Was she actually admitting that there might be ghosts in the house? she asked herself.
The coffee was ready, so Kendall thoughtfully poured herself a cup and turned.
A man was standing there. Tall, lean, wearing a flannel shirt, breeches and suspenders, a worn straw hat on his head. His eyes were a sad and watery green, and his skin was the color of café au lait. And she was absolutely certain she had seen him before.
At the bar, though he dressed differently there.
But he was the same man.
He was staring at her, but she wasn’t afraid, because the sadness in his eyes took away any thought of fear.
She tried to speak, but before she could make a sound, she blinked—and he was gone.
Her hand was shaking so hard that she had to set her cup down. She looked all around the kitchen, then ran to the back door, which was still securely locked. She turned and rushed around the lower level of the house, checking every window. Then she hurried to the front door. As she neared it, she backed away in horror. The door was opening.
By the time he had finished with his shower, Aidan had reconciled everything in his mind. He knew from Kendall that Amelia had been a kind and caring woman. He knew what she looked like, because there was a picture of her in the family gallery in the formal dining room. So the dream made total sense. He was certain that Jenny Trent—and probably at least some of the others—had been murdered in this vicinity. And though all he’d found so far were the two thighbones from two different women, he was willing to bet that those bodies had been disposed of here at the plantation or nearby. And what he needed was to find the rest of her body. His dream had been a subconscious push to do just that.
He stepped out of the shower, vigorously towel-dried his hair, then got dressed. He planned to drive Kendall into town to open her shop for the day, then come back and explore the family plot more thoroughly. If he’d found one bone, the rest of the woman had to be somewhere. He made a mental checklist of the facts he considered certain: there was a killer on the loose, a clever killer who targeted women who were heading off on long trips. How did he do it? Most people were friendly, and those who frequented Bourbon Street tended to have a few too many drinks, which made them more talkative, helping the killer to figure out who fit his profile. It was likely, but not certain, that the killer haunted the Hideaway, the bar where Vinnie played, though it was possible he made the rounds of the Bourbon Street hangouts. Maybe the “evil” Amelia had been afraid of before she died had started with the killer disposing of his victims here, but did he lure them here first, then kill them, or kill them elsewhere and then bring the bodies here after?
He had just pulled on a clean pair of jeans when he heard his cell phone ringing from the pocket of the pair he had worn the day before. He extracted it and answered.
“Flynn.”
“Aidan?” a tentative female voice asked.
“Yes, sorry, Aidan Flynn. Who is this?”
“It’s Matty, Aidan. Jonas’s wife.”
“Matty, hi. What can I do for you?”
“Aidan, would you consider meeting me for a quick lunch or even just a coffee today?” she asked. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be asking. I know you must be busy, and I’m going to see you at the charity party tonight anyway, it’s just that…No, never mind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be calling you.”
He winced, remembering that Jeremy had told him that Jonas had been flirting at the bar, unaware that his wife was in the room.
“It’s all right, Matty.” He hesitated and glanced at his watch. He could take Kendall to work and meet Matty for half an hour, and still get back here with plenty of time to look around before he had to shower and dress for tonight.
“Matty, can I meet you just after ten?” he asked.
“Yes. Aidan, you won’t tell Jonas, will you?” she asked anxiously.
“No, Matty, not if you don’t want me to.”
They made plans, then hung up. Jonas was an idiot, Aidan thought, wondering what the hell he was going to say to Matty.
As he slipped into his shirt, he found himself wondering if Jonas was something worse than just an idiot.
Much worse.
Kendall backed away from door, almost screaming, and then it registered in her mind that she had heard a key turning in the lock.
She stopped herself from running and stood dead still, her eyes wide.
Sunlight poured in, and for a moment, all she saw was a tall silhouette in the doorway.
“Hey there!”
It was Zachary Flynn, she realized, and he seemed as surprised to see her as she was to see him.
“Hey,” she returned. It was definitely an awkward moment, but she wasn’t as frazzled as she might have been even an hour ago. After all, he wasn’t a total stranger who appeared out of thin air and disappeared in the blink of an eye.
A stranger, who looked at her with such sad eyes, and who hung out at the Hideaway at night.