Jackson Crow was one of the most interesting men Brodie had ever met. He’d been with the FBI for years, and Brodie was aware that a brutal trauma—the loss of his first wife—had sidelined him for a while. He’d been chosen by Adam Harrison to take the lead on the Krewe’s first case in New Orleans.
He was tall, lean, but ruggedly built; his face was a fascinating character study. His father’s Native American heritage was clearly visible in the structure of his cheekbones and his ink-dark straight hair; his eyes were a sharp blue, contrasting vividly with his coloring.
When Brodie and Liam met up with him on the Great Escape, Jackson had been working for hours. But then, after finding Bill and speaking with him, and finally getting out on the water, Brodie realized that it was already well past lunch time. He was glad of the help; even with Liam’s fellow detectives and officers preceding them and gathering all possible suspects and speaking with them, it seemed that he and Liam couldn’t get places fast enough.
They still had nothing. Nothing new at all on Mathilda Sumner. Except that she had somehow cleanly disappeared from her house, leaving behind her wallet and car and anything else that someone might bring with them to go out—even just to the beach.
They stood on the deck speaking with Jackson, bringing him up-to-date. Brodie knew Jackson and was well aware that he had kept up, through Angela, with everything going on. He was thorough; he had the resources to investigate from afar.
It was still good to rehash events with what detail they had. When they had finished the complete update, they moved on to the matter at hand.
“If anyone was dragged out here and kept on this boat, the forensic team hasn’t been able to find any evidence to that effect,” Jackson told Brodie and Liam.
“I don’t think that this boat was used,” Brodie said.
“We can’t clear Ewan as yet,” Liam said quietly.
“I’m not saying that. What I think is that, even if Ewan was involved—murdered Ferrer in cold blood—I don’t think he’d have used his own boat. That it’s here is happenstance, one way or another. Whoever it was took some kind of a small boat from the docks. One person at least had to have been a diver, and, I believe, have a deep-diving certificate—the body was below a hundred feet down. The whole operation had to have taken some time—no diver could have gone down there and just come up without having the bends. Or dying. It was planned from the get-go.”
“But,” Jackson suggested, “the fact that your suspects were seen until midnight doesn’t mean much. The whole operation might have taken three hours, but that could have been at any hour. Say, between 1:00 a.m. and 6:00 or 7:00 a.m.”
“True, and there’s a dilemma,” Liam noted.
“We’re going to move our operation over to the Memory,” Jackson told him. “With your blessing, of course, Detective Beckett.”
“Help me solve this—and I’ll bless you from here to eternity,” Liam told him.
Jackson nodded.
“I’m going to take a look below myself,” Brodie said.
“What are you looking for?” Jackson asked.
“I have no idea. The kind of thing I’ll know when I see.”
He headed belowdecks. The boat was a really nice one. Ewan had spent his life loving the water, so it was only natural.
He introduced himself to the four FBI forensic techs, and promised them he would stay out of their way. He wasn’t even sure what they were looking for, but he went into the master’s cabin—which they had already gone over—and found nothing suspicious. He headed to the guest cabin at the aft.
By then, the techs had gone topside. Brodie stood in the combo galley/living area/dining room and wondered just what the hell he thought he was going to find himself.
He went to the trash; the forensics team had taken any contents.
He shook his head, and then opened the cabinets.
That’s when he saw what he hadn’t known he was looking for.
It was a cup. A plastic cup that advertised the Drunken Pirate tiki bar.
His heart seemed to miss a beat. Of course, Ewan had been to the bar dozens of times. It might be natural that he had a cup from the tiki hut.
But Brodie took a paper towel and reached up behind the other cups and glasses and slipped his hand around the cup.
Something of a milky color was still stuck to the rim.
Something like a cream drink might well have been in the cup—and stuck if it was poorly or hastily washed.
Something like a cream drink—tainted with almond milk.
* * *
Guitarists.
Brodie seemed to think that it all had something to do with guitars.
