Haunted (39 page)

“Matt! Jesus! I've been trying to get you for hours.”

“Randy?” Matt said, his muscles tensing instantly at his friend's tone. “You found the bones?”

“No, but I found something else.”

“What?”

“You know you asked me about missing persons?”

“Yep.”

“There are at least five women last seen in or around your area who've been reported missing.”

A strange freeze settled over Matt.

“I can change and get right up there.”

“No need. I can fax you this stuff. But get this—none of them were really from the area. Just passing through. But this
one, Susan Howell, twenty-six, five-five, one-hundred-twenty pounds. Professional girl, no family, last seen at the gas station right by the highway exit to Stoneyville. Here's another. Catherine Angsley, last seen at the drugstore on the town line. She came from Stamford, Connecticut, folks deceased, another professional, a biochemist, made good money, and was reported missing months after that incident by a grandmother, who has since passed away. Then there's—”

“Stop!” Matt said. “Give me the names again!”

“Susan Howell, Catherine Angsley. There's a Tammy Silvera—hey, have you ever heard of these women?”

“Yes,” Matt said dully. “They dated a friend of the family. A man named Carter Sutton.” He looked anxiously around the field. He could see nothing but powder. Darcy had left the house that day with Carter and Clint. He hadn't seen any of them since, except for Clint, when he lay on the ground after the first volley.

“Randy, I've got to go. We need APBs out on Carter Sutton, right away. I've got to find him. I need you to get to my own men for me—I've got to get searching through this crowd.”

He rang off, not waiting for Randy's reply; he knew the man would take it from there.

Right then, he felt a sense of sheer panic.

Carter had dated the women, yes. Didn't mean that Carter had made them disappear.

Clint, and Carter. They both went through women with total nonchalance.

He felt ill, thinking that Darcy still might be with either of them.

Activity was spinning around him. Where the hell were they?

This way.

He almost fell off his horse. The whisper again. He looked toward the trees. Nothing.

This way!

The whisper, urgent, fierce.

He started to ride.

 

“Wait a minute—maybe I am going the wrong way,” Clint said. “I don't believe this! I'm disoriented myself. Hang on a minute.”

Clint dismounted and disappeared into the smoke. Darcy waited. At her side, Oola began growling.

“What is it, girl?”

A moment later, a man emerged from the trees. But it wasn't Clint. It was Carter.

“Hey, lady! You're going the wrong way!” he called cheerfully.

Oola growled again.

“Shush, girl! It's only Carter. Where's Clint?”

“I was riding his horse. I gave it back to him. Let me mount up and show you the right way to go.”

“Come on up.”

“Turn her around,” Carter said. She did so, and they started to trot.

“My God, that smoke carries!” Darcy said.

“I know. It's blinding, right.”

“Big time!”

“Hey, pull up ahead for a minute, will you?”

“Sure.” Darcy frowned, trying to see clearly. They had come to the area where the bridge spanned the rushing stream. “Why are we here?”

“Sorry, it's on the way back to the house. We're meeting up there. But I had to run over and do duty on the bridge after the first engagement. I lost a glove. Do you mind? It will only take a minute for me to feel around for it.” Carter smiled at her, and slipped from the horse's back. “Hey! How about giving me a hand. It will go faster.”

“Sure.”

Carter helped her down.

“Go on. Let me just tether Nellie to this tree.”

Nonchalantly, Carter started toward the bridge. Darcy tethered Nellie to a branch, then turned back. To her amaze
ment, Oola started to growl again and went rushing toward the bridge. She heard the dog yelp.

“Oola! Carter, what happened?”

Halfway to the bridge, she came to a sudden halt. She could see Carter, standing there, waiting for her.

She could also see a strange white form through the mist.

“Darcy? What are you waiting for?”

“What happened to the dog?”

“I don't know. Maybe she stepped on a sharp stone or something.”

Darcy didn't move. The white mist was next to Carter. She couldn't believe that he didn't see it, especially against the smoky tinge the day had taken on.

“Darcy, what on earth is the matter with you?”

“The ghost is there, Carter. Right next to you,” she said.

He jumped, staring around. But he still didn't see. He turned back to Darcy, his eyes narrowing. “Come here, Darcy.”

“Not on your life, Carter.”

