Stranger on Raven's Ridge (13 page)

“It’s called Raven’s Blood.” She gave him a kiss and a sympathetic smile. “Exclusive to Raven’s Cove and extremely potent. Still a fist banging on the door, Lieutenant. I can’t get my suitcase unlocked, and I’m not opening to anyone wearing just your shirt.”

This visit, he decided grimly, had better be worth a sledgehammer to the skull.

Dragging on jeans, he let his hair hang in his eyes to help ward off the light and, after groping his way through the RV, opened the door. “What?” he demanded without preface.

The man who’d given them the Mason jar of liquor at the campfire stood there, his knuckles raised. “Oh, hello. Sorry to wake you, but one of your neighbors said you were staying here.”

Aidan braced his hands on the door frame and hoped he wouldn’t go blind from the foggy daylight. “Do you want me or the reverend?”

“If you’re a cop, I want you.”

He swore his way through a nod. “I’m a cop. Is there a problem?”

“I’m not sure, not entirely. A couple of tenters were walking in the rain late last night, and they thought they saw something where the food people are set up.”

Because the man’s braid was dripping, Aidan stepped back and let him inside. “Company,” he warned Raven, then gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea swamped him simply for raising his voice. “Go on,” he told the man.

“They said it wasn’t much of a thing, just a tent flap lifting and then the silhouette of the fish man jumping up, grabbing a rifle and shouting. They couldn’t hear what he said.”

“Is that it?”

“From the tenters’ perspective, yeah. The light that had been on went out, so they kept walking. Here’s the thing, though. I went to the market area about an hour ago to buy some oysters, and I couldn’t find the fish man anywhere. His truck’s there, and so are his coolers and grill, but he’s gone. Now, I know he could be hiking in the woods, but why would he do that when he knew I was coming by at 8:00 a.m. to pick up a big order? He promised he’d have the oysters I wanted packed and ready to go. But they weren’t. Also, his tent was only zipped partway closed, and a lot of his camping gear was wet.”

Aidan rubbed his aching forehead. “What time is it now?”

“A little after nine. I spent an hour searching the woods, but I didn’t find him.”

“Have you talked to anyone except the people who saw him last night?”

“There aren’t many others out and about. It’s a soggy morning, and everyone knows we’ve got a big night ahead. I figure most folks aren’t in a rush to get started early.”

No argument there, Aidan thought. “Yeah, okay, I’ll take a look.”

When the man left, Aidan turned and drilled his fingers into his throbbing forehead. A few seconds later, Raven appeared at the bedroom door wearing narrow jeans, high black boots and a tight red T, with a V down to there.

Grimacing over pain that was unlikely to give him a break, Aidan asked, “Do you even know what the phrase ‘fighting fair’ means?”

“Yes, I do, and I practice it—with everyone except you, Steven and weaselly hit men who can’t keep their hands to themselves.” She moved toward the kitchenette. “Do you want coffee or wine? Hair of the dog,” she added when he lasered her a lethal look.

“Coffee, extra strong, and get your jacket. I need your eyes.”

“So I heard that man right, then. The fish guy’s missing.”

With an efficiency he’d always admired, she measured out dark-roast coffee and set the machine to brew. “Hair of the dog would probably work better, but as a physician, I’m disinclined to encourage unhealthy habits. Did I also hear him mention a rifle?”

Aidan closed his eyes. “You did.”

“Lovely. Isn’t it wonderful when a day starts like this?”

“Like what? With a hangover from hell or a potential disaster?”

“Either or.” She placed a shot glass in his fingers and closed them around it. “But most of all with a doctor telling the man she loves to ignore everything she’s ever said about what not to put in his body and, just this once, because she’s very afraid he’s going to need it, to drink up.”

* * *

F
IFTEEN
MINUTES
AND
one damp hike later, Raven decided that Aidan was the coolest cop ever. To combat the morning chill, he wore a dark denim shirt, a black biker jacket, black boots, jeans and, despite the gloom, a pair of rock-star sunglasses over his still-bleary eyes.

“If it helps, I feel really guilty.” She speed dialed Steven’s cell phone. “I honestly forgot how strong that wine is.”

He sized up the fish man’s tent from the outside. “On the flip side, it explains the exaggerated wink I got from your cousin.”

