Jon seemed to be at ease, speaking naturally, betraying no emotion. He even smiled at the end, and while Kylie couldn’t hear him, she was pretty sure he apologized for interrupting Sandra’s dinner and indicated that she should rejoin her friends.
“Mr. and Mrs. Gerrit Northumberland,” Rocky said, looking up from his phone as Jon rejoined them at the table. “I sent a pic to Angela—she got back to me already. Mrs. Westerly is dining with a lingerie heiress and her iron baron husband. Large contributors to any race in the state, I would imagine.”
“She’ll complain to the police that you harassed her in the middle of an important dinner,” Kylie said.
“No, she said I could meet her at their suite in the morning and see the phone message for myself. Signed by Kylie Connelly,” Jon said.
“I sent no such message,” Kylie protested. “When was it supposedly sent?” She pulled out her phone, wondering if someone had sneaked it away from her to send a threat to Michael Westerly. As far as she could tell, no one had.
“In the middle of his speech today. You were packing—I was watching him on TV,” Jon said.
It wasn’t an accusation, but she nevertheless repeated herself furiously. “I didn’t send any message! I just checked. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t know a number to reach Michael Westerly.”
“We know you didn’t,” Jon said. “But it’s going to be interesting to see where that message came from.”
“Burner phone. Untraceable,” Jackson speculated.
“But it does mean someone is trying to cause trouble. And knows that Kylie is somehow involved. Which brings us back here,” Jon said.
“Matt?” Kylie asked.
“Not necessarily. At this moment, there are a dozen possibilities,” Jon said.
“And there could be two murderers. We know one and not the other. One is possibly not even in Salem, and the other we can’t touch. And they appear to know everything we know.” Devin sounded exasperated.
“Yes, it looks bad, but we will discover the truth,” Rocky assured Kylie. “First there’s the possibility Mrs. Westerly is making it up to turn the tables on you. And us.”
Jon added, “Then, of course, there are other people who have consistently been around this bar. And remember, Kylie, we did find another matchbox at the cemetery. It’s been sent in for testing, and it may or may not give us anything.” He looked over at Jackson. “This is getting worse if Westerly is gunning for Kylie.”
“Ah,” Jackson said. “But he knows that she’s surrounded by law enforcement. He knows Jimmy survived the accident and that Marla is just fine, too. He must know he’d have to kill a half dozen people to allay suspicions against him.”
“Suspicion—that’s still all we’ve got,” Rocky muttered.
“Carl Fisher, the guide, knows everything, according to the notes you’ve accumulated so far. And his movements oddly match those of the sites where the other victims were found,” Jackson said. “I talked to Angela, and she verified that he acted in the same shows as Matt, traveling to all the same cities where the victims were killed.”
“We need to see Westerly’s phone. The one that received the threat,” Jackson said.
“I’m going to drop in on the Westerlys first thing tomorrow morning. I think Sandra actually wants to prove the message is real,” Jon said.
“And just what does she believe about her husband?” Rocky asked. “Or is she just as guilty of heinous crime as he is?”
Jon was quiet a moment. “I think she’s acting it all out. Maybe she sent the threat herself, trying to prove that her husband is the victim of a smear campaign. But while I don’t believe another thing about her, I think Westerly did receive a threat from someone claiming to be Kylie. That puts us back to someone else being involved.”
As he spoke, his gaze turned toward the front door.
Carl Fisher, tonight in a tailored shirt, vest, and hat, but no pretense at any particular historical era, walked cheerfully into the restaurant. He took the time to say a few words at the tables he passed and walked right up to the bar. Matt had seen him coming and already poured him a soda. Carl sat on one of the bar stools, leaning close to talk to Matt, and then glanced down the bar at the man Kylie assumed to be Matt’s plainclothes policeman.
Then Matt indicated their group sitting at the table and Carl turned to look at them all. He waved cheerfully, his head angling to the side as he saw the newcomer—Jackson.
“I’ll take you to meet him,” Jon said, and once again, the two left the table.
“Hey, you guys are hanging around here as much as I am,” said a voice by Kylie’s shoulder.
Startled from watching Jon and Jackson head to the bar, Kylie turned to see Dr. Sayers at her side of the table. He was accompanied by an older man, slim with cheerful dark eyes and a deeply lined face.
“The food is good, and you can’t beat the convenience,” she said. “Dr. Sayers, you know Devin and Rocky.”
“I do,” Dr. Sayers said, shaking their hands. “And I’d like you meet Mr. Brendan Pitman—his family goes way back. All families go way back, of course, but he had an ancestor on the Mayflower.”
“Wonderful,” Kylie said.
“Did you go for a regression, Mr. Pitman?” Devin asked politely.
“I did!” he said with enthusiasm. “I was in medieval England. I could smell, touch, and feel the grass, and I was a young man again, in love. I was on a hill, waiting for my lady to slip away and join me. It was an absolutely unique experience in a long, long life, I do assure you!”
Jon and Jackson had returned in time to hear Brendan’s last words. Introductions went around again.
Jackson turned to Dr. Sayers. “What you do, it’s absolutely fascinating. I would love to find out if I’ve lived a previous life.”
