The Hidden (17 page)

“And walked down the mountain to town?” Meg asked politely.

“Oh, no. But we didn’t want to drive,” Gwen said, “because we both wanted to drink, so we called Tim and Bess Weatherly, a local couple we met and wanted to get together with anyway. They picked us up just down the road. Walk? This far?” She laughed. “No way on earth. And we used the front door when they brought us back.”

When Brett must have stopped watching and finally gone to bed, Scarlet thought.

“Where are Tim and Bess tonight?” Diego asked.

“Bess works tonight. She’s a waitress at the twenty-four-hour omelet place,” Charles said. He frowned suddenly, looking at Diego. “You don’t think that we... Oh, no, no, no!”

“What?” Gwen looked confused.

“He’s suspicious of us!” Charles said. He glared at Diego.

“We’re not suspicious of you. We just want to talk to everyone who was here last night,” Diego assured them. “We’re trying to find out where Cassandra Wells went when she left here and whether she was still here when she met her killer.”

“Like I said, she was just standing at the back, but she wasn’t there very long,” Gwen said. “Although I did see her talking to someone.”

“What did he look like?” Diego asked.

“It wasn’t a he,” Gwen said. “It was a she.”

“A woman?”

“Yeah. She was—hmm, not sure. She might have been tall, or she might have been wearing heels. And I didn’t see her face, because she was turned away from me. She had long hair, though.”

“Was she still here after Cassandra left?” Scarlet asked.

“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “I was watching the band.”

“Do you think your friends might have noticed the woman who was talking to Cassandra?” Diego asked.

“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “You could go ask Bess, and Tim will be picking her up when her shift is finished. Neither one of them is related to Nathan Kendall as far as they know, but they called today to say they’re not taking any chances and neither should we.”

“Thank you,” Diego said. “Enjoy the band.” He glanced at Scarlet. “And they’re friends of Scarlet’s, by the way, if you want a CD or an autograph or something.”

Scarlet looked at him curiously. He’d almost sounded jealous. She knew he wasn’t, though.

Did she want him to be?

No, jealousy and possessiveness had never been a part of what they were and hadn’t been why they’d fallen apart. She’d always trusted him completely as far as being faithful to her went. She’d never hounded him about where he’d been.

She’d just stopped talking to him.

“They’re friends of yours?” Gwen asked. “Cool. I bought their CD last night.”

The band chose that moment to break, saying they would be back in a few minutes, and headed down the back hall to the stage door.

Scarlet excused herself, saying, “Hold on—I’ll ask them to come over and chat for a minute.”

Eddie was just stepping through the door into the alley when she made it to the hall. He didn’t smoke, but some of the band members did, so they tended to go outside and hang together during breaks.

She opened the door to find the alley filled with a thick fog.

“Eddie?” she called, moving forward. There was a Dumpster just steps from the back door, and Scarlet paused, noticing something lying on the ground in front of it.

A body, with nothing but blood and pulp where the face should have been.

She screamed.

Within seconds Eddie was there, and Diego and Meg came bursting out the back door a moment later, followed by Gwen and Charles and a spill of strangers.

Shaking, Scarlet pointed at the Dumpster.

But the fog had lifted.

And there was nothing on the ground.

Scarlet stared blankly at the empty spot while the image of what she’d seen still burned before her eyes.

The Krewe members would understand.

Or would they?

She hadn’t seen a ghost, she’d seen the ravaged body of a young woman who’d been attacked by an evil killer.

Despite her terror, she knew she had to reason her way out of the situation or risk having everyone think she’d lost her mind. “Over there—I saw someone. They ran down the alley, I think.”

“Which way?” Diego asked her.

She met his eyes and could tell that he knew she’d made up the story to cover for something else, and also that he would cover for her.

“I’ll go,” Matt said. “Brett, you with me?”

Brett nodded, and they left.

Diego and Eddie both started toward her.

She quickly lifted her hands. “I’m okay. I was just so startled. He scared me.”

“I didn’t see anyone when I came out,” Eddie said, as the rest of the band came up behind him. “Bastard must have been slinking around behind the Dumpster.”

“You guys have to be careful, too,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thin.

