Scarlet stepped right into the conversation. “Hi, guys, just curious—how did you get here last night?”
Gwen quickly turned to her husband, a look of guilt on her face. “We told Ben we were in for the night when we saw him locking the front door, but then we were both wide-awake, and we saw an article about these guys in the guidebook in the room, so we decided to check them out.”
Charles spoke up. “When we were dating, she used to sneak out the back to meet me, and we thought it would be fun to do that together. Trisha gave us a tour of the place when we got there, so we knew where the back door is and slipped out that way.”
“And walked down the mountain to town?” Meg asked politely.
“Oh, no. But we didn’t want to drive,” Gwen said, “because we both wanted to drink, so we called Tim and Bess Weatherly, a local couple we met and wanted to get together with anyway. They picked us up just down the road. Walk? This far?” She laughed. “No way on earth. And we used the front door when they brought us back.”
When Brett must have stopped watching and finally gone to bed, Scarlet thought.
“Where are Tim and Bess tonight?” Diego asked.
“Bess works tonight. She’s a waitress at the twenty-four-hour omelet place,” Charles said. He frowned suddenly, looking at Diego. “You don’t think that we... Oh, no, no, no!”
“What?” Gwen looked confused.
“He’s suspicious of us!” Charles said. He glared at Diego.
“We’re not suspicious of you. We just want to talk to everyone who was here last night,” Diego assured them. “We’re trying to find out where Cassandra Wells went when she left here and whether she was still here when she met her killer.”
“Like I said, she was just standing at the back, but she wasn’t there very long,” Gwen said. “Although I did see her talking to someone.”
“What did he look like?” Diego asked.
“It wasn’t a he,” Gwen said. “It was a she.”
“A woman?”
“Yeah. She was—hmm, not sure. She might have been tall, or she might have been wearing heels. And I didn’t see her face, because she was turned away from me. She had long hair, though.”
“Was she still here after Cassandra left?” Scarlet asked.
“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “I was watching the band.”
“Do you think your friends might have noticed the woman who was talking to Cassandra?” Diego asked.
“I don’t know,” Gwen said. “You could go ask Bess, and Tim will be picking her up when her shift is finished. Neither one of them is related to Nathan Kendall as far as they know, but they called today to say they’re not taking any chances and neither should we.”
“Thank you,” Diego said. “Enjoy the band.” He glanced at Scarlet. “And they’re friends of Scarlet’s, by the way, if you want a CD or an autograph or something.”
Scarlet looked at him curiously. He’d almost sounded jealous. She knew he wasn’t, though.
Did she want him to be?
No, jealousy and possessiveness had never been a part of what they were and hadn’t been why they’d fallen apart. She’d always trusted him completely as far as being faithful to her went. She’d never hounded him about where he’d been.
She’d just stopped talking to him.
“They’re friends of yours?” Gwen asked. “Cool. I bought their CD last night.”
The band chose that moment to break, saying they would be back in a few minutes, and headed down the back hall to the stage door.
Scarlet excused herself, saying, “Hold on—I’ll ask them to come over and chat for a minute.”
Eddie was just stepping through the door into the alley when she made it to the hall. He didn’t smoke, but some of the band members did, so they tended to go outside and hang together during breaks.
She opened the door to find the alley filled with a thick fog.
“Eddie?” she called, moving forward. There was a Dumpster just steps from the back door, and Scarlet paused, noticing something lying on the ground in front of it.
A body, with nothing but blood and pulp where the face should have been.
She screamed.
Within seconds Eddie was there, and Diego and Meg came bursting out the back door a moment later, followed by Gwen and Charles and a spill of strangers.
Shaking, Scarlet pointed at the Dumpster.
But the fog had lifted.
And there was nothing on the ground.
Scarlet stared blankly at the empty spot while the image of what she’d seen still burned before her eyes.
The Krewe members would understand.
Or would they?
She hadn’t seen a ghost, she’d seen the ravaged body of a young woman who’d been attacked by an evil killer.
Despite her terror, she knew she had to reason her way out of the situation or risk having everyone think she’d lost her mind. “Over there—I saw someone. They ran down the alley, I think.”
“Which way?” Diego asked her.
She met his eyes and could tell that he knew she’d made up the story to cover for something else, and also that he would cover for her.
“I’ll go,” Matt said. “Brett, you with me?”
Brett nodded, and they left.
Diego and Eddie both started toward her.
She quickly lifted her hands. “I’m okay. I was just so startled. He scared me.”
“I didn’t see anyone when I came out,” Eddie said, as the rest of the band came up behind him. “Bastard must have been slinking around behind the Dumpster.”
“You guys have to be careful, too,” she said. Even to her own ears, her voice sounded thin.
“This is Colorado,” Hanley said. “I pack a legal gun, and I was in the marines, so I know what I’m doing. I can watch out for us.”
