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

by Heather Graham

  “The son of a mobster, and he was innocent. That’s different…. I don’t know if I can bear being with you,” he said.

  “It’s all right,” she told him.

  “No, it’s not. Because I don’t know if I can bear not being with you.”

  She rolled into his arms. He held her against him. “On this one, though, will you give in to me? Will you promise not to try to slip into the school? Call it silly, I have this weird premonition about tomorrow. I want you safe.”

  “I won’t slip into the school tomorrow,” she told him.

  She felt guilty, because she had no intention of telling him what she really was going to do. But they were going in circles. And she thought that she knew the way to end it.

  “This is even crazier,” he murmured, rising above her.

  “What?”

  “I think I’m falling in love with you,” he said.

  She pulled him down to her. “I like crazy,” she assured him.

  * * *

  John Alden was true to his word; he was at the school, which had been in lockdown over the weekend. When Sam and Jackson arrived in the morning, the wardrobe mistress—the drama coach—swore up and down that Martin Keller had been telling the truth about the inventory, but other than that, she couldn’t vouch for what might have happened with the costume earlier.

  Some of the parents were at the school; although the boys that Sam really wanted questioned were the seventeen-year-olds, he had nothing against the parents being present.

  Joshua Abbott was brought in to speak with John, Sam and Jackson alone—without David Yates there to tell him what to say or give him leading gestures. Just when they were about to begin, Joshua’s father, Ben, arrived.

  Sam thought that he’d be belligerent, angry that his son was being questioned. But Ben Abbott was just the opposite.

  “Damn it, Joshua! This is serious. Perjury. You follow that Yates kid around like a puppy, but you straighten out right now. You want to go to college? You want a football scholarship—you want a life? You’re not in any pact with David Yates. You’re just a kid, and he’s just a kid, and the two of you might wind up with jail time. Tell the truth!”

  Joshua looked at his father miserably and lowered his head.

  “Did you see Malachi Smith leave Earnest Covington’s house the day he was murdered?” Sam asked quietly.

  “The truth!” Ben Abbott repeated.

  “Yes,” Joshua said. Then he looked up. “I mean—I didn’t actually see him, but David did. And David wouldn’t say that he saw him if he didn’t. He said that people might not believe him if someone else didn’t say the same thing. And then…then I had to stick to it because…because I’d said it, and I couldn’t turn on David and…Dad! Dad, I’m sorry. But David wouldn’t lie to me—we’re friends.”

  With that, John, Sam and Jackson thanked Joshua for his honesty and stepped out of the room. “John, listen to me, please, and I know that this is hard. I honestly believe that Councilman Yates and Samantha Yeager conspired to commit these murders,” Sam said once the door had closed.

  John stared at him as if he’d lost his mind. Sam spoke quickly, with Jackson’s help, explaining that it was his belief that Samantha Yeager had engaged in an affair with Andy Yates. On her part, it was sheer greed. She wanted Lexington House. Andy Yates had watched what he thought was his son’s terrible suffering; he had to right a wrong.

  “You’re crazy!” John said, looking at him.

  “John, help us out here, please. Half the parents are here. Can you get Andy Yates to come down? If we can all talk to him with his son present…?”

  John sighed. “All right. I’ll get him down here.”

  * * *

  “You want to what?” Angela demanded.

  “I want to get back into Lexington House,” Jenna repeated.

  “Oh, Jenna, I don’t know if that’s necessary. Why don’t we wait and see what happens at the school today? When they actually get to the kids…”

  “No. Angela, I’ve been twice. The first time, I saw Eli Lexington kill his family. The second time, I saw the day that the Braden son killed his parents. My cognitive self might be working in a time pattern. If I can get back in there one more time…”

  “Maybe you’re right. But, still—”

  “If we wait, Sam will have to call John again, and what I’ll probably get won’t actually be proof, just an idea of the direction we should take to find proof. They’re about to go in with cleaning crews. We’ve got to go now—before they do that,” Jenna said.

