Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “I understand that. I really do. But I don’t care. I still wish she hadn’t said anything.”

  He let out a soft groan of aggravation and walked over to her, taking her by the shoulders. His eyes were dark and intense as he looked down at her. “Scarlet, I didn’t want what happened between us, but I’m okay as long as I know you’re out there in the world somewhere, alive and happy.”

  She looked up at him. “What if the alive-and-happy part included you?”

  He froze, startled. “Scarlet,” he said finally, “you were the one who filed for the divorce.”

  “I never really wanted to. I know you thought it was your work, but it wasn’t. It was the fact that you never shared your life, not really. I didn’t want to be protected from it, I wanted to be part of it. So please don’t push me away now—especially since this situation includes me.”

  “I don’t want you to become one of the ghosts of Estes Park!” Diego said.

  There was a tap at the door. “Yes?” Diego said, still staring at her.

  She heard Brett clear his throat before he said, “It’s time. We need to head over.”

  Scarlet realized that the sun was rapidly falling.

  “All right, we’re ready,” Diego said.

  He released his hold on her and walked to the door.

  Scarlet was suddenly struck by the way the dying sun lit the stables. She walked to the window and stared out at the ranch that was her home. She was in the midst of such beauty, here on the mountaintop. She could see the rise that led up the mountain to the cemetery. Along the way, she knew, were streams and a few old shafts where miners had searched, mostly futilely, for gold.

  Diego was frowning, waiting for her at the door.

  “We think it’s possible that Rollo Conway killed Nathan Kendall,” she said. “We just don’t know why.”

  “What?”

  “Process of elimination, with help from the diaries. It wasn’t one of his fellow outlaws, because they all died before he did, so it looks like the mask is a coincidence, not a lead. And it wasn’t Jillian’s father. We found the eulogy he wrote to his daughter, and I just don’t think he could have done it. That leaves Rollo. What if…?” She paused as an idea formed in her head, then went on. “Okay, Rollo sold this place so he could afford to search for gold on his property to the south. What if he wanted this place back because he still thought there was gold here, so he killed Nathan and Jillian? We kept getting stuck on the fact that even if they were dead, their son would inherit. But Rollo hadn’t been living around here for years. What if he didn’t know about the baby, so he figured the property would be forfeit and he could homestead it? Or maybe he thought it would go up for sale and he had just enough money to buy it.”

  “But by law Marshal Vickers would have inherited.”

  She stopped for a moment, stymied, then said, “Rollo wouldn’t have cared. Vickers didn’t live here, and he was off doing his marshal thing all the time anyway. That would have left Rollo Conway free to explore and find the gold he thought was here. Maybe he even believed Nathan had already found the gold, and he tortured him to get him to say where it was. There’s nothing in the journals to indicate Nathan even looked for gold, much less found it, but Rollo didn’t know that.”

  She walked over to him to be sure she had his full attention. “I think we’ve had it all wrong, Diego. We thought we might be looking for someone related to Nathan, but I think we need to be looking for a descendant of Rollo Conway.”

  CHAPTER 15

  Night came quickly, with a rich deep color that seemed to wrap the house and grounds like a mysterious blanket.

  Darkness reigned, except for a glimmer of moonlight playing over the mountaintop. The forest seemed filled with shadows, and the wind moaned as it found its way through the trees.

  They reached the main house to find the candles had been lit and the lights were low, and with the mountain now in darkness, the city of Estes Park shone like a beacon from below. An aura of something magical pervaded the old ranch house.

  A clock struck the appointed time, and the séance began.

  Jane had gathered them around the dining room table, the moose head looking down on them with an expression Scarlet found unreadable in the flickering shadows.

  There were eleven of them: Jane at the head of the table, and then, moving around the table clockwise, Ben and Trisha, Adam, Gigi and Clark, Diego and Scarlet, Gwen and Charles, and finally, completing the circle, Terry. As she’d said she would, Linda stood in the doorway, quietly watching.

