Chapter 11
Admittedly, it was good to shower.
The slimy water had dried on him had made everything he had been wearing into a slimy mess that had dried on him weirdly—very uncomfortable. So, he showered quickly—with the speed of light, he had promised Larue—stepped out, and dressed quickly again. When he was clad, he hesitated. He hadn’t been wearing his ankle holster or the small Smith and Wesson it carried. He had only been carrying his Glock, which fit nicely in a small holster he had between his waistband and the small of his back.
He decided to strap on the smaller weapon as well, and then hurried out.
Wolf—their aptly named hybrid dog, a beloved pet and guard dog he had acquired form a case several years ago—was waiting for him the hall. The great animal whined pathetically and thumped his tail on the floor.
“Hey, it was supposed to be a romantic event—and dogs weren’t invited. Not my fault, I swear,” he told the dog.
Wolf stood on his hind legs, balancing backwards as if he was a small terrier, seeking attention. In that position, the dog rose to about Quinn’s height of six-foot-four.
“Get down and come here, you lug!” Quinn said, and the dog obediently did so, coming forward for some attention.
“We need to get downstairs, boy,” Quinn told the dog and hurried past him, taking the stairs to the ground floor two at a time.
At the landing, a hallway led to the kitchen and from there out to the courtyard. If he took the hallway in the other direction, he’d pass Danni’s artist’s studio and then enter the shop.
He didn’t enter the shop; he’d briefly greeted Bo Ray Jenkins, a young man now in recovery, whom they’d also met on a case. Father Ryan had helped Bo Ray, and he was now invaluable to them.
Exceptionally valuable today, because Quinn had Larue waiting in the kitchen with Billie McDougall, listening to anything Angus’s old and experienced assistant might have to say.
He strode into the kitchen, Wolf at his heels. Larue and Billie were at the table. Billie had made sandwiches and Larue had already eaten a few evidenced by the crumbs on his plate.
“Sit down and eat, Quinn?” Billie said.
Quinn shook his head. “Can’t take the time, Billie. I don’t like being here when Danni is there; even if Ellsworth did find Trent Anderson and bring him in.”
“He had the means, so it seems. Someone had to know him in New Orleans and Perryville—and the cemeteries and the legends,” Billie said. “Except,” he added, nodding toward Larue, “I think your suspect has an alibi for the time of the murder.”
He glanced at Larue. “I got a call from the duty officer—apparently Tracy Willard came into the office, swearing Trent Anderson had to be innocent. He’d been with her. She was ready to swear up and down he’d been with her all night.”
Quinn, reaching into the refrigerator for a bottle of water, paused.
“She was with him in the morning,” he said.
“Well, I’ve looked into your people,” Billie said. “I’ve been searching the site and with a little help from some friends who wouldn’t want to be caught hacking, I’ve been able to do some research. Now, every one of Colleen’s top employees has been in and out of New Orleans—and out to Perryville—while setting up for this. So, you could be looking at one of them. But whatever this young woman says…I also looked into straw deliveries and the only one out there in that area, my good lads, who received a major shipment of straw is…you guessed it. None other than our good friend, Mr. Trent Anderson.”
“Straw for—what?” Quinn asked.
“Besides scarecrows—and turning the dead into scarecrows?” Billie asked. “Horses. And no, he doesn’t feed his animals straw—causes colic. He buys lots of grain and hay, too. Straw is used for bedding for his horses, in the stables he has at his place out there. Yeah, that lodge of his that’s right by the cemetery.”
“He invited Danni and me to see the place. Some time,” Quinn said. “Should have rushed over right then. Still, it makes no damned sense.”
“It may. There’s more to the legend about that fleur-de-lis medallion or necklace or whatever,” Billie said. “The one Danni sleep-drew.” He frowned suddenly, glancing at Larue.
Larue just shook his head. “I don’t believe any of this. But it seems to work for you all often enough, so…pretend I’m not here.”
“Here’s what I think,” Billie said. “Danni saw that necklace on an historic drawing or an image of a painting. It had been worn by Yvette—Yvette of the legend we believe. Murdered Yvette. I think whoever killed her ripped the necklace from her.”
