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

by Heather Graham

  A sense of something dark and evil seemed to have drifted over her, and she wished she could call Jason back. As she crossed the foyer, she stopped.

  She’d heard a sound. A ticking or a…scrape or…

  It was coming from Angus Tarleton’s study.

  She didn’t want to look. She wanted to rush to the front door, hit the alarm and run home, run out of the house screaming….

  How ridiculous!

  It might have been an air-conditioning vent or…wood settling. There were probably dozens of technical or architectural things it could be.

  She closed her eyes, shaking her head, annoyed again that Todd had managed to unnerve her like this. She was a sensible and responsible human being, a historian.

  She walked to the room and looked in.

  And a scream, shrill and horrified, tore from her throat.

  Julian Mitchell had returned to the Tarleton-Dandridge House.

  2

  Tyler Montague’s first impression of Allison Leigh was not a good one.

  But then, the woman had apparently been at the house where a friend had died—either accidentally or through a very bizarre form of murder—for hours before coming down to the police station to deal with more paperwork.

  She hadn’t been accused of murder, not yet. Probably because the police and the pathologists couldn’t quite figure out how a woman her size could have managed it. Julian Mitchell had been big, tall, well-muscled. For her to have dealt with the weapon and the man would have been a nearly impossible feat.

  She had dark hair, so sleek and deep a brown, it appeared black. He assumed she’d started the evening with her hair neatly tied back but now it was tumbling down around her shoulders beneath an eighteenth-century-style mobcap. Allison was dressed in the daily wear of an upscale Revolutionary-era citizen—a robe à l’Anglaise, he believed they called the gown—and looked exhausted. She was seated at a table in one of the interrogation rooms, a cup of coffee in front of her, and when he arrived, she had her head down on one arm.

  “Ms. Leigh knows you’re coming to talk to her,” a quiet voice said at his side.

  Tyler turned to look at Adam Harrison. Adam had to be close to eighty, but he walked with the ease of a much younger man and stood straight as a poker. His eyes were a very gentle blue, showing signs of a smoky color that might have come from his age. He had snow-white hair, and his suit was casual and in impeccable taste. He’d arranged for Tyler’s Krewe to be called in because of Ethan Oxford, an old friend of Adam’s with whom he’d served on many philanthropic boards over the years.

  Adam Harrison was the reason Tyler had left a career with the Texas Rangers to join this extremely unusual unit of the FBI.

  Tyler didn’t know everything about Adam Harrison; he didn’t think anyone did. But Adam seemed to have friends everywhere. A call from him and a rough road could be easily traveled. But then, years before Tyler and his Krewe had ever met the man, Adam Harrison had been putting the right people in the right circumstances. And while other government agencies might consider the Krewe units as something completely separate and even an embarrassment at times, they were respected for their prowess. They had yet to fail when it came to finding the truth in any of their investigations.

  “And she knows who I am?” Tyler asked.

  Harrison shrugged. “She knows you’re FBI.”

  “She must be ready to crawl the walls. It took me a little over three hours to drive in from northern Virginia, and we didn’t receive your call until an hour or so after the body was discovered.” He checked his watch. “It’s after midnight.”

  Harrison sighed, shuffling his feet slightly. “The police were left with no recourse, really. There was the dead man. There was the woman who called it in. Tour groups had been at the house all evening, along with a couple of other docents, and when Ms. Leigh dialed 9-1-1, she was the only one on the premises. She was shaken when they got there. With a death of this nature, you have to be suspicious of anyone in her situation. The sad thing is that I believe she’s entirely innocent. And she’s just lost a colleague.”

  Tyler saw that Harrison’s empathy for the young woman was strong.

  “Did she suggest a ghost killed him?” Tyler asked skeptically.

  Harrison didn’t look at him; he continued to look through the one-way glass at the young woman. “No. Ms. Leigh—technically Dr. Leigh—is a professor, historian and scholar. She teaches history at the university, except that she’s off for the summer. She also writes papers. Even when she’s teaching, she gives tours at the house, but the point is—she does not believe in ghosts.” He spoke with a grimace. Her feelings on that might change in the near future.

