Krewe of Hunters, Volume 6: Haunted Destiny ; Deadly Fate ; Darkest Journey

by Heather Graham

  A man in a white uniform, complete with cap, was talking to a pair of young women. He was tall and blond and suntanned, lean, probably about forty-five or fifty.

  “We can find out,” Ethan said and walked over to the man. He excused himself to the women and said something to the man, who shook hands and then accompanied Ethan to join them at the rail.

  He was indeed Dr. Gerard Amerind—“Gerry to my friends”—and he said he hoped they would all be his friends.

  After the others introduced themselves, Ethan cut right to the chase and asked, “So, what do you remember from the day of the special reenactment?”

  “What do I remember?” Amerind asked. He snorted. “Grown men getting hurt in ridiculous ways. First, two of them disturbed a wasps’ nest. Could have been worse if they hadn’t been the only ones stupid enough to try getting rid of it. Then there was an idiot guy who got confused between right and left, and cut one of his fellow reenactors. That guy needed stitches. Another idiot got into poison ivy before he came aboard.”

  “Your nurses told me about all of them,” Thor said politely.

  Amerind let out a sigh. “They’re great nurses, though they’d be even better if they weren’t jumping out of their skins all the time. They’re convinced the ship is haunted.”

  “What respectable ship isn’t?” Clara asked with a smile.

  Amerind didn’t seem to hear her. He looked perplexed, as if he had just thought of something. He looked at them and said uneasily, “There was another man. He came in after the reenactment… Well, he didn’t come in, exactly. He was older, tall, a very dignified-looking African American. He was seated at one of the deck tables, near the infirmary. He looked flushed and he was out of breath. Given his age, I immediately wondered about his heart, but when I offered my assistance, he said he’d be fine in a minute. I’d heard him arguing with a couple just before I walked by and saw him, so I assumed that he’d gotten a bit upset, and his blood pressure had risen. He wasn’t in any immediate danger, so there wasn’t much I could do. But I did ask Mindy—Nurse Gunderson—if she’d bring him some water, which she did. He was one of the men who was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “Possibly,” Ethan said. “It does sound like Albion Corley. He was a very striking man.”

  “Noble,” Amerind said thoughtfully. “That’s what came to mind. And he had a beautiful speaking voice, deep, rich, very clear.”

  “Like a professor,” Charlie murmured.

  “Yes, exactly.”

  “Do you have any idea who he was arguing with? He’d had an argument with someone earlier when the performance was being set up,” Ethan said. “You said you overheard him arguing with a couple. Could the man have been the same one he’d argued with on deck?”

  “It definitely wasn’t the same man he’d argued with earlier. I wasn’t out on the deck at the time, but we all heard about it. No, it wasn’t the same man he’d argued with before the reenactment.”

  “How can you be so sure when you didn’t witness either argument?” Ethan asked.

  “Because I was on deck for the reenactment, and when it ended the other man had to leave right away. People were talking about the argument, and someone pointed him out. Later I saw him saying goodbye to people. You can ask Jonathan Moreau and Captain Banks, because he talked to both of them before he left. Our entertainment director, Ricky Simpson, said the guy had put off some kind of business to be there for the event and had to leave right away to take care of it. So it couldn’t have been him. He was gone.”

  “But the other reenactors were still around, right?” Ethan asked.

  “Yes. Most of them, anyway. I can’t swear they all hung around.”

  “If I showed you pictures of them, do you think you could tell us who stuck around?”

  Amerind sighed. “I could try. A lot of them had beards and mustaches I don’t think belonged to them. Naturally, that is. Beards may be in these days, but not with the sideburns a lot of them had. One of the women was still here, too.”

  “Pretty, blonde, petite?” Charlie asked.

  “Yes! She played a nurse.”

  “Jennie McPherson,” Charlie said. She knew, of course, that Jennie had been involved in the reenactment.

