Darkest Journey (24 page)

“Yes,” Charlie said.

“Thank you. Otherwise he might have lain there for a very long time.”

“I'm just hoping that finding him sooner was also better, that it will make it easier to catch the killer,” Charlie said.

Shelley nodded. “I just know whoever did it, he didn't do it because of Farrell and me. And I can't believe one of our friends would have had anything against Farrell or Albion. Our friends are professors, musicians, actors and painters, all professions that tend to skew very liberal.” She paused for a moment. “You have to understand, they were both good men. I can't think of anything they were involved in that would have upset anybody, especially not upsetting them enough to commit murder.” She sighed. “I honestly have no clue why they were targeted, but I brought you a list of the causes they were involved with—names and addresses and everything.”

“This is going to be very helpful, Ms. Corley. I can't thank you enough,” Ethan told her.

She smiled. “You're welcome. I didn't know what else to do. I called the police and asked about Albion's body, because I need to plan his funeral. They're not releasing him yet, though. Or Farrell. With Farrell... Well, I'll be attending that funeral, naturally. But his son will be planning it, and his body won't be released to me.”

“I'm so sorry,” Charlie murmured.

“As I said, I'm fine. I have a great support system. But thank you. Just find out who killed them. And don't worry, I'm not going to go to the police. If I did, they'd just start questioning my family. Or Farrell's son. And if there's one thing I'm certain of, it's that no one in our families did this.”

Shelley's certainty reminded Charlie of her own certainty of her father's innocence.

Suddenly Shelley turned to her. “I know it must be difficult to talk about, so I apologize for asking, but how did you find Farrell, Ms. Moreau?”

Charlie was taken by surprise. “I— We had been filming in the area. I was looking for missing props.”

Shelley studied her, as if trying to decide whether to believe her explanation or not. Finally she smiled. “You're a lovely young woman, and I'm so sorry for what you've been through here. And your father's a fine man. I never knew him well, but I know my cousin and Farrell thought very highly of him.”

“Thank you,” Charlie said, and smiled herself. “I rather like him myself.”

“Albion said your mom has been gone a while.”

“Yes.”

“But her family, so they say, had a...feel for the dead.”

Charlie looked at Ethan. He shrugged to let her know she didn't have to answer. But before she had a chance to even think of how to answer, Shelley spoke again.

“Has either of them, Farrell or Albion, spoken to you? Come to you in, say, a dream?”

“I'm so sorry, no,” Charlie said, and glanced at Ethan again.

“If they do,” Shelley whispered, “will you listen?”

“Of course,” Charlie promised. “Ethan...?”

Shelley turned and looked at Ethan. “So that's how it is. They speak to you, too. I guess what they say is true. Your unit
is
special. The Krewe of Hunters, isn't that what they call you? I googled some of their past cases. I doubted any government agency would go beyond the obvious, but I seem to have been wrong, and that gives me hope you'll find the man who killed Farrell and Albion.”

“We're committed to that,” Ethan assured her.

“Yes, we are,” Charlie said.

Shelley patted her hand, as if satisfied, then looked at Ethan. “I hope you'll talk to the charities on that list I gave you. There's a no-kill animal shelter. One that focuses on historic preservation and another that's trying to regulate the number of oil rigs in the Gulf, even one dedicated to saving a single historic church in Baton Rouge. I hope you meant it when you said the list will help you.”

“It will, Ms. Corley,” Ethan told her. “You can count on it.”

“Please, call me anytime you need me,” she said, producing cards and handing one to each of them. “I teach piano and voice, so you shouldn't have any trouble reaching me.” She studied Charlie again. “If one of them is still here in spirit form, Ms. Moreau, he'll find you. If you let him.”

Charlie nodded. “I hope so, Ms. Corley.”

She wasn't just saying the words, either. She really did hope. She was accustomed to seeing the dead, and both Farrell and Albion had been good men. She hoped they'd both found peace, but if one of them did appear to her, it would only be to help, and that could only be a positive thing.

And yet a strange fear filled her.

She remembered being a small child, holding her father's hand by the church, seeing several men walking around in their uniforms.

Men no one else saw.

Except her father. He had known. Known she was seeing the dead. And he had told her, “Fear the living, Charlie. Because the living are the only ones who can hurt you.”

