Haunted Be the Holidays: A Krewe of Hunters Novella

by Heather Graham

  “He’d had a drug problem at one time,” Kody said. “But he was in treatment years ago—and, from what I understand, he’s been clean since.”

  “He worked on Broadway last season,” Clara said. “Yes, he was clean. I guess”—she turned and looked at Brodie and Jackson—“he slipped? It can happen, I suppose. I mean, of course, we knew. Because Adam Harrison owns the theater, we know about everyone we hire.”

  “Well, I’m thinking liquid LSD. Was that ever a drug of his choice?” the doctor asked.

  They all looked at Clara, who was the one who would know.

  She shook her head. “Grass and pills. When he cleaned up, he gave up everything. Absolutely everything. He said he’d been told that even a few drinks could cause him to believe he should be doing drugs. And he didn’t want to take a chance. He was dedicated to his recovery and never minded talking about it.”

  “Well, I do believe both men will pull through. You called in the nick of time. I think we’ll discover it was LSD. But something else too, for them to have blacked out so completely. They were almost comatose.”

  “We’ll be looking into the situation,” Jackson promised.

  The doctor nodded. “And we’ll keep you apprised of any changes.”

  “Doctor, we’re going to keep a man here as a precaution,” Jackson said.

  Brodie looked at Jackson, grateful the head of the Krewe had made that decision.

  Something just didn’t seem right.

  Well, things weren’t right. A missing girl had been found—covered in blood before she’d wound up dead in a fabricated cemetery.

  Kody had been frightened by a street performer.

  Brent had gone crazy on stage—and in that craziness, he had threatened Kody. He had said he’d died in a pool of blood, and if his murder wasn’t solved…

  “Go home, you two,” Jackson said after the doctor moved on. “I have agents coming in—Krewe agents. They’ll watch over things here. You’ve had long days.”

  Kody was still in her costume. “I should go back—”

  “No,” Jackson said firmly. “Go home. Clara—you too. Straight home. Adam was at the theater, and we have more of our number making sure everything is closed down safely and securely. ”

  He glanced at his watch. “Only an hour left of Halloween. Thank God. And Brodie, autopsy on our vampire girl tomorrow, scheduled for nine A.M.”

  “I’ll be there,” he promised, slipping an arm around Kody.

  She seemed fine; if anything, a little angry. Of course, people at the hospital were looking at her a little strangely—maybe not as strangely as they would have, had it not been Halloween.

  “Clara—” Kody began.

  “Kody, please, I’m good—”

  “I’ll get Clara home. Thor was coming to the hospital, but I told him we were all leaving as soon as our night guards arrived. Go, please, get some rest,” Jackson said.

  “Yes, but—” Kody began.

  “The beauty of the Krewe is that we know each other, and we know what’s up with what we do. Other agents will take over, Kody.”

  Brodie nodded over her head to Jackson and led Kody out. It was a short trip from the hospital to their home in Alexandria.

  Trick or treaters were off the streets by then.

  They passed by only a few adults who had been at parties and were still in costume, either walking from bar to bar or party to party or to their cars to call it quits for the night.

  As he drove, though, he knew he was on the lookout for a man in a mask.

  A death’s head mask.

  “Brodie…I worked with Brent Myerson all through rehearsals and through a month of performances. I still don’t believe…”

  “Kody, it was a long and hard day for everyone. And who can say? Maybe Brent…maybe he felt he just needed a little pick-up and didn’t realize what he’d done.”

  She was silent a minute. “What about Barry?”

  “A star like Brent asking him if he wanted a little something? Kody, it’s possible.”

  She shook her head firmly. “Brent…I knew. I knew from the time I saw that performer in the street. Silly, yes. Ridiculous. But…the mask was so similar. A rip-off. I don’t know how or why, but—tonight was no accident. I don’t believe Brent took anything on purpose.”

  “You think someone slipped him the drug—liquid LSD or whatever it may prove to be?”

