They were both silent for a minute.
“Maybe Lizzie was a long-ago ancestor,” Mo suggested.
“Yeah, I thought about that, too. I can get people started on tracing his ancestry,” Mahoney said. “But I have a feeling it didn’t have anything to do with his family. What I was hoping is that you might know about some legend or local story that has to do with a Lizzie or a Beth or Elizabeth.” He offered her a wry smile. “Grace was telling me that you know local history and legend like very few others do.”
Mo shrugged off the compliment, but took a minute to think.
“We have headless horsemen, women in white, Native American spirits and all kinds of legends,” she began. “You’re probably familiar with them all,” Mo said. “And historically, we have the tragic story of Major Andre, hanged as a spy. He was a spy—against the Americans—but even those who brought about his execution were sickened by it. He was just so charming that everyone loved him. Supposedly—”
She broke off, and he leaned forward. “Yes?”
“Well, supposedly, he fell in love with a local girl while he made his way through the area,” Mo said. “His captors liked him so much that while he was imprisoned, they let her in to see him. There’s a copy of a drawing done at his hanging that’s alleged to have his mystery woman in it. Hang on, I’ll find it. She’s usually called Andre’s secret love—he’d fallen for the woman who eventually married Benedict Arnold—but this was later and I think the relationship was more...real. Sometimes she was referred to as his Kat or his Molly—or his Lizzie.”
She hopped up and went to one of her bookcases, searching through her historical reference material until she located the book on Andre. Flipping through the pages, she found the picture and passed the book to Mahoney. “This was written in 1820, but it’s not public domain. The author was a man named Caleb Van der Haas. His family has kept up a copyright on it—adding forewords, extra chapters, info on the area with every new edition. My copy actually belonged to my mom and it was her mom’s, printed about 1920. But you’ll notice, Agent Mahoney, that in this rendition of the Andre hanging, the caption says ‘Andre’s Lizzie weeps as her beloved Major Andre swings to the hanged man’s dance.’”
He studied the picture, then looked up at her. She thought he’d continue with the subject they’d been discussing.
“Aidan,” he said instead. “Please just call me Aidan.”
She nodded. For a moment their eyes met, but she glanced away quickly. She wasn’t sure she liked him being so courteous and engaging. She could feel herself blushing, afraid that he could sense the effect he had on her.
Mo took a step back, leaving the book with him, and nearly tripped over Rollo. The dog seemed to need to be close to both of them.
“Where do you think this Lizzie—if that was her name—might be buried?” he asked.
His attention was all on the book. He hadn’t noticed her reaction or her embarrassment, and didn’t, apparently, feel any of that sweet and blazing chemistry himself.
For a minute she went blank.
Then she saw that he was staring at her again, waiting for an answer.
Her tongue didn’t want to work.
She pretended to weigh the question. “Well, not in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery,” she said. “It wasn’t built until 1849. And we’re assuming a lot. She might have died and been buried elsewhere. But if she really did exist, and her name was Lizzie and she did die here, she might be buried at the Old Dutch Church or the old graveyard that belonged to St. Andrew’s.”
“Where we found the woman’s body leaning against the pillar of the vault—and Richard’s body inside,” he said.
She nodded again. “This area is so rich in Revolutionary War history. And I’ve always had a keen interest in all the characters involved with the Revolution. While Andre was instrumental in causing Benedict Arnold to turn traitor, he’s still a beloved character—even now and even as the enemy.
“The man spoke at least five languages, and George Washington was said to have admired him. The truth has been obscured by legend. He supposedly joined the British army because of a broken heart. He didn’t have the name or the money to buy any kind of real rank, so he worked his way up. He was captured once and exchanged—and then caught with papers on him that proved him to be a spy.
“They say that he haunts much of the Hudson Valley, and that his specter is seen in Philadelphia, where he was the rage of Tory society during the British occupation. He was hanged in 1780, and he was only thirty-one at the time. From that day onward, stories about him ran rampant because he was such a romantic figure. But if it’s true that he had a young woman in this area willing to risk all for him, I’d say she must have been born sometime between 1750 and 1760. Even if she lived a long life, she probably died when burials were still occurring at the Old Dutch Church—or one of the other churches or family graveyards. Like St. Andrew’s.”
“Why would Richard have been looking for her grave?” Aidan mused aloud.
She didn’t have an answer for that.
His phone rang as they both sat in thoughtful silence.
He answered it. “Mahoney.”
Mo watched his face. She couldn’t hear the person on the other end.
“Thanks,” was all he said.
He smiled at her and rose. “Thanks for humoring my obsession. I appreciate all your help.”
“I wish I could do more.” She rose, as well. “Did...did they find something?” she asked.
“Yes,” he murmured. “But we’re keeping certain information out of the press for now.”
“I know. I’ve often helped the police. I’ve never shared anything that’s come up when Rollo and I’ve been working with them.”
“Well, that was the M.E. The toxicology reports came back. Both of the victims had traces of chloroform in their systems. They were knocked out before they were taken.”
“Hopefully they were unconscious when they were killed.”