  Scarlet had seen the dead before, but this situation felt very different.

  It was dark, for one thing. The brightness of the candle flames rendered everything beyond their reach so dark as to be stygian.

  There was an edginess, a tension, that was palpable about the table. On the one hand, most of them were amused and even felt a bit silly. But on the other hand, they were also nervous, even those who didn’t believe were somehow touched by the power of the moment.

  Even Jane’s face—usually so beautiful and animated—seemed different. There was something eerie in the way the candlelight caught her reflection.

  Scarlet couldn’t help thinking that she was about to announce that someone among them had been stricken by the curse of the werewolf.

  But Jane didn’t speak like some gypsy in a horror movie. She smiled at everyone and said, “None of us knows what, if anything, we may learn here tonight. But so far, every clue we have leads to a dead end. The purpose of a séance is to connect—to connect with the dead. I know that many of you at this table doubt the possibility of such a thing, even thinking about the dead creates a connection with them. And of course, beyond connection and communication, we want justice for them, so even though we may not connect with the dead, we may connect with our own deepest thoughts and memories, and come up with an idea that could help in the quest for truth.”

  “We didn’t even know the Parkers,” Gigi said, shaking her head as if she felt she had truly been drawn into insanity.

  “Are we all supposed to close our eyes and concentrate?” Trisha asked.

  Gwen giggled. “Or stare into the flames and think deep thoughts?”

  “Nope,” Jane said. “Just hold hands loosely and think about helping those who need help—and being helped in return.”

  There was silence for a moment, and then Gwen whispered, “The guy who was killed up on the mountain—his last name was actually Kendall?”

  “Yes,” Trisha said. “Hush now.”

  “Kendall,” Charles Barton said, and shivered. “I’m glad I’m not a Kendall.”

  “You could be,” Gwen said. “So could I. It’s not like we ever checked into any of those ancestry sites.”

  “Well, I am a Kendall,” Terry muttered. He suddenly didn’t seem to be having fun. “Maybe I should check out and go home.”

  “I’m thinking we all should,” Gwen said.

  Scarlet cleared her throat and suggested, “How about we stop worrying for now and see what happens?”

  There was silence again.

  “Okay, let’s keep holding hands and concentrate on the flame burning in the center of the table,” Jane said.

  “Isn’t this kind of a big table for a séance?” Gwen asked.

  “Concentrate,” Jane said. “Candace, Larry, we’re all here in hopes of helping you. Your lives were lost not far from where we sit, cruelly stolen from you. If you can help us, please make yourselves known. Cassandra Wells, we want to be there for you. And Daniel Kendall…you were taken first, but we swear to find justice for you.”

  “Do the cops even know if Daniel Kendall’s death was a murder?” Clark Levin asked. “I haven’t seen anything about that in the media. Maybe the guy was just a klutz, and he fell down and hit his head or something.”<
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  The table shook violently. Scarlet had to lower her head so no one saw her smile. She hadn’t seen Daniel in the room earlier, but he was there now, his hands on the table as he stood between Jane and Terry, his expression angry.

  “What was that?” Gwen gasped, jerking her hands free.

  “Just a trick,” Charles told her.

  “Oh, my God,” Gigi breathed.

  “Someone kneed the table, that’s all,” Charles said.

  Ignoring them, Jane lowered her head and said, “Daniel, is that you?”

  Of course, Jane knew perfectly well it was Daniel, Scarlet thought.

  “If so,” Jane went on, “would you kindly let us know—without doing anything with the table?”

  Scarlet looked up to see Daniel staring around speculatively. He grinned suddenly and moved over to the doorway, where Linda Reagan stood and rapped the wall hard, right next to her head.

  She jumped. “What the hell?” Angry, she stepped into the room. The candle glow caught her face, turning her into an evil queen out of a fairy tale. “You rigged this house!” she accused Jane.

