Krewe of Hunters 2 Heart of Evil (21 page)

“Well, I'm sorry, too, but we weren't actually friends. She was in my high school class.”

Jackson and Angela were both there, and Jake held his reserve. But he asked softly, “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. I'm angry. Someone is trying to destroy all of us,” Ashley said.

Her eyes were level with his. She was just fine. She hadn't lost her cool for a minute when he had gone into the water, and though Angela was a crack shot, he had depended on Ashley; she knew the terrain and the ancient beasts better than anyone.

She was going to do all right.

Jake grimaced. “I'm going to shower,” he said.

“This certainly sounds strange after…today,” Ashley said. “But…it's almost dinner. We're having a vegetarian pasta dish, Beth decided.”

Jake nodded and left the room, going upstairs.

He was surprised, yet not really, when Ashley appeared ten minutes later; she slipped into the shower behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist, resting her head against his back. He set his hands on hers, and they listened to the beat of the water and felt the steam around them for a minute. Then he turned and took her into his arms.

He kissed her; they touched and kissed in the hard spray for a long time.

“Is this horrible?” she whispered.

“No. It's life-affirming,” he replied.

They made love quietly, and then more passionately, beginning in the heat and steam of the clear, clean water and ending up on the softness of the bed, entwined in one another's arms.

When they were done, her eyes were closed, and he leaned on an elbow looking down at her. She smiled slowly, a little wistfully, somehow feeling his gaze.

Her eyes opened.

“You used to do that all the time,” she told him.

“What?”

“Watch me. It's a bit unnerving, you know.”

He kissed her lips lightly. “I used to watch you and wonder that you were with me.”

She was quiet, not meeting his eyes, staring up at
the ceiling. “That's crazy. It was a wonder that you were with me.”

“You were the one who ended it.”

“I was…scared.”

“Of me?”

“Of what you seemed to know,” she said.

He pulled her to him. “And are you still scared? Nothing about me has changed.”

“But something about me has.” She rolled away from him and rose. “It's going to be time to eat, and as awful as it seems after today, my stomach is beginning to growl fiercely.”

He nodded. “It's just biology.”

She reached for her jeans, closing her eyes briefly. He could clearly imagine the pictures in her mind; he had seen them, too.

She looked at him and tried to smile. “Get up! They'll all know where we are and what we're doing, but I'd just as soon they don't have to come find us.”

“They know?” he said, frowning.

“Cameras, remember?”

He groaned softly; he hadn't thought of that aspect.

“Well, they'll know we're safe together, and these days, that's a good thing. I just feel a little guilty….”

“Because of me?”

“Because of Frazier.”

Her grin turned real. “If we weren't in the middle
of a horrible mystery, I'd even suspect that Frazier knew exactly what you were doing and who you were working for—and called Adam just to get you back here.” She paused and kissed him lightly on the lips. “Come on down, Mr. Mallory, please.”

Buttoning her blouse, she headed for the door.

He watched her go, worried. Images flashed through his mind.

Charles Osgood, hanging from the statue.

Toby Keaton and Marty Dean…what was left of them.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to let the logic in his mind take over. Toxicology reports would affirm, he was certain, that both victims had received a similar cocktail to that which had been given to Charles Osgood to keep him compliant until the time of his death.

This time, though, it seemed that the killer hadn't had any intention of keeping his victims alive for long. He had probably discovered that a good shot of his drug cocktail immediately disabled his victims.

He knew, just as predatory alligators did, that he could be hurt himself in a fight. That was why alligators drowned their prey; they disabled them before they could be attacked in turn.

The killer was basically a coward. But he was changing his method, like a man with an agenda. He didn't fit the profile of a killer who sought out a certain type of victim; he didn't molest his victims.
He was there for the kill itself, and it was beginning to look like the kill itself was the goal.

Jake's head jerked up. A killer who had started with an agenda, and now had discovered how much he liked killing.

He would hunger for more and would strike again. Eventually, his need would make him careless. Eventually—but how many would have to die first?

 

Downstairs, Ashley found Will and Whitney speaking quietly to one another as they watched the monitors. Jackson, Angela and Jenna were holed up in the study with Frazier. Cliff hadn't come in yet, and Beth was watching her marinara sauce simmer.

“Ten minutes,” Beth told her. She shivered, looking back at the stove.

Ashley decided that she'd take a walk up to the attic.

There, she looked around. They were definitely going to need all their household help back when the killer was caught, she decided. Black dust covered just about everything; all the cases that held family bibles, period weapons, jewelry, buttons and other odd objects that had been owned by the family over the years.

She walked over to the empty case, wondering whether they would get the Enfield back, and then wondering if she wanted it back.

She felt someone behind her and turned quickly, but there was no one there.

“Marshall?” she asked.

But her ancestor didn't appear. A sense of discomfort and aloneness filled her. She had never felt so in her own house. She hurried back out to the small attic hallways and made her way down the narrow wooden stairs.

As she walked toward the grand staircase that led to both parlors, she paused. She saw that her ghost was now making an appearance before her on the landing.

There was no one on the second floor then; Jake's door—the door to the Jeb Stuart room—was open, but no one was inside.

She walked up to Marshall, who looked tormented.

“Were you just in that room behind me, trying to scare me?”

“No. Why would I try to scare you?”

“Well, I don't know. You led me out last night to show me the gravestone, and I might have been killed.”

“Good God, I didn't know anyone was in the woods. And what descendant of mine would fall off a horse? You should be a better rider, young woman,” he said gruffly.

“Did you see anything last night?” she demanded.

“You,” he said softly.

“Me?”

“I followed you when I heard the thud.”

“You've heard what happened today, of course.”

“Of course. I'm damned good at being a ghost. My senses are highly attuned,” he informed her indignantly.

