“Some vigilantes have been killing bad guys,” Artie said. “We’re not bad guys, so I think we’re okay.”
“They killed a very sweet young woman too, we believe,” Parks said.
“You don’t know that,” Trina said. “Really, I can’t see the correlation—why would the police even think that? And I don’t know—all those bad guys down. Whoever these vigilantes are, they might be on the right path. Hey, that guy—that Tink guy they killed—he was a major cocaine and heroin dealer and he was suspected of killing a bunch of people. Okay, maybe they were bad people too, but—”
“We have laws for a reason,” Jake said quietly. “And courts—for a reason. Judges to dole out punishment. We prove guilt—we don’t assume it. Part and parcel of being American.”
“But seriously…” Harold began.
“Yes, seriously. We have courts. A system. Laws. Not only is being judge and jury all in one illegal, but the wrong people wind up hurt,” Jake said. He felt himself growing angry.
He couldn’t get Shelley Broussard out of his mind.
“But sometimes…” Trina said, and then paused, shrugging. “Forgive me. Sometimes, the courts aren’t so effective. But to answer your question, no—we haven’t had any trouble out here. And—” She looked at Ashley and smiled. “We’re an hour out of the city of New Orleans. People looking for trouble… They don’t usually want to drive this far to find it.”
“But we’re careful,” Harold added. “We watch.” He looked at Ashley. “And, I swear, we would report anything immediately. You know that.”
“I do,” Ashley said. “Seriously, these guys just wanted to see what was going on out here. Fun, huh?”
“Well, we were having fun,” Harold said.
“Go back to your fun—sorry. We didn’t mean to be a damper,” Jake said. “Just be careful—and alert. Even if it is Halloween.”
“Of course.”
“Sure.”
“You bet.”
The group all spoke in unison.
“Let’s finish this up,” Cliff said.
“Yep, see you all later,” Ashley called out cheerfully.
She walked ahead of Jake. He caught up to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
“Jake,” she murmured.
“Sorry. This is just…”
“Halloween,” she said.
“Let’s see your grandfather, all right?”
She glanced at him. “Shouldn’t you be back in New Orleans?”
“Not tonight,” he told her. “Not tonight.”
* * * *
Jake was worried, Ashley knew.
She was worried herself.
Frazier was just fine, hiding in his study. He told them both he’d be there all night. That he would, in fact, be in his study—unless he was in the dining room or upstairs in his bed—until Halloween was over.
Jackson and Parks went back to New Orleans.
Parks was going to get a man to take over for Jude McCoy, who’d been watching over Richard Showalter. Then Jackson and Jude intended to keep a good eye on the art studio and follow Nick Nicholson if and when he headed out.
Parks himself was going to walk Bourbon Street.
“You should really be in NOLA,” Ashley told Jake at one point.
But Jake was stubborn. That night, at least, he was going to be at Donegal Plantation. With her.
Naturally, they were booked to the gills. There was no way for her or Jake to take a customer’s place in the house tours or on the hayride. But they tried their best to keep an eye on the groups.
The security company people walked around just as they should.
Their cop stayed on duty.
No one was even slightly feisty.
The night came and went.
Jake kept in close contact with Parks and Jackson and Jude McCoy.
But nothing happened in the city of New Orleans either.
A quiet night.
And still.
Once she fell asleep, Ashley dreamed. She heard the sound of music blaring, louder and louder from each consecutive bar and club. She saw the neon lights and heard the laughter of the people on Bourbon Street.
And ahead of her was the young woman.
Shelley Broussard.
“Help me, please,” Shelley whispered.
Ashley didn’t need to turn to see that the black mist, the cloud of birds, ebony evil, or whatever it might be, was coming.
“No,” Ashley begged. “Please help me, Shelley. I need your help so badly.”
Shelley stopped. “I am Shelley Broussard,” she said. “And I am dead. They murdered me.”
“Help me,” Ashley pleaded.
“Yes… I know. I am Shelley Broussard. And I am dead. And… I want to help you.”
She disappeared.
The black mist was coming.
Ashley almost felt it.
It was cold and had a horrible feel. Slimy, and somehow as evil as the menace it promised.
Cold…like death.
Ashley woke with a start. Jake was holding her, rocking with her.
And in his arms, she felt the cold burn away, and his warmth engulf her.
Chapter 11
“Shelley’s body hasn’t been released to the family—or to Marty and Nick Nicholson,” Jake said, pacing the floor in the bedroom. He stopped and stared at Ashley. “So, yes. It’s still possible to see her. To touch her.”
“I just feel that if…if I get a real chance, I’ll be able to communicate with her,” Ashley said. “And even if she can’t tell me who killed her, if they came at her from behind and she couldn’t see them—she might be able to tell me more about Jonathan Starling. We can find out if he is sincere. Or if the people at the art gallery really are practicing some kind of weird murder rituals—and Shelley just wound up in the way. I’m just afraid that if we ask to see her body again, they’re going to think we’re stark-raving mad.”