Diego backed away to stand with Adam and the rest of the Krewe, checking out the crowd. The manager, a heavyset man of about fifty, urged people to go back inside. “Calm down, everyone, and let’s head back in. It was probably just a homeless man, but not to worry. We have federal agents in the house tonight, and they’re on it.”
He walked over to talk to Scarlet. She’d been at the Twisted Antler often enough that they knew each other by sight.
“You all right?” he asked her.
“Fine. I’m sorry I scared everyone half to death.”
“Can’t be too careful, not with what’s been going on lately,” he said, then flashed a smile at Adam. “Nice to have you guys around. I think it will be good for business.”
“Let’s get everyone back inside,” Adam suggested. “Eddie, if the band could start playing again right away, that would be a big help.”
“Not a problem,” Eddie said, and gestured to the rest of the group to follow him in.
Only when everyone but the Krewe was gone did Diego slip an arm around Scarlet’s shoulders and ask, “What did you really see?”
“A woman,” she said. “Lying there in a pool of blood with nothing left of her face. I don’t know why, but I think it was Cassandra.”
“What the hell were you doing coming out here anyway?” Diego demanded.
“What?” Scarlet asked, startled. “I—I wanted to ask Eddie and the guys to talk to Gwen and Charles.”
“I don’t care. Don’t do anything like that again, Scarlet. I meant it when I said one of us will be with you at all times, but you have to make that possible for us!”
His tone was hard. She knew he’d been frightened for her, so she tried not to let her temper snap, without much success.
“Sorry,” she said tightly. “Next time I imagine I see a butchered corpse, I’ll try not to scream.”
“I know how awful it is to see things lik
e that,” Jane said to her. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“But it could end up helping us,” Meg said.
“I don’t see how,” Scarlet said.
“We never know what may end up meaning something in the end,” Adam said gently. “That’s the challenge of what we do.”
“I can feel her,” a shaky male voice said suddenly.
Scarlet jumped at the sound, and Diego’s arm tightened around her shoulders.
She whirled around to see that the speaker was Daniel Kendall, though he didn’t appear as solid as he had earlier. She could see through him to the green Dumpster.
“I feel her presence,” he said. “I think she needs help. She’s trying to reach us.”
“Can’t she speak to you?” Scarlet asked. “You know, because you’re both...ghosts?”
He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. “I don’t know. I just feel something of her, you know—like when a woman has passed by you and you can still smell her perfume in the air.” He looked at her. “It’s something about you, Scarlet. I knew I had to reach you, maybe Cassandra feels the same way. I don’t know why. Maybe she’s afraid for you, too.”
“Daniel,” Adam said, “you may be onto something. But for now, we need to head back in before people start worrying that something bad really did happen out here.”
They said goodbye to the ghost, walked back in and headed to their table. Scarlet had worried that she might have ruined the evening for everyone. Instead, she had apparently turned a roomful of strangers into best friends.
They were all talking about what had happened. Then a young red-haired woman hurried over to Adam. “Sir, I think I saw the dead woman last night—I mean, she wasn’t dead then, but...you know. She was talking with a man. Maybe he was the same man your friend saw out in the alley,” she said, nodding toward Scarlet.
“Can you describe him?” Adam asked.
“Thirty, thirty-five,” the redhead said. “Nice-looking, friendly smile.”
Jane said, “If you can describe him a little more fully, I can sketch him.”
“Really?” the redhead asked.
“Really,” Jane said.
“I’m Miriam, by the way. Miriam Colby.”
They introduced themselves, and Jane pulled the pad she was never without from her shoulder bag.
Brett and Matt returned while Jane was working. Scarlet saw them go over to the manager and shake their heads, clearly telling him they hadn’t been able to find anyone. Which, since she hadn’t seen anyone in the first place, was only to be expected.
They came back to the table, where Miriam was sitting in Matt’s seat, watching Jane draw and, under Jane’s prompting, giving her details on the guy’s appearance.
“His nose was like patrician, I think. You know, perfectly straight, just the right size for his face.”
“Like that?” Jane asked, sketching.
“Just like that,” Miriam agreed. “The eyebrows should be a little more arched. And thicker.”
“Okay, I’ll adjust,” Jane said, erasing and resketching.
Scarlet looked over Miriam’s shoulder and gasped. She stared up at Diego and the others, and she could see that they, too, had seen the resemblance.
Jane had drawn an excellent likeness of Terry Ballantree.
13
When they returned to the Conway Ranch that night, they all headed straight into the main house despite the hour. Diego said that Ben and Trisha would just have to deal with the commotion and the fact that they might be waking up a guest.
Gwen and Charles had followed them back, feeling spooked after Gwen had come over to the table to chat, arriving just in time to see Jane’s sketch.
“That looks like Terry!” she’d exclaimed. “But, we didn’t see Terry here last night.”
“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” Charles said.
From that point on, Charles and Gwen had stuck close to the Krewe.
