Ghost Night (Bone Island Series #2)

( 162 )

Overview

A slasher movie turns real when two young actors are brutally murdered on a remote island film set. Their severed heads and arms are posed in macabre homage to a nineteenth-century pirate massacre.

Two years later, survivor Vanessa Loren is drawn back to South Bimini by a documentary being made about the storied region. Filmmaker Sean O'Hara aches to see how the unsolved crime haunts her…and Sean knows more than a little about ghosts.

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Ghost Night (Bone Island Series #2)

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Overview

A slasher movie turns real when two young actors are brutally murdered on a remote island film set. Their severed heads and arms are posed in macabre homage to a nineteenth-century pirate massacre.

Two years later, survivor Vanessa Loren is drawn back to South Bimini by a documentary being made about the storied region. Filmmaker Sean O'Hara aches to see how the unsolved crime haunts her…and Sean knows more than a little about ghosts.

Lured by visions of a spectral figurehead, Vanessa discovers authentic pirate treasures that only deepen the mystery. Are the murders the work of modern-day marauders, the Bermuda Triangle or a deadly paranormal echo of the island's violent history? As Vanessa and Sean grow closer, the killer prepares to resume the slaughter…unless the dead can intervene.

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Product Details

  • ISBN-13: 9780778328155
  • Publisher: Mira
  • Publication date: 7/27/2010
  • Series: Bone Island Series, #2
  • Format: Mass Market Paperback
  • Pages: 371
  • Sales rank: 315,355
  • Product dimensions: 5.08 (w) x 11.08 (h) x 0.99 (d)

Meet the Author

Heather Graham
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than one hundred novels, many of which have been featured by the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and mother of five, she still enjoys her south Florida home, but loves to travel as well, from locations such as Cairo, Egypt, to her own backyard, the Florida Keys. Reading, however, is the pastime she still loves best, and she is a member of many writing groups. She’s currently the vice president of the Horror Writers’ Association, and she’s also an active member of International Thriller Writers. She is very proud to be a Killerette in the Killer Thriller Band, along with many fellow novelists she greatly admires.
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Read an Excerpt

Before him, frond coral waved in a slow and majestic dance, and a small ray emerged from the sand by the reef, weaving in a swift escape, aware that a large presence, possibly predatory, was near.

Sean O'Hara shot back up to the surface, pleased with his quick inspection of Pirate Cut, a shallow reef where divers and snorkelers alike came to enjoy the simple beauty of nature. It was throughout history a place where many a ship had met her doom, crushed by the merciless winds of a storm. Now only scattered remnants of that history remained; salvage divers of old had done their work along with the sea, salt and the constant shift of sands and tides and weather that remained just as turbulent through the centuries.

It was still, he decided, a great place to film.

He hadn't opted for scuba gear that day—it had been just a quick trip, thirty minutes out and thirty back in, early morning, just to report to his partner, David Beckett, so they could talk about their ever-changing script and their plans for their documentary film.

Because Sean was an expert diver, he seldom went diving alone. Good friends—some of the best and most experienced divers in the world—had died needlessly by diving alone. But a free dive on a calm day hadn't seemed much of a risk, and he was pleased that he had taken off early in the morning. Most of the dive boats headed out by nine, but few of them came to Pirate Cut as a first dive, and it wouldn't get busy until later in the day.

And out in the boat, he wasn't exactly alone.

Bartholomew was with him.

Climbing up the dive ladder at the rear of his boat, Conch Fritter, he tossed his f lippers up and hauled himself on board. His cell phone sat on his towel, and the message light was blinking. Caller ID showed him that he'd been called from O'Hara's, his uncle's bar.

"I thought about answering it, but refrained."

Sean turned at the sound of the voice. Bartholomew was seated at the helm of the dive boat, feet in buckle shoes up on the wheel, a National Geographic magazine in his hands.

Bartholomew was getting damned good at holding things.

"Thank you for refraining. And tell me again, why the hell are you with me? You hate the water," Sean said, irritated. He pushed buttons on his phone to receive his messages, staring at Bartholomew.

"Love boats, though," Bartholomew said.

Sean groaned inwardly. It was amazing—once he hadn't believed in Bartholomew. Actually, he'd thought the ghost might have been one of his sister Katie's imaginary friends. He realized he either had to accept that she was crazy or that there was a ghost. At that time, Sean couldn't see or hear Bartholomew.

But that had been a while ago now. While solving the Effigy Murders—as the press wound up calling them— he'd ended up with his head in a bandage and stitches in his scalp.

It was the day the damned stitches had come out that he'd first seen the ghost—as clearly as if he had physical substance—sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed.