“I make no guarantees,” Dr. Sayers said. “Most people find a place in time and space where there was something beautiful in life. Maybe that’s the human spirit. But things can occasionally go...strangely. As they went with Kylie.” He paused a minute, studying Jackson. “I imagine you’ve heard all about it.”
Jackson just shrugged and said, “I’m willing to take my chances.”
“Come in tomorrow. I’ll squeeze you in during the morning. I’m not sure about my schedule, but I know you’re a busy man. If you can make it, I promise you we’ll have a go at it.”
“Wonderful,” Jackson said.
“Well, looks like your food is coming. We’ll leave you to it,” Dr. Sayers said. He grimaced. “I’m going to step outside for a minute for a smoke. Wish I had a cigar. A bummed cigarette will have to do.”
“Did you eat already? I didn’t see you in here,” Kylie said.
“Oh, we were at that corner table. It’s pretty dark over there. There’s a reason they call this place the Cauldron. They like their spooky shadows!”
They said their goodbyes.
“You’re really going to go through a regression?” Kylie asked Jackson.
“I’m curious,” he said.
“Don’t drink the tea,” Kylie said. “Or maybe you should drink the tea. My friends did, and they had great experiences.”
“I’m curious about the man,” Jackson said. “He may create most of his ‘regressions’ through the art of suggestion, just leading people where they want to go. But what happened with you... That’s new, even in my experience.” He lowered his voice. “This happened, and then you saw Jon’s friend, Obadiah Jones. It’s as though your experience with Dr. Sayers opened a door for you. I don’t know if I can learn anything new or not, but it will be very interesting to see just what this man does.”
“Any hypnotism is scary to me,” Kylie said. “I wouldn’t have gone if I didn’t go with all my friends.”
“Not to worry,” Jackson said. “I won’t be going alone.”
“I went back to him,
you know,” Kylie said, and then added, “Of course you know. The experience was still strange. Horrible, but better, I suppose? By that, I mean being murdered as Annie was still horrible, but going through it again... There was purpose. And maybe because the first time seemed to take place as it happened, and the second time was a memory, it was less intense.”
She hesitated, not sure she should be saying what she intended to propose next, but she was also certain that she was right. While the second matchbox brought them back to the Cauldron, it wasn’t definitive that any of it tied to Michael Westerly. In fact, of all those who frequented the place, Westerly was there the least of those they were coming to know.
“We need to use me,” she said.
They all stared at her.
“As bait,” she said.
Jon shook his head. “He’s targeted you—obviously. Maybe he sent the message to himself. One way or another, you’re in the sights of both Michael and Sandra Westerly.”
“And the five of you can spend the rest of your lives protecting me?” she asked. “You need to at least consider what I’m saying. You are all law enforcement officers, and you can surely come up with a foolproof plan.”
“A foolproof plan doesn’t exist. Ever,” Jon said.
“Okay, ninety-nine percent foolproof?” she said softly. “Something has to break. The only way may be for us to force his hand.”
“We’ll get him,” Jon said.
“We do have faith in you,” Jackson told her.
“Then have faith in yourselves! You still have nothing except envisioned evidence from a hypnotized woman and the suspicions of two locals. That won’t get you anywhere,” she said. “Don’t discount me, please. I know you always intend to get your man or woman. But we all know that we can’t go on for weeks or months like this. The election will come up. He could win, if people aren’t shown the truth about him. Please, at least think about it. I’m willing to be bait. I have infinite faith in you.”
They were all silent, staring at her.
“Please.”
“All right. We’ll all work on it,” Jackson said softly.
Jon stood impatiently and went to pay the check. At the table, there was silence. Jon returned and they headed out.
The decision had been made that they would all stay at Devin’s cottage. Jackson rode with Jon and Kylie, and the silence that had begun in the restaurant seemed to permeate the car. Kylie was sure they were all thinking it probably wasn’t protocol to allow civilians to risk themselves. But they weren’t ordinary agents and she was a different type of civilian.
Auntie Mina was in the cabin when they arrived. She already knew Jackson and was happy to welcome him, and then she told Jon that crime scene technicians had been by. They had cast the tire tracks he had found earlier.
“Ben is a good man. He follows through every time,” Jon said, pleased.
“What good will they do?” Kylie asked. “I mean, don’t you have to compare them to other car tracks?”
“Technically, yes. But they will possibly give us the make and model of a car,” Jon told her.
“Go to bed, people. I’m taking the sofa, and it’s been a long day,” Jackson said.
“I’ll get you sheets,” Devin said. “You know, there are other, perfectly good bedrooms.”
“And you know that if Angela isn’t with me, I’m a sofa man.”
Poe let out a loud screech, as if agreeing. It was time to go to bed.
Kylie headed to the bedroom she’d been assigned. She wondered if Jon would come to her room; would it be awkward around the others?
She wondered if Jon knew that Jackson preferred the parlor sofa when he was overnight on a case when his wife wasn’t with him.
Had Devin known that, leaving two rooms for her and Jon?
