It was a long night. She kept an eye out for Major Andre as it went on.
He did not reappear.
* * *
With Van Camp and Voorhaven at the hotel watching the cameras, Aidan felt free to make use of his entire Krewe. They drove out to the convention center.
Aidan walked them through what he knew of the events of the day, showing Will, Logan, Jane and Sloan where each person had claimed to be when Richard was last seen.
“Was Bari Macaby certain she heard someone answer her from the restroom?” Logan asked.
“She’s convinced she heard someone, yes,” Aidan said. “And assumed it was Richard.”
“Let’s play it out. I’ll be Jillian. I was supposedly here—and then onstage with the sound people,” Jane said.
“I’ll take Taylor Branch,” Sloan offered. “And, Aidan, you should be Richard Highsmith. You knew him. You can never tell when something you know about a person might kick in,” Logan said.
“That means Will or Logan gets to be Bari Macaby,” Jane told him, grinning.
“I’ll be Bari,” Logan said. “Will can supervise and make sure we’ll all where we—or rather, they—claimed to be.”
“We’ll go through it once with the assumption that Jillian was involved, and once assuming it was Taylor Branch. We’ll even do a version figuring that Bari Macaby might have been the one,” Aidan said.
As planned, they began going through the scenario three times.
“All right,” Aidan eventually said. “Let’s see if this works. Richard, Taylor and Jillian are all in the greenroom. Bari stops by to see what Richard would like to eat. As soon as she’s gone, either Taylor or Jillian leaves the room. He’s left with just one of them. Say the accomplice arrived by a delivery truck. Bari would be in the kitchen then, arranging for the snack Richard requested. That would leave one of them several minutes with Richard—either to knock him out and carry him, or trick him into accompanying him or her.”
“Via Bari’s emergency exit to her secret smoking nook,” Jane said.
“I think he was tricked into going out with whomever,” Aidan said thoughtfully. “It would be easier to get him out if he was moving under his own steam, voluntarily. He wasn’t a small man. He was fit and well-muscled. So let’s go with the scenario that he was tricked. But if the person in question knew everyone else’s timing, he could conceivably knock him out, throw him over a shoulder and carry him out.” He paused. “That does suggest a man rather than a woman.”
“But there’s an alarm on the door,” Sloan pointed out.
“And the code number to bypass the alarm is 5421,” Aidan said dryly. “Anyone could have gotten that code. I was with Bari Macaby when she used it. Not hard to watch someone and memorize a four-digit code.”
“Maybe Richard was tricked into going outside. What would’ve made him do that?” Jane asked.
“The belief that he was needed,” Aidan said decisively.
“Let’s keep walking through this,” Logan suggested.
“Okay. Will, watch everyone. We’ll begin with the three of us in the greenroom,” Aidan said.
“So here we are, the three of us. And I’m Bari,” Logan murmured. “Mr. Highsmith, what would you like? Ah, yes, tea and some cheese and crackers. Okay, I’ll be in the kitchen.” They went through the motions twice. Both times it took Logan thirteen minutes to walk out of the room, make his way to the kitchen, wait three minutes for a tray to be set up, and return. In each simulation one or the other—Taylor or Jillian—had time to leave while the other urged ‘Richard’ out of the greenroom and down the hall to the emergency exit.
“Four minutes before Jillian had to be back in the stage area so she could be seen by everyone,” Jane noted.
“So, the moment Richard is outside, a vehicle’s ready to take him,” Jane mused. “Probably some kind of delivery truck. Someone, an accomplice, is there and either knocks him out and whisks him away or grabs his unconscious body and whisks that away.”
“And, of course,” Aidan said, “the way we’ve figured it...there are a few minutes in there where anyone might’ve gotten into the greenroom. If, that is, Taylor Branch and Jillian Durfey both prove to be innocent.”
“We’ll look into the security men and the sound-system people, and check out records related to every name that was collected when Highsmith disappeared,” Logan added.
Aidan nodded. “And we’ll need to find out who delivered what on the day of the murders.”
“I’ll get on that research immediately,” Jane said. “We’ll send the info to the home office on everyone questioned when Richard first disappeared.”
“We need more on Wendy Appleby, too. What was her real connection to Richard?” Aidan asked.
“That could be the key,” Logan agreed.
“I’ll trace her history. And as for other possible candidates who were in this building, I can cross-reference names with any possible political tie-ins,” Will said.
“Concentrate on what you can learn about Bari Macaby,” Logan told him. “Make sure she’s exactly who she says she is.” He turned to Aidan. “It would help, of course, if we had some contact with one of the deceased.”
Aidan took a deep breath, trying not to feel the usual knot in his stomach that came up whenever the situation—or their discussion—had to do with the living seeing the dead.
“Okay,” he began. “You’re all part of this experienced special unit. And I’m not completely sure why I was called in. Apparently you all have what it takes to be Krewe, and I’m not convinced that I do. Not anymore. If I ever did.”
