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

by Heather Graham

  “Yes, I did. And I actually watch football.”

  “Really?”

  “Well, now and then.” She waved a hand in the air. “I throw a party every year for the Super Bowl thing.”

  He lowered his head, still smiling.

  She continued, her tone that of a professor. “But as to the Tarleton-Dandridge House…things there truly are irreplaceable. We lose so much history every year. We should preserve whatever we can for the ages, for our children and grandchildren.”

  “I won’t do any damage to the house. The board knows I’m in there and they’ve approved. It was Adam’s idea. When my Krewe arrives, they’ll be staying there, as well.”

  “Lord,” she murmured. “Please. You’re going to tramp through the house with all kinds of ridiculous equipment?”

  “We have cameras and heat sensors, but we don’t tramp.”

  She sat back, frowning. “You really should be supervised while you’re there.”

  He laughed. “Allison, think about it. We do what we do because of a man who respects history as holy ground. We’ve worked in some of the most historic and fragile and secretive places in this country. You’re welcome to come back with me and see where I’ve set up,” he told her.

  Evidently, that suggestion didn’t please her at all. She ignored the question and pointed to his menu.

  “You should try their shepherd’s pie,” she said. “It’s excellent.”

  He did; they ordered and their food was served ten minutes later. He was surprised that she seemed nervous as the meal came to a close. “I was hoping you’d be around during the day. You loved the house when you were a child, you’ve worked there as a guide, and you can supervise everything that goes on.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “How do you know I loved the house when I was young? Oh, of course, you have information on me, as well.”

  “Of course.”

  “That’s not really fair, is it?”

  “I’m the investigator. I think that means it’s fair.”

  “But what about you? Did ghosts talk to you as a kid?” she asked teasingly.

  “Nope. I grew up in San Antonio, went into the service, got out, went to the University of Maryland for criminal law and became a Texas Ranger.”

  “How was high school for you?” she asked him. “Wait, don’t tell me. You were a linebacker on the football team. Cheerleaders were entertainment for you, and you somehow managed to keep your grades up enough to stay on the team and get scholarships, but you were bred with Texas machismo and therefore it was necessary to join the army before going for your education. That sounds terrible—I’m sorry. I’m grateful to our armed forces.”

  “I joined the navy.”

  “And the rest?”

  “I don’t really remember the cheerleaders as entertainment.”

  “You dated one, though, right?”

  He laughed. “No, never. I dated the same girl through high school. She’s gone on to work for the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta. We’re still friends.”

  “Hmm,” was all the response he received.

  He asked the waitress for their check, only to find out that Evan had picked it up and wouldn’t back down, even when Tyler tried to explain that as a law enforcement officer, he could be cited for accepting a free meal. “But Ally isn’t a law enforcement officer, and she’s the one I’m taking care of. Besides, you’re her guest. And I won’t tell if you don’t. Come back with friends and spend more money,” he told them cheerfully, waving away their thanks.

  Tyler realized he was never going to get that check; he thanked Evan, assured him they’d return soon and left their waitress a generous tip.

  It was while they were on their way out that a slim woman in very high heels and a tight skirt came breezing through the doorway. She almost passed them, but then she noticed Allison and started to say something but saw Tyler, as well, and stopped dead.

  “Hello, Cherry,” Allison said.

  “Hello, Ally.” She glanced at Allison briefly, staring at Tyler, and then shaking her head as she looked at Allison again. “Oh, my dear, it’s good to see you out and about. I’m so, so sorry about that charming young man, Julian.” She didn’t wait for Allison to reply, but turned to Tyler, extending a hand. “You must be with Adam Harrison’s people.”

  “Yes, ma’am. Tyler Montague.”

  “Cherry. Cherry Addison. You’re very welcome here. We adore the house and want any…difficulties resolved. I must admit I didn’t think the idea of bringing your team in to stay was the best, but we made the decision as a group. And you certainly look as if you’ll be capable of managing any situation.”

  “I hope so, ma’am,” he told her. So this was the Tarleton-Dandridge descendent. She was an attractive woman, determined to retain the appearance of youth. Her hair was carefully cut at an angle, and her face was smooth. Unfortunately, its smooth perfection was indicative of cosmetic surgery or at least Botox.

  “You’re helping Agent Montague?” she asked Allison, who nodded. “Well, naturally, Allison knows her history. We’re delighted to have such a scholar among our guides, but…of course, I know the history of the house as no one else does. So when you need my assistance…”

  “Yes, of course. We’re scheduled to meet in the morning,” Tyler reminded her.

  “Ten o’clock. I believe we’ll be at Ethan’s place.” She shuddered. “I’m glad we’re not meeting at the house. However, I look forward to speaking with you tomorrow. Needless to say, the board is anxious about the house. We take its preservation very seriously. Because of what’s happened—so tragic—it seemed necessary to close for a period. But should you need my personal assistance in any way, don’t hesitate to get in touch. I will make myself entirely available to you.”

  “That’s kind of you, thank you,” Tyler said. She still just stood there, staring at him.

