Echoes of Evil Read online

  “Yes, Cliff was good to everyone.”

  After he’d burst in on her and Brodie, he must have gone on to haunt Nan.

  What was so bad about it?

  He seemed to be making young women very happy. Feeling pretty, and appreciated.

  “Go be with Rosy whenever you need to go,” Colleen said. “I think you believe by now that I can honestly handle everything here. I know all the stories, and while I’ll never be as good as you, I’m getting better about telling them.”

  “You’re excellent—maybe way better than me,” Kody assured her. “Okay, I’ll take a run through, and then head on out over to see how Rosy is doing.”

  She walked down the hallway, looking to the right and to the left, observing all of her rooms.

  People were reading; children were playing.

  The museum was doing very well.

  She went all the way to the back; everything seemed fine in the storage and staging room. She started back and then, curious, she paused to check the restrooms.

  And in the one, the window was open.

  She stared at it, curious, annoyed—and a little bit uneasy.

  She slid the pane shut and locked the window.

  On her way out she paused to speak with Colleen again. “Hey, do me a favor, will you?”

  “Of course.”

  “When you leave, make sure both bathroom windows are locked.”

  “They were open?”

  “Twice now.”

  Colleen looked at her gravely and whispered. “Guests with smelly business. I leave the air freshener in there, but...”

  “Right. Smelly guests,” Kody said. “Anyway, please just make sure that they’re locked.”

  “Absolutely,” Colleen promised solemnly. Then she added, “I’ll see you at the wake.”

  * * *

  Brodie stared at the wall.

  He’d gone out and bought himself a corkboard, and he’d been busy pinning up what he knew about each of the murdered men.

  Arnold Ferrer, a man determined to get a story out to the public. He’d been appalled by his ancestor’s actions—even though it seemed his ancestor had learned a brutal lesson regarding the truth of humanity. All men are created equal.

  He was a gay man, but he hadn’t always accepted his sexual orientation. He had a girlfriend who cared about him still, and a five-year-old daughter. He’d been staying at the Sea Horse, and Bev and Dan—friends known well to Kody and other locals—had gotten to speak with him, and had really liked him. He’d been due to come into the Sea Life offices and speak with Ewan Keegan. He’d also been due to come in and meet with Kody McCoy.

  Instead, he’d been killed. Struck from behind, and then murdered with something like an electrical cord. He’d fought his attacker.

  He had to have seen his attacker.

  Brodie had felt him...felt something! Though he wasn’t appearing in the spectral flesh, something of him had remained, guiding Brodie to his body, and to the only clue they had.

  The little piece of gold chain he had discovered on his second dive down to the Victoria Elizabeth.

  Documents. Documents that included letters Mauricio Ferrer had sent to his wife—and documents regarding the cargo and the ship’s crew.

  He went on to the second half of his display.

  Cliff Bullard. Guitar player, minstrel, songwriter—a married man, almost a newlywed, very much so in love with his wife. Good friend to Kody and others. Killed by allergic reaction. How and when would he have gotten the nuts? He knew about his allergy.

  Brodie scribbled a note and added it to the board.

  Last cup he drank out of disappeared.

  Picked up in all the activity going on—or searched out and disposed of purposely by someone who had watched enough cop shows to know it was important evidence?

  Cliff’s ghost was active. He didn’t know who had killed him.

  Most people considered the death to be accidental.

  Brodie just didn’t believe it.

  What in God’s name could possibly connect the two men?

  Arnold Ferrer had loved to play the guitar. He’d been good, according to what Liam had learned.

  Someone jealous over a guitar? That didn’t seem likely. Cliff and Arnold had never met.

  Or had they?

  He picked up his phone and put a call through to Angela.

  “Hey, listen, I know you have cases, and I hate to bug you,” Brodie began.

