Krewe of Hunters, Volume 2: The Unseen ; The Unholy ; The Unspoken ; The Uninvited

by Heather Graham

  Jackson accompanied Logan when he went to pay a call on the actor, Ned Bixby, who’d been portraying one of Santa Anna’s men in the documentary.

  He knew that he wished the “person of interest” had been Jeff Chasson, and he knew, too, that was wrong.

  He just didn’t like the man.

  And Ned Bixby had seemed humble and nice enough.

  They’d phoned his home and gotten no answer, and when they’d phoned the studio, they learned that Ned had called in sick that day.

  They tried walking around the man’s house, and they spoke to his neighbors. He’d gone out that morning, and they hadn’t seen him since. He hadn’t looked sick.

  They visited Reverend Milton, who was sad to hear that the young wife, Cynthia Bixby, was dead. “She was a sweet, quiet little thing. Her husband seemed to answer for her all the time. I had a lovely talk with her once when she came to church alone. She was excited to be living in San Antonio—both of her parents have passed on and she was an only child—and she loved the area. She was big on the history of San Antonio. She had a teaching degree, but her husband wanted her to stay home and raise a family.”

  “Did they seem to be having any marital problems?” Logan asked.

  “No—I mean, other than the fact that she looked to him every time she was about to speak. They sat together. They even held hands. Then he called one day and said thank you, but they wouldn’t be back. He was looking for a church where he could be closer to God, and where he would know that he was on the right track to do God’s will. As I said, I went by after that, just a courtesy call, and I found Ned alone at home. He told me Cynthia had woken up one morning and told him she didn’t want to be married to him anymore, she needed to break away and live a life that was more fulfilling.”

  “Was he angry, bitter, nonchalant? How did he appear?” Jackson asked.

  “A little bitter, I think. He said she didn’t seem to understand that no matter what society dictated, God felt that a wife should stay home, raise children and honor her husband. She wanted to get out and see the world. He said he believed she wanted to drink and cavort and perhaps sleep with other men.” He shrugged, tapping his fingers on the desk. “I thought maybe she just wanted to make her own choice about what to order off a menu.”

  Eventually, they left the reverend, and had an all-points bulletin sent out so they could find their “person of interest” and talk to him.

  “We’ll have to leave it to the patrols and get back. Kelsey’s going to have her hands full at the station, even with Jane and Kat helping her and Jake returning. We’re not getting anywhere here,” Jackson said.

  “I have an idea, one last try before we go back.” Logan mentally consulted his notes. “Come on, one more drive. That’s it.”

  Logan drove to the edge of the city. Jackson didn’t question him until they pulled onto a quiet road.

  “Is this where the pond is?” Jackson asked.

  Logan nodded. “I gather it’s down there. Divers were cleaning it out when she was found.”

  Jackson followed him as he walked across the park. Logan saw the man perched glumly on the rocks by the pond and motioned to Jackson, who walked around the other way.

  Ned didn’t look the same as he had the day before, when he’d been a member of Santa Anna’s army. Gone were the beard and mustache, and the hat. He was clean-shaven, his hair dusky blond. He was young, too, no more than mid-twenties.

  “Ned,” Logan said, approaching him.

  The young man looked up. Panic streaked across his face and he stood, obviously planning to run in the opposite direction.

  “Don’t. Don’t run,” Jackson said. He had his gun at the ready. Jackson wasn’t going to shoot; Logan knew that. But Ned Bixby didn’t.

  Bixby turned to him again, then back to Jackson. Defeated, he looked at Logan.

  “I didn’t do it,” he said. He lifted his hands and let them fall. “I was angry with her, yes. But I didn’t kill her. I couldn’t kill her. I could never raise a hand against her. I loved her.”

  “We just need to ask you some questions,” Logan told him.

  “Sure. Oh, yeah, sure. I believe that in the eyes of the world, I’ll be judged quickly. Guilty,” he said wearily. “Isn’t it always supposed to be the husband?”

  * * *

  “Two out of six?” Jane asked Kelsey.

  “I’m sure we’ll have more once we piece together everything we’ve got,” Kelsey said.

