“My friends,” Colleen said. “I thanked you the other night for coming—for helping me realize my dream of a place not just to interact on the Internet, but in person. A gathering of those who want to know the possibilities in flesh and blood—rather than just through pictures and words. A place where, when you have met, you can come…and have fun with others or alone. But I’m sure you’ve all heard by now that there is a killer out there, possibly a serial killer. He struck in New Orleans and here…and here, he struck one of our own, our beloved Allison Caldwell. We are, of course, devastated. But Ally believed in what we were doing, too. She was key in opening this lodge, in making all of the arrangements. What has happened is horrible beyond imagination, and if you wish to cut short your time here, there will be no penalties. If you wish to stay, we will be here, and the Harvest Fest Ball will go on as planned; the lodge will remain open.” She glanced down at Quinn. “I’m encouraged to have Mr. Quinn here—along with my old and dear friend, Danni Cafferty. They might be talking to you—along with the police, they will find out what happened to Ally. And they will do their best to see that no one else suffers her fate.”
Applause greeted her words.
“Quinn,” Colleen murmured, stooping down to him. “Tell them to be safe!”
He nodded, glad he was tall enough to tower above most of the crowd without having to step up on the chair. He raised a hand to show he was going to speak.
“The important thing here is to be safe—don’t go off on your own. This killer has murdered both men and women. Don’t go anywhere alone. Don’t wander in the dark. Lock your doors, keep with a crowd as much as you can.”
“Orgy!” Someone called, bringing about a spurt of uneasy laughter.
“Only if you know everyone in your group,” he said lightly, not wanting to come with so heavy a hand they didn’t listen. “Seriously, please, be smart. Be careful. That includes wandering in any dark areas alone, or even in isolated areas alone by the light of day. We aren’t sure how and when all the victims were taken.”
“Were they killed in the middle of our opening?” a man called to him. “Wouldn’t that mean all of us are…more or less safe?”
He decided to tell the truth. “No, the victims were killed just after midnight, so the medical examiner believes. So please, be smart, be careful. That’s all.”
“Wait!” someone else called out. “What about New Orleans—did this guy follow us out here?”
“We just don’t know any more yet,” Quinn said. “Please, watch yourselves. And excuse me now.”
He grabbed Danni’s hand and headed for the elevators. Questions followed him, and he answered all with, “We just don’t know any more, yet.”
He managed to get into the elevator with Danni—followed by a group of people who slipped in still asking questions.
“I heard there’s a bunch of legends about that cemetery,” an anxious girl, tiny and worried, noted staring at Quinn.
“Cursed Yvette! She’s come back to kill people,” a young blond added solemnly.
“Well, we can stay the hell out of the cemetery,” A dark-haired man said.
“And anywhere remote!” Danni added, “Even as couples. Beautiful rooms here—keep the, um, intimate meetings behind locked doors.”
They stepped off on their floor.
One man—the dark-haired fellow who had spoken in the elevator—followed them off.
Quinn sighed, holding Danni’s hand. “It’s been a long day for us—”
“I’m Joshua Grayson. I was with my match, Zoey Nixon, in the cemetery. We were the ones to first discover the bodies,” he said.
Chapter 7
Danni wasn’t sure what the man could add to what they knew, but Quinn invited him into their room.
Colleen had been good to them. Their room was very much like the suite she had taken for herself.
There was a whirlpool tub with a charming tapestry-like curtain that could be drawn to separate the tub from the rest of the room.
They had a balcony that looked over the outdoor pool. There was a sitting area with a loveseat and a chair, and it was there Joshua Grayson spoke, telling him how he and Zoey had a love of history—something that had brought them together online before they’d met in person—and they’d heard of the historic cemetery and had longed to explore it.