“Actually, the wink was a sexual reference. The elbow to your ribs was for the wine... Steven’s not answering. I’ll have to go to the cottage.”

Aidan went down on one knee to inspect the tent flap. “Call Gaitor first.”

“I did. He sounds groggier than you. I have a feeling the fishermen showed up at Blume House with some Raven’s Blood of their own.”

“Yeah, well just so you know, hair of the raven is at best half a cure.”

Raven kissed the top of Aidan’s head while she dialed Rooney’s number. “Did I mention, sorry?” She waited, then sighed in frustration.

“Grandpa’s phone’s off.” While Aidan did his cop thing, she pivoted on her heel. “You know, I get the weirdest feeling when I’m in this part of the clearing.”

Aidan glanced at her. “Weird as in the evil spirit’s lurking in the shadows, or something else?”

“Something else. It happened yesterday when I was with you, and briefly again when Steven and I were returning to the campsite from the crypt. Now, third time here, same feeling.”

“Can you describe it?”

She thought for a moment. “It’s not like I’m being watched. I recognize that one. It’s more about a displaced sense of familiarity.”

“With the clearing or some related aspect?”

“I don’t know, that’s what’s weird about it. If it’s déjà vu, no big worry. If it’s one of those freaky ancestral traits my mother insists every Blume with Hezekiah’s blood possesses, I want an exorcist.”

She heard the faint amusement in Aidan’s voice. “Seeing as the weird thing only happens when you’re in this area, I’d go with déjà vu and worry more about what you can’t feel.”

“That remark,” she decided, “comes very close to sounding like a portent of doom.” When he went into the tent ahead of her and immediately swore, she summoned a benign smile. “And as the portent slowly fades, a living, breathing nightmare is born. Please tell me the man’s not lying dead under his sleeping bag.”

“He’s not here, Raven.” Aidan went to his haunches. “But his rifles are.”

Fear slithered through her stomach. “Rifles—as in more than one?”

“Three that I can see. Two DMRs—designated marksman—and an M4 assault rifle.”

“That does not sound good.” She noted that a battery lamp had also been knocked over and currently lay in a puddle of rainwater.

“His sleeping bag’s gone.” Aidan lifted the air mattress, let it fall. “No blankets in sight. There’s a half-drunk mug of beer and five oyster shells on the camp stool.” He stood. “Is anyone outside?”

She glanced backward through the opening. “The Mason jar man’s heading this way. One of the other food stalls is up and running, and the raven dog lady’s lowering the side of her truck.” She sighed. “We really need proper names for these people.”

Five minutes later, thanks to Guy, the Mason jar man, they were introduced to Joanne, the raven dog lady and Fred, the black cotton candy man.

“I called him a lot of uncomplimentary things,” Joanne admitted when Aidan questioned her, “but his name, well, he told you, it’s Herron. Phil Herron, I think.”

“When did you last see him?” Aidan asked.

“I’m not sure. Maybe ten o’clock last night. We took our time closing down because we figured on a late start today. There wasn’t much business once the rain started, but you know how it is, we jabbed at each other, so the time passed quickly enough.” The lines bracketing her mouth deepened and she turned, patting her chest as she thought back. “I did come out for a late cigarette—not sure what time, after midnight—and for a moment, I thought there was a man in front of Herron’s tent. Then, poof, he was gone.”

Raven frowned. “Gone inside, or gone away?”

“Not there anymore—if he ever was. The rain was pouring down and to be honest, I wasn’t terribly interested. Still...” She huffed out an impatient breath. “Okay, here’s the thing. If you asked me to describe the guy, I’d say he was wearing a long, dark coat and a big hat.” She held up a hand. “Again, I didn’t much care, but I remember thinking, he reminded me of that crazy preacher we talked about yesterday, the one they call Reverend Alley.”

Chapter Thirteen

“No.” Adamant, Raven yanked the bandage from her cousin’s shoulder. “I don’t care what that woman says, Gaitor is not working for Johnny Demars.”

“Ouch.” Steven glared at her. “Did I say he was?”

“You asked me if he could be. It’s the same thing.” She bent to inspect the bullet wound. “There’s no sign of infection. You’ll be doing push-ups in a few days.”

