Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (9 page)

“Because it’s been so traumatic!” Allison said firmly, giving
Annette a warning stare.

“Ah, yeah, right. I wanted to make sure she was doing okay. I’d
be in a loony bin if it’d been me who found Julian,” Annette said. “Well.” She
stood as if loath to go. Tyler rose to his feet, as well.

Allison looked at Tyler, wondering whether she was stuck with
him.

“Are you hungry, too? You don’t need to come with me. You can
find me here tomorrow,” she said. She didn’t know whether she dreaded having him
come along, or whether she’d be disappointed if he didn’t.

“Eating, yeah, I’m into it. Works for me a few times a day.
I’ll join you.”

Annette offered him her hand and Tyler shook it. “Nice to meet
you,” she said. “Call me anytime.”

“Thanks.”

Allison got them both out the door, then hesitated, looking
back, before closing it.

She thought she saw something move in the kitchen.

It’s just a reflection, she told herself. A reflection from the
outside light on the shiny steel toaster. It was nothing....

She realized she was afraid to come home alone.

5

A
llison Leigh did know and love her city,
Tyler observed. Her home was on Chestnut, near a number of tourist destinations.
When they left the house, she didn’t have a place in mind; she told him the city
was filled with wonderful restaurants.

They decided to leave the cars and walk down to Walnut, where a
friend of hers owned a pub called McDooley’s. His name really was McDooley and
the pub was very old. Oddly enough, another McDooley—no relation—had owned the
pub in the 1920s so there’d been no need for a name change when this McDooley
bought the pub.

Tyler was surprised that her explanation regarding McDooley’s
ownership of McDooley’s was given with such ease and charm. He hadn’t imagined
she was capable of being so lighthearted, but she had him laughing, and while
they walked she mentioned funny or odd tidbits of history that kept him
fascinated.

Her friend McDooley—first name Evan—was behind the bar when
they walked in, a jovial-looking man probably around thirty, and probably fond
of a pint or two, since he was showing the beginnings of a beer belly at his
young age.

Evan McDooley started off smiling when he saw Allison, then
quickly became grave, telling her how sorry he’d been to hear that a friend and
coworker of hers had died. She thanked him and introduced him to Tyler. Evan’s
eyes widened. “I’ve heard of you!” he exclaimed. “Will this be like…a real ghost
investigation?”

“Like a real investigation,” Tyler told him. “We go through
everything. Any possible structural problems, history, people involved with the
house—everything.”

“Wow,” Evan said, his hands frozen on the glass he’d been
drying as he stared at Tyler. “That sounds really cool. Oh, wait, no, sorry—the
house is closed, right, Allison? People will be out of work for a while. Hey, I
could use an extra waiter or waitress for the night shift, if any of you need
some income.”

“I’m fine. I’m researching a paper so I could use the time
off,” Allison said. “But I’ll talk to Jason and Annette. One of them might be
grateful for some work.”

“There’s a booth in the corner that’s free if you want to take
a seat and I’ll have someone right with you. Can I get you a brew? We have a
nice selection of beers on tap.”

Allison asked him for a Scottish ale and Tyler chose a stout.
Evan pulled the drafts before they walked to the table. Tyler hadn’t expected
her to drink with him, even a beer, but then he hadn’t expected her to be so
charming as they walked to the restaurant, either.

“Tell me about the paper you’re writing now,” Tyler said as
they sat.

She waved a hand in the air. “I already told you.”

“Tell me more.”

“Okay, well, I’m an assistant professor of history. I’m sure
you know we’re expected to publish. So I write pieces that appear in magazines
read by other professors who actually care about little incidents that
occurred—along with the major events, of course. I’m interested in the everyday,
human dimension of history—social history you might call it. Domestic life is a
big part of that. That’s why I focus on something like the Tarleton-Dandridge
House instead of the war.”

“How many people know what you’re doing?”

She made a face. “
Everyone
knows
I’m working on a piece about Lucy Tarleton and Beast Bradley, and that I’m
planning to write a book about everything that went on at the house the year the
British were in occupancy.”

“Did you leave papers in the office?”

“Some of my research, but it’s all copies of papers, newspaper
articles and letters I’ve gathered from libraries and other institutions. Also
copies of documents held by the house. As Annette mentioned, the originals are
under lock and key. Oh, plus some of my notes. The article’s a work in
progress.” Allison frowned. “I don’t know why anyone would want copies of what
I’ve got,” she said. “Honestly, I don’t understand what anyone would want in
that attic.”

