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Ghost Shadow (The Bone Island Trilogy), by Heather Graham
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There are those who walk among us who are no longer alive, but not yet crossed over. They seek retribution…vengeance…to warn. Among the living, few intuit their presence.
Katie O'Hara is one who can.
As she's drawn deeper and deeper into a gruesome years-old murder, whispered warnings from a spectral friend become more and more insistent. But Katie must uncover the truth: could David Beckett really be guilty of his fiancée's murder?
Worse—the body count's rising on the Island of Bones, andthe dead seem to be reenacting some macabre tableaux from history. The danger is increasing by the moment—especially as Katie finds herself irresistibly drawn to David, who may be responsible for more than just one killing….
- Sales Rank: #203456 in Books
- Brand: Graham, Heather
- Published on: 2010-06-29
- Released on: 2010-06-29
- Original language: English
- Number of items: 1
- Dimensions: 6.62" h x .98" w x 4.21" l, .40 pounds
- Binding: Mass Market Paperback
- 368 pages
- Great book!
About the Author
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She's a winner of the RWA's Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers' Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her websites: TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, eHeatherGraham.com, and HeatherGraham.tv. You can also find Heather on Facebook.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Personally, I think you've taken on way too much," Clarinda said, voicing her opinion in a loud whisper next to Katie's ear. She had to come down to Katie's ear to be heard so close to the sound system. A drunken frat boy from Omaha was in the midst of a soulful Alice Cooper song, the bar was full and the noise level was high.
Katie shrugged and grinned, looking up at her friend. Maybe she was taking on too much, but an opportunity had come up, and she hadn't been able to resist.
"It will be wonderful, it will work out—and it will be good for Key West," Katie said in return.
Clarinda arched a doubtful brow, set down a glass of water with lime on the small table at Katie's side and shook her head. "I'll help you, of course," she said. "And, you know, Danny Zigler will be delighted to come and work for you. He was heartbroken when the place shut down years ago. People say that it's haunted, of course. You know that, right?"
"So I've heard," Katie said.
"Sweetie, can we get another round over here?" a man shouted above the din.
"Just don't call me sweetie," Clarinda said, exhaling a sigh of exasperation. "What is this tonight? We usually get the locals who actually know how to hold their liquor."
"Gee. We're in Key West and we've been discovered by tourists. Go figure," Katie said.
"Yeah, well, I wish I were the karaoke hostess and not the waitress," Clarinda said.
"Hey, I've told you that you can work for me—"
"And when the place is slow and the hostess is supposed to sing, I assure you that I'll clean out not just the bar, but the entire street. No—eventually, I'll make my fortune doing caricatures on Mallory Square, but until that day, I'll be your support by helping drunks get drunker and therefore hand out big tips. Okay, that helps both of us."
"Sweetie!" the man called again. "Another round!"
"He's going to get the round on top of his head," Clarinda promised and strode toward the bar.
The Alice Cooper tune was winding down. Next up was a fellow who wanted to do Sinatra. Katie applauded both the man returning to his seat and the one walking up to the microphone.
Stumbling up to the microphone. What was it with tonight? It was true—the strange and totally inebriated seemed to be coming out of the woodwork. Well, it was Key West. Home to some, but mainly a tourist town where the primary activity was drinking too much.
Key West has much more to offer, she thought, defending her native territory. The fishing was excellent, diving was spectacular and many visitors came for the water sports. But it was true as well that young and old flocked from far and wide to Jimmy Buffett's Margaritaville for the sheer pleasure of a bachelor party, or just wild nights along Duval. Duval was the hub of nightlife, and it was the main place for cheap hotel rooms.
Her place—or her uncle Jamie's place, O'Hara's, where she ran Katie-oke—was off the southern end of Duval while most of the more popular watering holes were at the northern end. She did tend to draw a lot of the locals. Many of the entertainers who worked at the festivals—Fantasy Fest, Pirates in Paradise, art fests, music fests, Hemingway Days and more—came in to practice their newest songs with Katie. She operated Katie-oke four nights a week. She also worked at O'Hara's when she wasn't doing karaoke, helping set the sound and stage for performers working on their own music, or doing easy acoustic and vocal numbers on Monday and Tuesday nights.
She had received a degree from Juilliard and taken work with a prestigious theater company in New England, and she had loved New England, but it hadn't been home. She'd eventually discovered that she couldn't take snow and sleet, and wanted to make her living in Key West.
She realized that she was good at the heat, good at sweating. She just never learned to layer properly.
