And that J.J. was such a great kid and an orphan now.
Finally, however, Mo and Debbie—who had kept her word and stayed with the boy—finished talking. Rollo’s giant head rested beside J.J. on the bed, and Aidan could ask the boy a few more questions.
“I know this is hard for you, J.J., but have you remembered anything else you could tell me?” J.J.’s face was strained, his forehead wrinkled in thought, but he didn’t cry again. He looked at Aidan.
“Do you remember where your mom parked?”
J.J. nodded. “Kind of by the side. Mom said the easiest way out was when you parked at the side. You could get onto the highway from there.”
“Thank you, J.J. Now, do you remember anything else—like a sound?” Aidan asked. “Or maybe a smell?”
J.J. thought again. “Not a sound. But I do remember a smell.”
“Good smell, bad smell?” Aidan asked. “This was before the hood—or whatever it might’ve been—was dropped over your head, right? That was a different smell, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah. That was awful—sicky sweet. This other smell, it was earlier. Maybe a couple seconds before...the other thing happened. It wasn’t a bad smell,” J.J. said. “It was like...heavy perfume.”
“Would you recognize it if you smelled it again?”
J.J. nodded. “But it wasn’t nice and light—like the perfume my mom wore.” He paused and bit his lip. He had obviously decided he’d cried enough. “I loved the way she smelled. This was more like...I don’t know. Not pretty or light.”
“More like a man’s cologne, maybe?” Aidan asked.
“Maybe.”
“Thank you,” Aidan said. “Okay, I’m just going to ask you one more question for now. Someone came up behind you. You didn’t get a chance to turn or scream or fight because they put something over your head.” He hadn’t wanted to subject J.J. to a more intensive interrogation the day before and hoped to learn more now.
Again, J.J. gave Aidan his full attention and nodded.
“Did you get a chance to notice what it was? Like was it a rough cloth or was it smooth?”
“Really rough.”
“Black, brown, green, blue?”
“No, no. It was light. Tan, maybe. But it happened so fast. I tried to scream. I wanted to scream—but then I didn’t feel anything at all. I was... I don’t remember anything else. Except then the first smell was gone—and, like I said, there was that sicky sweet smell.”
“You’ve been a tremendous help, J.J.,” Aidan told him.
“Your mom would be so proud,” Debbie said quietly.
J.J.’s face crumpled. But, once again, he kept from crying. As if on cue, Rollo whined and nudged J.J.’s hand.
“He’s such a cool dog. I wish he could stay here,” J.J. said.
Mo smiled at him. “He can visit every day.”
“J.J. might be out of the hospital by tomorrow,” Debbie said. “And so far...well, the social worker suggested I get a new job. I’ll have to talk to a lawyer, but like I mentioned, Wendy told me she was putting me in her will as J.J.’s guardian. You know, if something happened to her... I don’t want anything to go wrong, so I’ll find a different line of work. I’ll do anything to keep J.J. and me together.”
“I may be able to help you,” Mo told her.
“Yeah?”
“My friend Grace works for the tourist company that runs the Haunted Mausoleum. I’m sure you’d be a great tour guide. You’ve been here forever.”
Aidan found himself watching Mo again—and liking everything he saw. “Speaking of which,” she was saying, “I’ve got to get back home. I’m working tonight.”
“Hey!” J.J. said hopefully. “Maybe Rollo could stay here while you’re at work!”
Mo paused, obviously surprised.
“Um...”
“Please!” J.J. asked. “Debbie, it’s okay, right?
“Honey, it’s not up to me. It’s up to the hospital,” Debbie explained.
“He’s decked out the way he’s supposed to be,” Aidan pointed out, waiting for Mo to make a decision.
“I...I suppose he could stay. It’s a private room. I can come back and get him—if they’ll let me—later, after the evening’s over.”
“I can run him down to you whenever you come by,” Debbie said eagerly, “if you’re worried about waking J.J. or the staff being disturbed because it’s so late.”
Mo raised her hands. “Well, I guess he can stay then.” She went over to the dog and spoke to him. “Rollo, I’m going to leave you with J.J. for a bit—is that okay?”
Rollo let out a soft whine; he knew he was in a hospital.
Aidan stood. “All right, then, thank you, J.J., for all your help. And Debbie, thank you.”
“I’m not doing anything. I wish I could do something,” she said.
“Why don’t you walk us down?” Aidan suggested. “J.J. has Rollo, so he’ll be okay for a few minutes, and there’s an officer in the hall.”
“Is that’s okay with you, J.J.?”
“I have Rollo,” he assured them.
“Be right back,” Debbie said.
As they headed down the hallway, Aidan told Debbie, “You can help by trying to remember if there’s anything Wendy might have said about going to New York—and going to hear Richard Highsmith’s talk.”
“She was excited about their trip. She and J.J. were staying with a lovely gay couple she’d worked with once. I don’t think they were all that close. They were just good people who offered her a place to stay whenever she wanted to visit.”
“Do you know their names? We haven’t heard from anyone in New York City.”
