Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (4 page)

Allison sighed. “Firewalker. He brought Stewart Douglas racing
back to the house, heedless of the British after he heard that Bradley had
threatened Lucy. Stewart was the man she really loved. She’d urged him to take
the horse after he snuck into the city to see her once, because Firewalker was
such an exceptional stallion he could sail through enemy lines. Firewalker was
born and bred on the property, and carried Lucy Tarleton on many of her journeys
in the middle of the night, when she rode out to bring information to the
Revolutionary troops. He survived the war and lived to a ripe old age, then died
here in the arms of Lucy’s sister, which means, of course, that we have a ghost
horse. We have a ghost hound, too. With the imaginative name of Robert. He was
Lucy’s, and when Bradley went to kill her, the hound tried to kill him.
Naturally, the dog died, as well. We probably even have haunted squirrels,”
Allison said.

Haley Dixon laughed. “I guess. It’s strange. The house is
strange because so much happened in it. I’m not sure I could hang around here
alone at night.”

Allison shrugged, smiling. “You get used to it, really.”

She announced to her group that she’d show them the graveyard
next.

The family burial ground was a popular destination. Lucy
Tarleton herself lay in a handsome private Tarleton crypt in a beautifully
sculpted tomb. Allison described the workmanship and explained that it was
common for wealthy families to have their own graveyards. She noted that Todd
didn’t want to be in the cemetery; she was shocked to realize that she was
anxious to end the tour herself.

It was finally time to usher her people out, but Allison was
still disturbed by the way Todd looked at her as he left with his family. They
were the last ones out the back gate, and he lingered. “A ghost can’t follow you
home, can it?” he asked in a whisper.

“I don’t think so. I mean, if we do have ghosts, I imagine
they’d just hang around here. Have fun tonight! Pinch a tavern wench somewhere,
okay?”

He grinned at her. “You don’t mean that.”

“No. She’d slap you. But go forth and have fun and be a
kid!”

When they were gone at last, she hurried into the house through
the back door. She found Jason Lawrence in their small employee quarters behind
the main pantry.

He had removed his Colonial garb and was wearing jeans and a
T-shirt that promoted his favorite band.

“Hey, you holding up okay?” he asked her.

“Yes, but it’s nice when four people actually work on the busy
days,” Allison said. “We could’ve used Julian. I understand why Annette had to
go—poor thing. She looked like she was in so much pain.”

Jason was an attractive young man, about three years her junior
at the ripe old age of twenty-four. They’d been friends since they’d met, and
although they had great chemistry together, it wasn’t sexual. They were friends.
He raised his brows and let out a sigh. “We may all love him for being a clown
and a prankster, but Julian can also be a total pain in the ass,” he said. “He
thinks he’s going to get rich and famous—and that we’re all going to be grateful
just to have known him. But you have to speak to him or to Sarah or someone else
on the board, because this isn’t fair.”

“I’ll try talking to him first,” Allison said. “And then, if he
doesn’t start acting more responsible, I will talk to Sarah.”

Jason nodded. “Mind if I scoot?”

“Hot date?”

“I hope so.”

“Go.”

“I hate to leave you alone…”

“I’ll make a run-through and set the alarm as I head out.”

“I’ll lock the back door. The back gate’s locked, right?”

“Yep. I can just hit the alarm and dash out the front.”

He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she heard his footsteps on
the hardwood floor as he went to lock up. She heard him as he moved through the
house, and she heard the front door close as he left.

To her annoyance, she was suddenly frightened in the house. She
silently chastised herself. Todd was at the age when he wanted to be a sexual
lothario one minute, and a kid spooked by a campfire tale the next. She wanted
to rip off her dress and stomacher and change into her comfortable jeans;
instead, she decided to hurry up and check the house, then get out of there.

She glanced over the room and went out, locking the door. She
walked past the dining room and the grand salon and returned to the foyer.
Looking up the stairs, she knew she wasn’t going up to make sure she’d left no
scared toddler or would-be ghost hunter in the house. She knew that every man,
woman and child on her tour had departed through the back gate.

A sense of something dark and evil seemed to have drifted over
her, and she wished she could call Jason back. As she crossed the foyer, she
stopped.

She’d heard a sound. A ticking or a…scrape or…

It was coming from Angus Tarleton’s study.

