Krewe of Hunters, Volume 1: Phantom Evil ; Heart of Evil ; Sacred Evil ; The Evil Inside

by Heather Graham

  She lay very still on the bed, never sure if she was imagining, or if there was a place somewhere deep in the human soul where one could “see” what had gone on in the past.

  “Annabelle!” the little boy said. He sighed and leaned over to catch the bouncing ball. “You have to drop it right where you are, or it will roll away. Look, watch me.”

  The little boy dropped the ball, collected a number of jacks and caught the ball again. “See?” he said.

  Annabelle nodded and took the ball from him. But her lower lip trembled. “I’m so scared, Percy. I’m so scared. I don’t like it here.”

  “You don’t need to be scared. Mommy and Daddy are here; that nice man, that Mr. Newton, he’s helping us.”

  “I want to go home.”

  “We don’t have a home anymore, Annabelle. We don’t have a home.”

  “Daddy said we were going away.”

  “We will go away, unless Mr. Newton can give Daddy some kind of work. Then Daddy can work, and we can buy a house again, and we won’t have to leave our friends.”

  “Our friends are all gone,” Annabelle said. “They’ve been gone since the war.”

  “The war is over, Annabelle.” The little boy’s voice hardened. “We lost. So now we all have to start over again.”

  Annabelle started to cry.

  Percy took her into his arms, soothing her.

  “There, there, Annabelle. It’s going to be all right….”

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  Jackson Crow’s deep voice interrupted her; the children vanished.

  Angela bolted to a sitting position.

  “Were you napping?” Jackson asked her, incredulous.

  “No, thinking,” she told him. She rose. “What’s going on?”

  “We’re going to lunch.” He might have realized that she was about to say that she would just stay in the house while they went, because he thwarted her attempt before she could make it. “It’s important. I want everyone to have a chance to connect away from here, to get to know one another as much as possible.”

  She nodded. But when he turned away, she paused.

  This room. She had “seen” the children here, and Regina Holloway had been here before walking out on the balcony.

  And then dying.

  “Angela!”

  Jackson Crow was waiting for her.

  “I’m going to move into this room,” she told him.

  “Oh, no,” he said.

  “Oh, yes. It’s going to be important that I do.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” he said. “I respect your abilities, but it’s just not a good idea for anyone to sleep in here. Especially not you.”

  She set her hands on her hips. “I’m not depressed or crazy, and I’m not going over the balcony. I’d like to be in here. I think I may find something.”

  “This is the room we’re investigating,” he said curtly.

  “That would be the point,” she said.

  He stared at her, irritated. “If you move in here, I’ll have to come over to this wing,” he said.

  “No, you don’t have to. Adam Harrison brought me in on this for a reason,” she said with a shrug. “I think that I need to make this room my own. I think it’s important.”

  “Dammit, I’m not leaving you in this part of the house alone.”

  “I was a cop,” she reminded him.

  “Good for you. I am the head of this team.”

  “And, as such, you should use whatever talents Adam Harrison has given you. Jackson, really, I’m not mentally deficient. We are taking serious care with the alarms and the locks, and if you move over to this wing, you’ll be there to rescue me—if I need rescue. I’m not a piece of blond fluff,” she reminded him.

  He looked at her for a minute. “We’re all vulnerable. Weapons don’t really change that. The most accurate shot in the world is vulnerable—”

  “You’re vulnerable. Yes, I know,” Angela said.

  He was quiet for a minute, studying her with his deep, intense blue eyes. She thought he was going to deny her again, insist that he was the head of the team again, and it was his way or the highway.

  But he didn’t.

  He let out a deep, aggravated sigh.

  “All right, fine. When we get back, we’ll settle the rooming situation.”

  She smiled. “That’s great. I’ll be glad to have you near,” she said.

  He arched a brow. “What a smile you have when you get your way,” he noted.

  “Honestly, I think it’s important,” she said.

  “We have a lot that’s important on the agenda now,” he said. “Come on, let’s head out and get lunch, because the senator is due himself this afternoon. And before he gets here, I want to find out what our ghost-hunting ‘children’ intend to do with all the photographic equipment.”

  Still smiling, she preceded him out the doorway.

  The ballroom was empty when they reached it; she looked at Jackson.

  “The kids have gone on,” he said.

  Angela laughed. “They’re not all that young!” she said.

  “Mid-twenties,” he said.

  “Right, and how old are you—Methuselah?”

  “Thirty-four.” A small smile curved into his features. “It’s not the years, kid, it’s the mileage.”

  “Amen,” she murmured, waiting as he set the alarm and then locked the house. “Where are we going?”

  “Maspero’s—you know it?”

  “I do,” she told him.

  As they walked, she said, “You think that Mama Matisse gave us a lot of good information this morning, right?”

  “I think she gave us a great deal. I think Whitney might have mentioned that she was coming.”

  “I think that Whitney would have done so—had she actually had a chance,” Angela said.

  “Perhaps,” he acknowledged.

  “The police must have interviewed the maids after Regina was found. Do you think the cops are trying to hold out on us—that they just want it to be a suicide?”

