Jane smiled at Diego as Matt drove. “It’s beautiful out here. I love the East, but I’m from Texas, and I do miss the West.”
“Fill her in on what we know so far,” Matt instructed him. “You’re closest to the case.”
As they drove, Diego told her about Scarlet’s call, the strange photos on her camera and the way the statue had appeared in her bedroom. He related the history of the Conway Ranch and Nathan Kendall, and also explained that the man had nearly two hundred descendants, which might be a factor in the case.
“Adam told me that the Parker murders were essentially identical to Nathan and Jillian Kendall’s deaths. But he also told me that no one’s been able to determine how the man found up on the mountain died, whether it was violence or natural causes.”
“That’s true. But if we can find out who he is, maybe we can find out what he was doing up there and whether someone might have wanted him dead. Not to mention someone out there somewhere is looking for him,” Diego said.
Jane was studying his face as he spoke. “You have a feeling it’s all related, though, don’t you? And that finding out who he is will help you solve the Parkers’ murders.”
“Yes, I do.”
“I’ll get right on it,” she promised. “This has made the national news, you know.”
“I know it’s all anyone is talking about here,” Matt said.
“I picked this up in the airport,” Jane said, and pulled out a newspaper. A stock market downturn had taken the headline, but just below the fold was an article about the strange copycat murders in Colorado. The fact that the husband had been related to the husband in the original murder was mentioned, as well. So was the fact that the police seemed to have no suspects, and no clues.
“Well, the second bit’s true,” Diego said.
“Their car hasn’t shown up yet, but the assumption is that the murderer found them in town and forced them up the mountain. There was nothing helpful at the scene, either—no hairs, no fibers, nothing.”
“But we do have suspects,” Diego said.
“Diego thinks there’s a good chance it could be someone at the Conway Ranch,” Matt said. “Guest, staff, even one of the owners.”
“And you don’t?” Jane asked.
“I’m not willing to narrow it down yet. I definitely think it has something to do with the past, though what, I’m not sure,” Matt said.
“We’re working it from every angle we can find,” Diego told her. “They never solved the murders of Nathan and Jillian Kendall. I believe the killer now is counting on our inability to solve these murders, too.”
“But why kill the Parkers? They didn’t own the ranch. Does the killer have some kind of grudge against the original owners, so he’s going to run around the country and try to get rid of everyone who’s descended from Nathan and Jillian? Surely that would be almost impossible. There’s no inheritance, is there?”
Diego shook his head. “The family lost ownership years ago. Ben and Trisha Kendall bought the property.”
“So it’s not as if he’s killing off all the possible heirs,” Jane mused. “Well, I’m looking forward to working with this skull. Maybe...” She paused, looking at Matt.
“He’s Krewe now,” Matt said quietly.
“Maybe the skull will talk to me,” she said.
Diego knew that should probably make him wonder about her sanity, but after what he’d seen on the zombie case, it made perfect sense.
“I’m all for the skull talking to you,” Diego said. “I’m all for anything that will solve this case before anyone else gets killed.”
* * *
There were more elegant hotels in the world and there were more historic places to visit, and there were certainly more ghosts at other venues, as well.
But Scarlet loved The Stanley; it offered history, beauty and charm, along with the splendor of the Rocky Mountains.
They’d visited room 217, where Stephen King had come up with The Shining, and rooms 401 and 428, which were reputed to be haunted. Their guide had cheerfully told them that yes, if you were flexible with dates, you could to stay in any one of them.
They’d learned about the man who’d built the hotel, Freelan Oscar Stanley, the wealthy man who had, along with his brother, given the world the Stanley Steamer automobile. He had first come to the area in 1903 because he was suffering from tuberculosis. His wife, Flora, had wanted a home like the one she had left behind in Maine, and so The Stanley had come into existence. Flora herself still sometimes came in ghostly form to visit and play her beloved piano.
The hotel itself was beautiful, a grand white building built in the Colonial Georgian style, and their guide showed them through the lobby area and out to the majestic front porch before they headed to the next building on the tour, the theater.
Scarlet still didn’t have her camera, and while she might have snapped some shots with her phone, she was too restless. The others all seemed to be enjoying themselves tremendously, though, and she was glad for them. She tried to envision what it would be like if the murders remained unsolved and everyone had to keep on looking over their shoulders for a killer.
Ben and Trisha might decide that it was just too depressing, too stressful, staying on at the ranch, always wondering if the killer would come back, maybe for them.
She would have to move on herself, though where and to do what, she didn’t know.
She lingered on the porch, feeling a little numb. That wouldn’t happen. The one thing she knew for certain about Diego was that he never gave up. His cases didn’t always end the way he wanted, but he always solved them.
Scarlet looked up and found Meg standing next to her. Adam was busy talking to their guide, probably discussing some piece of history. The other three were avidly flashing away.
Meg gave her a curious look, then flushed and looked away.
“What is it?” Scarlet asked.
