The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) (7 page)

Branch shook his head again. He didn’t want to believe it. No one did.

“Did he have a close friend named Elizabeth or Lizzie?” Aidan asked. “Does the name mean anything to you?”

“There are a lot of Elizabeths out there,” Branch said. “No one who was special in Richard’s life, that I was aware of, anyway. He was an open man, but I didn’t pry. I admired him. He was my friend. That doesn’t mean I knew everything about his life.”

Aidan rose, setting down his cup on the table beside his chair. “Thank you. We may need to ask you more questions later.”

“Like I said, I’ll be here,” Branch told them, rising, as well. “I’m about to hit the whiskey—and try to sleep.”

At the door, Aidan paused. “Where will we find the security guys, Bari Macaby and Jilli—”

“Jillian Durfey. Jillian is down the hall on the other side of Richard’s room. The security men are across from us,” Branch said, pointing at the doors. “Muscles, Magic, Mischief. Did you want to go through Richard’s room? It’s locked because of the investigation, of course, but...”

“We’ll have a chat with one or two of the others first, Mr. Branch,” Aidan said.

“Sure. Whenever you need me, I’m available.”

“Oh, by the way, you know a woman was murdered, too?” Aidan asked.

Branch nodded dully.

“Any idea who she might have been? Was Richard seeing someone recently? Even casually? Did any aides or groupies or anyone like that disappear?”

“No. Richard was a straight shooter. He wasn’t seeing anyone right now. He was focused on the campaign. We traveled here with just the security men, Jilli, me and Richard. We’re not that far from the city, you know. This should have been a speech and some hand-shaking. But...”

His voice faded, but then he suddenly stared at Aidan, eyes narrowing. “Aidan Mahoney.”

“Yes.”

“Your name was on one of his lists. You were going to be invited to a dinner. You...knew Richard?” he asked.

“Yes,” Aidan said. “Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”

Taylor Branch closed the door.

Aiden turned to see Lee Van Camp studying him. “You knew Richard well, didn’t you?” he asked.

Aidan nodded. “I hadn’t seen him in a while. I watched his career, though, with pleasure. He was always a good kid. A good guy.”

He waited for one of them to ask if he should be on the case.

Neither did.

“Let’s start our interviews with Jilli,” Aidan said.

They walked down the hall to her room and tapped on the door. It opened almost immediately.

Jilli was definitely affected by what had happened. Like Branch, it looked as though she’d taken a shower. Aidan wondered if it was a subliminal way to attempt to wash away the shock and horror of Richard’s death.

“You’re back,” she said, looking at Van Camp. “Do you know anything? Have you found out who did this? My God, I still can’t believe it!”

She had a glass in her hand, half full of some amber liquid—Scotch, he figured, or bourbon. Aidan had a feeling she’d already knocked back a few. Her eyes were red and swollen. She’d obviously been crying and crying hard for a long time. Even as she looked at them, a trickle of tears started down her cheeks.

Van Camp introduced Aidan. “So we’ve got locals and Feds,” she murmured. “Well, we may need magic police in on this one, because it was, like,
poof!
Richard just...disappeared.”

“Tell me about your day—and the last time you saw Richard,” Aidan said.

She didn’t offer them anything to drink and didn’t suggest they sit. Her room wasn’t small, although it was a junior suite. Nothing like Branch’s. But she had a desk, sofa, coffee table and small kitchenette.

Voorhaven leaned against the wall. Van Camp didn’t wait for an invitation; he walked across the room and took a seat on the sofa.

Jilli turned, her fingers curled around her drink, and sat on the bed.

“It was a good day. A good travel day that became a good campaign day,” Jilli said.

“Why was he campaigning up here?” Voorhaven asked. “He was a mayoral candidate in the city.”

Jilli smiled. “This is the Hudson Valley! It’s beautiful and it’s about two hours out of the city. People come here for respite. New York City residents buy property up here—time-shares, little cottages, condos—you name it. It’s an escape zone. Richard was from this area and he loved it.”

