wonderful it was that they

  still had each other—and the Retired! They could go

  anywhere, live out their dreams, explore—wherever the

  whim took them—and do it all in luxury.

  “Okay, woman, we’re moving on, so go and be lady

  bountiful, and then we’ll get cracking,” he said firmly.

  “Right.”

  Molly headed for the ladder that would take her to the

  deck, her bag of goodies in her arms. She hummed softly

  as she emerged topside.

  For a moment she just stared, confused. She even

  started to smile.

  Then the tune she had been humming abruptly halted,

  broken on the air.

  Her mouth began to work.

  No sound came.

  TED HEARD, OR THOUGHT HE HEARD, a slight sound from

  topside.

  “Molly?”

  No answer.

  “Molly?” he called, a little louder this time.

  He felt a little thud against his heart. Maybe she had

  T H E I S L A N D

  11

  fallen, taking the dinghy, getting on or off the main boat.

  Hurt herself. Worse. They were neither of them young.

  What if she’d suffered some kind of attack? Fallen—

  maybe unconscious—into the water?

  He leaped up, some instinct suddenly warning him of

  danger.

  He ran up the steps to the deck.

  And froze.

  Two thoughts occurred to him.

  What an ass he had been!

  And then…

  Molly, oh, Molly, Molly…

  “Time to talk, Ted,” snapped an angry voice.

  “I can’t tell you what you want to know,” he protested,

  tears in his eyes.

  “I think you can.”

  “I can’t! I swear, before God, I would if I could.”

  “Start thinking, Ted. Because trust me, you will tell me

  what you’ve found.”

  1

  IT WAS A SKULL.

  That much Beth Anderson knew after two seconds of

  dusting off bits of dirt and grass and fallen palm debris.

  “Well?” Amber demanded.

  “What is it?” Kimberly asked, standing right behind

  Amber, anxiously trying to look over her shoulder.

  Beth glanced up briefly at her fourteen-year-old niece

  and her niece’s best friend. Until just seconds ago, the two

  had been talking a mile a minute, as they always did,

  agreeing that their friend Tammy was a bitch, being far too

  cruel to her best friend, Aubrey, who in turn came to

  Amber and Kimberly for friendship every time she was

  being dissed by Tammy. They weren’t dissing anyone

  themselves, they had assured Beth, because they weren’t

&
nbsp; saying anything they wouldn’t say straight to Tammy’s

  face.

  Beth loved the girls, loved being with them, and was

  touched to be the next best thing to a mother for Amber,

  who had lost her own as an infant. She was accustomed

  T H E I S L A N D

  13

  to listening to endless discussions on the hottest music, the

  hottest new shows and the hottest new movies—and who

  did and didn’t deserve to be in them, since the girls were

  both students at a magnet school for drama.

  The main topic on their hot list had recently become

  boys. On that subject, they could truly talk endlessly.

  But now their continual chatter had come to a dead

  stop.

  Kimberly had been the one to stub her toe on the

  unknown object.

  Amber had been the one to stoop down to look, then

  demand that her aunt come over.

  “Well?” Kim prodded. “Dig it up, Beth.”

  “Um…I don’t think I should,” Beth said, biting her

  lower lip.

  It wasn’t just a skull. She couldn’t see it clearly, there

  was so much dirt and debris, but despite the fact that it was

  half hidden by tangled grasses and the sandy ground, she

  could see more than bone.

  There was still hair, Beth thought, her stomach

  churning.

  And even tissue.

  She didn’t want the girls seeing what they had discov-

  ered any more closely.

  Beth felt as if the blood in her veins had suddenly

  turned to ice. She didn’t touch the skull; she carefully laid

  a palm frond over it, so she would recognize the spot when

  she returned to it. She wasn’t about to dig anything up with

  the girls here.

  She dusted her hands and stood quickly, determined

  that they had to get back to her brother; who was busy

  14

  H E A T H E R G R A H A M

  setting up their campsite. They were going to have to radio

  the police, since cell phones didn’t seem to work out here.

  A feeling of deep unease was beginning to ooze along

  her spine as vague recollections of a haunting news story

  flashed into her mind: Molly and Ted Monoco, expert

  sailors, had seemed to vanish into thin air.

  The last place they’d actually been seen was Calliope

  Key, right where they were now.

  “Let’s go get Ben,” she suggested, trying not to sound

  as upset as she felt.

  “It’s a skull, isn’t it?” Amber demanded.

  She was a beautiful girl, tall and slender, with huge

  hazel eyes and long dark hair. The way she looked in a

  bathing suit—a two-piece, but hardly a risqué bikini—was

  enough to draw the attention of boys who were much too

  old for her, at least in Beth’s opinion. Kimberly was the

  opposite of Amber, a petite blonde with bright blue eyes,

  pretty as a picture.

