Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (20 page)

Lucy was in the middle. Sculpted out of marble, she seemed
beautifully at peace. Her long hair crowned her head and face; she held a
bouquet of flowers in her hands. Her mother’s tomb was similar—flowers seemed to
be the object of choice for the sculptor when it came to women—while Angus was
holding a book.

“Wow, impressive tombs. They must be the only ones like this in
the city.”

“I haven’t seen many like them. Seriously, they look as if they
belong in Notre Dame or Westminster Abbey.”

“Exceptionally fine.”

“Were you expecting to find Lucy rotting away in a shroud,
entombed in a wall?” Allison asked him, a note of teasing reproach in her
voice.

“Honestly? Yes. Not that it really matters what becomes of the
body once we’re gone. Unless, of course, you do remain behind and have to
watch,” he said thoughtfully. “Has she ever been disinterred?”

“Goodness, no! That would be akin to blasphemy.”

“I’m just curious. We take for granted that the history that
came down to us was true—that Lord Bradley killed her.”

“So far, there hasn’t been much reason to doubt it. From all
accounts, the Tarleton family was a loving one. The history comes from Sophia
and her husband, Tobias Dandridge. They loved Lucy, they were patriots—and there
was no reason for them to lie about what happened,” Allison said. “We might not
have completely firm and unimpeachable evidence, but I’ve always believed their
version. I’m not sure why you think it’s a lie.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m just questioning the telling of this
particular tale.”

“Why?”

“For one thing, the paintings of Lord Brian Bradley. They’re so
different.”

“Two different artists.”

Tyler shrugged. “Speaking of different artists—where is Tobias
Dandridge?”

Allison told him, “Outside, to your right facing the house.
It’s a pretty little vault, too, but more like you’d expect. It’s a typical
small mausoleum.”

They went outside the Dandridge vault and followed a little
pebbled path around the graveyard’s various sections. Allison always found it
sad to see the Colonial- and Victorian-era markers for children. So many died so
young.

The Dandridge vault had a bronze plaque above it that trumpeted
the family name. It was about the same size as the Tarleton vault, but the rows
of etched markers outside announced many more names.

“Lots more Dandridges,” Tyler said.

“Well, the Tarleton family name died out with Angus,” Allison
reminded him.

They didn’t enter the tomb; here the gate and door were locked.
There was nothing for tourists to see.

“Back there. I’ll show you where Robert the dog is buried,”
Allison told him.

There were a number of markers for pets. One of them, recently
imbedded, was dedicated to Bibi the cat.

“She was here when I was a teenager,” Allison said. “The guides
fed her. Everyone loved her. And here, just a few feet away—there’s Robert.”

A very handsome stone statue of a dog had been carved to sit
atop the grave. The hound must have been close to two hundred pounds.

“He must have been something to wrestle with,” Tyler
commented.

“I imagine that’s why he was killed.”

“Was he shot, stabbed—taken down with a rifle butt or a
bayonet?” Tyler asked.

“I don’t know. You can read the memorial stone—we have a group
from the university that comes out to clean and repair these all the time. It
says, ‘Robert, a fine patriot who died in defense of his beloved mistress, Lucy
Tarleton.’”

Tyler paused to read the memorial and then he looked up at
her.

“Do you ever
feel
Lucy out here, or
any of the family? Anything, like even the brush of a cold nose against your
fingers?”

“No,” she said a little harshly. Had she ever felt such a
thing? She wasn’t sure.

She’d never believed in ghosts before. If she
had
felt something, she would’ve thought that the
chill of winter was coming on....

“No,” she repeated, suddenly eager to leave the graveyard.
“Well, let’s go back to the house. It is heading toward fall, you know. It’s
getting cool.”

“You’re welcome to my jacket,” he said, starting to shed
it.

“Thanks. But let’s just go back.”

She walked ahead of him, hurrying toward the house. As she
neared it, she glanced up—and nearly tripped.

She caught herself. And froze.

There was someone upstairs, looking out Lucy’s window. Allison
told herself that it might be Jane. Or maybe Kelsey had returned.

But she knew better; she’d seen the image on screen.

It was frighteningly like looking in a mirror.

For a moment, it seemed as if Lucy Tarleton had defied the ages
and stared down at her, sadness and yearning on her face.