  “No. I think the police believe that they came to an end on possibilities. They did interview the maids. You heard Mama Matisse. What could the maids have told them—since they weren’t going to talk about seeing a ghost? So, as far as it appeared, the house was locked up. Tight. The alarms were on. There was no sign of a struggle on Regina Holloway’s body.”

  “But do you believe that one of these cults or groups or whatever that hate the senator might be involved?”

  “It’s possible. But Regina Holloway didn’t open her door to anyone, I’m certain.”

  “What do you think about the ‘ghost’ Rene saw in the hallway?” Angela asked.

  “Might have been a ghost in her mind. Or there might have been someone in the house,” Jackson said.

  “But she said that the ‘ghost’ vanished,” Angela said.

  “It’s really the ‘locked room’ mystery. What do you believe about the power of suggestion?” he asked.

  “I think that it can definitely have power,” she told him.

  “A tremendous power,” he said. “Take a fortune-teller. The fortune-teller says something—and the prophecy can be self-fulfilling.”

  “In other words, say that a house is haunted, and you’ll find a ghost?” Angela asked.

  “Something like that.”

  “So you don’t believe in a haunting at all?” Angela asked.

  “I never said that—I believe that we’re all haunted in one way or another,” he said. “To the left, to the left, Miss Hawkins. You’re wandering off on me. The restaurant is right over there.”

  Maspero’s was open and easy, right off the square and popular with tourists. The food was reasonable and good, and the kids had already gotten them a table. The two were seated together on one side, leaving Angela and Jackson the two chairs on the other.

  They’d already ordered appetizers and passed around plates of shrimp and onion rings and boile
d crawfish. Angela realized she was starving and helped herself to the offerings. The group ordered the rest of their meals, and when food arrived and they’d started eating, their conversation turned back to the task at hand.

  “What’s next?” Jake asked.

  “This afternoon, we’re expecting a visit from the senator,” Jackson told him. “And, sometime tonight, Jenna and Will are going to arrive, and our team will be complete.”

  “What do Will and Jenna do?” Angela asked him.

  “Jenna is a nurse—Irish,” Jackson said, shrugging. “And Will is an actor and a musician—an illusionist.”

  “How interesting,” Angela said. “You were a profiler, working in the field. I was a cop. Jake is a musician—”

  “And a computer wizard and sound engineer,” Jackson interrupted.

  “Ah,” Angela murmured.

  “And now we’ll be getting an illusionist—and a nurse,” Whitney said. “And, then, of course, you have me. An expert with cameras, film and what’s fake on them and not.”

  “The nurse must be coming in case we injure ourselves—tangled up in film or sound equipment,” Jake said, grinning.

  Jackson kept quiet. Angela thought that there had to be another reason they were getting a woman who was a nurse. She looked at Jackson, but he just said, “Will has gained a tremendous reputation for his illusions. He was asked to do a show for one of the paranormal TV networks. He turned it down.”

  “That’s interesting,” Whitney said. She looked around at them all, and then sighed. “Jackson must know this—I was working for a cable program—and I was accused of doctoring the film to create an effect. And I didn’t, and I was furious that anyone would think that I had. Anyway, I probably should have just said that I did it, let everyone have a laugh and gone on to get back to work. But I didn’t doctor the film, and the film wound up disappearing, and I quit before I could be fired.”

  “What was on the film?” Angela asked.

  “It looked like the ghost of a floating woman. We were out at one of the plantations. All kinds of companies have filmed out there, and you know, when it’s going to be on television they reenact the ‘haunting.’ The thing is, we hadn’t even started working on the images yet—and there she was. I don’t know how they think I pulled it off—minus an actress, lighting, editing equipment—but, supposedly, I did.”

  “Intriguing,” Angela said, looking at Jackson.

  “There’s usually something that isn’t what it appears, and it usually is manipulated,” Jackson said. “Anyway, Will and Whitney are our film team, Jake is a computer whiz—he can, and has, hacked into many places.” He smiled, staring at Jake.

  “Nothing terrible. I just know my way around a computer,” Jake said in his defense.

  When the meal ended, Jackson suggested that he and Angela go back—just in case the senator arrived early—while the others went and did some grocery shopping.

  They left Jake and Whitney at the corner store on Royal, and headed on up toward Dauphine.

  The house seemed just a house when they reached it again. Jackson opened the door and keyed in the alarm.

  “You’re still sure you want to sleep in Regina Holloway’s bedroom?” Jackson asked her.

  “Absolutely,” she said earnestly.

  “Okay, then we’ll pack up our things and move to that wing. I’ll take the bedroom right next to it.”

  They set about the task. As they did so, Angela realized that once the other two arrived, all six of them could be in the house—and not even run into one another unless they descended to the kitchen or the courtyard at the same time.

  She had just brought her belongings into the room and stepped out onto the balcony over the courtyard when the gate swung open and a black limousine drove in.

  The driver stepped out. He was tall, dark-haired and handsome. He smiled, displaying deep dimples as he opened the back door. That had to be Grable Haines.

  First out was a hulk. A true hulk. She assumed it was the senator’s bodyguard, Blake Conroy. He was clean-shaven bald, and muscled like a Titan.

