Heather Graham Krewe of Hunters Series, Volume 4

by Heather Graham

  But then you looked again and the world was filled with cars and tourists, and the concept of hanging anyone as a witch was so foreign it was difficult to imagine that anyone could ever have done so.

  And yet, some men still found a way to indulge the need to kill.

  Instinct? he wondered, not at all proud of his species at that moment.

  Or an aberration? The latter. Had to be.

  Most people lived to protect the ones they loved, enjoy their friends and even make the world a better place.

  He thought about Devin and realized that for the first time in thirteen years—since he’d found Melissa’s body, in fact—he felt that there was light at the end of the tunnel. He hadn’t realized that he was going through life without the least expectation of ever finding anything—anyone—permanent in his life.

  But Devin somehow changed the world. She was life at its best, its most vivid, its most passionate. Though to all intents and purposes they’d just met, she knew him, understood him. In the midst of all this horror and tragedy, there seemed to be something bright in his soul again. He’d just been waiting, he thought. Marking time. And now the time was here.

  And this killer wasn’t going to get away with murder, not any longer. Not with Devin in his life and very possibly in the crosshairs.

  He quickened his steps. Judah Baker, the bartender who’d been on duty the night of the murder, didn’t live far, just down on Derby Street.

  He reached the address quickly. His thoughts hadn’t kept him from walking like a man with a purpose.

  The bartender lived in a duplex with a little yard. The building looked to have been built around 1850 and updated over the years.

  Judah was at the door, waiting for him. “Hey,” he said.

  “Thanks for seeing me,” Rocky said.

  Baker grinned. “I’m not sure I have a choice, but not a problem. I want to help—Hell, anyone would want to help. Come on in.”

  He opened the door wider for Rocky to enter. The living room had been furnished cheaply, and there were posters all over the walls of swimsuit models and rock bands. It was pretty much the perfect low-rent bachelor pad.

  Rocky sat on the sofa and pulled out the sheaf of pictures, then spread them out on the coffee table.

  “I realize you’re behind the bar and Holly and Brenda are on the floor, but you were closest to me, so I came here first,” Rocky told him.

  Judah nodded, staring at the pictures. He pointed at the picture of Beth—Rocky had managed to get a phone shot of her just before she popped a cracker in her mouth. “That’s Beth—she owns a shop, but I already told you I know her and the people she works with. That’s the guy—Theo something or other. And Gayle. I think her last name is Alden.”

  “Right,” Rocky said. “But you said they didn’t see that Brent was there, too?”

  “Not that I could tell. People were piled up at the bar, like I told you. I think they had a drink and left,” Judah said, taking a seat next to Rocky and looking at the other pictures.

  He went through them all, a serious expression on his face. “This is a cop—I know him, too. He was in to ask questions afterward,” Judah said. “After the murder, I mean.”

  Rocky nodded. “Jack Grail.”

  Judah picked up the picture of Renee and put it back down. “Tiny little thing?” he asked.

  “Very.”

  Judah grinned. “If she was there, I didn’t see her. But she looks like she’s barely taller than the bar.”

  “What about this woman?” Rocky asked, showing him a picture of Haley.

  “Oh, I’ve see her, too.”

  “That night?”

  “No...several weeks back, I think. Early. Like when I first came on shift. It looked like she’d been doing some shopping.”

  “But not that night?” Rocky asked.

  Judah shook his head, but he stared at another picture and then tapped it, looking at Rocky. “This guy. I think I saw this guy that night.”

  Rocky picked up the picture of Vince Steward and asked Judah, “That night—the night Barbara Benton was killed.”

  “Yeah, I mean, I’ve seen him before. I think he’s an attorney or something. I don’t know his name—but, yeah, I’ve seen him before.”

  “And you saw him that night?”

  “Yes,” Judah said firmly. “Scotch on the rocks. Same drink he always gets. He was definitely there.”

  * * *

  Devin had been to most of the local museums before in the course of her life, but she had never been in the room she found herself in now with Angela and Jane.

  When she asked Angela why they’d been allowed to enter this inner sanctum of records and learning without so much as a question, Angela had just waved a hand in the air. “Adam Harrison can make one phone call and open doors you would never believe could be opened.”

  “I would love to meet him somewhere along the line,” Devin said. “He sounds amazing.”

  “Who knows? You might. You never know when Adam will show up,” Angela said, then went back to work.

  The room they were in was climate controlled and filled with municipal records, ledgers, diaries, family Bibles and assorted other materials from the area’s earliest days.

  A scholarly woman with a slightly stooped back and horn-rimmed glasses—exactly the kind of woman you would expect to find holding sway over such a valuable trove—helped them at first. But then an assistant—a beautiful young blonde—came in to help, as well.

  A lot of information had been programmed into computer files, so they were able to get a good start without going to the primary sources. But still, going back generation after generation wasn’t easy.

  Devin had been assigned to look up her own genealogy. Since both her parents had come from Salem, it was time-consuming and complicated. Then she got back to 1668 and discovered her parents had a mutual many-many-times-great set of grandparents.

  “I am inbred,” she said.

  Angela laughed. “Well, at least no one married a first cousin, right?”

