Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 5

by Heather Graham

  “Didn’t Ben ask for a key?” she asked. “He does own the property.”

  “We asked him not to for the time being,” he told her. “Go on. Grab yourself some breakfast. While you eat, I’ll bore you with the story of my life.”

  “I doubt any story about you could be boring.”

  He smiled at that. “It all depends on what you’re willing to believe.”

  * * *

  The fact that anyone could actually tell anything about the remains that had been found up on the mountain was mind-boggling to Diego.

  There was virtually nothing left.

  They didn’t see the medical examiner; they saw a woman named Tammy Vargo, who was a forensic anthropologist and bone specialist. She was a no-nonsense woman with iron-gray hair and sharp features, but she was happy to speak with them, pointing out everything she’d been able to discover about the dead man.

  “There wasn’t enough soft tissue left to determine cause of death—probably because he was left out in the open. As the ME probably told you, there are no nicks or scratches on the bones, so it’s unlikely that he was stabbed. If he was shot, it was a through-and-through and, again, never even nicked a bone. He was in his midthirties, maybe six-two or six-three. He died sometime between two and six months ago, tops. I linked the fabric fragments to a designer brand available here in town and all across the country. He never had a cavity, so we won’t get any help from dental records. No fingerprints, of course. No breaks in any of the bones—guy never even broke a toe. My guess is that he froze to death—the tundra level gets very cold—but as to why he was caught out there that way, I don’t know. He could have been bound and left, but no evidence of rope or any other kind of cord or whatever turned up. I wish there was more I could tell but I can’t. This appears to be the skeleton of a man who—until his demise—was incredibly healthy.”

  “Thank you anyway,” Diego told her. “It’s actually helpful to be able to rule things out.”

  Matt added, “We have a forensic artist coming to do a likeness. I hope you don’t mind.”

  “They aren’t my bones,” she said. “Somebody somewhere is probably missing him. If an artist can help ID him and bring someone peace, I’m all for it.”

  As they were driving back to the ranch, Brett asked Diego, “Do you think that guy’s death could be related to the Parkers’ murders? People do climb mountains, and sometimes they die on them.”

  “I don’t think we have enough information yet to say. But what’s going on is strange, to say the least. My gut tells me the Parkers were murdered because Larry was descended from Nathan Kendall. I think the killer had a key to the museum—whether legitimately or because he stole it—and not only stole the gun, but moved the statue of Nathan Kendall into Scarlet’s room to scare her when she woke up.” Diego saw their startled looks and remembered that they weren’t privy to that information, so he quickly explained. “I also think the killer tried to set her up, somehow putting those pictures on her camera, though how he managed that and then managed to erase them, I don’t know,” he said.

  “Well, we’ll know about the camera soon enough; Adam had it sent to Will Chan, and if anyone can figure out how it was hacked, it’s Will,” Meg said with assurance.

  “Who’s the artist you mentioned? And when is he coming?” Brett asked.

  “She is Jane Everett,” Matt said. “She’s from Texas, and she’s been with the Krewe a few years now. She’s the best I’ve ever seen. She’ll be in and ready to work her magic by tonight.”

  “Let’s hope whatever she comes up with will help us find out who he is,” Brett said.

  “If he’d been from here, someone would have reported him missing,” Meg said.

  Diego looked out the window as the conversation faded. That morning, before they’d left, he’d stopped by the statue of Nathan Kendall. He was going to jokingly thank it for spooking Scarlet and giving him the kind of night that he’d once taken almost for granted and then thought he would never experience again.

  Yet he’d never said a word, because something about the mannequin had seemed…different.

  He’d only just joined the Krewe, but he’d researched the unit and its members extensively when Matt and Meg had come down to Florida to help with his zombie case.

  They all saw the dead, just as he and Brett had.

  But the mannequin…

  It was wood and paint.

  Still, he could have sworn the damned thing had smiled at him as if saying, “Yeah, friend, I did you a big favor. Now take good care of what you have, okay?”

  Thinking about the mannequin, the unidentified remains and the murders, he asked, “Where are Nathan and Jillian Kendall buried?”

  “We can ask Scarlet—I’m certain she’ll know,” Meg said.

  “I’d like to see their graves,” Diego said.

  “Not a bad idea,” Matt said.

  When they returned to the museum, Diego used his new key to open the door, then disarmed and reset the alarm. It was broad daylight, of course, but an alarm system was only ever as good as the way it was used, and he intended that they should use it.

  The others headed up the stairs. He paused in front of the mannequin again.

  Had something subtly changed about it? Or was it all in his mind?

  He heard laughter drifting down from upstairs. Scarlet’s laughter. It was wonderful to hear it again.

  The mannequin stared back at him. Suddenly he found himself back in Miami, in that room at the detention center with the old woman.

  I just want to protect her.

  Once again, the words seemed to have come from the mannequin.

  “Yeah?” he said softly. “Well, so do I. And I’m flesh and blood, and I’m not leaving until she’s safe,” he assured the mannequin. He felt a little like a fool. Ghosts were one thing. Lots of people made very credible claims to have seen and even communicated with them.