“No, it’s all right,” Jake said, waving a hand in the air. “Jude McCoy was with the NOLA office before he was with the Krewe—he’s good at dealing with Orleans Parish and the M.E.s here. We’ll be fine.” He offered her a lopsided smile. “Hey, we’re the Krewe of Hunters. We believe in…whatever needs to be believed in.”
“Thankfully. But shouldn’t you be in New Orleans? You know I really need to stay out here. The next five nights will be hard for everyone because it’s the end of the season. I mean, I want to go into New Orleans and back to the morgue, but after that, I need to be home. Still, as far as you going back…”
“Parks is a good detective. He’s had his men out and watching Picture This, and Nick and Marty Nicholson and the young artists working at the shop. They’ve all been quiet. Either cops or FBI have followed them all and they’ve done nothing but eat, buy supplies—and deliver paintings. Oh, the woman you met at Jackson Square—Geraldine Sands—has moved in. Jackson was by there and met her. She said that she has your painting and she can arrange to have it delivered or we can pick it up.”
“It’s a nice painting,” Ashley told him. “Not quite as haunting as the one I bought by Shelley.”
“Hmm. And you just had to wear the costume that made you appear to be the same person—hauntingly brought back to life?” he queried.
“She calls to me, Jake,” Ashley told him softly.
He inclined his head, and then nodded. “All right. We’ll get to the morgue. And then we’ll get you back here.” He hesitated, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. I just don’t like it.”
“What?”
“Halloween. Even here in this place, when it’s open to the public,” he murmured.
“We know everyone working here—and costumes other than on our actors are not allowed. We have a security company and a cop. And we have Cliff, and—trust me—Frazier knows how to use his double-barreled shotgun.”
“I know. Still… He might just be a damned good liar. But Jonathan Starling remains a person of interest, you know.”
&n
bsp; “He’s one man. And there are three killers.”
“You have three witches working your gingerbread house.”
“That would equal four.”
“There could be one mastermind—and three carrying out the plans,” Jake said. “That would be four.”
“Go to work, Jake. Don’t worry so much about me. Nothing has happened out here. I mean, first take me to the morgue. Then go to work.”
He nodded. “Think we’ll actually make it to a wedding?” he asked her.
She nodded. “And a honeymoon.”
He grinned at that and put through a call to Jackson. They drove back into the city.
The same M.E. met them and watched curiously as they studied the body. It was just Jake and Ashley this time. Jake questioned the M.E. a bit, trying to distract her so that Ashley could get closer.
Shelley remained very cold. Icy to the touch. Ashley closed her eyes.
“I’m here. I feel you. Shelley, please let me help you.”
The corpse remained cold. Jake continued to speak with the medical examiner. They left a few minutes later.
“Anything?” Jake asked when they were outside.
“I know she’s here—somewhere,” Ashley said softly. “I don’t understand why I can’t see her, hear her, when I’m awake. I know it’s her, and I’m getting closer to her in my dreams.”
Jake’s phone rang as she was speaking and he excused himself to answer it. She watched his face grow grim as he listened.
“That was Jackson,” he told her briefly. “I’m going to head out to Baton Rouge with Jude. The police there spoke with Angela, and they started to draw up a few of their own comparisons. These people might have been busy for a long time in Louisiana. We’re trying to work up a timeline—when people could have been where.”
“Jonathan Starling pointed out that our witches were working when Shelley was killed.”
“Maybe—and maybe not. Shelley Broussard’s body was set up. But still, she was dumped. She was killed elsewhere. And the M.E. can’t really pinpoint time of death."
“Jake, with everything that Angela discovered… And if the Baton Rouge police are right and anything they have corresponds with these killings, this trio might have been at this a very long time. There—there may be no solution here—even if the art shop is watched every day. Even if Jonathan Starling is in some way guilty of something.”
“No. They’re making mistakes. And we’ll catch them.”
A car pulled up and Jackson stepped out of it. Jude, who was driving, waved to Ashley. She waved back. Jake gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Jackson will be with you. He’s going to work at the plantation and…”
“And he’ll be there, watching over me, through all the Halloween shenanigans of the night,” Ashley finished.
“Precisely,” he said.
“Go,” Ashley directed. She smiled and he went out to join Jude.
Jackson walked up to her, carrying his computer case. “Seems like you get me for the evening. Sorry.”
She smiled at him. “I never mind having you for the evening. In fact, I’m honored. I’m being watched over by the best there is.”
“I’m sure that’s debatable,” he said. “But, onward. How did the morning go? Am I driving or are you?”
Ashley opted to drive. And as she did so, they spoke about the case. “The thing is, I don’t think that the killers knew most of their victims in any way, shape, or form. Except for Shelley. Then why are they associated? I mean, would vigilantes kill a girl so sweet and innocent?”
“The greater good,” Jackson said.
“The greater good?”
“If they felt that they were on an important mission, then maybe. Also, there’s another possibility.”
“What’s that?”
“Someone is so full of their own ego that it just doesn’t matter. If you can touch her… If you can find out what she felt or believed regarding people, it would definitely help.”
Soon enough, they reached Donegal.
Donegal, decked out in black drapes, spiders here and there, ghosts and goblins hanging about the porch.