She didn’t want to look. She wanted to rush to the front door,
hit the alarm and run home, run out of the house screaming....

How ridiculous!

It might have been an air-conditioning vent or…wood settling.
There were probably dozens of technical or architectural things it could be.

She closed her eyes, shaking her head, annoyed again that Todd
had managed to unnerve her like this. She was a sensible and responsible human
being, a historian.

She walked to the room and looked in.

And a scream, shrill and horrified, tore from her throat.

Julian Mitchell
had
returned to the
Tarleton-Dandridge House.

2

T
yler Montague’s first impression of
Allison Leigh was not a good one.

But then, the woman had apparently been at the house where a
friend had died—either accidentally or through a very bizarre form of murder—for
hours before coming down to the police station to deal with more paperwork.

She hadn’t been
accused
of murder,
not yet. Probably because the police and the pathologists couldn’t quite figure
out how a woman her size could have managed it. Julian Mitchell had been big,
tall, well-muscled. For her to have dealt with the weapon
and
the man would have been a nearly impossible feat.

She had dark hair, so sleek and deep a brown, it appeared
black. He assumed she’d started the evening with her hair neatly tied back but
now it was tumbling down around her shoulders beneath an
eighteenth-century-style mobcap. Allison was dressed in the daily wear of an
upscale Revolutionary-era citizen—a robe à l’Anglaise, he believed they called
the gown—and looked exhausted. She was seated at a table in one of the
interrogation rooms, a cup of coffee in front of her, and when he arrived, she
had her head down on one arm.

“Ms. Leigh knows you’re coming to talk to her,” a quiet voice
said at his side.

Tyler turned to look at Adam Harrison. Adam had to be close to
eighty, but he walked with the ease of a much younger man and stood straight as
a poker. His eyes were a very gentle blue, showing signs of a smoky color that
might have come from his age. He had snow-white hair, and his suit was casual
and in impeccable taste. He’d arranged for Tyler’s Krewe to be called in because
of Ethan Oxford, an old friend of Adam’s with whom he’d served on many
philanthropic boards over the years.

Adam Harrison was the reason Tyler had left a career with the
Texas Rangers to join this extremely unusual unit of the FBI.

Tyler didn’t know
everything
about
Adam Harrison; he didn’t think anyone did. But Adam seemed to have friends
everywhere. A call from him and a rough road could be easily traveled. But then,
years before Tyler and his Krewe had ever met the man, Adam Harrison had been
putting the right people in the right circumstances. And while other government
agencies might consider the Krewe units as something completely separate and
even an embarrassment at times, they were respected for their prowess. They had
yet to fail when it came to finding the truth in any of their
investigations.

“And she knows who I am?” Tyler asked.

Harrison shrugged. “She knows you’re FBI.”

“She must be ready to crawl the walls. It took me a little over
three hours to drive in from northern Virginia, and we didn’t receive your call
until an hour or so after the body was discovered.” He checked his watch. “It’s
after midnight.”

Harrison sighed, shuffling his feet slightly. “The police were
left with no recourse, really. There was the dead man. There was the woman who
called it in. Tour groups had been at the house all evening, along with a couple
of other docents, and when Ms. Leigh dialed 9-1-1, she was the only one on the
premises. She was shaken when they got there. With a death of this nature, you
have to be suspicious of anyone in her situation. The sad thing is that I
believe she’s entirely innocent.
And
she’s just lost
a colleague.”

Tyler saw that Harrison’s empathy for the young woman was
strong.

“Did she suggest a ghost killed him?” Tyler asked
skeptically.

Harrison didn’t look at him; he continued to look through the
one-way glass at the young woman. “No. Ms. Leigh—technically Dr. Leigh—is a
professor, historian and scholar. She teaches history at the university, except
that she’s off for the summer. She also writes papers. Even when she’s teaching,
she gives tours at the house, but the point is—she does not believe in ghosts.”
He spoke with a grimace. Her feelings on that might change in the near
future.

“I’d like to see her, get her out of here and then read up on
everything that’s happened in the house,” Tyler said. “They aren’t charging her,
are they?”

“No, but they made the right call in asking her to come down
here,” Adam told him. “I’ll bring you over and introduce you.”

“You know her? Or you just met her?”

