“I don’t know which is scarier—the concept that a mannequin moved on its own, or that someone was in here and put it at the foot of my bed to scare me to death. You know me, Diego—I don’t get spooked easily. I’ve studied mummies and excavated grave sites—you name it. But that mannequin...and those pictures... Ben and I both saw them, but I have no idea how they got there and no idea how they disappeared.”
“The cops have the camera now, right?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be able to get our hands on it. I mean, I’m sure the cops here are great, but the Bureau has the best techs in the world, and from what I hear, the unit can get anything expedited.”
“From what you hear?”
“They asked Brett to join and annexed me to the invitation. I just accepted yesterday. After you called.”
“After I called? So you accepted because of me?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but when you called...” he said.
“Oh, Diego, I didn’t mean to ruin your life. I was just so scared when the cops brought me in that I didn’t know what to do except call you.”
“You hardly ruined my life, it’s an elite unit. And I was already on the verge of joining—this just helped me make the decision. I wasn’t sure about leaving Miami, but I figured what the hell, I’m not tied down in any way anymore, so it doesn’t really matter where I’m assigned so long as I like what I’m doing.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes or he would be bound to read her relief at hearing he wasn’t seeing anyone seriously enough to want to stick around, so she just stared at her cup. All she said was, “But you love Miami.”
“No, Scarlet, I’m not in love with a place. Love is something you reserve for people.”
He rose, heading toward the living room. She flinched inwardly, then stood a moment later and followed him.
When she caught up to him, he was examining the statue of Nathan Kendall.
“Heavy, isn’t it? Whoever carved this did an amazing job. The artist caught real character in his face. He looks like a man who’s been through hell but come out with his soul intact,” Diego said.
“It’s a good likeness. I’m hoping to find out who the artist was.” She looked hard at the mannequin herself.
It was wood, just painted wood carved into the likeness of a man and dressed in period clothing.
It suddenly occurred to her that someone could steal those clothes and wear them, and she shuddered.
“Okay, I don’t want to scare you, because in the end this may have nothing to do with the ranch, but tell me about the people here,” Diego said.
“Well, you met Ben and Trisha.”
“The only other people who, as far as you know, have keys to the museum.”
“I can’t believe either of them would do this. I’ve actually known them for years. I met them right after college, when I was working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Before I knew you, in fact. I trust them completely.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t. It’s easy to get hold of a key and copy it. Who else works here?”
“Angus Fillmore runs the stable. You’d know him if you saw him. Old guy, looks like something out of an old Western movie.”
“I think I saw him,” Diego said. “Who else?”
“The head housekeeper, Linda Reagan. She’s around thirty, I think, and beyond competent. She hires seasonal help when the place is busy, the rest of the time—like now—she and Ben and Trisha handle the cleanup and the meals. Ben and Trisha have a private suite on the second floor, and Linda has a small apartment in the attic. Angus lives over the stables. He leads most of the trail rides, though Ben loves to take out the late-afternoon ride himself, and there are a few locals who help out as needed.”
“Guests here last night?” Diego asked.
“A flock who fled immediately, though not before the police talked to them. There are five who stayed. Terry Ballantree’s a young guy, here on his own. He’s excited because he’s a descendant of Nathan Kendall, just like Ben and me. There are also two couples still here. Charles and Gwen Barton are newlyweds from Mississippi, and Gigi and Clark Levin are from Texas. They’re retirees, and they come for two months at the end of summer, beginning of fall, every year.”
Diego nodded. “I’d like to meet all of them.” He paused, studying her. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“There’s something you haven’t told me yet,” he said. “I know you.”
She shook her head, lowering her eyes. “There is one thing, but I can’t see how it means anything. There was a strange guy who stopped me when I was in town and told me to be careful, that I was one of ‘them’ and also one of ‘us.’”
“What did he look like?”
“Maybe thirty-five. Dressed like a cowboy.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to pick you up? You’re a beautiful woman, you know.”
Coming from someone else, it would have been a compliment. From Diego right now, it was a professional observation, but it was still nice to hear, and she smiled. “Thanks. But I don’t think so. I actually know pick-up lines when I hear them, and that wasn’t one. He was probably just some drunk rambling on about who knows what. Although I ought to thank him, because he’s part of why Lieutenant Gray decided to let me go. They found a witness who saw me talking to him. Well, they saw me talking anyway. Their view must have been blocked, because they didn’t see him. Anyway, after I got away from him I went to hear a friend’s band, and he walked me to my car later.”
“I’m glad he made sure you were safe,” Diego said.
She would have liked it better if he’d sounded at least a little bit jealous.
It was her own fault that he wasn’t, of course. She had left him, and he had moved on.
Why hadn’t she?