  “I’d like to see her, get her out of here and then read up on everything that’s happened in the house,” Tyler said. “They aren’t charging her, are they?”

  “No, but they made the right call in asking her to come down here,” Adam told him. “I’ll bring you over and introduce you.”

  “You know her? Or you just met her?”

  Harrison smiled. “I’ve made it my business for many years to meet and greet politicians and those in law enforcement and, thankfully, many remain grateful for help they’ve received. I was here when the house hosted a dinner for up-and-coming men and women in the city, sponsored by municipal leaders. Ms. Leigh was very charming and of great assistance in arranging the evening. I think you’ll find that she can tell you more than you’ll read in most history books. So, we’re not best friends, but yes, I know her.”

  The door to the observation room opened just then, and a middle-aged man with fine, intelligent eyes and a bloodhound’s weary jowls walked in. Tyler had already met him; he was Detective Jenson, assigned to the “suspicious” death.

  “All the paperwork for the evening is complete. Ms. Leigh may leave whenever you’re ready. Agent Montague, you wanted to go to the house tonight?” Jenson asked.

  Tyler nodded. “I’d like to get in while the evidence is still fresh.”

  Whatever Jenson thought of the “special” FBI unit that had been brought in, he didn’t let his feelings show. “The crime scene people have just finished up,” he said. “They’ve been in there for about six hours collecting everything they can, but, of course, the house is a tourist location so they have hundreds if not thousands of prints. I’ll get you Ms. Leigh’s key to the house and the code to bypass the security system,” he told Tyler. “And, needless to say, we’d appreciate it if you shared any findings with us immediately.”

  “I can’t find anything without the help of the police,” Tyler said, “so, yes, of course.”

  Judging by his quick smile, Jenson seemed to like that. “You’re free to speak with Ms. Leigh.” He glanced at Adam. “And get her home.”

  Adam thanked him. They left the observation area and entered the interrogation room.

  Allison Leigh sat up stiffly, regarding Tyler with narrowed eyes that gentled as she looked at Adam Harrison.

  The man just had a way about him.

  “Allison, I’d like you to meet Agent Tyler Montague. He’s here to investigate the situation—and the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” Adam said.

  Allison Leigh gave Tyler a long cool assessment. “The house?” she asked skeptically. “The house caused Julian to slit his throat on his bayonet?”

  “There’ve been a number of incidents at the house, Ms. Leigh,” Tyler said.

  Allison turned to Adam. “He believes he can arrest the ghost of a Revolutionary soldier?”

  Tyler answered. “No, Ms. Leigh. But the number of strange occurrences at the house, especially in recent years, suggest that someone who’s alive and well is playing deadly pranks. Actually, we’re here to see you home if you’d like.”

  She frowned, and Tyler thought her hostility toward him had relaxed somewhat. “You’re not going to ask me to go through everything that happened again?”

  He shook his head. “I’d rather you went through the house with me. If you’re up
to it, that is. Otherwise, we’ll take you home, as I said.”

  She stared at him, then blinked. He could see her mind working, and it was fascinating to watch the emotions that flashed through her beautiful if red-rimmed eyes. She’d been up for hours; she’d just lost a colleague, possibly a friend. She’d been in the interrogation room forever. She wanted a drink or simply to collapse for a while and forget the horror she’d witnessed.

  But he also knew that she understood why he needed to see the house now, as quickly after the event as possible. She didn’t want to go back and see where her friend had died, but she understood that anything that might be discovered would be most easily found before too much time had elapsed.

  She lifted her hands. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “Are you coming?” she asked Adam, her voice hopeful.

  “If you wish, my dear.”

  “Please.”

