Ghost Moon

A second later, she heard the knob twist; the door was unlocked.



Had she locked it again after she came in? She couldn’t remember.



The door creaked open. She heard footsteps, and then nothing. Whoever was there was just standing, listening.



Seconds ticked by with nothing, nothing except the pounding of her heart.



Then, as if the intruder could hear that pounding, he zoned in on her exact location. The footsteps came closer and closer….



And he was right in front of her. In a second, she would be pinned in place, trapped where she crouched in fear….



She shot up, swinging the metal ash sweep. She heard a hoarse cry as the rod connected with flesh, but then it was pulled out of her hand and a body tackled her length, sending her, and him, crashing down between the boxes.



“Bastard!” she raged, struggling desperately.



Her attacker went still.



“Kelsey?”



She knew the voice. Years dissipated. She knew the voice well.



The boy had changed. The long, lean, muscled body bearing down on hers had definitely changed.



“Liam?” she breathed.



“Good God, Kelsey!” he said.



For another split second, he was on top of her, vital, tense, a mass of flesh and sinew like a brick prison wall that lived and breathed…and then he was up, reaching for her hand, hauling her to her feet.



“Kelsey!” he said again, rubbing his arm, staring at her in the shadows.



“Liam,” she said.



Then he turned away from her and walked toward the light switch, and the eeriness of the night was filled with a glow of rationality once again.



3



It was good—and strange—to see Kelsey after so many years. The promise of great beauty that she’d always shown had come to full fruition, and the awkward, embarrassed smile she was giving Liam was nothing short of pure charm.



Kelsey had grown up. She was in a pair of rolled-up capri jeans, a soft cotton V-necked T-shirt and sneakers—she seemed as elegant as a swan. A little tremor ripped through him. Time could wash away so easily. Once, she had been the love of his young life, the seductress of an adolescent’s libido and the object of many a dream.



And she was home.



“Liam!” she said again, and laughed. “Oh, Lord, I am so sorry.”



“Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry—I tackled you,” he told her. “I heard you were coming. I just never expected you to arrive so quickly.”



“So, what were you doing here?” she asked him.



He shrugged. “Folks have been breaking in,” he said.



“Oh, yes, I heard—Joe Richter, told me. He said the police suggested that the locks be changed and—oh!” She stared at him, her brows arching. “Liam—okay, I guess that you are the police officer who told him to get the locks changed?”



He nodded. “Guilty as charged. I’m with the criminal investigation unit. Seems a lot of crime down here has to do with brawls on Duval and drugs but we’ve also had our share of serious crime lately.”



Kelsey nodded in agreement. “I read about your cousin being cleared in Tanya Barnard’s death and the awful things that happened.” She grimaced sheepishly. “I was happy—David is a great guy. Just because I haven’t been here doesn’t mean that I don’t read. And I read a really bizarre story about murders that took place near here—out on the islands. Sean O’Hara was involved, right?”



“Sean and David were filming a documentary. They meant to go through our history of oddities and wound up following the minds of the mad. But it’s over. They finished up the filming a few weeks ago and are thinking about their next project. David has moved back—he’s living at our grandfather’s place. He and Katie O’Hara are planning their wedding now.”



“Oh, that’s wonderful! Katie—so, what is Katie doing these days? Cutter told me that she went up north to college, but came home.”



“She’s home. She runs Katie-oke at O’Hara’s.”



“I can’t wait to see her,” Kelsey said. “Katie was younger, of course, but we took a sailing class together, and I knew Sean fairly well. She was such a cute little ragamuffin, running around with him all the time!”



“Actually,” Liam said, glancing at his watch, “you can see her right now, if you’d like. Have you eaten? I can take you to O’Hara’s for some dinner and old-home night.”



She hesitated. Liam wondered if her current life involved a boyfriend, a lover or even a husband. She wasn’t wearing a ring but still he wondered if there had been a husband who was gone now. Maybe he was pushing too far too fast. It just seemed so normal and right that she was here.



“Sorry, no pressure,” he told her.



She shook her head. “No, no…I was just looking around—before I panicked when I heard you at the door. This house is going to take…wow. A lot!”



“Were you really going to do much tonight?” he asked.



“Probably not. Um, why not? I had a sandwich, but I’d love to see O’Hara’s.” She smiled again. There were the dimples he remembered.



“Hey, by the way, how did you get here?” he asked her.