  “No, it’s about a fiftieth cousin or something like that.” But even as she spoke, she gasped. She’d just discovered something a lot more crucial than a distant relationship between her parents.

  “What?” Angela asked.

  “Maybe I shouldn’t be surprised,” Devin murmured.

  “What? Spit it out.”

  “I’m related to Margaret Nottingham!” Devin said. “Through my mom. Her however-many-greats-grandmother married Archer Myles, father of Margaret Myles Nottingham. Apparently the baby she had just before she died was a woman named Mary Elizabeth Nottingham who in turn married Andrew Barclay and had a daughter named Anne who married a Douglass—and the long line of Douglasses my mom comes from sprang from that marriage.”

  “Ah,” Angela murmured. “That explains why Margaret comes to you.”

  “She’s probably worried about you,” Jane said.

  “She should be careful,” Angela said. “Twice, she’s led Devin to a body, and that could actually be putting her into danger.”

  “I’m not sure she had a choice,” Jane argued. “She wanted those bodies found, and she wanted Devin to know how she herself had died.”

  “Why didn’t she just tell me what she wanted me to know?” Devin asked.

  “She seems to be very shy and not all that good at communicating. We’ve seen ghosts like that before,” Jane said.

  “And,” Angela said, “she may not know what happened. There’s no reason to believe she was there when the women were killed. And since none of us has seen the murdered women, they were probably able to move on, so they weren’t able to tell her.”

  “Maybe, or maybe they just haven’t found one of us yet,” Jane said, leafing through the old family Bible sh
e was studying. “Hmm. Here’s a name I wasn’t expecting.”

  “Oh? What is it?” Devin asked.

  “Hastings,” Jane said, brushing back a lock of dark hair. “Theodore Hastings.”

  “There must be hundreds of thousands of people named Hastings in the United States,” Devin said. “Well, a lot, at any rate.” She grimaced. “Math isn’t my forte.”

  “Yes, it’s a common enough name,” Angela said, getting up to look over Jane’s shoulder. “But Theodore Hastings? At the very least, it’s an interesting coincidence. When is the entry from?”

  “Theodore Hastings was born to John and Mildred Hastings in 1677 in Salem Village,” Jane said.

  “Let’s trace him and see where that takes us,” Angela said.

  Jane looked over at Devin. “I didn’t think your friend Theo was from Salem?”

  “He isn’t—at least, not as far as I know. I sure as heck didn’t know him until he showed up a few years ago and started working for Beth,” Devin said. “Theo might not be any relation to those Hastings.”

  “True—but then again, he might be related and not even know it. We’re talking about three hundred years and at least fifteen generations,” Angela said.

  Jane leaned back, stretching. “With everyone we’re researching, this could take hours.”

  “At least there are three of us,” Angela said.

  They went back to work.

  An hour later Angela sighed. “This could take days. Going back over three hundred years is beyond time-consuming.”

  “Yes,” Devin agreed. “And you’ve got to figure that in three hundred years, someone must have fooled around and had an illegitimate child or two, or passed off her lover’s child as her husband’s. I mean, back then, there was no DNA.”

  Jane laughed softly. “You mean we don’t know who was messing around with who when, and getting away with it.”

  “More or less,” Devin said.

  “But,” Jane pointed out, “I’m not sure that matters. Perception and belief are what count.”

  A few minutes later, Jane let out a little cry. “Aha!”

  “What?” Devin and Angela asked together.

  “Actually, this one is kind of sweet,” Jane said. “Two of your friends can trace their ancestry back to one of your long-ago relations, in a roundabout way.”

  “Who? And how?” Devin asked.

  “Your old teacher, Gayle Alden, maker of pentagrams, can trace her mother’s lineage back to Mary Nottingham Beckett—sister of Margaret’s husband. And your BFF, Beth, can trace her ancestry back to Rebecca Beckett Masters, sister-in-law of Mary.”

  “Hey! My turn for an ‘aha,’” Angela said.

  “What did you find?” Jane asked.

  Angela looked up. “I found another connection—and you’ll never guess who.”

  “Who is it?” Jane asked.

  “Brent Corbin and Vince Steward.”

  “They didn’t even know each other until recently,” Devin said. “What’s the connection?”

  “I can trace them back to a woman named Elizabeth Blackmire,” Angela said.

  Devin and Jane looked at each other, and then back at Angela.

  “And she was...?” Jane asked.

  “She would have been the first accuser of a young woman named Margaret Myles Nottingham. Devin, the two of them had an ancestor who cried ‘Witch!’ against your ancestor. After she accused Margaret, the ‘afflicted’ girls started screaming her name, too. Elizabeth Blackmire would have sent Margaret Nottingham to Gallows Hill—if she’d lived long enough to get there.”

  CHAPTER 16

  Rocky finished showing the photos to the bar staff, though he didn’t learn anything from the two waitresses that Judah hadn’t already told him, and headed to the station to meet up with Jack Grail.

  “What do you think?” Rocky asked, leaning back in his chair in front of Jack’s desk. “I keep remembering the night Melissa died. He came to my house, and he was being Vince—you know, kind of a teenage jerk. But I don’t know where he was before he showed up.”