Jackson told her he was going to head out and make sure that everyone was where they should be—and that it was the right people in the right place for Donegal in the evening.
Ashley found her grandfather in his study, seated at his desk. She walked behind him and slipped her arms around his neck. He patted her hand. “You stay up by the house tonight, you hear?” he asked.
“I’ll stay up by the house,” she promised.
“I’m imagining it now,” he said. “Lilies, gardenias, magnolias…white and light. And you and me walking down that stairway, Jake and his men coming from the other side, everything beautiful. The best of it all being that you’ve found the right young man—you’re going to lead a good life. Okay, a crazy life, but…with a good man. It’ll be a good life. And eventually, there will be little feet running up and down the stairways again.”
She smiled. Frazier was definitely ready for great-grandchildren.
“Little footsteps,” she said.
“Of course, these days, there could have been little footsteps already. But though I am anxious—and you two did take forever—I like the order we’re working in. Wedding, and then children.”
“Glad to please,” Ashley said lightly. “I’m going to go up and change into something 1860s so that I can help Beth wrangle our haunted-house-goers.”
“I shall be here—far from the cackling witches and madmen or whoever else you have out there,” he told her. “I’m looking at taking in a rescue horse from the Florida panhandle. Poor thing. No brand, just wandering off I-10. Call me if you need me.”
“Will do,” Ashley promised him.
The grand foyer was empty. If she wasn’t quite so caught up in what was happening, she would be marveling more about her own upcoming wedding.
But that time would come.
And she did have Beth and Cliff, and her amazing grandfather, and all kinds of people who would help, who would be there.
She hurried upstairs and went for the costume she used during re-enactments.
But chose not to use it. Standing in her underwear, she found herself staring at Shelley’s painting.
As she watched it, the character in the painting seemed to move. To reach out. The eyes grew even larger…
“Shelley, damn you, speak to me,” she said.
“I’m—I’m here.”
She turned.
At last, a very pale image of the woman she knew through the painting, through her dreams—and through the morgue—appeared. She stood just inside the French doors to the wraparound balcony like she was created of just a bit of substance and light from the day’s dying sun.
But she was there.
“Shelley,” Ashley breathed.
“Help me,” Shelley whispered. “Lord, I’m praying I can…can help you help me.”
* * * *
“I wound up talking to Nate Gallen, one of our patrol officers,” Captain Raoul Peterson told Jake and Jude. They’d easily made their way to Baton Rouge and were discussing the case in the captain’s office. “He’s not a detective, but he was first on the scene. It wasn’t quite a month ago. October 1st, to be exact. Gallen came upon a murder. Terrible site, blood everywhere. And when he reported to me, he told me that he saw ghosts leaving the scene. So naturally, he took a lot of ribbings. Whoever the murderer was, the victim was one slippery eel. He’d just gotten let out on a murder charge himself. I remember the case. Judge declared the evidence against him was ‘fruit of the poisonous tree,’ something about a warrant not being right. Anyway, the dead man had supposedly left a few dead men behind. But we didn’t have evidence—except for that obtained before a search warrant was granted. Thing is, my officer swore that he saw three ghosts. Even when his buddies all teased the bloody hell out of him. And it wasn’t the ghosts that got to me so much. It was the fact that he’d seen three of them.”
Jake glanced at Jude.
Ghosts. Three of them.
“Anyway, I have the case files in hard copy there for you, and we can email anything else that you may want as well,” the captain said. “It sounds like they’re out of our jurisdiction now, and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I hope to hell you get those ghosts. Oh, and one more thing.”
“What’s that?”
“Well, my officer was babbling. That’s why no one took him seriously. But he was babbling about Halloween. About Halloween night being some kind of a grand finale to what the ghosts did.”
“Can we see him?” Jake asked.
“Poor fellow—we had to put him on leave. Doctors have him somewhere in Montana right now. I can arrange it, if you like.”
Jake’s phone buzzed. “Excuse me,” he murmured. He didn’t recognize the number.
“Special Agent Mallory,” he said.
“Mallory, Jake… You gave me your card. This is Richard Showalter.”
Jake could barely hear, since the man was almost whispering.
“Yes, what is it? What’s happened?”
“There was supposed to be an officer watching me. He…he’s not here. He was here. He went out to check on a noise… And he’s gone.”
“All right, stay calm. I’m a distance away. I’m having Detective Parks get someone there right away. Are you inside? Is the alarm on?”
There was no answer.
“Captain, thank you,” Jake said, rising. Jude did the same. They both shook hands with the captain and Jake led them out at double speed.
“What’s going on?” Jude asked.
“That was Richard Showalter. He can’t find his cop.”
“He might be doing rounds.”
“Showalter’s phone cut out.”
Jude swore softly.
As they headed to the car, Jake called Parks, and then Jackson.
And they drove like hell toward New Orleans.
* * * *
“Why were you labeled a traitor? Who did this to you?” Ashley asked.
Shelley smiled sweetly. “I don’t know.”
“I know your killer came up from behind, but… Why a traitor?”
Hallow Be the Haunt: A Krewe of Hunters Novella Page 11