  “I don’t know her name,” Amerind said. “But if you have pictures, I’m happy to look at them and try to identify those who were still aboard, if you think it would help.”

  “Thank you. I’ll drop by the infirmary with the pictures later,” Ethan said.

  “Just let us know when you’ll be in,” Thor added politely.

  “I’m in any time someone needs me. I have a small cabin behind the infirmary. There’s a red bell, so if one of the nurses isn’t on duty, just ring it. As it happens, I should be in now. We’re out on the water. Anyone prone to seasickness will be turning green soon. They call her the Mighty Mississippi for a reason. And this old girl can rock and roll quite a bit. Excuse me, gentlemen. Ladies.”

  With a broad smile, he left them.

  “So Corley argued with someone else,” Thor said thoughtfully, looking at Ethan.

  “A man, so it can’t have been Jennie. But she could’ve been somewhere nearby. I mean, we’ve heard about a couple. Jennie’s the makeup artist on our film,” Charlie explained quickly to Thor. “Not that she could kill anyone anyway. She’s as tiny as a flea.”

  “It does seem unlikely that she shoved a bayonet into anyone,” Ethan admitted.

  “And it wasn’t my father,” Charlie said, looking him straight in the eye. “Dr. Amerind knows my father, so he would have recognized his voice.”

  Charlie was right, though; knowing Jonathan, Ethan had never suspected him, even when circumstantial evidence had pointed in his direction.

  Even so, Ethan didn’t think Charlie was going to be happy anyway once they finally discovered the truth.

  They had grown up in a small world, and he was very afraid that someone in that small world would prove to be their killer.

  * * *

  The Journey was beautiful. There was something truly magical about taking a riverboat up the Mississippi, Charlie thought. The coastline filled with views of bayou country, sweeping landscapes, homes large and small, high bluffs and low shores, was stunning. The tremendous power of the river made itself felt beneath them and seemed to hum in time to the Journey’s engines.

  The main dining room didn’t open until eleven, for lunch, and then it closed at three before opening again at five for dinner. Breakfast was available in-room or could be enjoyed on the Sun Deck.

  At four thirty the Southern Belles were in the dining room, getting ready for the diners who’d chosen the early seating.

  They had enough material to cover seven nights with very little repetition, since they would be playing to the same diners every night, though when they were in port many of the passengers would choose to dine on shore. By land it was just a little over two hundred miles from New Orleans to Vicksburg, the farthest point in their journey, so they spent a fair amount of time in each port. But the Eagle View was open every night, since some passengers preferred to dine aboard ship, so there was entertainment every night, too.

  The first sitting brought in most of the older diners and families, which included children of varying ages. Jonathan had alerted them to the age range before they started and supplied them with a number of Civil War–era toys, such as cup-and-ball games—getting the damned ball in the cup was a lot harder than it looked, Charlie had discovered—metal “detangle” puzzles, cloth dolls, tin soldiers and more. As Jonathan helped them prepare, Charlie found her heart swelling with love for her father.

  “I’ll be here,” he promised them. “Shout if you need help. But you won’t.”

  They opened with one of their medleys—the only songs they would repeat to open their show each night. After three son
gs, Charlie spoke, explaining the importance of the Mississippi River during the war. “Counting everything from major battles to skirmishes to small confrontations, there were nearly ten thousand engagements during the four years of the war. The loss of life on the battlefield was only a part of the tragedy our greatest internal conflict created. There was pain on the home front, as well,” Charlie said, introducing their next song. “Sometimes brother was forced to fight against brother when they chose to enlist on different sides.” While most of their songs were from the period, one had been written by Irving Gordon in the twentieth century. “Two Brothers,” often known as “One Wore Blue and One Wore Gray,” was heartbreakingly beautiful and often thought to have been taken from an old folk song.

  They took a break and invited the children up to play, then sang some more. They were thrilled to see how well their act was received. Charlie was particularly happy to see her father nodding his approval.

