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

by Heather Graham

  She launched into her talk. “The stables, as you see, are to your right. There’s actually work space in the old servants’ quarters over the stables. There are stalls for eight horses, a tack room and a little office. The watering trough is still there—it’s the original stone trough. The stalls themselves are wood and have been repaired over the years, but the circular carving on the gates to the individual stalls is original. As we pass the stables, we come to the family graveyard. It was a huge property back then, so it was natural that household members were buried here. During the yellow fever epidemic, the family moved out of the city and came back afterward. They were blessed. None of the Dandridge family died.” She paused. “You probably know that a yellow fever epidemic swept through Philadelphia in the summer of 1793.”

  “I’ve been reading up.” He smiled at her. “I don’t know as much as you do, but yes, the then-capital city had a population of about fifty-five thousand. Dolley Madison lost her first husband and two of her children during the epidemic.”

  “Well, the Dandridge family was smart—they got out. They weren’t here when the criers went through the town saying, ‘Bring out your dead, bring out your dead!’”

  She looked at the stables; she went through them so often. Cleaned out now, as they’d been since the turn of the twentieth century, they still smelled of leather, horses, cigars and polish. The upstairs had been converted to caretaker apartments long ago, before the house was bequeathed to Old Philly History.

  “Graveyard now?” Tyler asked. “Or are you stalling?”

  She laughed. “Why worry about a graveyard? A ghost appeared to me in my living room. What else is there to fear?”

  “From the dead, usually nothing. Although…”

  “What, the dead can be evil?”

  “I wasn’t involved with the cases, but a few times, when someone really evil died somewhere—that somewhere being a place where they’d killed and tortured others—there was a remnant of evil that lingered. But the ghosts didn’t kill. Sometimes, maybe evil attracts evil.”

  “I don’t believe the Tarleton-Dandridge family was evil in any way, so the family graveyard should be safe,” she said. “And thankfully, it is broad daylight.”

  She started walking ahead, leading him past the stables.

  The old family graveyard had the right aura. There were several vaults dedicated to the family, and there were plots with large angels and obelisks, memorials to other family members.

  “A lot of people found a last resting place here,” Tyler commented.

  “They often had big families back then. Sophia and Tobias Dandridge had seven children, and those children went off and had more children, and that was over two hundred years ago, so…”

  A small brick wall, about three feet high, surrounded the burying ground. There was a little picket fence at the entry, and stones had been laid out as walkways.

  “I take it you’re looking for Lucy first?” Allison asked Tyler.

  “Yes, I’d like to see her grave. But I’m guessing it’s in the chapellike vault over there—center, toward the rear. The one that says Tarleton.”

  “Yes, she’s in there. Lucy, her father, her mother, her father’s parents, one aunt who never married and an uncle who’d been an Episcopal priest,” Allison told him. “A few of the family who came before Angus are there, too, but the vault was constructed while the Revolution was being waged, so the others were reentombed. At least I assume so.”

  They skirted angels and cherubs and two smaller vaults to reach the largest and finest of the vaults, which was guarded by a metal gate and a wooden door. Allison thought Tyler was surprised when she pulled open the gate.

  “It’s not locked?”

  “No. It’s actually a nice little chapel, as well. It has an altar, a few benches and a stained-glass window in back. Lucy’s uncle James is buried under the altar. There’s a pretty monument to her aunt Cecilia toward the front, and we believe she’s buried there. You’ll see monuments on the other walls, and those are to Angus’s parents and a few other family members. And Lucy, Angus and Susannah—Lucy’s mother—are in marble tombs just behind the altar, beneath the stained-glass window. They’re really striking—reminiscent of Renaissance tombs.”

  Allison wasn’t sure why, but when she entered the vault, she bypassed the old stone benches and walked around the altar to come to the middle of the tombs at the rear. Light was streaming through the cut-glass windows high above, casting dancing rays upon the effigies of the three Tarleton family members.

