Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (29 page)

He grabbed his own robe, throwing it on. Allison opened the
door and eased through. In the hallway she paused again, as if listening for
others in the household.

She walked carefully down the stairs and went to stand in the
entrance to the study, looking into the darkened room. Then she ran down the
hallway to the back door. The alarm was keyed; she wasn’t going to stop to put
in the code.

He realized that to Allison, at that moment, there was no code.
She was seeing the house through the memory of another woman.

Lucy Tarleton.

He slipped ahead of her, tapping in the alarm code just in
time. Allison opened the back door and stepped into the night.

She moved forward and handed whatever she was carrying to
someone who was invisible to him.

A second later she stepped back, tears in her eyes.

Tyler felt as if a rush of wind swept by him.

Then Allison burst into tears and sank to the ground.

17

B
y then, the others were up. Tyler bent
down beside Allison, drawing her to her feet. He brought an arm around her.

“She gave the baby away. She carried her baby out in the middle
of the night and she gave him away,” Allison said.

“I know. I saw,” Tyler told her.

She looked baffled. “It’s true. It’s really true. She gave the
baby to the Leigh family, my family, and all these years, none of us had any
idea.”

“As we’ve said many times, history is always told by the
victors,” Tyler said. “I suppose Lucy’s patriot family didn’t want it known
she’d had a bastard child—especially since the baby’s father was one of the
enemy. It ruined the romance and drama of her heroism in their eyes.”

“But what about Bradley? He must have known. Do you think
that’s what sent him into a frenzy—why he killed her?” Allison asked.

“Hey, let’s get inside. It’s cold out here,” Jane said.

Kat was just inside the door. “Do you suppose that’s why people
have been killed through the years?” she asked. “I studied those autopsy reports
inside and out. The deaths
look
like they were
accidental, but…faulty wiring caused the college student’s death? At a historic
property that’s inspected all the time? Or tripping down the stairs?”

“Could
this
be the reason?” Tyler
gestured at Allison. “I think we’re looking for a truly obsessed killer who is
devious, as well. And if—” He paused, aware that everyone was watching him. “And
if it’s because Allison really is a descendent of Lucy Tarleton,
she’s
the one who matters. That would point to Cherry
Addison. Not to mention the fact that her husband is an artist and she could
have gotten him to paint a replica portrait.”

“Then we announce tomorrow that we suspect Allison Leigh is a
descendent of Lucy Tarleton’s,” Logan said. “We make an announcement to the
media—and see what crawls out of the woodwork.”

“Will that make the killer more desperate?” Jane asked. “Or
will it just mean that the truth is out—and he’ll disappear and we’ll never know
who he is?”

“Maybe we should make the announcement to the surviving guides
and board members first,” Kat suggested.

“Yes,” Tyler agreed.

“Okay, we’ll set it up for tomorrow night,” Logan said. “During
the day, we need to watch the board. Whoever was in the woods with Martin
Standish is going to want to know if he survived or not. I left word with the
hospital to report his condition as critical. We’ll keep an eye on the board—and
on Jason and Annette—and plan on having them over for after-dinner coffee. We’ll
present this information to them and see what kind of reaction we get.”

“I don’t think that’s the motive,” Allison said, wiping her
face. She shrugged. “I mean, I don’t believe people were killed because of
Lucy’s baby. There’s another possible spin to this story. Maybe the baby wasn’t
Beast Bradley’s child, but Stewart Douglas’s. I can’t tell anyone, other than
you, that I
saw
and acted out what happened the
night Lucy gave her baby away. She sensed danger in the house. If she was afraid
Beast Bradley would kill not just her but the child, as well, that would make
her actions
more
heroic.”

“So, the only person who might be distressed by the evidence
that Lucy did have an illegitimate child would be…Cherry,” Kat said.

“If that’s not the reason for the murders, what is?” Tyler
asked, frustrated.

“I say we tell the world we’re going to have Lucy disinterred
so we can do DNA tests on her and Allison, and prove it to all and sundry,”
Logan said. “I’d like to see how Cherry takes the news.”

“We don’t really have to dig her up, do we?” Allison asked.

“I think that’ll be your choice in the end,” Logan told her.
“For the moment, it’s a carrot…dangled in someone’s face.” He smiled. “If you’re
game to try it.”

“I guess I’m game for anything at this point.”

Julian had been standing by Jane. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
“I need to know the truth, Allison. I don’t want to hurt anyone, and I don’t
want anyone else hurt. I don’t know exactly what it is, but I need…”

“Justice,” Tyler said. “We seek justice. For the living—and the
dead.”