But she wasn't prepared. He ran like a bat out of hell, so suddenly and swiftly that she had barely screamed and turned to run before he was on top of her, grappling her to the ground. “You're going over the bridge, Darcy. This time, you're going over. I meant business at the cemetery—but again, I thought you'd be smart enough to get away from here. No, not you. So…before you find the bones again, Darcy, you've got to have a real fall.”

He held her down. But her fingers were grasping in the dirt. She managed to get a handful. She got a good grip, and threw it in his eyes. His hold on her eased as he shouted in pain, instinctively bringing his hands to his face as he tried to clear his vision.

Darcy took full advantage. She brought her knee to his groin with all her strength. He howled with pain. She shot to her feet.

But before she could run, his fingers wound around her ankle, and he jerked her hard, back down to the earth.

The world spun in black. She felt him picking her up. She
knew he meant to take her to the bridge and throw her over. And she would break her neck, or smash her skull, and she would die there, and when they found her…

Well, it would look as if she had gotten lost in the black powder. Wandered over the bridge, fallen….

“You killed her, the girl in the smokehouse,” Darcy said, praying her strength would return.

“Her? Yeah, I killed the girl in the smokehouse.” He looked down at her. “Kind of a sad thing, really. You're terrific, Darcy. You really are. But you just had to go and find the bones. And open the whole can of worms. I really am sorry, Darcy. But…hopefully,” he said softly, “it will be quick.”

She had gathered her senses again. The world had ceased to spin.

She raised her fist with all her strength against his eye. He grunted, doubling in pain, and she raked her nails down his arm, escaping his hold and falling hard to the ground.

They had come to the bridge.

And he was scrambling to get ahold of her again.

M
att raged inwardly at himself for being a fool. Even as he carefully rode Vernon through the crowds of people, he flicked open his phone again and called Thayer. The phone rang and rang. He knew his deputy was in the midst of the throng, and swore, praying that Thayer would hear the call. He had about given up when he heard, “Thayer here.”

“Thayer, it's Matt. I can't explain but get all our men looking for Carter Sutton. Hold him.”

“Hold Carter? On what charge?”

“Suspicion of murder.”

“Murder? Carter?”

“Damn it, Thayer, just do it. Get him, and hold him. And keep an eye out for Darcy Tremayne.”

“She murdered someone?”

“Thayer, I don't have time. Just do it.”

“I'm right on it, Matt.”

He clicked off, swearing that he should be in the midst of so many people. With the exhibition over, they were thronging over the fields.

Thayer had been alerted; whether his deputy thought he had gone off the deep end or not, he would see that every man they had was looking for Carter. And just because women Carter had dated were missing did not mean that Carter had murdered.
But a number of women Carter had dated were missing, and a
skeleton had been discovered on property Carter knew like the back of his hand. Then the skeleton had disappeared. And he didn't know where Carter was, and he didn't have Darcy. Carter didn't know that his game might be up anyway, that Matt had asked the FBI to run a check of missing women. In Carter's mind, Darcy must surely be dangerous. If he had stolen the bones from the morgue, he must be afraid that Darcy could find them again, wherever he had taken them.

And there was a voice in his head, telling him which way to go. Insane, but hell, everyone had instinct. And instinct was telling him to follow the voice.

He ignored the sound when he first heard his name called, he was so intent on following his intuition, or the voice.

Then he realized that it was Adam Harrison, and he pulled in on the reins.

“Matt, there's no sign of Darcy,” he said. “Clint went to find her. He'd left her in the rear for a better view. Now Clint hasn't returned. I'm not Darcy, Matt, but I have one damned bad feeling.”

“Adam, I have that feeling myself. But don't worry. I'm going for Darcy.”

He nudged Vernon and moved on. He had cleared the battlefield when he was blocked again by someone on horseback, hazy in the black smoke, but solidly on the trail.

“Matt!” she cried.

Lavinia. On a horse. Lavinia, who hated horses.

“Lavinia, what the hell are you doing? Get out of my way.”

“Matt! Please, you have to listen to me,” she said.

“Not now, Lavinia.”