“This is Colorado,” Hanley said. “I pack a legal gun, and I was in the marines, so I know what I’m doing. I can watch out for us.”

Diego backed away to stand with Adam and the rest of the Krewe, checking out the crowd. The manager, a heavyset man of about fifty, urged people to go back inside. “Calm down, everyone, and let’s head back in. It was probably just a homeless man, but not to worry. We have federal agents in the house tonight, and they’re on it.”

He walked over to talk to Scarlet. She’d been at the Twisted Antler often enough that they knew each other by sight.

“You all right?” he asked her.

“Fine. I’m sorry I scared everyone half to death.”

“Can’t be too careful, not with what’s been going on lately,” he said, then flashed a smile at Adam. “Nice to have you guys around. I think it will be good for business.”

“Let’s get everyone back inside,” Adam suggested. “Eddie, if the band could start playing again right away, that would be a big help.”

“Not a problem,” Eddie said, and gestured to the rest of the group to follow him in.

Only when everyone but the Krewe was gone did Diego slip an arm around Scarlet’s shoulders and ask, “What did you really see?”

“A woman,” she said. “Lying there in a pool of blood with nothing left of her face. I don’t know why, but I think it was Cassandra.”

“What the hell were you doing coming out here anyway?” Diego demanded.

“What?” Scarlet asked, startled. “I—I wanted to ask Eddie and the guys to talk to Gwen and Charles.”

“I don’t care. Don’t do anything like that again, Scarlet. I meant it when I said one of us will be with you at all times, but you have to make that possible for us!”

His tone was hard. She knew he’d been frightened for her, so she tried not to let her temper snap, without much success.

“Sorry,” she said tightly. “Next time I imagine I see a butchered corpse, I’ll try not to scream.”

“I know how awful it is to see things like that,” Jane said to her. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”

“But it could end up helping us,” Meg said.

“I don’t see how,” Scarlet said.

“We never know what may end up meaning something in the end,” Adam said gently. “That’s the challenge of what we do.”

“I can feel her,” a shaky male voice said suddenly.

Scarlet jumped at the sound, and Diego’s arm tightened around her shoulders.

She whirled around to see that the speaker was Daniel Kendall, though he didn’t appear as solid as he had earlier. She could see through him to the green Dumpster.

“I feel her presence,” he said. “I think she needs help. She’s trying to reach us.”

“Can’t she speak to you?” Scarlet asked. “You know, because you’re both...ghosts?”

He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel something of her, you know—like when a woman has passed by you and you can still smell her perfume in the air.” He looked at her. “It’s something about you, Scarlet. I knew I had to reach you, maybe Cassandra feels the same way. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s afraid for you, too.”

“Daniel,” Adam said, “you may be onto something. But for now, we need to head back in before people start worrying that something bad really did happen out here.”

They said goodbye to the ghost, walked back in and headed to their table. Scarlet had worried that she might have ruined the evening for everyone. Instead, she had apparently turned a roomful of strangers into best friends.

They were all talking about what had happened. Then a young red-haired woman hurried over to Adam. “Sir, I think I saw the dead woman last night—I mean, she wasn’t dead then, but...you know. She was talking with a man. Maybe he was the same man your friend saw out in the alley,” she said, nodding toward Scarlet.

“Can you describe him?” Adam asked.

“Thirty, thirty-five,” the redhead said. “Nice-looking, friendly smile.”

Jane said, “If you can describe him a little more fully, I can sketch him.”

“Really?” the redhead asked.

“Really,” Jane said.

“I’m Miriam, by the way. Miriam Colby.”

They introduced themselves, and Jane pulled the pad she was never without from her shoulder bag.

Brett and Matt returned while Jane was working. Scarlet saw them go over to the manager and shake their heads, clearly telling him they hadn’t been able to find anyone. Which, since she hadn’t seen anyone in the first place, was only to be expected.

They came back to the table, where Miriam was sitting in Matt’s seat, watching Jane draw and, under Jane’s prompting, giving her details on the guy’s appearance.

“His nose was like
patrician
, I think. You know, perfectly straight, just the right size for his face.”

“Like that?” Jane asked, sketching.

“Just like that,” Miriam agreed. “The eyebrows should be a little more arched. And thicker.”

