The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) (26 page)

“My team only stretches so far,” Gina responded in a tired voice.

“Get the county to send out another team,” Van Camp said.

“Okay, I’ll get in touch with them now.”

Aidan took Mo’s hand. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, he felt as if his heart had stopped. She was so stricken by what had happened. And he realized, looking into her eyes, that he was
involved
with her.

He’d hardly touched her yet—but he was involved with her as he’d never been with anyone else in his life.

Because he’d never dared so much before. He hadn’t let women get close. He’d preferred one-night stands and affairs that he could easily escape. He’d believed that he deserved nothing but a life alone, a life with his own fears and...unusual abilities.

But Mo understood those fears, understood those abilities, and she’d shown him that loneliness didn’t have to be his future. “We
will
get to the truth,” he vowed.

She nodded. With Rollo at their heels, they left the graveyard and the mausoleum and made their way to his car. They were silent as they drove. He found that he didn’t like the silence, that he suddenly wanted them both to be honest.

“How do you do it?” he asked her, looking for more than a partial or evasive answer this time.

“I wish I knew,” she told him. “I...I think of the person. I see his or her face. Then I build something around the face. And then...well, as you saw, Rollo really does have his own talents.”

“Do the dead speak to you, call to you?”

She winced. “Sometimes. At least, I
think
I hear a voice.” She turned to him and said almost desperately, “But it’s not always the dead. I find the living, too.”

He reached for her hand and squeezed it. “That’s a true gift, and if you don’t believe me, ask someone you’ve been able to find. Ask J. J. Appleby,” he added softly.

He hoped he’d helped her.

She directed him down the street past Tommy’s place and the little strip mall with the dry cleaners. “There,” Mo said, pointing.

The store had a very large parking lot, convenient for shoppers. The Halloween display had been created beneath a giant sign advertising wholesale prices, claiming they bought surplus stock of the best brands.

The parking lot was empty except for a few cars near the door. It was very early morning. The first of the employees were probably coming in. Later, mothers or fathers might bring their children to enjoy the Halloween display. It was well designed, with a witch stirring a cauldron as bats on wires flew over her head. There was a smiling vampire on the other side, one that resembled the friendly count from a kids’ TV show. And there were little leprechauns peering around the skirt of a fairy-tale princess. Dead center in the display was the headless horseman.

And, as Mo had seen in her mind’s eye, he now had a head.

Van Camp and a number of police officers hurried up to them. Aidan slipped an arm around Mo’s shoulder. “I can take you home now,” he whispered.

He glanced at Van Camp, who nodded. “I’ve got this,” he said. As Aidan started to turn, Van Camp said, “We’ll have the employees assembled at the station in a matter of hours.”

“Can you call me when they’re in? And keep them separated as much as you can.”

Van Camp offered him a grim smile. “We’re actually pretty good cops, you know?”

“I do know,” Aidan assured him with a conciliatory grin. “Sorry.”

He left with Mo and Rollo; it was time to get away from murder and death.

Full daylight had broken by the time they arrived at her house. When she opened the front door, she said, “I know you have a million things to do. You should probably sleep. But...could you stay a little while? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be an annoyance, it’s just that...”

“I’m here,” he told her. Mo headed into the kitchen with Rollo. “Yes, you deserve a big treat, young man.”

Aidan called Logan at the hotel, describing events as he’d seen them the night before.

Logan filled him in, too. “We followed Richard Highsmith’s assistants and security force all night. Someone had an eye on them at all times. I’m assuming the charges against Jillian Durfey will be dropped by Monday morning, since she was nowhere near the latest murder scene.”

“Oh, I’m sure. Listen, I’m going to catch a few hours’ sleep on Mo’s couch,” he told Logan. “She’s shaky, and I don’t blame her.” He sighed. “Except that I should be going to the M.E.’s office—”

“That’s why we have a Krewe,” Logan said. “One of us will get over to the M.E.’s. Probably Sloan. And then I’ll head over to the station to start questioning employees. You’ll be useless without some sleep.”

“Yeah, I know. Thanks, Logan. And whether they dismiss the charges against Jillian Durfey or not, I
know
one of them is involved.”