But she knew for a fact that her father, Cliff and Arnold Ferrer had each had their own beloved guitars. She knew, through her dad, that each man loved something different about a guitar—she couldn’t believe that anyone was killing anyone over a guitar.
Maybe guitars were worth more than she thought?
She had a box of her father’s belongings that she really wanted to go through. She had everything he’d left. Since her father had been so famous, she’d been careful from the beginning to display what she thought was most relevant.
There was one box that contained all manner of his papers. Some of them receipts, some of them thank-you letters from people he had worked with. Some of them were just notes. When Michael McCoy had written songs, they often came to him at odd times. He’d write music or lyrics on whatever was handy—cocktail napkins, the backs of envelopes—whatever was near him.
She remembered when her dad had died, her mom had tried hard to keep what was important, and clean out what wasn’t. She’d been going to dispose of a number of the crumpled napkins and other brief notes. Kody, devastated, had quietly picked them all up.
She hadn’t been able to let go of anything.
She began to dig through the napkins, lost in thought. She found his initial lyrics for a Bone Island Boys hit titled “War and Peace.” It was a ballad that might have pertained to any war; it was about Johnny coming home from battle, wanting to kiss his wife’s lips—but having no arms to hold her. Wanting to walk by her side, but having no legs with which to stride.
It was a beautiful song—and incredibly sad. The lyrics began with his love for her, and then, bit by bit, the listener learned his condition.
She set the handwritten words down. She would never let go of that crumpled piece of cocktail napkin.
“Hey, Kody!”
She looked up. Colleen asked her, “Do you know how late it is?”
“Ah, closing?”
“Want to come out with me?”
“Um, no. I’m going to stay a bit. Will you do me a big favor, though? Make sure that the place is all locked up.”
“Sure thing. Oh, Bill Worth came by. I told him that you were busy.”
“Good. Thank you. I am busy. Just lock up for me, please?”
“Sure thing.”
Colleen left her alone.
She looked back at the box she was searching.
She picked up the next scrap of paper.
It was one of their best rock songs—not her favorite lyrics, but the song remained a hit. The music her dad had written was just the kind that made people move, want to dance—out on the floor, or just in their chairs.
She smoothed out paper after paper, and then paused, reading one she knew exceptionally well.
“Love in the Sun.”
It was Cliff’s song, she had always thought. But here it was, in her father’s handwriting.
It was sand and sun, til she walked in,
The moment I saw her, I came undone.
I saw it anew, all the sand, all the sun,
Paradise gained, my heart on the run.
The world became my love in the sun,
For paradise comes when love walks in,
And God knows, there is nothing like
My love in the sun.
There were more verses, and she knew them all by heart—she sang the song often enough. She knew that her father had been involved in the creation of the song, but she’d never realized that he had set down the first lyrics.
In a fury, she suddenly dumped the box. And as she quickly shuffled and inspected paper after paper, she found another napkin.
The second verse.
In her father’s handwriting.
“Kody. I didn’t cheat your dad out of anything.”
She nearly jumped sky-high; she had thought she was alone in the back.
Cliff’s ghost was looking at her, appearing extremely worried.
“This is his handwriting—I know it.”
“Kody, I swear, please. Don’t look like that. I would never hurt you! I would die before I’d hurt you.”
She realized that she had been afraid of him when she’d first seen him there. Cliff. She’d been afraid of a ghost—Cliff’s ghost.
“Kody, so help me God, I...I would never hurt you. And I...that song...”
She realized that he was in turmoil. And that it was true he never would hurt her.
“My dad worked it with you, right?”
Cliff’s ghost came closer and sank down into the chair by the desk, looking down at her where she sat on the floor—in her pile of cocktail napkins.
“Your father was truly a good man—an exceptionally good man. He wanted all of his friends—his musician friends—to make a living at their passion.”
“I know that.”
“He did do most of the work on ‘Love in the Sun.’ It should have been his song.”
“He wanted you to have it,” she said softly.
“Yes, he did. That song is what’s kept me floating all these years. It’s the one thing I’ve done that has continually made me an income. Well, that did make me an income. It’s—it’s all I really had to leave Rosy.”