“I might have been killed!” she told him.

“Indeed. So you must cease behaving so senselessly.”

“But
you
led me out! What good are you doing me?” she asked him. “Other than making me talk to myself—or my imagination, or whatever is going on.”

“I will protect you—even from yourself!” he vowed valiantly.

“And you weren't behind me in the attic?” she demanded again.

He looked toward the stairs. She was startled by the look of agony that seemed to come over his misty countenance.

“No. I—I can't go in the attic,” he said.

“What?”

“I can't go in the attic!” he repeated. “Leave it be, damn you. I can't go in the attic!”

He must have been really angry with her; he disappeared in a blink.

“I'm sane, and I have a ghost,” she mused. “Or I'm totally insane. Or my mind is trying to make me recall something.”

As she walked down the stairs, she wondered if she had ever heard a story about Emma having had
an affair with an ex-slave and producing the child who would be one of Cliff's ancestors.

For the life of her, she was certain that she'd never heard such a story before.

 

Dinner was a solemn affair. When it was over, Jackson called Jake into the study, and they took out their list once again; they were down a suspect.

“What about Hank Trebly? He did want to buy the property when the Donegal family was down,” Jackson suggested. “And, he's one rude ass.”

Jake said, “Yes, but being a rude ass doesn't make a man a killer. Maybe the forensics lab will give us something.”

“Alligator saliva,” Jackson said.

Jake smiled tightly. “We'll know if they were drugged, the same as Charles Osgood.” He leaned forward. “You know, though, I don't think that Toby was the intended victim. He was in the woods with his shotgun when we saw him, and I was pretty damned skeptical of him then. But he said he was over to check out noises he had heard. His dog had been going crazy. I believe Marty Dean was the intended victim, lured out because the killer wanted her dead for some reason in his head, and Toby stumbled on her killer.”

“Sadly, that means Toby Keaton is cleared,” Jackson said. “All right. So…we have Ramsay Clayton, Griffin Grant, Cliff. The one remaining ‘Yankee' who hasn't been cleared, Justin Binder. Justin was
here for the reenactment, and he stayed at the plantation after.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “What the hell am I missing?” he asked.

“The doctor and the sutler,” Jake reminded him.

“All right. We'll interview those two tomorrow,” Jackson said. He shook his head. “I'm still not seeing a clear motive. The killer went after Charles—but was Charles the victim because he was Charles, or because he was playing Marshall Donegal? Why go after Marty Dean either way?”

Jake thought for a moment. “He wanted another kill. I think that he felt compelled to create a
real
reenactment of the death at Donegal Plantation. But then, maybe, in his head, Marty posed a danger. He needed that first kill associated with Donegal, but he's smart enough to know that the grounds here are being watched. He killed Marty Dean because she would do anything for a story. He lured her out to a place where he could kill her and where her body might not have been found for ages—if ever. I've seen what alligators can do with prey. In three months, someone might have stumbled upon a foot bone.”

Jackson nodded. “But if the body wasn't found, how would that have hurt Donegal Plantation?”

“She was a news anchor. People would definitely have gone insane looking for her. Somewhere nearby, the police are going to find her car. They're checking the switchboard, so they may even be able to trace the call that led her out here. They might have looked forever, and it would have just added to the
sensationalism and mystery regarding Charles. But I think he killed her because he had to kill her. And I think that Toby just stumbled upon him.”

“You know that this killer either called from a pay phone or from a prepaid cell that can't be traced. He would have purchased it with cash,” Jackson reminded him.

“Yes, but they may be able to find a satellite locator—at least tell us where the call originated,” Jake said.

“That's possible,” Jackson agreed. “All right. Will and Jenna will head out and speak with the sutler and his wife, John and Matty Martin. We can't afford to wait on the reports. Tonight, you need to get going on the computer again—find out who might have access to those drugs—”

He broke off.

“Yeah, I was thinking that earlier,” Jake said.

“The doctor,” Jackson said. “Well, he was already on the list.”

 

Ashley played chess with Frazier for a while, worried about how her grandfather was bearing up under the strain.

But though Frazier was grave and obviously thinking about their problems, he appeared strong—and was delighted when he beat her.

She watched the screens off and on with Whitney, Will and Jenna. Frazier tired and went to bed, and
Ashley walked over to sit with Beth as she leafed through magazines. Beth set hers down. “Ashley.”

Ashley looked up at her. Beth's large dark eyes were sorrowful. “Ashley, I—forgive me. I can't stand this. I have to go. I'm not quitting, mind you. I love this place. I love you and Frazier, and I love Cliff— I don't believe for a second that he did it—and I've tried, honestly, I've tried, but…oh, God, bodies consumed by alligators? I have to leave—just for a while. There's a crash course in vegetarian entrees being taught next week at a cooking school in New York City, and I thought I'd run up and spend a week learning something that will help us in the future. You could go with me, you know. You and Frazier!” Beth added excitedly.

Ashley thought about the dwindling coffers that held the plantation together.

And she thought about Jake. She was safe here; she had a government team living at her house.

And it was her home. She just might be part of the answer, when they kept digging to find the twists and turns of the great riddle.

“I can't go, Beth.”

“I knew you'd say that.”

“But I want you to go, and learn well, and we'll get the restaurant back up and running. God knows, once we do, we can hire a full-time security guard. People will flock back.”

Beth kissed her on the cheek. “I'll probably leave
tomorrow. I'll have to see what kind of a flight I can get out.”

“Good night—and it's all right, Beth. It's really all right.”

Beth left her. She hadn't realized that Angela had been curled in one of the wingback chairs near them, reading as well.

When Beth had gone, Angela walked over to Ashley. “I'm sorry,” she said.