  Tyler admired the effect Adam had on others. He knew that Harrison had once had a son, Josh, and that Josh had been killed in an accident at a young age. Josh had apparently been born with a sixth sense, and when he’d died, Adam had spent years trying to reach him. Tyler had recently heard that the father could finally talk to the son, although Adam didn’t usually have the ability to communicate with the dead.

  What he did have was an uncanny ability to connect with the living.

  Tyler definitely wished he had a little more of that ability himself. He wasn’t sure why he seemed to lack it. Maybe it was his height, which people often considered intimidating, since he stood at about six-five. From the time he was a kid, he’d wanted nothing but to be a Texas Ranger and now, although he loved the change in what he was doing, he wondered if he carried some kind of aura from the years he’d spent working in tough areas of Texas. He didn’t know if it was his appearance or his no-nonsense demeanor, but people seemed to find him imposing, and it always took him a while to convince them that he wasn’t a swaggering, gun-toting cowboy.

  “Well, then, let’s get going,” Adam said. “I know you must be emotionally drained, my dear, but we’ll get you home soon.”

  “That’s it? I can just walk out?”

  “That’s it.”

  She stood, a bit clumsily. Tyler saw that she was a respectable height for a woman, maybe five-eight or nine, and that she wore the historic dress exceptionally well. She seemed fragile for a second, as if she’d been sitting too long and couldn’t quite find her feet. She didn’t shake him off when he touched her, but she said regally, “Thank you. I’m fine.”

  He released her elbow and they exited the station. Detective Jenson was waiting for them at the precinct door. “Thank you, Ms. Leigh. Thank you for your patience with us. And please accept my deepest sympathies.”

  She nodded. “If I can do anything, provide any more information…” She paused. They’d already kept her long enough to glean anything she was likely to know.

  Tyler’s SUV was just outside the station and he nodded toward it. “We’ll get you home as quickly as we can,” he promised.

  Adam politely ushered Allison into the passenger seat and took the rear himself, insisting that even at his age, he’d show courtesy to a lady until he keeled over.

  Although he was silent during the drive, Allison began to speak. “It seemed like such an ordinary day,” she murmured.

  “There were a lot of tours?” Tyler asked her.

  “Yes, it was busy, which is good. We work hard to make the tours interesting and informative, and to keep the house sustaining itself.”

  Tyler asked a few questions about historical tours as he drove, trying to put her at ease. They reached the house, parking in the adjacent lot.

  Maybe it was fitting that there’d be a full moon that night. The house seemed large and alive in the light, encased by the shadows surrounding it.

  By day, he thought, it was probably a handsome Colonial house, built to withstand the ages. But now…

  Now it seemed as if it were waiting.

  There were warnings posted by the police. No Trespassing! Invasion of the Premises in Any Manner Will Result in Immediate Arrest!

  The warnings covered the sign beyond the podium that usually advertised the property’s hours of admission and the prices of tours.

  “There’s—there’s tape all over the house.” Allison spoke blankly, obviously too tired to be shocked.

  “Yes, your chairman has ordered the house closed for a few weeks, long enough for a real investigation,” Adam said.

  Tyler slipped a knife from his jacket pocket to cut through the tape. He keyed in the code on the gate alarm.

  “A real investigation?” Allison repeated.

  “Yes,” Tyler said. “We’re trying to find out if the security’s been breached and determine whether there’s another access. Also, if there’s someone who knows the code and has dangerous concepts of history, dangerous beliefs about this house. That’s why it merits investigation.”

  Allison’s eyes narrowed again as she studied him. “You’re a ghost hunter.”

  “I’m not a ghost hunter—I’m an agent,” Tyler said. “Hunting ghosts would be a rather useless effort.” He forced a smile. “They only appear when they choose to. Inviting conversation—now, that’s another thing.”

  Leaving her to Adam, he strolled up the walkway. He wanted to spend some time in the house alone.

  At the front door he once again slit the tape before typing in the alarm code and using the key he’d received from Detective Jenson to let himself in. When he entered the foyer, it felt as if he’d stepped back in time.

