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

by Heather Graham

  “I still can’t believe it,” Annette said. “I can’t believe that Julian’s dead.”

  “I’m sorry, Annette, I didn’t mean—”

  “No, no, I know.” She let out a long sigh. “I called Nathan to find out if the board knew anything about funeral arrangements but no one’s heard anything. The family wants the body shipped back to Indiana, but the morgue isn’t going to release him until…until whatever, I don’t know. There are still tests being done, I guess. Do you think he’d been drinking or that he was high or something? This is all so mysterious. Oh! Nathan did say he’d make sure we have a memorial in the next few weeks, no matter what. Julian had a lot of fans in the city.”

  “He was a decent musician and he had a great stage presence. I guess that’s why he made a good guide,” Allison said.

  “When he showed up,” Annette agreed. She walked back into the living room. “Hey, where’s your broom? I’m going to sweep one more time. You walk around barefoot—don’t want you cutting your foot.”

  “Drink your whiskey. The floor is fine. I cleaned it over and over again,” Allison said.

  The doorbell rang, and Allison looked at Annette. “Not a word, okay? Not a single word.”

  “Not even ‘hello’?” Annette asked. “And here I’d been thinking about adding something like ‘nice to meet you’!”

  Allison went to the door, flashing Annette a warning frown. Annette grinned.

  Tyler stood there, so tall he nearly filled the doorframe.

  “Hi,” she greeted him. “Come in.”

  He entered. Allison quickly introduced him to Annette, who giggled, offering him her hand.

  “You’re really tall,” Annette said.

  Tyler nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Annette!” Allison whispered. “That’s…rude.”

  “Not at all, Ms. Fanning,” Tyler said with a laugh. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m sorry it’s under such circumstances.”

  “Yes. Julian.” Annette shook her head. Denial would be with all of them for a long time, Allison thought.

  “Actually, I’m glad you’re here,” Tyler told Annette. “I wanted to talk to you about the Tarleton-Dandridge House and about Julian.”

  “I spoke with a police officer, but I’m happy to talk to you, too. I last saw Julian at lunch. I didn’t think about it much. I had to leave early myself. Root canal,” she explained. “But I’m not surprised he ducked out for an audition. Music was everything to Julian. Oh, he liked his job and he was good at it. But he did want to be rich and famous. A rock star.”

  “Mind if we sit?” Tyler asked Allison.

  She indicated the parlor. Her house, which had been built in the early 1800s, wasn’t quite as old as the Tarleton-Dandridge. The original owner’s grandson had sold it to her great-grandfather in 1890. Originally, the kitchen had been outside, and the counter had been put in somewhere around 1910, when the kitchen became part of the house. A lot of her furniture was pre-Civil War.

  Her sofa, however, was a purchase she’d made just a few years earlier. It was plush and soft and nice, like the massive armchair to the side of it.

  Tyler Montague took the chair; Annette sat close by, on the edge of the sofa, clearly fascinated. She rested an elbow on one arm of the sofa as she stared at him.

  “What do you think happened at the Tarleton-Dandridge House?” Tyler asked her.

  Annette blinked. “Do you mean about Julian—or someone trashing the office?”

  “Both, either,” Tyler said.

  “I’m sad, of course, and horrified. We talked about Julian all the time. He knew it and didn’t really care. He held on to his job at the house because he was good, very dramatic. But he wasn’t responsible. We all liked him. It was hard not to. He was just…ambitious. He wanted to be a rock star, like I said. But he did love history.” She paused. “And he loved to play online games—Words with Friends—all kinds of stuff. He acted like a blowhard sometimes, but he was very smart.” Tears welled up in Annette’s eyes. “It’s sad. It’s so, so sad. But it was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to determine,” Tyler said.

  “But…he was alone in the house with Allison, wasn’t he? She would never have hurt him. She won’t even put out poison to kill rats…. I think she gives half her income to societies that save animals. Of course, it’s true that people who love animals don’t always love people, but to suspect that Allison could have hurt Julian in any way—it’s crazy! Okay, he’s made us so mad at times that she might have wanted to smack him. And he did try to pick her up when he first started working there a year ago. She was seeing Peter Aubrey back then, and besides, she isn’t the type to play around at work and—”

  Allison finally interrupted her rambling. “Annette. I think Tyler wants to talk about the house.”

  “All impressions are important,” Tyler said smoothly. “So, you do believe Julian Mitchell was intelligent?”

  “Julian was definitely smart,” Allison replied. “He was brilliant with the English language.” She hesitated and then admitted, “He and I did have a competition on Words with Friends. His ability was uncanny.”

  “I didn’t even bother to play with him, I was so bad,” Annette said.

  “Would Julian have trashed the attic for any reason?” Tyler asked.

  Annette and Allison looked at each other. “I don’t know why he would—Julian had access to the attic. He could go up there whenever he wanted. But I don’t understand why anyone would trash the attic. We never keep money there. Cash receipts and credit card payments are kept in the lockbox in the little pantry where we get changed. Every couple of days, one of us took the deposit to the bank. And there’s never enough cash worth stealing. These days, reservations are mostly done online or with credit cards.”