And then she faded as if she’d never been, and Allison wondered
again what might be real to a sixth sense or on a different dimension, and what
might be a trick of her tortured mind.

“What is it?” Tyler asked her.

“Nothing,” she said. But as she entered the house, she felt
something touch her fingers.

Like the cold, wet nose of a very large dog.

12

T
yler realized that Allison had hung back,
but when he reached the foyer and the bank of screens again, she was right
behind him.

“Where is everyone?” he asked Sean.

“Logan has gone off with Kelsey to continue searching through
old records, and Kat’s at the morgue. Jane is still working in the salon.”

“We’re going up to the attic,” Tyler said. “I could be wrong.
But I believe there’s something in the research papers—or maybe in papers that
were stolen—that may be the clue to all this.”

Sean nodded.

Allison touched Tyler’s arm. “Should we go to the morgue
first?” she asked him.

Tyler hesitated. “Can you take it?”

She looked at him with clear, level eyes. “I can take anything,
I think.”

He raised his brows.

She shrugged with a half smile. “A ghost, phantoms on a
screen…what’s one more ghost?” she asked dryly.

“All right—if you’re sure that’s what you want to do.”

“I’m sure. I knew Sarah best.”

“The autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow,” Sean told them. “Logan
was hoping that—”

“He was hoping that Sarah remained behind,” Allison said.
“Right? And that’s the thing. She may speak to me where she wouldn’t speak to
others.”

“Fine. We’ll go,” Tyler said.

To his surprise, Allison seemed calm and rational during their
drive.

The morgue was a comprehensive and up-to-date facility. As they
walked to the entry, he saw that she’d turned a little pale.

“You’re sure you’re all right to do this?” he asked.

She offered him a weak smile. “I’ve never been here. This is my
city, and in all these years, I’ve never been here.”

“Not many people make a habit of hanging out at the medical
examiner’s offices,” he said.

As they continued into the building, Tyler called Jane. She
told him not to worry. Adam Harrison had greased the wheels and there’d be no
difficulty getting them in.

The medical pathologist who’d been given Julian Mitchell’s case
was also on Sarah’s; that had been arranged by Adam. Her name was Dr. Ana Grant,
and she came with Kat to meet them in the vestibule. Slim with short graying
hair and an easy manner, she spoke in a well-modulated voice that held empathy
as well as professionalism.

“Dr. Grant has been very helpful,” Kat told him.

“Sarah Vining’s body just arrived,” Dr. Grant said after the
introductions. “I was showing your associate the snakebite marks when you
called. We came out to escort you back—I’m afraid she’s in a freezer room with
other…guests. Her autopsy is scheduled for tomorrow morning, but her body has
been cleaned in prep.”

Tyler had been in many a morgue. He wanted to put a protective
arm around Allison’s shoulders, but held himself in check. She was still pale,
but she didn’t look as if she was about to pass out or collapse in horror. Of
course, the outer offices of the medical examiner’s office were neat and orderly
in appearance
.

But as they entered the hallways, he thought he could detect
the chemical odor that hinted of death and he kept a sharp eye on Allison.

She moved up next to him. “Do people ever think you’re mentally
ill when you want to touch the dead?” she asked him in a whisper.

“We do it discreetly,” he whispered back.

A few minutes later they were staring down at Sarah Vining’s
body, covered with a sheet.

Sarah looked small, skinny and gray.

“The bite mark is on the inner thigh just above the knee. She
was driving when the snake panicked and struck her. I assume it had somehow
gotten under the seat.”

He watched as Dr. Grant showed them the bite marks but then he
looked at Allison. She was almost as gray as Sarah Vining.

She stepped forward, saying softly, “She was a friend.”

“I understand,” Dr. Grant said.

Allison touched Sarah’s hair. Tyler thought she’d step back
quickly, but she didn’t. She stayed there, gently touching the dead woman and
gazing down at her.

Dr. Grant spoke quietly to Kat and Tyler. “I don’t think we’ll
find anything we don’t see here when the autopsy is performed,” she said. “I’ll
know better what organs gave out when, but I have an educated hunch that between
the bite and the trauma of the accident, her heart failed her.”

“Have you ever heard of such a thing before?” Tyler asked.