“Nothing. None of my business,” Meg said.
“Now you have to tell me whatever you were thinking, because not knowing is going to drive me crazy.”
Meg took a deep breath and said, “Okay, but remember, you asked. I haven’t known Diego long, and I only just met you, but under circumstances like these, you get to know people quickly. So knowing what strong, smart interesting people you both are, and seeing how much you still care about each other, I can’t figure out what happened between the two of you. You seem like the most perfect couple in the world.”
“Far from perfect,” Scarlet said, then paused for a long moment and finally said, “Work.”
“Yours?”
“His,” Scarlet said, letting out a sigh. “Ironic, huh, since I called him the minute I was in trouble.”
“Not ironic—natural,” Meg assured her.
“I guess,” Scarlet said, shaking her head in puzzlement at her own behavior. “The thing is, I knew what I was getting into. We met, he flirted. We dated. It was whirlwind, but we were madly in love. We were married within months of our first meeting. It was bliss at first. I adore Brett, he’s not just Diego’s partner, he’s my friend, so I never felt shut out. And Diego was genuinely interested in my job. I was working on a very old Native American site near downtown Miami. And when we had free time, we both loved horses, sun, the local beaches...”
“Sure sounds like a divorce in the making to me.”
Scarlet hesitated, then went on. “Somehow, so slowly that I didn’t even realize what was happening, things changed. First it was just a special dinner.”
“He didn’t show up?”
Scarlet nodded. “Then it was a banquet with my colleagues.”
“Because he was working?”
Scarlet winced and looked down, and then met Meg’s eyes again. “Then it was the miscarriage.”
“Oh, I’m so
sorry!” Meg said. “You were in the hospital, you’d lost a child—and he wasn’t there?”
“To be fair,” Scarlet said, “he didn’t know I was pregnant. I kept looking for the perfect moment to tell him, but he was in the middle of a case and was never there. And then I wound up in the hospital. I called and called, but in the end...they released me before he ever returned my call. I just saw this bleak life where I’d always be alone, no matter what happened. When he did come home—upset because the case wasn’t going well—I told him I was leaving, that I had to get away, go somewhere else. I was calm. He tried to make up, but I was just done.”
“I’m so sorry,” Meg said.
“He’s a great guy. He’s just too focused on what he does. I still love him. I probably always will.”
“I think he’ll always be in love with you, too,” Meg said, and then looked at Scarlet questioningly.
“So what the hell am I doing now?” Scarlet said, her tone dry. “That is what you want to ask me, isn’t it?”
What was she doing? It was crazy. But they’d been married, and it was only natural...
She hadn’t wanted to be alone.
But that wasn’t really why she’d insisted he sleep in her room.
And now they were like a pair of high school kids, eager and anxious, making love like rabbits just because they had an hour alone.
Even in the midst of this mess.
“None of my business,” Meg assured her. “None of it was.”
Scarlet never had a chance to respond, because she looked out to the broad lawn and saw the man.
The man who had stopped her in town. The man she had seen at the cemetery. He was standing behind a large family group and looking up at where she was standing on the porch.
“Meg!”
“What?”
“He’s here!”
“Who’s here?”
“The stalker—the man I saw in town and at the cemetery.”
“Where?”
“There!” She pointed. “Right behind those people.”
Meg walked firmly in the direction Scarlet indicated. Scarlet followed, ready to indignantly accost him.
But when they got to the spot where she had seen him, he was gone.
Meg stopped and asked, “Did you see where he went?”
“No,” Scarlet said, frustrated.
“We’ll find him once we’re all corralled in the basement again,” Meg said.
But they didn’t see him there.
Meg told Adam what had happened, and Scarlet described the man to him.
Adam listened gravely, said he hadn’t noticed him and then looked for him in the crowd, as well.
But he hadn’t reappeared by the time the tour finished.
“I’m not crazy,” Scarlet insisted to Meg. “I really did see him.” Then she fell silent, because the others were hurrying their way.
“I love this place,” Gwen said. “I’m going to read every Stephen King book I can get my hands on.”
“I’m reading up on the Stanley Steamer,” Charles said. “That car in the lobby is something.”
“Onward to the bar,” Terry said. “I need a drink after all that walking around.”
Scarlet was ready to protest; she just wanted to go back.
“Wonderful,” Meg said. “I’m starving. I hope they’re still serving.”
“I wouldn’t mind something to eat myself,” Adam said.
So much for going straight back to the ranch, Scarlet thought. She knew she should have been hungry herself, but she wasn’t interested in food. She just wanted to get back to the Conway Ranch and—she had to admit the truth—Diego. She forced a smile and said, “Don’t worry. There’s always the bar menu.”
In the end they opted for the dining room. The food was always good there, and their waiter entertained them with more stories of the hotel while taking their orders.
Scarlet excused herself to use the ladies’ room and headed into the bar. She was almost around the bar itself when she felt a light touch on her arm.