  “Turn on the lights,” Jane said calmly. “Let’s see if this place is rigged.”

  Ben turned on the lights as the others got up and started looking around the room.

  Charles was down on the ground, searching under the table.

  Clark began tapping the walls, while Gigi remained in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Is this going to go on long? I’d like a drink now, please.”

  “I don’t know,” Trisha said, looking at Jane. “Would that change things?”

  “Yes, it will put some real spirits into play,” Gigi said drily. “Honestly.”

  “This is interesting,” her husband told her. “It’s not as if we had anything else to do.”

  “I’ll get my own drink,” Gigi said.

  “I’ll get it and I’ll join you,” Linda told her. They headed into the kitchen together.

  “What should we do?” Scarlet whispered to Diego.

  “Just sit here and watch,” he said, smiling. He indicated a big upholstered chair in the corner of the room.

  Daniel was sitting there, studying his nails thoughtfully, as if he was just waiting to see what would happen next, too. He saw Scarlet looking at him and grinned.

  She wanted to ask him if he’d seen Cassandra again, but since he was across the room, she didn’t.

  His wry smile, however, made her realize that he was plotting what he was going to do next.

  “What do you really think we’ll get out of this?” she said quietly to Diego. “Will Daniel spur someone into a confession? Could that really happen?”

  “It could, but there’s no guarantee. Maybe nothing at all will happen. My guess is that the killer is feeling pretty safe, since he always wears a burlap bag when he commits his crimes. I don’t think he expected any real ghosts. So assuming he’s here and believes a ghost is, too, he’s probably somewhat unnerved but not terrified. Because the ghosts didn’t see him, either. We’ll just have to wait and see.”

  Jane waited patiently. In a few minutes the group tired of looking for wires and other tricks. One by one, everyone—even Gigi—came back to the table and sat down again. Linda reclaimed her post in the doorway. Ben turned off the lights, and everyone joined hands again.

  “Communication is the key,” Jane said quietly. “If there’s someone out there in pain or in trouble, someone who wishes to be known, we’re here to help you. Please, join us, communicate with us and let us help you as you can help us.”

  Daniel stepped up between Gwen and Charles and waved a hand through the air. Gwen jumped; the candles flickered.

  “Stop that,” Gwen whispered heatedly to Charles.

  “I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  “Shush,” Terry admonished them.

  “I sense that someone’s here,” Jane said. “Were you murdered on this mountain? One rap for yes, two for no.”

  Daniel reached over to rap on the table, then suddenly stopped, his hand stopped in midair.

  A single rap shook the table. Everyone—including Scarlet—jumped.

  Even Jane seemed startled. Then she turned to stare past Charles and asked, “Were you murdered on this mountain?”

  A second rap slammed down hard on the table, and Scarlet turned, then barely stopped herself from gasping aloud.

  Jane had summoned the ghost of Nathan Kendall himself.

  He looked like the statue come to life. In fact, he almost could have been a statue, he looked so solid and real.

  The candles flickered violently. Nathan stood stock-still, looking solemnly over the group gathered at the table, before smiling at Scarlet.

  She heard something like a hoarse rustling, and then the rustling became a voice.

  “Mur…dered.”

  “No,” Gwen whispered. Then, voice rising, she screamed, “No, no, no!”

  Scarlet realized that the other woman was able to hear Nathan, too.

  “Murderer…among you,” Nathan said, his voice harsh and unearthly.

  “Do you know who murdered you?” Jane asked.

  The wind blew from out of nowhere; the curtains rustled. The candles flickered, and two went out.

  Another sharp rap sounded at the table.

  The wind blew again, and the rest of the candles went out.

  “Scarlet…”

  Chills shot down Scarlet’s spine as Nathan said her name; she thought at first that she was being identified as the murderer!

  But then he continued.

  “…knows… Scarlet knows…”

  Gwen Barton let out a terrible, high-pitched scream.