“People dying after a bite like that?” Dr. Grant shrugged.
“Copperheads are dangerous and can be vicious when they’re threatened. But we do
have antidotes for the bites, and these days most people survive. But elderly
people, small children, those who are ill when they’re bitten—they’re in the
greatest danger. The heart can fail under stress and trauma. That’s what I
believe happened to Sarah. And in the midst of that massive accident, I’m sure
no one expected her real problem to be a snakebite.”

“Thank you,” Tyler said, glancing from Dr. Grant to Kat.

Allison hadn’t been listening. He saw that she was staring down
at Sarah Vining, her fingers still resting lightly on her hair.

“Allison?”

She looked up at him. “I’m ready,” she said.

Kat stayed behind; there was evidently more of a medical nature
that she wanted to discuss with Dr. Grant.

Tyler led Allison out. “Anything?” he asked her as they reached
the car.

“Sorrow and confusion,” she told him.

“I can only imagine how you feel,” Tyler said.

She shook her head. “No. Yes, I mean, of course, my heart
bleeds for both Julian and Sarah. They were murdered, their lives were stolen
from them. That’s what I got from Sarah. She doesn’t
know
why she’s dead. She doesn’t understand. She doesn’t remember
anything except for a sudden and excruciating pain—and then the air bag blowing
up in her face. She remembers stumbling out and being thrown several feet while
the world seemed to explode around her in horrible screeches and bangs while the
other cars crashed into one another.”

“So she
is
there?” he asked
incredulously. He grimaced. “You felt her—heard her—and neither Kat nor I
did?”

Allison nodded. “I felt as if her eyes opened and she looked at
me. And it was as if I could hear her.” She was quiet for a minute. “She doesn’t
mind that she’s dead. She said she has incredible faith and she’s…she’s waiting
to go. Oh, and she wants to be buried or entombed at the house. Do you think our
friend Adam has the clout to arrange that?”

“We’ll see,” he said, climbing into the driver’s seat. “But,”
he added as she joined him, “Adam does seem to have the power to make the earth
move—no pun intended. I’m sure he can do something.” He put the car into reverse
and turned to drive out of the lot before he spoke to her again. “You’re okay?”
he murmured.

“I’m fine. I came because I’m the ‘key,’” she told him with a
self-conscious shrug. “I’ll admit I’ve been frightened out of my mind. But that
all started the moment I saw Julian dead in the study. It got worse when I saw
him as a ghost. And then Lucy. And then the whole thing with Mr. Dixon… But I’m
tired of being terrified. I want to get to the end of this, no matter what it
is. I don’t want anyone else dying, and I don’t understand why Julian and Sarah
are dead. And why a man who visited the house is in a coma. Whatever is going
on, right now I feel like saying ‘come and do your worst’ because I’m…ready to
fight back.” She turned to look at him with an awkward smile.

He nodded slowly. “It’s a terrible thing to go through life
frightened.”

“I just… I don’t get it. I really didn’t believe in ghosts. I
actually think I
wanted
to believe in ghosts,
because then I’d know there was something beyond this life. But…why now?”

She twisted in her seat to face him as he drove. “What about
you? Supposedly, if you’re going to have second sight, you’re born with it.”

“Not me. My first reaction was like yours.”

“How? What did you do?”

“Drank,” he said. “Like I told you before.” She gave him a
frown and he laughed softly, then launched into his story about finding the
younger sister of the dead heroin dealer in Texas, the woman whose ghost had
appeared repeatedly to him. “After that,” he concluded, “it seemed as if a door
had opened. And I worked with Logan, who’s one of those people who
saw
things at an early age, but he has Native American
blood and I often think Native Americans have a far greater understanding that
the world is more than what we see. But even Logan was always careful. Maybe
this second sight or extra sense comes to people when it’s necessary. We—and by
we I mean our Krewes—don’t have any real answers and we don’t pretend to. We’ve
just learned that the dead may be out there—and that they have reasons for their
presence and they may be able to help.”

He was surprised to see a smile curving her lips.

“What’s so amusing?”

“With my new power, maybe I can summon all the old statesmen
and leaders and wives I’ve wanted to meet. Dolley Madison must have been an
incredible woman. And how I’d love to meet Lincoln—and Robert E. Lee!”

“I wish it worked that way,” he told her. “Most of the time,
people do move on. Good thing, or the streets would be so crowded with specters
that none of us would be able to take a step.” She laughed, but he grew serious
as he said, “I think that when a soul is finally at peace, it does move on.”