Sean listened to his messages. The first, from David Beckett, asking him what time he wanted to go out. Sean grinned. David was in love—and sleeping late. Sean was glad, since it seemed that his old friend was in love with his sister, Katie, and she was in love with him. They'd both seen some tough times, and Sean was happy for them.

The next message was from his uncle just asking him to call back.

He did so. Still, he didn't learn much. His uncle just wanted him to come to the bar. Sean told him it would take him about forty-five minutes, and Jamie said that was fine, just to come.

"So what's up?" Bartholomew asked.

"Going to the bar, that's all," Sean said. He was curious. Jamie wasn't usually secretive.

"Can you keep a hand on the helm? Bring her straight in?" Sean asked Bartholomew as he brought up the anchor. Securing it, he added, "Jeez, am I crazy asking you that? "

Bartholomew looked at him with tremendous indignation.

"Really! That was absolutely—churlish of you! If there's one thing I know, it's a lazy man's boat like this!"

Sean grinned. "I'll be in the head in the shower for about fifteen minutes. That's all you need to manage."

"It'll be great if we pass the Coast Guard or a tour boat!" Bartholomew cried.

Sean ignored him. He just wanted to rinse off the sea salt—his uncle had him curious.

He showered, dried and dressed in the head and cabin well within his fifteen minutes. In another twenty, he was tying up at the pier.

Duval Street was quiet.

As he walked from the docks to O'Hara's, Sean mused with a certain wry humor that Key West was, beyond a doubt, a place for night owls. He was accustomed enough to working at night—or even partying at night—but he was actually more fond of the morning hours.

"What do you think Jamie wants?"

Sean heard the question again—for what seemed like the tenth time now—and groaned inwardly without turning to look at the speaker. Imagine, once he had wanted to see the damned ghost!

Oh, he could see Bartholomew way too clearly now, though when he had first come home to Key West— hearing that David Beckett was in town and worried for his sister's safety—he had come with his longtime fear for Katie's mind. She had always seemed to sense or see things. But that had been Katie, not him.

Bartholomew had apparently wanted to be known, though at first he proved his presence by moving things around.

Then Sean had seen him in that damned chair in the hospital room. Now he could see the long-dead privateer as easily as he could see any flesh-and-blood, living person who walked into his life.

He cursed the fact.

He had never believed in ghosts. He'd never wanted to believe. In fact, he'd warned Katie not to ever talk about the fact that she had "strange encounters" or had been "gifted" or "cursed" from a young age. The majority of the world would think that she should be institutionalized.

He wasn't pleased that he saw Bartholomew. Now he had the fear that he would one day wind up institutionalized himself.

And he was far from pleased that the dapper centuries-old entity had now decided to affix himself to Sean.

"I will not answer you. I will never answer you in public," Sean said.

Bartholomew laughed. "You just answered me. Then again, we're hardly in public, you know. I think the whole island is still asleep. Besides, you're a filmmaker. An 'artiste!' People will happily believe that you are eccentric, and it's your brilliance causing you to speak to yourself."

"Right. Don't you feel that you should go and haunt my sister?" Sean asked.

"I believe she's busy."

"I'm busy," Sean said.

"Look, I'm apparently hanging around for something," Bartholomew said. "Others have gone on, and I haven't. You seem to be someone I must help."

"I don't need help."

"You will, I'm sure of it," Bartholomew said.

Sean kept walking.

"So what do you think he wanted?" Bartholomew persisted.

"I don't know," Sean said f latly. "But he wanted something, and that's why I'm going to see him." He cast a glance Bartholomew's way. The privateer—hanged long ago for a deed he hadn't committed—was really quite a sight. His frock coat and stockings, buckle shoes, vest and tricornered hat all fit his tall, lean physique quite well. In his lifetime, Sean thought dryly, he had probably made a few hearts flutter. Sadly, he had died because of the death of the love of his life, and an act of piracy blamed upon him. However, after haunting the island since then, he had recently found a new love, the "lady in white," legendary in Key West. When they filmed their documentary, Sean meant to make sure that he covered Bartholomew's case and those of his old and new loves.

He'd heard once that ghosts remained on earth for a reason. They wanted to avenge their unjust deaths, they needed to help an ancestor or they were searching for truth. There were supposedly ghosts who were caught in time, reenacting the last moments of their lives. But that was considered "residual haunting," while Bartholomew's determination to remain on earth in a spectral form was known as "active" or "intelligent" haunting.

Bartholomew had been around for a reason—he had been unjustly killed. But Sean couldn't figure out why he remained now. His past had been aligned with David Beckett and his family, and Sean had to admit that Bartholomew had been helpful in solving the Effigy Murders, all connected to the Becketts.