  “It’s what we do, and we are still hoping that you’ll make the McFadden brothers a trio in the Krewe,” Angela said. “Anyway, so far, I’ve been working your victims. Cliff Bullard, open book of a life. He’s been a musician. He did work with Michael McCoy a few times—apparently, Michael was the kind of man who always tried to give old friends what help he could. But Cliff always did all right. He’s got some albums—CDs and all—out there. He’s always made a decent wage at doing what he loves, and once he got to Key West, he loved Key West. He married Rose Martin last year. She was born in the Tampa area and worked as a nurse’s aide for years. She met Cliff on a vacation, they got married, and she became a full-time artist. Oh, she’d sold work before, she just wasn’t making a living. Cliff made a decent living, and that gave Rosy a chance to pursue her love of painting.”

  “Anything evil in anyone’s background that you can find?”

  “I’m following music careers right now. Oh, and I’m looking into the names of the crew working with Sea Life. Your friend Ewan had an extraordinary military career—going above and beyond many times.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “I figured.”

  “I’ve got parking tickets on every member of that dive crew. But that’s about all.”

  “Hey, can you do some historical research for me, too? The captain on the ship was a man named Angelo Montblanc. I don’t have a nationality on him. Though, with that surname, I’m imagining French. I suppose when it came to cargo to the New World, a ship might be from anywhere with a crew from many nations.”

  “Look at cruise ships today. Sure, anyone could have been from anywhere. I’ll see what I can find.”

  He started to hang up, but then he said, “Angela?”

  “Yes?”

  “This might all be crazy, but the victims were both musicians, played guitar...maybe they are connected that way, somehow.”

  “Sure thing. I’m on all of it.”

  When he hung up, he looked at the time. It was getting close to six.

  He needed to dress for the wake, and head for the funeral parlor.

  It might be very interesting. He wondered if there were others who might realize that Cliff wasn’t just there in body—but in spirit, as well.

  * * *

  Kody had gone straight to Rosy’s from the museum, worried, and not wanting Rosy to have to go to the funeral parlor alone.

  Rosy had company.

  When Kody arrived, Rosy just shouted that she should come in.

  Bill Worth was already there, sitting with Rosy at her dining room table—and holding her hand. Rosy had a glass of wine in front of her.

  Bill was sipping a soda.

  Rosy looked at Kody with a bit of guilt in her eyes.

  “I needed this,” she said, indicating the wine. “It was one thing when it was just us...us, his friends. But tonight... Oh, Kody, there will be so many people.”

  “People who loved him,” Bill assured her.

  “And people who just know that he’s an island icon,” Rosy said.

  “We’ll do our best to...maneuver people,” Kody said.

  Tears sprang into Rosy’s eyes. “Tonight... Kody, will you speak? I just won’t be able to. And, tomorrow, at the church...you’ll do the eulogy for me?”

  “Bill is the writer,” Kody said. “He might be
the better choice...”

  “But Cliff felt like he was...well, not your dad, he loved your dad too much. But like your uncle or something. Please.”

  “Of course,” Kody said. She glanced at her watch and then at Bill.

  He shrugged and mouthed, “I’ve been trying to get her to go.”

  “Rosy, we need to get going. They will open the doors to the public at six—that’s what’s in the paper and what anyone calling will be told. And usually...well, you might want a minute with him alone.”

  She nodded. “This is expected, of course. Much more humane for those remaining when...when you never see them dead. When you get to remember them alive. I mean, I have a picture of him strumming his guitar...and some pictures of our honeymoon. The funeral home people had a billboard. People will see that... I just... I mean, for me. I don’t believe in open coffins—remember that.”

  “Rosy, don’t even think that way,” Kody told her. “You have years and years to go. And you’ll get by, bit by bit, every day.”

  “Yes,” Rosy said. “Yes, I will.”

  She stood, resolved. Then she picked up the glass of wine and swallowed its contents quickly.

  “I’m ready,” she said. She glanced up at the clock on her kitchen wall. “The car should be here.”