“And she cursed the necklace, or the murderer, and the curse went on to the necklace?” Quinn asked.
Billie shrugged. “I don’t see a spirit of a nice kid like Yvette supposedly was trying to cause all kinds of mayhem or murder. Now, after the woman who killed her was killed. I had a brief conversation with Danni earlier. I don’t think the lover’s mum was the one who murdered her—apparently, young Percival was a fine catch. He wound up marrying a ‘right’ girl, and she survived the marriage long enough to produce an heir, but she died a gruesome death herself. Harvest time, again. They’d been out celebrating. Her husband was distracted, everyone started to leave. Oh, go figure on this. I found a source—one that admits it’s based on legend and not history—but supposedly, they were celebrating in the cemetery. Anyway, everyone leaves, and the wife winds up falling into a hole somewhere in the cemetery. When they finally found her, she’d been pretty well chewed by a lot of local wildlife. I’m guessing that means a lot of rats and bugs and birds were at her. I’ve yet to hear of a gator who could crawl straight up a grave prep site that was over six feet deep. Whatever, and I don’t know if any of it is true. But she would have had the locket by then—wrenched off Yvette. Maybe Percival’s mother was determined to prove her own innocence and wound up being attacked by the woman who became his wife. Maybe she cursed the necklace. Who knows? But apparently, it can only enhance a person’s…capabilities.”
“As in, encourage murder?” Quinn asked. “Still…why?”
Larue spoke up. “Revenge, greed, power, money.” He paused and looked at Quinn. “Insanity?” he suggested.
“We’ve got to get back,” Quinn said. “Thanks, Billie. I swear, we’ll keep in touch.”
“And I’ll keep at it,” Billie promised.
Quinn and Larue headed out. In the courtyard, parking area, Quinn started to slip into the driver’s side of the car. Before he could enter, Wolf came tearing out after him, barking insanely.
“Wolf!”
“He wants to go with you!” Billie called from the doorway.
“Wolf!” Craig said. But the dog wouldn’t back down.
“Wolf, dogs just aren’t invited.”
Then again, did it matter if they were?
He looked at Larue.
“Hey,” Larue said, “the dog smells better than you did when we were coming out here!”
Quinn cast his friend a stern glower, got out, and opened the back door for the dog. Wolf happily jumped in, and they were on their way.
***
“Colleen, you know this is crazy, don’t you?” Danni asked. “We should turn around and head back. There has to be a coffee shop besides the one at the lodge somewhere in Perryville; we can meet John Appleby there. I can’t believe he suggested to you that we meet at the cemetery.”
Colleen glanced her way as she drove. “I think he just thought it up quickly. Maybe he was around other people or something. It was as if he just wanted to get off the phone.”
“But you agreed. You said we should meet at the cemetery?”
“Okay, well, I started out thinking the fairgrounds, but there would be too many people there, and I knew he didn’t want to come to the lodge because he didn’t want to see people there, either, or be heard by people, or whatever. I was afraid he was going to hang up on me. I know Larue was going to meet with him here—and Quinn, I guess—but, even then, he didn’t want to come in.”
“It’s crazy,” Danni warned.
“Well, you shouldn’t be in the car!”
Danni sighed. “How well do you know him?”
“You can’t believe John Appleby is responsible for any of this, can you? I know I called on him before we were opening for all kinds of help. Things the major contractors left undone, a problem with the pool. When the company that installed the indoor pool said they couldn’t make adjustments for a week, John helped. I believe he’s a good man. Besides, we don’t have to go crawling among the graves or anything—we’ll meet at the archway.”
Danni pulled out her phone.
“What are you doing?” Colleen demanded.
“Letting Quinn know what we’re doing.”
“Oh, Danni, please—I think he saw something, or knows something…we need to speak with him!”
“Don’t worry; Quinn won’t show up and ruin it all. He’s far away at the moment; he headed out to New Orleans with Larue.”
Quinn answered and warned right away, “I’m on speaker phone. Larue is with me.”
“Great—that means you’re driving; you’re on your way back?”
“We are. Where are you?” he asked.
Danni glanced over at Colleen. “I’m with Colleen; we’re going to have a chat with John Appleby.”
