The Hidden (7 page)

“Angus, hey, I wanted you to meet my—a friend. Diego McCullough.”

“Well, howdy,” Angus said. He didn’t rise, but he did try to wipe the grease off his hand before he offered it to Diego.

“How are you doing?” Diego asked him.

Angus shook his head. “Bastards! Coming up here to kill people. I’m pissed off, is how I feel.” Then, as if realizing he should say something about the victims, he added, “Sorry, too, of course. Sorry as hell for that couple, whoever they were.”

“Anyone riding today?” Scarlet asked him.

Angus shook his head. “Nope. Ben made me cancel. Guess he wants to wait ’til they’ve got the crime-scene tape off the place. I hope to hell they catch the bastard quick.” He frowned, looking at Diego curiously. “Saw you arrive this morning with some official-looking people. You the law?”

“In a way,” Diego told him. “We’re FBI.”

“FBI?” Angus said, surprised. “They’re bringing in the big guns.”

“They didn’t bring us in. Not yet. We’re here to support a friend,” Diego said.

Angus looked at Scarlet, shaking his head. “Heard they took you in for questioning. Idiots.”

That was one of the things she liked about Angus, she thought. He had strong opinions and wasn’t at all opposed to voicing them.

“I’m pretty sure they figured that out,” Diego said.

“Well, glad you’re here. Maybe you’ll catch who did it. Animals, they only kill to survive. Human beings, they kill because they’re sick mothers. Anyway, good to meet you, and good to have you here. You ride?”

“I wouldn’t want to get on a bull, but I’m okay on horseback,” Diego told him.

Angus nodded, as if that was important. “Can’t trust a man who won’t ride a horse,” he said. “Can’t always trust the ones who do, but definitely can’t trust the ones who won’t.”

“Good logic,” Diego said with a smile. “We’ll see you later, and somewhere along the line, I’d love to go riding.”

“Good man—we’ll do it.” Angus said. “And I’ll do the guiding. Ben’s a great guy, but he doesn’t know the trails like I do. Born and raised in these parts. I can show you what needs to be seen.”

Diego thanked him, Scarlet waved, and they headed for the main house.

“What are those two buildings over there?” Diego asked as they walked, pointing.

“That’s the smokehouse,” she said. “It was left as is, but you could still smoke something there if you wanted to. The bunkhouse is set up so they can handle more guests than the main house can hold.”

“Was it occupied last night?”

“I don’t think so. You’d have to ask Ben or Trisha.”

“I’ll do that,” he told her. “So, let’s go meet the housekeeper and the remaining guests.”

“Linda’s probably around, but the guests may or may not be there,” Scarlet said. “They could have gone hiking or into town or something.”

As it turned out, everyone
was
at the house. They were all in the huge dining room that stretched the length of the left side of the house back to the kitchen, with a nice counter pass-through for whoever was cooking each morning—usually Trisha.

The giant moose head hung between the pass-through and the door to the kitchen. It was about eight feet up and seemed to rule over the room.

There was one long table, and breakfast was served family style, with big plates of fluffy eggs, bacon and sausage, and Danishes, bagels and breads of all kinds.

The weekends were a bit different, with made-to-order omelets on Saturdays, and pancakes or waffles on Sundays.

When they entered, everyone except Linda, who was probably working, was clustered at one end of the table. A large coffee urn sat nearby, along with cream, sugar and a plate of cookies.

Everyone was in jeans, except for Gigi and Clark, who wore sweat suits, but judging by the lack of actual sweat, Scarlet suspected they had intended to take their morning constitutional but hadn’t made it.

Like everyone else at the table, they looked tired and worried.

“Hello, there,” Ben greeted Diego and Scarlet as they came in. “Join us—we’re busy thinking about all the things we don’t want to do because we’re depressed.”

“It’s strange,” Gigi said. “I mean, we didn’t know the couple who were killed. We never even saw them, but...”

“But it feels personal, because it happened right here on the ranch,” Gwen said.

“And we didn’t even know,” Ben said.

“We didn’t hear a thing,” Trisha agreed.

“What were they doing up here?” Clark mused.

“How did they get up here?” Terry asked. “The police didn’t find a car.”