  Kat cleared her throat. “We have a definite ID on our first victim, Jane Doe. I’ve just compared the dental records, and the young woman is Linsey Applewood, out of New Orleans. She’d lived there since graduation from Tulane. She didn’t have a roommate, and she didn’t say a word to anyone, just packed up one morning and left. But she must’ve intended to come back. The apartment was full of her belongings and the landlord finally put them up for auction.”

  “What was her major at Tulane?” Kelsey asked.

  “History.”

  Kelsey drummed her fingers and started shuffling through the pile of messages they’d received. She found the one from Linsey Applewood’s uncle. “Kat, do you have a number for the landlord?”

  “Right here,” Kat said. “Mr. Dillard. I’ll dial it, just pick up the line.”

  “Thanks.”

  The landlord seemed to be a nice man who was truly disheartened to hear that Linsey was dead. Kelsey let him talk and consoled him the best she could. Then she said, “It sounds as if you knew her fairly well. I’m so sorry, Mr. Dillard. Perhaps you could tell me more about her. What did she like and dislike? What were her hobbies?”

  Dillard told her that Linsey Applewood had loved animals and spent many an afternoon at the zoo. She enjoyed jazz music, and kept talking about buying a saxophone. She was cheerful and sweet. She dated, but hadn’t been serious about anyone, and she liked to spend time with her girlfriends.

  “Those girls, they just cracked me up!” Dillard said with a sad sigh. “They were so silly. They had these Ouija Fridays and they’d come over and drink wine and eat cheese and ‘conjure the spirits.’”

  “Really? Do you have any information on the other girls, Mr. Dillard?” Kelsey asked.

  “Bijou went to Europe before Linsey left,” Dillard said, “and I don’t know her last name, or even if that was her real first name. I can get you a number for Dottie Hicks. She’s still in town. In fact, she bought one of the tea-reading places down in the Quarter. Give me a minute—I’ll be right back.”

  Kelsey waited. He returned with a number for Dottie, and when she’d ended the call, Kelsey dialed it. A young woman’s voice answered. “Tender Tea Leaves.”

  Kelsey asked to speak with Dottie and found out she already was. Dottie hadn’t heard about Linsey, but although she was dismayed, she wasn’t surprised. “Oh! Oh, no! I was afraid of something like this, but I hoped… I mean, when she just disappeared… Oh, no, this is horrible.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Kelsey said. “I spoke with Mr. Dillard. He said you and Linsey and another girl were fond of the Ouija board and that you had parties every Friday night.”

  “Let me close the door.” Dottie was gone for a second and came back. “Honestly, we try to read people rather than leaves. But I don’t want the customers hearing that. Linsey was…well, she wanted it all to be real. She wanted to see the future, and she believed we could contact ghosts. One night, the planchette went flying right off the board and the lights began to flicker. I swear, it’s true.”

  “What ghost were you contacting?” Kelsey asked.

  “I don’t remember. A pirate, someone in Lafitte’s crew, or…I don’t remember. But Linsey started thinking she knew things. She was always trying to get me to go to Texas with her—”

  “San Antonio?”

  “Yes. She wanted to stay at an old inn there.”

  “The Longhorn?”

  “I’m not sure. It might have been.”

  Kelsey was on the phone a while longer, maki
ng notes. When she hung up, Jane handed her the sketch of the girl Sandy had recognized. “Sheryl Higgins. Drifting waitress, pothead and self-proclaimed palm reader. Her last known residence was Houston. She was recognized by the truck driver who gave her a ride out here. He happened to be back in San Antonio and saw this morning’s paper.”

  “So, Sandy and Ricky were right,” Kelsey said. “Did you say palm reader?”

  Jane gave her another piece of paper. “Truck driver’s number. His name is Billie Joe Glover. He’s expecting your call, and he’ll come in if we wish.”

  “Thanks.” Kelsey made her next call. Billie Joe was shocked to hear about Sherry. She’d been cheerful, he said, even if she didn’t seem to have a lick of common sense.

