Witches.
At first, they’d been looking for witches.
Then it became clowns.
But the truth was, it was neither.
It was three chameleon-like killers who didn’t want to be caught and who—it seemed—were so adept at their costume changes that they were doing quite well.
Meeting Ashley’s “witches,” Jake couldn’t begin to think of any of them as cold-blooded killers.
The actresses playing in the gingerbread house were Lavinia Carole, Valerie Deering, and Rhonda Blackstone. They all smiled genuinely when they met Jake, Jackson, and Parks—as if they were truly innocent of even being aware of any wrongdoing, much less a part of it.
“Jake. Fiancé Jake, right?” Lavinia asked. “We’ve heard people say that Ashley’s fiancé was…um, big.”
Valerie laughed. “Handsome is what we’ve heard,” she said.
“And you’re an agent, too?” Rhonda asked Jackson.
“He’s actually my boss,” Jake told her.
“Oh, nice,” Lavinia said. “And you, sir?” She turned to Parks.
“NOPD,” Parks said.
“Oh, are you the officer on duty here tonight?” Rhonda asked.
“I’m on duty, but there will also be a man in uniform here, like always,” Parks said.
“I was about to practice being pushed into the oven. Want to see how it works?” Lavinia asked them. “One of you has to be an attendee,” she warned.
“Ashley—you be the evil child who cooks the witch,” Jake suggested.
She made a face at him, but complied.
The witches had a good act. They went right into cackling and running around for their spices, talking about the delicious children they would serve up. Or, if there were no children, an adult would do just fine. Nothing like a little NOLA spice on their meals, huh? Where was the hot sauce?
Then Lavinia began circling Ashley, smiling and speaking sweetly while apparently mentally chopping her up into meal-sized portions.
It became obvious that Ashley would need to shut Lavinia into the “oven” if she didn’t want to be staying for dinner.
So Ashley did.
Lavinia screamed and cooked while her “sisters” wailed.
Parks clapped. “Excellent job.”
“Yes, and if this were real, one of our ghostly escorts would move people on over to the smokehouse and then to the haunted hayride. As soon as they’re out of here—before the next group gets in—Lavinia just comes back in. It’s fun and we have a great time doing it.”
They talked a few minutes more, laughing and chatting casually.
“Do you go home every night—back to New Orleans?” Jake asked.
“Well, I’m from Biloxi,” Lavinia said.
“I’m actually from Slidell,” Rhonda told them.
“I’m a NOLA girl,” Valerie added.
“But,” Lavinia said, “we haven’t been going home. My aunt has a place just up the road. She’s alone a lot—my uncle is military—so she’s been happy to have all three of us.”
“Nice,” Jackson told her. “You need to stay together, and be careful,” he added.
“We don’t go many places these days—we head from my aunt’s house to here, and when we’re finished for the night, we go right back,” Valerie said.
“Yeah. It’s a scary world out there,” Lavinia agreed. “And that has nothing to do with Halloween.”
“Too true. And I’m glad you’re being safe. Continue to be smart and careful,” Detective Parks said.
They all exited the old kitchen.
Parks sighed. “Well, I’m glad. Even though this has cost us all an afternoon, none of your people so far seem to fit the trio we’re looking for. But you have more of the horror-house-actors, or whatever they’re called, right?” He turned to Ashley.
“All over Louisiana—and the country—you’ll find scare actors at this time of the year,” Ashley said.
“If only it were all acting.” Parks shook his head.
“Come on,” Ashley said quietly. “The others must all be out by the haunted hayride. There wasn’t anyone else on the porch with Beth earlier.”
“Where’s your grandfather?” Jake asked. He realized he sounded worried. But he was. It just wasn’t a good situation.
He used to love Halloween.
This Halloween, however…
Witches. Clowns.
“He’s most likely in his study. We’ll see him before we all take off—okay?”
“I would love to see your grandfather,” Parks told Ashley.
“Shall we move on?” Jake asked.
As Ashley had expected, the others were out by the hay wagon, helping to spruce it up for the night and chatting. Cliff was there, directing everyone. While they hired actors to work the “scares” on the hayride, Cliff drove the wagon.
No one else worked with Donegal horses.
“Ashley,” Cliff called, always pleased to see her. But he frowned when he saw Jake and the others. “And Jake, hey. Jackson Crow, I’ll be damned, you’re back here?” He chuckled. “The wedding isn’t for another month. And hello, sir.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Detective Parks, a friend from NOLA, Cliff,” Ashley said quickly. “Just showing them all the activity going on.”
Cliff glanced around as he hauled a cushion up to go beneath some fresh hay. Apparently satisfied that Jackson and Parks were far enough away, he spoke softly, so that only Ashley and Jake could hear.
“Yeah?” he murmured. “Like hell. Jake’s working the NOLA murders.”
“Yep.”
He turned to the staff, a big smile on his face. “Hear ye, hear ye, Donegal ghosts and ghoulies. Meet some friends of the family. Jake Mallory, Ashley’s fiancé, Jackson Crow, friend to all, and another friend—”
He broke off. He’d never met Isaac Parks.
“And Isaac Parks,” Ashley finished, as if stepping in on him.
“We’re the ghosts,” Artie Lane said, stepping up to shake hands with Jake, Jackson, and the detective. “Although,” he added with a dry grin, “the plantation is supposed to actually be haunted.”
“Trina DeMoine,” Trina said, introducing herself. “And what respectable plantation isn’t haunted?”
“Shy ghosts,” Harold Corn said, coming up as well. “So we kind of materialize for them. I’m Harold, and that pretty woman over there is Sandy Patterson. We have stations on the property where we pop up and follow the wagon and do cute ghost tricks while Cliff tells a few wild tales.”