“There are hiking trails all through the woods,” Ben said.

Clark stood suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said to Diego, offering him a hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Clark Levin, and this is my wife, Gigi.”

The others stood, too, and introductions were made all round.

“Pull up a chair—be depressed with us,” Trisha said.

“Thanks,” Diego said, pulling out a chair for Scarlet before sitting down himself.

Always courteous, she thought. But then, she knew Julia Lopez McCullough, Diego’s mother. And while she was the sweetest woman in the world, she had been an old-fashioned parent and had taught her son manners.

“Coffee?” Ben suggested.

“Sure, thanks,” Diego said, filling cups for himself and Scarlet.

“So you’re a G-man,” Clark said to Diego.

“A what?” Gwen asked.

“Government man,” Clark explained, grimacing. “I guess it’s not an expression anyone uses much these days.”

“What kind of a government man?” Charles asked.

“FBI,” Diego told him.

“I feel safer and less depressed already,” Gwen said brightening. “And your friends—are they G-men, too?”

“Except for Meg. She’s a G-woman,” Diego said.

“With so many of you here, we really
are
safe, aren’t we?” Gigi said.

“I told you before that we’re safe,” Clark said. “It’s just a terrible coincidence, that couple being killed here.”

“The police are certainly investigating every angle,” Diego said. “But I think you’re safe here. At the moment you even have a police officer parked down at the end of the drive.” He turned to Ben. “Just to be sure I have everything straight, was anyone staying in the bunkhouse the night of the murders, or was everyone here in the main house?”

“Everyone was here. Unless someone specifically requests the bunkhouse, we keep it empty unless we need the extra space.”

“How was it that no one heard the shots?” Gwen asked.

“Most of us weren’t here,” Terry said. “I was in town at the moose store. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was great. They’ve got moose shirts, moose mugs, moose welcome mats and wind chimes and you name it,” he said to Diego.

“But Trisha and I were right here in the house,” Ben said. “And we didn’t hear a thing.”

“We were watching television, and we had it turned up because someone wasn’t wearing his hearing aids,” Trisha reminded him.

“Trisha!” Ben said, his face turning bright red.

Trisha waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s a tiny little thing, but Ben is embarrassed. He’s afraid people will think he’s too old to be fun if he wears hearing aids.”

“Oh, Ben,” Gwen said. “My sister wears a hearing aid, and she’s only thirty.”

“Anyway,” Trisha said, “we were watching some cop movie, and it was full of gunfire. We might have heard those shots and not even known it.”

Linda Reagan entered the dining room from the kitchen just then, shaking her head and setting something in front of Ben.

“Thank you,” he said, his cheeks coloring again.

“No problem,” she told him. “I thought you might need them.”

Linda was tall, about five-nine, with ash-blond hair she kept swept back in ponytail and green eyes. She was far more than the head housekeeper, Scarlet knew. Among other things she discreetly managed guests who wouldn’t leave on time or caused problems in any way.

“What did you find?” Trisha asked.

Linda didn’t answer right away.

“Oh, just tell them,” Ben said.

“His hearing aids,” Linda said.

Heads lowered around the table as people tried to hide their smiles.

“Laugh at me,” Ben said. “It will be good for your souls. Linda, this is Diego McCullough. He’s an FBI agent, and he and some of his friends are here for a few days. They’re friends of Scarlet’s.”

“Nice to have you,” Linda said, sitting down at the table. “Terrible what happened. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked Diego.

“I don’t know anything yet. We just got here this morning. My fellow agents are in town right now, though, seeing if we can be of assistance.”

“Is it like it is on television? Do they get all mad when you guys show up?” Gwen asked, sounding eager for it to be true.

“There are certainly some police who are territorial, but not many,” Diego said with a shrug. “Usually, everyone just wants to catch the bad guy.”

“I get that,” Terry said, nodding. “I’ve heard there are, like, dozens of serial killers at large in the United States at any given time. It’s scary, if you ask me.”

“It
is
scary,” Diego said, then turned to Linda. “You didn’t hear anything last night, either?”

“I wasn’t here,” she said, and smiled. “I had a date. The police questioned all of us, though. Every one of us had to make a statement, even if we weren’t here.”

