north of the house. She grabbed her camera, then pushed through the dozen or so reporters and photographers who were clumped around the front door of the Ledger ranch house.
A lot like vultures, she thought, guilt surfacing that she was one of them.
She shivered and looked around her, always wary, hating the unfamiliar fear that had crawled inside her over the past few weeks.
“There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you.”
She turned to find her friend, Eleanor Baker, maneuvering through the restless reporters and heading her way.
“Thanks for answering my SOS,” Eleanor said.
“Next time could you give me a little more notice? I had already told Alma I’d pick up Georgia from school on my way home and take her shopping. Her eleventh birthday is this weekend.”
“Your niece is already eleven?”
“Yes. Can you believe it?”
“Not really.” Eleanor glanced around. “Where is she?”
“I got to the school in time to have her catch the bus. I postponed the shopping trip.”
“You can take her when we’re through.”
“There won’t be time. I’m working a wedding tonight. Georgia is not happy. Both you and Melinda owe me big-time.”
“Get me some great shots of Troy Ledger arriving at the little house of horrors and we’ll both be in your debt.”
“So the infamous Mr. Ledger hasn’t arrived yet?”
“No sign of him, but according to reports of when he left the prison, he could drive up any minute.”
“What happened to Melinda?”
“She’s on assignment in Austin for her real boss. You know, the guy who actually pays her. She thought she’d be back in time to help me out, but got stuck in traffic.”
“So that’s why I got drafted.”
“Which reminds me, do you mind if I camp out at your place tonight? I have an interview scheduled with a developer just outside Mustang Run at an ungodly hour in the morning.”
“You want my house and my expertise with the camera? That will cost you,” Collette teased.
“Let’s hope this turns out to be worth it.”
“Take the left side of my garage tonight. I’ll park on the right.”
“I remember. You know, you may actually be better at this assignment than Melinda.”
“Not likely. Ghosts are not within my area of expertise,” said Collette.
“No, but you’re local. That should be worth something. Pictures of Troy Ledger inside the haunted house would catapult Beyond the Grave to the hottest paranormal magazine on the racks. And then I could actually pay Melinda—and myself.”
“Local or not, fat chance I’ll get inside that house. I’ll be lucky if I get a shot of him entering the door.”
“Then I guess Melinda and I will be forced to break in the house the first time Troy Ledger leaves.”
Collette covered her ears. “Don’t confess planned illegalities to me. I’m the sheriff’s daughter.”
“Like you’d turn us in to him. You barely speak to the man.”
“Yes, and let’s keep it that way.”
“Speaking of illegalities, are you still getting calls from that weirdo?”
“Occasionally. The calls are pretty lame, but they’re starting to get to me.”
“Sic the sheriff on him.”
“I don’t know what he could do since the guy only spouts harmless utterances of devotion. What are you hoping to get today for the article?” Collette asked, changing the subject.
“I’m thinking the tag will be ‘Troy Ledger returns to the house that drove him to murder,’“ Eleanor said, holding up her hands as if framing the article.
“Last I heard, he was still claiming his innocence. And he was released from prison.” Collette removed her camera from the case and adjusted the lens.
“Sure, but released on a technicality,” Eleanor countered.
“The prison psychiatrist interviewed on the morning news claimed Troy Ledger has never shown one sign of violent behavior since his conviction. She said she’s certain of his mental stability and even went so far as to say that she wouldn’t hesitate to trust him with her own son.”
“Shrinks, what do they know?” Eleanor glanced at her watch. “Do you think he killed his wife?”
“My opinion doesn’t count for much. I was ten at the time.”
“Your dad must think he’s guilty. He arrested him.” Eleanor stretched for a better look as a commotion ensued at the back of the crowd.
A black pickup truck approached, driving up to the front door and sending the reporters who’d gathered there flying to get out of the way. A sexy hunk of a man in boots, worn jeans and a Western hat climbed out, a man who was decades too young to be Troy Ledger.
He looked around and shook his head before stamping to the door. Once there, he pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and poked one into the lock.
“Holy Smoley,” Eleanor said lustfully. “I’d sleep with ghosts any night as long as that cowboy was in the bed with us. Do you know him?”
“He could be one of Troy Ledger’s sons. I think he had four.”
“Five,” Eleanor corrected. “Dakota, Tyler, Dylan, Sean and Wyatt.”
“You’ve done your homework.”
“And a couple of major investigative articles on the crime. FYI, I think Troy Ledger is as guilty as sin and I renege on any offer to sleep with one of his sons, not even if it guaranteed me a picture of ghosts.”
Collette aimed and started shooting, still looking for something familiar to help her identify the stranger. She’d known a few of Troy Ledger’s sons, but that was years ago when they were mere boys.
The guy pushed open the door but didn’t go inside. Instead he scanned the crowd as if looking for someone. Flashbulbs popped, and he blinked and squinted in defense. Reporters started yelling questions and trying to stick mikes in his face.
“Are you a relative of Troy Ledger?”
“Is Troy coming back to the ranch?”
“Will he move back to Mustang Run?”
The cowboy put up a hand as if to quiet the
