“Four minutes before Jillian had to be back in the stage area so she could be seen by everyone,” Jane noted.
“So, the moment Richard is outside, a vehicle’s ready to take him,” Jane mused. “Probably some kind of delivery truck. Someone, an accomplice, is there and either knocks him out and whisks him away or grabs his unconscious body and whisks that away.”
“And, of course,” Aidan said, “the way we’ve figured it...there are a few minutes in there where anyone might’ve gotten into the greenroom. If, that is, Taylor Branch and Jillian Durfey both prove to be innocent.”
“We’ll look into the security men and the sound-system people, and check out records related to every name that was collected when Highsmith disappeared,” Logan added.
Aidan nodded. “And we’ll need to find out who delivered what on the day of the murders.”
“I’ll get on that research immediately,” Jane said. “We’ll send the info to the home office on everyone questioned when Richard first disappeared.”
“We need more on Wendy Appleby, too. What was her real connection to Richard?” Aidan asked.
“That could be the key,” Logan agreed.
“I’ll trace her history. And as for other possible candidates who were in this building, I can cross-reference names with any possible political tie-ins,” Will said.
“Concentrate on what you can learn about Bari Macaby,” Logan told him. “Make sure she’s exactly who she says she is.” He turned to Aidan. “It would help, of course, if we had some contact with one of the deceased.”
Aidan took a deep breath, trying not to feel the usual knot in his stomach that came up whenever the situation—or their discussion—had to do with the living seeing the dead.
“Okay,” he began. “You’re all part of this experienced special unit. And I’m not completely sure why I was called in. Apparently you all have what it takes to be Krewe, and I’m not convinced that I do. Not anymore. If I ever did.”
Logan studied him. “You’ve got something. Jackson Crow wouldn’t have asked you to join the New York office if he hadn’t seen that skill in you. We’ll do our best, but you knew Highsmith, and that makes a difference.”
Aidan couldn’t remember if he’d ever mentioned to any of the Krewe that he’d known Richard.
But they had so much reference material available to them...
Of course they knew. They knew everything about him. Maybe even the kind of shirts he bought or his favorite brand of toothpaste.
And hadn’t he been asking Mo Deauville to do what he knew could be done?
“I haven’t made contact with Richard in any way,” he said quietly.
“Maybe, you will soon,” Logan said, just as quietly.
* * *
Mo was surprised to find Aidan Mahoney outside the emergency room entrance when she and Grace arrived to pick up Rollo once they’d had finished for the night.
“He’s here!” Grace said in a loud whisper. She looked at Mo. “He’s here—for you. He’s got the dog.”
“No, he’s not here for me. He’s here because he checked on J.J. after doing...whatever he did tonight. And he was nice enough to bring Rollo down for us.”
“You’re pathetic,” Grace muttered.
Maybe he did have an interest in her. He was ever hopeful that she’d contact Richard.
She had contacted him.
She was happy to oblige in any way she could; she’d do anything to help.
She and Grace got out of the car and walked over to the hospital. Grace was obviously amused, certain that someone was about to get lucky.
“Good evening, ladies,” Aidan said. Rollo wagged his tail ecstatically.
“Good evening, Agent Mahoney!” Grace returned. “Nice to see you again.”
“I wanted to check on things,” Aidan said. “And...well, I figured it was so late, I’d bring Rollo down for a bathroom break and have him out here when you came by.”
Rollo barked, apparently agreeing with that explanation.
“Thanks,” Grace said. “And since you’re here...” She paused and smiled like some kind of matchmaker. “You can drop Rollo and Mo off. I’m much closer to the hospital and that way I won’t have to double back. And you two can talk about...finding people and stuff like that.”
Mo didn’t protest, although she was horrified by Grace’s broad grin and her unmistakable attempt to throw the two of them together. But Mo knew that if she said anything, she’d look like an idiot who didn’t care about making her friend drive around all night.
“That’s not a problem,” Aidan said. “I can easily drive them home.”
“Well, then, you two can see me safely to my car.” She turned toward the parking lot. “Agent Mahoney, have you taken part in any of our haunted happenings yet? You should come through the Haunted Mausoleum sometime. We’ve gotten rid of our headless horseman for the season,” she added somberly.
“Perhaps I will,” Aidan said.
Grace got into her car, revved the engine and bade them both good-night, still smiling secretively.
Aidan and Mo were left there to stare at each other.
“How was J.J.?” Mo asked.
“Fine. Or as fine as possible under the circumstances. They were going to release him tomorrow, but I’ve asked that he be kept another day.”
“Oh?”
“He’s safe at the hospital. Once he and Debbie are out of there...he’ll need round-the-clock protection.”
“But the killer had his chance to kill J.J. He didn’t.”
“He chose not to strangle and behead a young boy,” Aidan said. “He left him in a vault deep in the earth. If J.J. had been there much longer, he would’ve died.”
“You think you can catch the killer overnight?”
“I wish. Well, let me drive you and Rollo home,” he said.
