Ghost Writer(49)

Tears welled up in my eyes. This wasn't just about Shore allowing the crew to smoke in the kitchen. This was about my mother who wouldn't give up smoking, even when it was killing her, whose second-hand smoke affected my father's health and probably mine too. It was about the smell that got everywhere, necessitating a shower and the immediate laundering of my clothes after every familial visit. Having had a taste of how aware Minton was of smells, and how that awareness bent his perceptions, I could see how that would make him crazy.

I hugged my knees, letting the journal and my empty mug fall.

“You killed them, didn't you?” I asked Minton.

He nodded.

Gravell picked up the journal and turned the pages. He was scanning, looking for something I knew he wouldn't find, something I already told him wasn't there.

“This is nonsense,” he said, holding the book open so I could see.

He was correct. A few entries after the one about Boreman's letter, the journal became unreadable. There were squiggles, little more than wavy lines and loops. It didn't even look comprehensive enough to be a code.

He flipped a few more pages and held up another series of squiggles and loops, then tossed the book back to me.

“How can you know he killed the crew? It's not here. Has he shown you?”

“No. Not yet.” I wasn't looking forward to that part. “I think I need to go back to the station first.”

He rubbed his forehead, as if smoothing the lines across his brow could make what I was saying more comprehensible. Not that I blamed him. I knew what it sounded like.

“I know it seems crazy, but I'm not making this up.”

“I know.” He gave me a sad half-smile. “I wish you were making it up.” He rubbed his eyes tiredly. “Minton made you sick?”

“Yes. He wanted me to understand. I do. And he understands he can't do that to me again.”

“That's who you were talking to just before. Could he have been responsible for the railing?”

I shook my head. I wasn't sure it was possible. I was sure he wouldn't do it. He really did need me. Minton had confessed, but that was just the start. There had to be reparation. That meant finding enough proof to be able to support Minton's story, enough evidence to be able to tell his story and give the families of the men he killed some peace.

Then there was the issue of someone trying to stop me. I shivered. Not everyone who had a stake in this was dead.

Gravell stood and stretched, then crouched down to my eye level.

“We need to sleep, Madame Kirby. I don't intend to leave you alone with a ghost that can make you pass out even if you do insist he won't do it again. So, you tuck up where you are. I'll use your bunk.”

I started to disentangle myself from my comforter.

“I won't need it,” he said, tucking it back around me. “The sheet will be sufficient.”

He straightened and peered into my bunk.

“I wouldn't say no to one of those pillows.”

I handed him one from the pile I had propped myself up on while we talked, then rearranged the rest so I could cuddle down on the bed comfortably.

Gravell climbed up on my bunk without using the ladder, the show off. The mattress creaked alarmingly until he settled. Only then did his earlier words sink in.

“If you won't leave me alone with the ghost, you must believe in the ghost.”

The mattress creaked and Gravell’s head and shoulders appeared. “I believe that you believe, Madame Kirby. Now go to sleep.”

“I can't sleep with the lights on. No!” I said as he started to get up. “Let me. I have to get up anyway.”

Several minutes later, in the almost perfect darkness, Gravell said, “Better?”

“Yes.”

“Now you'll go to sleep?”

“Maybe. Don't let me stop you from sleeping.”

“I could tell you about my day, the boring bits before the storm.”

“I'd rather hear about the storm.”

“That might keep you up. I could sing.”

“Tempting. I'd want to sing along and we're supposed to be going to sleep. I know, tell me what you were doing when you were thirteen years old.”

“That's easy. I was a Sea Cadet.”

“My son is a Navy League Cadet.”

“I know. You told me.”

“Did I?”

“Uh-huh.”

“So tell me about being a Sea Cadet, Chief Gravell.”

I made it as far as his first weekend training before falling asleep.





Chapter Twenty-Six ~ Reports



I woke up at five, thanks to an internal alarm clock that I had mentally set right after being given early morning KP duty. It was a trick I learned in my teens as a way of waking ahead of the dreaded alarm clock.

Gravell was still fast asleep, and I did my best not to disturb him as I dressed as quietly, and with as little light as possible. I thought I would make a clean getaway. I went back to the bed to get Minton's journal and a hand grabbed my shoulder.

“Phone,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the pillow half covering his mouth.

“Clipped on my waistband.”

“Good.”

The hand fell off my shoulder. I tucked it back into bed. Judging by the soft snores, Gravell was already back to sleep.