“He knows something more—something he didn’t tell me or the cops?”
“Colleen believes he does. Anyway, we’ll talk to him. How was the house, or I should say, everyone at the house? And the trip—anything?” she asked hopefully.
“Billie thinks an historical killer got hold of the locket. He believes the killer murdered Yvette and stole her locket, and that killing Yvette and then the lover’s mother—who was supposed to be blamed and is, by legend, blamed—is what cursed the locket. Yvette was good, I believe.”
“Oh, yes, poor Yvette—she was sadly victimized. I read her diary. I would have liked her,” Danni said.
“I don’t get any of this, but watch out for lockets!” Larue said.
Danni smiled.
“What’s going on?” Colleen asked.
Quinn was on speakerphone. Danni was not.
She shook her head for Colleen and covered her phone with her hand. “Nothing,” she told Colleen. “Larue is…wishing he could hide his head in the sand.”
“Oh,” Colleen murmured.
“So, Appleby is coming to the lodge?” Quinn asked. “He wouldn’t come in the other night.”
“No, he’s not coming to the lodge. We’re going to meet him.”
She didn’t say where; she knew by the beat of silence that Quinn had guessed.
“At the cemetery? Danni, you’re not going to the cemetery, are you?”
She didn’t answer. She could see they had reached the cemetery; the arched gates to the place were rising just before them.
Crime scene tape still covered the gates and the gates were locked.
Which didn’t mean a damned thing. The wall was so long and broken, the gates were seriously nothing more than a suggestion.
“Danni, where are you?” Quinn demanded.
“At the cemetery, but really, I don’t think you need to worry. We’re not going in. We’ll talk out here on the road by the cars. Colleen is very afraid Appleby won’t talk if he sees cops, that he’s afraid he’ll be misunderstood or mocked in any way…well, if he even has an idea of something, he’ll only tell her because they’re friends.”
Colleen was starting to slow the car directly in front of the gates.
Danni could see John Appleby was there already; his truck was off the road and he was standing right at the archway waving to them.
She started to wave back and heard Quinn say softly, “Danni, did it ever occur to you Colleen might be involved in this?”
“No!” she told him, but she knew Quinn. If he wasn’t almost here himself, he would understand what she was saying.
Have Peter Ellsworth send someone until you can get here—just in case.
And, no! She didn’t believe Colleen might be involved. Someone near her, yes—but not Colleen!
“We’re here; I can see John Appleby. I’m sure we’re safe,” she emphasized, knowing he knew her words signified what she wanted was to be safe. “I’ve got to go,” she told Quinn, not waiting for a reply but ending the call.
Colleen braked the car. She took off her seatbelt and Danni did the same.
Colleen then turned and looked at Danni.
“See, I told you—it’s all okay. John Appleby is right where he said he’d be.”
Looking at her, Danni suddenly frowned. Her friend was wearing a chain again. Danni reached out to lift the chain—drawing out the medallion that had lain beneath her blouse.
It was another fleur-de-lis.
Something inside Danni quickened. “I thought you gave me yours last night.”
Colleen laughed. “I told you these pieces were just costume. I bought a few of them; I was going to use them for little gifts for some of the staff. Hey, what the heck is going on with John—look at him, he’s waving at us madly?”
Danni had time to turn and look and see John Appleby waving wildly, as Colleen had said, and looking as if he were seeing a giant tidal wave.
“He’s warning us,” she managed to say…and then, no more. Something slammed into Colleen’s little rental car with a vengeance, like a bulldozer slamming against the wind. Danni had no time to brace herself. She went flying against the front windshield hard.
A twinkling of neon seemed to dance before her.
Then nothing, nothing at all.
***
“Get hold of Peter Ellsworth, please—fast!” Quinn said to Larue.