She seemed more comfortable with him than she’d ever been. And
she seemed stronger. He knew he’d met her at a time of crisis in her life—but
that she had an inner strength and real courage.

“Another favorite historical heroine of mine has always been
Lucy Tarleton,” she said. “And we
know
she’s stayed
behind. We’ve seen her on the screens, walking around the house in the middle of
the night.”

“We have to coax her out,” he said.

“Why won’t she just come to us and say,
Listen, here’s the way it really was?
”

“We don’t have all the answers, I told you that. Certain
spirits will talk to certain people. Some never learn how to be seen and
heard.”

She smiled at him, then sobered. “I shouldn’t be smiling. Two
colleagues are dead—and speaking to me. But the reality is they’re dead. And
that fact is still devastating.”

He reached over to squeeze her hand, once again wondering, as
he touched her, if she’d draw away. But she didn’t.

They returned to the Tarleton-Dandridge House. Sean had left;
Logan was in his place, with Kelsey at his side.

“Anything?” Logan and Tyler said at the same time.

“I’ll answer first,” Logan said. “We found records with birth
and death dates, family trees—nothing we didn’t know. But it’s good to
investigate, to make sure we’re not assuming something is obvious, only to find
out we’re wrong. What about the morgue?”

Tyler was surprised when Allison gave a full report on her
exchange with Sarah Vining.

Logan nodded. “So she didn’t know anything at all—except that
she was suddenly in pain and then staggering out in a melee of cars
colliding?”

“Nothing. She doesn’t know why she’s dead. All she knows is
that she is. And she’s oddly at peace with it,” Allison told him.

“Some people just are,” Logan said. “We’re on earth for only so
long, and I believe that peace comes to some people when they’ve died.” He was
thoughtful for a moment. “But Sarah’s still here.”

“Maybe because she’s part of this…whatever it is,” Tyler
said.

“Maybe,” Logan agreed. “It’s really late, you two. There are
sandwiches in the pantry, sodas, beer, some wine… Coffee, too, but I’m not
suggesting that now. It’s about time to get some sleep.”

Allison turned to Tyler. “You wanted to look through papers in
the attic.”

“It can wait until morning,” he said.

“I think we should go back now. We’ve gotten started. Let’s
give it an hour.”

Allison had undergone a complete change, he realized. He
smiled. “Rome wasn’t built in a day.”

She obviously wasn’t impressed with his cliché. “But two
friends have died in a matter of days,” she said.

“You’re right. We’ll grab a sandwich and head on up.”

Thirty minutes later they were back in the attic. Allison made
piles, gathering financial papers to put with financial papers, bookings for
private events with bookings for other private events, and research materials
with other research materials. He offered to help her but she suggested he read;
she knew what she was doing.

He came across a number of articles on the people of
Philadelphia at the time of the Revolution and found himself fascinated by these
snippets of history. He’d assumed that, with the exception of the Civil War,
their own era was the most contentious in American history, but now he
recognized that the founding fathers hadn’t had an easy task. Nor had the
patriots and their families. There were cases in which sons were determined on
the Revolution while their fathers were adamant that they pack up for Canada—the
British colonies—“until the foolish fighting and dying was over.” There were sad
human-interest pieces on daughters who’d married into patriot or Loyalist
families when their parents were on the opposite side.

As he read through newspaper, magazine and other articles
printed from online sites, he noticed that Allison had finished gathering most
of the paperwork together but seemed troubled. She looked at him.

“May I?” she asked.

He was seated on the floor, back against the wall, his pile of
research materials before him. She indicated the pile. “Of course,” he told
her.

“I was thinking about a certain article. It was written by a
man who’d been a high school history teacher in Maryland and then moved to
Valley Forge and had his own tour company. He knows quite a lot about generals,
including Washington, and even the enlisted men.”

“I was looking at it the other night,” Tyler said, producing
the article he’d been reading about Beast Bradley just before he’d made Julian’s
acquaintance and the others had arrived. “It’s by Martin Standish. Is this it?
‘Brian Bradley was born to Lord and Lady Bradley in Yorkshire, England, in 1750.
His family could easily trace their lineage to the Royal House of
Hanover—literally, he was born with a silver spoon ready for his mouth.’”