“That’s okay, Cliff.”
“Kody, if you or your mom had ever wanted to...well, you could have taken me to court.”
“Why would we ever do that?”
He smiled. “You wouldn’t. I know that you wouldn’t.”
He looked at her with such affection and love that she smiled. “My dad’s legacy left my mom and me just fine. She keeps the trust fund and gives every year to his charities, just the way that he would have done. Cliff, my dad loved you.”
“I know.” He was silent for a minute. “I wonder if I’ll get to see him soon. You know, Kody, I loved my church. And in my church, we have always believed...well, I do believe there is a heaven. I’m not ready for it yet, apparently, but...”
“Cliff,” she asked, puzzled, “were you aware that you had played with my father and Arnold Ferrer?”
“Ferrer?” he asked.
“There’s a picture on the wall—you, my dad and Arnold Ferrer are in it.”
He shrugged. “Your dad always had us playing with someone. I don’t particularly remember everyone. He was...hell, he just loved to drag anyone in on a set.”
“I wish you remembered,” she told him.
“I’m sorry, Kody. There were so many people—so many years.”
She nodded. She looked back at the napkin in her hands.
“I’d have been nothing without him,” Cliff said. “People didn’t know me or care about me until your dad helped me up, gave me that song.”
“Cliff, you were a wonderful entertainer. Everybody gets a start somewhere. I’m glad that my dad gave you a boost. I loved you both, you know.”
He nodded, and then rose, frowning.
“What?” Kody asked.
“I thought I heard something.”
Kody froze. “What?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe you have one of our Key West roosters running around in here,” he said lightly.
But he was concerned.
Then, they heard a knocking.
Cliff headed out to the hallway. Kody followed him on tiptoe.
Colleen had done a good job of locking up—the lights were out just about everywhere. Only the auxiliary lights were on in the rooms.
She made it to the end of the hallway.
Bill Worth was at the front, banging on the door, calling her name.
She remembered the captain’s words that morning, that he’d seen nothing really wrong, but that it seemed that Rosy’s male friends were maybe being a little too attentive.
She remembered Cliff at the reception following his funeral, watching Bill, saying that he was too close to Rosy.
Bill had been there when Cliff had died.
Oh, God, no. Had he killed Cliff to be with Rosy?
She held still, not going anywhere near the door. He would go away. Even as she stood there, watching him, she was in turmoil.
It was hard to believe, but surely, many murders had been committed in the name of love. If Bill had been secretly worshipping Rosy from afar, he might have gone over the brink.
But that made no sense, not if they were right that the murders committed had all been associated. But maybe they weren’t associated, maybe they were looking for different killers, and maybe...
She turned around and whispered to Cliff.
“I’m going to go out the back.”
He nodded. She started down the hallway, but paused. There was a strange lump on the floor in the Artist’s Corner.
“Cliff,” she whispered.
She couldn’t help herself. She walked into the room, dreading every step.
And then she knew why; the lump on the floor was Colleen Bellamy.
“Colleen!”
She didn’t whisper; she cried out the name. She gathered the girl carefully in her arms, digging in her jeans pocket for her cell phone. But it wasn’t there—she’d left it on the table back in the storage room.
She couldn’t tell if Colleen was dead or alive at first. Then, she thought she felt a faint pulse. She had to leave Colleen and get to the landline on the ticket counter.
As she stood, though, she saw the shadow again, the black mist-like shadow.
“Cliff...” she said.
“It’s Ferrer, has to be,” Cliff whispered. “Arnold Ferrer.”
Then she heard the man’s raspy words again. “Get out, get out, get out.”
“I have to help Colleen,” she said.
And then, someone walked through the mist, oblivious to it. Someone smiling, and wielding a knife.
“Kody. Dakota McCoy. The amazing Miss Dakota McCoy. You never could just let things be, could you? Oh, Kody, perfect Kody, voice like a lark, energy, kindness, smiles... God, how I hate you!”