Maybe he had stayed because of the injustice done to him and because he still felt that he owed something to the Becketts. All Sean knew was that he had been Katie's ghost—if there was such a thing—and now he seemed to be with him all the time.

Sean liked Bartholomew. He had a great deal of wit and he knew his history. He was loyal and might well have contributed to saving their lives.

But it was unnerving from the get-go to realize that you were seeing a ghost. It was worse realizing that the ghost was no longer determined to stick to Katie like glue, but had moved on to him. He was a good con-versationalist—and thus the problem. Sean was far too tempted to talk to him, reply in public and definitely appear stark, raving mad upon occasion.

Ghosts were all over the place, Bartholomew had informed him. Most people felt a whisper in the breeze, sometimes a little pang of sorrow, and if the ghost was "intelligent" and "active," it might enjoy a bit of fun now and then, creating a breeze, causing a bang in the dark of night, and so on. Katie had real vision for the souls lurking this side of the veil. So far, thank God, he'd seen only Bartholomew, and maybe a mist of others in the shadows now and then.

Sean had been damned happy before he'd "seen" a ghost at all.

Pirate Cut, he noted mentally. A good place to begin shooting. They hadn't known in Bartholomew's day that the reefs needed to be protected. They had brought their ships to the deep-water plunge just off the reef many times. Bartholomew knew for a fact that the legend about the area was true—ships of many nations had foundered here in storms, been cut up on the reefs and left to the destruction of time and the elements. But there was treasure scattered here, treasure and history, even if it had been picked over in the many years since.

It would also make for beautiful underwater footage. The colors were brilliant; the light was excellent. And it was near the area where Bartholomew had allegedly chased and gunned down a ship and murdered those aboard. Falsely accused, in the days after David Porter's Pirate Squadron had been established, he had been hanged quickly, and it had been only after his unjust death that his innocence had been proven.

It was a good story for a documentary. Especially considering the events of the recent past, when a madman had decided that it was his ancestor who had been wronged and that the Becketts were to pay.

The whole story needed to be told, and it would.

And perhaps, if he managed to get Bartholomew's story out there, with any luck Bartholomew might "see the light" and move on to the better world he believed he would find.

It was true that Bartholomew was not a bad guy and that, if he were flesh and blood, he'd be great to hang out with. But with Katie engaged to David Beckett now and basically living at the Beckett house, it seemed that Bartholomew was really all his.

And no way out of it—it was awkward. Disconcerting.

And he was starting to look as if he walked around talking to himself. So much for an intelligent and manly image, Sean thought dryly.

"Bartholomew, please, stop talking to me. You're well aware that I look crazy as all hell when people see me talking to you, right?" Sean demanded.

"I keep telling you, you're an artist. And a true conch," Bartholomew said. "Born and bred on the island. Tall, with that great red hair, good and bronzed—hey, fellow, a man's man as they say," Bartholomew told him, waving a ringed hand in the air. "Trust me—you're masculine, virile, beloved and—an artist. You're allowed to be crazy. And, good God, man—this is Key West!"

"Right. Then the tourists will have me arrested," Sean said.

They'd reached O'Hara's, toward the southern end of Duval. Sean cast Bartholomew a warning glare. Bartholomew shrugged and followed Sean in.

Sean walked straight up to the bar. Jamie O'Hara himself was working his taps that day.

"Hey, what's up?" Sean asked, setting his hands on the bar and looking at Jamie, who was busy drying a beer glass.

It was early in the day—by Key West bar standards. Just after eleven. Jamie, when he was in town, usually opened the place around eleven-thirty, and whoever of his old friends, locals, or even tourists who wandered in for lunch early were served by Jamie himself. He cooked, bussed and made his drinks, poured his own Guinnesses—seven minutes to properly fill a Guinness glass—and he did so because he liked being a pub owner and he was the kind of employer who liked people, his employees and his establishment. He could handle the place in the early hour—unless there was a festival in town. Which, quite often, there was. Starting at the end of this week, he'd have double shifts going on—Pirates in Paradise was coming to town.

At this moment, though, O'Hara's was quiet. Just Jamie, behind the bar.

Jamie was the perfect Irish barkeep—though he had been born in Key West. He, like Sean's dad, had spent a great deal of time in the "old country" visiting their mother's family—O'Casey folk—and he and Sean's dad had both gone to college in Dublin. Jamie could put on a great brogue when he chose, but he could also slip into a laid-back Keys Southern drawl. Sean had always thought he should have been an actor. Jamie said that owning a pub was nearly the same thing. He had a rich head full of gray hair, a weather-worn but distinguished face, bright blue eyes and a fine-trimmed beard and mustache, both in that steel-gray that seemed to make him appear to be some kind of clan chieftain, or an old ard-ri, high king, of Ireland. He was well over six feet, with broad shoulders and a seaman's muscles.