“I’d believe that if the expression on your face didn’t suggest you’re tempted to put a bullet in my other shoulder. I’m not even the dreaded messenger here, Raven. Why are you so pissed about a vague allegation?”

Why was she? Raven wondered. She hunted for a fresh roll of gauze. “Because of George, I guess. And partly because you told me Fergus is off somewhere with Grandpa. And even though I don’t believe Gaitor’s a bad guy, I’ve got this microscopic seed of doubt in my mind now, and it extends to Fergus by association.”

“Do you know where Gaitor is at the moment?”

“Last time I spoke to him, he was at Blume House and not quite awake. But when Aidan and I went up there after we talked to Joanne—she’s the food vendor with the silver truck—he was gone. One of the men who spent the night at Blume House said somebody called right after I hung up. Gaitor left a few minutes later, but he didn’t say who he talked to or where he was going.”

“Huh.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What does that mean?”

“Nothing, as long as you’ve got those stiletto scissors in your hand.”

An artless smile tugged on her lips. “I don’t stab irritating cousins with scissors, Steven.” A twinkle appeared. “As a rule. I also don’t suspect Gaitor of selling out, and I’m really not worried about Fergus being with Rooney, but it’s another question added to a list of questions that keeps growing rather than shrinking.”

“I’ll accept that answer.” But she noticed he kept a wary eye on the scissors. “Where’s Aidan?”

“In the front yard, trying to track Gaitor down by phone.”

“I thought maybe he didn’t like blood.”

“Only blood of the Raven’s Cove vineyard variety.”

“Ah, well, in that case, he might want to avoid the Reenactment tonight.”

“Where’s it taking place?”

“It traditionally unfolds at the town theater. However, since the theater has limited space, the mayor and council opted to play it out up on the ridge this year. They’ve got fireworks planned and a band—heavy on the bass drums for drama—coming in from the county seat. The whole thing’s too loosely organized for my liking, but as events go, ours is still in the grass roots stage. One thing’s sure, this Reenactment will be the most elaborate to date.”

“Sounds intriguing. What if it rains?”

He shrugged. “Bring an umbrella. I made it crystal clear to everyone involved that Blume House is off-limits for any and all Ravenspell events. Of course that was before Aidan came back to life, and I got shot so a crime lord could make some puffed-up point.”

Guilt twisted like a knife in Raven’s stomach. “I really am so sorry about all the horrible things that have happened to you. I’m the one Demars wants, and you’re the one who keeps getting hurt.”

He dismissed her with a wave. “Don’t sweat it, cousin. Just beat the bastard at his own game, and I’ll be happy. Now, before you wrap me up again like a half-done mummy, talk to me about this missing fish man. Are you sure the woman who claims to have seen Gaitor as Reverend Alley at his tent can be trusted?”

“She didn’t ask for trust, Steven. As for the fish man, all I can tell you is that his name’s Phil Herron, and there’s a strong possibility that he’s the second of Demars’s hit men.”

“Hope so.” Her cousin craned his neck and made a disgruntled sound. “Oh, great, Aidan’s heading this way, looking very coplike and intense.”

Raven tied off and snipped the gauze. When Aidan came in, she assessed his mood-darkened features. “Does that thundercloud expression mean you didn’t locate Gaitor?”

“No, he’s with a group of Ravenspell die-hards. They’re trying to define the outer limits of the evil spirit’s territory.”

“Odd way to start a day. Why the face?”

He came around behind her. “I used your iPhone to place the call.”

“Which is scowl-worthy because?”

“Right after it ended, a message appeared for you.”

An icy finger trailed along her spine. But she maintained her composure and took the device. The message was simple, straightforward and terrifying.

Evil is as Evil does,

Raven Blume.

My son is dead, so you are dead.

An eye for an eye.

* * *

T
HE
FOG
GREW
THROUGHOUT
the morning. The chill within it seeped into Raven’s bones, and nothing Aidan or Steven said could chase it away.

Feeling moody now herself, she opted for a walk on the beach over lunch in town.

There was something strangely soothing in the soft shades of gray that enveloped her. Sky, cliffs, sand and water bled together beneath swirling layers of mist. A ghostly backdrop, she reflected, for the macabre reenactment of Hezekiah Blume’s legendary transformation.