Harrison smiled. “I’ve made it my business for many years to
meet and greet politicians and those in law enforcement and, thankfully, many
remain grateful for help they’ve received. I was here when the house hosted a
dinner for up-and-coming men and women in the city, sponsored by municipal
leaders. Ms. Leigh was very charming and of great assistance in arranging the
evening. I think you’ll find that she can tell you more than you’ll read in most
history books. So, we’re not best friends, but yes, I know her.”

The door to the observation room opened just then, and a
middle-aged man with fine, intelligent eyes and a bloodhound’s weary jowls
walked in. Tyler had already met him; he was Detective Jenson, assigned to the
“suspicious” death.

“All the paperwork for the evening is complete. Ms. Leigh may
leave whenever you’re ready. Agent Montague, you wanted to go to the house
tonight?” Jenson asked.

Tyler nodded. “I’d like to get in while the evidence is still
fresh.”

Whatever Jenson thought of the “special” FBI unit that had been
brought in, he didn’t let his feelings show. “The crime scene people have just
finished up,” he said. “They’ve been in there for about six hours collecting
everything they can, but, of course, the house is a tourist location so they
have hundreds if not thousands of prints. I’ll get you Ms. Leigh’s key to the
house and the code to bypass the security system,” he told Tyler. “And, needless
to say, we’d appreciate it if you shared any findings with us immediately.”

“I can’t find anything without the help of the police,” Tyler
said, “so, yes, of course.”

Judging by his quick smile, Jenson seemed to like that. “You’re
free to speak with Ms. Leigh.” He glanced at Adam. “And get her home.”

Adam thanked him. They left the observation area and entered
the interrogation room.

Allison Leigh sat up stiffly, regarding Tyler with narrowed
eyes that gentled as she looked at Adam Harrison.

The man just had a way about him.

“Allison, I’d like you to meet Agent Tyler Montague. He’s here
to investigate the situation—and the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” Adam said.

Allison Leigh gave Tyler a long cool assessment. “The
house?
” she asked skeptically. “The
house
caused Julian to slit his throat on his
bayonet?”

“There’ve been a number of incidents at the house, Ms. Leigh,”
Tyler said.

Allison turned to Adam. “He believes he can arrest the ghost of
a Revolutionary soldier?”

Tyler answered. “No, Ms. Leigh. But the number of strange
occurrences at the house, especially in recent years, suggest that someone who’s
alive and well is playing deadly pranks. Actually, we’re here to see you home if
you’d like.”

She frowned, and Tyler thought her hostility toward him had
relaxed somewhat. “You’re not going to ask me to go through everything that
happened again?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather you went through the house with
me. If you’re up to it, that is. Otherwise, we’ll take you home, as I said.”

She stared at him, then blinked. He could see her mind working,
and it was fascinating to watch the emotions that flashed through her beautiful
if red-rimmed eyes. She’d been up for hours; she’d just lost a colleague,
possibly a friend. She’d been in the interrogation room forever. She wanted a
drink or simply to collapse for a while and forget the horror she’d
witnessed.

But he also knew that she understood why he needed to see the
house now, as quickly after the event as possible. She didn’t
want
to go back and see where her friend had died, but
she understood that anything that might be discovered would be most easily found
before too much time had elapsed.

She lifted her hands. “Of course,” she said with a nod. “Are
you coming?” she asked Adam, her voice hopeful.

“If you wish, my dear.”

“Please.”

Tyler admired the effect Adam had on others. He knew that
Harrison had once had a son, Josh, and that Josh had been killed in an accident
at a young age. Josh had apparently been born with a sixth sense, and when he’d
died, Adam had spent years trying to reach him. Tyler had recently heard that
the father could finally talk to the son, although Adam didn’t usually have the
ability to communicate with the dead.

What he did have was an uncanny ability to connect with the
living.

Tyler definitely wished he had a little more of that ability
himself. He wasn’t sure why he seemed to lack it. Maybe it was his height, which
people often considered intimidating, since he stood at about six-five. From the
time he was a kid, he’d wanted nothing but to be a Texas Ranger and now,
although he loved the change in what he was doing, he wondered if he carried
some kind of aura from the years he’d spent working in tough areas of Texas. He
didn’t know if it was his appearance or his no-nonsense demeanor, but people
seemed to find him imposing, and it always took him a while to convince them
that he
wasn’t
a swaggering, gun-toting cowboy.

