Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (25 page)

When they lay silently, she stroked the rich, tawny fall of
hair from his forehead, gazing into his eyes.

“I feel so right—and so wrong,” she whispered.

He smiled and pulled her toward him. “Living is right,” he told
her. “Hurting others is wrong, but living…and finding something you’ve longed
for in life isn’t.”

She realized again
why
they knew
each other, as reality came crashing back upon her.

“I feel so bad for Julian and Sarah,” she whispered.

He drew her close. “Allison, we can hurt for others. But you’re
doing everything you can to help them. Taking a breath yourself isn’t wrong.
Life is precious and fragile, and we live it while we can.”

She didn’t dare get too comfortable. She nestled against his
chest and started to speak. But then she trembled. “Your life is filled with
people who are ready to take on any fight,” she said. “And when you met me, I
was a basket case at the police station. You know so many women who are heroines
in real life, and I’ve been…pretty much a sniveling coward.”

His fingers threaded into her hair and he smiled, not with
amusement, but with wonder. “Have you never heard?” he asked her. “Courage isn’t
about not feeling fear. Courage is when you’re terrified—but go forth, anyway. I
think you’re one of the bravest women I’ve ever met.”

There was something in his words, something in the way he
spoke, and she felt her muscles begin to relax as she curled up again.

He smoothed back her hair and teased, “All right, the first
time I saw you, you
were
a sniveling coward....”

She laughed and started to rise. “The art showing,” she
began.

“We’ll get there.”

“It’s late.”

“So?”

His lips found hers again.

“We can make love quickly,” she whispered against his lips.

“Um, not too quickly. But we’ll shower again and dress for the
occasion with all due haste.”

When his fingers traveled seductively down her spine, she could
only agree.

* * *

Cherry Addison stood at the entrance to the gallery as
if she were royalty greeting her subjects.

Her manner was gracious—and affected, in Tyler’s opinion.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to be at the showing, after all. He
would’ve liked a night with Allison, never getting out of bed. A night in which
he described the good, the bad and the ugly in his life, and learned more about
hers.

Except, of course, people had died. And it was important that
they be here.

Cherry welcomed them as they came in. She was standing with her
husband, George, who smiled and seemed to be a genuinely warm man. The gallery
owner was there, as well, directing people toward the food and drink and telling
them they mustn’t miss the collage.

On their way to get some appetizers and a glass of wine, they
walked down the gallery, looking at the paintings. George Addison was very good.
The works on the wall depicted images of modern life: a mother holding a
newborn, her eyes filled with exhilaration and exhaustion, a child watching a
balloon disappear into the sky, a construction worker on a girder, happy as he
opened a lunch pail high above the world. The details were contemporary but the
emotions were enduring, universal.

“I can actually say I love his stuff!” Jane said, coming up
behind them.

“Take a look at the other wall,” Logan suggested, joining them,
too.

Tyler set a hand on Allison’s back as they walked toward the
other side. Here, George Addison had done similar work but these included
historical scenes and people. Tyler thought the paintings on this wall were even
finer, more unusual, than the others.

One depicted a tree with a worn-out, dirt-smudged Union soldier
on one side, and a bleeding Rebel on the other. A lone World War I soldier
huddled in a trench with dead men and dead horses around him.

He had painted the Tarleton-Dandridge House with a woman in
front.

Lucy Tarleton. She stood there with strength evident in her
expression, her stance—and sadness in her eyes.

Glancing down at Allison, Tyler saw that she was staring at the
image, the same sadness in her own eyes. She looked up at him and flushed.
“She’s so conflicted.”

“It was a time of conflict,” he reminded her. He lowered his
voice. “And, if I’m right, she had the problem of a hidden, illicit child to
worry about!”

They studied the rest of the paintings, all of them imbued with
a similar life and humanity.

Finally they made their way over to the bar. Annette Fanning
and Jason Lawrence were there, looking a little lost. Allison greeted them both
with a kiss.

“Nice showing, with Sarah dead on a morgue slab!” Annette
whispered sarcastically.

“Can’t stop the mighty wheels of…art showings,” Jason said.

“If I understand correctly,” Tyler told them, “it was
impossible to cancel the gallery and undo all the setup at such a late
date.”