“Tell me more about your friend Annette,” Tyler said.

“You met her.”

“For ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes should do it. She’s a bundle of energy, loves
life, loves working at the house. She enjoys working in the old taverns,
too—she’s on call at one called the Bitsy Betsy House. The staff serve at the
tables and break into period song with a strolling flutist now and then.”

Tyler grinned. “Sounds like fun.”

“It is.”

“What’s Jason Lawrence like?”

“Jason is a nice guy,” Allison said. “Responsible and a good
tour guide. Very entertaining when we go out to dinner together. Acts a little
silly when he drinks, but who doesn’t? He’s smart, and he’s been honest about
the fact that he’s heading back to NYU in a couple of years. He wants to do his
doctorate in political science.”

“You get along well with them? Both him and Annette?”

“Yes, we get along great.”

“But no one really got along with Julian Mitchell?”

She lowered her head. “You have to understand. We all
liked
him. He was fun, and he was a terrific
performer.”

“What about the board members? How do you feel about them?”

“The board?” she asked, frowning again.

Tyler took a sip of his draft. It was good and very cold. “The
board members who run the house.”

“Oh, well, they’re…fine.”

“You don’t sound like you’re all that fond of them,” he told
her.

“No, you’re wrong. I just don’t work with them every day. I do
like them. Not as much as my friends and colleagues, but that’s a given, isn’t
it?”

“I don’t know who your friends are, do I?” He smiled at her.
“If I’d walked in here alone, would I have known you were friends with the
owner?”

She grinned at that and raised her draft to him. “Ah, but
you’re an FBI agent. With all sorts of information in your dossiers and
reports.”

“A report can’t really tell you how someone feels about
others,” he said.

“But you do know a lot about all of us, right?”

“Not as much as I should.” He took another sip of his beer.
“This came up quickly. I drove here an hour after Adam called me, and I didn’t
get to my reading material until you ditched me today.”

“I didn’t exactly ditch you.”

“That’s
exactly
what you did.”

“A colleague of mine died,” she pointed out.

“Yes, I realize that,” he said quietly. “But I hope you’ll help
me. I’m trying to find out why your colleague died. Of the board members, who’s
your favorite?” he asked.

“Hmm. I’m not sure. Either Nathan or Sarah. Sarah is the kind
of woman who can remind you of a shelter dog—she looks as if she’s afraid she’s
going to be beaten. I don’t know why. She came from money, married money, never
had children and is a widow now. Her husband was quite a bit older. Maybe he was
a jerk. She doesn’t talk about him or the time she was married at all. She’s
very sweet and hard to draw into a conversation. I always feel like I should
help her or stand up for her—but I have no idea what I’d be standing up
against.
Nathan, on the other hand, is talkative and
cheerful, and he really loves the house and the history. Ethan Oxford is quiet
and dignified, and I don’t know him very well. It’s usually either Nathan or
Sarah who talks to us about policy changes and so on. And Cherry…hmm. She has
attitude. Or make that
arrogance.
The problem is
that she isn’t always right about historical facts, even when they concern the
house. And if anyone tries to explain something to her, she gets angry and tells
us she’s a descendent of the family and we’re not. But, in all honesty, I don’t
really blame her. She’s married to a well-known artist who gets tons of
attention, so…maybe it’s her way of making sure she has her own identity.”

“Interesting. I can’t wait to meet her,” Tyler said dryly.

“You haven’t met the board yet?”

“I have a meeting with them in the morning.”

“Where are you staying?” she asked him.

“At the Tarleton-Dandridge House,” he said.

She seemed startled by that. “You’re
staying
there?”

“Sure. It’s best to be right where you’re working. And I
thought you didn’t believe in ghosts.”

“I don’t,” she said quickly. Too quickly? “But no one’s ever
stayed there—not in my memory. There are so many priceless artifacts in that
house.”

“I’m not going to throw a frat party.”

She flushed. “We open the house and grounds for special events,
but bring in extra security. It’s just…well, paintings on the wall are
irreplaceable. Knickknacks set around the place are invaluable. Some of the lace
doilies on the furniture are from the 1700s. You have to be so careful in
there.”

He leaned back, smiling. She was always so serious, it was
rather endearing.

“What was high school like for you?” he asked.

“Why?”