“And we’re guides,” Alex Maple announced, coming up to introduce himself as well. “Bill Davis is the tall, skinny guy there, and Jerry Harte rounds out our group. We keep people moving. Three groups are out at any time. One in the gingerbread house, one in the old smokehouse, and one on the hayride. Beth wrangles the groups on the porch—we keep each down to twenty people. It’s a lot more fun that way for those coming in, and we stay fairly sane.”
“Sounds good,” Jake said. “Any trouble out here lately?”
Bill Davis came forward, frowning. “Should we be worried?”
“No, not about anything that we know in particular. Careful, yes,” Jake said. “There are always some true monsters running around at Halloween.”
“We have a cop,” Trina said.
“And security. They won’t get here for about another half hour or so—just before the gates are open to the public,” Alex told them. “They’re good—we have to be careful sometimes not to touch or be touched, but even then… No real trouble. Alcohol isn’t allowed here—even when people are done. It’s just tea and whatever’s on the porch. No one gets too feisty.”
“He’s not talking about feisty guests,” Bill said, studying the trio of lawmen. He pointed at Isaac Parks. “You’re the detective on the murder case in New Orleans. Cases, I should say. We were just comparing them. Discussing what’s been going on in the news.”
“Some vigilantes have been killing bad guys,” Artie said. “We’re not bad guys, so I think we’re okay.”
“They killed a very sweet young woman too, we believe,” Parks said.
“You don’t know that,” Trina said. “Really, I can’t see the correlation—why would the police even think that? And I don’t know—all those bad guys down. Whoever these vigilantes are, they might be on the right path. Hey, that guy—that Tink guy they killed—he was a major cocaine and heroin dealer and he was suspected of killing a bunch of people. Okay, maybe they were bad people too, but—”
“We have laws for a reason,” Jake said quietly. “And courts—for a reason. Judges to dole out punishment. We prove guilt—we don’t assume it. Part and parcel of being American.”
“But seriously…” Harold began.
“Yes, seriously. We have courts. A system. Laws. Not only is being judge and jury all in one illegal, but the wrong people wind up hurt,” Jake said. He felt himself growing angry.
He couldn’t get Shelley Broussard out of his mind.
“But sometimes…” Trina said, and then paused, shrugging. “Forgive me. Sometimes, the courts aren’t so effective. But to answer your question, no—we haven’t had any trouble out here. And—” She looked at Ashley and smiled. “We’re an hour out of the city of New Orleans. People looking for trouble… They don’t usually want to drive this far to find it.”
“But we’re careful,” Harold added. “We watch.” He looked at Ashley. “And, I swear, we would report anything immediately. You know that.”
“I do,” Ashley said. “Seriously, these guys just wanted to see what was going on out here. Fun, huh?”
“Well, we were having fun,” Harold said.
“Go back to your fun—sorry. We didn’t mean to be a damper,” Jake said. “Just be careful—and alert. Even if it is Halloween.”
“Of course.”
“Sure.”
“You bet.”
The group all spoke in unison.
“Let’s finish this up,” Cliff said.
“Yep, see you all later,” Ashley called out cheerfully.
She walked ahead of Jake. He caught up to her, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
“Jake,” she murmured.
“Sorry. This is just…”
“Halloween,” she said.
“Let’s see your grandfather, all right?”
She glanced at him. “Shouldn’t you be back in New Orleans?”
“Not tonight,” he told her. “Not tonight.”
* * * *
Jake was worried, Ashley knew.
She was worried herself.
Frazier was just fine, hiding in his study. He told them both he’d be there all night. That he would, in fact, be in his study—unless he was in the dining room or upstairs in his bed—until Halloween was over.
Jackson and Parks went back to New Orleans.
Parks was going to get a man to take over for Jude McCoy, who’d been watching over Richard Showalter. Then Jackson and Jude intended to keep a good eye on the art studio and follow Nick Nicholson if and when he headed out.
Parks himself was going to walk Bourbon Street.
“You should really be in NOLA,” Ashley told Jake at one point.
But Jake was stubborn. That night, at least, he was going to be at Donegal Plantation. With her.
Naturally, they were booked to the gills. There was no way for her or Jake to take a customer’s place in the house tours or on the hayride. But they tried their best to keep an eye on the groups.
The security company people walked around just as they should.
Their cop stayed on duty.
No one was even slightly feisty.
The night came and went.
Jake kept in close contact with Parks and Jackson and Jude McCoy.
But nothing happened in the city of New Orleans either.
A quiet night.
And still.
Once she fell asleep, Ashley dreamed. She heard the sound of music blaring, louder and louder from each consecutive bar and club. She saw the neon lights and heard the laughter of the people on Bourbon Street.
And ahead of her was the young woman.
Shelley Broussard.
“Help me, please,” Shelley whispered.
Ashley didn’t need to turn to see that the black mist, the cloud of birds, ebony evil, or whatever it might be, was coming.
“No,” Ashley begged. “Please help me, Shelley. I need your help so badly.”
Shelley stopped. “I am Shelley Broussard,” she said. “And I am dead. They murdered me.”
“Help me,” Ashley pleaded.
“Yes… I know. I am Shelley Broussard. And I am dead. And… I want to help you.”
She disappeared.
The black mist was coming.
Ashley almost felt it.
It was cold and had a horrible feel. Slimy, and somehow as evil as the menace it promised.
Cold…like death.
Ashley woke with a start. Jake was holding her, rocking with her.
And in his arms, she felt the cold burn away, and his warmth engulf her.