  Lucy was in the middle. Sculpted out of marble, she seemed beautifully at peace. Her long hair crowned her head and face; she held a bouquet of flowers in her hands. Her mother’s tomb was similar—flowers seemed to be the object of choice for the sculptor when it came to women—while Angus was holding a book.

  “Wow, impressive tombs. They must be the only ones like this in the city.”

  “I haven’t seen many like them. Seriously, they look as if they belong in Notre Dame or Westminster Abbey.”

  “Exceptionally fine.”

  “Were you expecting to find Lucy rotting away in a shroud, entombed in a wall?” Allison asked him, a note of teasing reproach in her voice.

  “Honestly? Yes. Not that it really matters what becomes of the body once we’re gone. Unless, of course, you do remain behind and have to watch,” he said thoughtfully. “Has she ever been disinterred?”

  “Goodness, no! That would be akin to blasphemy.”

  “I’m just curious. We take for granted that the history that came down to us was true—that Lord Bradley killed her.”

  “So far, there hasn’t been much reason to doubt it. From all accounts, the Tarleton family was a loving one. The history comes from Sophia and her husband, Tobias Dandridge. They loved Lucy, they were patriots—and there was no reason for them to lie about what happened,” Allison said. “We might not have completely firm and unimpeachable evidence, but I’ve always believed their version. I’m not sure why you think it’s a lie.”

  “I’m not saying that. I’m just questioning the telling of this particular tale.”

  “Why?”

  “For one thing, the paintings of Lord Brian Bradley. They’re so different.”

  “Two different artists.”

  Tyler shrugged. “Speaking of different artists—where is Tobias Dandridge?”

  Allison told him, “Outside, to your right facing the house. It’s a pretty little vault, too, but more like you’d expect. It’s a typical small mausoleum.”

  They went outside the Dandridge vault and followed a little pebbled path around the graveyard’s various sections. Allison always found it sad to see the Colonial- and Victorian-era markers for children. So many died so young.

  The Dandridge vault had a bronze plaque above it that trumpeted the family name. It was about the same size as the Tarleton vault, but the rows of etched markers outside announced many more names.

  “Lots more Dandridges,” Tyler said.

  “Well, the Tarleton family name died out with Angus,” Allison reminded him.

  They didn’t enter the tomb; here the gate and door were locked. There was nothing for tourists to see.

  “Back there. I’ll show you where Robert the dog is buried,” Allison told him.

  There were a number of markers for pets. One of them, recently imbedded, was dedicated to Bibi the cat.

  “She was here when I was a teenager,” Allison said. “The guides fed her. Everyone loved her. And here, just a few feet away—there’s Robert.”

  A very handsome stone statue of a dog had been carved to sit atop the grave. The hound must have been close to two hundred pounds.

  “He must have been something to wrestle with,” Tyler commented.

  “I imagine that’s why he was killed.”

  “Was he shot, stabbed—taken down with a rifle butt or a bayonet?” Tyler asked.

  “I don’t know. You can read the memorial stone—we have a group from t
he university that comes out to clean and repair these all the time. It says, ‘Robert, a fine patriot who died in defense of his beloved mistress, Lucy Tarleton.’”

  Tyler paused to read the memorial and then he looked up at her.

  “Do you ever feel Lucy out here, or any of the family? Anything, like even the brush of a cold nose against your fingers?”

  “No,” she said a little harshly. Had she ever felt such a thing? She wasn’t sure.

  She’d never believed in ghosts before. If she had felt something, she would’ve thought that the chill of winter was coming on….

  “No,” she repeated, suddenly eager to leave the graveyard. “Well, let’s go back to the house. It is heading toward fall, you know. It’s getting cool.”

  “You’re welcome to my jacket,” he said, starting to shed it.

  “Thanks. But let’s just go back.”

  She walked ahead of him, hurrying toward the house. As she neared it, she glanced up—and nearly tripped.

  She caught herself. And froze.

  There was someone upstairs, looking out Lucy’s window. Allison told herself that it might be Jane. Or maybe Kelsey had returned.

  But she knew better; she’d seen the image on screen.

  It was frighteningly like looking in a mirror.