Logan studied him. “You’ve got something. Jackson Crow wouldn’t have asked you to join the New York office if he hadn’t seen that skill in you. We’ll do our best, but you knew Highsmith, and that makes a difference.”
Aidan couldn’t remember if he’d ever mentioned to any of the Krewe that he’d known Richard.
But they had so much reference material available to them...
Of course they knew. They knew everything about him. Maybe even the kind of shirts he bought or his favorite brand of toothpaste.
And hadn’t he been asking Mo Deauville to do what he knew could be done?
“I haven’t made contact with Richard in any way,” he said quietly.
“Maybe, you will soon,” Logan said, just as quietly.
* * *
Mo was surprised to find Aidan Mahoney outside the emergency room entrance when she and Grace arrived to pick up Rollo once they’d had finished for the night.
“He’s here!” Grace said in a loud whisper. She looked at Mo. “He’s here—for you. He’s got the dog.”
“No, he’s not here for me. He’s here because he checked on J.J. after doing...whatever he did tonight. And he was nice enough to bring Rollo down for us.”
“You’re pathetic,” Grace muttered.
Maybe he did have an interest in her. He was ever hopeful that she’d contact Richard.
She had contacted him.
She was happy to oblige in any way she could; she’d do anything to help.
She and Grace got out of the car and walked over to the hospital. Grace was obviously amused, certain that someone was about to get lucky.
“Good evening, ladies,” Aidan said. Rollo wagged his tail ecstatically.
“Good evening, Agent Mahoney!” Grace returned. “Nice to see you again.”
“I wanted to check on things,” Aidan said. “And...well, I figured it was so late, I’d bring Rollo down for a bathroom break and have him out here when you came by.”
Rollo barked, apparently agreeing with that explanation.
“Thanks,” Grace said. “And since you’re here...” She paused and smiled like some kind of matchmaker. “You can drop Rollo and Mo off.
I’m much closer to the hospital and that way I won’t have to double back. And you two can talk about...finding people and stuff like that.”
Mo didn’t protest, although she was horrified by Grace’s broad grin and her unmistakable attempt to throw the two of them together. But Mo knew that if she said anything, she’d look like an idiot who didn’t care about making her friend drive around all night.
“That’s not a problem,” Aidan said. “I can easily drive them home.”
“Well, then, you two can see me safely to my car.” She turned toward the parking lot. “Agent Mahoney, have you taken part in any of our haunted happenings yet? You should come through the Haunted Mausoleum sometime. We’ve gotten rid of our headless horseman for the season,” she added somberly.
“Perhaps I will,” Aidan said.
Grace got into her car, revved the engine and bade them both good-night, still smiling secretively.
Aidan and Mo were left there to stare at each other.
“How was J.J.?” Mo asked.
“Fine. Or as fine as possible under the circumstances. They were going to release him tomorrow, but I’ve asked that he be kept another day.”
“Oh?”
“He’s safe at the hospital. Once he and Debbie are out of there...he’ll need round-the-clock protection.”
“But the killer had his chance to kill J.J. He didn’t.”
“He chose not to strangle and behead a young boy,” Aidan said. “He left him in a vault deep in the earth. If J.J. had been there much longer, he would’ve died.”
“You think you can catch the killer overnight?”
“I wish. Well, let me drive you and Rollo home,” he said.
They walked to his car and Aidan opened the door for Rollo, then for her. When they’d driven for a few minutes, she felt the silence between them had grown uncomfortable. Awkward. “Is the investigation getting anywhere?” she asked him.
“We’re somewhere,” he told her. “I still believe someone in Richard’s retinue was involved, but it’s possible—though not plausible—that it was someone else, someone at the convention center. We know there had to be a connection between Richard and Wendy, although we haven’t established what it was. We strongly feel we’re looking for two people.” He glanced over at her as he drove. “And I still believe that Lizzie grave meant something, that it’s important to the case.”
Mo hesitated. “I think I may know a little more about that.”
“Oh?” He glanced her way again.
She stared straight ahead, realizing that her words might sound ridiculous. “I saw Major Andre tonight.”
“Major Andre?” he repeated. “You don’t mean as one of your characters at the Haunted Mausoleum, right?”
“No. I play the Woman in White. I thought I saw him the night before. But tonight, I...spoke with him.”
She waited for him to deny that was even possible. His wanting her to speak with Richard’s ghost was one thing. Her speaking with a Revolutionary spy might be quite another.
“What did he say? How could he help?” he asked.
“From the way he looked at me, I could tell that he thought he was seeing another ghost. Dressed up, I must have resembled his Lizzie—or Elizabeth Hampton. He’s been searching for her all these years. But, here’s something I hadn’t known. He told me Lizzie had a child—named Lizzie, or Elizabeth, too. He believes the words might refer to her grave.”
“And did he know where it was?”
“No, but he wanted me to find his Lizzie, Elizabeth Hampton, for him.”
Aidan didn’t respond. He seemed disappointed. “I’m not sure how that’ll get us closer to the truth,” he finally said.
