Aidan excused himself to call Logan Raintree on his hands-free phone. “Anything on that end?” he asked.
“Jillian and Taylor Branch left the hotel to go to a movie and have dinner. She was wearing a wig. I suppose she doesn’t want to be recognized in the area. The security guys went to a sports bar for lunch and to a gym. They’re back now,” Logan told him. “We’ve been pulling records on everyone. Haven’t found anything yet. Will re-interviewed the men who were working with the sound system. Jane interviewed the receiving clerk and is doing thorough investigations on each of the food and delivery companies as we speak. Van Camp and Voorhaven have been out at Tommy Jensen’s place, hoping they’ll catch a customer or passerby who might’ve seen something. Moving along—but so far, getting nowhere. You?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Aidan said. “We’re heading back in. I’ll let you know as soon as we have anything solid.”
He ended the call and turned to Mo. “We’re going to the Haunted Mausoleum, then?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied. They parked on the street. It was still early, so it was easy to do. During the major visitor season—this time of year—the mortuary didn’t open for tours. It only opened at night for the “haunted” experience.
“We just walk in?”
“No, there are gates. I’ll have to ask one of the bosses to let us in.”
He followed Mo, Rollo and the wisp that was the ghost of Elizabeth Hampton to the mortuary door. It was opened by a pleasant older woman in a sweater and slacks who was happy to greet Mo and Rollo—and to meet him. She was Sondra Burke, vice president of the historic tour company that owned and operated many of the historic buildings and tours, including the Haunted Mausoleum.
“Terrible things have been happening, Agent Mahoney,” she said, shaking his hand and patting Rollo. She was oblivious to the aura that followed them in. “It’s good that everyone out there is trying to decipher the truth. How ghastly—and how well planned, or so it seems. But I imagine Mo has you here for a bit of a breather and a few minutes of fun.”
“Aidan is an aficionado of old churchyards and cemeteries,” Mo told her. “I thought I’d take him through the house and for a walk out back.”
“Of course,” Sondra said. Her eyes twinkled. “But don’t be too late, if you don’t mind, Mo. We’ll need you back here fairly soon. You’ve become a real hit with our visitors.”
“Sure,” Mo promised.
She led the way through the mortuary with its now web-covered chandeliers and decorated hallways. The old viewing rooms had been staged in different ways for Halloween. In one, an animatronic mad doctor worked to reattach limbs to the wrong parts of a body. In another, a funeral was supposedly going on; the viewing was for an old Vaudeville star, who would be played by an actor. When people entered the room, he came back to life, jumped out of his coffin and began singing an Al Jolson tune.
“Down below, there’s the murderers’ gallery. You have to go through the streets of London and pass by Jack the Ripper and other infamous murderers. All are live actors, too. They’re good.”
“And where are you?” Aidan asked.
“Outside,” she told him. “Follow me. We go through the rear basement door.”
They exited to the graveyard that took up the rear and both sides of the immediate property. As they headed out, she explained which historical character or legend waited where.
The graveyard was fitted out with skeletons that looked around the corners of mausoleums. Rats and spiders lurked and lingered. Bits and pieces of bones were cast about here and there. The graveyard itself provided the rest—creepy old mausoleums and crooked stones—and there were three empty coffins that appeared to have fallen out of broken sarcophagi. When opening time rolled around and the actors were all in their places, it was truly creepy.
“Real actors will get into the coffins—and they’ll sit up groaning or jump out.”
“Nice.”
“It’s definitely spooky at night,” Mo said.
She came to a small mausoleum off the side of a path. “This is, er, my haunting ground. And where I saw Andre.”
He wasn’t sure if she was speaking to him or the ghost of Lizzie, but suddenly he heard something like a whoosh of air.
He thought maybe the spirit gasped.
Rollo barked.
Mo smiled.
“What is it?” Aidan asked.
“He’s here—and they’ve seen each other,” Mo whispered.
“Ah.”
“Oh, Aidan, it’s really lovely. Try to see.”
He did see...something. Two indistinct shapes. The one shape he’d come to know—and another. It almost seemed as if light clouds circled each other—and finally came together.
He couldn’t tell if he simply heard Mo’s description of the two of them embracing—or if he actually saw them, a man and a woman meeting after a very long time.
He waited before he whispered to Mo, “Can she take us to her daughter’s grave? I don’t mean to be callous, but...time’s slipping away.”
She turned to him. “You can ask her, Aidan.”
He shook his head. “I know they’re there,” he said. “But I can’t see their faces. I just have what everyone has, Mo. The sense of someone else there.”
She studied him for a minute and he found himself caught in the beauty of her eyes. He stood very still; something in her made him want to reach out, to touch her—hold her as he believed Andre held his precious Lizzie. But he had to keep his distance. He’d touched her once and it had been wrong. He was an agent, here for a short time, working a case. They seemed to share some kind of attraction—physical, yes, but more than that. She aroused his instincts and his feelings. He forced himself not to think about caressing her face or kissing her lips. The thought was enough to arouse all those male instincts and this definitely wasn’t the time or place.
