Jake watched Ashley as she stared at the crime board. It held pictures, facts, figures, theories, and more.
In many ways, it caused a serious conflict of feeling—some very bad people had been murdered. So it had been easy for various agencies to believe they’d been killed because of gang wars or drug deals gone wrong. But…
Each one had had their throat slit.
Ashley was shaking her head. “I can’t believe this. I mean, it’s all too confusing. What? The art studio people—Nick Nicholson and Marty—bring in these girls and then try to make a trio of killers out of them? Okay, they killed Tink around Halloween so they could be witches. They went after Richard Showalter as clowns—because it was Halloween? But how did they sneak up on hardened criminals? And if they were after criminals, why kill poor Shelley? And what does Jonathan Starling have to do with any of this?”
“I don’t know,” Jake told her.
“And what about Richard Showalter? Is he being protected? Do we even know that the clowns were really after him?”
“No,” Jake told her. “But don’t worry. We’re keeping him protected.”
“NOPD and the cops are sharing the responsibility of watching out for him,” Detective Parks added.
Jackson reached over and touched Ashley’s hand. “I know this is all a mess. For now, we have Jude hanging out with Showalter. The three of us want to go back to the plantation with you. They’re setting up for tonight, right? So this man who was bothering Shelley—this Jonathan Starling—will be there?”
“Oh, yes, along with goblins—and witches. We have our own witches. Three of them,” Ashley said dryly.
“Three witches?” Jake said.
“Yes. The old kitchen is a gingerbread house—and there are three witches in it. They have a clever setup. One of the witches ends up shoved into an oven, which is really just a little back room that allows her to exit to the grounds. When one group is finished, she pops back in so that it can all be repeated with the next one. We have that, and the smokehouse, and the haunted hayride.” She hesitated. “The haunted smokehouse—where Jonathan is working—is really something. Body pieces, heads on shelves… It’s just great.” She ended with a whisper.
It was Halloween.
Halloween was great in New Orleans.
Great at Donegal Plantation.
Chills, thrills, and fantasy.
But now it would all be tainted.
With very real murders.
“Thursday night,” Jackson murmured. “And Halloween on Tuesday.”
“You think they’re gearing up for something big?” Jake asked him.
Jackson shrugged. “They’ve been at this awhile—if our theories are correct. And they didn’t make any mistakes. Until they killed Shelley. And left a witness.”
“You okay?” Jake asked Ashley.
She nodded.
“Did you…”
“Feel anything from touching her?” she whispered, glancing at Detective Parks.
He just looked back at her, curious.
She shook her head. “But…at the morgue… The way you showed how she was taken. I think that was right. I think that she was worried about something happening, but that she didn’t think she was in danger herself.”
“I believe…but what is right is right, and what is wrong…is very wrong,” Jake murmured and then spoke to the room. “I’d like to give this a go. Ashley, Jackson, and I will head back and pretend that we’re paying attention to what’s happening at Donegal because it’s Ashley’s home. We’ll speak casually with this man—Jonathan Starling. And I’d like to meet the rest of the scare actors out there, too. Especially the witches. Then, after we’ve had a chance to be casual, we might be able to cause some interesting reactions to any questions regarding Shelley Broussard.”
It was agreed. Jake, Jackson, and Ashley headed out. She was pensive all the while.
“What?” Jake asked her.
“I don’t understand.” She glanced at Jackson, and he knew that she would speak more freely now.
While there was plenty of speculation about the Krewe, none of its members ever admitted to talking to the dead. And, in a way, it was better that they didn’t.
The dead could help.
But the Krewe also needed help from the living.
“There was…something,” she whispered.
“In the morgue?”
“I couldn’t really feel her. I didn’t sense her moving around or even see her. But I could tell that she was still here. Does that make sense? And I keep seeing her on Bourbon Street. In my dreams. She’s walking toward me. And there’s something behind me. Something black and malignant.” She shuddered.
Halloween. Only five nights away now.
Jake wondered why he felt that if they could just make it through Halloween, everything would be all right.
Jackson was quiet. He had taken the back seat, allowing Ashley the front, while Jake drove.
“Jackson?” Jake asked.
