He took a thoughtful breath. “I knew then. Everyone thought I was crazy again because they saw me talking to her at the grave site. She was in a great mood, happy that so many people had come to her funeral. She told me to say good things to her parents and sisters and brothers. Make them feel okay. I promised I’d try. And then she told me...”
“What?”
“To use it,” he said quietly. “That she could talk to me, that maybe others could, and that...I should use it. Bring comfort to the living. And maybe help the dead.”
“And that’s why you’re Krewe,” she said.
“I wasn’t like you. I didn’t know right away that this is what I should be doing, where I should be working. But yeah, I figured a dead girl had talked to me, so I needed to do what she said. First, I went to the Virginia Military Institute in Lexington—a long-standing family tradition—and then did a stint in the service.” He paused. “Deployed to Iraq.”
She didn’t move; he didn’t betray any emotion and yet she knew his time in the service must have been very hard. He spoke again.
“Then I joined the FBI. Things have changed, of course, since 9/11. The FBI is much more active overseas now and I was assigned to the Middle East for a while. After that, I went back to school for behavioral science and finally landed at Quantico—and then with Adam.”
“He is an incredible man,” Meg murmured.
“That he is. I learned how to profile, and to put the results together with what I’d learned about the dead. And from the dead, from those who stayed. I’ve watched and observed and I discovered that some ghosts won’t talk to everyone, and some are better at talking than others. Some are so real you’re convinced you can touch them, some can’t quite learn to be ghosts—like the way I couldn’t learn to ice-skate. They’re the hardest to communicate with, these almost-ghosts.”
Meg realized that she was smiling.
“What?” he asked warily.
“You really can’t ice-skate?”
“Total fool on the ice. I fall all over the place.”
“Well, we should be okay,” she said.
“Why?”
“It’s summer!”
“There you go,” he said lightly.
Meg saw that they’d traveled a good distance already; they were headed west now, skirting DC.
Killer sat quietly in her lap, like an angel.
When they came to a rest area, Matt pulled onto the ramp. “We can take him out for a minute,” he said, indicating Killer.
“He hasn’t barked or whined or anything.”
“He’s a dog. I’m not taking any chances with this car.”
Matt parked near a small lot for dog-walking. Meg got out, setting Killer on the ground and looping his leash around her wrist.
“Need a break? Want coffee?” he asked.
“No. I’m fine.”
“Okay. I could use more coffee. I’ll leave you two and be right back.”
As he headed into the concession area, Meg called to him. “Bosworth.”
He turned.
“If you’re getting coffee, anyway, I guess I’ll have one. Thanks.”
He nodded and moved on. He wasn’t running or even hurrying; he had a very long gait and naturally moved fast.
Meg took Killer to the dog park. He stayed by her side, sniffed a little and did his business. A Pekingese, seeing him, barked wildly. Killer ignored the other dog and resumed sniffing the grass.
Waiting with him, Meg idly watched the traffic. She frowned, noticing a black sedan with tinted windows sliding into the rest area. It didn’t park.
It merely slowed, then entered the lane that led back to the highway.
She tried to get a look at the license plate as the sedan drove off. There were rows of cars between them, and just when she might have had her chance, the Pekingese and its owner walked right past her. But she suspected that if she had seen the license, it would’ve been encrusted in mud.
Matt returned, carrying two paper cups of coffee. She thanked him as she took hers and then said, “A black sedan just went by, slowed down, then kept going. Tinted windows.”
“You think someone is following us in a black sedan?”
“Remember the one outside my town house yesterday? It pulled away when Angela and I saw it.”
“Look in the parking lot,” he told her.
She turned to see five cars in the lot fitting that description.
“Hmm.”
“Maybe they’re so popular around here because they’re so...official. If someone is following you—or us—he’s hiding in plain sight. Practically everyone around here has a black sedan,” Matt commented.
“So you think I’m paranoid or seeing things that don’t exist? That I’m trying to create a mystery?”
“Things are what they are, whether you want to create a mystery or not,” he said. “And there’s nothing wrong with paranoia—sometimes it can save your life. But, of course, you’re thinking black sedan because of Congressman Walker’s office.”
“Yeah. Congressmen tend to be driven around in them. Their aides use them. Lobbyists use them.”
“Like I said, just about everyone in Washington uses them. The question is do you really think you’re being followed?”
“I—I’m not sure why anyone would follow me.”
“Because you’re on the hunt for Lara Mayhew,” he said. “Anyway, you ready to go?”
They’d only been back in the car for a minute when Matt’s phone rang. He said the word “Answer.”
It was Angela. She told him they had a reservation at a small local hotel within walking distance of the historic area, a place that accepted dogs.
He said nothing as he hung up. She sat there uncomfortably, holding the dog and sipping her coffee. Finally, she spoke, hoping she sounded nonchalant and businesslike but still appreciative.
“Thank you.”
“Huh?” He glanced over at her; she realized that he must’ve been deep in thought.
“The dog. You were right. I shouldn’t have taken him.”