“I wasn’t really worried at that point. The guy didn’t seem scary, just weird, and I didn’t know then that anyone had been killed.” She paused. “But actually,” she said, frowning, “when Eddie walked me to my car, I forgot about this earlier, but I felt as if I was being watched then, too. But not by the guy from earlier. By someone...different. Someone evil. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? It was probably nothing, just my nerves being on edge because of the freaky thing with the photos. Then I got here and found out...” She stared him straight in the eyes. “Diego, how could those pictures have been on the camera?”
“How closely did you look at them?”
“Not very. I was too stunned. They were bloody, though. I remember that much.”
“And you never saw the murdered couple?”
“No. Only Ben saw them. And the police, of course.”
“I need to get my hands on that camera,” Diego said, “but for now, I’d like to meet everyone else here. Want to start at the stables?”
“Sure.”
It was noon; rides were scheduled for ten in the morning, and three and five in the afternoon. Every once in a while they planned a special night ride, but only for experienced riders.
Angus Fillmore was alone at the stables, sitting on a bale of hay and enjoying a sandwich. He liked Scarlet, and she was glad, because she loved the horses and liked spending time around them when she could.
“Angus, hey, I wanted you to meet my—a friend. Diego McCullough.”
“Well, howdy,” Angus said. He didn’t rise, but he did try to wipe the grease off his hand before he offered it to Diego.
“How are you doing?” Diego asked him.
Angus shook his head. “Bastards! Coming up here to kill people. I’m pissed off, is how I feel.” Then, as if realizing he should say something about the victims, he added, “Sorry, too, of course. Sorry as hell for that couple, whoever they were.”
“Anyone riding today?” Scarlet asked him.
Angus shook his head. “Nope. Ben made me cancel. Guess he wants to wait ’til they’ve got the crime-scene tape off the place. I hope to hell they catch the bastard quick.” He frowned, looking at Diego curiously. “Saw you arrive this morning with some official-looking people. You the law?”
“In a way,” Diego told him. “We’re FBI.”
“FBI?” Angus said, surprised. “They’re bringing in the big guns.”
“They didn’t bring us in. Not yet. We’re here to support a friend,” Diego said.
Angus looked at Scarlet, shaking his head. “Heard they took you in for questioning. Idiots.”
That was one of the things she liked about Angus, she thought. He had strong opinions and wasn’t at all opposed to voicing them.
“I’m pretty sure they figured that out,” Diego said.
“Well, glad you’re here. Maybe you’ll catch who did it. Animals, they only kill to survive. Human beings, they kill because they’re sick mothers. Anyway, good to meet you, and good to have you here. You ride?”
“I wouldn’t want to get on a bull, but I’m okay on horseback,” Diego told him.
Angus nodded, as if that was important. “Can’t trust a man who won’t ride a horse,” he said. “Can’t always trust the ones who do, but definitely can’t trust the ones who won’t.”
“Good logic,” Diego said with a smile. “We’ll see you later, and somewhere along the line, I’d love to go riding.”
“Good man—we’ll do it.” Angus said. “And I’ll do the guiding. Ben’s a great guy, but he doesn’t know the trails like I do. Born and raised in these parts. I can show you what needs to be seen.”
Diego thanked him, Scarlet waved, and they headed for the main house.
“What are those two buildings over there?” Diego asked as they walked, pointing.
“That’s the smokehouse,” she said. “It was left as is, but you could still smoke something there if you wanted to. The bunkhouse is set up so they can handle more guests than the main house can hold.”
“Was it occupied last night?”
“I don’t think so. You’d have to ask Ben or Trisha.”
“I’ll do that,” he told her. “So, let’s go meet the housekeeper and the remaining guests.”
“Linda’s probably around, but the guests may or may not be there,” Scarlet said. “They could have gone hiking or into town or something.”
As it turned out, everyone was at the house. They were all in the huge dining room that stretched the length of the left side of the house back to the kitchen, with a nice counter pass-through for whoever was cooking each morning—usually Trisha.
The giant moose head hung between the pass-through and the door to the kitchen. It was about eight feet up and seemed to rule over the room.
There was one long table, and breakfast was served family style, with big plates of fluffy eggs, bacon and sausage, and Danishes, bagels and breads of all kinds.
The weekends were a bit different, with made-to-order omelets on Saturdays, and pancakes or waffles on Sundays.
When they entered, everyone except Linda, who was probably working, was clustered at one end of the table. A large coffee urn sat nearby, along with cream, sugar and a plate of cookies.
Everyone was in jeans, except for Gigi and Clark, who wore sweat suits, but judging by the lack of actual sweat, Scarlet suspected they had intended to take their morning constitutional but hadn’t made it.
Like everyone else at the table, they looked tired and worried.
“Hello, there,” Ben greeted Diego and Scarlet as they came in. “Join us—we’re busy thinking about all the things we don’t want to do because we’re depressed.”
“It’s strange,” Gigi said. “I mean, we didn’t know the couple who were killed. We never even saw them, but...”
“But it feels personal, because it happened right here on the ranch,” Gwen said.
