Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  Meanwhile, she was reeling from the fact that two people had been found murdered right where the majestic elk had been standing earlier. Right where the bodies had been in the pictures.

  And then there was that wacko in town who had warned her to be careful and had said she was “one of us,” whatever that might mean.

  In one day, her world had gone mad.

  “Tell me again about your day, Mrs. McCullough,” her interrogator said. Lieutenant Gray was somewhere between thirty-five and forty. He’d started out in a suit, but his jacket was gone now, his sleeves rolled up. His hair was military short, and his eyes were tired, his face haggard. His name fit him very well, she thought.

  Though she had told him a dozen times that she was divorced, he insisted on calling her Mrs. McCullough. Somehow it seemed especially painful to hear that name tonight.

  They never would have treated her like this if Diego was there, she thought.

  And it was true. He would have stopped them cold.

  She had told Lieutenant Gray as much. He hadn’t been impressed.

  “The guy divorced you, huh?” he’d said at one point, his tone implying that whoever her husband had been, he’d been smart to separate from her.

  She felt like a little kid, desperately hoping that someone bigger and tougher really would come to defend her.

  And he would come, wouldn’t he? She’d made him her first phone call, and miraculously, he’d answered. He’d certainly sounded as if he intended to get here as soon as possible.

  By morning, she hoped.

  “Mrs. McCullough?” Gray repeated. “Pay attention. Tell me about your day again.”

  “I woke up. I showered. I made tea. I had a bowl of cereal. I checked my email,” Scarlet said. “I went downstairs and spent the morning cataloging a display case of Civil War weapons. I inspected each for its condition, which I noted in the records. I went through the old display cards to find out when each piece was received by the museum. At noon I went back upstairs to my apartment and ate a tuna fish sandwich. No, wait, it was closer to twelve thirty, I think. But the sandwich was definitely tuna,” she said, trying very hard to maintain her temper. “At one o’clock I was back downstairs. I’ve been making notes on the different mannequins, their composition, the year they were donated to or commissioned by the museum or, before the museum’s funding, by the current owner of the Conway Ranch during the years when it was only a private collection. I began working on that project soon after I got here, about two months ago.”

  “How late did you work?” he asked her.

  “At four thirty I decided it was time to quit for the day. I went back upstairs and got my camera—I purchased it at the airport in Miami when I was coming out here. I have the receipt somewhere in the apartment. Wait—no,” she added, furrowing her brows. “I think it was more like four forty-five. And I didn’t go outside right away. I checked my email again first. Then I went out to take pictures. I saw a bull elk, who was practically posing for me. After that I went back to the ranch, where I talked to Ben Kendall. On the way I saw Angus Fillmore, Terry Ballantree and the Bartons down by the stables. Oh, and…”

  “And?” he prompted.

  “Horses,” she said gravely. “There were horses at the stables.”

  He sat back. “I don’t think you understand the trouble you’re in,” he said severely.

  She shook her head. “Why? Over pictures that don’t exist? That we thought we saw hours before the murders probably took place?”

  She didn’t know that for a fact, but it had to be true. There certainly hadn’t been any bodies there when she’d taken the pictures.

  He pointed a finger at her. “Ben Kendall saw those pictures. They existed—and you erased them as soon as you realized what you’d shown him.”

  “Do you want me to tell you about the rest of my day again?” she asked.

  “Go on—but we might be where we need to be already.”

  “You have to be kidding.”

  “Do I look like I’m joking?”

  “I went back to the museum. I went upstairs. I heard a thump. I called Ben, wondering if he’d given the key to someone so they could look around the museum. He said he hadn’t. Then he came over and we looked around together. We saw that the statue of Nathan Kendall had fallen over, so we picked it up. He talked about putting in an alarm system, then went back to the house. I got my things and went into town for dinner. I can give you a list of the places I went and the people I talked to.”

  He shoved a pad and pencil toward her. “I’ll take it,” he said grimly.

  “I’ll be happy to make you a list, but this is ridiculous. I spoke with my ex-husband, and I am not lying to you, he’s a federal agent. He’s on his way here, and he’ll—”

  She stopped abruptly. And he’ll show you who’s boss! she’d almost said. Now she wasn’t just thinking like a scared child, she was sounding like one.

  “He’ll speak to your superiors and straighten everything out,” she said.

  Gray shrugged. “Ex-husband?” he said. “I’m sure he’s just soaring his way right here.”

  She felt her cheeks burn.

  He didn’t know Diego. Diego would come.

  There was a tap at the door. Lieutenant Gray scowled at her and went to answer it, leaving her alone in the interrogation room. She wondered if people were watching her from behind the glass, the way they did on TV.

  She took the pad and began to write. A moment later, Lieutenant Gray, looking disgruntled, returned to the room.

  “You can go,” he told her.

  “Just like that?” she asked surprised.

  “I can lock you up for twenty-four hours if you’d rather.”

  She stood, anxious to leave. He opened the door for her.