“As long as you know I’m right.”
“Why do you do that with everything?” Meg demanded, speaking before she had a chance to weigh her words—and stop them.
“Do what?”
“I said I knew I was wrong. You could’ve just said, ‘Thanks, that’s okay.’”
“Doesn’t matter. The dog’s with us now. That’s the way it is. So, we’ll accommodate.”
Meg fell into silence. Every time she thought he was actually proving to be human, he went and turned it around. Fine.
She finished her coffee, curled her arms around the dog and leaned against the side of the car. She hadn’t slept much lately.
“Taking a nap?” he asked.
“You’re doing the driving,” she said.
She didn’t really sleep but she must have dozed. The next thing she knew, they were drawing into Harpers Ferry, her home, a place where the rivers had flooded the land, where George Washington had gone, where John Brown had staged his famous raid and Civil War soldiers had fought time and time again.
Where ghost stories abounded in the often fog-shrouded valley low by the river.
Home. A place where Lara Mayhew might easily have come to hide.
* * *
Matt was familiar with Harpers Ferry. He figured it would’ve been nearly impossible to grow up in Richmond, attend military school and not know Harpers Ferry. The munitions here and the strategic placement of rivers and mountains led to its being valuable in war. Nowadays, it thrived on tourism. There was the history of the Civil War to be experienced; there was rafting and tubing on the river. Visitors could enjoy interesting shops and great stories told by the Rangers; there were reenactment
s, and all manner of entertainment. He didn’t, of course, know the town as well as someone who had lived here. As well as Meg Murray probably did.
Angela had done a wonderful job finding the kind of place they needed. From their hotel, they could ease right down to the John Brown firehouse. A climb up the hill would take them to Harper Cemetery and Jefferson Rock—where you could look down over the valley and the river and see for miles.
And the place allowed dogs.
He liked animals, although he didn’t have one because he traveled so frequently. He’d toyed with the idea of an independent cat, but hadn’t gotten around to adopting one yet.
Killer...
Damn, the mutt was ugly.
Still, there was something about him. Maybe the loyalty that had brought him to the morgue where his owner lay within. Matt figured if they ever encountered Genie’s ghost, the dog would come in handy.
He trusted his gut. Intuition was, he thought, akin to his ability to see the dead.
He found it somewhat irritating that Meg had insisted on bringing Killer, but as he’d said himself, the dog was with them now. They had to make it work.
The place they were staying was called the General Fitzhugh Lee Hotel. That was something of an exaggeration; it was more of a bed-and-breakfast, but for their purposes, just about perfect. They were greeted at a counter in the parlor by an older woman who recognized Meg immediately.
“Margaret Murray, child, how are you? When I saw your name I was so pleased. We miss you and your folks around here. I haven’t seen you in years!”
“Hi, Mrs. Lafferty,” Meg said, returning a hug from the woman, who’d walked around the counter to embrace her.
“Look at you,” Mrs. Lafferty exclaimed. “All grown-up and official! I don’t mean to ignore you, Mr. Bosworth, but it’s been ages since I’ve seen Meg!”
“Quite all right,” Matt assured her. It was totally enjoyable to watch Meg squirm and wonder what he was thinking. Still, the more time he spent with her, the more he admired her—despite the occasional flash of annoyance. She was young, she was new, she was raw. But she was passionate and determined. And undeniably attractive—tall, lithe, with her large blue eyes and generous mouth. He wasn’t a fool; he’d immediately responded to the sexual attraction she exuded. And she loved dogs. His grandmother used to say that you could tell who people were by the way they treated animals. Those who were good to animals were usually good human beings—and she always warned him to be careful of those who weren’t.
Then why be so hard on Meg? It wasn’t the new...or the raw.
Maybe it was the way he’d felt when she’d touched him that first day at the morgue. He’d pulled back because she’d been so warm, so filled with life, even with tears in her eyes. And a moment like that wasn’t the time to feel anything but empathy for another human being.
Meg immediately asked Mrs. Lafferty if she’d seen Lara Mayhew lately.
Mrs. Lafferty had not.
They were given rooms next to each other on the ground floor; that made it easy with the dog.
Mrs. Lafferty loved Killer right off the bat.
Matt realized that they were again using the dog’s original name. Killer.
They didn’t have far to go from the parlor to their rooms. He was glad to see that Meg traveled as lightly as he did—one overnight carry-on and an over-the-shoulder bag.
When Killer started to follow him, Meg urged the dog into her own room.
The “hotel” predated the Civil War by three decades; it was furnished with period pieces. Matt found a wall plaque in his room informing him that it had been inhabited by generals from both sides of the “Great Conflict” and, since then, all kinds of ambassadors, attachés and visiting military. When he’d set his bag on the rack, Matt looked out the window onto the Shenandoah. The view was spectacular, even by night. A full moon had risen. And from his vantage point, he could see the river, brilliant and shimmering in the moonlight. He caught glimpses of the old houses and shops perched at an angle along the slope of the hill, and he knew where the park was, as well as the firehouse where John Brown had staged his famous—and infamous—raid.