And the water! How she missed the water when she was away. Her own home, a small Victorian—one of more than three thousand houses in the area on the state's historic roster—wasn't on the water, but on Elizabeth Street. She was in Old Town, and surrounded by tourism. She got her fill of water, however, because one of her best friends, an old high-school mate, Jonas Weston, now dating Clarinda, owned and operated the Salvage Inn, a place on the Gulf side with its own little stretch of man-made beach. She was welcome there, whenever she wanted to go.
"Those fellows are being quite obnoxious. Want me to take one of them out?"
Katie heard the question, but she didn't even look over at the speaker. Bartholomew knew that he irritated her when he decided to converse in the company of others.
Unaware of Bartholomew casually and handsomely draped upon a bar stool near Katie, Marty Jenkins, local pirate entertainer, came to her side. "Will you play a sea-shanty disc for me, Katie?"
"Of course, Marty," she said.
He handed her his disc and she slid it into her system. "No words can come up on the screen, Marty. But you don't need them, right?"
He grinned. "Gearing up for the next pirate show, my sweet. No words needed. Thanks."
"I'm sure everyone will love it, Marty."
"Hey, I heard you bought the old wax museum, Katie," Marty said.
"Marty, it's not a wax museum. It's full of robotics."
"Isn't that supposed to mean that they all move?" Marty asked.
"I believe that they all can move. They're just not operating right now."
"Actually, none of them work, from what I understand." Marty wagged a finger at her. "That place has been closed down for five years now. Craig Beckett tried to keep it going after that girl's body was found, but he threw in the towel. If you can get your money back, young lady, you ought to do it."
"I want to open it, Marty. I loved the place when I was a little kid," she told him.
He shook his head. "They say it's haunted, and not haunted by good. You know what happened there. Murder!"
"It was very sad, and a long time ago, Marty. What happened was tragic—some idiot making use of someone else's dream for a dramatic effect, but it's all in the past now. I'll be all right, Marty."
"They never caught the killer, missy," he reminded her.
"And I'm thinking that the killer moved on, Marty. Nothing like it has happened again."
Still shaking his head, Marty left her.
"I think he must be right. It doesn't sound like a good place to be," Bartholomew informed her, leaning near and whispering, though why he whispered, she didn't know. "Hey! That man is still behaving in a rude and disrespectful way toward Clarinda. Should I do something about it?"
Katie grated her teeth and looked toward the bar and the revenant of the man who stood next to her. She was sure that to the rest of the people present, there was nothing to be seen.
Or heard.
She lowered her head and spoke in an intense whisper. "Bartholomew, if you wish to maintain a mortal friend, I entreat you to cease and desist—shut up! You make me appear unbalanced, talking to myself all the time."
"That chap is an utter ass," Bartholomew protested. "Oh, and there she goes again, out on the street."
Katie looked up. She couldn't help herself.
It was true. A woman in white was walking along the sidewalk, staring straight ahead. She was in a Victorian white dress, and she knotted a handkerchief in her hands. She looked so sad that Katie felt a pang in her heart, and she bit her lower lip to remind herself that it was a curse seeing ghosts, that she couldn't become involved with all of them—there were simply too many in Key West—and that the woman was long dead and needed only to discover some kind of inner peace to move on.
"She haunts me so," Bartholomew said. He grimaced. "No pun intended."
Katie looked around as Bartholomew chuckled. His long-dead state did not seem to dampen his good spirits.
He'd been an adventurer in life—and a privateer, not a pirate!—and his sense of curiosity and longing for new experiences had not deserted him in death. He stared at Katie. "You really don't know who she is? And she won't talk to you?"
"She never has," Katie said.
"Watch it," Bartholomew warned.
She realized Clarinda was staring at her with concern in her eyes.
Katie knew that thus far in her life, only she seemed to be blessed by Bartholomew's presence.
He was quite the dandy. His shoes were buckled and bore heels, his hose didn't display a single knot and his breeches were impeccable. He wore a ruffled shirt, red vest and black jacket. His hair was jet-black and neatly queued beneath his tricornered hat. She knew he was especially fond of the Pirates in Paradise festival himself, and he insisted that they spend their time watching the musicians and joining in with the festivities because he loved to comment on the modern-day pirates roaming Key West.
"Are you all right?" Clarinda asked, coming back up to Katie's equipment stand and sidling around to stand next to her chair. "You're talking to yourself again," she warned. "One of the fellows over there wanted to buy you a drink. He thought you were already well on the way."
Katie looked over to the group where her would-be admirer was sitting. She frowned, recognizing the man, but not knowing why. "I don't want a drink—thank him for me. I was singing under my breath to the song, that's all. Clarinda, who is that guy?"
