Krewe of Hunters, Volume 1: Phantom Evil ; Heart of Evil ; Sacred Evil ; The Evil Inside

by Heather Graham

  He shook his head. “Look, Ashley, I know we’re all kind of scared right now, so maybe you could quit with the trail riding in the middle of night until they find whoever killed Charles!”

  “She won’t be out alone again,” Jake said firmly, in a voice that seemed to scrape all the way down her spine. “It’s pitch-dark and chilly out here, and the mosquitoes are big enough to rustle the woods themselves. We’re going to get on back now.”

  Toby clicked on his own high-beam flashlight. Once again, they protected their eyes.

  “Toby!” Ashley said quickly.

  “Yes?”

  “Were you under this tree a few minutes ago?” she asked.

  He looked at her and squinted. “No. Well, hell, I don’t think so. I didn’t know what the hell was out here—I was moving around quiet as I could, trying to listen. Why?”

  “I—I thought I might have seen you,” she said.

  “Well, if you’d seen me, it would have been nice if you’d said something,” he told her indignantly. “I’m getting back.”

  Toby turned and started tramping down the trail. They could follow the glow of his flashlight as he headed for the bayou.

  “What was that all about?” Jake asked Ashley.

  “I climbed the tree because…because I was afraid. I thought something was stalking me. I saw someone beneath me, and it scared the hell out of me,” Ashley said.

  “What were you doing out here?” Jake demanded, perplexed.

  “Riding!” she snapped.

  “Well, he’s right. You shouldn’t have been, and you damned well better not do so again until the killer is found.”

  “And what if you brilliant people with your brilliant team never find the killer?” Ashley demanded.

  Jake didn’t answer. Cliff did.

  “Then we won’t be out here, period. The plantation will go down, and the Donegal family won’t own it anymore. You’ll see sugarcane here, just like you see it beyond the cemetery side.”

  Jake was staring at her; she could see that in the glow of the flashlight Cliff still held on the little copse where they stood.

  “We’ll find him. We’ll find the killer,” Jake said, and he turned away. “Come on, you can ride with me.”

  She was angry…and worse, she realized. She was still feeling rejected, no matter how stupid any of it might have been—even if she had been the one to put a block on him years before.

  “I’ll ride with Cliff,” she said.

  Cliff was startled, but he looked down at her with a shrug, sheathed his shotgun in his saddle and shifted the light in his hands to reach down for her.

  “Let’s hope Varina made her way home—and that your grandfather hasn’t gone out and had a heart attack!”

  With Cliff’s strong grasp, she leapt up behind him on Jeff. Ahead on the trail, finding his way through the dark, Jake mounted up on his horse.

  They made a silent trek back through the woods to the house.

  Approaching the stables, they saw that Varina had indeed made her way home. She was walking around in the center of the stables as if she were teasing the horses who were still in their stalls.

  “I’ve got the horses,” Cliff said gruffly. “You get in the house, Ashley, before Frazier realizes that you’re not around anywhere.”

  She started toward the house. Jake was right behind her. She felt him come closer and closer, but she didn’t realize he was going to stop her until she felt his hands on her shoulders.

  “What the hell were you really doing?” he demanded.

  “Riding. I do it all the time.”

  “Right—after a corpse is found in the cemetery.”

  She turned around and stared at him.

  “A murdered man!” he said with some force.

  “Look, this is my house. I live here, and I don’t think I’m under suspicion—by anyone’s standards. I’ll ride when I feel like riding!” she told him.

  She was startled when she suddenly saw him take a breath and smile.

  “What?” she demanded.

  “I’ll just talk to Frazier,” he said and walked past her.

  “Damn it, Jake, stop!”

  He did so, turning back to her.

  “I—I heard a rumor after the reenactment,” she said. “I heard that Emma Donegal was actually Cliff’s ancestor and not one of the men in the family. She could never admit—not at that time—that she had an ex-slave, Harold Boudreaux, for a lover, or that she’d given birth to a child of mixed blood. But she loved him, and I heard that there was a gravestone out there. She had him buried out by the bayou. I thought if I found the stone, it might all be real. I went to find it.”