“Okay, I’ll adjust,” Jane said, erasing and resketching.

Scarlet looked over Miriam’s shoulder and gasped. She stared up at Diego and the others, and she could see that they, too, had seen the resemblance.

Jane had drawn an excellent likeness of Terry Ballantree.

13

W
hen they returned to the Conway Ranch that night, they all headed straight into the main house despite the hour. Diego said that Ben and Trisha would just have to deal with the commotion and the fact that they might be waking up a guest.

Gwen and Charles had followed them back, feeling spooked after Gwen had come over to the table to chat, arriving just in time to see Jane’s sketch.

“That looks like Terry!” she’d exclaimed. “But, we didn’t see Terry here last night.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” Charles said.

From that point on, Charles and Gwen had stuck close to the Krewe.

Diego had to admit, he hadn’t really figured Terry Ballantree for a murderer—but then, it was hard to think of anyone at the Conway Ranch in that light, even though logic led him to believe the killer was indeed connected to the ranch in some way. The timing of Daniel’s death seemed to argue against Terry or the Bartons being guilty of murder, and yet, he just couldn’t be sure that something hadn’t gone on that they didn’t know about.

Of course, the fact that Terry had spoken with Cassandra didn’t mean that he had murdered her. But Lieutenant Gray hadn’t called to say the man had come forward to say he had been with the victim. Then again, he reminded himself, he’d talked to several people tonight who’d seen Cassandra at the bar, and for various reasons none of them had talked to the police yet, either.

He ran through everyone connected to the ranch and was forced to admit that none of them fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer. Of course history was filled with sadistic killers who had appeared to the general public, even to their friends and family, to be just as sane and good-hearted as the next man.

He couldn’t help it. He still felt it had to be someone close, someone associated with the ranch.

If the murder weapon really was the gun that had gone missing from the museum—and that seemed overwhelmingly likely—then that meant the killer knew about the gun collection and how minimal the security had been.

But Terry Ballantree?

Why not?

And if not Terry, who?

Ben and Trisha, who had tied their lives to the ranch?

Gigi and Clark, who spent time here every year?

Angus, who loved his horses and wanted to keep his job, or Linda Reagan, who ran the household with ease?

Gwen and Charles, who seemed to have no substantial connection to the ranch?

Or Terry Ballantree, yet another descendant of Nathan Kendall?

Trisha was the first to hear them come in, and she wandered out into the upstairs hallway in a long flannel robe, immediately followed by Ben, who had his shotgun behind his back.

“What’s going on?” Ben asked, shaking his head as he walked down the stairs.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Diego said, “but we need to talk to Terry.”

“Maybe I should put on some tea,” Trisha said.

“No need,” Adam said, just as another door opened and Clark Levin poked his head out, with Gigi standing just behind him.

“What in tarnation?” he demanded. “Can’t you people be quiet coming in?”

“Sorry to wake you, but—” Adam said.

“Someone else murdered?” Clark demanded.

“No, sir,” Diego told him. “You’re welcome to go back to bed.”

“What? First you wake me, and now you tell me to go back to bed?”

“Stay up if you like,” Diego said. “Ben, could you tell me which room is Terry’s?”

“I’ll show you,” Jane offered, hurrying past him. “He’s next to me.”

She didn’t even have to knock. Terry’s door opened as she reached it. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just woken up and was still half-asleep.

“What? What’s going on?” he asked her anxiously.

By then Linda Reagan had come down from her attic accommodations. She, too, was in a robe and looked worried. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“Sorry to wake everyone,” Adam said. “We just want to talk to Terry.”

“At this time of night?” Linda asked. “Why?”

Diego ignored her and said without preamble, “Terry, why didn’t you call the police or talk to us about the fact that you talked to Cassandra Wells last night?”

“What?” Terry asked.

“Cassandra Wells. You were talking to her last night at the Twisted Antler,” Diego said.

“That was Cassandra Wells? The pretty girl I was talking to?” Terry said, clearly shocked, his eyes wide. He sank down on the ground. “Oh, my God!”

Jane reached down a hand to help him back up, and Terry grasped her hand like a lifeline as he climbed to his feet.