  “I’m still uneasy about it. The killers are out there. They hired people to look for you, for God’s sake.”

  “And they wouldn’t dare do it again, not so quickly,” Jenna said.

  While Angela drummed her fingers on the table, Jenna’s phone rang. It was Sam.

  “Joshua Abbott’s dad came in and gave it to him, and he admitted he’d been lying,” he told her.

  “That’s a start.”

  “It gets better. John is bringing Councilman Yates in, saying that he wants him present when David is questioned. You never know what happens when you get that kind of dichotomy going. We could get somewhere today.”

  “That’s great!” Jenna told him. “Keep us posted.”

  “Will do,” he said, and hung up.

  “No one is going to be out to get me,” Jenna assured Angela. “They’re bringing Councilman Yates to the school.”

  Angela nodded. “Maybe the ghosts will talk to me, too, today….” She groaned and rolled her eyes. “We’re going to go under the police tape, huh?”

  “We’ll put it back, just the way it was. No one will ever know.”

  “Where’s Jamie?” Angela whispered.

  “He went back in to spend some time with Malachi. Angela, I feel that I have to do this.”

  “All right,” Angela agreed. “Then…let’s go.”

  Jenna drove. As they pulled out of Jamie’s driveway and headed down the street, Angela frowned and looked into the rearview mirror.

  “There’s a car following us,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  “Nope, never mind. It was just a woman, I think, on her cell phone and following too close. The car turned off. We’re good.”

  Jenna was careful to park a few blocks down on the street. As they exited the car, Angela said, “If I head to the cliff area—the park-not-really-a-park—I can easily see Lexington House. I’m thinking that I should keep an eye out and warn you if someone does come. And then, after you’ve taken a try at reading the place, I can go in, because I want to see if there are ghosts in there who will talk to me.” She smiled apologetically. “We both know that ghosts are as strange and moody as—well, as they were when they were living. And sometimes, they’ll feel an affinity with one person and not another. You can keep watch and I’ll go in if you don’t get anything.”

  “Ah! Now there’s a plan,” Jenna said.

  In front of Lexington House, they split, moving quickly. Jenna looked around; the neighboring houses were few, and she was pretty sure that the workday had already begun for most people in the area.

  She didn’t try to slink into the house, but went straight up the walkway, slipped under the tape and jimmied the lock open.

  FBI training was helpful in many ways, she thought.

  She entered the foyer. She started to head into the parlor but changed her mind. In the parlor, too many events had occurred. She walked up the stairs. If she stood in one of the rooms where Malachi’s great-uncle and grandmother had been killed, she might get more.

  She chose the left bedroom, and as she stood there, she felt the opaque mist start to form before her eyes, the thing that told her she was about to see.

  She gripped the bedpost and waited for the scene to start to unfold.

  And it did.

  She saw an old woman. She might have been out of the past; she wore a nightcap and a long white nightgown, one that buttoned to her throat. But she wasn’
t from the distant past. There was a digital alarm clock by her bed, and she checked it to make sure that it was set for six the following morning.

  Then she lay down, and reached into her bedside table for her Bible.

  Smiling, deep into the comfort of her mattress and her covers, she began to read.

  Jenna felt something by her side. She turned, and there it was, the specter of the horned god, bearing an ax.

  An ax that already dripped blood.

  The old woman looked up. Confusion tinged her rheumy eyes at first.

  And then she started to scream. A silent scream, because she couldn’t quite draw breath.

  And then the horned god was upon her, the first swing catching her in the center of her breast….

  Something seemed to happen then. The opaque image faded; she could see it, but more as a backdrop to something else.

  And there was something else there.

  Another image, standing at the side of the bed.

  “Rebecca?” Jenna breathed. She was facing a ghost, or a spirit, a gentle, benign spirit. And the woman was speaking to her.

  “The children, the children hear the words of their elders. Leave! Leave now!”

  Jenna hadn’t come unarmed this time. She started to reach beneath her jacket from her weapon.

  And that’s when the entire world seemed to come down on her head, and she whirled only quickly enough to see who had come upon her.