“Brains and beauty,” he teased. “Did you ever go to a football
game?”

“Yes, I did. And I actually watch football.”

“Really?”

“Well, now and then.” She waved a hand in the air. “I throw a
party every year for the Super Bowl thing.”

He lowered his head, still smiling.

She continued, her tone that of a professor. “But as to the
Tarleton-Dandridge House…things there truly
are
irreplaceable. We lose so much history every year. We should preserve whatever
we can for the ages, for our children and grandchildren.”

“I won’t do any damage to the house. The board knows I’m in
there and they’ve approved. It was Adam’s idea. When my Krewe arrives, they’ll
be staying there, as well.”

“Lord,” she murmured. “Please. You’re going to tramp through
the house with all kinds of ridiculous equipment?”

“We have cameras and heat sensors, but we don’t
tramp.
”

She sat back, frowning. “You really should be supervised while
you’re there.”

He laughed. “Allison, think about it. We do what we do because
of a man who respects history as holy ground. We’ve worked in some of the most
historic and fragile and secretive places in this country. You’re welcome to
come back with me and see where I’ve set up,” he told her.

Evidently, that suggestion didn’t please her at all. She
ignored the question and pointed to his menu.

“You should try their shepherd’s pie,” she said. “It’s
excellent.”

He did; they ordered and their food was served ten minutes
later. He was surprised that she seemed nervous as the meal came to a close. “I
was hoping you’d be around during the day. You loved the house when you were a
child, you’ve worked there as a guide, and you can supervise everything that
goes on.”

“Maybe,” she said. “How do you know I loved the house when I
was young? Oh, of course, you have information on me, as well.”

“Of course.”

“That’s not really fair, is it?”

“I’m the investigator. I think that means it’s fair.”

“But what about you? Did ghosts talk to you as a kid?” she
asked teasingly.

“Nope. I grew up in San Antonio, went into the service, got
out, went to the University of Maryland for criminal law and became a Texas
Ranger.”

“How was high school for
you?
” she
asked him. “Wait, don’t tell me. You were a linebacker on the football team.
Cheerleaders were entertainment for you, and you somehow managed to keep your
grades up enough to stay on the team and get scholarships, but you were bred
with Texas machismo and therefore it was necessary to join the army before going
for your education. That sounds terrible—I’m sorry. I’m grateful to our armed
forces.”

“I joined the navy.”

“And the rest?”

“I don’t really remember the cheerleaders as
entertainment.”

“You dated one, though, right?”

He laughed. “No, never. I dated the same girl through high
school. She’s gone on to work for the Centers for Disease Control in Atlanta.
We’re still friends.”

“Hmm,” was all the response he received.

He asked the waitress for their check, only to find out that
Evan had picked it up and wouldn’t back down, even when Tyler tried to explain
that as a law enforcement officer, he could be cited for accepting a free meal.
“But Ally isn’t a law enforcement officer, and she’s the one I’m taking care of.
Besides, you’re her guest. And I won’t tell if you don’t. Come back with friends
and spend more money,” he told them cheerfully, waving away their thanks.

Tyler realized he was never going to get that check; he thanked
Evan, assured him they’d return soon and left their waitress a generous tip.

It was while they were on their way out that a slim woman in
very high heels and a tight skirt came breezing through the doorway. She almost
passed them, but then she noticed Allison and started to say something but saw
Tyler, as well, and stopped dead.

“Hello, Cherry,” Allison said.

“Hello, Ally.” She glanced at Allison briefly, staring at
Tyler, and then shaking her head as she looked at Allison again. “Oh, my dear,
it’s good to see you out and about. I’m so, so sorry about that charming young
man, Julian.” She didn’t wait for Allison to reply, but turned to Tyler,
extending a hand. “You must be with Adam Harrison’s people.”

“Yes, ma’am. Tyler Montague.”

“Cherry. Cherry Addison. You’re very welcome here. We adore the
house and want any…difficulties resolved. I must admit I didn’t think the idea
of bringing your team in to stay was the best, but we made the decision as a
group. And you certainly look as if you’ll be capable of managing any
situation.”

“I hope so, ma’am,” he told her. So this was the
Tarleton-Dandridge descendent. She was an attractive woman, determined to retain
the appearance of youth. Her hair was carefully cut at an angle, and her face
was smooth. Unfortunately, its smooth perfection was indicative of cosmetic
surgery or at least Botox.