“I don’t disagree. But whoever that person is, he or she is working with someone on the outside. Someone who knows Sleepy Hollow. It almost sounds as if we’re looking for a historian.”

“If you grow up around here, you grow up with the history of the area. We’re proud of our role in the Revolution—and very proud of our literary hero, Washington Irving. Most kids go to the various historic venues with their schools quite a few times. But I believe you’re right—it
has
to be someone who knows Sleepy Hollow backward and forward.”

“Yeah, but for now, just get some sleep, Aidan. We’ll reassess when we see you.”

“All right, I’ll sleep for a few hours. My phone is on and it’ll be next to me. Call if you need anything at all.”

Mo was there, her eyes dull. She was obviously exhausted. And feeling guilty and in pain. In a way, she saw this as her fault.

“Mo,” he said sternly, “like I told you before, you couldn’t have done anything to save her.”

“But...I was right there.”

“Get some sleep,” he ordered. “I’m going to.”

She nodded. “Use the guest room.”

“I’ll take the sofa in the parlor.”

“It’s an antique, horribly uncomfortable.”

Shaking his head, he smiled at her. “I’ll be fine down here.”

“Don’t leave, please, without waking me.”

“I won’t.”

She trudged up the stairs, Rollo trailing dutifully behind. The dog stopped to look at Aidan and whined.

“Hey, sleep down here with Aidan if you want. I’m way too tired to be offended,” Mo told him, patting his head.

But Rollo was loyal to his mistress and followed her up.

Aidan leaned back on the sofa. He believed
that Richard had been betrayed by someone he considered a close confidant.

Somehow, it all had to do with the Woman in White, either Lizzie Hampton or her daughter, and the fact that Richard Highsmith could legitimately claim to be a descendant of Major John Andre.

Aidan wondered whether he was right about J. J. Appleby being Richard Highsmith’s son.

He felt a moment of doubt, afraid that his theories were nonsense, and that he was focusing on the wrong direction.

But it was more than possible that at some point in his life, Richard had indulged in an affair.

And it was possible that he’d fathered a child with Wendy Appleby. They could have met in New York. Maybe Richard had talked about his home in Sleepy Hollow and that might’ve made Wendy think of this area when she left New York City. By all accounts, her life in recent years had been wrapped up in her son, and she’d shown little interest in dating. Of course, working at Mystic Magic had given her a reason to dislike men in general, since she’d usually seen them only when they had one thing on their minds.

But now...

Another murder. And while Sondra was being killed and Wendy Appleby’s house ransacked, all five of their major suspects had been under surveillance.

He was just too tired. He let his eyes close and drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It felt good to lie down. Mo hadn’t realized how physically exhausted she was until then. And when she lay there, listening to Rollo settle on the floor by her side, she reveled in the comfort of her bed. And the security of having an agent sleeping downstairs with a gun nearby. She could sleep in peace. Except that she couldn’t really feel a sense of peace. What had happened tonight was so horrible, she couldn’t even grasp it.

Sondra was dead. The thought struck like a dull thud in her temples.

How? Why?

Had she been killed just to divert suspicion from the woman who’d been arrested and arraigned and those who were with her? She didn’t know that much about the law, but she assumed they’d dismiss the charges against Jillian Durfey now.

Had Sondra been nothing but a token kill? No, killing her had been too complex for that. Just as someone had known the convention hall and the graveyards, he or she knew the Haunted Mausoleum.

Mo tossed and turned and finally punched her pillows and told herself she was all right. Aidan was down in her parlor; Rollo was at her side.

She finally fell asleep. And when she did, she was in the dark forest again, the forest where Ichabod Crane had traveled and feared the headless horseman. She could smell the damp earth, feel the breeze and listen while the leaves rustled in the trees. Night creatures scampered; the light of the moon made skeletons of tree limbs.

And there was someone behind her.

She remembered the story. All she had to do was cross the bridge.

There was some kind of light before her on that bridge. In that light, she could see Aidan. He wasn’t standing on the new bridge, not the modern structure that existed today. This one was wooden. It was old, and there was nothing else around it, nothing but the light and Aidan—waiting for her.

She could hear a rustling behind her...