  Charlie was enjoying herself. She had missed this kind of creative expression, just three friends making music together and sharing it with an appreciative audience.

  Things began to change as the second seating drew to a close.

  As the diners were enjoying their dessert and Charlie was singing a sad ballad, “Home Sweet Home,” a song beloved by soldiers both North and South, she realized that reality was being overwritten right in front of her eyes.

  It wasn’t that their living passengers disappeared, but rather that a gentle gray mist settled over the room and filled it with the sick and the injured from the long distant war.

  Charlie saw the man she was certain had been a doctor sitting in the front, tears streaming down his cheeks. Her throat tightened, and she nearly missed a note. There was an aura of sadness mingled with hope in the room that was almost palpable.

  The song ended. She was rewarded with thunderous applause. The mist lifted, and she was just a woman on a dais in the twenty-first century, surrounded by her friends.

  Alexi and Clara came forward, and the three of them linked hands and bowed. The diners began to flood out. It was late. The next day they would be at Oak Alley, and many were eager to see the famed plantation and spend the day roaming the beautiful estate.

  “My God,” Clara breathed, and Charlie turned to look at her. She’d known that Alexi saw things, but she hadn’t realized Clara could, too. Then she remembered that Clara had recently been through a brush with death. Perhaps that had brought about the change? There was more that connected them than they had wanted to admit until they were left in a position where they had no choice.

  “You saw them, too?” Charlie asked.

  Both women nodded, but neither spoke. Jonathan was hurrying toward them, a huge smile on his face. “You were amazing!” he congratulated them.

  Charlie hugged her father, then saw Ethan was nearby, as well. Earlier only Thor had been watching over them. She’d known that Ethan and Jude had been working the ship, striking up conversations with anyone who might know something that could help them.

  But now Ethan was here. And she loved the way he was looking at her, with so much pride.

  He nodded respectfully to her father as he walked up to her, pausing to hug Clara and Alexi first. To her surprise, her father suddenly said, “Man, sorry I’ve been a jerk. Ethan, go kiss her. It’s hard for a man to let his little girl go, but…she’s grown up, and I need to accept that.”

  “Despite my bad taste in men?” Charlie said, grinning at her dad.

  He shrugged. “You could do worse, I’m sure.” He grinned back at her.

  Ethan stepped forward. She slid into his arms, and when he kissed her, for a moment she wasn’t aware of anything around them. She couldn’t mourn the time that had passed with them apart, because now they were together, and this was real. She didn’t give a damn who knew or who saw it. She grinned and rose up on her toes to kiss him again.

  She wanted a lot more.

  “All right, all right, that’s enough,” her father said.

  Laughing, and a little breathless, she stepped back. Ethan was grinning, as well. Charlie assumed he was happy that Jonathan seemed to have accepted him at last. She certainly was.

  “We need to get out of here so the staff can get everything set up for tomorrow,” Alexi said.

  “I would love to buy all of you a drink on the Sun Deck,” Jonathan said. “Coffee, tea or the nightcap of your choice.”

  “Dad, I thought they didn’t bill you here?” Charlie said.

  “So I’m cheap. I’d still enjoy spending some time with the bunch of you. I’d like to hear more about your investigation,” he said, “and see if I can help in any way.”

  “Not a bad idea to hang out for a little while,” Thor said, slipping an arm around Clara’s shoulders. “Together,” he added.

  “Let’s go,” Jude said.

  As they left, Ethan slipped his arm around Charlie’s waist and whispered softly, “You’re shockingly sexy in period attire.”

  “Despite the Victorians’ repressive attitudes toward sex, they still found a way to dress to entice,” she said, then laughed. “Good thing we have our supply of colorful condoms, though. I don’t mind the dress or even the corset, but I draw the line at Civil War condoms. A sheep’s bladder is not my idea of birth control. I certainly wouldn’t trust them to protect against STDs, although if they did, I don’t suppose people were terribly bright about it, seeing as syphilis and gonorrhea were running rampant in both armies.”