  Tyler stood there for a minute. You didn’t need to be a Krewe member to “feel” a house, a battlefield or any other historic place. He’d seen the most skeptical, steel-souled Texas Ranger take on a look of grim reverence when standing at the Alamo. It was a feeling that touched most people on the battlefields at Gettysburg or in the middle of Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame or other such historic places.

  This house had it. That feeling. It was a sense of the past, a past that was somehow still present. Perhaps the energy, passion and emotion of life that had once existed here lingered in these rooms.

  This was a beautiful house and maintained in a period manner that no doubt added to the feel.

  Tyler didn’t stay in the entry long. He could hear Adam and Allison following behind him, Adam explaining that what they investigated was history rather than ghosts.

  He knew that Julian Mitchell’s death had occurred in the old study, and he strode down the hallway toward it. He stared at the old maple desk; blood stained the wood and the Persian rug beneath it where the deceased man had been found. A few spatters lay on the reproduction ledgers and account books covering the desk. Initial contact with the blade had caused a spurt, and the blood had drained straight down. A lot of it.

  Tyler tried to picture the scene as it had been described to him—the young man seated in the chair, the musket between his legs, the bayonet through his throat and mouth as if he’d used it to prop himself up. He had bled out quickly, according to the pathologist who’d first examined him. He hadn’t appeared distressed and he didn’t appear to have fought with anyone. He had simply sat down, set his chin upon the bayonet as though to rest on it…and skewered himself with it.

  Who the hell accidentally put a bayonet blade through his own chin?

  But he hadn’t cried out. Tourists leaving the premises would have heard or, at the very least, Allison Leigh would have as she locked up for the night.

  Tyler remained near the entrance to the room, noting its location. There was the door that opened off the entry hall, and another that led from the study to the next room. This meant there were two points of access, as well as a way to exit.

  But how did you get someone to die on a bayonet in such a position and leave no sign of a struggle? Talk him into it?

  He looked at the paintings on the wall, which were authentic period pieces. Two men had been depicted at somewhere between the ages of thirty and fort
y. Beneath one, he made out the name Angus Tarleton; the other was labeled with the description Brian “Beast” Bradley.

  The eyes of the latter seemed to have an unusual power. The artist had managed to depict a handsome man—and also a cruel and cunning one. He’d read that the Mona Lisa’s eyes seemed to follow her viewers. Bradley’s did the same, apparently focusing on him as he moved about the room.

  He turned to the hallway. Allison Leigh was pale as she stood next to Adam, who watched and waited for Tyler to take the lead.

  “Allison, can you tell me exactly what happened leading up to your discovery of Julian?” he asked her.

  She winced. “I should’ve written it down earlier, I’ve had to repeat it so many times,” she muttered. She was hostile again, he thought. Hostile and angry, but that was good. If she’d fallen apart, broken into tears, she wouldn’t have been much help.

  “I didn’t run into a bloodthirsty ghost,” she told him.

  “I would’ve been surprised if you had,” Tyler said. “I’m sorry, but you do want to catch the killer, right?”

  She stared back at him with eyes that were as clear and beautiful as a summer sky.

  “I don’t think there was a killer,” she said. “Julian could be a clown. He was full of himself, an entertainer. He had a tendency to piss the rest of us off with his unwillingness to accept responsibility, but he also made us laugh and…he was a friend.” She took a deep breath. “It looked as if he sat down, started fooling around with the musket and set his head right on the blade. Yes, we use real muskets and bayonets, and never, ever, have we had a problem. The costumed interpreters don’t carry bullets or gunpowder and no one’s ever gone crazy and tried to bayonet a tourist. Who’d imagine that anyone could die on one?”

  “He wasn’t in any way suicidal?” Tyler asked.

  “Julian? He was convinced the world was waiting for him,” she said. “No, I don’t believe he committed suicide.” She hesitated for a moment. “We were all angry with him, figuring he’d had some kind of great offer and decided just to disappear.”