entered, then took a seat in the corner, where he joined her during the break between sets and she told him about her strange encounter.
When the band had finished for the night, Eddie walked her to her car. He assured her that he would deck the guy if they ran into him again. “Probably just a drunk,” he said.
Scarlet shook her head. “He didn’t seem drunk.”
“A loony, then,” he said reassuringly.
They’d reached her car by then, and she thanked him for escorting her, then hesitated. “It’s just been a weird day,” she said, and told him about the strange pictures on her camera.
“Did it come with a memory card? They might have been there when you bought it,” he said. “Some practical joker’s idea of funny. I say you should just chalk it up to the fact that the world is crazy and let it go.”
It was good advice. “I’ll do that,” she promised.
“Drive safe, and call me when you’re ready to hit the trail to romance again,” he told her cheerfully.
“You’re my number one guy,” she assured him.
She waved to Eddie and started the car, wondering why she still felt so uncomfortable.
Scarlet had the feeling that someone was watching her. Not the man who had approached her before. Someone different. Someone who wouldn’t come up to her but would stalk her—and then pounce.
She shook off the feeling, telling herself she was just feeling residual anxiety after the strange events of the day.
It was time for bed.
She drove carefully up the steep winding road to the ranch. She was still becoming accustomed to getting around here and was dreading her first winter.
She felt lighter heading back, convinced that someone had messed with the camera, and that natural vibrations, whether in the earth or the museum itself, had toppled the mannequin. No big deal.
The night was beautiful and very dark. She drove slowly and was glad of it when a buck leaped onto the road and stopped directly in front of her. He simply stood there, caught in her headlights.
“Think maybe you could move now?” she said after a long moment.
When he didn’t budge, she gave her horn a tap and was grateful when he bounded off into the surrounding woods.
She drove on, frowning as she saw what seemed to be a sea of light at the Conway Ranch.
There were eleven guests staying there, but she hadn’t heard anything about a campfire planned for that night. As she drew closer, she realized that the glow seemed to come from a multitude of headlights.
Her heart leaped into her throat when she got close enough to see that five cop cars and an ambulance with lights ablaze were parked on the property. A cop standing in the driveway motioned her to a stop and gestured for her to roll down her window.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m Scarlet Barlow. I work at the museum and live above it. What’s happened?” she asked anxiously. “Ben and Trisha. Are they okay?”
He nodded to her gravely. “Yes, the owners are all right.”
“What’s happened?” she persisted.
“May I have your ID, please?”
She handed it over. He looked from it to her, aiming his flashlight at her face and making her blink.
“Says here your name is McCullough.”
“I’m divorced. I haven’t changed my ID yet,” she told him. “See? My license says Scarlet Barlow McCullough.”
He was looking at her as if she was a hardened criminal. “They’re definitely going to want to talk to you,” he said.
“They?”
“The detectives.”
“But—”
“You’re the one with the camera. The one who took pictures of dead people. The pictures that mysteriously disappeared, right?” he asked, his voice hard-edged.
“Someone messed with my camera, yes, but I don’t see why that calls for police response.”
“Really? Not when two people have been murdered exactly the way your boss says they were in the pictures you showed him? Park your car, please, then follow me. Lieutenant Gray is going to want to see you, pronto.”
* * *
Scarlet had advanced degrees in history and archaeology; she had worked at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York and on an important dig in South Florida. She was bright, fun, cheerful, beautiful and eager for whatever life brought.
She did not tend to hysteria or tears.
Given all that, Diego wasn’t sure how or why he knew instinctively when he answered the phone that she was going to be on the other end.
They were having a small farewell party for Brett at Sea Life, the dolphin facility where Lara Mayhew worked. Brett was flying to DC the next day for orientation. There was talk of him setting up a small Miami office for the Krewe, and if that happened Diego thought maybe he would take them up on their invitation, after all. Meanwhile, he had a party to enjoy.
The food had been catered and set up outside under a large tent. They’d visited the dolphins down at the lagoon earlier, and now everyone was just talking idly.
And yet, when his phone rang, Diego was instantly alert, somehow sure it was going to be his ex-wife.
She’d moved to Colorado, and he hadn’t let her see the ache in his heart when she’d told him she was going.
“Scarlet?” he said without even looking at the caller ID, stepping out into the darkness beneath a sea grape tree.
“Diego, yes, it’s me.”
“How are you? Are you all right?” he asked her anxiously.
“I’m...oh, Diego, I’m so sorry to bother you, but I’m in real trouble.”
“What did you do?”
“Nothing!” She sounded indignant, even angry.
That was good, he thought. “Then what happened?”
“Two people were murdered, and they think...they think I was involved!”
“Why?”
“My camera. The views here are gorgeous, so I bought a good camera at the Miami airport before my flight out. It was working fine, but then today it took pictures of things that weren’t there. Bodies. Dead bodies. And then they disappeared.”
“The bodies?”
“The