Yes, he had. He’d loved roaming the forests. His parents might have moved to Florida, but he still felt a strong connection to the place. He’d loved a campfire at night and all the haunted happenings that went on around Halloween. He’d loved Washington Irving and tales of the Revolution and the hardy Dutch settlers who had first farmed the land.

“Okay, so you arrived here with your security detail.”

She nodded, studying her glass. “Richard was good about his security, knew he needed it for practical reasons. But he truly loved people. It wasn’t fake or part of the game with him. He’d shake hands or talk with anyone who wanted a word with him. So, we’d seen people at lunch, and when we came here we were high on the enthusiasm he received. We were in the convention center. There were cops everywhere, plus the center itself had its own security, and we had Muscles, Mischief and Magic. They were just checking the scanners—metal scanners, you know—when Richard disappeared. At first, we thought he’d wandered somewhere to practice his speech. Or gone outside for a breath of fresh air. But...I’m telling you, it was as if he disappeared into thin air.”

“You were testing the audio when that happened?”

“Yes. If they get a level with one person, then they just have to tweak it when Richard comes out,” she said. “That was the idea.”

“But you and Taylor Branch and the convention manager—Bari Macaby—were the last people to see him, correct?” Van Camp said.

Jilli nodded.

“Did Richard ever say anything to you about a strip club?” Aidan asked.

There was shock in her eyes. “A strip club?”

Aidan smiled. “Most men I know—and women, too, for that matter—have been in one at some point. Bachelorette parties, bachelor parties, birthdays.”

“Yeah, but
Richard? In the middle of a campaign?
”

“Did he have a friend named Lizzie? Or Elizabeth?” Aidan asked.

She shrugged. “He might have. I didn’t know all his friends. Lizzie...or Elizabeth. Not an unusual name. I know several.”

“Thank you,” Aidan said. “I hope you get some sleep.”

She still looked confused by the strip club question. She hadn’t moved when they reached the door. “Come and lock this,” Aidan told her gently.

She rose like a sleepwalker. When they were out in the hallway, Aidan heard the bolt slide home.

“Muscles, Mischief and Magic next?” Van Camp asked.

“No, let’s do Richard’s room,” Aidan said.

Van Camp opened the door to the suite.

It was larger than Branch’s with a huge living area, a conference table that would seat twelve, a good-size kitchenette and a bedroom. Richard had been almost OCD neat; the outer rooms could be described as Spartan. Aidan headed into the bedroom. “See what you find out here,” Aidan told Van Camp and Voorhaven.

Richard’s clothing had been neatly hung and his shoes were lined up in the closet. His computer was gone. Aidan knew it was at the police lab so they could search for anything that might give them a clue.

There was a notepad by the phone. It was blank.

But Aidan picked it up and held it to the light. He could see where a pen had pressed into the paper.

He didn’t have a pencil to run over the slight indentations on the page. But he studied it for a minute, trying to make out the words.

They said
Lizzie grave.

Aidan had the strange feeling that Richard had idly written the same words over and over again.

Because they were always at the back of his mind?

4

M
o was curled on the sofa with Rollo’s massive body taking up the second half, and Grace was in the rocker. They were just reaching the end of
Elf
when Mo’s phone rang.

“Hello?”

It was Tommy Jensen.

“They’ve finished up here,” he said. “They’ve let me open!” he told her. “My God, Mo, you should’ve seen it. They went through the parking lot inch by inch. They collected more garbage than I ever knew existed. My headless horseman is gone, of course—I almost feel I should change the name of the place. Then, after they were finished with the outside, they came in. They sprayed stuff all over—fingerprint stuff. Jeez! There were hundreds of people here last night. But I guess the cops are dotting their i’s and crossing their t’s. Anyway, they’re letting me open. Will you come out to the bar tonight? Please?”

It occurred to her that the police had warned people about going out. But she wasn’t alone; she was with Grace. And she had Rollo. She looked at her wolfhound, who was watching her as if trying to discern her conversation.

