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

by Heather Graham

  An older woman whose skin appeared to be a pale shade of green came out to the small triage area and smiled at them. “I feel much better already!” she said to Mindy, then turned to Ethan. “I’m sorry—did I keep you waiting? You certainly look healthy to me.”

  “You didn’t keep me waiting at all, Mrs. Vineland,” Ethan said.

  “Hmmph,” she murmured, glancing back at Dr. Amerind. “How does he know my name?”

  “I’m Ethan Delaney, Mrs. Vineland,” Ethan said.

  “He’s with the FBI,” Haley added.

  “That explains it. Big Brother is watching. No wonder you knew my name.”

  “Mrs. Vineland, trust me, Big Brother is too busy elsewhere to tell me your name,” Ethan said, smiling at her. “I know your name because someone mentioned that Dr. Amerind was in with you.”

  “Oh. Well, this is small and intimate, as cruising goes. We’re very friendly on the Journey,” she said, as if she had joined the ranks of the employees. “You may call me Mildred. And I’ll call you Ethan. No Agent Delaney for me.”

  “That will be fine, Mrs. Vineland,” he said.

  “Mildred.”

  “Sorry, I grew up around here and had it drummed into me not to be too familiar with women I didn’t know well. I’ll do my best to remember to call you Mildred.”

  She smiled, satisfied. “Lovely. I’m off to get some toast. I’m actually quite hungry now.”

  “Stay topside to eat. That will help,” Dr. Amerind told her.

  “Whatever you say, Gerard,” Mildred said, and waved. “Pleased to meet you, Ethan.”

  “You, too—Mildred.”

  Once she was gone, the doctor turned to Ethan. “You brought your pictures?”

  “Yes, and Mindy has already been very helpful. I’m just wondering if you saw any of these people around once the reenactment was over.”

  Gerard Amerind stared carefully at the pictures, with Haley looking over his shoulder. “I remember this woman. She played a nurse.”

  “Jennie McPherson,” Ethan said.

  “She’s tiny, but she has a temper. Now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she was the one arguing with Mr. Corley on deck. I didn’t see her, of course, but it’s the voice. I can’t be a hundred percent sure, but I think it was her.” He pulled the pictures of Brad and Mike. “I saw them leave, but the others, they all hung around. There was some talk about a movie they were all making.”

  “Yes, they’re filming up in St. Francisville,” Ethan said.

  “I’d talk to that little blonde if I were you,” Dr. Amerind said. “She was definitely upset about something. Very pretty, but also very upset.”

  * * *

  “Want to come ashore for a brief excursion?” Ethan asked.

  Charlie was perched on the bed in her small cabin, going through DC-area housing brochures with Alexi and Clara. Alexi and Jude were set. Jude had snagged a great rent-to-own property near the Krewe offices in Northern Virginia. Clara and Thor were in a short-term rental but looking for something more permanent. Clara had told Charlie it was actually a difficult search because everyone kept trying to make it so easy. “There are about thirty-five agents working out of the office now—not to mention the tech department!—and they’re all giving Thor leads, which makes for dozens of places for us to look at. Thing is, we have to have space and I’d like a yard—we have a husky.”

  Charlie had just laughed at that. Of course, they had a husky. Thor was from Alaska.

  Then Ethan had knocked and identified himself, and they’d opened the door. Charlie felt as if they were being a bit overcautious, but plenty of people were killed in broad daylight, so there was no point taking chances.

  Charlie was curious as to where he wanted to take her. They were docked at Oak Alley, which she’d seen plenty of times before, but the truth was that she would be happy to go anywhere with him, so she said, “Sure.”

  “We’ll be back in an hour or so—plenty of time for you to set up for tonight’s show,” Ethan said, adding quietly, “We’re going to see Shelley Corley.”

  “Poor woman,” Alexi said. “First, she lost a cousin, and then she lost her fiancé.”

  Ethan nodded. “We’ll be as sensitive as possible, but the truth is, when you’ve lost someone you love, you do want justice for them.”

  “I worry about myself. I think I might flat-out want vengeance,” Alexi said. “Not nice, not right, but…true.”

  After a quick promise to see them in plenty of time to get set up to greet the early dinner seating, Charlie joined Ethan, and they left the ship. On shore, she saw a woman standing beside a Chevy sedan. Ethan must have told her whom to look for, because she waved as soon as she saw them.

  Shelley Corley was about fifty and was also one of the most attractive women Charlie had ever seen. Her skin was a beautiful café au lait color, her hair was dark, and her eyes were a true amber. She was dressed in a pale blue business suit and a large sun hat in a matching shade. Her features were strong and arresting, and though she smiled as she greeted them and shook hands, her smile was grim.

  “When Special Agent Crow spoke with me this morning…well, I realized immediately I needed to speak with you. I want to help in any way possible. There’s a small place down the road where we can talk, past Oak Alley and just on the other side of Laura Plantation.”

  “I think I know the place you’re talking about,” Ethan said. “Thank you for picking us up.”

  Shelley nodded and got into her car. Charlie immediately took the backseat, allowing Ethan the front.