“I guess so. And George didn’t know Sarah all that well,”
Annette said. “He’s a nice guy. No idea how Cherry rated him. Oops!” Her eyes
went wide. “I didn’t just say that!”

“But I’ll say this.” Jason lifted his glass, smiling at someone
across the room. “It’s a pity it was Sarah, and not Cherry.”

“Jason!” Allison said, horrified.

“Sarah was nicer. A lot nicer,” Jason muttered.

“Julian and Sarah are dead,” Annette said. “This all seems so
wrong.”

Allison nodded. “And here
we
are—the three guides who remain, huddled together. And there
they
are, the three remaining board members.” She
pointed across the room. Ethan Oxford and Nathan Pierson had arrived and joined
Cherry.

“Excuse me,” Tyler said. “I have a question for Cherry.”

He left them and walked over to the gathering of the board.
Ethan eyed him warily; Tyler knew that even though he’d done his best to be
polite during their conversation earlier, Ethan had taken offense. He knew Adam
had been to see him again after that, but he wasn’t sure how warm Ethan’s
greeting would be.

Tyler said hello to the two men, both of them friendly in their
response. Obviously, Ethan had decided that any disagreement had no place in a
social situation of this kind. Cherry smiled benevolently.

“Cherry’s husband is talented, isn’t he?” Pierson said.

“Very,” Tyler agreed. “He makes me think of the paintings at
the Tarleton-Dandridge House. Both of those oils of Beast Bradley were painted
by men with real skill.”

“George loves those two paintings,” Cherry said. “You have to
tell him you see something similar in his work.”

“Just curious, but I’m sure you read in the paper that the
young boy whose dad is still in a coma believes Beast Bradley came alive in that
painting in the study,” Tyler said. “Have you ever felt or seen anything unusual
about it?”

“It reveals a lot of bitterness,” Ethan said. “But then, it was
painted by Lucy Tarleton’s brother-in-law, who had reason to hate Beast Bradley.
Apparently, Tobias had been an up-and-coming artist before the war, but that was
his last painting. He was injured in the right arm by a musket ball just before
the battle of Yorktown. That painting was done immediately after the British
left Philly, and he never painted again. There are a few of his prewar pieces in
museums, mostly in New York.”

“But it’s just a painting,” Cherry said. “I was saddened to
hear about the man and his son. When something terrible happens, there has to be
a reason, even if we don’t understand it. To a young impressionable boy, I can
easily imagine it might be that painting.”

Tyler nodded and changed the subject. None of them seemed
convinced that the painting was evil. He thought they were genuine; he could
usually sense an outright lie.

“Cherry, do you know Martin Standish?” he asked.

She flushed slightly. “Who?”

“A historian named Martin Standish.”

“I’ve never met him,” she said.

“Have you ever spoken with him?”

The others were glancing from Cherry to him in confusion.

“Yes, I’ve spoken with him,” she said defiantly. “He writes
dreadful articles about the Tarleton-Dandridge House and my family. I’ve called
him and warned him to stop.”

“Cherry!” Ethan admonished.

“Ethan, the man is a fruitcake. He has some deluded idea about
being an expert on the Revolution and he writes a lot of nonsense with no
evidence whatsoever.” She faced Tyler. “Why?”

“Oh, I was just curious,” he told her. “I’ve read a few of his
articles.”

“They’re trash. And lies,” Cherry insisted.

He smiled at her and turned back to the others. “Did you know
that Sarah was actually killed by a snake?”

Ethan Oxford looked at him gravely. Of course he already
knew.

“A snake?” Pierson seemed skeptical.

“What are you talking about?” Cherry asked. “And please, hush,
this is uncomfortable as it is. We should have canceled tonight, but we
couldn’t.”

“There was a snake in Sarah’s car. It bit her. That’s why the
car went out of control,” Tyler said.

“A snake—in her
car?
” Cherry
shuddered. “What kind of snake?”

“A copperhead. And yes, please keep this quiet. The police
aren’t letting out any information about the cause of the accident yet. It’s
still under investigation.”

“Copperheads are plentiful in the woods,” Nathan Pierson said,
shaking his head. “I’ve heard of them getting into people’s homes, but a car?
How unusual.”