  “So what is kept in the attic?” Tyler asked.

  “Paperwork, records—copies of records. Everything historically significant is in locked display cases,” Annette said.

  “What kind of paperwork?”

  “The usual.” Annette shrugged.

  “Financial logs, schedules, events, reservations and some of the research we do,” Allison explained.

  “It’s Allison’s research. She’s always writing some paper or other,” Annette said. “She’s a professor! And she’s the best guide they’ve ever had, because she knows so much about the families and their history. Julian was interested in her research, but he wouldn’t need to trash the attic. None of us would. Allison is always happy to show us her work.”

  Tyler watched her intently. Allison decided she was a little uncomfortable with Annette being so much of a champion.

  “I write papers, yes, articles, on select periods of American history or focusing on a certain event,” Allison said. “Eventually I hope to complete a book.”

  “But right now?”

  “Right now I’m working on a paper about the British occupation of Philadelphia, focusing on the Tarleton-Dandridge House and Bradley’s relationship with the family, especially Lucy. I’m also looking at Lucy’s relationship with her fiancé, Stewart Douglas. There’s a lot of mystery around her death. No one was called in to investigate and historians assume that’s because Beast Bradley killed her and it was all shoved under the carpet. The British were evacuating at about the same time.” She paused, impatient. “I’m hungry. I’m really hungry. Could we go somewhere for food?” She had groceries but wanted to bring this inquiry to an end—and wanted to escape her house for a while.

  “Oh!” Annette said with dismay. “I have to get back. I told Barrie I’d only be a few minutes, but I was so worried about Allison I forgot the time.”

  “You were worried about Allison? Why?” Tyler asked.

  “Because it’s been so traumatic!” Allison said firmly, giving Annette a warning stare.

  “Ah, yeah, right. I wanted to make sure she was doing okay. I’d be in a loony bin if it’d been me who found Julian,” Annette said. “Well.�
� She stood as if loath to go. Tyler rose to his feet, as well.

  Allison looked at Tyler, wondering whether she was stuck with him.

  “Are you hungry, too? You don’t need to come with me. You can find me here tomorrow,” she said. She didn’t know whether she dreaded having him come along, or whether she’d be disappointed if he didn’t.

  “Eating, yeah, I’m into it. Works for me a few times a day. I’ll join you.”

  Annette offered him her hand and Tyler shook it. “Nice to meet you,” she said. “Call me anytime.”

  “Thanks.”

  Allison got them both out the door, then hesitated, looking back, before closing it.

  She thought she saw something move in the kitchen.

  It’s just a reflection, she told herself. A reflection from the outside light on the shiny steel toaster. It was nothing….

  She realized she was afraid to come home alone.

  5

  Allison Leigh did know and love her city, Tyler observed. Her home was on Chestnut, near a number of tourist destinations. When they left the house, she didn’t have a place in mind; she told him the city was filled with wonderful restaurants.

  They decided to leave the cars and walk down to Walnut, where a friend of hers owned a pub called McDooley’s. His name really was McDooley and the pub was very old. Oddly enough, another McDooley—no relation—had owned the pub in the 1920s so there’d been no need for a name change when this McDooley bought the pub.

  Tyler was surprised that her explanation regarding McDooley’s ownership of McDooley’s was given with such ease and charm. He hadn’t imagined she was capable of being so lighthearted, but she had him laughing, and while they walked she mentioned funny or odd tidbits of history that kept him fascinated.

  Her friend McDooley—first name Evan—was behind the bar when they walked in, a jovial-looking man probably around thirty, and probably fond of a pint or two, since he was showing the beginnings of a beer belly at his young age.

  Evan McDooley started off smiling when he saw Allison, then quickly became grave, telling her how sorry he’d been to hear that a friend and coworker of hers had died. She thanked him and introduced him to Tyler. Evan’s eyes widened. “I’ve heard of you!” he exclaimed. “Will this be like…a real ghost investigation?”

  “Like a real investigation,” Tyler told him. “We go through everything. Any possible structural problems, history, people involved with the house—everything.”

  “Wow,” Evan said, his hands frozen on the glass he’d been drying as he stared at Tyler. “That sounds really cool. Oh, wait, no, sorry—the house is closed, right, Allison? People will be out of work for a while. Hey, I could use an extra waiter or waitress for the night shift, if any of you need some income.”

  “I’m fine. I’m researching a paper so I could use the time off,” Allison said. “But I’ll talk to Jason and Annette. One of them might be grateful for some work.”

  “There’s a booth in the corner that’s free if you want to take a seat and I’ll have someone right with you. Can I get you a brew? We have a nice selection of beers on tap.”

  Allison asked him for a Scottish ale and Tyler chose a stout. Evan pulled the drafts before they walked to the table. Tyler hadn’t expected her to drink with him, even a beer, but then he hadn’t expected her to be so charming as they walked to the restaurant, either.

  “Tell me about the paper you’re writing now,” Tyler said as they sat.