* * *
Brodie had turned the cup over to Crow’s FBI forensic team. They were starting on the dinghies.
Ewan Keegan had been down with his divers. Brodie was waiting for him when he came up.
Ewan looked at him as if he were a protective pit bull—who just got kicked by his master.
Brodie waited until Ewan had unstrapped himself from his tank and set it down.
“What? What the hell?” Ewan demanded, standing on the deck, dripping.
“There was a cup in your cabinet, Ewan. It’s from the Drunken Pirate.”
Ewan shook his head. “I don’t keep those plastic cups, Brodie. But if you’re looking for one, you’ll find it in the bags of half the tourists down here.”
“This one is encrusted with something creamy. Cliff Bullard was killed with almond milk.”
“Cliff Bullard, what the hell? I thought I was being accused of killing Arnold Ferrer!”
“How did that cup get in your cupboard?”
“I—I don’t know! I told you, I don’t keep cups like that.”
“But it’s your cupboard.”
Ewan stared at him, shaking his head. “Brodie, you know that I let these guys use the place. Hell, almost everyone on the island knows that the boat is here. It’s been here since just about the time we started. Anyone could have put it there.”
“Someone washed it out—poorly—and put it on a shelf,” Brodie said.
He walked closer to Ewan, not wanting to be heard by anyone else. “I don’t think you put it there. But I don’t know who did. They are going to check it for fingerprints, everything else.” He hesitated. “I’m going to have you go with Jackson. If one of these guys is guilty, he’ll be glad and give himself away, maybe.”
“You want me to go with the FBI guy—as if I’m under arrest.”
“We’ll be polite about it, but... Ewan, help us here. I believe in you.”
Ewan shook his head. “Brodie, you know me, dammit. I’m not a killer. And neither are these guys... We’re careful when we hire people.”
“Help me out.”
Ewan stared at him another moment.
Jackson walked over to him. “Mr. Keegan, are you ready?”
Another crewmate, the local guy Josh Gable, had come up after him. “Toss me a shirt?” Ewan asked, stripping off his half suit. In his swim trunks, he accepted the shirt and slid it over his head. “Yeah. Let me get my shoes.”
Those onboard watched as Jackson Crow led Ewan to the starboard side of the ship where a Coast Guard cutter was waiting to bring them back to shore.
“That’s bullshit!” Josh Gable exclaimed.
“He’s just being questioned,” Liam told him.
Gable looked at Brodie and then at Liam. “Bullshit!” he repeated.
Others just stared. Then, man by man, they left the deck.
Brodie looked at Liam. “I know he was framed.”
“Then we need to prove who did do it.”
Brodie nodded.
Four of the dinghies were up on their hoists.
Two were in the water.
“Guess I’ll start that way—the one the crew isn’t in,” he said.
Liam nodded. “I’ll see that we get the others down.”
Brodie went to the aft and the dive platform. One of the dinghies was tied to the staff on the port side.
He hopped over, feeling irritated—and weary. He couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t believe that Ewan—who had spent so much of his life defending mankind—could have become a murderer.
He jumped down into the dinghy. It was empty except for one broken flipper.
He moved the flipper.
And then, to his amazement, he saw something else. Small, fragile, glittering gold.
He picked it up; it was another piece of the chain. Except that it was more than a chain.
It was a gold charm the shape of Key West. It had the words “Conch Republic” written on it.
And a name.
Suddenly, the pieces fell together for him.
He leaped out of the dinghy, shouting for Liam, digging out his phone.
He dialed Kody’s number.
It rang and rang.
And rang.
* * *
Kody stared at Rosy Bullard, emotions running through her like electric bolts.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she said.
“Precious Kody, no, I’m not kidding. I’m so sorry. No, I’m not. You’ve always had everything. Born to a rich and famous father...and just so damned sweet and good and everybody loves you. Well, that’s a nice life—when you just fall into it.”
“You married Cliff for his money? But...you? You did all this? Or...or you just killed Cliff?”
Cliff was standing near Kody.
“Rosy killed me?” he said, his voice incredulous, broken.