  “Well, good evening, then, ma’am. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  “Yes, good evening. Allison, have the best night you can, my dear,” she said, and moved into the restaurant.

  Tyler held the door until she was inside. She looked at him again, gave him a lingering smile and headed to the bar.

  When he closed the door, he saw that Allison was grinning.

  “Well, that was the famous descendent,” he said. “What’s so funny?”

  “She was ready to devour you.”

  “I don’t think she expected to see either of us here.”

  “I don’t think she could care less about seeing me. But you’re a big boy. You can handle her…and her assistance.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “She is a Dandridge descendent.”

  “She doesn’t work at the house every day.”

  “Technically, I’m part-time.”

  He smiled and didn’t reply. She seemed to be in a good mood, still amused by Cherry Addison’s reaction to him.

  But as they walked, her smile faded. She moved more slowly as they left the restaurant behind.

  He was surprised. She was trying to draw out their evening together.

  Fine. He slowed his pace, as well, curious about her reasons.

  They walked back along Market Street and the quiet of night made the experience of looking at the facade of Independence Hall seem even more hallowed. He tried to imagine how the hotheaded politicians of the time had managed to work together well enough to “make thirteen colonies chime as one.”

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Allison said.

  “A penny? With inflation? My thoughts are worth at least two cents.”

  She laughed. “I’m not sure I could afford them these days.”

  “I was thinking that it’s a miracle we exist as a nation. Could you picture our Congress today cooperating to make that kind of decision?”

  “Good point,” she said. “Patrick Henry and Sam Adams were fierce and fiery orators, and they didn’t always agree with each other. They made it work somehow.”

 
; “They had the same goal.”

  She laughed. “And they put aside their differences to achieve that goal. We can keep hoping! They realized that society would change over time. When you think about the past two-hundred-plus years, they didn’t do so badly. Most of them knew the slavery question would arise, but they felt they had to create a country before dealing with such a serious issue. We’ve made mistakes as a nation and we’ll continue to make mistakes. That’s human nature. The American dream is one thing, while men and women are flesh and blood and real. All we can do is try to avoid those mistakes in the future. You know the famous quote about learning from history or else being doomed to repeat it.”

  He nodded. She was interesting, reasonable…and, yes, charming. Fun to be with.

  He realized it wasn’t a sudden desire for his company that had her stalling, dragging her feet, walking slowly. She seemed loath to go in the direction of her house.

  “Is something wrong?” he asked her.

  “No, no, nothing. I was thinking maybe I’d go to the Tarleton-Dandridge House with you now.”

  He arched a brow. “You’re afraid the intriguing Cherry Addison will step in—and give me incorrect information. Or that she’ll convince me the ghosts of her ancestors are running around and our investigation would make a great TV show.”

  She sent him a stern glare. “You wanted me to talk. You wanted my opinion on people there. You want to know about the history of the house. I’m too keyed up to sleep, so I’ll come back with you, if you don’t mind.”

  “Not at all. I’m a big believer in plunging right in.”

  He kept a smile in place.

  He wondered what was going on with her. The last thing she really wanted to do, he thought, was to go to the Tarleton-Dandridge House with him.

  She just didn’t want to go home. Why?

  * * *

  She was surprised that he hadn’t come right out and demanded to know what she was lying about.

  But he hadn’t.

  She sounded like a liar to herself, and she was seriously worried about her sanity.

  What a choice!

  Home—where Julian Mitchell might suddenly appear to be sitting in the chair by her sofa. Or the Tarleton-Dandridge House with Tyler Montague.

  Montague was alive. That meant he won.

  The question was, how long could she pretend to be helping him at the house?

  She’d already been through the crime scene. The idea of walking through it again just made her feel numb.

  They went into the mudroom and then the foyer. The entry was large, which was convenient when they were doing tours. People could disperse and look into the different rooms so they weren’t all trying to crowd into one area at the same time.

  “Here we are,” Tyler said.

  “Where are you sleeping?” she asked him.

  “The master bedroom. I’m the first one here, so I get first choice.”

  “That’s a rope bed. The quilt on it is from the 1800s.”

  “The quilt is safely in a closet. I brought sheets and a blanket.”

  “What about the rest of your people?”

  “They’ll come with bedding, as well.”

  “As well,” Allison repeated. “As well as cameras and all their ghost-hunting equipment,” she said scornfully.

  He stopped and turned to her. “I’m sorry you find us laughable. My unit has an extraordinary record of solving every case we’ve been brought in on.”

  “There really isn’t a case here—I mean, not worthy of your effort. I can’t see how there could be.” She thought she must have sounded desperate and tried to calm her voice. “There is nothing in that attic. Nothing worth taking. I keep thinking that Julian had to be playing a prank and it got the best of him. Who knows, maybe he thought he’d create a mystery for us, and that I’d find him in the study playing Beast Bradley and he’d scare me.”

  “That may be the case,” Tyler said mildly. “If so, we won’t be here long. Look, Allison, there’ve been a lot of deaths in this house.”

  She unfastened the red velvet cord that sectioned off the period sofa and sank into it. “It’s an old house,” she said stubbornly. “People die.”