  The horned god, once again….

  * * *

  Andy Yates and his son were seated in uncomfortable chairs; Jackson had purposely found those that had uneven legs for reasons of interrogation strategy. The light was made as bright as possible, and John Alden faced the table while Jackson and Sam took chairs at each end.

  “I don’t understand,” Andy Yates said, bewildered. “A costume was taken from this school and used when Peter Andres was killed? And so you’re questioning all the students—not just David, right?”

  “That’s right, Mr. Yates,” John Alden said.

  “We were at a football game when Andres was killed,” he said. “I know you can check that out—you’ve probably checked that out. So—”

  “So, we also know that David has lied to us,” Sam interrupted.

  Andy frowned, looking at his son.

  “I didn’t lie!” David said.

  “Your friend, Joshua, admitted that he didn’t see Malachi Smith on the day that Earnest Covington was killed,” Jackson said.

  “What?” David protested. “Joshua wouldn’t say that.”

  “He did,” John Alden said. They’d agreed to keep the questions coming from around the table. Like uncomfortable chairs, question being shot from all directions helped confuse a person who was lying.

  “Wait! What does the costume used when Andres was killed have to do with the day Covington was killed?” Yates demanded.

  “You see, we’re not looking for one killer. We believe there were two, working in unison to make sure they could provide alibis for the murders,” Sam said.

  “Wait, wait,” Andy Yates protested. “You think that—”

  “Yes, Mr. Yates. We think your boy might be guilty,” Jackson said.

  “We think he’s in a conspiracy with someone else,” John Alden said.

  David gasped. “Me! I didn’t murder anyone!”

  “But you lied!” Sam told him.

  “I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “But you did lie!” his father said, looking at his son with a sick expression.

  “I lied to protect you!” David Yates said.

  “Me!” Yates sounded astounded.

  “I saw—I saw—” David said. “You saw what?”

  “I saw… I thought it was you…heading into the costume shop after the play last spring. You and mom were there, and then you weren’t, and I thought you just went to speak to the drama teacher, ask her why I didn’t have a better role.”

  “I never!” Andy protested, staring at his son.

  “Mr. Yates, are you having an affair with your business partner, Samantha Yeager?” John demanded. “You hated Malachi Smith. You blamed him for every problem your son ever had.”

  “You blamed him for the stigma of having to see a shrink,” Jackson said.

  “And you’d have done anything for Samantha Yeager!” Sam said.

  “Wait—what? No! No!” Andy protested. “We were in business, yes, and if Abraham Smith had agreed to sell the place, we would have opened it together. Yes, yes! That’s true. But I—I wasn’t sleeping with her. I swear it.”

  “You hired a hit man to kill Jenna Duffy just last night!” Sam said.

  “No, no! That wasn’t me—it wasn’t me—” Andy Yates’s protest broke off in a moment of pained silence.

  “Dad—” David Yates began.

  “Shut up! Shut up!” Yates said. “I want a lawyer. We won’t say another word until we get a lawyer.”

  Sam looked at Yates, the way he pulled back, and suddenly he knew. They’d been wrong. They’d been close, but they’d been wrong.

  He jerked out of his chair and headed into the hallway. He hadn’t wanted Jenna here today; somehow, he’d just felt she was in danger. He’d been worried sick last night.

  But she should be at Jamie’s house—safe. Unless someone called on her.

  He dialed quickly. The phone rang and rang, and her voice mail came on. He tried calling Angela, but got her voice mail, too.

  Jackson came out to the hallway.

  By the time he tried Jamie’s house phone, Sam was already running out of the school. He reached his car, and he didn’t know where he was going. Jackson slid in beside him. He started to jerk the car into gear, and stopped.

  There was an old woman standing in front of him. An old woman in costume. Hell, it was Halloween.

  “Get out of the way, get out of the way, get out of the way—”

  “Who are you talking to? Where are you going?” Jackson demanded.

  “The woman! That old hag in the road. Jackson, get her out of the way before I run her down!”