  “I do—it would be easy enough. He likes tea. I think someone got in there and slipped something into his tea. And he and Barry were great friends. They might have been talking about the bit of stagecraft they had when the mask was passed to Brent. And Brent would have asked Barry if he’d like some tea, too.”

  “Kody.”

  “Yes?”

  “It might have just been a slip-up. Hopefully, Brent and Barry will be fine. And—really, thanks to you—the show went off beautifully. The audience didn’t even know. Wouldn’t know—unless they were return guests. And even then, they might have thought there had been a bit of a rewrite at the end. You were superb.”

  “Thank you,” she said. “But—”

  “Kody, seriously, the incidents might have nothing to do with each other. We’re on the hunt for a killer, but what happened at the theater might have been...just a slip. It happens. And it doesn’t mean Brent won’t recover and won’t be fine. For now…let’s get a good night’s rest, huh?”

  He wasn’t sure at all of what he was saying to her, but he managed to get conviction into his voice.

  And yet, as he drove, he kept his eyes open for a man in a death’s head mask.

  Dancing in the street.

  * * * *

  They arrived at their small house. There was a gated entry, and a guard on duty at all times.

  He or she stood behind bullet-proof glass.

  Brodie had also had an excellent alarm system installed, and if they needed more…

  Well, he woke at the drop of a pin.

  And they had Kody’s cat—Godzilla.

  He was one humongous cat—and did alert them with very loud meows if someone was coming to visit.

  Their alarm and their living circumstances weren’t by accident. Brodie knew he was heading into a dangerous life—not to accept that it could come home on them would be insane. And yet, he didn’t want it to be a major part of their lives.

  To think their dead vampire girl might come at them in any way was stretching the realm of worry, he told himself.

  And it wasn’t just the girl. She had been identified. She had disappeared from the Smithsonian, and they knew nothing else yet. She might have run off and joined a cult—a deadly cult. She might have been on so much PCP she’d done the injury to herself.

  She might have injured someone else. But as yet, there were no reports from hospitals—or morgues—regarding anyone bleeding to death, or who had bled to death.

  It was just…

  Halloween.

  Thankfully, it would be over in twenty minutes now.

  Brodie drove into the garage and hopped out of the car as Kody did the same. She had already moved around to the kitchen entrance to key in the alarm and unlock the door. He followed her.

  There were always low lights on in the house. And in the dim kitchen, she turned into his arms, eyes glittering beautifully like a cat’s in the night, gold and green and striking. He pulled her against him, remembering the kiss they’d shared earlier—and feeling the bone of the costume corset she was wearing.

  “How the hell do you wear that damned thing?” he whispered against her lips.

  “Well, I really could do without wearing it now,” she murmured in reply.

  He laughed, spinning her around—and staring at the tangle of strings at her back. “Wow. I—uh—I should be better than this. It’s all knotted…the strings.”

  “If you just—”

  “Hush.” He kissed her neck. “If there’s a will, there’s a way.”

  He fumbled for a kitchen drawer, drawing her with hi
m. He found scissors and simply cut the woven thread that looped in and out of the corset.

  She spun around, staring at him in surprise.

  “What? It’s just a cord. They can replace it.”

  “I wasn’t thinking it was a bad thing—I’m rather grateful you’re thinking on your feet.”

  He pulled fabric and bone and lacing from her, letting it fall to the floor. She remained in a white cotton slip and period boots, but her breasts and shoulders were bare. And in the low light of the kitchen, she was suddenly unbearably beautiful. She reached up to draw the pins from her hair and it fell around her shoulders like dark gold, curling softly against her bare flesh.

  He pulled her back to him in a deep kiss, their tongues playing a sensual dance. His fingers moved over her shoulders and down her back, and he felt her hands on him, lowering down his back to his buttocks.

  Then the cat—Godzilla—let out one of his bloodcurdling meows.

