Krewe of Hunters 2 Heart of Evil (16 page)

Marshall Donegal had followed her when she went out to the stables, determined on riding. He kept trying to dissuade her while Cliff kept trying to dissuade her.

Before she'd mounted up on Varina, she'd given Cliff a huge hug. “I love you, cousin!” she told him.

Cliff had looked at her strangely and then shook
his head. “Look, Ashley, you don't have to defend me. I didn't murder anyone.”

She'd grinned at him. “I never thought you did. I just wanted to say that I love you!”

She hadn't bothered with a saddle; she had to find out if there was really a stone near the bayou. If so, she wasn't imagining the ghost. He was really there, telling her things.

Or she was imagining the ghost, and he was really suppressed memories in the back of her mind. Whichever. She wasn't doing well fighting the concept of imagining Marshall Donegal, so she might as well try to use what was happening. And it didn't look as if she'd be running to Jake for comfort. She'd be business, strictly business, from now on out.

She thought that she had ridden out alone; she should have known better. Marshall Donegal was riding behind her—on a ghost horse, of course. His mount was a beautiful roan, complete with all his Confederate trappings.

“Dammit, woman! Let me lead!” he called to her.

She felt something as he and the roan seemed to pass through her. Then she took off through the woods, following him.

They rode for twenty minutes. Then the ghost horse let out a whinny and stopped, and her haunting ancestor slipped from his mount and walked down the trail to a large pine. He tried to rip away the vines and grass and weeds that grew around the
base; Ashley saw that the grass moved, but little else happened.

She began the task herself.

She gasped out loud. It was there, a large, flat, stone marker. One word had been crudely etched into it.

FRIEND.

Ashley sat back on her haunches and looked up. Marshall Donegal leaned against the tree, watching her.

“Why? Why did Emma bury him out here? There's a tomb for the slaves—and then the servants—who stayed on to work the plantation,” Ashley said.

“Emma was truly a wonder,” he said sadly. “Any rumors you heard about fights between us—or my indiscretions—were stories created because people need stories. We fell in love, and when that first blush of love was gone, we still loved one another deeply. She was a strong woman. She held the place together after I died—with the help of Harold Boudreaux. In 1864, they became lovers. The world would never have accepted it. Even after the war ended, they would have been in grave danger. There was a pecking order for those of mixed blood in New Orleans, you know that. Quadroons were all the rage to become a man's mistress, and the Quadroon balls were infamous. But after the war, the KKK was started up, and if they had been discovered, Harold most probably would have been burned on a cross, and Emma would have been subject to rape and ridicule. They had to keep
their affair entirely secret. So he raised their child as one of his own. Another of the former slaves—a young woman of mixed blood herself—was accepted as the child's mother.”

“Did you mind? Did you hate what happened?” Ashley asked him. “I mean, as a ghost, were you bitter or…can you still hurt?”

“My soul can know agony,” he said quietly. “But did I mind this? No. I loved Emma with my whole heart. And a dead man knows that the color of his skin doesn't mean a damned thing. I admired Harold. I loved what he did for my family, and how he taught and defended my children. No, I didn't mind. Not this. I just thought you should know. Maybe it can help you in some way.”

They both started at a sound that seemed to come from the woods that led straight to the bayou. Ashley quickly stood up. “Probably a raccoon or even a squirrel,” she said and grimaced. “Maybe even a gator.” She walked toward her mare.

It wasn't a raccoon, squirrel or gator. As she mounted, she heard the noise from the woods by the bayou again.

“Quickly,” Marshall said. “I'll hold the path!”

“But it may be nothing.”

“You're alone out here. Get back to the house! Please!”

She almost laughed and reminded her ghost protector that he was dead.

But she didn't. She turned to ride, finding the
quickest path back to the house and kneeing her mare to a gait that would lead it at all speed through the trails without killing them both.

But as she made her way homeward, something darted into the path in front of her.

Varina reared, and she wasn't as prepared as she should have been. She cursed herself for her carelessness as she felt herself fly into the air.