  But talking to a mannequin? That was something else entirely.

  Or was it?

  “Diego?” Brett called from the top of the stairs.

  He climbed up to join the others and found them gathered around the kitchen table, where an older man who had to be Adam Harrison seemed to be delighting Scarlet.

  She looked over at him. “Brett was saying that you wanted to know where Nathan and Jillian were buried. They’re up the little mountain peak behind the stables. There’s a small historic cemetery up there. You can hike to it, which is a long trip, or you can ride.”

  “What are the chances of us all taking a ride?” he asked.

  “They’re good,” she said. “No new guests have shown up, so the horses are just standing around the corral. And,” she added, grinning, “Angus seems to like you.”

  “Adam, are you joining us?” Matt asked.

  “I think I’ll spend some time getting to know everyone here at the ranch,” Adam said. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket; he was obviously old-school.

  “Owners—Ben, real name Bertram, Kendall and his wife, Trisha. Head housekeeper, Linda Reagan. Angus Fillmore runs the stables. The remaining guests are Terry Ballantree, newlyweds Gwen and Charles Barton and retirees Gigi and Clark Levin. The Levins are regular visitors, coming every year. I’m thinking they could be quite helpful.”

  “The guests may be down in town,” Meg said.

  “If they are, they’ll come back eventually. I can rock on the porch, talk to Ben and Trisha, or interview the housekeeper. There’s plenty for me to do here,” Adam assured her.

  “Are there enough horses, Scarlet?” Diego asked.

  “There are eight, so we’ll be fine. Angus can take us. Ben doesn’t let the horses out unless it’s with Angus or himself,” she said.

  “All right.” Diego looked around the room and grinned. They we
re all dressed casually enough to go riding, except for Adam, who was in a suit. Diego had a feeling Adam was always in a suit. It was a good thing he didn’t plan to go riding with them.

  Scarlet’s eyes met his, and she quickly looked away. She didn’t actually blush, but he knew she was thinking about last night. He smiled, lowering his own eyes.

  It was good to be back with her. It made the day better—no matter what it brought.

  And tonight…

  He had no intention of thinking about tonight and all the nights to come. Not now. Time for that later, when this case was solved. When Scarlet was safe.

  * * *

  Scarlet had always loved the fact that she’d grown up with sun and water—and horses.

  Her favorite of Conway Ranch’s hack line was Blaze, a bay gelding with, naturally, a blaze on his forehead. He was a good sixteen hands high, had beautiful gaits and seemed to like just about everyone.

  Of course, she wanted to think that he especially liked her.

  Angus was happy for the chance to tack up the horses and go for a ride.

  After he’d saddled the mounts he’d decided upon for each rider, he confided to Scarlet, “Thank the Lord you all want to go riding. I like it here, and no matter what Ben says or what his finances are, with nobody new coming to stay, I was getting worried he might lay me off ’til things pick up again. So you say where and we’ll go.”

  “We want to ride up to the old cemetery,” Scarlet said.

  He studied her for a minute and then shrugged. “A little creepy, but okay.”

  As the Krewe and Scarlet mounted up, Angus said, “Don’t worry, no one is on a kicker or a biter. And they know these trails better than me. Just sit back and enjoy. There will be a lot of single file up the mountain, so keep up. They’ll want to snack along the way. It’s not mean to stop them. In fact, it’s better for their bellies if you do. They know they’re not supposed to stop for a nibble, but they’re going to test you, so be bosses. Gentle bosses, but bosses.”

  Angus led the way. Scarlet was behind him, and Diego rode close behind her on Zeus, another magnificent gelding, black as pitch except for his four white socks.

  It was an hour up, but it was a surprisingly pleasant hour. Angus lifted a hand to stop them a few times when they reached a clearing, once to observe a herd of elk, who stopped grazing to look up at the riders. They passed a wild turkey and a number of pheasants as well and Angus gave a little speech about each animal they passed along the way.

  The day was cool but not cold. The ride offered all the natural beauty that brought people from all over the country and the world to the Rocky Mountains.

  Eventually they reached a high plateau. Angus stopped and dismounted, and told them all to do the same. “Tether your horses to the trees, though. Trust me, it’s a long, lonely walk back down,” he said.

  Scarlet knew the cemetery, having been up to visit it several times.

  Once upon a time there had been wrought-iron fencing surrounding the whole of the place, which covered a bit more than half an acre. The gate, decorated with ornate ironwork, was unnecessary at this point, since most of the fencing was long gone.

  The sun slipped behind a cloud as they gathered in the cemetery. The chill in the air, the sudden onset of a mist that softened all the details of the scene, seemed perfect for such an excursion.

  Scarlet wasn’t sure why, but she walked straight over to a large obelisk.

  It was new. Ben had arranged to have it installed just a year ago.

  It had been erected near the original headstones for Nathan and Jillian. Scarlet knew that the stones themselves were special; many of the graves were marked only by wooden crosses, which were periodically replaced by a women’s historical society. There were also three decrepit mausoleums on the property, and half a dozen concrete sarcophagi.

  The remote location made such monuments a rarity, proof that only those with money could afford to bury their dead for eternity, or a few centuries anyway.