  He paused, watching her for a moment. “And did you find it?”

  “Yes, it’s there.”

  “It has his name on it?”

  “The word Friend was carved into it.”

  He was quiet, and his silence seemed to scream that a stone that said Friend didn’t really mean a thing, and that it was incredibly stupid at this time to be wandering around in the woods looking for the headstone of a man who might or might not have been an ancestor’s lover.

  Before they could argue further, the riverside door opened and Beth stepped out. “There you are! Goodness, I was starting to get worried. Jake, Jackson got back, and he’s looking for you. Crab cakes are on, and it’s time for dinner!”

  Ashley turned from Jake and looked at Beth, forcing a cheerful smile.

  “Crab cakes! Better yet, your crab cakes. Do we have a minute to wash up? Should I call Cliff?”

  “I’ll get him on the house phone, honey. You run on up. Angela has given me a hand in the kitchen, and it will all be on the table in ten minutes, so hurry it up, girlfriend! And, we’ve got more company!”

  Ashley looked at her, puzzled.

  “Will and Whitney?” Jake asked.

  “Yep. They’re as nice as they can be!” Beth told Ashley.

  Ashley didn’t doubt that the pair was exactly that. She was surprised to feel a little tug at her heart, created by the sound of pleasure in Jake’s voice.

  His friends were there. Maybe Whitney was more than a friend.

  She suddenly felt out of step with his life and ashamed of herself. Jake had been the best friend in the world; she had loved him. She had turned from him. He deserved a little happiness.

  “It will be great to meet them,” she said.

  She flashed Jake a quick smile, and hurried on into the house.

  * * *

  It was odd, but somehow the arrival of Will and Whitney—with all their paraphernalia—was like a breath of fresh air.

  A horrible murder had taken place, and they were in the midst of a rough investigation. But Whitney’s vibrant personality made its mark on the solemn household. As they sat down to dinner, she explained the setup that she and Will had carried out.

  “Don’t worry—we haven’t put cameras in anybody’s bedroom,” she said, “but we do have the house nicely wired for sight and sound. Ashley, you haven’t seen it yet, but there’s a bank of screens in the living room. We have cameras aimed in both of the parlors, out to the front, out to the back and over the cemetery. Tomorrow we’ll set up over the stables. That way, we’ll be apprised of any unwanted visitors on the property. And—” she hesitated, casting Jake a questioning look “—and we’ll be aware of anything that might happen inside the house as well.”

  She looked at Jake again.

  Do they know that we investigate for paranormal occurrences or help? she seemed to be asking.

  “I think what you’ve managed in a few short hours is amazing,” Jake told her. “A camera setup like this will definitely catch anyone trying to play games in the cemetery again. But we have to rig by the river as well.”

  “They’ve done that,” Jackson told him. “We got here at about the same time, and I asked them to make sure the back wall of the cemetery and the river were both in view on our screens.”

  “Did you have an interes
ting interview with Ramsay Clayton?” Jake asked him.

  “Ramsay swears that he gave Charles the role out of the goodness of his heart. He also said that he’ll be back in New Orleans by tomorrow or the next day. He’s buying a guard dog and a pistol and getting a permit—he’s afraid that whoever killed Charles might have really been targeting him,” Jackson told them.

  “That is a possibility,” Jake agreed.

  “Yes,” Jackson said simply. “He asked the police for protection. They couldn’t give him anything full-time, but they have patrol cars watching his residence while he’s here. He said that when he goes back into the city, he’s going to stay at a hotel for a week.” Jackson smiled. “The casino hotel—there’s lots of security around it. Unseen, half the time, maybe, but it is there.”

  Cliff let out a dry laugh. “Ramsay is a crack shot. But a dog is a good thing to have. Dogs really have a sixth sense. We used to have a dog.”

  Ashley smiled. “Brutus,” she explained. “He was a Rottweiler, and I loved him to death.”

  “What happened?” Jake asked. He’d never met Brutus.