And land hard on her rump in the middle of the dirt path.

As she quickly stood, rubbing her injured section, she realized that it had grown late.

Darkness was falling, and she was alone in the woods.

Even her ghost was far behind her now.

Interlude

S
he stood in gathering twilight, cursing her mare for throwing her.

Poor mare; it wasn't her fault—she had been startled.
Scared.

“Damn you, foul rodent!” she cried into the bushes. She swore softly; it was time to walk, and walk quickly. “Last time I follow a ghost into the woods!” she muttered.

Was it a ghost? Was there really a ghost? Or did she have deep-seated memories that she needed to address, and seeing the ghost of Marshall Donegal was a way of doing it? Hmm. That would be a good one for a shrink.

Maybe, just maybe, people did see ghosts. And maybe it was some kind of a gift, and she'd been far too terrified to ever recognize the possibility before.

Jake had that gift—that sixth sense or intuition. And when he'd come to her with it, she had simply panicked.

Well, too late on that one!

She paused; she heard something coming from the pines and brush closer to the bayou. Gator? It was unlikely that one of the giant crocodilians she'd known all her life was going to come this far in off the bayou and stalk her.

She quickened her pace.

Of course, she knew that even on land an alligator could move damned fast as well.

But, no. The woods here were filled with birds, the bayou was brimming with fish and there were plenty of small mammals. A gator had not had a whiff of her and decided that it was time for his evening meal.

She heard it again. Definitely not a gator, because she kept hearing the rustling, would stop—and then the rustling would stop as well. A beast of prey would come straight for her.

She started to run. As she did so, she heard a thrashing in the woods ahead of her and then from one of the other trails.

She swore and looked around her. There was a fallen slender pine near her, leaning against an oak. She tested the trunk carefully, found that it would bear her weight and crawled up to the branches of the hardier oak. She kept crawling, hoping that whatever was out there didn't climb trees.

The thrashing around her grew louder, as if amplified in the thickening darkness of the night. She finally realized that she could hear hoofbeats, and a
rider was coming for her. She waited, barely daring to breathe.

Of course, Cliff knew that she was out here. When her mare came back without her, he'd be on the trail, coming to find her.

But even as she heard the sound of a horse, she saw something dark below her. Not a creature—a man. A man who looked like a shadow because he was dressed in black: black boots, jeans, sweatshirt and hoodie. He moved with his face lowered, and in the darkness he might have
been
a black shadow.

Was she seeing shadows now instead of ghosts?

No, he was real.

He was approaching the tree; he paused as if listening.

She heard her name called through the trees. And she no longer heard the sound of hoofbeats.

For a moment, the entire world seemed silent. She waited, not daring to breathe.

Darkness fell in earnest, but the moon prevailed.

And then, naturally, the moon was covered by clouds.

Ashley cursed herself for starting out alone tonight. She had to breathe; she tried to do it silently.

And then, though she couldn't see him, she was certain that the man below her in the dark hoodie was looking up.

Did he see her frozen there?

She held her position. She couldn't tell if he was there or not anymore; his form seemed to have
been swallowed up by the blackness of the ground below.

There was rustling.

There
was
someone below her, someone who seemed to be stalking the area.

Something banged against the tree. A man's hand?

She started to slip; she felt a splinter of bark shoot into her hand and barely kept from crying out. She tried to shift her position and fell, a scream escaping her lips at last.

She landed hard on human flesh, toppling the standing man to the ground. Panic seized her and she shot out a fist, striking anywhere she could as she tried to rise. She made it halfway to her feet when she heard him shout out.

“Bloody hell, Ashley! Why are you hitting me, damn it?”

Jake.

She went still and started trembling. For a minute, she still had to wonder if he'd been in the pines before the bayou, stalking her.

But then both heard it; more noise coming from the trail.

“Ashley! Jake! Where the hell are you two?”

That was Cliff's voice.

And from the bayou, another voice.

“Hey! What's going on in there? I have a gun, and I know how to use it!”