He had really loved his Rosy.
“I don’t have to explain anything to you. You’re going to get me the song.”
“The song?”
“The damned song, Kody. Cliff told me that your father had a copy in his own handwriting. All right, the plan hasn’t been to kill you, Kody. Even if you are a royal thorn in my ass. I want the original copy of the song. I looked in your house—I’ve searched here, I’ve gone over this wall... Where’s the damned song, Kody? Your ever-so-sickeningly sweet mother told me that you could never let anything go, that you kept everything—even when she would have thrown the stupid napkins and whatever else shit out! So, you have it. And you know you have it.”
“She killed me!” Cliff repeated, tears in his voice.
The knife Rosy was wielding was a big one. A Bowie knife. Very sharp.
Kody was younger and probably stronger, but could she get a big knife away from Rosy?
“I want the song, Kody.”
“So, you’re going to kill me, but you want me to give you the song first. Rosy, what a fool you are. I would never have gone after the rights to that song. And what a seriously soul-sucking bitch! He loved you—really loved you.”
“He was an investment,” Rosy said simply. “And then someone else came along and...and it was time the investment paid off.”
“Oh, my God!” Cliff exclaimed, walking over to Rosy. He tried to hit her. Rosy saw nothing at all—but she did shiver.
“Damn it, you people freeze these places to death,” Rosy said. She took a step toward Kody. “I’m actually really good with this. I can carve up your pretty, pretty face until you’re ready to scream.”
“And maybe I can get the knife from you. And if I’m dead, I promise you—Liam and Brodie will catch you and you might well be executed in the State of Florida for the premeditated killing of so many people.”
“He will not catch me. Right now, he thinks that his friend Ewan is guilty of the other murders, and he’s going to think that the sweet little Adelaide girl killed you. I’ve set that up, too. They’ll never prove that Mathilda was murdered. She was, of course, but they’ll never prove it.”
“Why the hell did you kill them? How did you kill them?”
“Want to know the truth? It was unbelievably easy. All I had to do was tell the idiots that we were meeting about a show, about getting together for a tribute to the great Michael McCoy. They came running. Oh, we weren’t good at it with Arnie—we were sloppy. But you see, Ewan let anybody on that boat—people came and went all the time. I figured if I put Arnie down below in the ship, everyone would think that it was a social issue—that someone was disgusted with what he did. Or someone was trying to hide something. And they did. Anyway...”
“Why?” Kodie demanded.
“You foolish girl. They all knew that your father had really written that song.”
She couldn’t help but remember the way Rosy had appeared to be in tears when Kody had sung the song.
Tears!
She had been edgy, of course.
But laughing.
“They all played together one day, and they all knew what Michael was writing. I need the song, Kody. I’m starting my new life now, a real life.”
“You killed people—over a song?”
“Not the song—the money! Do you know what it brings in each year? As Cliff’s widow, it comes to me now. I need that song, and that money, Kody. Now!”
“Come get me,” Kody said.
“Watch out!” Cliff warned.
There was someone coming behind Kody. Someone else in the museum.
Colleen had never had a chance to lock up. They had ambushed her, and now...
Strong arms suddenly gripped her even as she tried to turn.
“I’ve found it,” a male voice exclaimed. “We don’t need to do any cutting. We just need to get them out of here!”
“I want to cut her!” Rosy said.
“Dammit, no. Do you want to get away with this, or not? Oh, screw this!”
Something slammed down on her head. Kody didn’t even have time to think that she might really die.
Everything went black in an instant.
* * *
“Her name is right on the damned thing,” Brodie told Liam. “Rosy. Cliff must have bought this for her—he was so in love with her. Thing is, she couldn’t have acted alone. She isn’t that strong—or, she may be strong, but she didn’t maneuver the physical part of this by herself. Rosy isn’t a diver.”
“Bill?” Liam asked.
They were heading back to shore as fast as they could go.
Brodie had already called Jackson; Liam had called it in to dispatch.
Brodie’s heart was beating in a deadly race.
She hadn’t answered her phone. She hadn’t answered her phone...