“Well, then, let’s get going,” Adam said. “I know you must be
emotionally drained, my dear, but we’ll get you home soon.”

“That’s it? I can just walk out?”

“That’s it.”

She stood, a bit clumsily. Tyler saw that she was a respectable
height for a woman, maybe five-eight or nine, and that she wore the historic
dress exceptionally well. She seemed fragile for a second, as if she’d been
sitting too long and couldn’t quite find her feet. She didn’t shake him off when
he touched her, but she said regally, “Thank you. I’m fine.”

He released her elbow and they exited the station. Detective
Jenson was waiting for them at the precinct door. “Thank you, Ms. Leigh. Thank
you for your patience with us. And please accept my deepest sympathies.”

She nodded. “If I can do anything, provide any more
information…” She paused. They’d already kept her long enough to glean anything
she was likely to know.

Tyler’s SUV was just outside the station and he nodded toward
it. “We’ll get you home as quickly as we can,” he promised.

Adam politely ushered Allison into the passenger seat and took
the rear himself, insisting that even at his age, he’d show courtesy to a lady
until he keeled over.

Although he was silent during the drive, Allison began to
speak. “It seemed like such an ordinary day,” she murmured.

“There were a lot of tours?” Tyler asked her.

“Yes, it was busy, which is good. We work hard to make the
tours interesting and informative, and to keep the house sustaining itself.”

Tyler asked a few questions about historical tours as he drove,
trying to put her at ease. They reached the house, parking in the adjacent
lot.

Maybe it was fitting that there’d be a full moon that night.
The house seemed large and alive in the light, encased by the shadows
surrounding it.

By day, he thought, it was probably a handsome Colonial house,
built to withstand the ages. But now…

Now it seemed as if it were waiting.

There were warnings posted by the police. No Trespassing!
Invasion of the Premises in Any Manner Will Result in Immediate Arrest!

The warnings covered the sign beyond the podium that usually
advertised the property’s hours of admission and the prices of tours.

“There’s—there’s tape all over the house.” Allison spoke
blankly, obviously too tired to be shocked.

“Yes, your chairman has ordered the house closed for a few
weeks, long enough for a real investigation,” Adam said.

Tyler slipped a knife from his jacket pocket to cut through the
tape. He keyed in the code on the gate alarm.

“A real investigation?” Allison repeated.

“Yes,” Tyler said. “We’re trying to find out if the security’s
been breached and determine whether there’s another access. Also, if there’s
someone who knows the code and has dangerous concepts of history, dangerous
beliefs about this house. That’s why it merits investigation.”

Allison’s eyes narrowed again as she studied him. “You’re a
ghost hunter.”

“I’m not a ghost hunter—I’m an agent,” Tyler said. “
Hunting
ghosts would be a rather useless effort.” He
forced a smile. “They only appear when they choose to. Inviting
conversation—now, that’s another thing.”

Leaving her to Adam, he strolled up the walkway. He wanted to
spend some time in the house alone.

At the front door he once again slit the tape before typing in
the alarm code and using the key he’d received from Detective Jenson to let
himself in. When he entered the foyer, it felt as if he’d stepped back in
time.

Tyler stood there for a minute. You didn’t need to be a Krewe
member to “feel” a house, a battlefield or any other historic place. He’d seen
the most skeptical, steel-souled Texas Ranger take on a look of grim reverence
when standing at the Alamo. It was a feeling that touched most people on the
battlefields at Gettysburg or in the middle of Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame or
other such historic places.

This house had it. That feeling. It was a sense of the past, a
past that was somehow still present. Perhaps the energy, passion and emotion of
life that had once existed here lingered in these rooms.

This was a beautiful house and maintained in a period manner
that no doubt added to the
feel.

Tyler didn’t stay in the entry long. He could hear Adam and
Allison following behind him, Adam explaining that what they investigated was
history rather than ghosts.

He knew that Julian Mitchell’s death had occurred in the old
study, and he strode down the hallway toward it. He stared at the old maple
desk; blood stained the wood and the Persian rug beneath it where the deceased
man had been found. A few spatters lay on the reproduction ledgers and account
books covering the desk. Initial contact with the blade had caused a spurt, and
the blood had drained straight down. A lot of it.