“We did learn that they were strangled before they were beheaded.”
“I guess that’s a small mercy.”
“Yes.”
They walked to the front door, Rollo trotting beside them.
When Aidan opened the door, he told her, “I’ll keep you abreast of the situation. We owe you that, and I know I can trust you to maintain strict confidentiality. In the meantime...be careful.”
“I’m always careful,” she said. “I always know when anyone’s near this house.”
He grinned at that, resting his hand on Rollo’s head. “Don’t let him accept any candy from strangers,” he teased, then shook his head. “Seriously, people have been known to throw out poisoned meat or treats to take down a dog. Just watch out for him, too.”
“Of course. Thank you.”
Then he was gone; she stood at the door while he got into his car, watching until it disappeared down the drive.
Rollo let out a pathetic cry of loss.
“Hey! I’m your owner, the love of your life!” she admonished the dog. “Come on, we’ll get another dog treat.” She locked the door and walked back through the house to the kitchen and dug a treat out of the bowl. When she gave it to him, she thought about Aidan’s words.
Don’t let him accept candy from strangers.
“Aidan said we should look out for strangers,” she told Rollo.
She winced as she heard herself. They were now on a first-name basis. That didn’t make her any more comfortable. It was as if the man’s essence lingered, along with the scent of his aftershave or cologne.
“Back to work!” she said.
But she didn’t go back to work. She went into her office and began to skim through the various history books she had on the area, especially those that dealt with Major Andre—and all the legends that had arisen aroun
d him.
* * *
“Old-fashioned method of knocking someone out. Pretty simple, I guess,” Dr. Mortenson told Aidan and Sloan Trent. “You soak a rag, you put it over your victim’s face and he or she is out in a matter of seconds. The victim can struggle, of course, but any struggle is brief. Must’ve been very brief in the case of our two victims. They didn’t get their nails on their attacker. I found no skin, no fibers, nothing to indicate that either of them even touched him.”
“It might well indicate that Richard—and the young woman—were tricked into being someplace that would give their attacker a chance to knock them out,” Aidan said.
“Well, yes, it’s not something you could do in front of someone else without being noticed,” Dr. Mortenson said.
Sloan looked at Aidan. “That would most likely mean that Richard Highsmith was knocked out in the greenroom—or tricked into leaving the convention center and then taken in the parking lot.”
“There was security in the parking lot,” Aidan said. “But there were also dozens of trucks granted entry to service the food and drink concessions at the center.”
“Which probably brings us back to someone Richard knew. He either went out to see a person or persons he trusted—or he was taken in the greenroom, using the same scenario,” Sloan said.
Aidan pulled out his phone and called Van Camp. The detective was already at the convention center and had been advised about the chloroform.
“We may be too late, but we need to search the rooms of the security guys, plus Jillian Durfey and Taylor Branch,” Aidan said.
“Warrants are on the way, and Voorhaven and I are headed over to the hotel now,” Van Camp told him. “We may not need the warrants. If all of them are innocent, they won’t care whether we have warrants.”
“Or if they’ve already gotten rid of anything that might indicate they ever had a drug,” Aidan said. “But we’ll meet you there.”
He and Sloan stopped by the office at the morgue where Jane Everett was working.
“How’s it going?” Sloan asked.
“I’m ready to send this out,” Jane said. “Do you want to see?” She showed them the computer screen. While the face she presented wasn’t different in its shape, its lines or symmetry from the computer-generated version, it was somehow a totally new image. There was life to the woman. Her eyes were bright, her lips slightly curved. She’d been a lovely young blonde, and in Jane’s rendering, she was vivacious and real.
“Beautiful work.” Sloan placed a hand on her shoulder.
She flashed a smile at him. These two were intimate, Aidan thought. Emotionally connected. They weren’t overt, both of them too dedicated to the job to indulge in any but the briefest of private moments. Jane turned to him. “Is this more like what you wanted?”
“Definitely,” he said. Jane was really good. He wasn’t an artist himself, but he could see that she’d created an image that was far superior to what they’d had. Looking at it, he felt that he’d remember this woman, even if he’d just seen her walking down the street.
“I’ll distribute it right away so we can get the media helping us,” she said.
Aidan and Sloan went back to the hotel. When they arrived, they found police and crime scene investigators there. The security crew, aka Muscles, Mischief and Magic, as well as Jillian and Taylor, were standing in the hallway—out of their rooms while they were being searched.
It had to be one of the most courteous examples of a search he’d ever seen. Courteous on both sides, the police and those whose rooms were under inspection.
Taylor Branch immediately approached Aidan. “They didn’t need warrants,” he said. “We would’ve willingly stepped out. I guess you have to go with us as your first suspects because it was Richard, but you only had to ask.”
“I figured as much,” Aidan acknowledged, and introduced Sloan all around. “You realize, Mr. Branch, that once you’re eliminated, we’ll be able to concentrate elsewhere.”
“Yes, that’s always the line, isn’t it?” Branch asked, a dry smile twitching his lips.
“Always—because it’s the truth,” Sloan said.