* * *

Allison was nervous the next morning but she called
Jason Lawrence and Annette Fanning while Logan phoned Cherry, Ethan Oxford and
Nathan Pierson. They explained that they were going to talk to those most
closely associated with the house before giving new information to the press.
Annette and Jason both sounded curious and nothing more.

Tyler suggested they go to the hospital and check on Artie
Dixon’s condition. Tyler sent Jane and Kat on a drive out to Valley Forge to
meet with local police—and to check that nothing at Martin Standish’s little
museum had been touched.

At the hospital, Haley Dixon looked more worn than ever. Once
again, Tyler coaxed her into coming to the cafeteria with him, while Allison sat
down and held Dixon’s hand.

A young woman poked her head in and introduced herself as
Dixon’s nurse for the day, telling her the LPN’s name was on the board, if she
needed assistance. “We monitor the vitals at all times, of course, out at the
nurses’ station, but hit the button if you need us.” She rolled her eyes. “We’ve
had all kinds of codes going today—reds and greens. Those are hostile or
combative patients. You wouldn’t believe how many people come in for help and
then want to knock out their doctors and nurses!”

Allison smiled sympathetically and thanked her. As she sat
down, she heard the warning, “Code green!” over the loudspeaker. Nurses and
orderlies were running down the hall.

Allison concentrated on Artie Dixon, talking to him quietly and
earnestly, asking him to speak to her with his mind. He did, but he was still
obsessed with the painting. “Lies—what we see is all lies,” Dixon told her.

“We believe there are two paintings, Mr. Dixon. And one of them
is a false image, used to distract or perhaps hypnotize the watcher. Someone
changes the painting.”

“No,” Dixon seemed to whisper. “The painting. I believe it is
false. I believe it’s all lies.”

A nurse came into the room. At first, Allison was so intent on
Artie Dixon that she didn’t pay attention. Then, as the person in the scrubs
began to flick a needle of medication to insert in the IV, Allison noticed that
the nurse was wearing a cap and had a large air mask over his or her face.

A feeling of unease crept over her.

She rose abruptly. The nurses didn’t usually come in dressed as
if they were entering a surgery or intensive care.

“What is that?” she asked.

She screamed when the “nurse” turned, the needle raised—ready
to shove it in her chest.

Allison panicked and pushed at the bed. It was heavy, but she
pushed it far enough to catch the person in the thighs.

“Help!” she screamed at the top of her lungs.

The hospital seemed eerily silent.

The “nurse” was regaining his or her balance, but Allison had
nothing with which to fight—other than her handbag. She slammed it across her
would-be attacker’s face and flew out into the hall.

The hall was empty. She could hear her attacker, heavy-footed,
coming after her as the loudspeaker announced, “Code Red, Code Green. Code Red,
Code Green, Neuro Section twelve!”

There was no one else around because they were all answering
the code calls. And Allison had a feeling that those calls were rigged.

She paused in the hall. Which way? Where should she go?

She started toward the elevators and then turned back; the
person in the surgical garb was standing outside the room, dripping needle held
high in a gloved hand.

She didn’t know what was in the needle.

She was sure it was lethal.

She ran toward the elevators, aware that the person was running
behind her.

Allison reached the elevator bank and slammed all the buttons.
She didn’t care if she went up or down—just so long as she could go
somewhere.

She turned back. Her attacker was gaining on her.

She slammed the buttons again. An elevator door opened.

And Tyler stepped out. She threw herself in his arms,
hysterically trying to explain that someone was behind her.

“Where, Allison, where?” he demanded.

“Artie!” Mrs. Dixon, who was beside him, cried out.

Allison swung around. There was no one behind her, no one at
all.

* * *

Tyler didn’t doubt Allison’s word. He contacted a guard
and had the hospital locked down, but he knew full well that in a hospital, it
was easy for someone clad in the right uniform to simply disappear—hiding in
plain sight.

And Allison, try as she might, couldn’t describe her assailant.
“Tall, I think. Maybe not, but at least my height,” she said. “I don’t even know
if it was a man or woman,” she told him.

Artie Dixon was fortunately unharmed. Tyler made arrangements
with Jenson to send local officers to watch over his room from that point on.
Haley Dixon remained hysterical for a long time after the incident and had to be
sedated.