“We didn’t see the scarecrows—the bodies—when we first got there. Some of the oldest in-ground graves and some amazing funerary art are there, right beyond the arched gates. We were truly enjoying the history—and,” he added dryly, “finding four stones and a tomb with the name ‘Yvette’ on it, before we were in far enough to see the scarecrows and then…we didn’t think that they were anything at first. Just scarecrows—apparently, there’s an old superstition, going way back to Europe, that three scarecrows will keep demon spirits away. Or something like that. I’ve heard the legend with a few variations, but…it didn’t seem so strange to see scarecrows. Then,” he paused, inhaling and exhaling, “and then, we realized they weren’t just straw, they were human beings dressed up in straw, and…we freaked. Zoey thought to call 911—while we were running out. The police asked us to stay—I told them I was terrified to do so, but I guess a dispatcher called Detective Ellsworth right away, and he was there within a few minutes. He thought we were crazy at first—or pulling a sick joke. There was already news out about bodies having been found in New Orleans the morning before. He asked us to go back into the cemetery with him. It was…horrible.”
“Did you see anyone else while you were there?” Quinn asked him.
“I didn’t, and I don’t know if it was because she was afraid or not, but Zoey said she was certain someone had been watching us from one of the mausoleums or crypts or whatever you call the little family mausoleums.”
“But you saw no one?” Danni asked softly.
He shook his head. “No one.”
“What about a car?” Quinn asked. “And just what time was it when you were there?”
“My car was the only one I saw. We parked right outside of the gates.”
“And the time?” Danni persisted.
“Right after an early breakfast; we, uh, both woke early. Had breakfast in bed. We’d planned on taking part in the trivia contest yesterday around lunchtime, so we wanted to get there. I’m thinking we got to the cemetery right about eight-thirty.”
“Did you see or hear anything else at all?” Quinn asked hopefully.
Joshua shook his head. “But I wanted to make sure to talk to you. I wanted you to know it was Zoey and me who were there first.” He hesitated. “Zoey is from Baton Rouge. She said she was so close to this place, and she’d never been in the cemetery. Said she knew a lot about legends that had to do with the area. The woman—Yvette—supposedly murdered by her would-be mother-in-law just to take revenge and rise from the grave to kill her a year later. And the scarecrows. Three. There must always be three.” He hesitated. “I guess I really…hate to say it, but I’m scared. Zoey and I discovered the dead. And three…yes, there were three scarecrows there already. But three were killed in New Orleans. I’m afraid the killer is planning on another three—and neither Zoey nor I want to be part of that three.” He looked from Quinn to Danni anxiously. “I, uh, wonder if we need some kind of special protection.”
“I’m not a policeman, you know,” Quinn reminded him, “but I can talk to Detective Ellsworth.” He hesitated. “Even considering a homicide goes to the parish police, we’re talking a small area out here and small police forces. Maybe I can ask he put a man on detail out here.”
“I’d be willing to pay you to be a personal bodyguard. I’m not Trent Anderson rich, but I do well enough to pay you. I don’t want to leave, and I don’t want Zoey to leave. This guy hit New Orleans and here—he could be aiming for Baton Rouge next. Or he could just stay here and kill again.”
Quinn nodded somberly at the man’s reasoning. “I can’t be your bodyguard; I have committed to helping investigate what
’s going on. But I’ll see what I can do. For tonight, go to your room. Lock in. When you’re out, stay with the crowd.”
“We’ll stay in the lodge,” Joshua promised, rising. “Trust me, we’ll stay here. And anything you can do…deeply appreciated.”
They all stood. Quinn walked him to the door. Joshua looked uneasily up and down the hallway.
“You know, there are security cameras in the hallways and elevators,” Quinn said.
“Yeah—the cops will be able to watch my murder. That will be great,” Joshua said.
Quinn turned to Danni. “Lock in—I’ll get Mr. Grayson back to his room. What about Zoey?”
“Zoey is there—she hasn’t come out since we returned from the cemetery.”
“I’m fine—go,” Danni told Quinn.
He met her eyes; she was determined.