  “There’s no one—” Jackson said. “What does she look like?”

  “Old. Dressed to the throat. In a cap—what are you talking about? She’s right there!”

  “No. She’s just there for you. Start the car. She’ll move.”

  “What?”

  “Tell me again, who does she look like?”

  “An old Puritan woman!” Sam exploded. “Damn you, Jackson, no one is answering a phone. I can’t reach either Angela or Jenna. And it’s not Andy Yates who’s a killer—it’s his wife!”

  “Drive!” Jackson said. “And follow her—she’s here to lead you.”

  “To what?”

  “Life for the innocent.”

  * * *

  Jenna came to slowly and saw a horned god hovering over her. She tried to move, but couldn’t. She realized that she’d been tied to the sofa downstairs, that she was lying in the chalk outline that denoted the place Abraham Smith had been killed.

  “Why couldn’t you have let well enough be?” the horned god asked her. “I never wanted to hurt you…I didn’t want more dead.”

  “Shut up, Cindy!” someone behind her said. Jenna knew the voice.

  It was that of Samantha Yeager.

  “Why? We both came in from the back,” Cindy Yates said, impatient. She pulled off the mask of the horned god and looked at Jenna, serious anxiety in her eyes. “He really is evil, you know. Malachi Smith is evil. His father was evil. This house makes everyone in it evil, you have to understand that.”

  “Cindy, come on!” Samantha said. She was wearing the horned god’s cape, like Cindy, but she hadn’t bothered with a mask. “Get a grip! We need to get this over with. I have to get back to the shop or I won’t have an alibi.”

  “Well, we’re not going to chop her up,” Cindy said. “It has to be an accident.”

  “It won’t be an accident. My partner’s on the cliff right now, watching the house,” Jenna sa
id. Her head hurt. Her mouth seemed to be working only with great effort.

  Samantha Yeager chuckled and leaned over her. “No, honey, she’s not watching anything right now.”

  “You better pray that you didn’t kill Angela,” Jenna said, trying to keep calm. Except that she had panicked at first and jerked against her binding.

  It was loose. And they hadn’t bothered to tie her legs.

  “If you hurt her, you’ll have to watch out for Jackson Crow. He’s part Native American, you know. He learned all sorts of unique tortures from his father’s family,” she said.

  “She’s bluffing, the wicked little bitch!” Samantha said, hunkering down beside her. She lifted a strand of Jenna’s hair. “But your ol’ Indian pal won’t have to be upset—your friend will be okay. I got her with a slingshot from the woods—I was ready from the minute Cindy saw you on the move and called me. Slingshot! I’m good at it, by the way. Like I am with so many things…”

  “Like making men think that you want them?” Jenna suggested, carefully inching around in the ties that bound her.

  She’d hit pay dirt. She eased back.

  “It’s only fair,” Cindy said.

  “What’s only fair?” Jenna asked.

  “Oh, my husband! My fine, upstanding husband!” she said. “Our son is attacked, and what does he do? He sends him for psychiatric care! A real man would have gone to battle for his child! He would have done something about Abraham and Malachi Smith existing in the same world as our David. He should have done something. But, no! He looked at my boy, my beautiful, strong, handsome boy, and said that he needed help! What kind of a father does that?” she demanded. “And then, oh, he’s such a smarmy bastard! He meets Samantha, and what the hell does he do? He comes on to her! He brought her into our house, introduced her to me and my children, and then came on to her. He’s such a fool.”

  “A fool with money,” Samantha murmured.

  “If he weren’t,” Cindy said, her eyes narrowing, “I’d have been out of that house by now. And then you come into town and start sleeping with that sleazy lawyer! Bringing your hotshot FBI friends. And when I challenge you, what does my smarmy bastard of a husband do? He yells at me! He yells at me for slapping you, you bitch!”

  As if suddenly realizing that her husband wasn’t around to yell at her now, she slapped Jenna. Hard. And then again and again. The blows were stinging, but Jenna used the time to work harder at the ropes binding her.