Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  Matt took her arm and they moved a short distance. Private Murphy came to the fence; he hardly seemed aware of Matt. His face was seamed with dirt and sweat, but his smile was as sweet and sad as it had been a decade earlier. She’d thought him old when she’d originally met him. Now she knew he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five or twenty-six when he died.

  “You’re all grown up, miss,” he said.

  “Private Murphy.” Her voice was barely a whisper.

  He’d been a handsome young man, strong and fit—and brought down by war.

  “We brought the flowers to Rosy,” she told him.

  “I knew you would,” he said. “You’ve come to find your friend.”

  “She’s…here? You’ve seen her?” Meg asked. Her heart sank. It had to mean Lara was no longer alive.

  But Private Murphy shook his head. “I’ve felt her near…but not among the dead. I feel her, as if she is calling for help. And now you’re here. I pray that you find her.” He glanced over his shoulder. “Thank you,” he said. “My company is moving on.”

  He reached out to touch her face. Meg didn’t know quite what she felt, whether it was something cold, or something so warm that it stretched across time and life and death. And then he turned and began to trudge wearily with the others, marching on to fight again—perhaps his last battle.

  Matt pulled her back into his arms. “We need to get some rest. Now. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll understand what he was saying.”

  “He was real,” she said urgently. “You saw him. You heard him, too.”

  “I did. And I think we need to look at this another way now, too.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean we need to consider the possibility that she’s being held somewhere. And because of what happened yesterday, she could be in real danger. We have to find her before Congressman Walker gives his speech—and we’re going to need help.”

  “What kind of help?” Meg asked.

  “Angela Hawkins help. Krewe help. If she’s being held, it’s someplace where there are no windows, where she has no chance of getting out. Where she has no way of communicating. Except through the power of her mind, which may be how you saw her. But we’ll be no good to anyone if we don’t get some sleep. Time to go back,” he said, leading her to the car.

  Meg wondered how she was ever going to sleep with so many thoughts—and fears—rushing through her mind. Matt was quiet, too, as they returned to the bed-and-breakfast. When they entered, they could hear Killer barking excitedly. Charlene met them at the door, smiling, a book in her hand.

  “Boy, that dog knew you two were here the minute the car pulled into the drive!” she said. “Did you have a nice dinner?”

  “Yes, very. I love the tavern,” Meg said.

  “Well, I guess I’ll head off to bed. You locked the main door?” Charlene asked.

  “I did,” Matt replied.

  They went down the hall toward their bedrooms. Killer trotted beside them, and as Matt started to go in one door and Meg in the other, he stood there, confused.

  Matt laughed. “I think he wants us together. Clever little thing. Even if he is ugly.”

  “Stop that. He can hear you.”

  Matt bent down. “But you’re wonderful,” he told the dog.

  Meg smiled, then escaped into her room; Killer apparently made up his mind and followed her.

  She had to shower. All she could remember for a moment was the horror of the dried-out tongue, still bearing dried-out blood, and the muck and blood of the ethereal soldiers as they trooped back across the war-torn fields.

  She showered quickly. She was so tired and yet, everything, all her emotions, felt…so new. She’d never experienced this intense need to be held.

  She was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t expect to see anything, and yet when she came out of the shower, with the mist steaming from the bathroom, she did.

  Genie Gonzales was back…seated on the foot of her bed, Killer curled up beside her, gazing up at her adoringly.

  “Genie, please try… Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  The apparition faded and flared—like a bad hologram. And then grew more solid again.

  “It was a man,” she said finally. “I never saw his face. He was in a black sedan. He had a map in his hands and he called out…asking for help. I bent down to the driver’s door…and then…nothing. I could see around me, but I knew I was dead. And I saw Killer coming to the morgue…and I saw your kindness to my dog.”

  “A map? So he asked you for directions? He lured you to the car?” Meg asked.

  Genie stared at her, eyes huge and luminous, as if they were about to shed ghostly tears.

  “Stop him, please, stop him…”

  Then she was gone, and that time, when the image wavered, it didn’t return.

  Meg was in a towel, so she couldn’t go rushing into the hallway. Then she remembered that she was on the ground floor and the rooms connected. She hurried to the door and twisted both locks on her side, and flung open the first door to pound on Matt’s.

  He opened it, wearing a towel, as well. For once, she hardly noticed.

  “She was here again. I think she can break through because of Killer,” Meg said breathlessly. “She doesn’t know who killed her, but it was definitely a man, and he lured her to the car. He had a map, and he was pretending to be lost. A black sedan—he was driving a black sedan. They need to do more than just search Congressman Walker’s cars—they need to tear them apart. They should be looking for hairs and fibers and anything else that could possibly be in there.”

  Matt nodded. Then he drew her into his arms. “We’ll get them going on that in the morning,” he promised. “But I believe the killer was very careful. No struggle. He knocked his victims out. He didn’t kill them in the cars—he killed them somewhere he couldn’t be seen, and always by a body of water.” He pulled back and said, “We have to find Lara.”

  “Yes.”