Clarinda turned and waved a hand. The fellow shrugged. He had tawny-blond hair, a neatly trimmed beard and mustache, and appeared to be in his midthirties. He was so familiar, and not anyone she saw on a daily basis.
"He does look—like we should know him, huh?"
"But I don't think he's a local," Katie said.
"Maybe he's on the news—or a fishing show, or something like that," Clarinda suggested.
"Well, let's not make enemies. Tell him thanks for me but no thanks, and that I don't drink when I work. I was just humming and halfway singing along with the music," Katie said.
"Of course. And don't worry. I already told him that you didn't drink while you were working. He said all karaoke hosts drank. I said you didn't."
"Thanks. Just be pleasant to him. I can always take care of myself, honestly," Katie assured her.
"Indeed! Because I'm at your side," Bartholomew said. "And I can take my cutlass to any rat bastard's throat."
Katie glared at him.
"All right, all right, so I can't master a sword anymore. I can trip the bastard," Bartholomew assured her. "I'm quite an accomplished trip artist for a ghost, if I do say so myself."
"Lovely," Katie said.
"What's lovely?" Clarinda asked.
"That it's finally near closing time. Marty is about to come up. Oh, and it's thinning out, so…ah! I know what we'll do."
"Katie, I do not sing—"
"It will be fine," Katie assured her. As she walked back to check on the state of her customers, Katie turned to Bartholomew. "Hush until I'm done here tonight, do you hear me? What fun will you have if they lock me up for insanity?"
"Here? In modern-day Key West? Oh, posh. I've yet to see an even semisane person living in or visiting the place," Bartholomew protested.
"Shut up now, and I mean it!" Katie warned.
Of course, what she could possibly do to him—how to really threaten a ghost—she didn't know herself. She'd been plagued for years and years by…whatever it was that allowed her to see those who had "crossed the veil into the light," as many seemed to term it.
Bartholomew sniffed indignantly and went to lean against the bar, his sense of humor returning as he crossed his arms over his chest and indulged in eavesdropping on everyone around him.
Soon after, Marty went up to do his new song, the crowd, a mix of locals and tourists, went wild and he invited everyone down for Fantasy Fest. Someone asked him about Fantasy Fest and Marty explained that it was kind of like Mardi Gras—a king and queen were elected—and kind of like Halloween, and kind of like the biggest, wildest party anyone could think of. Costumes, parties and special events all around the city. There was a parade with dressed up pets— and undressed people in body paint. It was fabulous, a feast and pure fantasy for the heart and the imagination.
He was proud of himself for his explanation. The next person asked about Pirates in Paradise, and Marty looked troubled. After thinking he said that it was kind of like Fantasy Fest but not—there were pirate parties, pirate encampments, historical demonstrations—and heck, a lot of swaggering and grog drinking, but people were welcome to wear costumes. They could see a mock trial of Anne Bonny, they could learn so much—and run around, saying arrgh, avast and ahoy all day if they liked.
When the crowd finally began to thin around 3:00 a.m., Katie and Clarinda did a song together from Jekyll and Hyde, despite Clarinda's objections. Her friend had a lovely, strong voice but didn't believe it; she would only go up late at night and when it was fairly quiet, and only with Katie.
The bar didn't close up until 4:00 a.m., but Katie ended her karaoke at three, giving folks time to finish up and pay their bar tabs. After she had secured her equipment for the night—she only had to see that the karaoke computer and all her amps were covered and that her good microphones were locked away—she was ready to head home and to sleep. Clarinda stopped her at the door. "Hey, Jonas is coming by for me in an hour or so. We'll walk you home. Hang around."
Katie shook her head. "I'm fine, honestly. I grew up here, remember? I know how to avoid drunks and—"
"We actually get gangs down here now, you know," Clarinda said firmly.
"I'm going straight home. I'll take Simonton, I won't walk on Duval. I'll be fine."
Clarinda remained unhappy, but Katie had no intention of being swayed. Her uncle was up in St. Augustine, and Jon Merrillo was managing the bar, so she intended to slip out without being stopped by anyone. On Saturday, she would officially take ownership of the Beckett family's myth-and-legends museum, and she was tense and wanted to be anywhere but at work. "You watch yourself with those drunks!" she warned.
"Oh, honey, if there's one thing I learned while you were away at school, it's how to handle drunks. Oh, wait! We both knew how to manage that before you left. Go. I'll be fine. And Jonas will be here soon."
Waving and clutching her carryall, Katie left the bar.