Or did these people—who could talk to ghosts—know what was going on in one another’s lives as well? She showered, slid into a cotton nightdress, and wondered to herself just how she might be used to draw out Michael Westerly. He was back in Salem with his wife. He could have stayed in Boston. He could have moved on, headed to another city on his campaign trail.
He had not; he had come back here.
Why?
Because Krewe members were still here, searching for the murderer. Was he afraid of what they might find?
She didn’t know.
Lying on the bed, she realized Jon wasn’t coming to her. She stared at the ceiling. She thought about how she had instigated the intimacy of the night before, and doubts ran through her system. But she couldn’t believe that there wasn’t something between them deeper than just naturally falling in together at an opportune moment.
They’d been alone. Now they weren’t.
But they were alone on the same side of the house.
She shouldn’t get up, she thought. She really shouldn’t.
When she walked the few feet of hallway from her room to the next, she saw that his door was ajar. She tentatively set her hand on it and pushed lightly.
He was lying in bed, a folder at his side, dozens of papers in his hands. He’d clearly heard her the second she pressed at the door. He’d showered, too, she thought. She could smell the fresh scent of soap that hung lightly in the room. It had been a very long day. Maybe they’d all needed to wash it off. He’d donned a pair of sweatpants, but his broad, muscled chest was bare.
He sheathed the papers in the folder and leaped up. “Kylie! Did something happen—are you all right?”
She opted for honesty. “Nothing is wrong. I just wanted to be with you. I don’t mean to... I mean, if where we are means something, if...”
He walked over to her, pulled her tightly into his arms, and kissed her lips.
Damn, he had a good kiss. When his mouth touched her, when their lips parted, it seemed as if the whole of her was awakened in an instant. Searing warmth cascaded through her being.
When his mouth lifted, just inches above hers, and his eyes met hers, he smiled. “I was being circumspect on your behalf.”
“Pardon?”
“I didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”
She smiled. “I was only uncomfortable alone.”
“Well, then.” He closed and locked the door, swept her up, and moved toward the bed.
Sweatpants were easily discarded. So was her simple cotton nightdress. They fell together in a heated, liquid kiss, rolling, touching one another, stroking. Then she found herself prone and quickly discovered that his kiss had an even greater fire as he pressed his lips to her flesh, moving along her body, invoking a hunger and desire in her unlike anything she had ever known.
Then they were together again, moving like wildfire, and the world became a frantic but beautiful place, an astral feeling of wonder, of touching stars, all because of the very physical reality of the room and sheets and bed and the night and the man. Climax was a gift from above.
She lay beside him, and despite the wonder of their chemistry, she tried very hard to be rational. They’d been thrown together. He had helped her when she’d all but fallen apart.
Logic meant nothing. He was unique. In that moment, she couldn’t conceive the time when they would part.
She realized that he was looking at her.
“I can’t imagine being far from you now,” he whispered.
“Let’s not imagine,” she said softly, curling against him, holding tight.
* * *
Early the next morning, Jon sat with Jackson at the island table in the center of the kitchen. They’d come up with something of a plan.
“Here’s a point,” Jackson said. “Kylie might be in danger forever if this isn’t finished. Michael Westerly is a monster. Angela scoured back ten years to other, similar unsolved cases. A young woman had her throat slit in a cemetery near St. Louis, and Angela managed to dig up the fact that Wes
terly has a cousin there—and was visiting at the time. He was also in Broussard, Louisiana, when a woman was killed there in a like manner. That was six years ago. So we have visuals that prove he couldn’t have committed the murders that we’ve grouped together now in what the FBI has accepted as serial killings, but that doesn’t mean he hasn’t killed before.”
“He’s a monster, we’ve all agreed on that,” Jon said. “And if he is responsible for any of these other killings, he’s controlled, he’s careful. He can put time between his attacks, develop relationships, when he chooses. And he doesn’t worry. He appears to be above reproach. He can bide his time. And that’s what scares me. Kylie has a point. If he gets away with this, she could turn a corner three years from now, and he’d be there.”
“Right. But he also knows that we’re hanging around here, searching for a killer. And he knows that we have guards on Jimmy and Marla and his sons, and that Kylie is with us.”
Jon nodded. “Okay, if we’re going through with this, we need to throw him off. And the way I see it, there’s only one way to make him think that it would be possible to find Kylie alone.”
“And that would be?”
“To arrest someone else for the crime.”
Jackson sat back, staring at him. “We have no solid evidence against Westerly. Or anyone else.”
“I know,” Jon said quietly. “We’d need to convince someone that they were doing an incredible service to the community—to the country—by agreeing to a sham.”
“Ah. Allowing themselves to be arrested as a heinous and detestable murderer? Jon, where are we going to find someone to fit that bill?”
“No one like an actor,” Jon said.
“And that actor would be... Matt?”
“He is an actor, as you know. That’s why he travels so much—and why he showed up on our radar in the first place.”
“But we still don’t know that he didn’t commit the other murders,” Jackson said. “We’d have to be really careful. Double jeopardy could be a factor—”
Jon shook his head. “Not if we say that he’s only being held for the murder of Annie Hampton. We know he didn’t commit that one. And my instincts could be off, but I don’t think he committed any murder ever, anywhere. But don’t go by that... He’ll stay on our radar.”
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