They walked to his car and Aidan opened the door for Rollo, then for her. When they’d driven for a few minutes, she felt the silence between them had grown uncomfortable. Awkward. “Is the investigation getting anywhere?” she asked him.
“We’re somewhere,” he told her. “I still believe someone in Richard’s retinue was involved, but it’s possible—though not plausible—that it was someone else, someone at the convention center. We know there had to be a connection between Richard and Wendy, although we haven’t established what it was. We strongly feel we’re looking for two people.” He glanced over at her as he drove. “And I still believe that Lizzie grave meant something, that it’s important to the case.”
Mo hesitated. “I think I may know a little more about that.”
“Oh?” He glanced her way again.
She stared straight ahead, realizing that her words might sound ridiculous. “I saw Major Andre tonight.”
“Major Andre?” he repeated. “You don’t mean as one of your characters at the Haunted Mausoleum, right?”
“No. I play the Woman in White. I thought I saw him the night before. But tonight, I...spoke with him.”
She waited for him to deny that was even possible. His wanting her to speak with Richard’s ghost was one thing. Her speaking with a Revolutionary spy might be quite another.
“What did he say? How could he help?” he asked.
“From the way he looked at me, I could tell that he thought he was seeing another ghost. Dressed up, I must have resembled his Lizzie—or Elizabeth Hampton. He’s been searching for her all these years. But, here’s something I hadn’t known. He told me Lizzie had a child—named Lizzie, or Elizabeth, too. He believes the words might refer to her grave.”
“And did he know where it was?”
“No, but he wanted me to find his Lizzie, Elizabeth Hampton, for him.”
Aidan didn’t respond. He seemed disappointed.
“I’m not sure how that’ll get us closer to the truth,” he finally said.
“I don’t, either, but you’re the one who was interested in Lizzie’s grave. Maybe if we find the Woman in White, she could tell us more about it. And if we do find Lizzie’s grave, the daughter’s grave, I mean, that’ll help.”
“Did he give you any idea where to start?”
“Tappan, New York. It’s not far from here.”
“I know.”
“It’s where Andre was hanged.”
He smiled. “I know,” he said again.
They’d reached her house. He exited the car just as she did. When Rollo had bounded out, Aidan came around to walk her to her door.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in the morning—a few hours from now—and we’ll go to Tappan. You’re willing to go?”
“Of course.”
They were at her door by then. She opened it, her mind racing. She could’ve told him that she’d also seen Richard Highsmith. But Richard hadn’t given her anything useful, not yet; she should wait. Wait until she did have something to say.
They stood at her door. She was shocked when he touched her chin, raising it gently, his actions curious and almost tender, puzzlement in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “I, uh, just have to find my keys.”
She fumbled in her purse, her eyes still on his.
She could imagine what Grace would be saying if she was there. Grace would be pushing her, prodding her. Grace would whisper, Hey, go on in. Release a little tension. Come on, guys, get it on!
“I saw Richard Highsmith,” she said in a rush.
His hand seemed to freeze.
“You saw him? You didn’t tell me?”
“Because he was gone before he could say anything. He’s...he’s new. To being a ghost. Sometimes the dead have a hard time retaining...form, I guess. But he knows he can come to me now. I’m hoping...”
She thought Aidan would pull away in frustration. Or anger.
But he didn’t.
“You do have something really wonderful, you know?” he said softly.
Then his head lowered and his mouth touched hers. It was a slow kiss, as if his fascination with her had inevitably drawn him close.
His mouth lingered, but he finally lifted his head. “Sorry,” he murmured, stepping away. He smiled ruefully. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I can see you’re all right here, or Rollo would be barking like Armageddon was upon us. Go on in. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stood, frozen.
“Mo, go in. And don’t wander out at night—even for Richard.”
She managed to retrieve her keys and open the door. She stepped inside, locking it, and then, through the little window, saw him walk away.
Mo leaned against the door, feeling as if her knees had turned to rubber.
He’d kissed her. Better than crazy, wild sex.
No, crazy, wild sex would’ve been great, too.
Rollo barked; she snapped to her senses.
It was really late, and Aidan was coming back for her in just a few hours.
She went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. In the dim light cast by the hall lamp, she stared at the bookshelves by her dresser.
Washington Irving’s series on George Washington was on one row; his other works, including “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” were on another.
She closed her eyes and tried once again to sleep. She wasn’t sure if she did or not. In her mind’s eye, she saw the forests of Tarrytown as Washington Irving had seen them in his day.
She saw the bridge that Ichabod Crane had needed to reach to escape the horseman.
A slow mist rose from the ground and swept around graves and she was running through it.
She had to get to the bridge, race over it....
There was someone ahead of her in the mist. She saw that it was Aidan. His arms were outstretched and he was waiting for her.
Then she heard the sound of hoof beats and the whinny of a horse—and some kind of thunder that made the earth tremble.
She turned back. There was a horseman. The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
The horse reared in the passion of the hunt.