“I have a rental car. I drove down from Miami,” she said. “The car is around on the side—that’s where we always parked. I guess Cutter hasn’t had a car for a while?”



“Not in years. He never left the house.”



“How odd—he traveled the globe, and then he became a hermit,” she said.



“He was a fascinating old fellow,” Liam said. “Brilliant. A real-life Indiana Jones.”



“Hmm. I think most of my friends thought of him more as Uncle Fester, I’m afraid. Or Dr. Frankenstein, creating monsters out of his collections of strange things,” Kelsey said.



“Well, you have friends here who cared about him. Shall we go?”



She hesitated, frowning. “Liam—you said you were in the criminal investigation unit. Why was Cutter’s death investigated as a crime?”



“It wasn’t. I chose to come out—old times,” he said with a shrug.



“I see. Thanks.”



When they left the house, she turned one key in its lock. “I think you ought to be locking both locks,” he said. “In fact, I don’t think you should actually be staying here.”



She looked at him with amusement. “I grew up in the house. I’m not afraid of the mummy or the coffin—or even the shrunken head.”



“Kelsey, I came out here tonight because the house was broken into twice. The first time, a pack of kids came in. The second time, two local lowlifes were looking for something to steal. That’s why I told Joe Richter to get a locksmith out here and change the locks. The lowlifes said that the door was open when they got here, but I knew that it had been locked the night before. I’m not sure I feel good about this place,” Liam said carefully.



She offered him her dimpled smile once again. “Well, obviously, there had been a key out there somewhere. The locks are brand-new. Honestly, most thieves wouldn’t break into this place. It’s supposed to house evil spirits, or something of the like. There’s so much to be done here. It’s ridiculous to own a house and go rent a room. Trust me, I’ll be fine. The house likes me, honest!” she said teasingly. “Actually, though, it was a long trip. I’d love a good Guinness—and my dad always said that O’Hara’s kept the cleanest taps in the state.”



She was a grown woman, and maybe, Liam thought, his unease was unfounded. “Okay, then. Let’s go. I’ll drive.”



He saw that Bartholomew was standing at the edge of the porch and seemed thoughtful. He prayed the ghost wouldn’t start talking to him, distract him and make him appear crazy.



No such luck.



As he walked to his car, slightly behind Kelsey, Bartholomew fell into step beside him.



“I don’t like it,” he said.



You don’t like what?



The words were on the tip of Liam’s tongue. Somehow, he refrained from saying them aloud.



Bartholomew followed them to the car. He’d known the ghost for some time now; it still unnerved Liam when he simply misted through doors. The physiology was intriguing. Maybe it was the fact that he didn’t want to believe in ghosts. Bartholomew could sit on a chair, but he misted, blended, faded—whatever!—right through doors. He loved boats, hated the water. He’d been around nearly two hundred years, and he knew the answers to many questions, but he didn’t know a great deal that Liam felt a ghost should know. It was a different existence, Bartholomew believed. He didn’t know every ghost—just as Liam didn’t know every living, breathing human. Ghosts were still the essence of people. They were good, bad, clever, dedicated, lost…greedy, generous, loyal, traitorous. That’s the way it was. But most of the time, they stayed behind because of a passion or a need. A passion for revenge, or justice—to save the life of a loved one or to right a terrible wrong.



Liam liked Bartholomew. But he wasn’t sure he wanted him around right now.



As he pulled the car around the circular drive, he caught a glimpse of the ghost in the rearview mirror.



Bartholomew was staring solemnly at the house, his gaze intent. He was searching for something.



Liam paused and stared up at the house himself.



He thought of the other night. The house seemed to have a life of its own. Beneath the moonlight, constantly shadowed by clouds, it seemed to breathe, and to watch, and to wait.



“What is it?” Kelsey asked him.



“Nothing.” He paused, his foot on the brake. “You’re sure you want to come back here, stay here alone?” he asked.



“It’s my house now,” she said quietly, staring at it. “With all that it holds!” she added, and smiled.



O’Hara’s was charming, and it hadn’t changed a bit—at least, not in Kelsey’s memory.



They entered a large open area with high-top tables scattered toward the rear; the space allowed for dancing and was right in front of a stage area that could be set for karaoke or live music. Tonight, rock music was playing, but Kelsey saw a sign that advertised “Katie-oke” four nights a week. If “Katie-oke” was going on that night, it either hadn’t started or Katie was taking a break.