One of the crime scene techs emerged from Jillian’s room. “Detectives? Agents?” she called.
Aidan walked over to her with Sloan, Van Camp and Voorhaven joining them.
The crime scene tech wore a shirt with a name tag that identified her as Garcia. She held a green container in one of her gloved hands.
“Could be chloroform,” Sloan guessed, frowning as he looked at Aidan. “We’ll test it.”
“I believe so,” Garcia said.
They all turned to Jillian Durfey, who stood close enough to hear. She stared at them in astonishment. “That’s not mine!” she protested.
“It was in the bottom dresser drawer, under what appears to be your clothing,” Garcia informed her.
“No, no, no!” Jillian backed away, hands raised. “Oh, no, no. You planted that! Someone planted that! I loved Richard. I adored him. I wouldn’t have hurt him for the world.”
“We have to take you in for questioning,” Van Camp told her.
“I didn’t put it there! I’ve never seen it before, I swear!” Jillian said passionately.
“We have to take you in. I’m sorry.” Aidan studied the young woman. Her eyes were huge and filled with horror as she looked at Taylor Branch. He was staring back at her in shock and growing anger, but managed to control his response. “I’ll get our attorneys on this. Don’t say anything until you’ve been advised.”
“But I didn’t do anything. I’m telling you—” Jillian began.
Voorhaven had come up behind her. “Will you come with us voluntarily or do I need cuffs?”
“Cuffs!” she repeated, spinning to face him.
“Jillian, just go with them. I’ll take care of it,” Taylor Branch promised her.
Van Camp came to stand by Aidan. “You want the interview, I imagine?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes, thanks,” Aidan said. “I’ll follow you in about fifteen minutes.”
Van Camp and Voorhaven left with Jillian. She kept looking back, her eyes wide, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“That’s absolutely impossible,” Muscles—or Cory Stile—insisted.
“The chloroform was in her drawer,” Garcia said flatly and dispassionately.
Muscles shook his head. “She’s...she’s far too sweet and what she said was true. Jillian hero-worshipped Richard Highsmith. And I saw her—we all saw her!—testing the sound equipment.”
“She’s not under arrest,” Aidan explained. “We just need her to answer some questions. She’s right that the chloroform could have been planted. This is a hotel. There are passkeys. Maids and other staff come into the rooms. As I said, we’ll need to talk to her and, actually, Mr. Branch, an attorney isn’t going to help much at this point, because we’re going to try to find out if the chloroform was planted in her room.”
Branch scowled. “That’s what you say when you want to bully and trick people into confessions. You just want to ask questions,” he added sarcastically.
“I’m sorry you believe that,” Aidan said.
Branch started toward his room. “They’re not done in there,” Aidan told him.
Irritated, Branch stopped. “Fine. I’ll wait.” He pulled out his cell phone. “I need to get in touch with a lawyer right now. I can do that here as well as anywhere.”
Mischief—Rob Little—walked over to Aidan. “Muscles told you the truth. We’ve all come to care about Jillian. She’s a good kid. Idealistic. That’s why she loved her job, working for Richard. I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”
“Who in this group had access to her room?” Aidan asked.
The three “Shields” and Taylor Branch looked at one anot
her.
“All of us,” Mischief replied.
“Then we’ll all have to talk, won’t we?” Aidan said quietly.
* * *
“Please? Pretty please?” Grace asked Mo over the phone.
“Oh, I don’t know,” Mo said.
The local attractions were reopening. Grace was on duty that night—and now she wanted Mo to play a part at the Haunted Mausoleum.
Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown always put on a spectacular Halloween season. Like Salem, New Orleans and various other places of historic interest, Sleepy Hollow had the reputation and the buildings, graveyards and other locations to create a spooky atmosphere and attract visitors.
Philipsburg Manor put on Horseman’s Hollow, there were readings at the Old Dutch Church and a wonderful Haunted Hayride. Grace’s venue, the Haunted Mausoleum, was both effective and successful. There wasn’t really a main mausoleum; instead, there were several family tombs and graves on the property. The largest building was an old mortuary, originally built and opened just before the Civil War. It had done a booming business as the death toll during the fighting increased, and it had survived as a working mortuary well into the twentieth century. Finally, it was purchased by Grace’s employers in the late 1980s.
These days, visitors were taken on a tour through the main building and then out to the graveyard. At Halloween, the mortuary offered grim reapers, the dead trying to rise out of coffins and “the gauntlet,” a hallway filled with character actors portraying historical personages from all over the world known for their heinous acts, including Vlad Dracul, Countess Bathory, Jack the Ripper and more.
The cemetery itself concentrated on specters from local lore. Among them were Major Andre, the Woman in White, a Native American maiden who had killed herself over her lover, and the Bronze Lady—a large statue from the cemetery said to cry real tears. The infamous historical-murderer actors made appearances now and then, too.
While the haunted house was pure fun, visitors also went away with a booklet that gave real histories of the characters, and information on the other ghost stories of Sleepy Hollow.
There was usually a Headless Horseman of Sleepy Hollow who rode around the property, too.