“I don’t, either, but you’re the one who was interested in Lizzie’s grave. Maybe if we find the Woman in White, she could tell us more about it. And if we do find Lizzie’s grave, the daughter’s grave, I mean, that’ll help.”
“Did he give you any idea where to start?”
“Tappan, New York. It’s not far from here.”
“I know.”
“It’s where Andre was hanged.”
He smiled. “I know,” he said again.
They’d reached her house. He exited the car just as she did. When Rollo had bounded out, Aidan came around to walk her to her door.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll pick you up in the morning—a few hours from now—and we’ll go to Tappan. You’re willing to go?”
“Of course.”
They were at her door by then. She opened it, her mind racing. She could’ve told him that she’d also seen Richard Highsmith. But Richard hadn’t given her anything useful, not yet; she should wait. Wait until she did have something to say.
They stood at her door. She was shocked when he touched her chin, raising it gently, his actions curious and almost tender, puzzlement in his eyes.
“What is it?” he asked her.
“Nothing,” she murmured. “I, uh, just have to find my keys.”
She fumbled in her purse, her eyes still on his.
She could imagine what Grace would be saying if she was there. Grace would be pushing her, prodding her. Grace would whisper, Hey, go on in. Release a little tension. Come on, guys, get it on!
“I saw Richard Highsmith,” she said in a rush.
His hand seemed to freeze.
“You saw him? You didn’t tell me?”
“Because he was gone before he could say anything. He’s...he’s new. To being a ghost. Sometimes the dead have a hard time retaining...form, I guess. But he knows he can come to me now. I’m hoping...”
She thought Aidan would pull away in frustration. Or anger.
But he didn’t.
“You do have something really wonderful, you know?” he said softly.
Then his head lowered and his mouth touched hers. It was a slow kiss, as if his fascination with her had inevitably drawn him close.
His mouth lingered, but he finally lifted his head. “Sorry,” he murmured, stepping away. He smiled ruefully. “I’ll be back in a few hours. I can see you’re all right here, or Rollo would be barking like Armageddon was upon us. Go on in. I’ll see you in the morning.”
She stood, frozen.
“Mo, go in. And don’t wander out at night—even for Richard.”
She managed to retrieve her keys and open the door. She stepped inside, locking it, and then, through the little window, saw him walk away.
Mo leaned against the door, feeling as if her knees had turned to rubber.
He’d kissed her. Better than crazy, wild sex.
No, crazy, wild sex would’ve been great, too.
Rollo barked; she snapped to her senses.
It was really late, and Aidan was coming back for her in just a few hours.
She went to bed, but couldn’t sleep. In the dim light cast by the hall lamp, she stared at the bookshelves by her dresser.
Washington Irving’s series on George Washington was on one row; his other works, including “The Legend of Sleepy Hollow,” were on another.
She closed her eyes and tried once again to sleep. She wasn’t sure if she did or not. In her mind’s eye, she saw the forests of Tarrytown as Washington Irving had seen them in his day.
She saw the bridge that Ichabod Crane had needed to reach to escape the horseman.
A slow mist rose from the ground and swept around graves and she was running through it.
She had to get to the bridge, race over it....
There was someone ahead of her in the mist. She saw that it was Aidan. His arms were outstretched and he was waiting for her.
Then she heard the sound of hoof beats and the whinny of a horse—and some kind of thunder that made the earth tremble.
She turne
d back. There was a horseman. The Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow.
The horse reared in the passion of the hunt.
The headless horseman was hunting her.
She started to run, just as Ichabod Crane had run on his worn-out nag. The night seemed alive with the bright eyes of nocturnal creatures.
Owls hooted. The moon came out and hid again behind the clouds, and she realized the thunder she heard was her own heart.
Aidan was waiting....
She could see him just across the bridge, his arms outstretched.
But she could feel hot, fetid breath on the nape of her neck. The horseman was almost upon her.
She heard Aidan then, shouting to her, calling her name.
“Aidan!” She breathed in a desperate plea.
But the horseman was practically on top of her. She turned to scream but she couldn’t face him. It would be too horrible. Because she was terrified that she would see her own head on his shoulders.
She began to hear Rollo as if in a fog, barking wildly.
And then she woke up abruptly; someone was calling her name.
Aidan.
It was morning—and he had come for her.
11
Mo sprang out of bed and went racing down the stairs. Rollo was already at the door, wagging his tail madly. Mo threw open the door and called Aidan’s name. The sun was up, bright and high. She had evidently slept and slept deeply—and for several hours.
“Aidan!”
A moment later, he appeared from around the side of her cottage, relief clearly written on his face.
“I was about to break down the door,” he told her.
“I’m sorry. I was sleeping so soundly.” She supposed that was true enough; she didn’t mention the half sleeping, half waking dream she’d had. She suddenly noticed that he was dressed in jeans and a warm sweater and she was...
Standing on bare feet with her hair tousled and wearing a T-shirt emblazoned with a children’s cartoon character in a sleeping cap.
“You need to keep your phone with you. I was getting worried,” he said.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“About ten-thirty,” he told her.