  “I had no idea you were so knowledgeable about the sexier side of history,” Ethan said, pulling her closer.

  “I learned a lot making that commercial. STDs are still ruining lives.”

  She wasn’t whispering, and Clara turned around and joined their conversation. “I know. Young people need to watch out.”

  “Young people?” Ethan said. “I read about a retiree community that’s had the largest concentration of STDs in the DC area for years.”

  “I guess we never lose the need for love—or sex.”

  Jude joined in then. “I suggest you don’t share that tidbit with the family dinner crowd.”

  “Probably not a good idea,” Ethan agreed. “Now let’s go have that drink.”

  Ethan and his fellow agents appeared to be having a good time, Charlie thought. They were enjoying their time aboard the Journey.

  But at the same time, they clearly lived and breathed their work. There were eighty-plus crew aboard, and she knew they would find a way to meet them all this week, and find out anything they’d seen or heard.

  Charlie paused just as they reached the door and turned to look back at the room. At first all she saw were crew members clearing tables and others following in their wake to reset them for the morning. Then the clatter of plates faded away, and she saw the room as she had seen it before, cloaked in gray mist.

  Men, the wounded and the sick, lay on their pallets on the floor. She saw makeshift operating tables scattered with bloody surgeons’ tools. And then she spotted the doctor just as he turned to look at her again.

  He offered her a sad smile and saluted. She smiled in return.

  She knew she would see him again and hoped they would learn more from the dead than they had learned so far from the living.

  CHAPTER 12

  It was, Ethan thought, quite an incredible thing—cruising the Mississippi on the Journey.

  He knew the places they visited so well, from New Orleans to Vicksburg. He’d grown up in St. Francisville, and from there he’d come to know Baton Rouge, Natchez and Vicksburg. Then he’d gone to college in New Orleans and fallen in love with the flavor of the city.

  This was all familiar territory, but he’d never seen it from the water before—and certainly not while sleeping beside Charlie every night.

  It would be far too easy to forget that they
were trying to catch a killer.

  He glanced at the bedside table. His Glock, loaded, was still within easy reach. The door, he knew, was bolted. His fellow agents were asleep just down the hallway.

  Even so, he couldn’t let himself become too comfortable.

  They weren’t expecting trouble on the Journey, of course, but he knew bad things could happen anywhere, as Jude and Thor had learned firsthand all too recently, facing deranged serial killers. That was all part of the job, of course, but the Celtic American connection had him on edge. Those killers had been sociopaths or possibly psychopaths—he left all that for the psychiatrists—though, and he didn’t think they were dealing with that kind of crazy now. His gut told him that Albion Corley and Farrell Hickory had been killed out of necessity—necessity as the killer saw it, anyway—and then Selma Rodriguez had been killed for pretty much the same reason: because of something she knew.

  But what the hell was that something?

  He didn’t believe the killer had gone after the two men out of some twistedly violent objection to a mixed marriage. The world had come a long way, but racists did still exist, and plenty of them were violent. He just didn’t feel that that explanation fit. If nothing else, how would it have led to a reason to kill Selma?

  No, the motive for the original killings lay elsewhere, and she had known something about it—or the killer believed she did.

  As he lay there thinking, Charlie edged against him. He felt the warmth of her body, the sleekness of her bare skin. He winced slightly and swallowed; just her movement aroused him.

  It was still early.

  He slid his fingers provocatively down the length of her spine to the curve of her buttocks. She moved closer and nestled against him, and then he felt her fingers trail down his chest and below, and he knew that she was awake, too.

  They made love. It was a hell of a good way for a man to start the morning—especially since he was on the ship, because most of the time he’d be working.

  The killer remained at large. But he had come to believe that Charlie—and Confederate Captain Anson McKee—was right. The key to solving this case was here on the Journey.