“Already dialing,” Larue said, glancing Quinn’s way. “You know, everything could be fine. The way we’ve figured it, Trent Anderson had the means and the ability. Hell, he even had straw delivered. He may live two hours out of New Orleans, but as we both know, that’s nothing. Of course, there is the alibi—”
“He was with Tracy when we found the corpses. I assumed they’d been sleeping together somewhere. But she could have been lying. She could either be so enamored of his money she lied to protect him, or she really believes in his innocence. I wish I knew her better,” Quinn said. “But it doesn’t matter—”
Larue held up his hand; he had Peter Ellsworth on the phone. He briefly informed the man of what was going on, listened to the reply, and then said to Quinn, “How far do you think we are out from the area of the cemetery? I told him I thought we were about half an hour or so.”
“That would be right,” Quinn said, “But I can—and will—make it about twenty minutes.”
***
Danni woke smelling something deep and disturbing. Like decaying foliage, raw earth, dank and wet.
She opened her eyes slowly and still, for a minute, the world spun. She closed her eyes again, but the smell was strong. She touched her forehead and felt something sticky.
Blood.
Then she remembered the crash. Well, it hadn’t been a crash, per se. They had been run down by something hard and heavy, like a massive truck or even a car going at a speed meant to kill and if not kill…
Render one unconscious.
She became aware of the smell again and opened her eyes carefully, afraid to move. She stared straight at a broken-jawed skull. Some type of a crawling insect made its way out of one of the eye sockets. The smell came from the fact she was lying flat on the ground inside one of the hill vaults or tombs, one of the three. She was lying on earth and decay and straw.
She didn’t move; she listened. She’d been in the car—suspecting Colleen. But Colleen had been in the car with her.
She had been hit just as hard, surely rendered unconscious, and perhaps dragged or carried into the cemetery somewhere as well.
Danni listened and listened.
Nothing.
She carefully moved checking her limbs. She was sore, but sore all over. She hadn’t broken any bones. The way she had struck the dash and the windshield, she was damned lucky she had not crushed her nose right into her head. Luckily, she had not.
She managed to sit up as silently as possible and look around. She was alone in the tomb. But she had been with Colleen, and she had seen John Appleby waving at them, desperately trying to warn them of what was to come.
This was insane. She’d called Quinn. There would be a cop—or cops—out there somewhere!
The killer was growing bold. Night would come soon enough, but remnants of light must still be flooding the cemetery. She could see streaks of it just coming through the opening.
That meant she was in the first tomb, where the almost hidden crevice connected to the nature-claimed vaults of the cemetery.
Her mind raced, again focusing on Colleen. No. She couldn’t believe in friend’s guilt, but she knew, she had to consider any possible suspect. Collen had been out in the area often, she had been in New Orleans. She had gotten to know Trent Anderson. She had access to everything about her own dating site.
No…
There would be no way she would have had the strength to ram the scarecrow poles into the ground; she could not have managed this on her own.
Maybe no one had managed this on their own; it was, at the least, a two-person effort.
She closed her eyes briefly, wincing. No.
Colleen was wearing another fleur-de-lis. A copy. There were dozens of them, so she said. What if Colleen had really befriended Trent Anderson herself, or…
Someone else.
But…
Trent. Trent Anderson. He had property right next to the graveyard.
But even assuming Colleen had an accomplice, would it have to be Trent?
She had to get out carefully. Find John Appleby—and Colleen. Easy enough; she knew to crawl out slowly and silently and use the tangle of foliage just outside to hide.
She got to her feet and swayed for a moment. She blinked hard and concentrated.
She had to move—had to!—if she wanted to survive and find Colleen and John Appleby.
Determined, she made her way past bones, coffins, tombs, and the dust and ash of the ages to the narrow, shrouded entrance to the tomb.
Carefully, she climbed out, staying low, keeping her body almost completely flat and one with the ground.
She immediately ducked behind the weeds and brush that all but covered the opening.
She almost gasped out loud but stopped herself by clamping a hand over her mouth.
There were three poles set up, one in front of each of the grass-covered vaults.
Piles of straw were set up by them, along with lengths of rope.
Three…
Ready for three flesh and blood bodies.
And she’d found John Appleby. He was lain right before the first of pole. She didn’t know if he was dead or alive; she had to reach him and get help.
But before she could move, she heard it.
An eerie laughter, echoing through the graveyard, as if an evil witch from an old fairy tale had made an appearance.
It was no evil witch who had arrived, Danni knew.
It was the killer.