He laughed then. He had been an insufferable ass. It was this place. It was the possibility that it might be opened again.
It was him.
He had left here. He never hid his past. People knew about Tanya, about what had happened. But outside of this place, no one assumed that he had done it, that despite his honest and upright alibi, his entire family had lied to save him.
Being back here…
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to be offensive. To you, Miss O’Hara, and not to anyone’s sister, younger or otherwise. However, the place is seriously not for sale. And my reasons are valid. I don’t want to see history repeating itself.”
“We’ll see tomorrow,” she said.
She moved away, but then turned back to him. “I should have known you. Recognized you, I mean. Your grandfather talked about you all the time. Craig Beckett was a wonderful man.”
He was surprised at how her remark seemed to sting. He had loved his grandfather—he didn’t know anyone who hadn’t liked and respected his grandfather. And he had seen him often over the years.
Just not in Key West.
“Thank you,” he said, lowering his head.
“I’m glad you’ve managed to make it back now, since you couldn’t be here for the funeral.”
“If you knew my grandfather, Miss O’Hara, you know that he didn’t believe much in funerals—or in massive monuments to the dead, caskets worth thousands and thousands of dollars or any other such thing. Memories exist in the mind, he always told me. And love was something distance could never quell. So I am fine with my memories, and in my conscience.”
“I’m happy for you. Personally, I find a funeral a special time to remember and honor a loved one, but to each his own, of course. I’ll get out of here, Mr. Beckett. I will see you tomorrow at the bank.”
“My pleasure,” he said with a shrug.
She was near the door. “I take it you’re not planning on staying in town long?”
“No.”
She hesitated again. “Then what do you care?” she asked quietly.
He didn’t answer.
“I would keep it alive with the dignity it deserves,” she told him.
“I apologize for being so rude. You seriously startled me, being here. I really do apologize for any offense given.”
She nodded and turned to leave.
He watched her go. Sean’s little sister. He and Sean had played high-school football together. She didn’t remember, but he had been in her home. She’d sported a head of almost orange-red hair back then, a lot of skinned and bruised knees and freckles that seemed to have faded now. She was definitely a striking young woman. She had unnerved him. He wasn’t customarily such an ass, and didn’t make light of the endeavors of others.
And yet, seriously…Katie-oke?
He started. It was suddenly cold—ice-cold—where he stood in the museum. He thought about the many sayings people had, such as, “It was as if a ghost walked right through me.” It was as if he had been…shoved by something very cold. Well, ghosts didn’t go around shoving people. Oh, and he didn’t believe in ghosts.
He went about turning off the lights and, when he left, he locked the place securely.
“I gave him a good comeuppance,” Bartholomew announced. “A strong right hook, right on the fellow’s jaw. And I could swear he felt it. All right, all right, so he didn’t crash down on the floor in a knockout, but I’d swear he knew he’d been given a licking of one kind or another.”
Katie waved a hand in the air, distracted. “I don’t believe it. No one thought that he’d even come home. He was supposed to stay off in Africa, Asia or Australia, or wherever it was that he was working. Why? Why? He’s got to be wrong on this. Liam was certain that he could go through with the sale, that David despised the place and never intended to come back.”
“You’re welcome. Yes, I would defend you to the death against such an oaf. Oh, wait. I am dead. And still, my dear, I did my best.”
Katie had offended Bartholomew, she realized. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, Bartholomew. I’m sure you sprang instantly to my defense, and I deeply appreciate your efforts.”
“I will keep trying. As long as that man is in the city, I swear, I will keep trying,” Bartholomew promised.
“I don’t understand. He doesn’t want to be here. He plans on living elsewhere forever and ever,” Katie said.
She realized that he was silent then.
“What?” she demanded. “He hasn’t been here in ten years, Bartholomew. He doesn’t care about the place, and I don’t care what he said, he showed no respect, not making it home for his grandfather’s funeral.”
“I thought they couldn’t locate him—since he was off somewhere,” Bartholomew said.
“You’re standing up for him?” she asked skeptically.
“No, no…his behavior to a lady was reprehensible, abominable!” Bartholomew said. “Completely unacceptable. Except…”
“Except what?”
Bartholomew looked at her, appeared to take a deep breath and said, “I think, in a way, I understand his feelings.”
“I would never let anything horrible like that happen again,” Katie protested.
“I don’t think they expected it to happen the first time,” Bartholomew told her.
“But they weren’t aware of what might happen. I’d be way ahead. And please, we don’t have murderers crawling through the city, visiting the museums on a daily basis.”
“At the least, though, you should understand his feelings. If I know the story right, he was engaged to the girl. And she was found dead, right where you came upon him tonight.”
“I don’t think they were engaged anymore,” Katie said.
“And there the point. Motive for murder.”
“So you think that he did it.”
“No, actually, I don’t think so. But a ruined romance? That’s a motive for murder.”
“You’re watching too much TV,” Katie said.
“Hmm. TV. Such an amazing and wonderful invention. So vastly entertaining!” Bartholomew agreed. “But it’s true. He was a spurned lover. That’s a motive. She was leaving him. For a brute of a game-playing fellow. That is, by any reckoning, definitely a motive for murder.”
“He was cleared,” Katie said.
“He wasn’t arrested or prosecuted. He had an alibi. His alibi, however, was his family.”
She turned to him sharply. “I thought you just said that you didn’t think that he murdered her?”
“True. No. No, I don’t think he killed her. He was rude, but I know many a fine fellow who can actually be rude. But murder, especially such a crime of passion—he doesn’t look the type. He seems to be the type who easily attracts women, and therefore, he might have been heartbroken, but he would have moved on. I mean, that’s the way I see it. The man is—appears to be, at least—a man’s man. He could completely lose his temper and engage in a rowdy bar fight, maybe, but murder…Ah! But then again, what does the type look like? Now, in my day, many