He might have been faking his surprise, Diego thought, but if so, he was doing a damned good job of it.

“And how the hell did you leave the house?” Brett asked him, irritated. Diego lowered his head for minute, hiding a grim smile. His partner was angry that he’d been taken, he knew.

“Back door. I was down in the kitchen sneaking a snack—sorry.” He shot a guilty glance at Ben and Trisha. “And then I got the urge to have a drink and listen to some music. Since I was already in the kitchen, it just seemed easier to go out the back.”

“We also slipped out the back,” Gwen admitted. “We were at the Twisted Antler, too.”

“Why the hell would you people slip out that way? This is a B and B, not a prison!” Ben said.

Terry didn’t even seem to hear him. He looked over at Diego. “I swear to you, I didn’t know that was her. I haven’t seen the TV all day. She was there and she was pretty, so I flirted a little. I gave her a horrible line—asked her if she went there often. She said she liked the music. I asked her if she wanted to make some music with me, and she said she was in school, but maybe she’d see me around sometime. That was it, I swear.”

“We didn’t see you there,” Charles said.

“And I didn’t see you two, either!” Terry snapped. His eyes narrowed and he turned to skewer Diego with an angry look. “Wait a minute? They were there, too, and you’re questioning
me
?”

“We didn’t talk to Cassandra Wells, you did,” Gwen said.

It was going to get nasty, Diego thought, and he interrupted quickly.

“We’re just trying to find out if anyone saw Cassandra after she left the Twisted Antler,” he said quickly, and then asked Terry, “By the way, how did you get there? You didn’t drive?”

“What? I walked. It’s barely a mile, and it’s all downhill.”

“And how did you get back?”

“A guy dropped me off at the turnaround about fifty yards down the drive,” Terry said. “Then I used my key and came in the front door as quietly as I could.”

“You won’t mind giving us his name?” Adam asked.

“Bennie Lipton. He’s staying at a place called the Snowdrop Inn,” Terry said.

“Thanks,” Diego said.

“Well, then, I suppose we should let everyone get back to sleep,” Adam said easily. “We’re very sorry for disturbing everyone, but we’re trying to solve a series of murders before anyone else gets killed, and that means time is of the essence.” He turned to Ben. “Would you mind coming with me to see that all the doors are locked?”

“No problem,” Ben said, and the two of them headed down the stairs together.

“I’m embarrassed to admit this,” Gwen said, “but I’m feeling very nervous. What if the killer decides to break in?”

“We can take turns sitting up and keeping watch,” Meg told Matt cheerfully.

“Are you sure?” Gwen asked. “Because I have to admit, I’ll feel a lot better if you do.”

“I’m quite sure—as are we all,” Meg said.

“Jane and I can take first shift,” Brett offered, turning to Matt. “Then you and Meg can take over.”

“Scarlet and I will head over to her apartment,” Diego said. “We’ll see you all in the morning. Scarlet?” he said, turning to her.

She smiled and raised a hand to the others. “Good night,” she said.

“Curious,” Diego said as they walked to her place.

“What is?” she asked.

“That Terry and the Bartons were at the same not-that-big bar and didn’t see each other. Then again, I’ve been places and heard from friends the next day that they were there, too, and we never saw each other. If you’re not looking for someone, it’s easy to miss them.” He stopped walking and made a point of studying the outbuildings, the parking lot and the stables.

“What about Angus?” he asked, looking at the stables. “What does he do when he’s not out on a ride?”

“He eats up at the house sometimes, and I’ve had him over for sandwiches. But he has a little kitchenette in his apartment, so he goes in to town and shops periodically. He loves it up here on the mountain, though. Says he can tolerate people long enough for a trail ride, but he loves it when they leave. I like Angus. We’ve always gotten on well, maybe because we both love the horses. Why? No one saw him at the Twisted Antler, and a bar full of people and loud music is pretty much the last place I’d expect to find him.”

“Maybe. But Angus is part and parcel of the Conway Ranch,” he said. “And I wonder what he sees from up there above the stables? I think it might be worth talking to him tomorrow morning to find out if he saw anyone coming or going last night. It’s odd, don’t you think, that Terry
and
the Bartons decided to sneak out the back door on the same night to go to the same place but never saw one another.”