She had understood then, and she still considered those words to live by.

Someone out there had killed three people. And that person was still out there.

She looked at Ethan and caught him studying her.

She tried to smile back at him as they left the little café, his arm lying comfortable across her shoulders.

She couldn't help but wonder if he'd felt the same strange twist of fear.

13

E
than met with Thor Erikson and Jude McCoy at four thirty, while the Southern Belles went into their preparation mode for the evening. Thor told him he'd enjoyed seeing Oak Alley, along with the trip “next door” to Laura, a Creole plantation, in contrast to an “English” plantation. Jonathan Moreau had left the houses tours to the on-site guides, and Thor had enjoyed listening to them as much as he'd enjoyed listening to Jonathan. He hadn't learned anything useful, but on the plus side, nothing bad had happened to Jonathan.

Ethan was glad that Charlie hadn't realized yet that her father might be in danger; he was glad nothing had happened—and that Thor had enjoyed listening to Jonathan. In turn, Ethan shared the conversation he'd had with Shelley. He'd already emailed them the list she'd given him of the various charitable groups Albion and Farrell had worked with. He'd also sent the list off to Angela at headquarters, so she could use the Bureau's more powerful databases and resources.

For boots on the ground investigation, he'd divided up the list, and they would each take responsibility for a few. Thor and Ethan were going to check into an organization called Doggone It, which was dedicated to turning every shelter in the country into a no-kill facility. They happened to have an office in Natchez, so they could drop in the following day. The two of them were also going to tackle Sane Energy, an organization that fought to regulate where and when oil rigs were set up in the Gulf, and what kind of piping was allowed to be laid along the riverfront. Their head office was in Vicksburg, the next stop after Natchez.

Jude would watch over the Southern Belles and see what he could learn from the crew.

Dinnertime rolled around, and Alexi, Clara and Charlie began their second-night set.

That night, after the opening medley, they began the unique part of the set list with a little-known ballad, “My Love in My Arms to Move No More.”

Jonathan joined them as the meal was served, and he watched the women with a look of pride and pleasure on his face.

Charlie told a story that night about two men who had been friends but had served on opposite sides during the war. The Union soldier had been badly injured and left for dead on the battlefield. His friend found him, but rather than let him be taken prisoner, he took the chance of being shot as a traitor himself and spirited the wounded man to the home of another old friend, a Confederate who had already lost his only son in the war. A physician, he saved the life of the Union soldier and hid him until the war's end. Charlie ended by telling the rapt audience where to look to find more information on the men and their lives.

As she finished, she looked over at Jonathan, since storytelling—especially historical storytelling—was his forte. He smiled broadly and nodded his approval, and Charlie smiled back. Ethan could tell how much it mattered to her that she had pleased her father.

Just as the performance was ending, his cell phone vibrated in his pocket. He excused himself and headed out on deck to answer. It was Randy Laurent.

“I'm getting nowhere here,” Randy said. “I hope you're having better luck.”

“Nothing yet,” Ethan told him, which wasn't really a lie, since he didn't have anything solid. He told Randy he was planning to investigate the various groups Corley and Hickory had been involved with. “All quiet there? No other...”

“No other murders?” Randy asked him drily. “No, thank God.”

“Keep me posted.”

“Will do—and you do the same, please.”

“You got it.”

They rang off, and Ethan headed back toward the dining room. He arrived just in time for the final song, but as he entered, he felt something shift in the atmosphere.

A smoky mist seemed to sift into the Eagle View dining room.

The living diners were still there, but now they had been joined by the dead. Soldiers in tattered uniforms of blue and gray and butternut, identified by the insignias of the infantry, cavalry, artillery and the navy.

They were heedless then of the living, except for an occasional shiver as a server moved through one of them.

They were staring at the small raised stage, completely focused on Charlie, as she sang another mournful ballad.

He stayed where he was, standing in the doorway. He noticed one man in particular who had hunkered down right in front of Charlie. The ghost wore a shirt with rolled-up sleeves, a vest and an apron—an apron smeared with blood. He was, Ethan thought, a doctor—the doctor who had acknowledged Charlie before, the ghost she'd talked about.