“You knew something when you came here, when you first came to Sleepy Hollow,” she said.
He nodded. “I knew that Richard was dead.”
“How?”
“I dreamed about him coming to tell me.”
She nodded with a grim smile.
“Yeah. Too bad he didn’t tell me who did it, right?” he asked, his tone harsher than he would have liked.
“He came to you because he knew you’d pursue his murderer. That you’d achieve justice,” she told him. Then she stepped forward and spoke gently with the ghosts he couldn’t quite see.
“We can go to the cemetery now,” she said a minute or two later. They thanked Sondra for letting them in and left, with Mo promising she’d be back in plenty of time for costuming and makeup for the night’s event.
He drove them toward the Old Dutch Church and turned onto the road by the graveyard, along the border of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. He parked as close as he could to the site where St. Andrew’s Church had once stood. Where they’d found the bodies of Richard Highsmith and Wendy Appleby and the vault where they’d been beheaded.
The killer’s lair, Aidan thought.
When they were out of the car, Rollo barked and wagged his tail. But he wasn’t following a scent; he followed in the wake of the ghosts.
They climbed uphill and came to the vaults. They passed the tomb where Wendy Appleby’s form had pointed the way to the inner sanctum.
They came to another vault deep in the recesses of a hill.
Aidan noted that the name in worn stone atop the vault was Bakker.
“That’s Lizzie’s cousin’s married name,” Mo said.
“And Lizzie’s daughter is buried there?” Aidan asked.
“Yes,” Mo told him after conferring with the ghost.
Aidan walked up to the heavy brass gate that guarded what appeared to be an old seal. To his surprise, when he set his han
d on the lever to open the gate, it gave. He pushed at what should have been a two-hundred-year-old seal.
It, too, gave.
He pulled a penlight from his pocket and ran its beam over the inside of the tomb as he entered. He felt Rollo come up to him and knew that Mo was directly behind.
Inside was an altar. To either side were rows and rows of dead but the seals seemed to be mostly intact.
The vault was very dark, and his penlight did little to illuminate the space. He heard a squeal, but it was just a rat racing by. The dog barked his disapproval. Mo, however, didn’t react.
Then he felt as if he’d been touched again. Someone urged him to turn, to follow. At the back of the tomb was a sarcophagus in heavy stone with a name deeply engraved in it. “Elizabeth Bakker Highsmith.”
“Highsmith!” he said, his voice choked. He looked at Mo.
“What do you think it means?” she asked.
“I’m assuming it means that Richard was tracing his family tree. That he found out somehow that he’d had a relative he hadn’t known about who’d lived back in the Revolutionary days. What I can’t figure out is how it could be connected to his death.”
“But he was from here, isn’t that right?”
Aidan nodded. “But...time passes. And if he’d learned about this grave being here, he probably wouldn’t have thought anything of it. Everyone from this area has ancestors buried in one or more of these cemeteries.”
“It’s still possible that Lizzie’s grave doesn’t really have anything to do with why he was killed,” Mo said.
He was thoughtful. “I don’t think so. The matchbook with Lizzie grave on it came from the Mystic Magic strip club. And Wendy Appleby, who worked there, was targeted when she came to hear Richard speak. They were killed together. It all has to mean something,” he said. He turned around abruptly. In the near-total darkness of the mausoleum, he couldn’t see the ghosts at all—they weren’t even puffs of white in the air. But he said aloud, “Thank you, Miss Hampton. Thank you, Major Andre. Right now I don’t know exactly what this means, but it may become very important.”
A silence hung in the dank air of the tomb.
Then Mo spoke. “You’re welcome, Aidan. If they’ve helped in any way, they’re pleased.”
“Come on,” he said. “Let me get you home so you don’t miss your call time.” He paused. Had Richard Highsmith been here?
The gate and the seal had given easily. Someone had come here not long ago. Richard? Or someone else?
“Let’s go,” he said.
“I should get there soon. And I still have to take Rollo to the house. Grace is picking me up there, so if I’m late, she will be, too.”
As he started to leave the tomb, he bumped into her and instinctively set his hands on her to steady them both. He felt as if the scent of her soap or perfume pushed away that of death and decay. The warmth of her body, so close to his, was vibrant, filled with life.
He wanted to pull her against him and hold her there and believe for just a minute that he’d found the answers. That they could step into the daylight together and...
“Sorry!” he murmured.
“It’s okay. I must say, a living human touch in here is nice.”
Rollo whined.
“Oh, yes, and so is a dog. A dog’s always good!” she said.
He left the tomb, catching her hand so she could easily follow. Rollo had no problem; it seemed he could see in the dark.
Aidan didn’t release her hand as he picked his way through the monuments and stones to go back down to the car. She didn’t seem to mind keeping her hand in his.
As he neared the pathway that would hide the vault from their view, he looked back. For a moment, he at least imagined he could see them.
The handsome Andre—“more unlucky than criminal”—and the beautiful woman he had secretly loved before his death.
The woman who’d paid the ultimate price for loving him.
He walked on down the hill, Mo’s hand in his, Rollo beside the two of them.
What the hell did it all mean?