Jamie indicated the last booth in the bar area of the pub, which was now cast in shadow.

He realized that someone was sitting in the booth.

He couldn't help but grin at his uncle. "You're harboring a spy? A double agent? Someone from the CIA working the Keys connection?"

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Customer Reviews

Average Rating 4
( 162 )
Rating Distribution

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(69)

4 Star

(36)

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(38)

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(13)

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(6)

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See All Sort by: Showing 1 – 20 of 163 Customer Reviews
  • Anonymous

    Posted July 30, 2010

    WHY ISN'T IT AVAILABLE AS AN EBOOK?

    Unable to give a thorough review. The paper book is out but it is not available as an ebook. I had just finished reading the first book in the Bone Island Trilogy and was excited to find out that the second one was just out earlier this week! Then the frustration and disapointment was ground in as I searched for it on ebook. This same problem was encountered with Catherine Coulter's book Whiplash. Customers of the Nook were promised that new releases would be available for the Nook. I can see ironing out the wrinkles on one book but it is happening again with a different top writer. Opinion of Barnes and Nobles handling of the Nook is causing this readers mind to contemplate alternative means of an ereader! By the way, this book can be ordered on Amazon.com for $5.59.

    1 out of 5 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted July 11, 2010

    more from this reviewer

    Excellent storytelling

    On Haunt Island near Bimini, writer Vanessa Loren is part of a crew filming a low-budget horror movie. As they complete the final wrap, someone gruesomely murders two actors Georgia Dare and Travis Glenn. Their heads are decapitated and posed in a frightening manner in the sand. The case is unsolved. For the next two years, Vanessa remains frightened and unable to sleep as she suffers nightmares from the grisly scene she saw on the Bahamas' island beach.

    Filmmaker Sean O'Hara hires Vanessa to work on a documentary he is filming in the area where the cold case homicides that haunt her occurred. Hoping to get closure, she agrees. Sean can see ghosts and Vanessa fall in love, but a deranged killer stalks them anxiously waiting for a rerun of what happened two years ago.

    The second Bone Island paranormal romantic suspense (see Ghost Shadow) is a delightful thriller due to the ghosts feeling genuine. The lead couple is a wonderful duet whose hope for a Hollywood ending is in trouble from a slasher (everyone knows what happens in a slasher flick). Ghost Night is tense entertainment as a killer looks forward to adding a pair in love to the count of victims.

    Harriet Klausner

    1 out of 2 people found this review helpful.

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  • Posted November 14, 2014

    Awesome read

    I was spelled bound from the first page. Its worth reading repeatedly.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 27, 2014

    Feathermoon

    She padded in with her long soft feathery tail rocking back and forth as she continued in. She smiled softly looking at GhostEcho with her soft blue- grey eyes "Hello." She meowed.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted June 27, 2014

    GhostEcho

    GhostEcho padded around his den, his tail flicking away old moss as he cleaned up the nest from so many moons ago.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted August 20, 2013

    Honesty

    I do enjoy Heather Grahams work. I found the Bone Island Series to be a must read.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted October 2, 2012

    Ghost Night

    Good Book

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  • Posted July 31, 2012

    A must for Heather Graham fans.

    I thoroughly enjoyed the entire trilogy. They keep you guessing all the way through.

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  • Anonymous

    Posted April 29, 2012

    Heather Graham Ghost Night

    Great read!

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  • Posted October 29, 2011

    highly recommend

    all of the Bone Island series are great - an enjoyable engrossing read

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  • Posted May 12, 2011

    Too quick to publish

    This book felt like it was written too quickly and the editing stepped was skipped. The story was week and the romance felt forced.

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  • Posted November 20, 2010

    could skip and be fine with the series.

    I have read most of Heather Graham's books and I have to say this series reads like she had to hit a book quota. I am not fond of it, though Ghost Moon is probably the best of the three. Just not her usual quality of work. Too much going on and then the ends needs to be rushed. And Ghost Night, I did not like the story flow and the ending was not good.

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    Posted November 17, 2010

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    Posted February 16, 2012

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    Posted May 10, 2011

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    Posted January 19, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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    Posted June 11, 2011

    No text was provided for this review.

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    Posted October 22, 2011

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    Posted September 29, 2010

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    Posted January 28, 2011

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