  “From the funeral home. It’s a matter of blocks, but...” Bill Worth shrugged. “It’s part of the service. So, we’ll go in the car.”

  “Whatever works for Rosy.”

  Rosy laughed softly. “We picked a cheap coffin. Still, the cost of losing someone is absolutely outrageous!”

  When they were in the car, Rosy looked at Kody and frowned. “Your mom was so close to Cliff. Is she coming?”

  “Yes, she and Frank should be home by now. Frank took a last interview at 9:00 a.m. They were ready to hop in the car and head back then.”

  “Good,” Rosy said softly. “I know he thought the world of her. Cliff, I mean. I heard that she saved your dad.”

  “I hear the same,” Kody said softly.

  The drive was short—ridiculously short. But the black sedan let them out at the entrance.

  When they arrived, Emory Clayton was waiting for them. He gave Bill and Kody a rueful grimace; they had all been thinking along the same line.

  They hadn’t wanted Rosy to be alone.

  Mr. Conway Finch—aka Shorty—was waiting for them at the door. He took Rosy’s hand and nodded solemnly and told her that Cliff would be their only viewing that night; they had known just what a full house they would have for him.

  “Naturally, we have the room ready for you, and your husband... Do you wish to be alone with him?” Shorty asked.

  “No,” Rosy whispered. She clutched Kody’s hand. “And boys...” Bill and Clayton were both far from being boys, but they knew right away that she meant the two of them. “Please...don’t let me be alone. I dreamed... I begged him not to haunt me. But...it’s the life we’ll never have now, I guess, I just... Please. Be with me.”

  “Of course, Rosy,” Clayton said. “Whatever you need.”

  And so the three of them walked in together, Rosy clutching Kody’s hand, Bill and Emory flanking the two of them.

  As they neared the coffin, Rosy began to sag.

  Bill Worth caught her.

  “I can’t,” she whispered. “I can’t see him in death.”

  Bill looked at Kody, just a little desperate.

  “It’s all right, Rosy,” she said. “It’s all right. This is... Some people need to see the person to say goodbye. If you don’t want to...”

  “I can’t,” Rosy whispered.

  “Then that’s fine. Here, just sit here, in the front, to the side.”

  “Tomorrow...at the church. I will give him into God’s hands, and say goodbye,” Rosy said. “I just... I want my memories to be of the living man, laughing, smiling, holding me.”

  “Of course, Rosy, that’s fine,” Kody said.

  Bill and Emory took their cue from Kody. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m going to tell Shorty that it’s all right to open the doors now, to—” She hesitated. She didn’t want to say “public.” That might upset Rosy more. “To his other friends,” she finished.

  “Wait,” Bill said. “Please.”

  He walked up to the coffin and knelt down. He bowed his head. When he was done, Emory walked to the coffin and did the same.

  Kody wasn’t sure why she didn’t feel like paying her respects in this way—maybe because she’d seen Cliff in his spectral form, and she wasn’t sure if she was angry with him, or if what he was doing was really...nice.

  Rosy was afraid of his ghost. He probably wanted just to assure her. And he was aimlessly wandering around trying to figure out how and why he was murdered...

  So why not let shy women get to feel good about themselves, gain some confidence?

  When Emory rose, however, he looked at Kody expectantly. And she knew, of course, that it would appear strange if she didn’t go to the coffin.

  And so she walked to the front and knelt.

  It was always so strange when people said that a corpse looked “good.” She hadn’t ever really seen anybody look “good” when they were dead—in the real form of the flesh. At best, Cliff looked as if he was at peace.

  She supposed that was good.

  She was startled when she heard the voice of the dead man speaking—Cliff was standing just slightly behind her to the right, in his ghostly form.

  “I do look okay...leave it to Rosy. Perfect suit,” he said. “Ah, Kody, thank you for helping my poor girl now. I tried to hold her, tried to hug her, but she shivered and...well, she needs you all now.”