  As she passed him, she paused. “Why are you letting me go? It’s not because you believe me.”

  “No,” he admitted. “My captain said to let you out. They can’t find anything on your camera to show those pictures were ever there. And,” he added grudgingly, “you were seen in town. Specifically, people remembered seeing you on the street, talking to yourself.”

  “I was not talking to myself!” she protested.

  Gray shrugged. “One of my own men actually saw you arguing with the air.”

  “That’s ridiculous. I was stopped by a strange man and—”

  Gray waved a hand, cutting her off. “You want me to hold you for twenty-four hours?”

  “No!”

  “Then leave. But I’ll be watching you. Even if that ex of yours shows up.”

  “Thank you for a lovely evening,” she told him, chin held high.

  She felt as if everyone was watching her as she walked through the station and out to the street. When she reached the sidewalk, she realized she didn’t have her car—she’d arrived in a police car.

  Just as she thought about the best place to catch a cab, she saw that the Kendalls were there, Trisha standing still and watching as Ben paced. She was about to say something when Trisha saw her and came running over.

  “Scarlet! This is so awful. Ben is beside himself. They’ve grilled him, too, but they didn’t hold him like they did you.”

  Ben had reached them by that point. “Scarlet, I’m so sorry. When the cops told me about the murders, I—I wasn’t thinking. All I could think of was the pictures, and I said… Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

  “Both of you, please don’t worry,” she said. “It’s over.”

  “I’m sure they know you could never do anything like that,” Trisha said.

  “They don’t, but they do know I was in town at the time of the murders, and they couldn’t find anything in the camera. They didn’t give it back yet, but…it’s over, it’s okay.”

  It really wasn’t over,
she knew, but it was well past midnight and they were all ready to keel over. “What about the ranch?” she asked. “Who’s looking after the guests?”

  Ben waved a hand dismissively. “Linda has the house, and Angus is down at the stables. Six of the guests left, too upset by what happened to stay on. Only Mr. Ballantree, the Bartons and Gigi and Clark Levin are still here.”

  “What did happen?” Scarlet asked. “I mean… I know two people were killed but who and how and…?” Her voice trailed off.

  “Let’s get to the car,” Trisha suggested. She was the perfect wife for Ben, Scarlet thought. They were lovely people separately as well as great together. Trisha was ready to go along with whatever people wanted, but she was also quick to take charge when she needed to. Tall, lean and athletic, with short gray hair, she fit right in on the ranch.

  Together they hurried down the street to the parking lot.

  Trisha drove, and she glanced at Scarlet in the rearview mirror and said, “Ben saw them—the bodies, I mean—from a distance, but he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, just that something was there. He went to see what it was, and then he called the police on his cell. He waited there for them, and I kept people away.”

  “It was a mess,” Ben said. “Blood everywhere. He was all cut up, and shot, too. The woman…she was just shot.”

  They were all silent after that, until they neared the ranch and Trisha said, “You’re more than welcome to stay at the main house, you know, Scarlet.”

  “I’m fine, really. Only you and Ben have keys to the museum, and I’ll be sure to lock up. I’m way too tired to pack up and move right now,” Scarlet said. “But thank you.”

  There was silence for a minute in the car, and then Trisha said, “I hope you had a nice night in town. I mean, before all this happened.”

  “Nice and a little weird,” Scarlet said.

  “How so?” Ben asked.

  “Just some guy pestering me on the street. But I ran into some friends, and one of them walked me to my car.”

  “Maybe something is going on with the planets,” Trisha said, shaking her head.

  Scarlet took a deep breath and then asked again, “Who were they—the couple who were killed?”

  “We don’t know. The police haven’t released that information yet, pending notification of next of kin,” Trisha informed her.

  “Young? Old?”

  “I didn’t—I didn’t really look,” Ben said. “I just turned the other way and called 911.”

  They were quiet again. They’d reached the ranch. None of them looked toward the woods as they parked and got out of the car.

  Trisha slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Let’s see that Scarlet gets upstairs safely. We’ll just walk through the museum and make sure no one’s there.”

  “That would be great,” Scarlet said. “Thanks.”

  Ben opened the door to the building. Trisha hit the lights. They walked through the museum. It was empty.

  Empty, of course, except for the stationary residents standing on their pedestals, bearing silent witness to the night.

  “Upstairs,” Trisha said, and started walking up. Ben followed her.

  Scarlet followed Ben, then paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the mannequin of Nathan Kendall.

  If the artist’s rendering had been a true one, he’d been a handsome man. He’d been captured in time in his early thirties, the age he’d been when he’d died.

  His eyes seemed to be wise and world-weary. They’d been painted blue.

  For a moment she almost felt as if he would speak.

  She forced herself to reach out and touch the statue.

  Wood. It was made of wood.

  “Scarlet?” Trisha called.

  “Coming!”

  “We’re right next door,” Trisha reminded Scarlet as she reached the top of the stairs. “And you really are more than welcome there.”