He knew better than to fight with her.
“Lock the door?”
“You bet!” she assured him. He heard the door close, then the bolt slide.
“Come on, Mr. Grayson—I’ll get you back to your room. And Zoey.”
He started down the hall with Joshua Grayson. They saw no one on their way to the elevator, no one in the elevator, and no one in the hallway when they got off at the next floor.
Joshua called out at the door to assure Zoey it was him. A timid young woman with soft brown hair in a ponytail opened the door and looked at Quinn with wide eyes.
“My escort,” Joshua said, grinning ruefully, “but he won’t work for us.”
Zoey’s face seemed to turn white.
“As I said, I will check into what the police might be able to do,” Quinn said.
“Three! This whole thing is about three!” Zoey said. “There’s going to be another three.”
Quinn had the same fear himself, but he didn’t want to add to her paranoia. He believed that, locked in their room, here at the lodge, they would be fine.
“You two are both history buffs, right? I hear about two legends—the witch who killed her handyman and her husband and the three scarecrows, and the legend that revolves around Yvette.”
“Yes, there are two legends,” Zoey said.
“Can you figure anyway they might twist together?” Quinn asked her.
Zoey stared at Joshua. “I…I don’t know. I believe the Yvette story is a real one—though, if it was her lover’s mom or not, I don’t know. I guess it was blamed on her—and she wound up dead a year later. Strange thing is they are supposedly buried—rather interred—together.”
“Really? Where?”
“I’m not sure—that was something we were going to try to find out about. I mean, Yvette became a legend. The legend doesn’t give her a last name.” She hesitated a minute. “From what I understand though, she was murdered at harvest time.”
“Thank you,” Quinn said, “and I asked Joshua—can you think of anything you might have seen at the cemetery, seen or heard, you might have been too flustered to remember earlier?”
Zoey started to shake her head; her ponytail bobbed. Then she frowned and glanced at Joshua. “I—I thought we were being watched. From deep in the cemetery. I didn’t want to wait for Detective Ellsworth to get there. I just wanted to get far, far away. It seemed like the trees were…moving. Far back. Beyond the mounds of hill tombs or whatever they are. I haven’t seen anything like them in another Louisiana cemetery. I just felt I was being…watched. It scared me, but we stayed in the car—all locked up—and waited for Detective Ellsworth.” She took a breath. “While we were in the car, we heard the news about New Orleans. I just want to get away—I want to go home, except home is far too close to this place!”
Quinn thanked her again and started down the hall.
“Mr. Quinn!” Zoey called.
He stopped and turned back.
“Three—I’m not sure what the legend of Yvette has to do with the number three, but…I’m really afraid. Three…would mean three threes!”
“Thank you,” he said.
As he headed back for the elevator, he was afraid he very much so agreed with her.
The question was, where would the killer strike again? And just what the hell was it he meant to convey with the complexity of his displays?
One thing was sure; the sites were scoped out; the murderer was planning carefully.
They might not have a clue…
But the killer already knew exactly where and when he’d strike again.
***
Danni sat at the pretty white French-provincial desk where she’d left the books and diaries she’d garnered from the library. She mentally thought of all she wanted to tell Quinn, idly flipping through one of the books.
She stopped, coming upon an image of an old painting.
It was of a very pretty, dark-haired girl. She had large brown eyes and sweeping thick lashes, a slender nose, gracefully arched brows, and a generous mouth. Her smile was charming. She stared out from the copy of the old painting as if she were in love with life itself, in love with the world.
Beneath the picture was a caption.
Yvette Benoit. The beautiful child of a French farmer and his wife, murdered.
Danni quickly flipped around looking for dates. Yes, it was the Yvette who had penned the diary she had read earlier.
She glanced at the book that held the image; it was an old history novel of the area, printed by a college press back in 1910. She glanced quickly at the old flap; the author had been an historian who had lived in nearby New Iberia.