  Another tall man, lean and almost elegant looking, got out of the car. He seemed to be about thirty-five, and moved with a fluid grace—and darting eyes. More than the bodyguard, he seemed to be on the lookout. He had to be Martin DuPre, the senator’s aide.

  She’d seen pictures of Senator Holloway. He was a striking man, as tall as the chauffeur, solid and lean in build, with graying dark hair and a face that was well sculpted, but showing signs of strain and character. Sad in a way that she felt as if her heart tightened, watching him.

  He looked up at the house and saw her looking down, and for a moment, his weathered features tensed; his hand came to his chest, tightly clenched.

  She realized she was standing where his wife would have stood.

  Before falling.

  Before being pushed.

  Before dying.

  She winced, and perhaps her horror at her accidental faux pas was evident, because he smiled at her then, lifted a hand and waved.

  Then Jackson stepped out from the dining room doors below to greet the senator, and she quickly stepped away from the balcony and back into the bedroom.

  She paused for a minute, wondering if she might feel anything of the woman who had lived here so briefly.

  But there was nothing, and so she started to leave the room. And then, as she did so, she thought that she felt something. A touch on her cheek. A gentle touch. Something so light it might have been imagined.

  “Regina?” she said softly.

  But again, there was nothing. And so she hurried down the stairs, anxious to meet the senator—and the men who followed behind him.

  CHAPTER SIX

  “Good to meet you, Mr. Crow. You know, I’m grateful to Adam Harrison for setting up this team.” Age became Senator Holloway. He was barely forty but looked more like fifty—a good fifty. His graying hair was left alone to gray. He had good teeth when he tried to offer a smile, and his handshake was firm.

  “We’re here to do everything that we can,” Jackson assured him.

  He turned. Angela, a little breathless, had come out the doors to stand behind him and to his side.

  “Miss Hawkins?” the senator asked, offering a hand.

  “Yes, I’m Angela,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. And I’m so sorry. I saw the way that you looked up at me, and—”

  “Not to worry,” David Holloway told her. His smile was poignant. “I thought I saw an angel standing there for a minute. I understand you’re here to investigate, and that’s where you need to be in order to investigate.”

  “Senator Holloway, you did find your wife, right?” Jackson asked him.

  Holloway looked over at Jackson. “You know that, of course. You’ve read the police reports.”

  “I’m sorry. I need you to go over everything again. With me,” Jackson said.

  “Why don’t we go inside,” Angela suggested. She looked at the senator steadily. “Regina had an amazing talent as a decorator and homemaker. The house was coming along beautifully.”

  “Yes, she was talented, wasn’t she?” the senator said. He looked up at the house for a minute, as if he wanted to refuse to go in. But he said, “I like the kitchen.”

  “We’ll go hang around the kitchen table then,” Angela said.

  “Let me introduce everyone and make sure I’ve got it right, but even without files…” Jackson said, smiling. “I’m Jackson Crow, and this is Angela Hawkins. You are Blake Conroy, bodyguard, right?” He said to the massive bald man. He didn’t think that a man with so much bulk—even muscled bulk—might have scaled walls. “And, Martin DuPre,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “We may be calling on you frequently, Martin.” DuPre’s Armani suit couldn’t conceal his litheness. And he stood close to the senator, a protective barrier, despite the hulky bodyguard nearby. “And Grable Haines, you are responsible for getting everyone everywhere, right?”

  “I
go where the senator tells me,” Haines said. “That’s my job to serve Senator Holloway’s needs.”

  “Let’s go in and talk for a few minutes,” Jackson said. He wanted to split them up. As they went through the courtyard doors, he said, “Senator, would you take a walk with Angela and tell her everything that you did the night you found Regina?”

  Holloway’s mouth was grim, but he nodded.

  “Senator?” Angela said softly.

  It was evident that she had struck a sympathetic chord with the man. They might not get new evidence today, but at least he could see the dynamics between the men who served Senator Holloway, and perhaps get a better sense of the man who had believed so fully in his wife that he would not accept a verdict of suicide.

  Angela looked back at him gravely. He nodded, and she smiled grimly. It was a good communication. He may not like her and he might well be convinced still that she was a loon, but he trusted her with talking to the man; she knew it.

  Maybe they were becoming something of a team.

  “Did you come in through the front door that day?” Angela asked Senator Holloway. “Forgive me if I ask you to repeat too much. I know this is hard.”

  “Yes,” he said. While Jackson had ushered the chauffeur, the bodyguard and the aide into the kitchen, she walked down the hall to the great ballroom with the senator. He stood there a minute, his eyes filled with sadness as he looked around the room. He frowned, noting the cameras and lights and screens set up, but then the frown faded and he just looked sad again as he surveyed the furniture, covered in dust cloths and shoved against the walls.

  “It would have been beautiful,” he said.

  “You still own it,” she reminded him.

  He shook his head. “We really weren’t fanciful people. We didn’t believe in ghosts, and the house had been bought and abandoned, bought and abandoned over the years…its reputation had made it a deal when we bought it.” Holloway studied her gravely. “But you dug up bones—right after you got here. I knew if I went to Adam Harrison, he’d find the right people.”