“But where would those tunnels be?” Van Camp demanded, looking around.
Aidan stepped back out and saw Mo watching him silently.
“Do you know anything about tunnels from the embalming room to the mausoleums?” he asked her.
She shrugged. “Sondra would have known.” She brightened just a little. “Grace might know, too. She’s worked out here often enough.”
“Can you call her?” She nodded, fumbling as she pulled her cell phone from her pocket. They’d taken Grace home a while ago; she might have fallen asleep.
No. Her boss had just been murdered. Grace answered on the first ring.
Mo spoke to her for several minutes then put her phone away. “She said there might have been tunnels. My house became a hospital during the Civil War, and she said this place was where many of the dead were brought because the mortician was one of the best embalmers of his day. Embalming became popular during the Civil War when soldiers died far away. Anyway, along with the dead, sometimes people were smuggled—alive—in coffins. She knows of one area where there really was an extension of the basement. It was kept shut because they were doing secret things here. They were hiding people who were running, sometimes slaves—and sometimes soldiers deserting the Southern cause. It’s behind the room where the actor who plays a mad doctor has his, uh, chop shop.”
“Thanks,” Aidan said, and hurried back to the mortuary, Van Camp in tow. Mo and Rollo were close behind. He headed straight down to the basement. The tour groups went from the basement—the embalming area—out to the graveyard, after going by the creepy displays and actors.
Mo was almost touching his back. “Over there,” she said. “You can see the gurney and the plastic bloodied body parts. You can just see the outline of a door there.” She pointed at it as she spoke. “The door’s painted the same white as the wall, and you can barely see the latch. It’s painted, too.”
Aidan walked behind the display and felt around until he found the almost-invisible latch. It was really just an outer ring. He twisted it and pushed the door open. The tunnel beyond was empty, stretching into darkness.
He turned on the light the officer had given him and walked through the tunnel. He didn’t protest when the others followed. Eventually he came to a wall and began looking around.
He glanced up at the ceiling—and saw a hatch. “Hey, anybody up there now? Gina!” he shouted. “Hey!”
He heard Gina Mason’s voice as if from the bottom of a well. “Yeah, yeah, I’m in here!” Gina called down.
“Watch out!” he warned her.
He reached up and pulled on the clasp that held the hatch door closed. It gave easily. All he had to do was figure out how the killer had hiked himself up into the tomb. Carrying a body...
A moment later, Gina’s face appeared above him. “You’ve found it, Aidan,” she said excitedly. “We couldn’t see it from up here. The entry’s kind of a stone square, just like the other ones on the floor.”
Aidan turned to Van Camp. “The killer went to Sondra’s office, knocked her out and...” He paused, looking at Mo. “He strangled her there. Well, the M.E. hasn’t said so yet, but I’m willing to bet he will. Then the murderer carried the corpse right through the mortuary and down to the basement without being stopped or questioned. The guests, the tour groups, would’ve thought it was part of the show, and I’m assuming the actors were so busy with their own parts they didn’t notice. He came through the tunnel with her and somehow got her body up there. But then how did he get the body out of there to put it in the coffin—just after the real actor who’d stepped out of the coffin had left?”
“He must’ve come back through here, with, um, both body parts,” Mo said.
“We’ll be talking to every performer who works here,” Aidan muttered, “in case anyone was aware of an extra ‘actor.’”
“There are a few employees who wear black with Haunted Mausoleum insignias on their shirts. They direct people and keep them moving, and they know where the exits are if there’s an emergency,” Mo explained.
“We’ll be talking to them, too,” he said. “We’re reaching out to every single employee.”
When they’d exited the basement, he hunkered down beside Rollo, petting him and praising him. “Rollo, you are the best. You’re a very smart dog.”
Rollo woofed his appreciation.
Aidan stood up and saw that Mo was almost as pale as the Woman in White she’d played.
“Mo? What’s the matter?” Besides the obvious, he could have added.
“I was there. I was right there while it was happening,” she said. “I should’ve known something. I should’ve heard something. Sondra was killed, and I was there and did nothing,” Mo said.
“She was killed in the office, Mo. You couldn’t have done anything.”
She turned to him with glazed eyes. “You don’t know that, Aidan. He knocks them out—but we aren’t sure yet where he kills them.”
“The evidence is that he kills them right away, Mo. She was knocked out and strangled, and then brought here. You couldn’t have done a thing.”
Aidan was reasonably certain of that, but there was room for doubt. Still, it was important now for Mo to believe it—true or not.
“I’ll get you home,” he said.
She shook her head stubbornly. “No. We’re going to find...the rest of Sondra. She was a friend, and she was Grace’s boss for years. We’re not to let her head be a bizarre spectacle on the street somewhere.”
Van Camp had been listening. “I have officers out looking at all the horsemen we know about,” he said.
She nodded. “It might not be a headless horseman that’s always up, always visible. It could be like part of someone’s Halloween display.”
“Do you have any ideas?” Aidan asked.