  He took her in his arms again then and held her. But a minute later, she became aware that all he was wearing was that towel. She eased far enough away to hold his face in her hands and kiss him.

  And that let her forget the rigors of the day.

  Later, as they lay together, she said, “You really do have a way with words, Agent Bosworth.”

  “I like to think I’m good with my hands, too,” he said with a laugh. “Sometimes words aren’t necessary. But… I can come up with a few good ones, if you wish,” he said. And with his lips against her bare skin, he began to whisper a few of them, until she was laughing, too, and in his arms again…

  Finally, she started to drift off. He was right; they needed sleep.

  She was going to find Lara—and she was going to find the monster who had killed Genie Gonzales and the other women. They deserved justice.

  And she was going to see that they received it.

  * * *

  She had some distance to go as an agent, Meg decided when she opened her eyes the next morning. Matt woke at the slightest sound, but when she fell into a deep sleep, he could shower, dress and be out of the room—without her noticing a thing. Maybe his ability to wake up so quickly had to do with his military experience. Or maybe it was just another talent that some people had and some didn’t—and she was a “didn’t.”

  She rose and slipped back through the connecting door to her own room. She expected to find Killer waiting for her, jumping around with joy at her arrival. But he wasn’t there and she knew that Matt must’ve taken him out for a walk.

  Dressed and ready in ten minutes, she held still for a moment and closed her eyes, then opened them again. No ghosts appeared before her. Soon after, she went into the breakfast room. Both Peter and Charlene were there; breakfast was ready in chafing dishes, and Matt w
as carrying on a conversation with their hosts and the other guests, Mr. and Mrs. Avery.

  Peter introduced her to the pair—Jordan and Sylvia. They were in costume, Jordan in his butternut-and-gray uniform and Sylvia in a Victorian day dress.

  Killer was sitting obediently by Matt’s chair.

  “We’re a bit early for the annual reenactment,” Sylvia said, indicating her elaborate garb. “But Jordan’s company has a special luncheon today. The men under General Armistead at Pickett’s Charge have a get-together with the men who reenact General Hancock’s Irish Brigade. Always breaks my heart. Armistead’s mortal wounding was somewhat romanticized in that wonderful book by Michael Shaara, The Killer Angels, but the emotion behind it was so real. Armistead and Hancock both served as quartermasters in California before the war, and when Armistead chose to go with his state and the Confederacy, he said to Hancock, ‘You can never know what this has cost me.’”

  “I suppose this is one of the reasons we remember,” Jordan said. “Best friends, sons and fathers, brothers—all torn apart. It should teach us today to listen to one another, to establish real equality for everyone and do whatever we can to keep such a tragedy from happening again.” He sniffed. “Members of Congress should be made to take part in one of these reenactments. Maybe they’d quit name-calling and do what they swear they’re going to do—serve the country!”

  “Now, now, dear, these are government agents,” Sylvia said.

  Matt laughed. “Hey, we’re American citizens, too. And we’d love to see congress get along.”

  “You’re here with Walker’s party?” Jordan asked. When Matt nodded, he said, “Well, he isn’t a bad guy. Not as good as Hubbard—that man was a shoo-in. But Walker’s all right. But what if you were asked to protect a politician you didn’t like?”

  “We’d still watch over him. Our personal opinions don’t enter into it,” Matt said. “Our vow is to protect our country and our people, whether we like them or agree with them—or not.”

  Sylvia grinned. “Well, I think you should run for congress, Matt!”

  “No way!” Matt vowed, and they all laughed.

  “Have you been here for a reenactment?” Jordan asked.

  “Many times,” Meg said, and Matt nodded.

  “Visit us at the camp if you get a chance,” Sylvia said. “My great-great-great-grandfather was a surgeon in the Civil War. Jordan’s ancestor was a Rebel, mine was a Yankee. I switch around at the camps.”

  “If the war was happening now, we would’ve been in opposite camps,” Jordan said.

  “But I’d have followed you anywhere,” Sylvia said.

  “You’re the best, babe,” her husband teased. “You know, Mary Lincoln had to turn her back on her family because of her husband.”

  “I’d do that, too, if I had to,” Sylvia insisted.

  “Aww.” Charlene rolled her eyes to more laughter. “How sweet.”

  Matt looked over at Meg. “We should pack up and get going,” he said. “You ready?”

  Meg had managed to down a cup of coffee and an egg-and-cheese croissant as they talked. They couldn’t get into the MacAndrew until later in the afternoon but they told Jordan and Sylvia Avery that they hoped to see them again. Sylvia scratched out some notes for them.

  “If you want to check out some Civil War surgery, this is where I’ll be ‘assisting,’” she explained. “Not everything is allowed on park service property, but we rent from a farmer every year and we can do full-scale theatrical work. I’m hoping we’ll be able to continue to do that. We’re next to the ruins of the Brewer mansion, and the property has just been purchased. I don’t know who bought it—hopefully, an historian—and that he or she won’t object to our goings-on every year. Anyway…stop by if you can.”

  Meg thanked her. Normally, she loved to go to the reenactment camps, but doubted she’d have the opportunity during this trip. They left soon after, Killer at their heels.