  “I showed up at your house, too,” Jack reminded him.

  “Yeah, you did,” Rocky agreed, meeting his eyes with a level stare.

  “You were there alone till we got there,” Jack said.

  “Yeah, I was.”

  “I was having dinner with my parents. You can ask them,” Jack said.

  “And I know I didn’t do it, so...”

  “God, Rocky, do we really suspect Vince?” Jack asked.

  Before he had a chance to respond, Rocky’s phone rang. It was Devin. He answered it quickly.

  She was fine, she said. The three of them were still together, digging through the archives. She told him about the discoveries they had made, and he asked her if he could put their call on speaker so Jack could listen, too.

  When they hung up a few minutes later, Jack looked at Rocky. “So, that’s interesting. Vince and Brent Corbin. And yet it really does look like someone was trying to set Corbin up. We searched his home, his business, his vehicle—no evidence anywhere, and not a drop of blood on his athame, so that clearly wasn’t the murder weapon. Can it really be Vince?” He looked sick. “If this three-hundred-year-old connection means anything, why would Vince set up someone he’s related to? Although I doubt he even knows he’s related to Corbin.”

  “I’ll talk to him and see what I can find out,” Rocky said. “According to a bartender who has no reason to lie, Vince was there that night—and it was busy enough that he could have taken Barbara’s cell phone off her table and dropped it into Brent’s pocket without anyone noticing.”

  Jack shook his head. “When we were kids, I wouldn’t have thought Vince was smart enough for anything like this, but then he went through law school, so maybe we were all taken in.... No. Can’t believe it.”

  Rocky stood. “I’m going to talk to him.”

  * * *

  When they left the archives, Jane, Angela and Devin headed to her cottage. While neither agent drew a gun when they got out of the car, Devin noticed that they were alert and ready.

  She sincerely doubted that anyone was just waiting around her house to attack her when she showed up, but there was still something reassuring about having two FBI agents keeping her company.

  They’d been talking in the car, and she’d been interested to discover that neither woman had intended to be a “ghost hunter” or even enter law enforcement.

  As they headed in so she could feed Poe, they talked about some of the other Krewe members, assuring Devin that she’d like them all.

  “They’re just regular people,” Jane said

  “Who can see ghosts the same way you do,” Angela added.

  Auntie Mina was at the house, and she was happy to see them. While the other two women talked to her and got to know Poe, Devin straightened up the cottage, although it was in pretty good shape considering she’d hosted a party less than twenty-four hours earlier.

  Devin had just put on a pot of tea when her cell phone rang. She expected it to be Rocky, but it turned out to be Sam, who had just left the lab with Jenna.

  “We have a match on the fingerprints,” he said. “We know who was trying to get into your house.”

  Her heart seemed to skip a beat. “Who was it?” she asked.

  * * *

  Rocky arranged to meet Vince for a late lunch at the hotel. Vince clearly had no idea that he was under suspicion. As they walked into the restaurant, he told Rocky how much he liked his fellow agents after getting to know them better last night. Then he lifted a hand for the waitress and ordered a Scotch.

  Rocky opted for coffee. When Vince raised his eyebrows in surprise, Rocky said, “I’m kind of permanently on duty at the moment.”

&nbs
p; “Yeah, I guess. Jack, too. Hey, he doesn’t resent you for being here, does he?”

  Rocky shook his head. “We all want to catch this murderer—no one cares who the hell gets him as long as someone does.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Vince said, then joked with the waitress when she brought their drinks.

  Rocky remembered that Vince was here at least once a month, probably more than that, for meetings.

  “It’s kind of hard to be second best all the time,” Vince went on once the waitress was gone. “Or, in my case, third best, but back in the day, we all had to get used to that whenever you were around.”

  “I don’t think Jack ever thought of himself as second best—or that anyone else thought of us that way, either,” Rocky said. “We were different, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, I guess. Jack is a happy man these days, that’s for sure. He got his shield, and he got the girl. And he’s got a great kid.”

  “True enough,” Rocky said, but he wondered. Was Vince just speaking casually, or was he making an effort to get under Rocky’s skin—even stir up trouble between him and Jack?

  Could Vince really be guilty? He’d proven he was no slouch intellectually, getting his law degree and going on to practice successfully.

  “What made you opt for maritime law?” Rocky asked.

  Vince grinned. “I tried personal injury for a while. I was good, too. But I didn’t really like it. I felt a little slimy. I mean, they call you an ambulance chaser and they’re kind of right. Wasn’t for me. I like the sea, and I always loved boats and the few beach days we get. You know the old joke. Massachusetts—come for summer. July 15.”

  “Beach days are rare here, I’ll grant you that,” Rocky said.

  Vince turned suddenly serious and shook his head. “Rocky, we’re not here to shoot the breeze, are we? What’s up?”

  Rocky met his eyes and spoke honestly. “You’re looking suspicious as hell. You know this hotel—and the security system was knocked out here the same night someone set a fire on Devin’s lawn and she ended up spending the night here. You were at the bar the night Brent Corbin was there and the dead woman’s cell phone wound up in his pocket—something you somehow neglected to mention.”