She stood for a minute, unmoving, her eyes closed. He started to fear that she might pass out. Van Camp placed a hand on Aidan’s shoulder as they waited.
“There’s one near the dry cleaners where we found Wendy Appleby’s head, which is down the street from Tommy Jensen’s. This horseman is part of a display in front of a big local retailer with a massive parking lot. They also have witches and goblins and pumpkins and other stuff. The headless horseman is the centerpiece,” Mo said, opening her eyes.
“Let’s go. Let’s get there quickly before someone else discovers it,” Aidan said.
“It’s just my...theory. I may be wrong.”
“But it is a logical conclusion,” Aidan told her.
He didn’t really think it was simply a logical conclusion. Mo had a gift, an ability he’d never seen before. She could close her eyes, it seemed, and somehow watch what had happened, watch it in her mind. She could envision what they were looking for.
She and Rollo made one heck of a team.
“I’ll follow you,” Van Camp said. He walked over to Gina Mason. “Have your team ready to go when I call you.”
“My team only stretches so far,” Gina responded in a tired voice.
“Get the county to send out another team,” Van Camp said.
“Okay, I’ll get in touch with them now.”
Aidan took Mo’s hand. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he felt as if his heart had stopped. She was so stricken by what had happened. And he realized, looking into her eyes, that he was involved with her.
He’d hardly touched her yet—but he was involved with her as he’d never been with anyone else in his life.
Because he’d never dared so much before. He hadn’t let women get close. He’d preferred one-night stands and affairs that he could easily escape. He’d believed that he deserved nothing but a life alone, a life with his own fears and...unusual abilities.
But Mo understood those fears, understood those abilities, and she’d shown him that loneli
ness didn’t have to be his future. “We will get to the truth,” he vowed.
She nodded. With Rollo at their heels, they left the graveyard and the mausoleum and made their way to his car. They were silent as they drove. He found that he didn’t like the silence, that he suddenly wanted them both to be honest.
“How do you do it?” he asked her, looking for more than a partial or evasive answer this time.
“I wish I knew,” she told him. “I...I think of the person. I see his or her face. Then I build something around the face. And then...well, as you saw, Rollo really does have his own talents.”
“Do the dead speak to you, call to you?”
She winced. “Sometimes. At least, I think I hear a voice.” She turned to him and said almost desperately, “But it’s not always the dead. I find the living, too.”
He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “That’s a true gift, and if you don’t believe me, ask someone you’ve been able to find. Ask J. J. Appleby,” he added softly.
He hoped he’d helped her.
She directed him down the street past Tommy’s place and the little strip mall with the dry cleaners. “There,” Mo said, pointing.
The store had a very large parking lot, convenient for shoppers. The Halloween display had been created beneath a giant sign advertising wholesale prices, claiming they bought surplus stock of the best brands.
The parking lot was empty except for a few cars near the door. It was very early morning. The first of the employees were probably coming in. Later, mothers or fathers might bring their children to enjoy the Halloween display. It was well designed, with a witch stirring a cauldron as bats on wires flew over her head. There was a smiling vampire on the other side, one that resembled the friendly count from a kids’ TV show. And there were little leprechauns peering around the skirt of a fairy-tale princess. Dead center in the display was the headless horseman.
And, as Mo had seen in her mind’s eye, he now had a head.
Van Camp and a number of police officers hurried up to them. Aidan slipped an arm around Mo’s shoulder. “I can take you home now,” he whispered.
He glanced at Van Camp, who nodded. “I’ve got this,” he said. As Aidan started to turn, Van Camp said, “We’ll have the employees assembled at the station in a matter of hours.”
“Can you call me when they’re in? And keep them separated as much as you can.”
Van Camp offered him a grim smile. “We’re actually pretty good cops, you know?”
“I do know,” Aidan assured him with a conciliatory grin. “Sorry.”
He left with Mo and Rollo; it was time to get away from murder and death.
Full daylight had broken by the time they arrived at her house. When she opened the front door, she said, “I know you have a million things to do. You should probably sleep. But...could you stay a little while? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be an annoyance, it’s just that...”
“I’m here,” he told her. Mo headed into the kitchen with Rollo. “Yes, you deserve a big treat, young man.”
Aidan called Logan at the hotel, describing events as he’d seen them the night before.
Logan filled him in, too. “We followed Richard Highsmith’s assistants and security force all night. Someone had an eye on them at all times. I’m assuming the charges against Jillian Durfey will be dropped by Monday morning, since she was nowhere near the latest murder scene.”
“Oh, I’m sure. Listen, I’m going to catch a few hours’ sleep on Mo’s couch,” he told Logan. “She’s shaky, and I don’t blame her.” He sighed. “Except that I should be going to the M.E.’s office—”
“That’s why we have a Krewe,” Logan said. “One of us will get over to the M.E.’s. Probably Sloan. And then I’ll head over to the station to start questioning employees. You’ll be useless without some sleep.”
“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Logan. And whether they dismiss the charges against Jillian Durfey or not, I know one of them is involved.”
