too tired to pack up and move right now,” Scarlet said. “But thank you.”
There was silence for a minute in the car, and then Trisha said, “I hope you had a nice night in town. I mean, before all this happened.”
“Nice and a little weird,” Scarlet said.
“How so?” Ben asked.
“Just some guy pestering me on the street. But I ran into some friends, and one of them walked me to my car.”
“Maybe something is going on with the planets,” Trisha said, shaking her head.
Scarlet took a deep breath and then asked again, “Who were they—the couple who were killed?”
“We don’t know. The police haven’t released that information yet, pending notification of next of kin,” Trisha informed her.
“Young? Old?”
“I didn’t—I didn’t really look,” Ben said. “I just turned the other way and called 911.”
They were quiet again. They’d reached the ranch. None of them looked toward the woods as they parked and got out of the car.
Trisha slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Let’s see that Scarlet gets upstairs safely. We’ll just walk through the museum and make sure no one’s there.”
“That would be great,” Scarlet said. “Thanks.”
Ben opened the door to the building. Trisha hit the lights. They walked through the museum. It was empty.
Empty, of course, except for the stationary residents standing on their pedestals, bearing silent witness to the night.
“Upstairs,” Trisha said, and started walking up. Ben followed her.
Scarlet followed Ben, then paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the mannequin of Nathan Kendall.
If the artist’s rendering had been a true one, he’d been a handsome man. He’d been captured in time in his early thirties, the age he’d been when he’d died.
His eyes seemed to be wise and world-weary. They’d been painted blue.
For a moment she almost felt as if he would speak.
She forced herself to reach out and touch the statue.
Wood. It was made of wood.
“Scarlet?” Trisha called.
“Coming!”
“We’re right next door,” Trisha reminded Scarlet as she reached the top of the stairs. “And you really are more than welcome there.”
“I know,” Scarlet said. “Thank you. And thank you for waiting for me and driving me home.” She hesitated. “I asked an old friend out here to help. My ex-husband, actually. He’s with the FBI. Do you mind?”
“Mind?” Ben asked. “I think that’s great.”
“I’m guessing his partner will be coming with him. They should be here tomorrow, I hope. Sometime in the morning.”
“Wonderful. We’ll get some rooms ready for them,” Trisha said. “For now, let’s check out this whole place, just for safety’s sake.”
They went together from room to room, then wound up in the kitchen, staring at one another.
With everything seemingly safe and nothing more to be done that night, an exhausted Scarlet followed them downstairs and locked up behind them, then made her way back up to her apartment.
She couldn’t help wondering, though, whether she really was going to be all right, or if maybe she should have agreed to sleep at the main house.
After all, two people had been brutally murdered just where the mountain rose to meet the Conway Ranch. She shouldn’t be alone.
But she was exhausted, so exhausted that she didn’t even take off her clothes as she pitched down on the bed.
It wasn’t over, she thought. Not for her. Lieutenant Gray had said so.
But Diego was coming. He had said that he would, and he was always true to his word.
She thought she would never sleep, as her distraught mind kept going over the events of the day.
The pictures on her camera...
And then two people dead just like the people in the photos...
And then she’d been interrogated. The kid who had never stolen so much as a piece of gum.
To her amazement, her eyes finally closed and her mind began to shut down. She was just so tired.
But her dreams were troubled...
Blood was everywhere in her mind’s eye. She could see the dead, and they could see her. She felt their eyes, and the intensity of their regard sent chills up her spine...
Restless, she awoke. She walked into the kitchen and made herself a cup of chamomile tea. At the kitchen table, she sat sipping it, listening. The museum was quiet. The door below was locked.
Diego would be here soon.
She finished her tea, walked to the window and looked out. Everything was peaceful.
Bizarrely peaceful, given what had happened there in the woods.
And as she stood there, she felt once again that she was being watched.
She told herself that was foolish. “I am alone,” she said into the empty air.
The feeling persisted, but she forced herself back to bed, leaving the door to her room ajar so that she could hear anything that went on in the museum.
Surprisingly, she fell asleep easily, and so deeply that she was untroubled by dreams.
The next thing she knew, she heard birds.
She smiled slightly, waking up. It was nice here, that sound of birds in the morning, with the feel of the sun, strong and warm at this time of year.
She opened her eyes, feeling as if everything would be all right.
Then she realized someone was standing at the foot of her bed, and a scream tore from her lips.
She stopped with a gasp when she saw who that someone was.
The decidedly not-alive statue of Nathan Kendall was staring down at her.
Diego wondered why he had ever turned down an invitation to join the Krewe of Hunters.
By