They headed to the museum. Diego keyed in the alarm code as soon as he opened the door, turning on the lights downstairs.

The museum sat in silence; all was still.

He took her hand, put his finger to his lips to caution her and they walked along the rows of display cases and past the many mannequins, checking out the entire museum.

“You think someone is in here?” she whispered.

“No. But I don’t like to think there’s no one, then find out there is.”

Finally satisfied, he reset the alarm, then led the way upstairs.

Once again, he wasn’t happy until he went room to room, assuring himself that they were alone.

“It’s all good,” he told her at last.

She looked at him and smiled, “Yes. Because you’re here.”

She headed to the bedroom. He smiled slowly and followed.

There were so many things they could say to one another, he thought, but maybe it was good that they didn’t. Maybe it was best just to hold tight to this time—and to each other.

A flicker of unease stirred in him.

The victims had all been Nathan Kendall’s descendants.

Like Scarlet.

He
had
to get her through this.

Or talking about the future would be irrelevant.

He followed her into the bedroom. She was already beneath the covers. He knew she was be naked, waiting.

He carefully set his Glock on the bedside table within easy reach.

And then he joined her.

He was grateful for the feel of her.

For the sound of her heartbeat, of her breathing.

And the brush of her lips on his naked flesh.

* * *

Diego had gone into superprotective mode.

He woke up first. Scarlet felt him rise, heard him walk through the upstairs, undoubtedly checking for anything suspicious, and then head down to the museum. She took a quick shower, feeling completely safe.

She wasn’t sure what the Krewe had planned for the day, but she knew what she would like to do for part of it if time allowed, and that was head for a shooting range. She was capable with a gun, but Diego had been right: she’d never liked them. Too many people who were far too irresponsible owned them, which was a shame for those who
were
responsible. She’d understood why Ben kept his shotgun ready; they were on a mountaintop, and there were animals in the woods that could kill a person.

And now...

Now she had no intention of being vulnerable, a victim. She intended to be prepared, and if that meant becoming not just competent but adept with a gun, so be it.

After ascertaining that the museum was empty, Diego came upstairs to find her showered, dressed and ready for the day. He looked as her with an odd smile for a moment—as if regretting that she hadn’t spent a little longer in the shower so the night, too, could last a little longer—but then he told her that everything was fine, so he was hopping in the shower himself.

She told him she would get some coffee going.

“Lara is coming in today—Brett’s fiancée,” he told her. “You and she have something in common. The ghosts in the zombie case picked her to talk to just like Daniel picked you.”

“Why Lara? Why me?” she asked him. “I was never law enforcement, I never believed in ghosts. I never even played with Ouija boards when I was a kid. Why am I suddenly ghost central?”

He grinned. “Daniel just likes you and wants you to be safe.” His smile faded, and he set his hands on her shoulders. “That’s basically it, Scarlet. The dead need our help. And we can certainly use theirs.”

He left her to shower and dress, so she walked into the kitchen and started the coffee. Suddenly she became aware that something—someone—was in the room with her.

She steeled herself before turning to look at the kitchen doorway.

She knew the young woman who stood there, though she wouldn’t have remembered her name if she hadn’t been all over the TV.

It was Cassandra Wells, and Scarlet did remember how bright and friendly and full of questions she’d been when she’d come to take the museum tour.

Scarlet was grateful that Cassandra didn’t look the way she had the night before, a body soaked in blood with an exploded face.

Instead she was in jeans and a sweater, hair held back from her face by a headband, features pale, almost fully substantial, though Scarlet could just see through to the hallway behind her.

Scarlet was proud that she didn’t feel the slightest inclination to scream, to fall apart.

Cassandra had chosen her, just as Daniel had, and she found herself feeling glad of that and hoping desperately that she could help.

“Hello,” Scarlet said.

Cassandra let out a little sigh of relief. “You can see me?”

Her voice was weak, as if she was speaking from miles away.

“Yes,” Scarlet said.

“You know me?” the young woman asked.

Scarlet nodded. “I remember when you came to the museum. You asked the best questions, and I could tell how interested you were in everything.”