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. “T
hat’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.”
Chapter 10
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, Ashl
ey’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.”