  As they drove, they discussed the Journey, the historic plantations they would be passing, even the weather. Once they were seated inside the small mom-and-pop coffee shop that was their destination, Shelley quickly went into high gear.

  “When Albion was found murdered, I thought my heart broke in two,” she said. “Then, when Farrell was killed…well, I felt like whatever was left of my heart had been shattered completely. I don’t say that for pity, because I’m strong, and I’m going to be fine. Albion had never married, and he had no children of his own, but I’m a widow—I went back to my maiden name—and I have two daughters. They both live in California now, but they came home quickly to be with me. And I have cousins and nephews and nieces, friends. I’m surrounded by those who love me. I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

  “I would never offer pity, but you do have my deepest sympathy,” Ethan said. “I have to ask, though… Did anyone else know about you and Farrell?”

  “Well,” Shelley said, looking toward Charlie, “your father knew, of course.” She turned back to Ethan. “But otherwise, no. I hadn’t even told my daughters. When Albion was killed, I had to wonder if it was a hate crime. But when Farrell was killed, too, I didn’t see how it could be. No, what I believe is that they somehow crossed someone.” She turned to Charlie again, and reached for her hand. “You found Farrell,” she said softly.

  “Yes,” Charlie said.

  “Thank you. Otherwise he might have lain there for a very long time.”

  “I’m just hoping that finding him sooner was also better, that it will make it easier to catch the killer,” Charlie said.

  Shelley nodded. “I just know whoever did it, he didn’t do it because of Farrell and me. And I can’t believe one of our friends would have had anything against Farrell or Albion. Our friends are professors, musicians, actors and painters, all professions that tend to skew very liberal.” She paused for a moment. “You have to understand, they were both good men. I can’t think of anything they were involved in that would have upset anybody, especially not upsetting them enough to commit murder.” She sighed. “I honestly have no clue why they were targeted, but I brought you a list of the causes they were involved with—names and addresses and everything.”

  “This is going
to be very helpful, Ms. Corley. I can’t thank you enough,” Ethan told her.

  She smiled. “You’re welcome. I didn’t know what else to do. I called the police and asked about Albion’s body, because I need to plan his funeral. They’re not releasing him yet, though. Or Farrell. With Farrell… Well, I’ll be attending that funeral, naturally. But his son will be planning it, and his body won’t be released to me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Charlie murmured.

  “As I said, I’m fine. I have a great support system. But thank you. Just find out who killed them. And don’t worry, I’m not going to go to the police. If I did, they’d just start questioning my family. Or Farrell’s son. And if there’s one thing I’m certain of, it’s that no one in our families did this.”

  Shelley’s certainty reminded Charlie of her own certainty of her father’s innocence.

  Suddenly Shelley turned to her. “I know it must be difficult to talk about, so I apologize for asking, but how did you find Farrell, Ms. Moreau?”

  Charlie was taken by surprise. “I—We had been filming in the area. I was looking for missing props.”

  Shelley studied her, as if trying to decide whether to believe her explanation or not. Finally she smiled. “You’re a lovely young woman, and I’m so sorry for what you’ve been through here. And your father’s a fine man. I never knew him well, but I know my cousin and Farrell thought very highly of him.”

  “Thank you,” Charlie said, and smiled herself. “I rather like him myself.”

  “Albion said your mom has been gone a while.”

  “Yes.”

  “But her family, so they say, had a…feel for the dead.”

  Charlie looked at Ethan. He shrugged to let her know she didn’t have to answer. But before she had a chance to even think of how to answer, Shelley spoke again.

  “Has either of them, Farrell or Albion, spoken to you? Come to you in, say, a dream?”

  “I’m so sorry, no,” Charlie said, and glanced at Ethan again.

  “If they do,” Shelley whispered, “will you listen?”

  “Of course,” Charlie promised. “Ethan…?”

  Shelley turned and looked at Ethan. “So that’s how it is. They speak to you, too. I guess what they say is true. Your unit is special. The Krewe of Hunters, isn’t that what they call you? I googled some of their past cases. I doubted any government agency would go beyond the obvious, but I seem to have been wrong, and that gives me hope you’ll find the man who killed Farrell and Albion.”

  “We’re committed to that,” Ethan assured her.

  “Yes, we are,” Charlie said.

  Shelley patted her hand, as if satisfied, then looked at Ethan. “I hope you’ll talk to the charities on that list I gave you. There’s a no-kill animal shelter. One that focuses on historic preservation and another that’s trying to regulate the number of oil rigs in the Gulf, even one dedicated to saving a single historic church in Baton Rouge. I hope you meant it when you said the list will help you.”

  “It will, Ms. Corley,” Ethan told her. “You can count on it.”

  “Please, call me anytime you need me,” she said, producing cards and handing one to each of them. “I teach piano and voice, so you shouldn’t have any trouble reaching me.” She studied Charlie again. “If one of them is still here in spirit form, Ms. Moreau, he’ll find you. If you let him.”

  Charlie nodded. “I hope so, Ms. Corley.”