“And we didn’t even know,” Ben said.
“We didn’t hear a thing,” Trisha agreed.
“What were they doing up here?” Clark mused.
“How did they get up here?” Terry asked. “The police didn’t find a car.”
“There are hiking trails all through the woods,” Ben said.
Clark stood suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said to Diego, offering him a hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Clark Levin, and this is my wife, Gigi.”
The others stood, too, and introductions were made all round.
“Pull up a chair—be depressed with us,” Trisha said.
“Thanks,” Diego said, pulling out a chair for Scarlet before sitting down himself.
Always courteous, she thought. But then, she knew Julia Lopez McCullough, Diego’s mother. And while she was the sweetest woman in the world, she had been an old-fashioned parent and had taught her son manners.
“Coffee?” Ben suggested.
“Sure, thanks,” Diego said, filling cups for himself and Scarlet.
“So you’re a G-man,” Clark said to Diego.
“A what?” Gwen asked.
“Government man,” Clark explained, grimacing. “I guess it’s not an expression anyone uses much these days.”
“What kind of a government man?” Charles asked.
“FBI,” Diego told him.
“I feel safer and less depressed already,” Gwen said brightening. “And your friends—are they G-men, too?”
“Except for Meg. She’s a G-woman,” Diego said.
“With so many of you here, we really are safe, aren’t we?” Gigi said.
“I told you before that we’re safe,” Clark said. “It’s just a terrible coincidence, that couple being killed here.”
“The police are certainly investigating every angle,” Diego said. “But I think you’re safe here. At the moment you even have a police officer parked down at the end of the drive.” He turned to Ben. “Just to be sure I have everything straight, was anyone staying in the bunkhouse the night of the murders, or was everyone here in the main house?”
“Everyone was here. Unless someone specifically requests the bunkhouse, we keep it empty unless we need the extra space.”
“How was it that no one heard the shots?” Gwen asked.
“Most of us weren’t here,” Terry said. “I was in town at the moose store. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was great. They’ve got moose shirts, moose mugs, moose welcome mats and wind chimes and you name it,” he said to Diego.
“But Trisha and I were right here in the house,” Ben said. “And we didn’t hear a thing.”
“We were watching television, and we had it turned up because someone wasn’t wearing his hearing aids,” Trisha reminded him.
“Trisha!” Ben said, his face turning bright red.
Trisha waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s a tiny little thing, but Ben is embarrassed. He’s afraid people will think he’s too old to be fun if he wears hearing aids.”
“Oh, Ben,” Gwen said. “My sister wears a hearing aid, and she’s only thirty.”
“Anyway,” Trisha said, “we were watching some cop movie, and it was full of gunfire. We might have heard those shots and not even known it.”
Linda Reagan entered the dining room from the kitchen just then, shaking her head and setting something in front of Ben.
“Thank you,” he said, his cheeks coloring again.
“No problem,” she told him. “I thought you might need them.”
Linda was tall, about five-nine, with ash-blond hair she kept swept back in ponytail and green eyes. She was far more than the head housekeeper, Scarlet knew. Among other things she discreetly managed guests who wouldn’t leave on time or caused problems in any way.
Linda didn’t answer right away.
“Oh, just tell them,” Ben said.
“His hearing aids,” Linda said.
Heads lowered around the table as people tried to hide their smiles.
“Laugh at me,” Ben said. “It will be good for your souls. Linda, this is Diego McCullough. He’s an FBI agent, and he and some of his friends are here for a few days. They’re friends of Scarlet’s.”
“Nice to have you,” Linda said, sitting down at the table. “Terrible what happened. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked Diego.
“I don’t know anything yet. We just got here this morning. My fellow agents are in town right now, though, seeing if we can be of assistance.”
“Is it like it is on television? Do they get all mad when you guys show up?” Gwen asked, sounding eager for it to be true.
“There are certainly some police who are territorial, but not many,” Diego said with a shrug. “Usually, everyone just wants to catch the bad guy.”
“I get that,” Terry said, nodding. “I’ve heard there are, like, dozens of serial killers at large in the United States at any given time. It’s scary, if you ask me.”
“It is scary,” Diego said, then turned to Linda. “You didn’t hear anything last night, either?”
“I wasn’t here,” she said, and smiled. “I had a date. The police questioned all of us, though. Every one of us had to make a statement, even if we weren’t here.”
“He must be quite a guy,” Trisha told her. “She’s so picky,” she added to the others.
“Hey, my time is precious. We should all be picky,” Linda said.
“Maybe, but as stunning as you are, you deserve to be even pickier than the rest of us,” Charles said.
Linda cast him a disapproving look. Scarlet had a feeling Linda was simply offended that he would compliment another woman over his brand-new bride.
Gwen apparently didn’t appreciate his comment, either, and she must have kicked him under the table, because he suddenly grunted in pain.
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