Security officers and police who had gone through the hospital
reported to Tyler that they’d found no one answering the description hiding in
lounges or in patients’ bathrooms.

Tyler hadn’t expected they would. The moment he’d stepped off
the elevator, the perpetrator had been managing his or her escape. Strip off the
cap and mask, walk calmly and briskly into a patient’s room, perhaps even direct
a cop to a different location. Slide out of the uniform and walk out like a
visitor.

When they were finally leaving, he heard Allison gasp.

“What?”

“Annette! There’s Annette.”

Annette Fanning was hurrying through the parking lot to her
car. Allison touched Tyler’s arm. “Let me see what she says when I catch up with
her. I want to see her reaction to me being here. But Annette
can’t
be our killer. Really, it can’t be Annette.”

Allison ran ahead of him. He slowed his pace, watching
carefully. Allison caught up with Annette, and the other woman turned to her, a
look of surprise on her face.

“Hey! My God, I’m glad to see you. I don’t know what was going
on here, but I came to see my cousin in the maternity ward. And suddenly there
were bells and bongs and security and cops all over.”

Tyler could hear Annette speaking; he could also tell that she
was reaching into her oversize handbag for something.

A needle? The needle she’d failed to thrust into Allison in
Artie Dixon’s hospital room?

No more taking chances.

Tyler sped across the parking lot and tackled Annette Fanning.
He slammed into her, twisting so he didn’t throw her onto the pavement but took
that punishment himself.

Annette cried out. Tyler rolled, pulling her to her feet. He
grabbed the bag from her.

“What the hell?” Annette demanded angrily.

“Tyler?” Allison said, as if she, too, thought he had lost his
mind.

He ignored them both and searched Annette’s bag. There was
nothing in it more incriminating than a hairbrush and a box of tampons.

He thrust the bag back at her. “What’s your cousin’s name?”

“Judy Hall, and she had a baby girl last night at 10:03,”
Annette told him. “Check it out!” she added angrily.

“We will.”

“What’s the matter with you people?” Annette shouted.

“Allison was just attacked. In Artie Dixon’s room,” Tyler
said.

Annette gasped. “And you think that I—that I… Don’t be absurd!
It couldn’t have been me!”

“Why should we infer that it couldn’t have been you?” Tyler
asked.

“For one thing, because Allison is way stronger than I am!”
Annette said.

“She’s right,” Allison agreed.

“You don’t need much strength to shove a needle into someone.”
Tyler shook his head. “I’m done taking chances.”

“No, no, it wasn’t Annette—I
know
it wasn’t Annette,” Allison said.

“You can’t just assume,” Tyler began.

“I’m not assuming on the basis of friendship. But the attacker
was taller. Annette’s too small.”

Annette groaned. “Thanks. Thanks a hell of a lot!”

* * *

When Allison and Tyler returned, Logan was alone in the
house. He was seated in front of the screens, glancing at them now and then, and
going over papers and folders, eternally patient while he searched for what he
wanted.

He knew what had happened because Tyler had spoken to him.

“Jane and Kat are with the police at Valley Forge,” he said.
“There was an attempt to break into Martin Standish’s house last night. With
Standish’s blessing, they’re transferring some of his papers to a bank
vault.”

“That’s a good idea,” Allison said. “Are we still expecting the
others tonight?”

“We are,” Logan said.

“Including Annette.” Tyler grimaced. His apology had been
minimal, and Allison felt guilty, since they hadn’t really learned anything from
the encounter. So Annette’s distress had been for nothing. Tyler had told
Allison they couldn’t afford to take any chances, and she understood that,
but…

She looked around. “Where’s Julian?”

“He went with Jane and Kat. He’s decided you don’t need him—and
they might,” Logan said, smiling. “What a pity they met at completely the wrong
time! He’s so courteous toward Jane, and while she pretends he’s a pest, she
really likes him.”

“Yeah, talk about the ultimate bad timing,” Allison
murmured.

“Oh!” Both Logan and Tyler turned to her. “With everything that
happened, I forgot to tell Tyler what Artie ‘said’ to me. I don’t think he was
denying there could be a second painting, but he wanted me to understand
something about the painting in the study. He kept saying it was a lie.”

“I’ll bet he means the painting itself is a lie,” Tyler said.
“We know that when Tobias Dandridge painted it, he despised Bradley. Bradley and
the British troops had left Philadelphia. Tobias was probably feeling a bit
inadequate, since the Colonial forces didn’t defeat the British here. The
British abandoned the capital just as the patriots had.”