She swung around to find the man she was starting to think of as her stalker sitting on the last stool.
She almost screamed.
“If you would just listen to me,” he said. “I’m trying to help you.”
Swallowing her fear, she said firmly, “Leave me the hell alone.”
The bartender swung around to look at her, as did everyone in the vicinity.
“I’m sorry,” she said coolly. “But this man has been stalking me.”
They stared at her, eyes widening.
She turned back to the bar stool.
There was no one there.
No one at all.
The closest person to her was an elderly gentleman in a wheelchair.
“Honey,” he said, “I wish I had it in me to stalk you.”
Scarlet winced. “I’m sorry,” she said to him, nodding toward the empty stool. “I was talking to the man who was sitting there a moment ago.”
Then she turned with what dignity she could manage and hurried toward the restroom.
9
“We searched as best we could,” Meg said to Diego. “Adam and I went through the bar, the lobby, the grounds—you name it. We looked everywhere for the guy, and we couldn’t find him.”
They were standing alone in the ranch car park. Diego hadn’t wanted to talk in the museum, where voices might carry. And he certainly didn’t want to talk at the main house, where curious minds were everywhere.
But he was concerned and wanted Meg’s private take on what had happened, so they’d come out here to talk freely.
When Scarlet had greeted him on her return, she had been calm—too calm—and yet distracted, as if her thoughts were somewhere else entirely even as she spoke to him. Oddly, he’d felt as if she was burning up with submerged anger at the same time.
Anxious to find out what was going on, he’d escaped with Meg, explaining that Jane had given him something for her, but he’d left it in the car.
It had sounded lame even to him, but Scarlet hadn’t seemed to notice. She’d said little except that everyone had enjoyed the tour and she’d managed not to get frantic in front of anyone except Meg after she’d seen “the stalker,” as she called him now, for the second time that night at the bar.
“Did you see him, too?” Diego asked Meg.
“No, I didn’t, and neither did Adam. But if he was registered for a tour or if he’s a guest, we’ll find out,” Meg assured him. “Do you think he could be the killer?”
“I just don’t know. From what Scarlet has said, he just keeps warning her to be careful.”
“Plenty of killers stalk their victims and warn them.”
“I know that, but I don’t think our killer does anything in public that would get him noticed. Wherever he found Candace and Larry—perhaps at a tourist attraction—I think he lured them away. Because no one witnessed anything. Their pictures have run in the paper. Several shop owners and a waitress remember seeing them. But no one saw anything happen to them. Someone who warns her and disappears... I don’t know. The killer has to be someone who knows the area, though, and unless you’re a big believer in coincidence, he knows local history, too.”
“Nathan Kendall,” Meg said.
“The ghost of Nathan Kendall?” Diego asked.
“You say that as if you find it hard to believe, and yet you agreed to join the Krewe.”
“I’m open to anything, Meg. I know I saw the ghosts of Miguel and Maria Gomez after the Miami zombie case. And if anyone might want justice, it’s Nathan Kendall. It’s not that.”
“What, then?”
“It can’t be the ghost of Nathan Kendall. We’ve all seen the statue, and it’s s
upposed to be a perfect likeness of the real man. If her stalker looked even remotely like Nathan Kendall, Scarlet would know that and say so. Someone did a good job of scaring the hell out of her with that statue.”
“You don’t think it moved on its own?” Meg asked, and he knew it was a serious question.
“I look at that thing sometimes and I could swear its expression changes. But no, I don’t think it moved on its own.”
“So you think someone got into the museum at night and, without being heard, wrestled that statue up the stairs and into her bedroom? Someone who intended to scare her?” Meg asked. “Someone who was alive and well?”
“I’m not sure about the ‘well,’ but otherwise, yes, that’s exactly what I think. I think whoever did it may have been trying to make Scarlet look crazy. He could be behind the disappearing photos on her camera, too.”
“So you think the real killer was trying to make it look as if she is the murderer?” Meg asked.
“Maybe. I’m hoping our techs can find out something from that camera of hers. Maybe it’s just part of the killer’s game—scare someone half to death and then...”
“And then what?” Meg asked. “Kill them?”
Diego nodded. “I mean, we have no idea if anything like this happened to the Parkers before they were murdered.”
“We’re not going to let him get close to her, Diego. One of us will stick to her like glue. She’s going to be okay. She’s stronger than you think. Stronger than she thinks.”
“She was alone tonight,” he pointed out.
“In a hotel full of people,” she reminded him. “Adam and I were right there.”
“I know—we just have to be closer.”
Meg was studying him oddly. As if she knew something she didn’t want to talk about.
“You two are getting friendly,” he said.
“I like Scarlet.”
He lowered his head. “She told you about our breakup, didn’t she?”
“It’s not my business.”
“Maybe, but I suspect your opinion of me took a hit.”
“I’m no different from you,” she admitted. “I’ve been as obsessed with work as the next person, trust me. I’d never judge you because sometimes your work comes first.”