“Grace is here. I’m sure she’ll want to come, too.”

Grace nodded enthusiastically.

“Have you heard anything else?” Tommy asked.

“Only what they’re saying on TV.”

“They closed down all the headless horseman attractions today. It’s going to be a killer for the merchants. Oh, bad wording!” Tommy said.

“That’s why Grace is here. They closed the Mausoleum tonight.”

“Yes, of course. Well, come out here and commiserate with me. My staff’s heading in. I’ll miss the dinner hour...but maybe if people see your car, they’ll come.”

“I can bring Rollo?”

“Sure, but you know the law—put on his service-dog jacket.”

“Yeah.”

When she hung up, Grace was ecstatic. “Yes! We’re out of here.”

“Hey, you didn’t
have
to be here.”

“What? You think I wanted to be at my house? Uh-uh! But I’m ready for a bunch of people, society...and good food. Tommy has the best cheese steaks around.”

“Want me to drive?” Mo asked.

“I guess we should take both cars. I can just go home from there.”

Mo agreed, and they were ready to leave within minutes. Darkness had fallen, and she paused after opening her car door. The breeze moving through the trees created a distinct rustling sound that was almost like a strange whisper. She could see movement in the shadows cast by foliage in the moonlight. The air was crisp and cool, and the night seemed to have its own sense of expectation.

Of waiting.

Then the late train went chugging by; it screamed of the everyday and the mundane, and the odd spell that had taken hold was lifted.

As it turned out, Tommy had been wrong to worry about business. While traveling to his restaurant had seemed like a voyage through a land that was asleep, his parking lot was so crowded that Grace called her cell and suggested they park on the street by the Old Dutch Church.

They did. Mo wasn’t afraid. Rollo was with her and wagging his tail.

But she found herself pausing again. Seeing the old graves up the hill at the Old Dutch Church and then beyond at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, she felt there was no place where the past seemed more alive. She could hear the water trickling under the new bridge, and she could easily imagine Irving’s Ichabod Crane as he rode home on a broken-down nag through the trees, their skeletal branches dipping and swaying in the moonlight.

“Hey!” Grace had parked near her. “We going in or what?”

“Yep. If we can get in. Look how busy it is! And it’s only a little after nine. Early for the bar to be hopping like this.”

“Go figure!” Grace said. “Gruesome murder draws a crowd!”

“Hey, people love haunted houses,” Mo reminded her. “
You
should know that.”

“Yeah,” Grace admitted. “True enough.”

“I like old mysteries,” Mo said thoughtfully. “I don’t like to think about the families left behind when something terrible happens, though. If it’s far in the past, everyone’s at rest and there’s no one still alive to be hurt by this kind of fascination with blood and guts.”

“Yes, well...heads showing up in headless horseman territory...that is, I don’t know, scary, so we need to band together.”

While the streets had been quiet, it seemed that everyone in the village of Sleepy Hollow as well as Tarrytown and Irving had descended on the Headless Horseman Hideaway Restaurant and Bar.

“Nice! I love it. All these people! Tonight it feels good,” Grace said.

Mo looked back at the Old Dutch Church. White wraiths seemed to slip between the graves and mausoleums up on the hill. It was just the moon playing tricks, she knew. Because tonight an autumn mist was actually forming.

When they walked in, the crowd at the bar was three-deep; all the tables were taken. But Tommy, working behind the bar, saw them arrive.

“I saved a table for you!” he called to them.

Hurrying out, he caught hold of Mo’s arm and smiled over at Grace. He was beaming. “I should feel bad, right? I
do
feel bad. I feel terrible. But...I didn’t know Richard Highsmith. And the crowds at Halloween and during the fall and at Christmas keep us going through the rest of the year.”

“It’s okay, Tommy,” Mo said. She was glad they’d come, and he was obviously pleased that she and Grace were there.

As they moved through the crowd, people kept turning to look at Rollo. Some patted him; some asked first. Luckily, Rollo would never hurt anyone. Mo caught bits and pieces of conversation as they walked. Most people were talking about what had happened. Speculation ran high as to whether it was a political assassination or a maniac on the loose.