Jake scrambled up, half knocking Ashley over but then drawing her to her feet.

A light suddenly glared into the darkness, and they both raised their hands to protect their eyes. Cliff came trotting up on his favorite mount, Jeff. He dismounted in the little clearing where he found them.

“Cliff!” Jake said.

“Where's your horse?” Cliff asked.

“Where is your horse?” Ashley asked Jake.

“Mine is tethered down the road—he meant you!” Jake told her, irritated. “What the hell are you doing, skulking around in the woods by yourself? Jesus, Ashley, how much of an idiot are you?”

He was clearly upset, but he took a step back.

“Damn it, I would have thought that you had some sense.”

She heard the safety slide on Cliff's shotgun, and she felt a millisecond of fear again.

She was wrong; Cliff was bitter, and he was going to shoot her in the woods.

“Someone is coming,” he said.

A minute later, his shotgun aimed at the clearing, Toby Keaton came into view. Seeing them, he lowered his weapon.

“What is this? A family meeting? You guys scared the hell out of me! What's going on over here?” he demanded.

“I was out riding. Some fairly big mammal scared
Varina, my mare,” said Ashley. Ruefully, she added, “She threw me.”

Toby looked at Jake, standing beside her, and Cliff, seated again up on Jeff.

“With what went on—you all damn near scared the death out of me. I mean, this side is your property, but I'm just a spit across that bayou. You've got to warn me when you're going to be rustling around by the water at night. I can tell the difference between the sound of a gator and the sound of folks stomping around in the woods, you know!” Toby said.

He was clearly shaken.

“Toby, I'm so sorry,” Ashley said. She looked at him. His black jacket didn't have a hood.

But he might have a hoodie stuck down beneath his coat; his shirt was black as well.

“How did you get over here, Toby?” Jake asked him, as if reading Ashley's mind.

“I live next door, remember?” Toby said, exasperated. “One of my hounds was going crazy, but he lost the scent at the water. I don't come out at night without a shotgun. God knows when you're going to come upon a doped-up schoolkid, a gator or, hell, a damned poacher! Or just a nutcase now, like whoever did in old Charles.”

“I'm sorry. Toby, how did you get here?” Ashley repeated. “Have you been over in the woods right by the bayou?”

“I came over in my little aluminum canoe,” Toby
said. “I heard all manner of rustling—and it's turned out to be you!”

He shook his head. “Look, Ashley, I know we're all kind of scared right now, so maybe you could quit with the trail riding in the middle of night until they find whoever killed Charles!”

“She won't be out alone again,” Jake said firmly, in a voice that seemed to scrape all the way down her spine. “It's pitch-dark and chilly out here, and the mosquitoes are big enough to rustle the woods themselves. We're going to get on back now.”

Toby clicked on his own high-beam flashlight. Once again, they protected their eyes.

“Toby!” Ashley said quickly.

“Yes?”

“Were you under this tree a few minutes ago?” she asked.

He looked at her and squinted. “No. Well, hell, I don't think so. I didn't know what the hell was out here—I was moving around quiet as I could, trying to listen. Why?”

“I—I thought I might have seen you,” she said.

“Well, if you'd seen me, it would have been nice if you'd said something,” he told her indignantly. “I'm getting back.”

Toby turned and started tramping down the trail. They could follow the glow of his flashlight as he headed for the bayou.

“What was that all about?” Jake asked Ashley.

“I climbed the tree because…because I was afraid.
I thought something was stalking me. I saw someone beneath me, and it scared the hell out of me,” Ashley said.

“What were you doing out here?” Jake demanded, perplexed.

“Riding!” she snapped.

“Well, he's right. You shouldn't have been, and you damned well better not do so again until the killer is found.”

“And what if you brilliant people with your brilliant team never find the killer?” Ashley demanded.

Jake didn't answer. Cliff did.

“Then we won't be out here, period. The plantation will go down, and the Donegal family won't own it anymore. You'll see sugarcane here, just like you see it beyond the cemetery side.”