“Who knows, Ashley?” Jackson said. “We never really have answers. Maybe you met her somewhere years ago, brushed by her in the street. Maybe she came out to Donegal Plantation with a school group or something. But somehow, I believe, she’s a very lost, scared, and desperate ghost. And so she’s coming to you in your dreams. For help.”
“Maybe we should stage something,” Jake said thoughtfully.
“Stage something?” Ashley asked. “Like what? We already have some staged scenes going on—pretty gruesome stuff. What do you mean exactly?”
“I’m not sure yet—after we meet your scare cast, I may have a better idea of what is swirling around in my head,” Jake told her.
He met Jackson’s eyes in the rearview mirror.
Jackson, he thought, was thinking along similar lines.
* * * *
It had to be the art studio people who were evil, Ashley thought. Not someone connected to Donegal Plantation.
Beth was great at hiring people. She would have checked out backgrounds on anyone she brought onto the property. And her grandfather was no fool. No one was ever hired without Beth, Frazier, and Cliff all agreeing that they were right for the job.
Of course, some people were known criminals. They couldn’t be caught or prosecuted for some crimes, but they might have records for the minor infractions that prosecutors had been able to prove in court.
Unfortunately, some people did get away with crimes.
Including murder.
But this was vigilantism. And when it became this broad, the criminals would make mistakes.
Just like this trio had.
They’d killed an innocent girl. And they’d killed another thug—but in front of witnesses. They were being found out.
Still…
Beth was sitting on the porch, a notebook in her hands, when they arrived.
She immediately hopped up, happy to welcome Jackson—but then became suspicious. Jackson wasn’t supposed to be here.
She was quick, though, and put things together. “This has something to do with the murders in New Orleans, doesn’t it?” she asked.
“Yep,” Jackson told her. “Weird enough for the Krewe—I’m sure you’ve seen the news. Witches. And we’ve been asked to help.”
“Figured that was what Jake was up to,” Beth said. “Great wedding planning,” she added dryly, looking at Ashley.
“There’s nothing to worry about. You and Frazier will know what we’re doing. All we have to do is wait for the ghosts and ghoulies and spiders and all to come down…and some pretty stuff to go up. We’ve really got it all under control. And besides, it’s almost Halloween. So it will all be over in a few days, no matter what.” Ashley looked around. “Where are all our actors?”
“Getting set for tonight,” Beth said, looking at her watch. “Gates open to the public in about an hour.”
“Want to meet the cast?” Ashley asked Jake and Jackson.
Beth wasn’t fooled. “Good Lord, please tell me that this isn’t going to… Oh, no. Donegal is involved somehow?”
“No,” Jake said.
“I think you’re lying, special agent,” Beth accused.
Jackson told her, “Honestly, Donegal isn’t involved. Not in the way you’re thinking. We just want to talk to one of your cast members. He knew the young woman who was murdered.”
“What is the world coming to?” Beth muttered. “That’s something I’ve asked myself more and more over the last few years.” She pointed down to the outbuildings. “Go, children, save the world. Or, at the least, some hapless souls in the state of Louisiana. And quite frankly, you all should stay to see what’s going on here—and let us know if we need to stop.”
“You haven’t had anything bad happen here, have you?” Jake asked.
“Lots of screaming. But all in fun,” Beth said.
“This way,” Ashley told the two of them.
She headed first for the smokehouse—and Jonathan Starling. After all, he’d known Shelley Broussard.
Jake and Jackson trailed behind her. She opened the door. For a moment, she wondered if she should have knocked—he was the only actor working in the smokehouse.
But it was her property. Her smokehouse. And he was, at this time and place, her employee.
“Hey, there,” she said.
He was adjusting some of his props. The lights were all on and there was also a bit of sunlight still coming through the cracks in the paper covering the windows.
“Hey, yourself.” He smiled. He wasn’t dressed for the night yet. Then again, his costume was just something of a butcher’s coat—covered in blood. “I heard you were going to be here tonight. I’m awfully glad. We really hope that we’re pleasing you.”
“Body parts, blood, screaming… Halloween. What’s not to like?” Ashley joked.
“I love working out here,” he said. “Some of the guys are from Baton Rouge. I’m from NOLA. I’m—I’m glad to be out of the city.”
She didn’t reply as Jake and Jackson walked in behind her.
