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.
CHAPTER 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 constantly. 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.
They walked downhill to the meeting point. Jenny, the guide that night, also greeted Meg with a hug and seemed pleased to meet Matt. “You being here makes me a little nervous,” she told Meg. “Makes me feel I’d better get it right!”
“You always have everything right,” Meg assured her.
Matt tried to pay for the tour, but Jenny, too, refused to accept any money.
There were few places in the world quite like Harpers Ferry. Darkness had settled over the valleys between the mountains like a cloak. Historic buildings crouched together, and while there were night-lights along the historic trails, the atmosphere seemed to whisper of the past, of ghosts.
Jenny started by pointing out Harper House, explaining that in 1747 Robert Harper had come to the beautiful spot that had then been known as “the hole.” An architect and millwright, he’d fallen in love with the place where the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers met, where water was such a tremendous power. He’d purchased the land from a man who had squatter’s rights—Peter Stephens, who was running a ferry—under Lord Fairfax, and from Lord Fairfax himself. And thus, Harpers Ferry was born.
Jefferson would call it one of the most beautiful spots on earth; Washington would arrive and assess the potential.
It would become an effective place for munitions and, later, a battleground that was fiercely contested in the Civil War.
“And now…” Jenny told the tour that people often saw Mrs. Harper in the windows. Harper had died before the house was finished; he’d asked his wife to look after their gold, and it was assumed that when she died, she remained behind to keep vigil over it.
The John Brown Raid was next on the agenda. But while Jenny talked about John Brown and told everyone about his desire to begin a slave revolt, Matt noted a boy of about ten hovering on the outskirts of the group of twelve.
“Dangerfield Newby, one of Brown’s men, was the first to be killed in the action. Sadly, by friendly fire from Brown’s own party. His was a sorry tale. His white father had freed him, but when he’d tried to buy his wife and children from a slave-owner, he was told—as soon as he’d earned the required money—that the price had gone up. Angry and desperate, he’d joined with John Brown. The people here, terrified of a slave revolt, had torn the poor man’s body to shreds and fed it to the hogs, which is why we still have Hog Alley.”
As Jenny talked, going on to tell the crowd how the ghost of Dangerfield Newby was often seen on a foggy night, Matt noticed that the boy was watching Meg.
The boy seemed determined to come around and reach her.
Matt shifted his own position. The kid wasn’t trying to interrupt the guide and he didn’t seem to intend any harm.
Nonetheless, Matt stayed nearby. When Jenny said the group was moving on, the young boy walked up to Meg.
Meg obviously realized he was coming and turned around. A smile lit her face; Matt was startled by the way that smile touched him. He felt something tugging at him; he wasn’t sure whether it was about his emotions—or his libido.
“Joey,” Meg said softly, although they were approaching the steps to the upper level—the cemetery, the ruins of one church and the beautiful Catholic church that had survived the war because its canny priest had continued to hoist the British flag, which stopped both sides from firing on it.
She knew the boy. So they weren’t seeing
a ghost who might help, but maybe this child could.
“Meg.” The boy started to speak. Then, seeing Matt, he hesitated. He reached out to pet Killer, who was in Meg’s arms.
“It’s okay, Joey, Matt’s with me,” Meg told the boy. “This is Matt Bosworth. He’s a federal agent—like me.” She turned to Matt. “Joey’s family and my family are friends. His house is near my parents’ house.” She glanced around. “Um, are your mom and dad here, Joey?”
The boy was reluctant to answer, and Matt assumed that Meg would address this later, when they had a little more privacy.
“Hi, Joey, nice to meet you,” he said.
Joey stared up at him, still a little wary.
“Maybe I should follow the tour and let you two catch up,” Matt said.
“He’s really okay,” Meg told Joey.
“Oh, you’re, like, friends, right?” Joey asked.
“Good friends,” Matt said.
“Oh.” Joey nodded wisely, as if he’d determined they were actually more than friends—as in a romantic pair.
He seemed to like that concept, and neither of them corrected him.
“Have you seen Lara?” Joey asked worriedly.
“No, in fact, I’m looking for her,” Meg told him. “Have you seen her?”
Joey nodded again.
“Recently?” Meg asked.
Joey shook his head. “But it wasn’t that long ago. I can’t remember exactly. She was here a couple weeks ago.”
“I’m so glad you saw her,” Meg said. “Do you know where she was staying?”
“She didn’t stay. She said she’d just come for the day.”
“Where did you see her?” Matt asked him.
He waved toward the car lot. “She parked, and then she came up the steps.” He paused to look at Matt. “You know her—she’s so nice. She and Meg…” He paused again with a slightly embarrassed smile. “Well, they’re nice. They like kids. So I ran after her when she went up the steps. I wanted to say hi.”
“That was very sweet,” Meg said. “Where did she go?”
“She stopped in the church and she was kneeling, so I thought maybe something bad happened, or maybe she didn’t want to be disturbed. But then she walked up to Harper Cemetery. I followed her there.” He grinned at Matt. “First we stopped at the other John Brown’s grave. All the kids know about John Brown’s head.”
Matt was anxious for whatever information Joey had, but he was ten or so. At that age, kids would keep talking as long as you let them.
“Yeah, it’s a creepy story,” he said. “It happened years later, and it wasn’t the John Brown, but a John Brown, who had himself buried standing up, with his head in glass. He paid a guy to watch for seven days to see if he’d come back to life.”
“And then,” Meg continued, “the glass broke and the head came off and rolled around and kids thought it was a toy. They played kickball with it, until someone rescued it. He sent it to the widow, who assured him that she had her John Brown’s head. John Brown is a fairly common name, except that in Harpers Ferry, everyone immediately assumes it means only one John Brown.”