Ethan's heart felt heavy in his chest as he looked out over the room. On the one hand, he was sorry for the burden the men carried. On the other, he was touched to see that none of them seemed to be aware whether they were North or South, that they should be enemies. In this room they were just men, injured, ill, and possibly dying soon, aware only that they'd left families behind, loved ones they might never see again.

Charlie finished the song. Applause erupted. The mist faded away.

And with it went the dead who had filled the room only moments before.

Except for one.

The doctor.

Ethan wished that he could keep the living from moving, from talking. They'd already driven the other ghosts away, and he found himself striding forward, wondering if he couldn't somehow reach the doctor, urge him to stay.

Too late.

The Belles were bowing, and the diners were rising, filing out. He couldn't reach the doctor quickly enough.

But he could see Charlie.

She smiled and waved to the audience, then walked toward the doctor, her hand outstretched.

The doctor, too, reached out, touched her hand.

And then he was gone, and Charlie was reaching out to nothing more than air.

* * *

Charlie had to wonder if it was wrong of her to find moments of such deep pleasure and happiness when three people had been murdered, and their killer was still out there somewhere. But she couldn't help herself.

Ethan was back.

And they were together, just as she'd hoped they would be all those years ago.

It was as if a decade had never separated them. Their connection was something deep and rich, something that had played in their minds throughout the years, something stronger than anything they'd actually shared all those years ago.

Of course, theirs had been a strange relationship back then. They had known one another, but they had been three years apart, a vast gulf at the time, because he'd been legal age, a college man, and she had still been in high school, nowhere near her eighteenth birthday. But after the events in the graveyard, there had been hours spent with the police, a lot of time when they'd waited, alone together, to give another statement to yet another officer or the prosecuting attorney. There had been another bond between them, too. They had both seen the ghost of the Confederate cavalry officer; they both saw the dead and sometimes even communicated with them.

There hadn't been anything sexual between them—not that she hadn't tried—and yet it still seemed to her she'd never shared a more intimate relationship with anyone than she'd shared with him that night.

And now...

It was heavenly to lie with him, sleep with him, touch him, tease, laugh. To be naked next to the heat of his body, slip a hand over his flesh and feel him grow instantly aroused as he turned to her. To make love as naturally as if they'd been together forever. There were things he did that shouldn't have been so erotic, so suggestive. The way he kissed and teased her fingertips with his lips and tongue. The way he placed a kiss behind her ear, then trailed more kisses down her nape...

Then there were the other incredible things he did, things that were so extremely intimate she could hardly think of them without feeling herself flush with heat, so far beyond seductive that she could scarcely breathe as he did them....

And there was just lying there beside him, feeling him breathe, hearing the sound of his heartbeat.

But the murders continually hovered over them, and late that night, as they lay together, cooling and sated, he turned to her.

“You're pretty close to Jimmy Smith, huh?” he said. There was nothing accusing in his question, no jealousy in his tone. Just curiosity.

“I am. He's kind of like the brother I never had.”

“Never more than that?” Again, there was no jealousy or accusation in his tone. She had the sense he just felt he needed to know. Ten years had passed. Others had come and gone in their lives. This was almost like a fact-finding mission, but only the future truly mattered.

“No, it was never anything more. We were both only kids, so that drew us together. And he was a member of the Gargoyles, the boys' organization that was like a brother club to that stupid Cherub thing I was going to join years ago, that I was pledging for that night,” she told him, turning to look into his eyes. “We went to Tulane together, too. Our last year of school, he was one of five roommates I lived with. We all pooled our resources to rent a big old place in the Garden District.” She frowned, suddenly worried about his question. “You don't think that Jimmy Smith could be involved— Wait! You do. You're convinced that the film crew had something to do with the murders.”

“I don't particularly suspect Jimmy. But, yes. You know I'm investigating the film crew.”

“Shelley thinks it's someone involved with one of the organizations Corley and Hickory were involved with. That's what she seemed to be saying, anyway.”

“I know.”

“Trust me, Jimmy is innocent. He's a great guy.” She hesitated. “He
was
with the group who tied me to the tombstone that night, but he kept trying to talk the others into letting me go. And after everything, after the police, after the trial, after everything that went on, he spent years apologizing to me. He even quit the club he was in—he said they were nothing but a bunch of jerks.”

“People grow up. They see how tough life is. They change.”

