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museum, so…
    And David Beckett, who had left town years ago, accused of the bizarre murder of his fiancée, was returning.
    Things might just start to get interesting.
    He might have finally found the reason why he remained on earth….
    Ever waiting for the light.

The Bone Island Trilogy
    New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham brings readers a tantalizing tale of dark deeds and mysterious omens, set amid the fascinating history of the Florida Keys.
    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.
    Read more about Bartholomew, the Becketts, and the O’Haras in the Bone Island Trilogy by Heather Graham:
    Ghost Shadow
    (July 2010)
    Ghost Night
    (August 2010)
    Ghost Moon
    (September 2010)
    Read on for an excerpt from Ghost Shadow ….

Ghost Shadow
    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, and the 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….
    At 3:00 a.m., Duval Street was far from closed down. She wondered with a quirk of humor what DuVal—the first governor of territorial Florida—would have thought of the street named in his honor.
    Certainly, it kept the name from being forgotten.
    Key West was filled with history that shouldn’t be forgotten. The name itself was a bastardization of Cayo Hueso, Island of Bones, and came from the fact that hueso had sounded like west to the English-speaking British who had claimed the state from the Spaniards. The name fit because it was the most western of the Islands of the Martyrs, which was what the chain of Florida “keys” had been known as to the Spanish. Actually, the Islands of the Dry Tortugas were farther west, but the name had been given, and it had stuck. Street names came from the early Americans—Simonton and his friends, colleagues and their families. Simonton had purchased Key West from a Spaniard named Salas when Florida had become an American territory. Salas had received the island as a gift—or back payment for a debt—from the Spanish governor who had ruled before the American governor. The island had seen British rule as well, and often, no matter who ruled, it wasn’t ruled much at all.
    The place was colorful, throughout history, and now.
    â€œYou do love this place,” Bartholomew noted as he walked alongside her.
    She shrugged. “It’s home. If you’re used to the beautiful fall colors in Massachusetts, that’s home. Down here, it’s the water, and the craziness. Yes, I do love it.”
    She stopped walking and stared across Simonton, frowning.
    â€œWhat?” Bartholomew asked her. “I see nothing. Not even the beauty in white who frets so night after night.”
    â€œLights.”
    â€œLights? They’re everywhere, and trust me, I can remember when they weren’t,” Bartholomew told her.
    â€œNo! There are lights on in the entry at the old Beckett museum. My museum.”
    â€œYou don’t officially own it until Saturday, or so you said.”
    â€œRight, I have a meeting at the bank on Saturday—Liam is going to come and help me—and I sign the final papers, but…”
    There shouldn’t have been anyone in the museum. Craig Beckett