  She waved a hand in the air. “I already told you.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “Okay, well, I’m an assistant professor of history. I’m sure you know we’re expected to publish. So I write pieces that appear in magazines read by other professors who actually care about little incidents that occurred—along with the major events, of course. I’m interested in the everyday, human dimension of history—social history you might call it. Domestic life is a big part of that. That’s why I focus on something like the Tarleton-Dandridge House instead of the war.”

  “How many people know what you’re doing?”

  She made a face. “Everyone knows I’m working on a piece about Lucy Tarleton and Beast Bradley, and that I’m planning to write a book about everything that went on at the house the year the British were in occupancy.”

  “Did you leave papers in the office?”

  “Some of my research, but it’s all copies of papers, newspaper articles and letters I’ve gathered from libraries and other institutions. Also copies of documents held by the house. As Annette mentioned, the originals are under lock and key. Oh, plus some of my notes. The article’s a work in progress.” Allison frowned. “I don’t know why anyone would want copies of what I’ve got,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t understand what anyone would want in that attic.”

  “Tell me more about your friend Annette,” Tyler said.

  “You met her.”

  “For ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes should do it. She’s a bundle of energy, loves life, loves working at the house. She enjoys working in the old taverns, too—she’s on call at one called the Bitsy Betsy House. The staff serve at the tables and break into period song with a strolling flutist now and then.”

  Tyler grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

  “It is.”

  “What’s Jason Lawrence like?”

  “Jason is a nice guy,” Allison said. “Responsible and a good tour guide. Very entertaining when we go out to dinner together. Acts a little silly when he drinks, but who doesn’t? He’s smart, and he’s been honest about the fact that he’s heading back to NYU in a couple of years. He wants to do his doctorate in political science.”

  “You get along well with them? Both him and Annette?”

  “Yes, we get along great.”

  “But no one really got along with Julian Mitchell?”

  She lowered her head. “You have to understand. We all liked him. He was fun, and he was a terrific performer.”

  “What about the board members? How do you feel about them?”

  “The board?” she asked, frowning again.

  Tyler took a sip of his draft. It was good and very cold. “The board members who run the house.”

  “Oh, well, they’re…fine.”

  “You don’t sound like you’re all that fond of them,” he told her.

  “No, you’re wrong. I just don’t work with them every day. I do like them. Not as much as my friends and colleagues, but that’s a given, isn’t it?”

  “I don’t know who your friends are, do I?” He smiled at her. “If I’d walked in here alone, would I have known you were friends with the owner?”

  She grinned at that and raised her draft to him. “Ah, but you’re an FBI agent. With all sorts of information in your dossiers and reports.”

  “A report can’t really tell you how someone feels about others,” he said.

  “But you do know a lot about all of us, right?”

  “Not as much as I should.” He took another sip of his beer. “This came up quickly. I drove here an hour after Adam called me, and I didn’t get to my reading material until you ditched me today.”

  “I didn’t exactly ditch you.”

  “That’s exactly what you did.”

  “A colleague of mine died,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, I realize that,” he said quietly. “But I hope you’ll help me. I’m trying to find out why your colleague died. Of the board members, who’s your favorite?” he asked.

  “Hmm. I’m not sure. Either Nathan or Sarah. Sarah is the kind of woman who can remind you of a shelter dog—she looks as if she’s afraid she’s going to be beaten. I don’t know why. She came from money, married money, never had children and is a widow now. Her husband was quite a bit older. Maybe he was a jerk. She doesn’t talk about him or the time she was married at all. She’s very sweet and hard to draw into a conversation. I always feel like I should help her or stand up for her—but I have no idea what I’d be standing up against
. Nathan, on the other hand, is talkative and cheerful, and he really loves the house and the history. Ethan Oxford is quiet and dignified, and I don’t know him very well. It’s usually either Nathan or Sarah who talks to us about policy changes and so on. And Cherry…hmm. She has attitude. Or make that arrogance. The problem is that she isn’t always right about historical facts, even when they concern the house. And if anyone tries to explain something to her, she gets angry and tells us she’s a descendent of the family and we’re not. But, in all honesty, I don’t really blame her. She’s married to a well-known artist who gets tons of attention, so…maybe it’s her way of making sure she has her own identity.”

  “Interesting. I can’t wait to meet her,” Tyler said dryly.

  “You haven’t met the board yet?”

  “I have a meeting with them in the morning.”

  “Where are you staying?” she asked him.

  “At the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” he said.

  She seemed startled by that. “You’re staying there?”

  “Sure. It’s best to be right where you’re working. And I thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

  “I don’t,” she said quickly. Too quickly? “But no one’s ever stayed there—not in my memory. There are so many priceless artifacts in that house.”

  “I’m not going to throw a frat party.”

  She flushed. “We open the house and grounds for special events, but bring in extra security. It’s just…well, paintings on the wall are irreplaceable. Knickknacks set around the place are invaluable. Some of the lace doilies on the furniture are from the 1700s. You have to be so careful in there.”

  He leaned back, smiling. She was always so serious, it was rather endearing.

  “What was high school like for you?” he asked.

  “Why?”

  “Brains and beauty,” he teased. “Did you ever go to a football game?”