  For a moment, it seemed as if Lucy Tarleton had defied the ages and stared down at her, sadness and yearning on her face.

  And then she faded as if she’d never been, and Allison wondered again what might be real to a sixth sense or on a different dimension, and what might be a trick of her tortured mind.

  “What is it?” Tyler asked her.

  “Nothing,” she said. But as she entered the house, she felt something touch her fingers.

  Like the cold, wet nose of a very large dog.

  12

  Tyler realized that Allison had hung back, but when he reached the foyer and the bank of screens again, she was right behind him.

  “Where is everyone?” he asked Sean.

  “Logan has gone off with Kelsey to continue searching through old records, and Kat’s at the morgue. Jane is still working in the salon.”

  “We’re going up to the attic,” Tyler said. “I could be wrong. But I believe there’s something in the research papers—or maybe in papers that were stolen—that may be the clue to all this.”

  Sean nodded.

  Allison touched Tyler’s arm. “Should we go to the morgue first?” she asked him.

  Tyler hesitated. “Can you take it?”

  She looked at him with clear, level eyes. “I can take anything, I think.”

  He raised his brows.

  She shrugged with a half smile. “A ghost, phantoms on a screen…what’s one more ghost?” she asked dryly.

  “All right—if you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”

  “I’m sure. I knew Sarah best.”

  “The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow,” Sean told them. “Logan was hoping that—”

  “He was hoping that Sarah remained behind,” Allison said. “Right? And that’s the thing. She may speak to me where she wouldn’t speak to others.”

  “Fine. We’ll go,” Tyler said.

  To his surprise, Allison seemed calm and rational during their drive.

  The morgue was a comprehensive and up-to-date facility. As they walked to the entry, he saw that she’d turned a little pale.

  “You’re sure you’re all right to do this?” he asked.

  She offered him a weak smile. “I’ve never been here. This is my city, and in all these years, I’ve never been here.”

  “Not many people make a habit of hanging out at the medical examiner’s offices,” he said.

  As they continued into the building, Tyler called Jane. She told him not to worry. Adam Harrison had greased the wheels and there’d be no difficulty getting them in.

  The medical pathologist who’d been given Julian Mitchell’s case was also on Sarah’s; that had been arranged by Adam. Her name was Dr. Ana Grant, and she came with Kat to meet them in the vestibule. Slim with short graying hair and an easy manner, she spoke in a well-modulated voice that held empathy as well as professionalism.

  “Dr. Grant has been very helpful,” Kat told him.

  “Sarah Vining’s body just arrived,” Dr. Grant said after the introductions. “I was showing your associate the snakebite marks when you called. We came out to escort you back—I’m afraid she’s in a freezer room with other…guests. Her autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning, but her body has been cleaned in prep.”

  Tyler had been in many a morgue. He wanted to put a protective arm around Allison’s shoulders, but held himself in check. She was still pale, but she didn’t look as if she was about to pass out or collapse in horror. Of course, the outer offices of the medical examiner’s office were neat and orderly in appearance.

  But as they entered the hallways, he thought he could detect the chemical odor that hinted of death and he kept a sharp eye on Allison.

  She moved up next to him. “Do people ever think you’re mentally ill when you want to touch the dead?” she asked him in a whisper.

  “We do it discreetly,” he whispered back.

  A few minutes later they were staring down at Sarah Vining’s body, covered with a sheet.

  Sarah looked small, skinny and gray.

  “The bite mark is on the inner thigh just above the knee. She was driving when the snake panicked and struck her. I assume it had somehow gotten under the seat.”

  He watched as Dr. Grant showed them the bite marks but then he looked at Allison. She was almost as gray as Sarah Vining.

  She stepped forward, saying softly, “She was a friend.”

  “I understand,” Dr. Grant said.

  Allison touched Sarah’s hair. Tyler thought she’d step back quickly, but she didn’t. She stayed there, gently touching the dead woman and gazing down at her.