“No, she just told me about them. She was careful with her money. And hotel rooms in New York are so expensive! She told me she and J.J. would be fine,” Debbie said. “I didn’t know she was stopping by the convention center. I did know that she admired Richard Highsmith.”
“Did she ever mention meeting him?” Aidan asked.
“No. She just liked his politics. I’m not sure how she’d meet him.”
“Well, they were both living in New York at the same time,” Aidan said.
Debbie laughed. “Them—and eight to twenty million other people, depending on the time of day. If she knew him, she never mentioned it to me.”
“Well, if you think of anything...”
“I’ll call you.”
They’d reached the ground floor. Debbie turned to Mo and hugged her. “Thank you!” she said.
“Me?” Mo asked, as if slightly embarrassed.
“Offering to help me with a new job. Always treating me like a real person.”
Mo smiled. “You are a real person, Debbie. And a really good one. I’ll see you later tonight.” Aidan opened the door, and they both waved to Debbie as they walked out.
“It feels funny,” Mo said.
“Leaving without Rollo?”
“Yes. But he’s such an exceptional dog. He knows when people need him.”
“You’re pretty exceptional, too.”
She looked at him, startled. “Me? Well, thanks.”
“You don’t think so?”
“Not particularly—but I’m mostly surprised by hearing that from you.”
“Maybe I’m just jealous because you seem so comfortable with yourself and your life,” he said. They were in a parking lot; he wasn’t sure he wanted the conversation getting any deeper. “So, tell me, what exactly do you do at this Haunted Mausoleum?”
“I’m the Woman in White.”
“Ah, yes—and no one’s determined precisely who she was!” They’d reached the car. He opened the door for her and she slid in.
Aidan resumed the conversation. “There are so many tales around this
place,” he said.
“I imagine a lot of places have great tales. But what this area had was Washington Irving. The headless horseman was supposedly a Hessian soldier who’d fought for the British—and had his head blown off in the fighting. Irving turned it into a charming and scary tale that gained a loyal following from the time it first appeared. Since then it’s been made into movies and even a TV series. There’s so much history here, from the Native Americans on, but I still think there might not have been an actual Sleepy Hollow if it hadn’t been for Washington Irving.”
Aidan laughed. “And it’s doubtful there would’ve been a town called Irving, either.” His mood became grim as he drove. “I do believe, though, that regardless of the legends, there would’ve been a murder. The headless horseman simply provided the killer with a ghoulish way of displaying his victims.” He glanced over at her. “You’re with people all the time you’re at that Haunted Mausoleum, right?”
“Oh, we’re in excellent company, don’t worry. I’m a family tomb away from Grace. It’s a good crowd to work with. Our biggest fear is that one of us will get too close to someone we’re spooking out and wind up socked in the jaw or something.”
They’d arrived at her house. He hesitated because she wasn’t with Rollo, but reminded himself that there was no reason to worry. Still, he’d been taught all his life that you walked your date to the door and made sure she was safely inside before you left.
He wasn’t on a date. But he was beginning to feel...responsible.
Responsible wasn’t really the word for what he was feeling.
“Mo, I’ll see you in. And don’t forget, if anything—or anyone—bothers you, call me right away.”
“Of course.”
As she spoke, another car came into her drive.
“Grace is here. We’re back in the nick of time,” she said.
“Do you have to go in and get anything?” he asked.
“No. That’s the great thing about being a character at a haunted attraction—you get your clothing and makeup there. No prep work.”
“Don’t forget to pick up your dog on the way home,” he said, then felt a little stupid.
She didn’t have to reply, since Grace stepped up to the car just then. “Hello, Agent Mahoney, Mo. Is everything all right? Did you need Mo again, Agent? Where’s Rollo? I saw the news—and I’m so grateful you found that boy. I’m babbling. Sorry. Mo, can you still come with me tonight? Are you needed somewhere else?”
Getting out of Aidan’s car, Mo laughed softly. “Grace, I don’t even know where to begin. But I’m fine, and I guess we should go,” she said.
“You’re doing okay with the investigation?” she asked Aidan.
“It’s moving along, Grace. And today, yes, we’re just happy to have the boy back alive,” Aidan said.
Grace seemed to want to linger by his window. Mo took her by the arm. “We’re leaving now, Grace. Aidan, thank you for the ride.”
As they walked away, Aidan could hear Grace whispering to Mo. He could guess what she was saying. He smiled. He wasn’t sure what Mo wanted, but he was pretty sure he knew what Grace was after. She wanted Mo to get involved—with him.
It was a sweet moment.
He called the hotel and spoke with Logan. Van Camp and Voorhaven were already there, marveling at Will’s multi-camera angles and the screens that showed them everything they needed to see to keep tabs on their suspects.
As soon as he returned to the hotel, they’d all meet up and, using everything they’d learned, try to recreate what had happened the night Richard Highsmith and Wendy Appleby had been kidnapped—and subsequently killed.
* * *
There was no way to avoid the fact that Mo was going to have to give a few explanations when she went in for costume and makeup.