  Kody inclined her head, crossed herself and stood. As she walked back to Rosy, the doors swung open and Brodie entered.

  He headed first to the widow. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Bullard. I had barely met your husband. He seemed to be such a fine man.”

  Rosy looked at him, wiped her face and smiled curiously.

  “My name is Brodie McFadden. I’m friends with Ewan and Liam and a number of your friends. We met briefly at lunch the other day.”

  She smoothed her hair back, managing a smiled for him. “Thank you, young man.”

  He nodded and walked to the coffin. Kody could see that Cliff stood by him, too, gazing over his own body. She had no idea what Cliff was saying, but Brodie, his head lowered, had a bit of a smile on his face.

  Was Cliff being a funny wiseass? At his own wake?

  Sonny Atherton came next, and then Bev and Dan. Then Liam arrived with Kelsey, and after that, people seemed to come in throngs.

  Kody tried to remain by Rosy’s side, ready to fend off anyone who made her nervous.

  But then she saw her parents.

  “I’ve got this,” Emory Clayton said.

  “And I’m here, too,” Bill assured her.

  She moved forward to greet her mother and Frank.

  Her stepfather was, in her mind, remarkably like her dad in appearance—except that he wore his graying hair much shorter than her father had kept his. Michael McCoy had always looked the part of a rock musician, from the ’80s up until the time he had died.

  Her father had been tall, six-something. Frank was tall, too. He even had a similar build.

  Sally was a beautiful woman. Kody, of course, was prejudiced, but at fifty, Sally was slim and athletic with light hair cut to frame a very nicely shaped face. Her eyes were blue; Kody knew that she had gotten her own peculiar shade of amber from her father.

  “Baby,” Sally said softly.

  For a long moment, her mother hugged her. Kody remembered just how dear Cliff had been to her mom.

  “Kody,” Frank said, giving her a hug next. He was always gentle and giving. Always careful of her feelings. He had once told her that he hoped very much tha
t she would like him; he knew he was taking her dad’s place at her mother’s side. Since it had taken her mom some time to date again—much less remarry—she was certainly all right with it. She wanted her mother to be happy.

  And Frank was an incredibly decent man.

  “We’ll just see Cliff, okay?” Sally asked her.

  “Of course, Mom.”

  But Sally still paused, looking at her.

  “You’re really all right?”

  “I’m fine. Trying to look after Rosy,” Kody said.

  She watched as her mom and Frank went to stand in line—there were now a number of mourners waiting to pay respects to Cliff Bullard’s earthly remains.

  She saw that Brodie was off a bit with Liam. They were an interesting duo.

  They were both standing with their arms crossed over their chests.

  Watching.

  People came, close friends, work associates—including Jojo, the bartender from the Drunken Pirate, and a number of the waitstaff and others. Colleen arrived; Kody gave her an encouraging smile.

  Ewan Keegan came along with divers and staff from Sea Life.

  Everyone she knew seemed to be in the room.

  Anyone who was local and really friends with Cliff had come out—and maybe even some wandering tourists had made it to Cliff’s viewing.

  Shorty approached. “Mrs. Bullard has said that you’re going to do the speaking,” he said. “Cliff’s priest is going to do a prayer—his actual service will be tomorrow. After he speaks, we’ll be ready for you. This seems to be very hard on Mrs. Bullard. We’re going to try to make sure that we usher people out by nine.”

  “Of course,” Kody murmured.

  Father Rodriguez went to stand at the front of the room. With a quick clearing of his throat, he had everyone’s respectful attention. He gave a short introduction, mentioning Cliff’s love of the church, and then asked them all to join in a prayer.

  Kody bowed her head.

  A thought was plaguing her.

  Was Cliff’s killer in the room?

  Cliff’s ghostly self was then standing just in the front, to the side. He had his head bowed in prayer.

  As the prayer neared an end and there was a moment of silence, Cliff walked over to Kody.