“But then, why the murdered woman?” someone asked. “Was she killed just for effect? Or maybe she walked in on the first murder!”

“Your table’s back here,” Tommy said, escorting them through the restaurant, apparently oblivious to the stream of words around them.

“Hey, don’t worry about us. Take care of your customers,” Mo said.

“No, I’m good. You’re the first friends who promised to show up and actually have!” Tommy said happily. He led them to a booth near the back, one Mo particularly loved because it was private.

The whole restaurant had been designed to resemble a wooden cottage deep in the woods. The walls were decorated with framed pages from Washington Irving’s work and various prints of the illustrations done for his stories throughout the years. Fabricated trees and vines separated booths and areas of the bar, and the overall impression was decidedly charming. But Tommy had also seen to it that from every section of the bar you could see one of the large-screen TVs he had high on the walls.

The menu was attuned to the story, as well. Brom Bones was a rib dish. Ye Olde Dutch Churchyard was a house specialty—a stew with carrots, potatoes, onions and roast beef so tender it melted in the mouth.

“I’m having the Katrina Van Tassel!” Grace announced. She was ordering the chicken potpie, each one baked with a picture of the lovely fictional lass impressed into the crust.

“I’ll put your order in myself,” Tommy told them. “Mo?”

“Uh, the same. Great.”

“And I’ll have a chardonnay,” Grace said. “What about you, Mo?”

“Going to stick with water tonight,” she replied.

“Suit yourself. I’d be downing a bottle of Jack if I dared!” Tommy said with a laugh.

Grace’s eyes were on one of the television screens. She looked over at Mo. “I can hardly hear, but we’re major national news,” she said.

“Highsmith might have been mayor, then governor or senator—and possibly a presidential candidate. Not to mention the state of the bodies when they were found,” Mo said. “It’s big news, yes.”

Mo stared at the closest screen as Rollo settled beneath the table at her feet.

She could see two of the screens. On the second one she saw quick images of Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. The numerous headless horsemen set up for the Halloween season were spotlighted. Fortunately, no one had caught the murder scene on a cell phone. Although she couldn’t hear well, she was pretty sure a reporter was saying that nothing had shown up on YouTube, and that his station would never sensationalize such a tragic situation.

Abby Cole, a tall, attractive redhead and Tommy’s lead bartender, came sweeping by their table with their drinks. Both Mo and Grace greeted her warmly.

“You doing okay?” Mo asked her.

“I’m going to make a fortune—if I survive to spend it,” Abby said. “We have two new girls on the floor. That’s why I ran over with your drinks. You should have food in a few minutes. If you get bored, you can always hop behind the bar!” This was something Mo had done on a few occasions, as a favor to Tommy—her part-time college job as a bartender coming in handy.

In a whirl Abby was gone. Five minutes later, a smiling young girl hurried over with their food. “One Cemetery Salad and one Brom Bones!” She set the plates down, then dashed off.

Mo and Grace looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“The salad or the ribs?” Mo asked Grace.

“Ah, the ribs. Okay?”

“Absolutely. I think when we’re finished, I may go help at the bar. Can you watch Rollo?”

“You bet. And I’ll watch for anything good-looking and unattached that walks in. Okay, forget good-looking. I’ll keep an eye out for semi-reputable and bathed.”

Mo smiled at that and ate the salad, which was really very good. It had strips of tuna, fruit, nuts and all kinds of great flavors. It wasn’t, however, a chicken potpie.

“Okay, I’m heading to the bar,” Mo said.

“Is it all right if I give Rollo a piece of meat?” Grace asked.

“No, he has his own treats.”

Grace just smiled at her; she was already passing Rollo a tidbit of her food.

Mo slipped behind the bar, and Abby cast her a look of gratitude. They weren’t alone. Josh Whitby was there, too, but the place was so busy, she figured she could be helpful by making drinks at the service station for the floor servers.