She’d been with Ron and Phil and others when Aidan had come to the café looking for her. She played it down as best she could, telling them that, yes, Rollo had been helpful, and yes, she was thrilled and relieved that they’d found J. J. Appleby alive.
Then she had to deal with Grace’s teasing. “What’s the matter with you? I’d be jumping his bones.”
“You don’t jump an FBI agent’s bones,” Mo said primly.
“What? You think the man doesn’t have sex? Just because you don’t have sex—”
“I have plenty of sex.”
Grace protested in the most embarrassing way possible. She laughed.
“I just think it should mean something,” Mo said irritably.
“Sometimes it just means you have an opportunity—an intelligent, great-looking guy who happens to be available—and you take it!” Grace told her.
Mo didn’t want to argue with Grace—or try to explain that she didn’t want a man like Aidan just for a night. She wanted something more, something richer.
“People tend to think I’m...different. I’ve dated some guys who want to know all the gory details of personal cases that turned out to be homicides in New York City, and it scares the hell out of me that this is the kind of thing that turns them on. Other guys act like they’re afraid of me because I work with Rollo on missing persons cases that become homicides. And don’t laugh at me about sex, Grace. I have had it, know what it is and prefer that there be a relationship. That’s my personal choice.”
“I’m not suggesting you sleep with half of Manhattan or anything. But, Mo, that guy likes you.”
“I think Rollo’s the one he likes.”
“At least Rollo’s smart enough to like him back!”
She and Grace had that conversation in the makeup room. Before Mo had been completely transformed into the Woman in White for the evening, both Ron and Phil were agreeing that she should at least indulge in something with Agent Mahoney.
“Honey, trust me,” Ron told her. “If he was gay, I’d be on him like white on rice!”
Finally, she was finished, and the crew of monsters and villains was ready. Mo hung back, hugging the wall of her mausoleum.
That was when she saw him again. The ghost of Major Andre.
He wasn’t perched on a stone that night; he was standing, a handsome man in Revolutionary-era clothing, watching her pointedly.
She looked carefully around. The other characters were in their places waiting, most of them texting or playing games on their phones before the call came to turn off their devices.
Mo hurried out to the path between the mausoleums and the tombs and stones.
“Major Andre,” she said softly.
He came toward her, real and yet not real in the moonlight. “You see me, yet you are living,” he said. “You see me clearly, do you not? Do you hear me, too?”
She nodded. “You were watching me the other night.”
“You reminded me of someone.”
“Was her name Elizabeth Hampton?” Mo asked.
He bent his head to one side in surprise. “You know her?”
“No, but I’ve read about her.”
He smiled poignantly. “She’s not here,” he said. “I look for her... But I in all my searching, all my watching, I have not found her. My dearest love...”
“I don’t know her, but I’ve heard the legend of the Woman in White since I was a child. Elizabeth may be the Woman in White—and if she is, she’s somewhere in the area,” Mo said. “Do you know where Elizabeth Hampton’s buried?” Mo asked.
He stiffened and seemed to be in pain. Not angry with her, just in pain.
“I know I am buried in Westminster Abbey, far from here. In the country to which I gave my loyalty and my all. It astonishes me to see that the country I fought and died for and this new nation are now the best of friends and allies. Of course, it has been...” He shook his head. “One does lose track of time.” He stopped speaking to give her a slow smile. “I’v
e seen many people look twice or shiver when I am near. But it’s been a long, long time since I’ve spoken with the living.”
She smiled back. “And I’ve heard about your being here, in spirit, all my life. I’m pleased to finally meet you. And I desperately need your help. People have been killed, cruelly killed. And the one man who died left a message that said Lizzie grave. Do you know what that could mean? Do you think it could refer to your Lizzie?”
“Perhaps it does. Although I cannot explain why. I need your help, too,” he added. “If you can see the dead, will you look for my Lizzie...out there, somewhere?”
“I will. Can you tell me where to start?”
“Tappan,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“Tappan, in this place, now the state of New York. It was where I was hanged. Perhaps she lingers there.”
Mo nodded.
“And perhaps it is not my Lizzie’s grave that your friend was seeking. Perhaps it was my daughter’s.”
“What? Major Andre—”
“My name is John, my dear. And among friends, that is how I am known. Neither patriot nor redcoat. Just John.”
“According to the historical record, sir, you left neither children nor a wife.”
“She was with child,” he said. “I saw this, although she did not see me. I did not see her murder. I learned of her death. I watched our daughter grow in the home of gentle people who loved a child and saw her not as a rebel or a traitor, but as a child. When my Lizzie was killed and betrayed by those who should have loved her, my daughter was raised in gentle company.”
“And she died here?” Mo asked.
He didn’t answer her. There was a sudden commotion—the first group of visitors for the night was coming through.
“Wow! She’s good!” A female voice whispered with fear and awe. “You’d swear that Woman in White was talking to another ghost!”
“It’s okay,” a masculine voice returned. “Just a special effect!”
Major John Andre faded. Mo put on her deadpan expression and made her first circle around “her” mausoleum.