If he could figure that out, he just might catch the killers.
12
Grace showed up just as they returned to Mo’s house. She spoke with Aidan while Mo took Rollo inside, fed him and made sure his water bowl was filled before heading out for the night.
They said goodbye to Aidan and got into Grace’s car to leave. Grace waved as she eased out of Mo’s drive.
Then she turned to Mo, beaming. “So?”
“So?”
“Have you two done it yet?”
“Grace! He’s an agent, working on the case.”
“He’s a man, honey. You mean to tell me you haven’t...” She shook her head. “You’re one asexual woman. If you don’t do something pretty soon, what a waste! A total waste. Do you want me to offer myself up? You can’t just let a divine hunk of masculinity like that go! What’s the matter with you? I mean, what’s available here? Tommy Jensen? Creepy Tommy?”
“Grace!” Mo protested.
Grace said, “Oh, we all like Tommy now. There’s nothing wrong with him. Granted, he’s more like a brother. And Phil’s like another brother from a different mother! Or Ron...never mind, he’s gay and in a good relationship. But what are you doing?”
“Grace!”
“Tell me you aren’t fascinated with the guy.”
“I am.”
“Oh!” Grace said, clearly surprised. “Well, then?”
Mo sighed and swung around to look at her. “What do you want me to do, Grace? Just say, ‘Agent Mahoney, the pickings here are slim, and you’ve got all the right parts, and they seem to be in working order. Should we have sex?’”
“No, that would be rude. Crude.”
“Worse than rude or crude. Humiliating!” Mo groaned.
“It’s the way you said it. Just, ‘I’d love to have sex with you.’ That would be the way to do it,” Grace said.
Mo groaned again.
“If you don’t see it, you’re blind. Sparks seem to pop off both of you when you’re together.”
“I’m trying to help him find a killer!”
“And he will find the killer,” Grace said with certainty. “That’s his job. It’s what he does. But he’s still a man and he deserves a life beyond work!”
Mo couldn’t argue with that. “Don’t we all,” she murmured. “I brought him by the Haunted Mausoleum today,” she said, hoping to change the topic.
“That should’ve been fun—but I’m sure you turned it into work somehow.”
Mo didn’t answer. “We’re just studying local legends, you know?”
“And only you could make that not fun!”
Mo didn’t bother to respond; they’d reached the Haunted Mausoleum.
She went in to start her makeup right away. Grace joined Phil and some of the others and indulged in donuts.
Sondra stopped by the makeup chair to tell Mo she’d enjoyed meeting Aidan Mahoney. Ron pursed his lips as he worked on Mo’s face.
Mo remembered guiltily that she’d promised to ask about a job for Debbie Howell. She told Sondra about her—and about how she’d be trying to keep the orphaned son of her murdered friend.
“You know this woman well?” Sondra asked her.
“Not that well,” Mo replied honestly. “But I’ve seen the way J.J. looks at her and I believe she’s good person and deserves a chance. She also knows everything about this area.”
“Have your friend call me. We’ll arrange an interview,” Sondra assured her. “As you know, I love doing research on the area. My family goes back so far... I could use an assistant on that angle and someone from here who knows and loves the place would be perfect. I’m researching a story about
Continental currency right now.”
In the mirror, Mo could see Ron raise his brows as he worked on her hair. “Continental currency?” he asked. “What’s that?”
“The paper currency issued by the Continental Congress. A lot of it supposedly disappeared from this area before the Civil War,” Sondra said.
“Was it worth anything by that time?” he asked.
“Certainly. There were collectors then, just as there are now,” Sandra explained. “And, of course, there were thieves then, too.”
“Yeah? I’d imagine they used it for kindling!” Ron said. “When the Revolution was over, wasn’t it about useless?”
“Ron, we won the Revolution,” Sondra said, smiling.
“Yeah, but—”
“New money was printed after that, yes, and quite quickly. That’s why Continental currency became so valuable to collectors. Well, that’s all just a bit of history, and as I said, I’d like to write an article on it. Anyway, back to tonight’s work. Mo, bring your agent friend by anytime,” Sondra said, and moved on through the dressing area and makeup room to return to the front office.
“Ooh,” Ron teased Mo. “The plot thickens.”
“Continental currency?” she asked.
“No! Dating the federal lawman!”
“We’re just rehashing local legends,” Mo said.
“That’s all?”
Mo lowered her head and laughed. “No, Ron, I’ve had this weird fantasy all my life—and it’s not about a knight in shining armor. It’s about an FBI man—and fooling around naked on a cold fall day in the middle of a burial ground. Oh, the decay! Wow, what a turn-on!”
Ron laughed, too, and leaned closer to her. “You own a house, my love. Use it!”
When she was ready that night and at her post, Mo didn’t expect to see Major Andre or his Lizzie. But they were both there for a moment, waving to her. Then, hand in hand, they wandered off.
She went through the motions, her mind racing.
What could Lizzie grave have had to do with Richard Highsmith’s murder? It seemed more and more evident that there was no serial killer running amok. Just someone who’d wanted both Richard and Wendy Appleby dead.