Joey nodded enthusiastically. “Kids still like to play in the cemetery,” he said, grinning up at Matt.
“I love cemeteries, too,” he told Joey with a smile.
“Hey, you guys coming?” Jenny called to them.
Meg raised a hand. “We’ll catch up!” she called back.
Jenny went on with her tour.
“So what else did Lara do at the cemetery?” Meg asked.
“Well, she walked around looking at graves,” Joey said. “She seemed okay. I went up to her and she hugged me, but she acted kind of…weird, so I asked her if she was okay. She smiled and said she was fine. She was glad to see me, she wanted to know about Little League and all… But before she left, we walked to Jefferson Rock. We were looking out over the river and she talked about the great legends and how much she loves it here, even if bad things happened a long time ago. They were a lesson to us all,” he added breathlessly. “That’s what she said—a lesson to us all. We sat on the rock for a while and then she had to go back to work. But she told me if I saw you, I was supposed to say you should go to the cemetery. She said you’d understand what that means. I didn’t know when I’d see you again, but I heard my mom talking about how you were in town. So I—I came out to find you.”
“We’ll walk you home,” Meg insisted.
“I’m not supposed to be out. I’ll just sneak back in.”
“How about this,” Matt suggested. “We’ll walk you back to where we can see you get inside your house.”
Joey shrugged. “Sure. It’s a lot of walking, though.”
“That’s okay. We need the exercise.” Meg flashed him a glance like nothing he’d seen from her yet. It was appreciation. She might actually like him a little bit for this. Or, at least, not dislike him quite so much.
They walked back up the hill with Joey. Killer trotted beside the child, happy to be in his company.
They passed a house with a plaque announcing that it had been Stonewall Jackson’s headquarters when he was in Harpers Ferry. A block later, Joey paused and knelt down to stroke Killer.
“We’ll watch from here,” Meg said. “And thanks so much, Joey. I guess no one else knew she was here because she just went to the church and then the cemetery—and left.”
Joey nodded.
Meg asked, “She was okay, though, right?”
“She seemed really…thoughtful, I don’t know, like my mom sometimes gets.”
“Hurry into your house. We’ll watch until you go inside,” Matt said.
Joey gave Meg an impulsive hug and Matt a wave, then ran toward his house. They waited until he’d slipped through a side door.
“Which one does your family own?” Matt asked.
“Opposite side.” Meg pointed out a house just behind Joey’s, built in the colonial style.
“Nice place.”
“My folks will never let it go. But they’re both retired. My mom worked for the park service and my dad was a teacher.”
“No siblings?”
“No. That’s why Lara was like a sister. She was an only child, too, and had lost her parents, as you know. My parents adored her and her aunt, Nancy, and so did my grandfather. We all spent lots of time together.” She turned and looked at Matt. “Let’s get to the cemetery.”
“Thank God for moonlight,” Matt said. “You have a flashlight?”
She reached into her pocket. “Of course. Do you have yours?”
“Of course,” he said, mimicking her. “I’ve been out in the field a long time. And I’ve been through another academy besides the FBI.”
“What’s that?” she asked.
“Life,” he told her.
* * *
Slash had left his car in a parking lot in Bolivar—abutting Harpers Ferry—and rented a flashy little sports car, easier to maneuver on mountains and hilly roads, instead. But Harpers Ferry was such a small, tight-knit town, plus the main drive down the hill was a tourist mecca, so he’d parked it, too. Why attract unnecessary attention?
For the past hour, he’d been walking. Uphill, downhill, following these wretched people.
Now they were going downhill again.
He had to make sure he couldn’t be seen. There was no explanation for him to be in Harpers Ferry, other than that he was hoping to find Lara, too, and then he’d be on their radar, a definite suspect.
They should have been huffing and puffing. Slash had to admit that fitness training at the academy had to be good. The two ahead of him didn’t even seem winded.
He stayed some distance back. As he waited, he saw the kid go through the side door. Curious, he made his way over to the house.
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He could move well. He didn’t seem to have the wind or the ease of the agents, but he had learned to move like a spirit in the night. It was too bright out for him—the damned moon just had to be full—but what was he going to do?
Be careful. Be very careful.
He got closer to the house. He hadn’t been able to hear what the kid had told the agents.
At the house, he slunk against the wall and peered through the window. There was no sign of the kid. A pretty woman—a blonde—was at the kitchen window washing dishes. A man came in and slid his arms around her waist.
He listened the best he could to their conversation, watching their lips move. He’d gotten pretty good at lip-reading through the years. The conversation was boring.
The husband said he’d had a long day at work. She’d been busy with the PTA.
She was very pretty.
Long, wavy blonde hair. About five-six. He studied her and smiled.
Maybe…
But for now, the agents were getting a little too far ahead of him.
And he had to find out what the hell they were doing here.
What they knew. And what they might discover.
* * *
The cemetery sat at the top of the hill. When Robert Harper died, there’d only been three houses in the area, but Harper had set the four acres aside for a cemetery.
In the moonlight, the gravestones were beautifully, hauntingly opaque. The night’s fog was swirling around the graves.
Killer was oddly calm and quiet, staying close to Meg’s feet. It was almost as if the dog sensed that they were in a sacred place, that they walked among the dead.
If the tour group had come to the cemetery, they’d already moved on. While the puffs of fog hugging the graves might have been spooky to some, they were reassuring to her. As a child, she, like Joey, had played here.
She never saw the dead at the Harper Cemetery. They didn’t seem to linger. There was talk that Father Michael Costello could be seen walking the heights, still protecting the church he’d presided over during the Civil War—raising his British flag to prevent the opposing forces from firing upon it. She’d never seen him, but she didn’t mind believing the legend that he still walked these steep paths.
Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5 Page 16