Most helpful customer reviews
24 of 27 people found the following review helpful.
Usually I Love Graham, However...
By Randi Morse
I've been reading Heather Graham novels since I was in high school. I loved her Civil War series of books, and know that she favors writing about her beloved Florida. I haven't read anything new from Graham for awhile, so I was really excited to get my hands on Ghost Shadow. A new Heather Graham book that was also a paranormal romance? Yes please!
So the basic story: Katie O'Hara, owner of Katie-okie, a karaoke business that seems to only play at her uncle's bar and restaurant, attempts to purchase a tourist attraction that has been vacant on the island ever since a woman was found murdered in one of the exhibits. The evening before the purchase goes through, she walks past the building and sees the lights on. Katie, of course, goes to investigate the mysterious lights only to find the co-owner of the building, and the man who many believed murdered the woman years before, David Beckett. After David blocks Katie's purchase of the museum, the two wind up teaming up in order to find out who killed the woman, David's ex-fiance, so many years before.
And, oh yeah, did I mention that Katie can see and talk to ghosts?
Katie's constant companion is Bartholomew - a wise-cracking pirate (oops, PRIVATEER) who is determined to keep Katie safe.
THE GOOD:
Katie's interactions with Bartholomew are hilarious. The ghost learns, though out the book, how to use his ghostly powers in order to do things like turn on the coffee maker, and every interaction with him left me with a smile. Learning a bit about the history of Key West was enjoyable as well, and I found myself researching some of the various historical figures that Graham mentions in the book and learning far more than I've ever learned before about some of the very scary things in Key West.
THE BAD:
The relationship between Katie and David just happens. There's no real buildup to it. One minute they meet (or re-meet), they reminisce a bit, and then they're in bed together, even though they've never been in bed together before. There doesn't really seem to be any chemistry between the two of them, aside from chemistry between the sheets. While I loved the interactions between Katie and Bartholomew, the interactions between her and other ghosts is minimal, as while she may see a ghost here or there, or follow one, she doesn't really interact with them very much throughout the book. And the fact that Katie's ability to talk to ghosts is a secret denied readers the opportunity to explore what could have been a very enjoyable part of the story.
I really, really wanted to like this book. I've always enjoyed Graham's work before. This book, however, just fell flat for me. I found myself skipping through the investigative portions of the book due to them feeling very dull to me, and was hoping for so much more of the ghost-talking than I got. I've read Graham's earlier works over and over again, to the point where the binding gets all creased and cracked and you can tell that the book was well loved. This book, however, will likely remain in pristine condition, unfortunately.
7 of 7 people found the following review helpful.
entertaining paranormal romantic suspense
By A Customer
In Key West, photographer David Beckett takes the group on a tour of his family's wax museum. They reach the Count von Cosel exhibit however, in the bed near the Count is not waxy version Elena, but the corpse of David's former fiancée Tanya Barnard. Although everyone suspected David killed her, no evidence proved he did. Still he left town with a cloud hanging over him.
Ten years later, the Barnard homicide remains unsolved as David returns to Key West. With the death of David's octogenarian grandfather last year, businesswoman Katie O'Hara, a ghost whisperer, wants to buy the wax museum; David opposes the sale. He asks his friend Pete and his cousin Liam, both cops, to reopen the cold case. When a second murder occurs with the victim posed in a nearby museum, the Key West police and Katie wonder if the killer just came home from overseas after a decade away.
Ghost Shadow is an entertaining paranormal romantic suspense. The investigation is fun to follow, but remains in the background to the romance. The heroine in spite of communicating with ghosts (Bartholomew the spirit adds humor to the mix) has doubts about Beckett even as she falls in love with him. With a supernatural nod to Hitchcock's Suspicion, fans will enjoy Ghost Shadow.
Harriet Klausner
9 of 12 people found the following review helpful.
I've given up, I've read my last Heather Graham book
By RJVagabond
I apologize at the onset that this review is so long but it's as much about Heather Graham's recent collection of work as about this particular book.
I've been a long time reader of Heather Graham going back to her Vikings Trilogy, published in the 80's. I found Graham's earlier historical novels like the Civil War Trilogy and the McKenzie/Seminole series excellent works of historical romance. As soon as a new Heather Graham book came out I was there to buy it. I love history and found Graham's earlier works to be full of rich historical detail, interesting characters set amidst factual, historical settings. While the stories had classic romantic plots they also featured characters that were well developed, believable, and you felt vested in their story. However, since Graham switched to contemporary romantic suspense, and paranormals in particular, her books have seriously declined in quality. I can't help but think that Ms. Graham has sacrificed quality for quantity. What Graham writes now can only be classified as pulp fiction. They are badly written books designed not to entertain but to get yet another book cover on the sales rack in the least amount of time.