“You’ve gone quiet,” Aidan remarked when they reached the water’s edge. “You know I won’t let Demars hurt you.”

She gave a small laugh, gazed out to sea. “I’m not worried about me. You know that—or you should. It’s the tone of Demars’s text message that’s so unsettling. It feels like he’s saying,
Here we are, Raven, you and me, and we’re getting this done today.
I know you, Aidan. You’ll die for real if you think it’s the only way Demars can be stopped. You’ll kill him, he’ll kill you and I’ll go on living.” Barefoot, with her jeans rolled up and a boot in each hand, she walked through the wet sand and lapping ocean water. “Does that really sound fair to you?”

“As your husband and the man who loves you, I’d have to say, yeah, it pretty much does. I’m the one who shot Jason, Raven. Why should you pay the price for that?”

“Because I love you right back. And you were trying to shoot him in the arm. It’s not your fault he jumped sideways at the last second.”

“I should have aimed lower, gone for his leg.”

“Leaving his shooting arm free to kill one of the cashiers.” She stopped walking and faced him in the fog. “I don’t want you to die for me. I don’t want anyone to die for me.”

Aidan stared into her eyes. “It bothers you, doesn’t it? Gaitor,” he clarified, and smiled when she hissed out a breath. “I’m not so hungover I can’t follow your train of thought. Joanne thinks she saw him outside a missing man’s tent, and now you’re wondering if maybe Gaitor knows where the missing man is.”

“Hit man,” Raven corrected.

“Alleged hit man. We’ve got three rifles. That’s not proof of a crime or even the intent to commit one.”

“Maybe Gaitor found proof. Not that I want him to have acted on it, but thinking he made a hit man disappear is preferable to considering the possibility that he could be on Demars’s payroll.”

“Were you considering that possibility?”

“Yes—no.” She rocked her head. “Maybe. For about a tenth of a second when Steven suggested it. The other thing, though—the idea that he made some kind of discovery about Phil Herron and decided to handle it in his own Gaitor way—that one stuck around a bit longer. We both know he learned how to police in a different era than you. And I’m not completely convinced you wouldn’t have done something to the guy yourself given half a chance. But in the end, I came to the conclusion that you’d both suck it up and follow proper procedure. So, having reaffirmed Gaitor’s status as a good guy, why do you think he was outside Phil Herron’s tent last night?”

“That could have been anyone. Herron’s tent is fifty yards from Joanne’s truck. It was dark, it was raining, and the person she saw was wearing black.”

“All stellar points.” A little surprised by an object slowly coming into view, she squinted forward. “Is that an old dory?” Aidan’s uncomprehending expression made her grin. “A dory’s a flat-bottomed boat.”

“And you couldn’t have just used the word
boat?
”

“I could have, except it’s a dory, and you should be Irish enough to know the difference. Whatever you call it, being half-buried in the sand, it looks more like a beached whale than a watercraft. I’m surprised some kid hasn’t...”

She trailed off as they drew closer, and the weathered hull came into focus.

Objects washed ashore with the tide, Raven realized over the building roar of blood in her ears. And they didn’t always wash out again.

Like the arm and head barely visible around the splintered bow. The bloated arm and head of the man who’d gone missing from his tent last night.

Phil Herron.

* * *

T
HE
MAN
WAS
DEAD
. Anyone with eyes could see that. Unfortunately, both of Herron’s eyes were missing, as was the back of his skull.

Raven knelt in the sand, a yard and half from the corpse and said nothing. But Aidan knew what she was thinking.

Taking her by the arms, he turned her until she looked at him. “This is not your fault. You need to understand that.”

“I’m not blaming myself, not really. But I am confused. I thought maybe he’d faked his own disappearance to throw us off. Now? No idea. You?”

“Nothing that works start to finish. If Herron worked for and was killed by Demars, he must have done, seen or heard something that threatened his boss.”

“Maybe he saw Demars’s face,” Raven speculated. “Automatic response? Shoot out his eyes. It could be a symbolic statement—vicious, but appropriate from this particular murderer’s point of view.”