  “I know,” Scarlet said. “Thank you. And thank you for waiting for me and driving me home.” She hesitated. “I asked an old friend out here to help. My ex-husband, actually. He’s with the FBI. Do you mind?”

  “Mind?” Ben asked. “I think that’s great.”

  “I’m guessing his partner will be coming with him. They should be here tomorrow, I hope. Sometime in the morning.”

  “Wonderful. We’ll get some rooms ready for them,” Trisha said. “For now, let’s check out this whole place, just for safety’s sake.”

  They went together from room to room, then wound up in the kitchen, staring at one another.

  With everything seemingly safe and nothing more to be done that night, an exhausted Scarlet followed them downstairs and locked up behind them, then made her way back up to her apartment.

  She couldn’t help wondering, though, whether she really was going to be all right, or if maybe she should have agreed to sleep at the main house.

  After all, two people had been brutally murdered just where the mountain rose to meet the Conway Ranch. She shouldn’t be alone.

  But she was exhausted, so exhausted that she didn’t even take off her clothes as she pitched down on the bed.

  It wasn’t over, she thought. Not for her. Lieutenant Gray had said so.

  But Diego was coming. He had said that he would, and he was always true to his word.

  She thought she would never sleep, as her distraught mind kept going over the events of the day.

  The pictures on her camera…

  And then two people dead just like the people in the photos…

  And then she’d been interrogated. The kid who had never stolen so much as a piece of gum.

  To her amazement, her eyes finally closed and her mind began to shut down. She was just so tired.

  But her dreams were troubled…

  Blood was everywhere in her mind’s eye. She could see the dead, and they could see her. She felt their eyes, and the intensity of their regard sent chills up her spine…

  Restless, she awoke. She walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. At the kitchen table, she sat sipping it, listening. The museum was quiet. The door below was locked.

  Diego would be here soon.

  She finished her tea, walked to the window and looked out. Everything was peaceful.

  Bizarrely peaceful, given what had happened there in the woods.

  And as she stood there, she felt once again that she was being watched.

  She told herself that was foolish. “I am alone,” she said into the empty air.

  The feeling persisted, but she forced herself back to bed, leaving the door to her room ajar so that she could hear anything that went on in the museum.

  Surprisingly, she fell asleep easily, and so deeply that she was untroubled by dreams.

  The next thing she knew, she heard birds.

  She smiled slightly, waking up. It was nice here, that sound of birds in the morning, with the feel of the sun, strong and warm at this time of year.

  She opened her eyes, feeling as if everything would be all right.

  Then she realized someone was standing at the foot of her bed, and a scream tore from her lips.

  She stopped with a gasp when she saw who that someone was.

  The decidedly not-alive statue of Nathan Kendall was staring down at her.

  CHAPTER 3

  Diego wondered why he had ever turned down an invitation to join the Krewe of Hunters.

  By 6:00 a.m. he was aboard a private plane with Brett Cody, along with Krewe agents—and lovers—Meg Murray and Matt Bosworth. They were flying out via a friend of Adam Harrison’s, the man who had established and still ran the Krewe. Nothing they were doing was official yet—and might never be, Matt had reminded him. Until the local authorities asked for
their help, they couldn’t officially give it, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t run their own investigation.

  That was one of the greatest assets of the Krewe. Their purpose was to investigate when there were strange and otherworldly elements to a crime, but they operated independently, beholden to no one and able to operate freely.

  All Diego really knew was that he was incredibly grateful that he had been able to ask for assistance, and that it could so quickly and easily be granted.

  “Adam will be coming out himself,” Matt had told Diego earlier. “Estes Park is apparently one of his favorite places in the world. He’s a major supporter of our national parks, and Rocky Mountain National Park is one of his favorites.”

  Diego was glad to have a seasoned agent like Matt on the case. Meg was still new—not even a year out of the academy—but she was a rising star, and since the Krewe had its own rules, their personal relationship was no barrier to the two of them working together.

  All they’d had to do was make a few phone calls to set everything in motion. Special Agent Angela Hawkins—wife of Jackson Crow, their official field director—had made travel arrangements for them and found out everything the police knew so far regarding the murders at the Conway Ranch.

  The dead couple was Candace and Larry Parker, who’d been visiting the area from their home in Denver. They had apparently headed out to Estes Park without hotel reservations for a lodge; one supposition was that they’d been hiking up to the Conway Ranch to see if there was a vacancy.

  Based on bark found in abrasions on his back and blood found on a nearby tree, Larry Parker had been strung up and had his torso ripped repeatedly by a bowie knife or something similar, and then he’d been shot in the head. Candace had been shot in the gut and bled out in about twenty minutes, according to the medical examiner’s estimate.

  Bertram—aka Ben—Kendall had found the bodies at approximately 10:30 p.m. The medical examiner could narrow the time of death down to about an hour—sometime between eight and nine the night before, Monday, a beautiful, cool October evening.

  There were more details about the insects and woodland creatures that had already gone to work before the bodies were found. Diego read the reports with a careful and practiced eye.