She quickly glanced over the pages that preceded the picture.
While legend had it she’d been murdered by her prospective mother-in-law, the author believed she had been killed by a jealous would-be lover.
Someone furious she would find an English-American more to her liking than someone from her own cultural background.
Danni studied the image of Yvette again. The young woman had been dressed as if for a ball in a beautiful gown. The shoulders dipped down, framed by lace. The bodice appeared to be velvet, low cut—but not too low. She wore a medallion, a fleur-de-lis medallion, not at all unusual anywhere in Louisiana.
Danni jumped when she heard Quinn return, knocking on the door and identifying himself before coming in and locking the door again.
She looked at him.
“I have so much to tell you,” she said.
She rushed into his arms. For a moment they just held one another.
“What about New Orleans? Maybe we can get someone working on it back there—Billie, Father Ryan, Natasha…”
“I’m going to take a run back to the city tomorrow,” he told her. “For now, this is what I know. The bodies in New Orleans were found in almost the exact same state as those here. Larue texted me pictures of the crime scene. One man already dead and disinterred, and a local man murdered just as the young woman. The only difference was that there were not as many bones strewn around the ‘scarecrows.’ Here’s the thing—someone had to know about that cemetery. Most people living there have at least heard of the mansion, but the tourist brochures don’t necessarily talk about the family cemetery. So, someone knew about that cemetery—and this cemetery, and all the legends about scarecrows. Whoever it was, obviously they were in New Orleans and then here. That, to me, implies it does have to be someone who has something to do with Colleen’s group.”
Danni stared searchingly into his eyes. “Maybe—and maybe not. A lot of these people are from different states—and even from different cities in Louisiana. We’re both from New Orleans, but we’d never been in the cemetery out here.”
“Danni, I think it was carefully planned. But one of the CSI women told us a story about a talisman that makes people go crazy. That’s why I told you to be on the lookout for a talisman of some kind. Something small, I think. But…I don’t know. Maybe there’s something—maybe there’s nothing.”
“Are you thinking about Colleen’s guests or clients?”
He shook his head gravely. “No, but her empl
oyees would have been out here as the place was being built—and in NOLA, too.”
Danni nodded. “Yes. But it was one of her employees who was killed—along with a John Doe. And the woman in New Orleans—not sure what a New Orleans tourist could have to do with any of this. Do you know anything about her?”
“Young woman, a tourist just going through New Orleans, or so the landlady at her bed and breakfast told Larue.”
“What was her name?”
“Belinda Cardigan.”
“I’m just wondering—” Danni began.
“So am I. Can you get into the files for the corporation?” Quinn asked her. “Not just the files about people who are here, but anyone who might have come out, who might have been on one of Colleen’s dating sites?”
“Sure, so could you—all we have to do is ask Colleen,” Danni said.
Quinn nodded grimly. “Maybe. Better that you ask. Ellsworth could probably get a search warrant, but that could take time. Call Colleen. Tell her you need access to everything. If the police were to ask—even if I were to ask—being Colleen, she’d be concerned about the privacy rights of her people—even if they are laying it all out on the Internet for everyone to see.”
“You want me to call her now? It’s late.”
He cocked his head as he looked at her, giving her a pained grimace. “Yes, I know it’s late—but I’d also like to head back out.”
“Oh?”
“I want to see the harvest fair grounds.”
Danni nodded. “Okay.” She fumbled on the desk for her cell phone and called Colleen. As she expected, her friend gave her a clear go ahead.
“Of course, anything—anything at all I can do. If we catch the guy who did this to Ally…I’d like to slit his throat myself in turn!” she said. “I’ll tell you how to key into our site and give you my password—that way it will just appear I’ve been in there. Though I don’t know if that matters or not.” She sounded so strong. Then it seemed there was a little catch in her voice again. “I don’t know much about legal matters. Ally and Albert kept me safe and secure. I…uh, well, I still have Albert.”
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