  “She told me she could sling hash, and if you could sling hash and pop the top on a beer, you could work anywhere in the country. She sang while we were driving, and she had a right pretty voice. Real sweet girl. I’d look for her every now and then when I came back to San Antonio—but hell, I didn’t know she was missing. She just wanted to travel and see the sights. And she wanted to live near the Alamo. It called to her, that’s what she told me.”

  Jake Mallory arrived as Kelsey hung up after talking with Billie Joe, the trucker. Jake had flown back to the D.C. area, but returned when Jackson called him. He was ready to pitch in by manning the phones and interviewing anyone who claimed to have information.

  Impulsively, Kelsey stood. “Jake, here’s the chart, my notes, the old information and the new information. I’ll be back soon.”

  She smiled at the others and headed out, not sure why she didn’t want to say that she was going back to the Longhorn.

  She simply felt the urge to return to Room 207.

  They’d wondered if the murdered women had some kind of belief in the paranormal. And so far, they were learning that their now-identified victims did. Linsey’s planchette had flown when she’d been trying to contact a pirate who’d sailed with Lafitte. That was where the story of the Galveston diamond had begun—with pirates. Of course, trying to contact a pirate didn’t necessarily connect to the diamond showing up in San Antonio, but it might. The legend wasn’t discussed in history books, but it was certainly well-known.

  Kelsey considered the facts they’d already accumulated.

  The women had died at different times, and so far, they did have an interest in the occult and in the Alamo. They’d been drugged, and although the highest percentage of what they’d been given was a painkiller, it had also included a “roofie,” a drug that made them pliable, a date-rape drug. It was also a drug under the influence of which they might have said or done anything.

  Logan was on the right track; she was sure of it. The killer was looking for the Galveston diamond. His killing wasn’t as random as it seemed. He was luring women to a place where he could drug and seize them.

  He wanted them to contact Rose Langley in the spirit world and have her tell them what she’d done with the Galveston diamond.

  Kelsey asked the desk sergeant for a car. She drove back to the inn and entered through the main doors, since there was really no way to slip up to any of the rooms. Sandy had told her once that outlaws had shimmied down the drainage pipes and leaped to the trees from the windows, but she didn’t think that would work so well today. Most of the trees were gone, and the drainage pipes were made of far cheaper and more fragile material.

  When she came inside, the place was quiet. The lunch crowd had left, and it was too early for the cocktail group. Ricky was behind the bar wiping glasses, and Corey Simmons, looking worn and groggy, sat on a bar stool.

  He swung around when she entered. “Well, if it isn’t the beautiful Marshal. Welcome, ma’am, yes, welcome. Did you come back to have a drink with me? How’d you lose the long, tall Texas Ranger? Doesn’t matter. Good riddance.”

  He was drunk, she quickly ascertained, and it looked like too much alcohol brought out a nasty streak.

  “What are you doing back here, Corey?”

  He scowled. “I lost. What do you think? I lost—and it’s your fault!”

  “Corey, if you lost, it was because you decided to stay out drinking all night,” Kelsey told him calmly. “It’s not my fault you didn’t get to bed until after three!”

  He wagged a finger at her. “It was past three-thirty when I hit the hay. See? It was your fault!”

  “Oh, Corey. I don’t think so. I’m sorry—are you out of the competition altogether?”

  “No,” he admitted. “I’m still in the bull riding.”

  “Well, that’s good. Sober up and get some sleep, and you’ll do fine.”

  “Yeah, fine. But why don’t you come and have a drink with me first?”

  “Because I have to get back to work. I just have to grab a few things from my room,” Kelsey said.

  “One drink?” he wheedled. “Just one—”

  “Corey,” Ricky broke in, walking over to him. “Kelsey is working on murder cases. Leave her alone, okay?”

  Corey raised his beer mug. “Oh, yeah. She thinks I’m a murderer. But I’m not, and she knows it now, don’t you, Kelsey? Word’s out that they identy-fied one of those girls, and it was the husband that done it, and he’s one of those actor types. He was probably a sicko right from the get-go. Her murder case is solved, even if Kelsey and that loco Ranger wanted to make me out to be the killer. One drink. Come on, please?”