“So Rosy and her lover killed her husband—but why Ferrer, and why Mathilda?”
Brodie shook his head. “I’m not sure, but...it goes back to Michael McCoy. His music, something. I don’t know. That’s been the link all the way through this.”
His and Liam’s phones rang at the same time.
He answered. Jackson.
“There’s no one here at the museum except for her assistant—the girl is in bad shape, EMTs are already here. But Kody is gone. I’d say she might have just left, except...the back room is trashed. Boxes dumped everywhere. We’re heading out—cops heading out in every direction.”
“We’re on the way,” Brodie said.
* * *
Kody heard water...water, splashing against the hull.
She hurt.
Her head was killing her. Her body...
She opened her eyes just a slit. She had been dumped at the aft of a small motorboat in a curled up and knotted position.
That’s why she hurt so badly.
But what was the plan? Throw her out in the water—as they had done with Mathilda Sumner? No, they had been subtler with Mathilda. They must have lured her out, then pushed her.
Maybe Rosy had done it herself one of the times when she’d slipped away from Sonny.
They had killed together, and they had killed alone.
At the moment, it didn’t matter. Because they were going to kill her, too.
With her head pounding, she cracked her eyes. She saw Rosy, alone at the helm.
But she hadn’t been alone. Where was...
She knew that Rosy still had her knife, and now, she wondered what shape she was in for a knife fight. And then she saw it—shoved against the starboard side of the little motorboat was a spear gun. If she was going to use it, she was going to have to be fast.
If it had been left loaded.
She waited, trying to make sure that her head was steady, that she could manage to twist and turn and...
The purr of the motor began to wane.
They were coming out to a point where Rosy was probably going to act...
Kody used all of her strength to unwind, come to her knees, and grab the spear gun.
Rosy heard her. She let out a scream of anger, looking like some kind of ancient evil witch.
She leaped up, her knife high.
No time! Kody maneuvered the spear gun with little precision. But the projectile flew out. It hit Rosy—in the arm. The wrong arm. While she screamed in pain, she still gripped the knife.
Kody threw herself into the water.
She dove deep, swimming hard into the water, darkening now, as the spectacular Key West sunset began to turn to blackness.
* * *
They were still on their way in to shore when Brodie’s phone rang again.
“You’ve found Kody?”
“No, no. But we did find Bill Worth.”
“And? Where is she? Demand that he tell you where they took her.”
She couldn’t be dead, dear God, she couldn’t be dead!
“Brodie, Bill never saw her. He says that he tried to visit her today, that he wanted to talk to her about his ancestor. Tell her that he knew—but that he was sorry as hell, he really didn’t have anything on the man, and it wasn’t something he bragged about. Brodie, he also told me something else.”
“What’s that?”
“He believes that Rosy...that Rosy was falling for another man. It just wasn’t him.”
“And something else. I went to her house. There’s a ghost there named—”
“I know about Captain Hunter. What did he say?”
“He knows who the man is—he saw him with Rosy. Nothing overt, but he knew.”
“Emory Clayton,” Brodie said dully.
“Yes. We have APBs out on both of them. But the captain thinks that they have some connections at one of the marinas, and little motorboats bought under assumed names. Oh, and get this—they make sure, unless it’s the dead of night, that they’re seen, and seen apart. They’ve used Ewan’s name with dockmasters when they have to.”
Where the hell was Kody?
He watched a motorboat, making its way through the waves. And another, following...
“I think we have something,” Jackson said.
“If not, we’ll keep going.”
Boats, two of them, moving over the water, lights low in the falling dusk, as if they didn’t want to be seen.
Brodie swore out loud, dropping his phone.
They had her. He knew where they had her.
But he had to be careful.
Because, it they were accosted, they would still kill her. Just out of spite.
“Liam, this is what we have to do!” he exclaimed.
* * *
Kody swam hard, but she was afraid she was losing consciousness. Her head throbbed. She was all right, she was all right...