  She wasn’t just saying the words, either. She really did hope. She was accustomed to seeing the dead, and both Farrell and Albion had been good men. She hoped they’d both found peace, but if one of them did appear to her, it would only be to help, and that could only be a positive thing.

  And yet a strange fear filled her.

  She remembered being a small child, holding her father’s hand by the church, seeing several men walking around in their uniforms.

  Men no one else saw.

  Except her father. He had known. Known she was seeing the dead. And he had told her, “Fear the living, Charlie. Because the living are the only ones who can hurt you.”

  She had understood then, and she still considered those words to live by.

  Someone out there had killed three people. And that person was still out there.

  She looked at Ethan and caught him studying her.

  She tried to smile back at him as they left the little café, his arm lying comfortable across her shoulders.

  She couldn’t help but wonder if he’d felt the same strange twist of fear.

  CHAPTER 13

  Ethan met with Thor Erikson and Jude McCoy at four thirty, while the Southern Belles went into their preparation mode for the evening. Thor told him he’d enjoyed seeing Oak Alley, along with the trip “next door” to Laura, a Creole plantation, in contrast to an “English” plantation. Jonathan Moreau had left the houses tours to the on-site guides, and Thor had enjoyed listening to them as much as he’d enjoyed listening to Jonathan. He hadn’t learned anything useful, but on the plus side, nothing bad had happened to Jonathan.

  Ethan was glad that Charlie hadn’t realized yet that her father might be in danger; he was glad nothing had happened—and that Thor had enjoyed listening to Jonathan. In turn, Ethan shared the conversation he’d had with Shelley. He’d already emailed them the list she’d given him of the various charitable groups Albion and Farrell had worked with. He’d also sent the list off to Angela at headquarters, so she could use the Bureau’s more powerful databases and resources.

  For boots on the ground investigation, he’d divided up the list, and they would each take responsibility for a few. Thor and Ethan were going to check into an organization called Doggone It, which was dedicated to turning every shelter in the country into a no-kill facility. They happened to have an office in Natchez, so they could drop in the following day. The two of them were also going to tackle Sane Energy, an organization that fought to regulate where and when oil rigs were set up in the Gulf, and what kind of piping was allowed to be laid along the riverfront. Their head office was in Vicksburg, the next stop after Natchez.

  Jude would watch over the Southern Belles and see what he could learn from the crew.

  Dinnertime rolled around, and Alexi, Clara and Charlie began their second-night set.

  That night, after the opening medley, they began the unique part of the set list with a little-known ballad, “My Love in My Arms to Move No More.”

  Jonathan joined them as the meal was served, and he watched the women with a look of pride and pleasure on his face.

  Charlie told a story that night about two men who had been friends but had served on opposite sides during the war. The Union soldier had been badly injured and left for dead on the battlefield. His friend found him, but rather than let him be taken prisoner, he took the chance of being shot as a traitor himself and spirited the wounded man to the home of another old friend, a Confederate who had already lost his only son in the war. A physician, he saved the life of the Union soldier and hid him until the war’s end. Charlie ended by telling the rapt audience where to look to find more information on the men and their lives.

  As she finished, she looked over at Jonathan, since storytelling—especially historical storytelling—was his forte. He smiled broadly and nodded his approval, and Charlie smiled back. Ethan could tell how much it mattered to her that she had pleased her father.

  Just as the performance was ending, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He excused himself and headed out on deck to answer. It was Randy Laurent.

  “I’m getting nowhere here,” Randy said. “I hope you’re having better luck.”

  “Nothing yet,” Ethan told him, which wasn’t really a lie, since he didn’t have anything solid. He told Randy he was planning to investigate the various groups Corley and Hickory had been involved with. “All
quiet there? No other…”

  “No other murders?” Randy asked him drily. “No, thank God.”

  “Keep me posted.”

  “Will do—and you do the same, please.”

  “You got it.”

  They rang off, and Ethan headed back toward the dining room. He arrived just in time for the final song, but as he entered, he felt something shift in the atmosphere.

  A smoky mist seemed to sift into the Eagle View dining room.

  The living diners were still there, but now they had been joined by the dead. Soldiers in tattered uniforms of blue and gray and butternut, identified by the insignias of the infantry, cavalry, artillery and the navy.

  They were heedless then of the living, except for an occasional shiver as a server moved through one of them.

  They were staring at the small raised stage, completely focused on Charlie, as she sang another mournful ballad.

  He stayed where he was, standing in the doorway. He noticed one man in particular who had hunkered down right in front of Charlie. The ghost wore a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a vest and an apron—an apron smeared with blood. He was, Ethan thought, a doctor—the doctor who had acknowledged Charlie before, the ghost she’d talked about.

  Ethan’s heart felt heavy in his chest as he looked out over the room. On the one hand, he was sorry for the burden the men carried. On the other, he was touched to see that none of them seemed to be aware whether they were North or South, that they should be enemies. In this room they were just men, injured, ill, and possibly dying soon, aware only that they’d left families behind, loved ones they might never see again.