  They both jumped, then laughed.

  Godzilla wasn’t worried about an outsider. He was staring up at them, wanting attention himself.

  “Later, cat,” Brodie promised. He caught Kody’s hand and hurried through to the parlor and up the stairs to the master bedroom—where he shut the door.

  Godzilla would curl up on the sofa in the parlor—and keep guard.

  In the master he twirled Kody around and shook his head slightly before saying admiringly, “You wear that Victorian slip especially well. Magic—you, spinning in the moonlight, hair flying around you.”

  “Ah, so poetic,” she teased, coming to him. He’d set his gun and holster on the dresser, and she slipped his jacket from him. They kissed again as she played with his buckle and zipper, and their mouths barely parted as he made his way out of his shirt, half-tripped on his trousers, and kicked off his shoes.

  He still had his socks on when they fell on the bed. She was wearing the slip and undies and her Victorian boots. They laughed, touched and rolled. He looked deeply into her eyes, like fire, beautiful and brilliant, and so expressive. Then his lips traced over the length of her body, intimate and deep, as she whispered his name, arched, writhed and moved against him, and they were together.

  It wasn’t until the sweet richness of climax seized them both that they eased, gasping, back to reality and cool damp sheets and the night. She laughed softly again. “Wow. You’re still in socks, and I’m in boots.”

  “Sexy, huh?” he grinned.

  “I don’t know—they say you know you’re an old couple when a guy wears socks to bed.”

  “What about boots?”

  She grinned and rolled to an elbow. “Boots? On a woman? Just sexy!” she teased.

  “Hm,” he said thoughtfully.

  “No?” she queried, as if hurt—or as an excuse to grace him with a punch to the arm.

  He shook his head, smiling. “You are the sexiest creature in the world—with or without boots.”

  “Good answer,” she told him.

  With his peripheral vision, he saw the bedside clock as he drew her back to him.

  12:44 A.M. Halloween was over.

  Thank God.

  He kissed her, and they began to make love again, his energy miraculously and tremendously climbing.

  * * * *

  There was something about dreaming, or perhaps, the way Kody dreamed.

  She knew she was dreaming, but that world seemed just as real and solid as the world did during her waking moments.

  She was back in Key West. Back at the bar where one of her dearest friends had died—only to return in a most curious way.

  She was at the bar, the Drunken Pirate, just outside the Tortuga Shell Hotel, where he had played—and where he had also died. But that was in the past, and as a ghost, he seemed content enough. They sat at one of the tables in the rustic patio area. A new entertainer was playing, the sound pleasant. Near them, palms danced in the breeze, and they could hear the lap of waves out on the ocean. The sun was brilliant, creating dapples of yellow and gold on the water. There was laughter around them. It was a vacation paradise.

  “You have to use what you know,” he was telling her earnestly. “Use your expertise. That’s the most important thing. Never take anything lightly, my dear. Sing like your dad—but remember, history is what you love most. Ah, yes, entertainment!”

  Cliff sat back, happy to watch as someone walked up to the stage.

  It was Brent—or someone else in Brent’s monster costume.

  Like the death’s head figure who had performed out on the sidewalk.

  He repeated the words from the play—the wrong words Brent Myerson had thrown in that night, high as a kite on whatever!

  “If my murder is not solved in the days to come, I will see to it that no more holidays will be celebrated here—ever! Do you hear me? Ever! I died in a pool of blood, and you will find the truth!”

  He began to dance, as he had danced on the sidewalk.

  Then he turned, that leering death’s head with its black, gaping mouth directed straight at Kody.

  He pointed at her.

  “Or before the next occasion, you too will die in a pool of blood!”

  Chapter 5

  Jackson had called bright and early. The agents watching Brent and Barry throughout the night and now into morning were reporting all was quiet. Both men were stable, and by the afternoon, they should be able to talk.

  Brodie quickly showered and dressed.