  “He loved me in return—but he hated the horses and tried to bite them all the time, and they tried to kick him. He went to live with my mom’s cousin in Gainesville. They’re still happy as clams, I believe,” Ashley said. She looked at her grandfather. “I should call Gina. She’s probably heard all this on the news, and she’ll be worried.”

  “Already called her and assured her we were fine,” Frazier said. “She wants you to come stay with her and Brutus. I said it wasn’t a bad idea.”

  “Oh, no. I’m not leaving,” Ashley told him. She stood and walked over, slipping her arms around him. “We didn’t do this, and Donegal Plantation itself is being victimized.” She stared across the table at Jake. “This team will find the killer.”

  No one said anything for a minute. Frazier patted Ashley’s hands where they lay against his chest.

  “Well, a hotel at a casino might not be a bad idea,” Beth murmured. “Ramsay might have it right.”

  “I personally couldn’t afford a casino for more than a night!” Whitney said.

  Ashley walked back to take her seat again. “Sounds like Ramsay’s really scared. Doesn’t sound like he could be the killer,” she said.

  “Lots of killers are good actors,” Jake said.

  “Crab cakes, children, crab cakes!” Beth said. They all looked at her. She smiled. “Hey, we can’t live and breathe this every second. We’ll lose our minds.”

  “Beth is right,” Frazier said. “Whitney, why haven’t I ever met you? Have you ever been out here?”

  “Oh, yes! On a school bus with a swarm of children, I’m afraid, but I’ve been here before. It’s a beautiful place, Mr. Donegal.”

  “Frazier, please,” Frazier told her, smiling. “It’s great that you’re so kind as to respect your elders, but I am just Frazier.”

  Frazier was a grandmaster at heading his house hold; Ashley seemed quiet during the meal, but Frazier and Beth drew out the newcomers. They learned, of course, that Will was originally from Trinidad, that he had been a musician and an entertainer, specializing in illusion, before he had gotten into law enforcement. Whitney had been a filmmaker, and she loved film—and the world.

  When the meal had ended, Jackson nodded to Jake, and they went to the study together. Jake brought up the lists he had made during the day, along with what he had discovered or not about his defined list of suspects. Then he told Jackson about the events in the woods.

  “So, Toby Keaton appeared right in the middle of the chaos in the woods?” Jackson asked.

  Jake nodded. “He’ll bear further investigation. Basically, he and Hank Trebly are the only neighbors. Well, it’s a sugar plantation-slash-mill on the other side, but the two of them are definitely close enough.”

  “What about the ‘Yankees’?” Jackson asked.

  “Justin Binder is the only man still without a reliable alibi. He was here the night that the body was found. He didn’t leave until the police cleared him.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll pay a visit to the sugar mill. And we’ll drop in on Toby Keaton, too.”

  Jackson stood, ready to leave the room first. Jake hesitated a minute, and then rose to follow him. “By the way,” Jackson told him, pausing at the door.

  “Yes?”

  “Angela says that the house is riddled with ghosts, and half of them don’t know that the other half are around. And none of them is talkative.”

  “Well, it is a plantation,” Jake said, not yet wanting to talk about Emma Donegal. “What self-respecting plantation comes without its share of ghost stories?”

  Jackson studied him and nodded. “Right. Naturally. Maybe we should let the owners tell us about a few. Let’s hear what they have to say.”

  They went out to the front parlor where the bank of screens was set up. Whitney and Will had created their own little viewing station, pulling a few of the big wingback chairs in front of the screens. Whitney turned, seeing him.

  “Hey! I brought something of yours from the hotel that you forgot, and I can’t believe that you forgot it,” she said.

  “What?” he asked, puzzled.

  “Your guitar,” she said.

  He raised his brows, opened his mouth and said nothing.

  His guitar.

  He’d never left his guitar anywhere; it was a beloved Fender.

  Ashley and Donegal Plantation. They could make him forget anything.