“I don’t disagree. But whoever that person is, he or she is working with someone on the outside. Someone who knows Sleepy Hollow. It almost sounds as if we’re looking for a historian.”
“If you grow up around here, you grow up with the history of the area. We’re proud of our role in the Revolution—and very proud of our literary hero, Washington Irving. Most kids go to the various historic venues with their schools quite a few times. But I believe you’re right—it has to be someone who knows Sleepy Hollow backward and forward.”
“Yeah, but for now, just get some sleep, Aidan. We’ll reassess when we see you.”
“All right, I’ll sleep for a few hours. My phone is on and it’ll be next to me. Call if you need anything at all.”
Mo was there, her eyes dull. She was obviously exhausted. And feeling guilty and in pain. In a way, she saw this as her fault.
“Mo,” he said sternly, “like I told you before, you couldn’t have done anything to save her.”
“But...I was right there.”
“Get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’m going to.”
She nodded. “Use the guest room.”
“I’ll take the sofa in the parlor.”
“It’s an antique, horribly uncomfortable.”
Shaking his head, he smiled at her. “I’ll be fine down here.”
“Don’t leave, please, without waking me.”
“I won’t.”
She trudged up the stairs, Rollo trailing dutifully behind. The dog stopped to look at Aidan and whined.
“Hey, sleep down here with Aidan if you want. I’m way too tired to be offended,” Mo told him, patting his head.
But Rollo was loyal to his mistress and followed her up.
Aidan leaned back on the sofa. He believed that Richard had been betrayed by someone he considered a close confidant.
Somehow, it all had to do with the Woman in White, either Lizzie Hampton or her daughter, and the fact that Richard Highsmith could legitimately claim to be a descendant of Major John Andre.
Aidan wondered whether he was right about J. J. Appleby being Richard Highsmith’s son.
He felt a moment of doubt, afraid that his theories were nonsense, and that he was focusing on the wrong direction.
But it was more than possible that at some point in his life, Richard had indulged in an affair.
And it was possible that he’d fathered a child with Wendy Appleby. They could have met in New York. Maybe Richard had talked about his home in Sleepy Hollow and that might’ve made Wendy think of this area when she left New York City. By all accounts, her life in recent years had been wrapped up in her son, and she’d shown little interest in dating. Of course, working at Mystic Magic had given her a reason to dislike men in general, since she’d usually seen them only when they had one thing on their minds.
But now...
Another murder. And while Sondra was being killed and Wendy Appleby’s house ransacked, all five of their major suspects had been under surveillance.
He was just too tired. He let his eyes close and drifted off to sleep.
* * *
It felt good to lie down. Mo hadn’t realized how physically exhausted she was until then. And when she lay there, listening to Rollo settle on the floor by her side, she reveled in the comfort of her bed. And the security of having an agent sleeping downstairs with a gun nearby. She could sleep in peace. Except that she couldn’t really feel a sense of peace. What had happened tonight was so horrible, she couldn’t even grasp it.
Sondra was dead. The thought struck like a dull thud in her temples.
How? Why?
Had she been killed just to divert suspicion from the woman who’d been arrested and arraigned and those who were with her? She didn’t know that much about the law, but she assumed they’d dismiss the
charges against Jillian Durfey now.
Had Sondra been nothing but a token kill? No, killing her had been too complex for that. Just as someone had known the convention hall and the graveyards, he or she knew the Haunted Mausoleum.
Mo tossed and turned and finally punched her pillows and told herself she was all right. Aidan was down in her parlor; Rollo was at her side.
She finally fell asleep. And when she did, she was in the dark forest again, the forest where Ichabod Crane had traveled and feared the headless horseman. She could smell the damp earth, feel the breeze and listen while the leaves rustled in the trees. Night creatures scampered; the light of the moon made skeletons of tree limbs.
And there was someone behind her.
She remembered the story. All she had to do was cross the bridge.
There was some kind of light before her on that bridge. In that light, she could see Aidan. He wasn’t standing on the new bridge, not the modern structure that existed today. This one was wooden. It was old, and there was nothing else around it, nothing but the light and Aidan—waiting for her.
She could hear a rustling behind her...
Feel a pounding against the earth.
The horseman was coming, coming for her.
Aidan seemed to be trying to cross the bridge. But each time he tried, something seemed to throw him back.
Then she could feel hot breath on the back of her neck.
The hot breath of the horseman’s stallion. He was so close.
“Aidan!” She called his name. He could reach her, she knew he could reach her, if only he’d let himself. Yet his eyes touched hers with misery and desperation and...
“Mo!”
She woke. Not instantly, she felt groggy. She was no longer in the forest. She was in her own bed, safe in her own house.
She blinked into the darkness, which was relieved only by a glimmer of light from the hallway. The whisper that had awakened her was soft.
She saw Candy there, accompanied by Colonel Daniel Parker. Rollo had gotten to his feet, wagging his tail as if he recognized that they had trusted visitors.
Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4 Page 84