A fog was settling low at the base of the hill. Even the greatest skeptic might imagine that the dead walked, that history came alive, in such a place.
“Nice,” he murmured aloud. He had to remember to thank Angela for her diligence.
There was a knock on his door and he opened it to find Meg there. “I thought you might be hungry,” she said. “I sure am. We’ve got time to grab a bite and latch on to a ghost tour. Seems like a good way to start.”
“And you’ll know the guide, I assume?” he asked.
Meg shrugged. “The population here is under three hundred—as far as the town itself goes. I’ve been gone awhile, but everyone knew my parents, and they come back every once in a while. So do I, although it’s been a couple of years.”
“Everyone knew Lara, too?”
“I wouldn’t want to say everyone, but, yes...” She hesitated. “I’d really like to get up to Harper Cemetery. We’ll join whatever tour is in session, then go off on our own.”
“I’m at your command,” Matt said.
A slight sniff as she turned around told him she didn’t believe that for a second. He smiled and followed her.
The mist was already rising as they headed out.
Yes, it was going to be an exceptional night for a ghost tour—especially in a cemetery.
9
Killer, it seemed, was coming with them. Even though Mrs. Lafferty offered to watch the little dog, Meg wanted him on their walk. And she knew a charming place up on a hill where they could dine outside with the dog. The food was excellent; the waitress, the busboy, the bartender and the manager all came out to talk to Meg. She’d gone to school with the waitress, and it was with her that Meg spoke the most after introducing Matt.
“So you’re home—in Harpers Ferry, of all places—on your first official job with the FBI?” Meg’s friend marveled. She laughed delightedly, but then sobered. “Because Lara is missing?” The young woman, Melody Jennings, was deeply distressed by that. “You didn’t know Lara?” she asked Matt.
“No, I’m sorry to say,” he replied.
“She’s so smart, funny, beautiful, and so nice! You have to find her.”
“She didn’t come through here? You’re sure?” Meg asked.
“You know how tiny this place is!” Melody said. “If Lara had been here and anyone had seen her at all, everyone would’ve been talking about it. But, hey, if anyone can find her, it’s you. You two had that mind thing going on. Remember when you were kids and Raif Sanderson took her hostage?”
Melody paused to look at Matt again and smile broadly. “It wasn’t a situation that called for the FBI. Raif had a huge crush on Lara. I think we were all about twelve or thirteen. He surprised her up at the cemetery one day—she’d gone for a walk by herself. Then he managed to tie her to one of the gravestones. But when the grown-ups all started going crazy, Meg somehow knew to go to the cemetery.” She laughed. “Raif didn’t sit for a week after that, poor guy. He said he was willing to suffer it all for love. He eventually married an accountant and they moved to Baltimore, by the way,” she told Meg.
“Pure logic that time, I’m afraid. I knew how much Raif loved the cemetery—and how fascinated Lara was by a couple of the stories up there,” Meg said.
Matt thought, however, that she looked contemplative.
He was almost certain there’d been something else that had led her to her friend.
“It’s terrifying, isn’t it?” Melody went on. “She’s missing, and that horrible killer is on the loose. You don’t think...?”
“We’re praying not,” Meg said.
Melody shivered visibly. “That case is on the news constan
tly. They’re always warning us not to be alone, to be careful. I mean, we’re pretty remote here, in comparison to DC and Richmond, but still...”
“It never hurts to be vigilant,” Matt said. “Be extra careful.”
He’d been thinking that Meg might not be paranoid—that maybe a black sedan was following her. And if so...
Was it someone from Walker’s office, afraid they might find Lara? Or was it someone who knew they were also on the trail of a killer?
“Trust me. I’m a coward. I’m making Billy walk me home—I live two blocks from here!—every night,” Melody told them. She shivered again and said, “Well, we’re glad to meet you and glad to have the FBI here, Agent Bosworth.” She turned to Meg. “Are you really going to take the ghost tour? You could give it in your sleep.”
“But it’s fun to go,” Meg said. “Years ago, when I was very young, it was led by a wonderful woman named Shirley Dougherty. She also wrote the book about the tales. I think back then it was called Harpers Ferry Myths and Legends. Anytime I went on a ghost tour after that, the guides had high standards to live up to. Shirley would be in period dress, holding her lantern. She taught history—and then told us what people claimed to have experienced that had to do with that history. She was the best.”
“And,” Matt added, “you could go on her ghost tour on Saturday night and find her saying the Rosary at the Catholic church the next morning.”
Meg grinned. “You went on her tour.”
“I did. I agree—she was the best. I heard she died in 2011.”
“Yes,” Melody said. “And we still miss her.”
Matt tried to pay the check, but Melody informed them that the manager had insisted she wasn’t to let them do so. Everyone was so thrilled with Meg’s graduation and her being there.
They thanked Melody, and Killer licked her fingers and wagged his tail in appreciation, because Melody had seen to it that he’d gotten some scraps of beef.
The Silenced Page 15