  “I’m not talking about the natural deaths, and you know it.”

  “The unnatural ones, like the poor kid who electrocuted himself?” Allison asked. “Sam Daily. That was eight years ago. I never met him. I was a college student back then, working occasionally on my breaks. There is no real protection against human stupidity. He started ripping out wires and got an electric shock. That’s what happens.” She winced, remembering. They’d shut down the house then, too. But only for a few days.

  “You were here?”

  “Like I said, I never saw the student—or the police or anyone. It was horrible, tragic. As tragic as when a spring-breaker gets drunk and goes over a balcony at a Florida hotel. Everyone felt terrible, especially for the parents. When we came back to work…it was uncomfortable. And still, there was nothing any of us could have done, and certainly nothing that any form of law enforcement could have done. He thought he could trip the alarm and play games in the house. A live wire killed him. That’s all I know.”

  “I didn’t say you should know more.”

  She lifted a hand. “The thing is, that kind of tragedy could have happened anywhere. There’s no reason to assume that ghosts are running around this house. People can do crazy things, and sometimes they pay horrible consequences.”

  “Sadly, that’s true.” Tyler took a seat next to her. “What about the other incidents?” he asked.

  She cast him a wry glance. “I wasn’t alive when Bill Hall fell down the stairs.”

  “Angela Wilson?”

  She felt a little pang squeeze her heart. “I loved Angie. She was so knowledgeable and she was the grand matriarch here. I knew her from when I was really young. She encouraged me to love history and books and…she was a role model for me. She had a wonderful career, wrote several fantastic historical novels, married a great guy and had kids. She was seventy-two—not old at all these days, and in great shape. But she had a heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said softly.

  “Thank you,” she murmured just as softly.

  He rose. “I’m going to take a walk around the house and make sure all the doors are closed and the windows are secure and ready for the alarm, so I can go right to sleep when I get back. Then I’ll stroll on over to your house with you and pick up my car. I’m exhausted. You must be, too.”

  She nodded.

  He stood up and started for the stairs.

  Allison was dismayed to realize that she wanted to call him back. She wanted to leap to her feet and go with him.

  She was terrified of being alone.

  Somehow, she managed to stay seated.

  As his footsteps disappeared up the stairs, she got up, too. She couldn’t sit still—and she didn’t want to go home.

  Check into a hotel? That was ridiculous!

  But it was better than going home. Thankfully, she knew some good therapists and she’d go see one first thing in the morning.

  All she had to do was get through the night.

  “Allison!”

  She heard the whisper of her name, but denied it to herself.

  The sound came again, more urgent.

  “Allison, please!”

  She turned and there he was, Julian Mitchell, still in period costume, in the doorway that led to Angus Tarleton’s study.

  She backed away from him. She backed up so far that she couldn’t move any farther; she could feel the sofa against her legs.

  Julian Mitchell came toward her.

  Once again, it was too much.

  This time, she didn’t hurt herself. She passed out onto the period sofa that sat just inside the entry of the Tarleton-Dandridge House.

  * * *

  Tyler didn’t think he’d taken that long to walk around and assure himself that the house was secure.
r />   He must have been longer than he’d thought.

  When he returned to the foyer, Allison was stretched out on the sofa, sound asleep. He gazed down at her for a moment. Maybe she’d awaken soon. He hated to rouse her when she’d been through so much and was so exhausted.

  There was more work he could do in the study; he decided he’d get to it and wait for her to wake up.

  He ran upstairs and got a pillow—one he’d brought himself, with a twenty-first-century pillowcase bought at Target—and slipped it beneath her head. On second thought, he went back up and returned with a blanket. When he’d covered her, he went into Angus Tarleton’s study.

  While he continued to read about the people involved with the house throughout its history, he found that he was continually distracted. Looking up at the painting of Beast Bradley, he knew why.

  The portrait didn’t bother him. It was the work of an excellent artist, someone capable of imbuing a painting with character. He’d shown a handsome man steeped in cruelty, a portrayal that was so different from the painting in Lucy Tarleton’s room.

  Granted, the one in the study had been executed by a Dandridge. Did that mean anything? Naturally, the Dandridges hated the man who’d caused the death of Lucy Tarleton, Sophia Dandridge’s sister. And Bradley had probably brought so much misery to Angus Tarleton that he’d died years earlier than he should have.

  So what exactly was the truth about Beast Bradley? Did his infatuation with Lucy turn him into a monster or had history been written by the victors—the patriots in this case? Maybe he’d been nothing more than human, having virtues along with his faults.

  Then again, how did anyone forgive a man who’d cut the throat of a young woman in her own parlor?

  The house seemed silent. Nothing even seemed to shift. He yawned, exhausted, then went back out to the parlor.

  Allison Leigh was still sleeping soundly.

  “Allison?”

  He touched her shoulder. She didn’t awaken.

  She looked young and vulnerable lying there, and angelically beautiful. Her dark hair was sleek and lustrous against the crimson velvet of the sofa; her long lashes swept ivory cheeks.

  “Allison?” He shook her slightly but she still didn’t wake.