“You have to listen to me. I told Carter I wanted to be with Darcy to watch the show. He said sure, then disappeared. And I can't find her now. Or Carter. Or Clint! Matt, there are a few things that I never told you. And when I was going through the crowd, I saw some guy in blue with Clint's horse. They've all disappeared. Matt, there's something I never told you—”

“You're too late, Lavinia, whatever it is. Get out of my way.” He urged Vernon forward, heedless of her presence there.

“Wait, Matt!” She grappled for the reins as Vernon forced her horse off the side of the trail. “Please listen to me! I was certain I was wrong, that I had to be wrong…but I'm afraid for Darcy.”

“Damn it, I'm afraid for her, too! That's why I'm trying to find her.”

He went on past her, nudging Vernon into a lope.

She was following him, swearing as she clung to the saddle.

“I'm coming with you!” she called out to him.

“Go back! You'll slow me down.”

“No, no…I can keep up.”

“Do what you want, but stay out of my way.”

He nudged Vernon into greater speed. Nothing seemed to matter anymore except for the voice in his head, guiding him onward.

But in the grayness of the day, Vernon suddenly reared. Behind Matt, Lavinia screamed, trying to maintain her seat. Matt controlled his panicked horse, then saw the dark bundle in the road ahead of him. He dismounted quickly, hunkering down, his heart in his throat.

It wasn't Darcy.

“Clint!” He set his fingers against his cousin's throat. There was a pulse. Clint groaned, turning. There was a massive lump on his temple. He stared up at Matt with dazed eyes. “Matt.”

“What happened?”

“I don't know…I was lost. Then someone hit me. I saw the butt of an Enfield rifle come out of the smoke…and that was it.”

“Where's Darcy?”

“She was with me. I was going to bring her to meet you at the far field…I was disoriented, tried to figure out which way I was going…I'm seeing black spots, Matt. I thought my whole skull was crushed.”

Matt turned back to Lavinia, drawing his phone from the his
torically incorrect pocket in his captain's coat. He threw the phone to her.

“Get help. And stay with Clint!” he told her.

“Matt, you don't understand, I need to come with you—” she said.

“Get off the horse and stay with Clint!” he commanded.

Lavinia went white. Matt leapt back on Vernon, and kneed the horse, the feeling of urgency now tearing into him. And the voice…

This way, hurry, this way, ride hard, hurry….

 

Carter held Darcy's ankle and was crawling forward with a deadly urgency, using her legs as a line to come closer.

Darcy kicked out furiously, trying to loosen his grasp.

“Killing me isn't going to help you!” she cried out. “Don't you see, they'll know, they'll all know!”

“You're going over the bridge, Darcy. You'll have fallen. Everyone knows you're accident prone.”

“No, Carter! They'll find the bones. They'll identify the body, don't you see, it's over! Carter, I don't know what she knew, or what she saw, or what she wrote that so incensed you…but it didn't matter, did it? You'd already decided you were going to kill her. Who was she? The woman you supposedly loved so much?”

His eye was already beginning to swell. He looked horrible. Blood matted his beard; she had managed a few good strikes.

But his hands still had a strength like steel in them.

“Carter! I've scratched you. Your flesh is beneath my nails.”

His hand moved; he got a solid grip on her calf, his face taut, muscles clenched, jaw in a grim and lethal line.

“The skeleton in the smokehouse, Darcy? She was Susan Howell. And what was she writing? She was going to tell Matt that I'd been having an affair with his wife—and more, of course. She was going to suggest that he look into my past.
There were a few before her, you see. Catherine Angsley. Catherine didn't have to die, but she had loaned me some money, and then the little bitch got all furious and wanted it back when I didn't have it. But they'll never find her. She's deep in the Blue Ridge. They'll never find the others, either. I never should have brought any of them to Melody House, but you see, the old man had died, Matt was busy with his work and the fact that his marriage was falling apart…and that night, there was no one at Melody House. No one. Susan had gone there because I'd taken her there before, and because she wanted to feel that she had a right to be in the house. She was really not a nice person, Darcy. And you know, she was buried in that smokehouse for years…years! No one would have found her. But now, you have.”

He got a fierce hold on her thigh. She struggled to sit, nails clawing at his flesh. He roared like a wounded animal, but didn't let go. Holding on to her despite the violence of her fight, he dragged himself to his feet, still clutching her. Dragging her.

“Carter, you're ill! You need help.”