  Watching Kody sleep, he told himself they’d both lose their minds if they took every case personally. Yes, there had been blood droplets at the theater. But it could still have been anything.

  Kody had been disturbed by a performer in the street. And then on stage, when it came time for him to wear a similar mask, Brent Myerson had come into some kind of hallucination and started ranting that he’d died in a pool of blood. And Kody would do the same.

  No connection. They all knew that the theater was supposed to be haunted by the ghosts of Caroline Hartford and Judson Newby. But the two hadn’t been murdered—and they hadn’t died in pools of blood. As far as he could tell, they weren’t haunting the theater. And if he knew his parents—which he did, God knew few men could be quite so haunted by their parents when they were deceased—Maeve and Hamish would have befriended the ghosts as well.

  So what the hell had Brent been going on about?

  Nothing—he’d done liquid LSD mixed with something like Special K, most likely, and been flying like a kite.

  Candy-flipping, as users and narcs called it.

  A delusion, nothing more.

  Sliding back into his jacket, Brodie paused as Kody suddenly flung up—jackknifing from sleep as if she were a Swiss army knife. He moved back to the bed, apologizing.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” he told her, planting a kiss on her forehead and moving back quickly.

  She looked amazingly beautiful in the morning. She was the one in the group who hadn’t acted in her previous life, but she certainly had the ability to wake up as if she was starring in a soap opera.

  “No, no, not to worry—I just woke up,” she told him. “You didn’t wake me. And I need to get up—I want to get ready and head to the theater. Alexi is still gone, but after what happened…we’ll have to talk. And rehearsals start next Monday for the fall show, so…I need to go in.”

  “Okay,” he told her. “I’ll feed mammoth-cat before I go. Call if anything happens. Anything—at all,” he told her.

  “Of course. You’re going with Jackson?“

  “Yeah. Autopsy. We need to figure out what went on with the girl we found in the makeshift cemetery. Man, I hope people are taking down decorations today. I think crime scene techs—Feds and locals—are done there. Anyway, seems this thing might be widespread. We know our girl was once a responsible working person, loved by those around her. And there are others missing too. So we’ll start with what we can find out about what happened to her. And,” he added, “we’ll see if those blood drops at t
he theater had anything to do with anything.”

  She gave him a brilliant smile but he didn’t believe it was real.

  “Be careful,” he told her.

  “Hey, I’m the one being paranoid, remember?” she said. “Come to think of it, maybe your parents will be around today. All this going on—your mom, in particular, is usually on top of such things.”

  “Remember, I have two brothers they love to haunt, too. And both my parents already saw both plays. Knowing them, they were at some other Halloween performance in the city. Anyway, be careful, just because it’s a good thing to always be careful, okay? Any worries, fears, whatever – however silly they may be -- call me.”

  He started to leave the room when she called him back.

  “I’m just in on some decision making today, but…I intend to get into really studying every decade the theater existed.”

  “Because of Brent’s ranting?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. “The supposed theater ghosts—”

  “I know. Supposedly, there are ghosts here. Caroline and Judson. But I think we need to look for something else. At least try to find out if someone else was killed.”

  “It was always a public theater—something would have come down through the ages,” Brodie said.

  “Then again, maybe not,” she told him.

  He sat down by her on the bed. “This is a serious problem,” he told her softly. “Because Brent Myerson is beloved by all—and you say he’s usually a fantastic man as an actor—great to work with. And he’s in the next production.” He inhaled on a long breath. “But you can’t work with an actor who is going to go off at any given moment.” He didn’t know what seemed so off about everything, but he knew he couldn’t stop her from going to the theater—from living.

  “He was great—really great,” Kody said. She shook her head. “I just find the whole thing hard to believe.”

  “We’ll talk with him today and see what he has to say. The same with Barry. Maybe Barry had it out for Brent for some reason, went to see him backstage—and spiked something Brent was drinking,” Brodie suggested unhappily.