Cherry shuddered again. “The poor dear! I can’t imagine.... Oh,
I’m so sorry.”

With a quick farewell, she walked away. “Have you ever had an
encounter with a copperhead?” Tyler asked the men.

“Yes,” Oxford said stonily. “I’ve told you. I’m a hiker.”

Pierson laughed. “Me? No. If I found a snake, I doubt if I’d
even know what kind it was. I’d call the animal experts in a flash!” He sobered,
looking at Tyler. “Poor Sarah. She was such a timid little creature. It’s even
more horrible to think about how terrified she must have been before she died.
Excuse me. I’m going to go and say hello to that group over there.”

As he left them. Ethan Oxford frowned at Tyler with open
hostility. “My friends don’t go around planting snakes in people’s cars!”

“I apologize if I’ve offended you, Mr. Oxford. But you did call
Adam in.”

Ethan sighed. Tyler walked with him as he moved toward one of
the paintings; to a casual observer, it would look as if they were discussing
it. “Yes, I called Adam in,” he said quietly. “But I thought you people
could…perform an exorcism or something.”

Tyler shook his head. “We don’t perform exorcisms, so I don’t
know what you were really hoping for. Truth? Well, it’s hard to fathom what’s
happened in this house. The first ‘more recent’ death occurred in the late
seventies. Accident? Who knows? A man fell down the stairs and broke his neck.
But eight years ago a college student was electrocuted by a system that should
never have failed the way it did. Three years ago, you had a guide die in the
study, someone who died in
exactly
that same place
as Julian Mitchell. And now a man has fallen into a coma after visiting the
house. There’s a pattern here and it has to be stopped.”

Oxford turned to him. “It’s the ghosts, don’t you
understand?”

Tyler was startled, taken aback by the man’s desperate
appeal.

“The ghosts there kill people. They do. I’ve heard from
others…who’ve told me the painting of Bradley is
evil.
I couldn’t say that in front of Nathan and Cherry. And I certainly
couldn’t tell it to the regular cops. But you
know
the ghosts are there, and you have to…make them go away.”

“Mr. Oxford, the ghosts may be there. I pray they are, and that
they help us. Because a ghost didn’t go out in the woods, capture a snake and
put it in Sarah’s car. And a ghost didn’t smash Julian Mitchell’s head down on a
bayonet. Someone living, probably in this room right now, did those things. And
we’ll find out who it is.”

Tyler nodded politely and excused himself, walking back to
where the guides were gathered with members of his Krewe.

“I wish Sarah was here. I’m going to miss her,” Jason Lawrence
was saying. He raised his plastic wineglass. “To Sarah.”

“To Sarah,” they all repeated, raising their own glasses.

As they spoke, Tyler noted that Julian, a ghost still clad in
Colonial attire, was in the gallery, wandering in their direction. Allison saw
him and smiled.

“And Julian,” Allison added.

“And Julian,” they all chorused.

“An entertaining guy, even if he was an irresponsible ass,”
Jason said.

Julian frowned. He waved a hand, which went right through
Jason’s glass. But he tried again, and this time, Jason’s champagne spilled on
his shirt.

“Wow, that was clumsy!” Jason said.

“Julian!” Allison remonstrated.

The ghost grinned. The others stared at Allison.

“Julian, uh, he was a good guy,” she said.

“Yeah, and maybe he really would’ve gotten us all backstage
passes to some really great musical acts,” Annette said.

“I can’t believe I’d just left the house when Julian died, and
that I was walking around with a tray of beer mugs when I saw the news about
Sarah on TV,” Jason said. “It all seems so…hard to grasp. That I missed Julian’s
death by minutes and that I was doing something so…ordinary when Sarah
died.”

“I was asleep, mourning my lack of work,” Annette told
them.

“It’s a wonder no one else was killed in that accident,” Logan
said, “and a blessing.”

Adam Harrison arrived then. Tyler noticed that he spent most of
his time with Ethan, although in typical Adam fashion, he moved around the room
and seemed to make everyone in it feel comfortable.

Tyler’s mind raced. Cherry had made the call to Martin
Standish. Ethan had been in the woods.