You can take just about every one of Graham's books over the last decade and change the names of her characters, relocate them to another setting (and sometimes not even that), make minor changes to the basic plot and you have pretty much the same story as the book before. The characters are one dimensional, the dialogues trite, unimaginative, and boring. Passages I assume are supposed to be witty lack humor and any romance between the lead characters is without apparent chemistry. Graham's books have become repetitive, implausible, and even more sadly, uninteresting. Every book features a heroine who is inevitably going to be the next victim of a serial murderer and a hero who is there to investigate the previous murders and to, of course, fall in love with, and come to the rescue of, the heroine! Yea!! Frustratingly, Graham's plots repeatedly fail the logic test. There are too many over-the-top coincidences and she plays too fast and loose with time and place in order to advance the story line. She seems especially fond of using the approach of dramatic sunsets, even if it's still in the middle of the afternoon, in order to increase the level of suspense. After all, we all know the boogeyman comes out at night. It's also amazing how often the red-herring suspect ends up in the wrong place at the right time. And why is it the heroine always, always does that one stupid, illogical act that puts her in the hand of the murderer du jour, necessitating the hero having to come to her rescue? Duh.
To keep up with current literary interests, it seems Graham has fallen victim to the concept that every good story should include a few ghosts, vampires, werewolves, etc. Not because they add to the story line, because after all the stories are essentially just romantic suspense, but because it seems expected new books should include a representation from the paranormal.
In this latest offering Graham commits all the sins listed above and then some. Like her other recent offerings, several people who are connected by family, friendship, or history are repeatedly thrown together in a popular tourist setting, in this case, Key West. A murder took place 10 years ago and the victim's jilted fiancée, David, is the prime suspect although ultimately no one is ever arrested. Ten years later David has returned to Key West, coincidentally, along with several other of the key players from 10 years before. David is there to get the cold case on his fiancée's murder reopened in order to clear his name. Conducting his own investigation he quickly encounters our heroine, Katie, and even though there is not enough character development to determine why, our hero and heroine are soon lusting after one another and tearing up the sheets. No surprise, another murder takes place uncannily similar to the one 10 years prior and once again casting suspicion on our hero. As our cast of characters react to the newest murder everyone seems to accept that the next target of the murderer is our heroine--why I do not know--and that the murderer has to be "one of them." Then we throw into the mix the fact Katie sees, talks and even lives with ghosts; her constant companion being Bartholomew, the 200+ year old ghost of a Key West pirate...oops, privateer. She is soon joined by various other ghosts all of whom are in some way connected to the murderer but none of whom can tell her who the murderer actually is. (Why is that? Ghosts are NEVER able to tell who killed them?!?) What follows is a mish-mash of events where the major and minor characters, ghosts included, all begin to suspect each other and somehow it all ties to an event that took place over 200 years ago. I'll stop here to keep from spoiling the ending. Suffice to say, I find the idea of a woman whose constant companion is a 200 year old ghost more believable than the moment-to-moment actions, reactions and dialogue of the living characters in this poorly written story.
Second only to a badly written story is a book that is written badly. Ms. Graham, if you or your publisher read these reviews I would recommend you find yourself a new editor as whoever edited this book did you no favors. The composition and grammar are atrocious. (Listen, I love my commas, but, jeez, how many can one sentence hold, except, maybe, this one?) I'm not a professional editor but I know a good sentence when I read it and there were more bad than good in this book. And what's up with all the italics? Every time I came to yet another italicized passage I mentally pictured that YouTube video of the drama Prairie Dog. (Score dramatic music...Da, da, Daaaa...zoom in on wide eyed Prairie Dog.) The only problem, there wasn't much in the way of drama in these passages. To add confusion, the italics were used inconsistently. Most often they were used to emphasize the actions and thoughts of the murderer but almost as often they were applied to passages relating to the heroine or one of the ghosts. Even though there didn't seem to be anything of importance to single out that specific passage from any other.
Sadly, I've read my last Heather Graham novel. I no longer find anything enjoyable in her books and find it too painful to slog through yet another offering of pulp. It's only due to my past loyalty to the artist that I've continued to try. For those of you who are considering buying this book, if you've read any of Heather Graham's books in the last decade or so, don't bother. It's the same old story just repacked under a new cover. For Ms Graham and her publisher, more is not always better!
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