Diego had to admit, he hadn’t really figured Terry Ballantree for a murderer—but then, it was hard to think of anyone at the Conway Ranch in that light, even though logic led him to believe the killer was indeed connected to the ranch in some way. The timing of Daniel’s death seemed to argue against Terry or the Bartons being guilty of murder, and yet, he just couldn’t be sure that something hadn’t gone on that they didn’t know about.
Of course, the fact that Terry had spoken with Cassandra didn’t mean that he had murdered her. But Lieutenant Gray hadn’t called to say the man had come forward to say he had been with the victim. Then again, he reminded himself, he’d talked to several people tonight who’d seen Cassandra at the bar, and for various reasons none of them had talked to the police yet, either.
He ran through everyone connected to the ranch and was forced to admit that none of them fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer. Of course history was filled with sadistic killers who had appeared to the general public, even to their friends and family, to be just as sane and good-hearted as the next man.
He couldn’t help it. He still felt it had to be someone close, someone associated with the ranch.
If the murder weapon really was the gun that had gone missing from the museum—and that seemed overwhelmingly likely—then that meant the killer knew about the gun collection and how minimal the security had been.
But Terry Ballantree?
Why not?
And if not Terry, who?
Ben and Trisha, who had tied their lives to the ranch?
Gigi and Clark, who spent time here every year?
Angus, who loved his horses and wanted to keep his job, or Linda Reagan, who ran the household with ease?
Gwen and Charles, who seemed to have no substantial connection to the ranch?
Or Terry Ballantree, yet another descendant of Nathan Kendall?
Trisha was the first to hear them come in, and she wandered out into the upstairs hallway in a long flannel robe, immediately followed by Ben, who had his shotgun behind his back.
“What’s going on?” Ben asked, shaking his head as he walked down the stairs.
“Sorry to wake you up,” Diego said, “but we need to talk to Terry.”
“Maybe I should put on some tea,” Trisha said.
“No need,” Adam said, just as another door opened and Clark Levin poked his head out, with Gigi standing just behind him.
“What in tarnation?” he demanded. “Can’t you people be quiet coming in?”
“Sorry to wake you, but—” Adam said.
“Someone else murdered?” Clark demanded.
“No, sir,” Diego told him. “You’re welcome to go back to bed.”
“What? First you wake me, and now you tell me to go back to bed?”
“Stay up if you like,” Diego said. “Ben, could you tell me which room is Terry’s?”
“I’ll show you,” Jane offered, hurrying past him. “He’s next to me.”
She didn’t even have to knock. Terry’s door opened as she reached it. He looked disheveled, as if he’d just woken up and was still half-asleep.
“What? What’s going on?” he asked her anxiously.
By then Linda Reagan had come down from her attic accommodations. She, too, was in a robe and looked worried. “What’s going on?” she asked.
“Sorry to wake everyone,” Adam said. “We just want to talk to Terry.”
“At this time of night?” Linda asked. “Why?”
Diego ignored her and said without preamble, “Terry, why didn’t you call the police or talk to us about the fact that you talked to Cassandra Wells last night?”
“What?” Terry asked.
“Cassandra Wells. You were talking to her last night at the Twisted Antler,” Diego said.
“T
hat was Cassandra Wells? The pretty girl I was talking to?” Terry said, clearly shocked, his eyes wide. He sank down on the ground. “Oh, my God!”
Jane reached down a hand to help him back up, and Terry grasped her hand like a lifeline as he climbed to his feet.
He might have been faking his surprise, Diego thought, but if so, he was doing a damned good job of it.
“And how the hell did you leave the house?” Brett asked him, irritated. Diego lowered his head for minute, hiding a grim smile. His partner was angry that he’d been taken, he knew.
“Back door. I was down in the kitchen sneaking a snack—sorry.” He shot a guilty glance at Ben and Trisha. “And then I got the urge to have a drink and listen to some music. Since I was already in the kitchen, it just seemed easier to go out the back.”
“We also slipped out the back,” Gwen admitted. “We were at the Twisted Antler, too.”
“Why the hell would you people slip out that way? This is a B and B, not a prison!” Ben said.
Terry didn’t even seem to hear him. He looked over at Diego. “I swear to you, I didn’t know that was her. I haven’t seen the TV all day. She was there and she was pretty, so I flirted a little. I gave her a horrible line—asked her if she went there often. She said she liked the music. I asked her if she wanted to make some music with me, and she said she was in school, but maybe she’d see me around sometime. That was it, I swear.”
“We didn’t see you there,” Charles said.
“And I didn’t see you two, either!” Terry snapped. His eyes narrowed and he turned to skewer Diego with an angry look. “Wait a minute? They were there, too, and you’re questioning me?”
“We didn’t talk to Cassandra Wells, you did,” Gwen said.
It was going to get nasty, Diego thought, and he interrupted quickly.
“We’re just trying to find out if anyone saw Cassandra after she left the Twisted Antler,” he said quickly, and then asked Terry, “By the way, how did you get there? You didn’t drive?”