The headless horseman was hunting her.
She started to run, just as Ichabod Crane had run on his worn-out nag. The night seemed alive with the bright eyes of nocturnal creatures.
Owls hooted. The moon came out and hid again behind the clouds, and she realized the thunder she heard was her own heart.
Aidan was waiting....
She could see him just across the bridge, his arms outstretched.
But she could feel hot, fetid breath on the nape of her neck. The horseman was almost upon her.
She heard Aidan then, shouting to her, calling her name.
“Aidan!” She breathed in a desperate plea.
But the horseman was practically on top of her. She turned to scream but she couldn’t face him. It would be too horrible. Because she was terrified that she would see her own head on his shoulders.
She began to hear Rollo as if in a fog, barking wildly.
And then she woke up abruptly; someone was calling her name.
Aidan.
It was morning—and he had come for her.
CHAPTER 11
Mo sprang out of bed and went racing down the stairs. Rollo was already at the door, wagging his tail madly. Mo threw open the door and called Aidan’s name. The sun was up, bright and high. She had evidently slept and slept deeply—and for several hours.
“Aidan!”
A moment later, he appeared from around the side of her cottage, relief clearly written on his face.
“I was about to break down the door,” he told her.
“I’m sorry. I was sleeping so soundly.” She supposed that was true enough; she didn’t mention the half sleeping, half waking dream she’d had. She suddenly noticed that he was dressed in jeans and a warm sweater and she was...
Standing on bare feet with her hair tousled and wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a children’s cartoon character in a sleeping cap.
“You need to keep your phone with you. I was getting worried,” he said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About ten-thirty,” he told her.
“Wow! I slept longer than I realized. Come in. I can be ready in five minutes. I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m just relieved you’re all right. I’ll make some coffee while you get ready.”
Mo was upstairs, in the shower, dressed and back downstairs in the five minutes she’d promised. Aidan was in the kitchen, holding a cup of coffee. Judging by his expression, he was trying to work out some deep puzzle.
She headed to the coffeepot. “At least it’s only about a twenty-minute drive from here.” He nodded absently.
“What is it?” she asked.
“There’s just something about this house,” he said.
“What do you mean?”
“I felt like I was being watched. And when I turned to look down the hallway, I thought I saw a shadow. But I guess it’s nothing. Rollo’s been just fine.”
Mo looked down the hallway herself. She saw a sweep of skirts and smiled. “Candy,” she said.
“Candy?”
“She lives here. Exists here, I mean. She was a slave. This house wound up being used as a hospital during the Civil War, and they even cared for some Confederate prisoners. Candy was escaping the South and helping in the hospital. She fell in love with one of the Confederate officers who’d had been brought here—Colonel Daniel Parker. Daniel is around, too, but Candy is more curious.”
&
nbsp; He was staring at her again, just staring at her.
He’d asked her to try to speak with a dead man. And now they were about to go and look for a ghost—at his request. He couldn’t think she was...
Weird. Different. Cursed. To be avoided.
“Oh,” he said simply. “Should we go?”
“Rollo, come on,” she called, finishing her coffee and collecting the dog’s leash and service vest. “We’re going on an outing.”
Rollo bounded over to her. They were quickly on the road, and for a while, they drove in silence—but this time their silence wasn’t awkward.
Mo gazed out as they crossed the Hudson over the Tappan Zee Bridge, which extended across one of the widest parts of the river. She’d always loved the view from the bridge. She saw the sign that told her it was officially the Governor Malcolm Wilson Tappan Zee Bridge. Tappan was the name of a Native American tribe. Zee was the Dutch word for sea.
“It’s beautiful,” Aidan said, smiling. “As often as I’ve come over this bridge, I still love the drive.”
Was it just her? Or did the memory of his kiss seem to linger on the air, just as it lingered on her lips?
It had just been a kiss. Offered in gratitude—nothing more.
“Yeah, Tappan really is beautiful,” Mo murmured. “There’s such interesting history there, too. The first Orange County courthouse was built here in 1691. And Major Andre was held at Yoast Mabie’s house—now a restaurant. Not only that, Washington had his headquarters here four times during the war,” she said enthusiastically. She glanced at Aidan, who looked back at her with a wry grin.
He knew all that, of course. He was from the area.
“Yup. And I know exactly where the Andre memorial is. Are we going there?” he asked.
“Yes, let’s do that.”
They drove over to where the memorial to Major John Andre had been erected—a stone that briefly described his deeds, his part in persuading Benedict Arnold to become a traitor to the American cause—and the plan to turn West Point over to the British.
The memorial, surrounded by a fence, was on a roundabout in a suburban area. Aidan pulled off the road to reach it. “I think the first time someone tried to create this memorial, there was an outcry over commemorating a British spy. Some people tried to destroy the first memorial to him. As I recall, there used to be a pedestal, but it was blown up one too many times. Now I suppose we remember him mainly for dying young,” Aidan said as they stood in front of the memorial.
Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4 Page 79