“We all change, and, yes, most of us get tougher. But we don't suddenly become homicidal. Certainly not Jimmy,” she said.

He was quiet. She could sense that he wasn't convinced but simply didn't want to argue with her, and that scared her.

Not that she could entirely blame him.

If someone didn't know Jimmy the way she did, he might well look like a viable suspect.

“You don't know Jimmy. He could never murder anyone,” she said with complete certainty.

He propped himself up on an elbow and looked at her seriously. “Okay, so it's not your father—we agree on that, although he lied and there are factors that point in his direction, to the point that I'd guess the police probably still consider him a suspect. So...who? For the sake of argument, let's say it
is
someone working on the film.” He put up a hand to stop her when she started to protest. “Though I can't be absolutely positive, I tend to put Brad and Mike Thornton in the innocent pool. Certainly neither one of them threw a knife at you, because they were both with me, though, of course, either one of them could have conspired with someone else. We never found the knife, and no prop knives are missing, as far as we know. That would leave Jennie McPherson—”

“Jennie? You can't be serious.”

“Unlikely, I agree. Then there are the tech guys—George, Luke, Barry—and then the actors and extras, Harry and Blane, Grant. So you tell me—which one of them do you think might be involved?”

“None of them!” Charlie protested. “It's someone else. It's got to be. You really
do
think it's someone from the film, don't you? Why? Why are you so sure?”

“No reason—other than proximity and logic,” he said in a flat tone. “Charlie, the bayonet that killed the men was most likely the one that disappeared from props. The same is probably true of the knife that was thrown at you,” he explained. “We know people from the film were closer to both Corley and Hickory than they wanted to admit. And we know people other than Hickory were in some kind of a confrontation with Albion Corley on the
Journey
before he was killed. And, yes, we know about Shelley now, too, and I'm not forgetting that both men were heavily involved in charities and environmental issues.”

“So that could point to someone else,” Charlie suggested. “You don't understand what it's like in the movie business. People are focused on their own careers, and that's their only interest.”

“Charlie, I don't care what anyone does for a living or even if being an actor becomes not just what someone does but who that someone
is
. There's always another interest out there. And when someone isn't bat-shit crazy—my own term, by the way, nothing official—the motive generally comes down to love, hate or money. Sure, there's spur-of-the-moment murder, carried out in a fit of emotion. But these murders were planned carefully. We have to find out why, and I'm sorry, but what evidence we have so far points to it being someone you know.”

She nodded slowly and rose. “Natchez,” she said simply. “See what you find out in Natchez.” And then she headed into the bathroom to shower and get ready for the day. She felt awkward, as if they'd just had their first argument as a real couple.

He followed her. In a few minutes she felt the argument was over.

Yes, definitely.

They were very good at making up.

* * *

Ethan stood on the dock with Thor, listening as Jonathan talked about the excursion he would be leading later that day. There were numerous shore excursions on offer, but he would be taking a group to explore several of the various nearby Civil War sites, as well as the city of Natchez itself.

Once he had finished and the buses were loaded, Ethan and Jude would head into town and the offices of Doggone It.

“Natchez is the county seat of—and only major city in—Adams County, Mississippi,” Jonathan said, his deep, rich voice commanding attention without trying. “She sits nice and high on a bluff, as you can see. Natchez is ninety miles south of the Mississippi state capital of Jackson and eighty-five miles north of Baton Rouge. At one time Natchez was both the capital of Mississippi and one of the most important cities in the South. The local planters engineered new breeds of cotton, and at one point she had the highest per capita income of any city in the United States—pre–Civil War, of course. The French established Fort Rosalie in 1716, and the area became known as the Natchez colony, named for the Native American tribe that lived in the area. History is rarely peaceful, however, and many French colonists were slain by the Natchez tribe and vice versa. After the Seven Years War, the French ceded the colony to the British. Meanwhile, other local tribes took in the remnants of the Natchez, though today their descendants have reorganized under the Natchez name. So, French, British—and then Spanish/American. This is because a treaty gave it to America, but the Spanish had helped the Americans, and they had their fingers in the pie, trying to keep control as long as they could. Eventually the Americans gained the upper hand, but today visitors to the city are greeted by a uniquely charming combination of Spanish, French, British and American architecture and culture.