  “Where are we off to? Any ideas?” Meg asked Matt.

  “You’re supposed to call the shots.”

  “But I’m not sure how. So…any ideas?” she repeated.

  “How about a drive around the park, which will take us some time,” Matt replied. “The problem is that we don’t have a lot of time. There are museums everywhere, as well as the cemeteries and battlefields. I’m sure you and Lara went to all of them at one time or other. But hopefully, we’ll be able to narrow things down when Angela gets back to me.”

  “Oh? What did you ask her to do? And what about Congressman Hubbard? Do we have any results from his autopsy yet?”

  He nodded grimly. “We know there was no sign of digitalis in his system. Of course, embalming has taken its toll. But Kat and Dr. Wong agree that the death is suspicious. Maddie Hubbard found him with his pills strewn around. He probably went for his digitalis. But what he took was probably some kind of placebo. His death wasn’t a guaranteed result, but for a man in his condition, switching out his pills created a good likelihood that he’d die.”

  “So, sometime during the day of his death, someone switched his pills,” Meg said thoughtfully. “He was at a picnic after a busy day with other congressmen, aides, et cetera. And the pills are all gone, since Maddie was so diligent about that. But there’s nothing we can prove—and we don’t know who might’ve done it.”

  “It lends credence to the possibility that somebody made Lara disappear. She probably suspected the truth. And she probably has a good idea of who’s guilty. But Angela will call with more information soon. The Walker party isn’t due until tonight and it’s still early, so let’s do what we can do. Are you okay with going to the park?”

  Matt was at the wheel but they were parked in front of their bed-and-breakfast as he waited for her opinion.

  “We used to go everywhere around here,” she said, stroking Killer, who lay quietly on her lap. “Lara loved the Jennie Wade House. Remember poor Jennie? She was the only civilian killed in the battle. She was baking bread for Union troops when shots came through the windows. She supposedly haunts the area, but… I’ve never seen her. And Lara loved the train station where Lincoln arrived. Also the Lincoln museum… Lee’s headquarters and the park itself,” Meg said. “So, yes, I guess going around the park is a good plan.”

  They drove for a while, starting at the visitor center, following their private trail, hers and Lara’s, stopping at monuments. Each place they went, Meg tried to feel something. But all she felt was that she was spinning her wheels. If Lara was in hiding, the first place she would’ve gone was to Peter’s. He would’ve kept her secret. But she sensed that he hadn’t even known about her disappearance…

  “Think you can find your Private Murphy again?” Matt asked.

  “I’m told we only see the ‘residual’ hauntings of the men marching to or from battle when the sun has fallen, when mist lies over the land,” she murmured.

  Lara had seen those men when she and Meg had gone to the battlefield together. Lara claimed she only saw them because Meg had described them so well, but Meg knew better. Lara, too, could see the dead. And she had the ability to enter Meg’s mind.

  Matt’s phone rang. Angela. He put her on speakerphone.

  “You do realize,” Angela said, “that when people refer to the Underground Railroad, they don’t always mean underground. Many people hid escaped slaves in their attics, smokehouses, barns and so on.”

  “Yes, of course.” Meg wondered why Angela was pointing this out.

  “But there were many places in the Gettysburg area that were part of the Underground Railroad. I’ve done a dozen computer searches with Will’s help, and I have a list of locations you can check out—and a few you’re not supposed to. I’m sending it to your phones in an email attachment. The problem you two have is that you’re government agents, and if you go where you’re not supposed to and some
one wants you arrested—well, you’d better be damned good at pretending you were just tourists.”

  Matt started to thank Angela but she interrupted him. “Oh, and I’ve cross-referenced what you asked, Matt,” she added. “So far, I haven’t found what you’re looking for, but then property is often purchased under corporate names, so I’m researching the corporations that recently purchased property in remote or heavily farmed areas in Adams County.”

  When Angela rang off, Meg asked, “What exactly is she looking for?”

  He smiled. “Anyone associated with Congressman Walker’s party who might own property in this area. Someplace that might sit over old foundations, or had tunnels for the Underground Railroad, or covered wells. That kind of thing.”

  Her heartbeat quickened. “Someplace you might keep a prisoner?”

  “Yes.”

  “Or hide a body.”

  “I don’t believe Lara’s dead. Private Murphy said he felt her presence. She knew about you, right? Your talent? Maybe she even shared it. She saw Private Murphy, too, right?”

  Meg nodded.

  “That’s my point. If she was dead, she would’ve reached you. She’s alive, and she managed to enter your mind or appear before you that one time—but it’s hard for her because she is alive. I really believe that.”

  “Let’s head over to the Virginia Monument on Seminary Ridge,” Meg suggested. “It was one of Lara’s favorites.”

  Matt drove to the monument and they stopped. Dogs weren’t allowed in the cemetery or the visitor center, but they could be taken onto the battlefield if they were leashed. Killer had hopped out every time they’d left the car—well behaved on his little leash. At the Virginia Monument, he barked and seemed anxious.