She wasn’t all right. Everything hurt. And Rosy could maneuver her boat, get to her before Kody could swim far enough. No matter how many times Kody managed to go under, holding her breath and feeling as if she would black out again, Rosy could find her.
There was another boat nearby.
She swam to it. Swam hard. She clutched the hull. She tried to hike herself up.
“There you are!”
She looked up. Emory Clayton was reaching down for her, a grim expression on his face.
“Oh, Kody, I don’t hate you the way Rosy does. And, I am sorry. This is no fun for me, I can assure you,” he said.
He’d pulled her up.
“Sorry?” she spat out. “Is murder usually fun?”
Why the hell hadn’t he just left her in the water?
Hadn’t they intended to drown her?
He threw her down and she collapsed onto the bottom of the boat. She was at just about the end of her reserves.
There were other vessels out on the water. It was Key West. She could see party boats and night-dive boats, and...
“Emory, you’re in love with Rosy, Rosy is in love with you. Great. Why didn’t she just get a divorce?”
“The money, Kody. I’m about to lose my job. They’re bringing in another scientist to manage the place. And Rosy...she was always broke, always working...don’t you understand? It’s our time, it’s finally our time.”
She looked past him. There was something dark on the water. Like a shadow.
The ghost of Arnold Ferrer? The man who had tried to warn her...twice.
No, it was something—solid.
And she realized that, impossibly, Brodie was there. In the water, coming up as quietly as possible, getting his hold on the boat.
She could hear Rosy’s boat swinging around.
“Kill her! Do it! Smash the hell out of her—Now!” she called over the sound of her engine.
Emory Clayton raised his arms over his head. He was wielding his boat’s anchor.
Brodie leaped onto the boat. He slammed into Emory with a physical force that sent the man pitching into the water, screaming.
Suddenly there were lights on the water, where there had been none.
And Liam was on a bullhorn, shouting out, “Rosy Bullard, Emory Clayton, you’re under arrest for the murders of Arnold Ferrer, Cliff Bullard, Mathilda Sumner and the attempted murder of Dakota McCoy.”
Kody smiled. Brodie reached for her.
And she came up, unaware of any pain as he folded her into his arms.
* * *
“They thought it out—from the time they heard that Arnold Ferrer was involved with the Victoria Elizabeth and coming down to Key West. His goodness did him in,” Jackson said.
They were gathered around the bar at the Drunken Pirate: Sonny, Bill Worth, Kelsey and Liam—and Jackson, Kody and Brodie.
It was the following night. Colleen was still in the hospital. They thought they had left her dead, but luckily they had not.
They had set everything up. When Rosy had come through the bathroom window one night, she’d found a few little things that had belonged to Colleen—a brush, a compact and a notepad.
Emory—visiting a hapless Bev at the Sea Horse—had managed to plant the things in Adelaide’s room, and they’d taken hair from Adelaide’s brush to leave on Colleen.
They had thought themselves incredibly clever.
“Thing is, they were getting away with what they were doing,” Brodie said.
“My dad would be heartbroken that his music caused such pain,” Kody said.
“Your dad’s music didn’t cause any of this—greed caused it,” Jackson said firmly.
“Rosy said that marrying Cliff was an investment—she only intended to be with him so long. But...my God, did she marry him, intending to kill him?” she asked.
“We’ll see what the prosecutors tell us on that,” Liam said. “Their fate is in the hands of the law now. But this is a death penalty state. They may well plead out to multiple life terms. Rosy wanted a new life—she’s going to get one.”
“The thing is, they were holding a reign of terror—and it’s over,” Brodie said firmly.
“I’m almost surprised they didn’t try to pin things on me,” Sonny said.
“Maybe they were smart enough on that front—if they tried, we’d have disproved them too quickly,” Liam said.
“In light of all this...” She looked across the table at Bill.
Bill cleared his throat. “We never got to tell anyone. But...Sonny and I are a couple. We were actually going to say something right after the festival, but then Cliff...”
“It didn’t seem right,” Sonny said.
“But it does now. We’re going to get married,” Bill said.