  “I think you should start worrying about the bull. I’m not having a drink, Corey, thank you,” she said, her words polite but firm. She hurried on up the stairs and felt his eyes following her all the way. A chill raced down her spine. This time, however, she didn’t have to wonder about the reason for it. Corey Simmons was angry with her.

  She ignored him and closed the door to her room. She looked around, but everything seemed perfectly normal. Setting down her purse, she sat on the bed. Logan had found her in the corner of the room, staring at it. She’d been sleepwalking; she’d never done anything like that before.

  But she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. She needed to stop, and wait, let her mind go, and hope they’d come to her, not in her dreams but now, when she was awake. When she could understand.

  From below, she heard the distant noise of the door opening and closing, and the occasional clicking of glass against glass. Someone had come in to play the old piano, and she could hear the soft and plaintive strains.

  The drapes lifted in the false breeze of the air conditioner. Dust motes drifted on the air.

  After a while, she lay down on the bed. She closed her eyes, then opened them; she was overtired and didn’t want to fall asleep. But her eyes fell shut again. She forced them open, and this time, when she did, she saw the shadow in the corner.

  A young woman. She wore a pretty nightgown, and her hair was tied back at her neck with a ribbon.

  Sierra Monte.

  “Help me,” she said plaintively.

  Kelsey rose to go to her. She moved slowly, afraid the apparition would vanish if she moved too fast.

  As she came closer, she saw that a second shadow was joining the first.

  Kelsey paused. Those who were decent in life, she told herself, would be decent in death. But what about those who hadn’t been so decent?

  Be careful!

  She didn’t know if she spoke the words out loud or in her mind. For a moment, she was seized with fear—fear that she’d come back to urge something evil out of hiding.

  But Sierra turned slightly and smiled. The second shadow behind her began to take shape, and Kelsey saw that it was the woman she knew from the scene replayed before her twice—it was Rose Langley.

  The women had come to her together.

  “Tell me what I can do,” Kelsey begged. “We’re trying, I swear, we’re trying. Can you help us? We need your help, don’t you see?”

  Rose set a gentle hand on Sierra’s shoulder. “It’s the stone,” she said. “They always want the stone.”

  “Where is the stone?” Kelsey asked.


  “I…don’t know,” Rose said. “But it was cursed. They said it was cursed. And so it was, and so it is today.”

  “Sierra, did you find the stone?” Kelsey asked next.

  “They thought I could.” She shook her head. “It was my fault. I pretended I knew so much, that I could reach out and touch the dead. And now, I am the dead.” Her melodic, thin-as-air voice seemed to break.

  “Who, Sierra, who?”

  “I don’t know! I remember sleeping, but I don’t remember waking…. I don’t even remember dying.”

  Like the others, she’d been drugged.

  “I will help you, I swear. I’ll do anything I can,” Kelsey promised.

  “No…no…you mustn’t! They know about you. They’ll slip in when you’re sleeping. They’ll come, and you won’t remember. If you can’t find the stone, you’ll fail them, and you won’t remember what you said or how you died, and you’ll wake up and you’ll be with us.”

  There was a sudden, loud knock at her door. Kelsey jumped; her apparitions vanished not in a flurry of wings, but as if they’d never been.

  “Kelsey? Kelsey! Are you all right?”

  It was Sandy. Kelsey cursed her bad luck or her foolishness. She should’ve tracked down Sandy, told her she was there, explained that she was working.

  She gritted her teeth, not wanting to look angry when she opened the door. She managed a smile.

  Sandy stared at her for a minute. “I’m sorry, but Ricky just told me Corey was being a pest and you ran up here. You’re not usually back in the middle of the day, and there’s so much going on…. I was just worried.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Sandy. But I’m fine. I had a few things to do that I needed a bit of privacy to accomplish, so I came back here and holed up.”

  Sandy still looked worried, and Kelsey gave her a hug. “I swear, I’m fine.”

  “Okay, then. I’ll leave you to your own devices.”

  As Sandy backed away from the door, Kelsey called out, “Oh, Sandy, thank you!”

  “For what?”

  “You helped us tremendously. We identified at least one of the girls with information from you and Ricky.”