“Bull!” He went still for a minute, ready to laugh despite the circumstances. “I knew what I was doing every step of the way. There's nothing wrong with me. Hell, I have a mind and a will of steel. No one has ever so much as suspected me.”

He had her against the rail. He tried to lift her but she fought too hard. Still, he had stamina. Little by little, he was pressing her back. Darcy could hear the water rushing over the boulders and stones below. Far below.

“Josh! Help me!” she cried out.

It gave him a start. He paused, if only for a second, looking around.

“Who the hell is Josh?”

“A ghost.”

“A ghost! You're calling on a ghost? Shit, Darcy!” He laughed again, maintaining his hold. She struggled, getting a
grip on his beard, pulling hard. He reached down to his calf, pressing his body against hers so that he didn't lose his hold. A second later, he'd drawn a Bowie knife from the sheath at his ankle and pressed it against her throat.

“You're going over, Darcy,” he said flatly.

A blade in her throat…or boulders crushing her bones. Not much of a choice. But she could no longer fight him, not with the knife pressing into her flesh.

“Carter!”

The harsh cry, coming from the trail before the bridge, startled them both.

Matt burst out of the mist, drawing Vernon to a halt right at the foot of the bridge, just feet away.

“Carter, let her go. Now.”

Carter was dead still for several seconds. Then a feral smile twisted his lips.

“Come make me, Matt. Be careful, though. You know how good these Bowie knives are. I can slit her jugular in less than a second.”

His eyes never leaving Carter's, Matt dismounted from Vernon and strode firmly toward the bridge.

“Stop there, or she's a gusher, I promise,” Carter said.

Matt stood motionless, aware of the knife at Darcy's throat. He didn't look at her, though. He kept his eye contact on Carter.

“It's over, Carter. The FBI is looking for you.”

“They may be looking for me, Matt. But they won't find me. Hey, we both know this place. Get into the mountains…and we can disappear for good.”

“Carter, if you let Darcy go now, we can work something out.”

“I don't think so, Matt. Actually, this is rather amusing. There you are, the great Sheriff Stone. The Stone of Stoneyville. Negotiation, yep, that's one talent you really pride yourself with having. Talk, stall, talk, stall. And imagine, all this going on beneath your nose, and you didn't know! You know,
once you kill, you figure out that's it's really pretty easy. Especially when you get involved with the right people. Women looking for something they can't have. Like the right guy, true love, support and warmth and all that crap. Pretty ones, of course. Only problem is, sometimes, when you think it just might be a go, they turn out to be bitches, all judgmental, not really what they pretend to be at all. I'm no maniac, Matt.”

Matt put his hands on his hips. “So what, then? Carter? You're going to kill Darcy in front of me? You make another move, and you're a dead man as well.”

“How you going to manage that, Matt? You've got a rifle there, but hell, no shot. You're a reenactor today. No real bullets—on anyone. Too much of a danger to the crowd.”

“I'll kill you with my bare hands, Carter,” Matt said with low but vehement sincerity. “I swear it.”

“So…we all die. Here and now,” Carter said.

“Carter!”

The cry came from a woman. Darcy could barely move her head; she could almost taste the steel at her throat, but she strained to see past Matt and was amazed to see Lavinia come running down the trail. Her beautiful violet eyes were huge; her usually perfect hair had escaped its Civil War coils and was a tangle around her face.

“Carter!” she tried again, gasping too hard to speak more.

“Did you know that we had a hot and heavy affair, Matt?” Carter said casually. “For once, I bested the great sheriff! It was actually hard not to let you know, but then again, I loved the ease of hanging around Melody House.”

“I don't give a damn if you slept with Lavinia, Carter.”

Carter smiled, looking past Matt at Lavinia. “Did you come to help me, sweetheart? Have you got a gun on you? If so, just go ahead and shoot the sucker.”

That, at last, drew Matt's eyes from Carter. He stared at Lavinia in amazement and horror.
Had she been in on it? Had
she become so involved with Carter that she had actually been his accomplice in murder?

And did she have a gun, secreted away in her voluminous skirts?

Lavinia found her voice at last. “Carter, for the love of God, let her go!” she said.

“Lavinia, you've turned pansy on me. Didn't you want a wild life of reckless adventure, far more than the sheriff intended to give you, no matter what his pedigree?”