“This is pretty cool,” Jake said, looking around the room.
“Definitely frightening,” Jackson agreed.
“Jonathan, this is my fiancé, Jake Mallory. And Jackson Crow, head of Jake’s unit.”
“Unit. Oh, yeah, I heard you were FBI,” Jonathan said, looking from Jake to Jackson. He smiled ruefully then. “You’re not just here because…because you kind of live here,” he said to Jake. “You’re both here because of Shelley.”
“Yes,” Jake said flatly. There was no other reply. “You did know her. How well? And why did they think you two were arguing at the art shop?”
“I didn’t want her there,” he said softly.
“There—at the art shop?” Jackson asked him.
Jonathan nodded gravely. “There was something—wrong with it all. I mean, Nick Nicholson acts all noble—like he’s a great patron of the arts. But there was something weird about the situation. Shelley would break appointments with me because of these ‘meetings’ they were going to have. What was there to meet about?” He frowned, seeming to be reliving the discussion in his mind. “They took turns being clerks. When they were off, they could still go hang stuff up at Jackson Square. But…”
“You were angry because of the meetings?” Ashley asked.
“Because it wasn’t right. The whole thing wasn’t right. It was just creepy.”
“Why didn’t you come forward when she was killed?” Jake asked him.
He lifted his hands. “Come forward with what? It was no secret that I was seeing her—though she pushed me out of the shop often enough. It was as if… If she had a boyfriend, she couldn’t be there. Does that make sense to you? That was how she acted. And I tried to tell her that if it was all above board and normal, having a boyfriend wouldn’t matter at all. It wouldn’t mean anything. Most young women have boyfriends.”
“Did you ever see or hear of them doing anything…not right?” Jackson asked.
“No,” Jonathan admitted grudgingly. “Just…those meetings. And making it such a special thing for a young woman to be named one of their shop artists. You didn’t see any men there, did you?”
Jake and Jackson seldom betrayed what they were thinking and they didn’t now.
“When did you last see her?”
“The day before she was killed. We were supposed to go out the following morning. I was already working here, so my nights were taken. She called me and said that she was having another of her meetings, but maybe we could get together when it was over. I told her that if the meetings were more important than me, she shouldn’t worry about it. We were over. Then… Then I learned through the news that she was dead.” His voice was tremulous. He looked at Ashley suddenly. “That’s why I’m so damned glad I’m out here. Out here… I’m not even going back to NOLA at night. I—I can’t go back there. Not now.”
The door opened. Parks had arrived.
“This is Detective Parks with NOPD,” Jake told Jonathan.
“How do you do, sir?” Jonathan said.
“I don’t know. How do I do?” Parks asked, looking at them one by one.
“Jonathan thinks that there’s something up with the art shop,” Jake said.
Parks nodded. “So much for casual, huh?” he asked.
“What?” Jonathan asked, confused.
“Not to worry,” Ashley said. “I’m going to take them to meet our witches.”
“Our witches haven’t been killing anyone,” Jonathan said.
“And how do you know that?” Parks asked.
“They didn’t kill Shelley,” Jonathan said, and his voice was thin. “They were here that night, scaring the bejesus out of those unwary souls who walked into the gingerbread house.”
“What time do you close?” Detective Parks asked.
“Our last groups go through the kitchen, the smokehouse, and do the haunted hayride at midnight. But after, it’s not always easy to get people out. After they’re all gone, we do some cleaning up. So we’re out of here between 1:00 and 2:00 A.M.”
“She could have been left there any time, son,” Parks told him. “She was killed elsewhere and brought to the wall of the cemetery.”
Jonathan looked sick, as if he might just break down and cry. “I didn’t kill her, I swear. I loved her.” He stared at Jake suddenly. “I loved her. Look into that art studio—something is wrong.”
“Are you all right?” Ashley asked him. “Jonathan, do you need someone to take your place tonight?”
He shook his head. “Work,” he said huskily. “Work—keeps me sane.”
“Thank you, Jonathan,” Jackson said. “And if you think of anything—”
Jackson, Jake, and Detective Parks all handed him their business cards.
“Call any one of us,” Jake told him.
Jonathan nodded glumly, staring into space. “I loved her,” he repeated. “I really loved her. I just couldn’t compete with…with whatever it was.”