  He was surprised to see Ashley walk over to the guitar; Whitney had set it against the wall by the fireplace. She gingerly touched the case and looked at him, a nostalgic smile on her lips.

  “You still have the old Fender,” she said.

  He shrugged.

  “Play something,” Frazier told him. “Looks like we’re all in for the night.”

  “And the nights aren’t easy to get through,” Beth said.

  Jake looked at Jackson, who nodded. This is just what we need.

  Jake took out the guitar, sat and tuned it. He looked at Ashley. “Still play the banjo?” he asked her.

  “Yes, badly,” she told him.

  He laughed. “Go for it!”

  She hesitated, but Frazier said, “Come on, Ashley. For the love of God, let’s have some music. We need something.”

  She hurried up the stairs and returned. Jake looked at her and smiled. “‘Never Marry an Ugly Girl?’”

  She nodded. They both played and he sang, and they encouraged everyone to join in on the chorus. Once they had started, they fell in together.

  As if five years had never gone by.

  They played Arlo Guthrie, and Cliff sang, and even Frazier did a rendition of a Frank Sinatra tune.

  It went on for about forty-five minutes, and then Jake drew off his strap and set the Fender down. “Hey, let someone else do the entertaining now. Ashley, tell them some of the ghost stories about the place that have some merit.”

  “Oh, well,” she murmured.

  “There’s Marshall Donegal, of course,” Frazier said. “The poor fellow must be turning in his grave at all this.”

  “What about Emma Donegal?” Whitney asked.

  “Wasn’t she accused of having killed her husband and somehow covering it all up with—‘the Yankee did it!’”

  Ashley spoke up indignantly. “That’s not true at all, and I don’t know where that story got started. There were several diaries kept by the men who survived, and the surviving enemy even told the story the same way. Emma was innocent.”

  “Ah, well, I thought she was supposed to haunt these halls.”

  “Maybe. She died here,” Frazier said. “By then, of course, her daughters were married and her son had children.”

  “Where did she die?” Whitney asked.

  “She was in the Jeb Stuart room,” Ashley said.

  Jake started; that was something he hadn’t known. And it was strange, of course, because he’d always stayed in that room when he had be
en a guest at the plantation. He lowered his head quickly. Did Emma appear to him because she felt she knew him?

  “There was a fellow who had a heart attack before a reenactment and died in the stables,” Cliff offered. “I swear, now and then I think I see a shadow out there.”

  “Marshall Donegal supposedly guards the plantation in death, just as in life,” Frazier told them. “I’m sad to say, in all my days, I’ve never seen a ghost.”

  “Have you ever felt one?” Ashley asked him.

  He grinned. “Lots of times. I believe that there are spirits here, spirits of the past, of happiness and of trauma. But if we have ghosts, they’re here to guard us, to watch over us. There’s nothing evil at this plantation,” he said firmly.

  Ashley spoke slowly. “There’s nothing evil at the plantation,” she repeated and looked around. “But the living can certainly be evil. Do you think that…sometimes people create evil where there was none, because they believe that it existed in the past, and they encourage it in the present?”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” Jake said. “Take prejudice, for example, and the old hatreds people never let die. But, yes, Ashley, people can certainly perceive a wrong and turn it into a personal vindication. And it’s possible that’s what happened here—either that or someone’s personal agenda. Who would benefit if this plantation went down? If we can’t find discover why anyone would have hated Charles—or gone after Ramsay Clayton—we have to find out who wants to see you go down like a sinking ship.”

  “No one,” Ashley said.

  “No one that you realize,” Jackson told her.

  Beth ended the evening by rising. “I’m going to bed. And, may I say, I’m delighted to have you all in the house!”

  * * *

  Night again, darkness, and the hour growing later.

  Jake stared at the ceiling.

  He remained disturbed at finding Ashley in the woods, though he wasn’t sure why. It seemed apparent that they had all frightened each other.

  Was that all that it had been?

  Ashley had been up a tree. Well, she had heard Toby Keaton. Toby had said that he’d heard commotion—Ashley. And then him—and then Cliff riding behind him.

  Screw it.