She was creating a house specialty—a Head of the Horseman, a strange concoction of beer, liquor and a touch of soda—when she saw that Grace wasn’t alone.

Mo almost dropped the glass.

The tall, dark and handsome FBI agent was at the table with her. He was still wearing his suit—but his tie was gone and his top shirt buttons were loosened. He was patting Rollo and smiling at something Grace was saying.

“Mo?”

She caught herself just in time to keep from spilling the specialty brew and turned to Abby.

“Thanks, Mo. You were a lifesaver tonight. It’s wound down now. I’ll cut you in when I divvy up—”

“Abby, don’t be ridiculous. I don’t want anyone’s tips.” Mo shook her head, distracted.

“Grace got herself a hot one, huh?” Abby said. “Nice! But right now, she shouldn’t be going home with strange men. I don’t think I’ve seen him before.”

“He’s FBI,” Mo told her. “I met him this morning.”

“Oh. Ohhh! Cool. I imagine an FBI man would be safe—and good to have around.”

“Yeah, one would imagine.”

“Seems Rollo likes him, so he must be okay.”

Rollo did choose his people, and Rollo liked the agent. He was greeting him with tail thumps and licks that should have gone to a long-lost relative.

Mo returned to the table, watching the man. She was disturbed to realize that she felt as if she
needed
to be there. She found the man fascinating. She’d met him under the most disturbing circumstances possible, and yet...

She’d simply stared at him when they’d met. When she’d pitched right into him. He had the kind of physique that made a suit look good. He wasn’t overly muscular, yet he was obviously strong and solidly built. Then there were his eyes. Blue. Intensely blue. In a ruggedly handsome face.

Great. In the middle of a dreadful situation, she was falling into...a crush? Infatuation, maybe. Or maybe he’d mesmerized her. But then...

She hadn’t dated in a long time. Not quite true—she’d had one dinner with a friend of a friend. Nothing had sparked. She’d claimed a headache while he was droning on about his brilliance at the stock market. The guy had driven her home, and thanks to Rollo she’d been able to escape inside before the good-night kiss. Rollo had barked on cue; he was very good at getting rid of anyone she didn’t want to ask in.

Before that, there’d been Kyle.

She still went to see him sometimes when he and his group were playing in Albany. They were friends—they just weren’t meant to be the great loves in each other’s lives.

“Ah, here she is!” Grace said, as Mo reached the table.

Agent Aidan Mahoney stood and smiled at her.

“Hello.” She smiled back.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to interrupt. I saw the dog and I guess he just drew me over.”

“I told him he wasn’t interrupting,” Grace said, looking a little starry-eyed.

“Not at all,” Mo agreed politely.

“Then, please, sit,” Agent Mahoney insisted. “Let me get out of your way. I should—”

“Don’t leave!” Grace broke in.

“I’m just surprised to see you. How did you end up here tonight?” Mo asked him. “Have you learned anything? Did you get the guy? Sorry, I’m bombarding you with questions.”

“I’m here for a few reasons. This is one of the few places in the area where you can still get food at—” he glanced at his watch “—almost eleven. It’s also where we found Richard’s head and I thought I should get the lay of the land and figure out how and when someone might have come here to, uh, place the head on the effigy.” He spoke easily and his manner was relaxed. He was a man who exuded confidence. Why wouldn’t he be? Yet, oddly, she recognized a tension in him. Maybe that made him even more attractive; he seemed aware of everything around him, even as he paid attention to the two of them. She thought that if danger did arrive, he’d be up and prepared to confront it in a flash.

“So, nothing new?” she asked.

He shook his head. “What we do is very methodical. Very routine. Check and recheck stories and find the discrepancies, follow every little thing.”

“He was telling me how good you and Rollo are,” Grace said, sipping a cup of coffee now. “I told him you two are like a wonder team, finding people all the time. Luckily, most of them alive. She
used
to find lots of dead people in the city—that’s why she moved here. Fortunately, our murder rate is extremely low. We like to be spooky, not lethal.”