  Sometimes the fact that she was in charge of two such

  attractive and impressionable girls seemed daunting. She

  knew she tended to be a worrywart, but the idea of any

  harm coming to the girls was…

  Okay! She was the adult here. In charge. And it was

  time to do something about that.

  But they were practically alone on an island with no

  phones, no cars…not a single luxury. A popular destina-

  tion for the local boat crowd, but distant and desolate.

  It was two to three hours back to Miami with the engine

  running, though Fort Lauderdale was closer, and it was

  hardly an hour to a few of the Bahamian islands.

  She inhaled and exhaled. Slowly.

  T H E I S L A N D

  15

  The human mind was amazing. Moments ago she had

  been delighted by the very remoteness of the island,

  pleased that there weren’t any refreshment stands, auto-

  mobiles or modern appliances of any kind.

  But now…

  “Might be a skull,” Beth admitted, and she forced a

  grin, lifting her hands. “And might not be,” she lied. “Your

  dad isn’t going to be happy about this, Amber, when he’s

  been planning this vacation for so long, but—”

  She broke off. She hadn’t heard the sound of footsteps

  or even the rustle of foliage, but as she spoke, a man

  appeared.

  He had emerged from an overgrown trail through one

  of the thick hummocks of pines and palms that grew so

  profusely on the island.

  It was that elemental landscape that brought real boat

  people here, the lack of all the things that came with the

  real world.

  So why did his arrival feel so threatening?

  Trying to be rational with herself, she decided that he

  looked just right for the type of person who should be here.

  He had sandy hair and was deeply tanned. No, not just

  tanned but bronzed, with the kind of dyed-in-deep coloring

  that true boat people frequently seemed to acquire. He was

  in good shape, but not heavily muscled. He was in well-

  worn denim cutoffs, and his feet were clad in deck shoes,

  no socks. His feet were as bronze as his body, so he must

  have spent plenty of time barefoot.

  Like a guy who belonged on a boat, cruising the out

  islands. One who knew what he was doing. One who

  would camp where there were no amenities.

  16

  H E A T H E R G R A H A M

  He also wore shades.

  Anyone would, she told herself. She had on sun-

  glasses, as did the girls. So why did his seem suspicious,

  dark and secretive.

  She needed to be reasonable, she told herself. She was

  only feeling this sudden wariness because she had just

  found a skull, and instinctive panic was setting in. It was

  odd how the psyche worked. Any other time, if she had run

  into someone else on the island, she would have been

  friendly.

  But she had just found a skull, and he reminded her

  of the unknown fate of Ted and Molly Monoco, who had

  been here, and then…

  Sailed into the sunset?

  An old friend had reported them missing when they

  hadn’t radioed in, as they usually did.

  And she had just found a skull at their last known

  location.

  So she froze, just staring at the man.

  Amber, at fourteen, hadn’t yet begun to think of

  personal danger in the current situation. Her father was a

  boat person, so she was accustomed to other boat people,

  and she was friendly when she met them. She wasn’t

  stupid or naive, and she had been taught street smarts—

  she went to school in downtown Miami, for one thing. She

  could be careful when she knew she should.

  Apparently that didn’t seem to be now.

  Amber smiled at the stranger and said, “Hi.”

  “Hi,” he returned.

  “Hi,” Kim said.

  Amber nudged Beth. “Um—hi.”

  T H E I S L A N D

  17

  “Keith Henson,” the man said, and though she couldn’t

  see his eyes, his shades were directed toward her. His face

  had good solid lines. Strong chin, high-set cheekbones. The

  voice was rich and deep.

  He should have been doing voice-overs for commer-

  cials or modeling.

  Hey, she mocked herself. Maybe that was what he did

  do.

  “I’m Amber Anderson,” her niece volunteered. “This is

  Kim Smith, and that’s my aunt Beth.” She was obviously

  intrigued and went on to say, “We’re camping here.”

  “Maybe,” Beth said quickly.

  Amber frowned. “Oh, come on! Just because—”

  “How do you do, Mr. Henson,” Beth said, cutting off

  her niece’s words. She stepped forward quickly, away

  from their find. “Nice to meet you. Down here on

  vacation? Where are you from?”

  Oh, good, that was casual. A complete third degree in

  ten seconds or less.

  “Recent transplant, actually a bit of a roamer,” he told her,

  smiling, offering her his hand. It was a fine hand. Long

  fingered, as bronzed as the rest of him, nails clipped and