Congratulations went around. And then they were silent.
“Thing is, it is over,” Brodie said. He looked over at Kody. “And just beginning.”
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
Jackson cleared his throat. “I have a plan—if you’re interested.”
“Shoot,” Brodie told him, smiling.
“Brodie goes into the academy when it starts up again. Until then, he’s a consultant. It will take some time, so he can stay down here and help you get the museum up and running as it should be. Then, of course, Kody keeps her museum. But Colleen...she also loves the museum. She almost gave her life for it. And, from what I understand, she was very shy. Now, she’s coming out of her shell. She would be a wonderful manager for the place. Of course, you two can spend your time going between places so that Kody doesn’t lose what she worked so hard to obtain.”
There was an awkward silence at the table.
Then Brodie shrugged, smiled and looked at Kody.
“I like it,” he said.
“I like it, too.”
“Yay!” Sonny said.
Jojo walked over.
“Hey, the band is asking if you’ll do one of Cliff’s or your dad’s songs,” he said.
She hesitated. She wasn’t sure she ever wanted to do a song again.
And then she did.
Jackson was right. Music hadn’t caused the horror—it had been greed.
So she got up on stage and sang “Love in the Sun,” attributing it to Cliff Bullard and Michael McCoy.
They talked awhile longer. And then, Sonny and Bill headed off, hand in hand.
And when they were gone, the others were quickly joined by the captain and Cliff Bullard.
“I’ll still watch over the house,” the captain said.
“And, I believe I’ll stay awhile myself. And I’m going to be a very promiscuous ghost—improving the lives of young women any time I can!”
They all laughed at that.
Cliff thanked Kody for the accolades.
“I love you. Like I loved my dad,” she told him.
“And when I do go, I will tell him that—and tell him what a spectacular young woman he raised, and just how beautiful you are.”
Soon, the living finished their food and drink.
Cliff was taking the captain for a stroll. He might just make a good promiscuous ghost, too.
And the others split.
Brodie and Kody returned to her house, walking through the streets of the city she loved so much.
At her house, Brodie suddenly swept her up into his arms.
“You know that I’m going to marry you,” he said. “This may be a bit premature, but I’m going to carry you over the threshold. And up the stairs. Maybe not the stairs—they’re old and narrow. I might hurt you. Or me! But...time and place...tomorrow, next year...you choose. But I am going to marry you.”
He looked at her, waiting for an answer.
She smiled. “Okay.” And then she laughed softly. “My mother will be relieved, of course. And you will have to let the captain know your intentions soon.”
“And you’re going to get to meet my diva mom and my ever-patient dad,” he told her.
“I am so glad they’re still in your life!”
He carried her into the house, but not up the stairs. He caught her hand and they ran up together, and they made love, and it was the sweetest thing in the world.
Love in the sun...
Or wherever.
It was more intense, more passionate than ever before.
Because now they knew it would be forever.
* * *
The next day, they visited the cemetery together. Kody set up flowers for her father—and for Cliff.
The reality of death was especially hard for him, knowing the way his life had ended.
“Looks nice,” Brodie told her softly.
She nodded as they walked away.
She looked back. One of Key West’s famous sunsets was streaking the sky, casting light and shadows down on the beautiful old McCoy tomb.
And for a moment, just a moment, Kody thought that she saw her father.
Lit up in a second of Key West mauve and golden light.
He smiled at her, drew his fingers to his lips, and sent her a kiss.
It couldn’t be...
But maybe it was.
She blew a kiss back, and then took Brodie’s hand.
Michael McCoy had given her so much. He’d taught her so much.
And, she knew, he would be happy.
He would have liked Brodie very much. If only he’d seen him, met him.
And she wondered if, maybe, in a way, he had.
* * * * *
Keep reading for an exclusive preview of
.
A thrilling new romantic suspense from
New York Times bestselling author
Heather Graham.
An undercover cop and a deep-cover FBI agent have to team up to take down an organized crime ring on the sultry Miami Beach strip...
Available November 20, 2018,
only from Harlequin Intrigue.