Jake was staring at her; she could see that in the glow of the flashlight Cliff still held on the little copse where they stood.

“We'll find him. We'll find the killer,” Jake said, and he turned away. “Come on, you can ride with me.”

She was angry…and worse, she realized. She was still feeling rejected, no matter how stupid any of it might have been—even if she
had
been the one to put a block on him years before.

“I'll ride with Cliff,” she said.

Cliff was startled, but he looked down at her with a shrug, sheathed his shotgun in his saddle and shifted the light in his hands to reach down for her.

“Let's hope Varina made her way home—and that your grandfather hasn't gone out and had a heart attack!”

With Cliff's strong grasp, she leapt up behind him on Jeff. Ahead on the trail, finding his way through the dark, Jake mounted up on his horse.

They made a silent trek back through the woods to the house.

Approaching the stables, they saw that Varina had indeed made her way home. She was walking around in the center of the stables as if she were teasing the horses who were still in their stalls.

“I've got the horses,” Cliff said gruffly. “You get in the house, Ashley, before Frazier realizes that you're not around anywhere.”

She started toward the house. Jake was right behind her. She felt him come closer and closer, but she didn't realize he was going to stop her until she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“What the hell were you really doing?” he demanded.

“Riding. I do it all the time.”

“Right—after a corpse is found in the cemetery.”

She turned around and stared at him.

“A murdered man!” he said with some force.

“Look, this is my house. I live here, and I don't think I'm under suspicion—by anyone's standards. I'll ride when I feel like riding!” she told him.

She was startled when she suddenly saw him take a breath and smile.

“What?” she demanded.

“I'll just talk to Frazier,” he said and walked past her.

“Damn it, Jake, stop!”

He did so, turning back to her.

“I—I heard a rumor after the reenactment,” she said. “I heard that Emma Donegal was actually Cliff's ancestor and not one of the men in the family. She could never admit—not at that time—that she had an ex-slave, Harold Boudreaux, for a lover, or that she'd given birth to a child of mixed blood. But she loved him, and I heard that there was a gravestone out there. She had him buried out by the bayou. I thought if I found the stone, it might all be real. I went to find it.”

He paused, watching her for a moment. “And did you find it?”

“Yes, it's there.”

“It has his name on it?”

“The word
Friend
was carved into it.”

He was quiet, and his silence seemed to scream that a stone that said
Friend
didn't really mean a thing, and that it was incredibly stupid at this time to be wandering around in the woods looking for the headstone of a man who might or might not have been an ancestor's lover.

Before they could argue further, the riverside door opened and Beth stepped out. “There you are! Goodness, I was starting to get worried. Jake, Jackson got
back, and he's looking for you. Crab cakes are on, and it's time for dinner!”

Ashley turned from Jake and looked at Beth, forcing a cheerful smile.

“Crab cakes! Better yet,
your
crab cakes. Do we have a minute to wash up? Should I call Cliff?”

“I'll get him on the house phone, honey. You run on up. Angela has given me a hand in the kitchen, and it will all be on the table in ten minutes, so hurry it up, girlfriend! And, we've got more company!”

Ashley looked at her, puzzled.

“Will and Whitney?” Jake asked.

“Yep. They're as nice as they can be!” Beth told Ashley.

Ashley didn't doubt that the pair was exactly that. She was surprised to feel a little tug at her heart, created by the sound of pleasure in Jake's voice.

His friends were there. Maybe Whitney was more than a friend.

She suddenly felt out of step with his life and ashamed of herself. Jake had been the best friend in the world; she had loved him. She had turned from him. He deserved a little happiness.

“It will be great to meet them,” she said.

She flashed Jake a quick smile, and hurried on into the house.

 

It was odd, but somehow the arrival of Will and Whitney—with all their paraphernalia—was like a breath of fresh air.

A horrible murder had taken place, and they were in the midst of a rough investigation. But Whitney's vibrant personality made its mark on the solemn household. As they sat down to dinner, she explained the setup that she and Will had carried out.