“He must be quite a guy,” Trisha told her. “She’s so picky,” she added to the others.

“Hey, my time is precious. We should all be picky,” Linda said.

“Maybe, but as stunning as you are, you deserve to be even pickier than the rest of us,” Charles said.

Linda cast him a disapproving look. Scarlet had a feeling Linda was simply offended that he would compliment another woman over his brand-new bride.

Gwen apparently didn’t appreciate his comment, either, and she must have kicked him under the table, because he suddenly grunted in pain.

Ben clearly picked up on what was happening and quickly changed the subject. “Well, I’m just glad all of you decided to stay on here. Trisha and I really appreciate your loyalty.”

“It’s kind of strange, actually,” Gwen said.

“What’s that?” Linda asked her.

“To be honest, Charles and I were torn about where to spend our honeymoon. The Stanley is just so famous, and it’s known to be haunted, plus the Stephen King connection is so cool. Years ago,” she said, reaching for her husband’s hand, “I was in the area, and I heard about this place, so I read up on its history. It’s really sad, the way Nathan Kendall and his wife were killed. And now this couple...it’s like history repeating itself. It’s tragic, but it’s scary, too.”

“And sick,” Charles said.

Everyone fell silent at that point, until Diego turned to Gigi and Clark and asked, “Did you hear anything?”

“We were in Boulder, having dinner with friends—we weren’t here,” Clark said.

“And you two?” Diego asked Gwen and Charles.

“We were...” Gwen blushed and fell silent.

“Occupied,” Charles said. They smiled at one another, still holding hands.

“I just didn’t hear anything at all...except for Charles,” Gwen said.

Scarlet could feel the general consensus around the table. Too much information.

“Then you got one of your migraines and took something for it, but you were still tossing and turning so much that I took a sleeping pill myself,” Charles said, rolling his eyes and looking at Diego. “I think Armageddon could have come and we would have slept right through it.”

“Migraines are tough,” Linda said, looking sympathetically at Gwen. “My mother used to get them. We had to keep the house dark and silent, and we kept bringing her cold towels for her forehead. If you get one again while you’re here, let me know. I’m a good migraine nurse.”

“Thank you,” Gwen said.

Diego drained his cup and said, “Thanks so much for the coffee and the company.” He smiled as he stood. “This is the first time I’ve been anywhere around here, so Scarlet’s going to show me around a bit.”

“Nice to meet you,” Linda said, and the others expressed similar sentiments.

“And nice to have you G-men—and a G-woman—around,” Charles added.

“Thanks,” Diego said, as Scarlet got up, too, and said her goodbyes.

His hand at her back, they walked out together. She was stunned to realize how much she’d missed that simple touch; Diego had a natural ability to simply touch her or put his arm around her in a way that was...

Not possessive, not exactly. He didn’t push or pull. He had always just touched her gently, a way of saying they were together that made her feel warm and wanted.

She reminded herself again that she was the one who had chosen to leave. She’d left because it had seemed clear to her that his work had come first and always would, but in hindsight she could see that so much of what had gone wrong had been her fault. She’d wanted to respect his work. She’d never wanted to become the little wife sitting at home, worried and always asking for reassurance or more of his time. She had told him that she was fine, and she’d really thought it was true.

But in reality she hadn’t been fine at all. In trying not to be weak she’d tried too hard to be strong and lost what mattered most: the trust and emotional intimacy of a loving marriage. She’d never told him when something was really important. She’d waited for the right moment to tell him about the baby, when she realized now that the right moment would have been anytime she’d excitedly blurted out her news.

But after losing the baby, she had simply been too hurt to see clearly and to know what to do. Escape—from both Miami and her marriage—had seemed the only way to erase the pain.

But he was here now, and she was glad of his reassuring presence, because frankly, she was flat-out scared.

Of a mannequin?

Or of a murderer?

“Curious,” he said when they were outside.

“What’s that?”

“Ben Kendall not wearing his hearing aids and watching some shoot-’em-up cop show at the time of the murders. And really, Gwen couldn’t hear anything but Charles?”

“Do you really think someone at the house could be involved? Maybe the killer just used a silencer,” Scarlet suggested.