Feel a pounding against the earth.

The horseman was coming, coming for her.

Aidan seemed to be trying to cross the bridge. But each time he tried, something seemed to throw him back.

Then she could feel hot breath on the back of her neck.

The hot breath of the horseman’s stallion. He was so close.

“Aidan!” She called his name. He could reach her, she knew he could reach her, if only he’d let himself. Yet his eyes touched hers with misery and desperation and...

“Mo!”

She woke. Not instantly, she felt groggy. She was no longer in the forest. She was in her own bed, safe in her own house.

She blinked into the darkness, which was relieved only by a glimmer of light from the hallway. The whisper that had awakened her was soft.

She saw Candy there, accompanied by Colonel Daniel Parker. Rollo had gotten to his feet, wagging his tail as if he recognized that they had trusted visitors.

“What is it?” Mo asked.

“He’s here!” Candy announced.

“Oh, you mean Aidan,” Mo said. “He— Oh, it’s a long story. There was another murder. He stayed at the house for me. I was kind of a wreck last night. Candy, the victim was someone I knew.”

“She’s not referring to your agent, Mo,” Daniel told her. “His friend is here, the man who was killed. Richard Highsmith.”

Mo stared at them both, threw off her covers and climbed out of bed. She ran to the landing but then paused. She didn’t want to race downstairs like a crazy woman.

She started down quietly on her bare feet.

He was there, indeed. Richard Highsmith. He stood by the fireplace, looking at Aidan with the smile an old friend might give another.

He was speaking in a soft voice.

Mo continued down. At the first sound of a board creaking, Aidan was wide-awake, his hand instantly reaching for his gun.

He saw her and smiled. “Morning, Mo. Did you get some sleep?”

She nodded. “Aidan, Richard is here.”

He was immediately alert, sitting straight up—and yet he didn’t move.

Richard Highsmith turned to her. “He doesn’t see me.”

“He wants to. Richard, we need your help.”

“Ask him what happened,” Aidan said.

Aidan might not hear or see Richard, but Richard heard and saw him. “I was in the greenroom alone. Jilli had just gone out to the stage, and Taylor was talking to our security people. The convention woman—Bari, Bari Macaby—had gone to get me something. I went to wash my hands. I was scrubbing them when...darkness. And then...I saw myself. Saw myself dead in a cavern and I was—in pieces.”

“He never saw who killed him,” Mo interpreted. “They came from behind when he was washing his hands. He doesn’t know who did it.”

“Ask him,” Aidan said quietly, “if he knows
why.
”

“He can hear you. He’s standing by the fireplace,” Mo pointed out.

Aidan turned in that direction. “Why? And why Wendy, too?”

Mo thought she saw tears in the ghost’s eyes. He lowered his head, obviously finding it difficult to talk.

“For the love of God, I don’t know,” he said. “Wendy was...wonderful.”

Mo didn’t wait for Aidan to ask the next question. “Is J.J. your son?” she blurted out.

Richard raised his head to look at her. “I hope so. I believe so. But Wendy...she didn’t want to trap me. Not when she first found out she was pregnant—and then... I don’t know. We’d seen each other in the city many times...so long ago. We lost contact, and I hadn’t heard from her in years.

“Then, one night last May, we ran into each other, believe it or not, on the street. In the city. We met and talked and I...I was in love all over again. We agreed to spend time together after I came here. I believe she was going to tell me that her child was my child. She said she had some special news that involved me and her child, and she had to give me the opportunity to choose. I think she didn’t want me to face a political scandal. But, yes. She and J.J. were going to come to the convention center. She’d told everyone she was spending a few days in the city—but when the speech was over I was going to be free for the next few days. We were planning to stay at a motel on the highway, talk...”

Mo paraphrased his words for Aidan.

“Ask him why they both had notations about
Lizzie grave,
” Aidan said.

“I didn’t know about it,” Richard Highsmith replied. “Wendy said she’d been on a field trip with J.J.’s class and that she’d gotten interested in local history. She told me she’d found a reference to a woman who was murdered, a woman who had loved Major Andre.” He paused. “She was aware that the major was an ancestor of mine. We were both going to look into it.”