  Dr. Grant spoke quietly to Kat and Tyler. “I don’t think we’ll find anything we don’t see here when the autopsy is performed,” she said. “I’ll know better what organs gave out when, but I have an educated hunch that between the bite and the trauma of the accident, her heart failed her.”

  “Have you ever heard of such a thing before?” Tyler asked.

  “People dying after a bite like that?” Dr. Grant shrugged. “Copperheads are dangerous and can be vicious when they’re threatened. But we do have antidotes for the bites, and these days most people survive. But elderly people, small children, those who are ill when they’re bitten—they’re in the greatest danger. The heart can fail under stress and trauma. That’s what I believe happened to Sarah. And in the midst of that massive accident, I’m sure no one expected her real problem to be a snakebite.”

  “Thank you,” Tyler said, glancing from Dr. Grant to Kat.

  Allison hadn’t been listening. He saw that she was staring down at Sarah Vining, her fingers still resting lightly on her hair.

  “Allison?”

  She looked up at him. “I’m ready,” she said.

  Kat stayed behind; there was evidently more of a medical nature that she wanted to discuss with Dr. Grant.

  Tyler led Allison out. “Anything?” he asked her as they reached the car.

  “Sorrow and confusion,” she told him.

  “I can only imagine how you feel,” Tyler said.

  She shook her head. “No. Yes, I mean, of course, my heart bleeds for both Julian and Sarah. They were murdered, their lives were stolen from them. That’s what I got from Sarah. She doesn’t know why she’s dead. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t remember anything except for a sudden and excruciating pain—and then the air bag blowing up in her face. She remembers stumbling out and being thrown several feet while the world seemed to explode around her in horrible screeches and bangs while the other cars crashed into one another.”

  “So she is there?” he asked incredulously. He grimaced. “You felt her—heard her—and neither Kat nor I did?”
/>   Allison nodded. “I felt as if her eyes opened and she looked at me. And it was as if I could hear her.” She was quiet for a minute. “She doesn’t mind that she’s dead. She said she has incredible faith and she’s…she’s waiting to go. Oh, and she wants to be buried or entombed at the house. Do you think our friend Adam has the clout to arrange that?”

  “We’ll see,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “But,” he added as she joined him, “Adam does seem to have the power to make the earth move—no pun intended. I’m sure he can do something.” He put the car into reverse and turned to drive out of the lot before he spoke to her again. “You’re okay?” he murmured.

  “I’m fine. I came because I’m the ‘key,’” she told him with a self-conscious shrug. “I’ll admit I’ve been frightened out of my mind. But that all started the moment I saw Julian dead in the study. It got worse when I saw him as a ghost. And then Lucy. And then the whole thing with Mr. Dixon… But I’m tired of being terrified. I want to get to the end of this, no matter what it is. I don’t want anyone else dying, and I don’t understand why Julian and Sarah are dead. And why a man who visited the house is in a coma. Whatever is going on, right now I feel like saying ‘come and do your worst’ because I’m…ready to fight back.” She turned to look at him with an awkward smile.

  He nodded slowly. “It’s a terrible thing to go through life frightened.”

  “I just… I don’t get it. I really didn’t believe in ghosts. I actually think I wanted to believe in ghosts, because then I’d know there was something beyond this life. But…why now?”

  She twisted in her seat to face him as he drove. “What about you? Supposedly, if you’re going to have second sight, you’re born with it.”

  “Not me. My first reaction was like yours.”

  “How? What did you do?”

  “Drank,” he said. “Like I told you before.” She gave him a frown and he laughed softly, then launched into his story about finding the younger sister of the dead heroin dealer in Texas, the woman whose ghost had appeared repeatedly to him. “After that,” he concluded, “it seemed as if a door had opened. And I worked with Logan, who’s one of those people who saw things at an early age, but he has Native American blood and I often think Native Americans have a far greater understanding that the world is more than what we see. But even Logan was always careful. Maybe this second sight or extra sense comes to people when it’s necessary. We—and by we I mean our Krewes—don’t have any real answers and we don’t pretend to. We’ve just learned that the dead may be out there—and that they have reasons for their presence and they may be able to help.”