  “It’s Scarlet!” Terry cried. “The ghost says she knows!”

  “I don’t know anything,” Scarlet said quickly, trying to digest the fact that Terry, too, could hear Nathan.

  “It’s a trick. There is no damned ghost,” Clark said, all his earlier sense of fun gone.

  “All right, that’s it,” Linda snapped, flicking on the dining room lights. “I’ve had it. You people claim to be professionals, but this is absolutely ridiculous.”

  “But who was it?” Gigi demanded, white-lipped. “Was that poor Larry Parker?”

  “I’ll tell you who it was. One of these so-called agents,” Charles snapped. “Linda, you had it right. This whole thing is smoke and mirrors. We just need to look harder to prove it.”

  “There’s got to be a wire or something somewhere,” Linda said. She began tapping on the wall by the moose head.

  Suddenly something flew out one of the moose’s giant nostrils.

  Linda screamed in surprise and terror.

  The projectile flew with the speed of a bullet, cutting through the air with an audible whoosh.

  Diego lunged for Scarlet, bringing them both crashing to the floor. He shouted out to the others, “Everyone get down!”

  Scarlet heard a thud as a silver arrow embedded itself in the back of the chair she had just vacated.

  Ice filled her veins.

  She was about to rise when she felt the pressure of Diego’s hand on her shoulders.

  “Stay down!” Adam shouted.

  Another whoosh and a second shaft hit the seat of her chair.

  “What the hell?” Ben thundered from the ground as more arrows flew around the room.

  “What the devil are you doing to us?” Clark yelled from under the table. “Séance, indeed!”

  “We could have been killed,” Gigi said, practically sobbing.

  “We still could,” Gwen said.

  But then there was silence. Scarlet had tried to count. She thought she’d heard six arrows fly.

  Was that it?

 
Diego quickly stood, but his hand on her back kept her where she was. “Everyone keep low,” he said in a warning tone. He looked down at her, and she nodded. With that assurance, he dashed across the room, stood on a chair and tore the moose head from the wall. It appeared to be a surprisingly easy task. Plaster seemed to explode everywhere as the mounted head fell to the floor with a massive thud. Staring, Scarlet realized that the wall had been hollowed out behind it, where the support beams stood.

  “Don’t move,” Diego commanded everyone, jumping down to investigate the head. “We don’t know if it’s safe or not yet.”

  It was easy for Scarlet to obey his words, because she realized her muscles were frozen.

  “How the hell was the damned thing triggered?” Adam murmured, rising carefully and stepping to Diego’s side.

  “The wall—Linda tapped the wall,” Gigi said, her voice quavering. “I’m not related. Whoever is doing this, I’m not related to Nathan Kendall!”

  “I don’t think I’m related, but I won’t move anyway,” Linda said.

  Suddenly, someone groaned.

  “Oh, my God. I was—I was hit!” Terry called out. “I’m bleeding. And I am a descendant of Nathan Kendall. Oh God, oh God!”

  Scarlet’s muscles suddenly started obeying her again, and she crawled over Terry. She saw a tiny trickle of blood on his shirtsleeve. She pulled his sleeve up to survey the wound. It was barely a scratch.

  “I’m going to die,” he said.

  “No, Terry, you’re just going to need a bandage,” she said reassuringly.

  “Is the damned thing disarmed yet or not?” Clark growled, irritated. “I’ve stayed through a lot, Kendall, but my wife and I are out of here now.”

  “I understand,” Ben said.

  “I don’t know why you’re so worried, Levin. It’s obvious I was the target,” Terry said peevishly.

  “If you’ll notice, Terry, my chair was skewered—twice,” Scarlet said impatiently.

  “If I’ll notice?” Terry protested. “I’ll tell you what I noticed. According to the ghost, you know everything.”

  “And I’ll tell you again, I don’t know anything,” Scarlet insisted.