Aidan’s own eyes hadn’t stopped moving. He scanned what he could see—not much—of the ridge that towered over them. Too many places for a sniper to hide, he decided, and tightened his grip on her arms. “We need to get out of here.”

Uncertain, she regarded the nearby rocks and boulders. “I thought the fog might hide us.” She banged her forehead on his chest. “Why would I think that after everything that’s happened?”

“Because you’re a doctor, not a cop. Different mentalities.” Even as he spoke, Aidan glimpsed a flash of metal in the spot where the cliff sank to its lowest point and the rocks speared upward like daggers. “Behind me, Raven.” Shoving her down, he whipped out his gun.

The first shot struck the damaged end of the dory. The second ricocheted off the rock face behind it.

Wrapping her fingers around Aidan’s ankle, Raven tugged him back. “Bullets won’t penetrate the hull. If the shooter stays where he is, we’ll be covered.”

Outpowered, outpositioned and with only one additional ammo clip in his back pocket, Aidan went with her suggestion and hoped to hell the old wood was thick enough to hold back rifle fire.

More bullets zinged off the dory. Because swearing helped him think, he did so while he checked his gun.

Behind him, Raven patted his ankle and pulled the backup from his boot. “Please tell me you can hit a distant target through the fog with a Glock.”

“You can.” He shoved the half-empty clip back in. “But you need luck to do it.” He watched the swirling clouds of white. “Fog’s getting patchy. He’s using the breaks to scope us.”

“Can we get to those rocks?”

“Maybe.” Two bullets embedded in the hull, then two more. “But that’s where he’ll expect us to go.”

Another shot blasted the tip off the jutting cliff wall.

“We have to do something, Aidan. He’s not going to run out of ammunition—oh, yuck, dead hand.” She shoved Herron’s lifeless fingers away. “All we’ve got are the rocks.”

“Seems like.” Ridiculously unfocused, he gestured with his gun. “Did you really just get weirded out by a dead man’s flesh?”

“Diagnostic physician,” she reminded, “not a forensic pathologist. Dead flesh is gross and—wait a minute!” She hunted through her jacket pockets. “Where’s my— Do you have my phone? Give it,” she said when his brows came together. She ducked automatically as two more bullets flew past. “I’ll call Steven. He knows Blume House almost as well as Rooney does. There might be a way to get inside from out here. Prohibition, pirates, fortunes to be made, huge property to maintain—it’s possible. No Blume was ever a paragon of virtue.”

Aidan had his hand on her iPhone when he heard the tone that signaled an incoming text message. Lifting his eyes briefly to the fog shrouding the cliff, he read the four chilling words that had appeared on the screen.

Tick, tock

Tick, tock

* * *

T
HERE
WERE
AS
MANY
as five ocean-side access points, Steven informed her, but the only one he could direct them to had caved in several years before.

“He’s calling Rooney.” Raven pulled on her boots while the words of the text message repeated in her head. “How long’s it been since we heard a shot?”

“Two minutes.”

“It feels more like two hours.” Her cell rang, and she answered. “Steven?”

“No, it’s Gaitor. You sound shaken, Raven. Is something wrong?”

Aidan took the phone. “Where are you?”

“On my way back to the campsite from town. What’s going on?”

“Are you alone?”

“No, I’m with Fergus and Rooney.”

“Rooney!” Raven grabbed Aidan’s hand, yanked it toward her. “Gaitor, ask him how we can access Blume House from the beach. We’re about six hundred yards north of Raven’s Ridge. Tell him Aidan and I need to get into the house—now.”

It took a minute, time Raven knew they didn’t have, but finally, her great-grandfather came up with a landmark she could identify through the fog. She followed a jagged crevice up the wall to a misshapen rock formation.

“We called it the Cave of Lost Souls back in the day,” Rooney revealed. “Place is full of sinkholes, skinny bridges and passageways that lead to nowhere, but if your eyes are sharp, you won’t get lost because there’s a raven’s feather printed on the wall every ten feet or so. They’ll lead you right up into the house.”

“I hope it’s a Braille feather,” Raven said as she ended the call. “I didn’t bring a flashlight.”

“I did.” She watched Aidan size up the run they’d need to make and the timeworn ledges they’d need to climb to reach the mouth of the cave. “You go first. I’ll cover you. The fog’ll help.”