  She walked over to the Kendalls’ original gravestones and knelt down beside them. She’d seen them on her previous visits, and they hadn’t changed. Had she expected them to?

  Presumably Jillian’s father, the United States marshal, had ordered the tombstones for his daughter and son-in-law. Maybe he had shown equal regard for Nathan because he was raising the man’s son, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to increase his neighbors’ suspicions that he was behind the murders by slighting him. Except for the names and dates of birth, both tombstones read the same:

  Young, beautiful, on the path to good, six feet under in boxes of wood. Let their souls soar to the greatest height, let their love rise up to the brightest light.

  “Really lovely—especially since the father-in-law was a suspect in the murders,” Meg said from behind her.

  Scarlet shook her head. “I just can’t believe the man could have killed his own daughter.”

  “Could have been one of his ex-comrades from the war and his marauding days,” Meg mused.

  “Or a madman from anywhere around here whose crimes are being replicated now,” Matt said, looking higher.

  Scarlet followed his gaze. They could see great peaks of the Rockies rising around them. Some had slopes where the trees were still a rich green, while others were turning, glowing with stunning fall colors.

  But all the peaks were already covered in snow.

  As she looked out, she saw something moving in her peripheral vision.

  An elk? More pheasants?

  A cloud moved; the sun rose higher.

  For a moment the day was bright.

  And in that light, leaning against a tree, Scarlet saw the man who had stopped her in town the night she had gone to dinner—before she’d known that anyone had been killed.

  She stood quickly, staring at him. “Wait!” she cried, rushing toward the trees.

  The sun shifted again. The man was gone.

  “Scarlet, what is it?” Diego asked, instantly at her side.

  “The guy who was bugging me the other night,” she said indignantly. “He followed us up here! But, how the hell…? Or maybe, he’s the kind of ghoul who hangs around in cemeteries for fun.”

  Of course, she was hanging around in a cemetery herself.

  Diego was already heading into the trees, closely followed by Matt and Brett.

  Meg stayed behind with her and Angus.

  Scarlet noticed that they never left her alone—not even in hot pursuit.

  “What’s going on?” Angus asked, baffled. “Ben owns this land, but he doesn’t care if people come up here. People can still be buried here, if they want.”

  “I just saw someone who—” Scarlet broke off. “I met him in town the other night, and he was just creepy, that’s all.”

  “The guys will just make sure he’s not up to anything,” Meg promised.

  Angus snorted. “Free country.”

  “Angus, you don’t think it’s strange that someone who stopped me in the street and said some very weird things just happens to be up here now?” Scarlet asked.

  “I think people come to the mountains because they like nature—and being left alone,” Angus said.

  “Then he should have left me alone,” Scarlet said.

  Diego, Matt and Brett were gone for a long time, but when they came back they announced that they hadn’t found the man or any sign of where he’d gone.

  “Wonder where he went,” Meg said.

  “One trail up, one trail down,” Angus said. “Couldn’t’a gone anywhere else.”

  “I saw him,” Scarlet said firmly.

  “Well, he’s gone now,” Diego said, studying her. “Midthirties, you said, right?”

  “Midthirties, maybe six feet, not fat and not thin, sandy-blond hair,” Scarlet
said.

  Everyone except Angus looked at her strangely.

  She wondered what was wrong with them. Did they think she was so stressed she was seeing things?

  “Is there something I don’t know?” she asked.

  Meg shook her head. “No. Whoever was here, he’s gone now. I guess we’ve seen everything there is to see here, so it’s probably time to go back.”

  Diego put his arm around Scarlet’s shoulders and started walking toward where the horses were tethered. She felt uneasy again. Was he being protective—or pitying?

  The others had gotten ahead of them when he stopped walking suddenly. “That’s a strange plaque—very modern.”

  The flat bronze plaque had been set in front of a relatively new wooden cross.

  “Rollo Conway,” he said. “So the guy who sold the land to Nathan Kendall is buried here, too?”

  “Yes. He died years after Nathan and Jillian,” Scarlet said. “But Jillian’s dad—who lived to ninetysomething—allowed him to be buried here. I think this was pretty much the local cemetery back then, even though it was on ranch land. It was an old Native American burial site back before anyone owned land here. The site is actually on the national historic register. It will always be protected, no matter who owns the property.”

  “Anyone else buried here we should know about?” he asked her.

  “Not that I’m aware of,” she said. “Thing is, the old records aren’t always complete. And up here, the ground shifts, markers rot away in the elements, people are reburied elsewhere.” She smiled. “Unless we start digging people up and, I don’t know, DNA-testing them, we can only do the best we can with the records available to us.”

  “What about Jillian’s father? The United States marshal?” Diego asked. “Where was he buried.”

  She pointed across the cemetery to one of the decaying mausoleums. “He was entombed, not buried.”

  “And Zachary Kendall?”

  “He moved to Los Angeles in his later years and is buried there,” Scarlet said. “When the marshal had the mausoleum built, he probably assumed Zachary and at least some of the children would share it with him. But life—and death—don’t always work out as planned.”