It was Angela. She told him they had a reservation at a small local hotel within walking distance of the historic area, a place that accepted dogs.
He said nothing as he hung up. She sat there uncomfortably, holding the dog and sipping her coffee. Finally, she spoke, hoping she sounded nonchalant and businesslike but still appreciative.
“Thank you.”
“Huh?” He glanced over at her; she realized that he must’ve been deep in thought.
“The dog. You were right. I shouldn’t have taken him.”
“As long as you know I’m right.”
“Why do you do that with everything?” Meg demanded, speaking before she had a chance to weigh her words—and stop them.
“Do what?”
“I said I knew I was wrong. You could’ve just said, ‘Thanks, that’s okay.’”
“Doesn’t matter. The dog’s with us now. That’s the way it is. So, we’ll accommodate.”
Meg fell into silence. Every time she thought he was actually proving to be human, he went and turned it around. Fine.
She finished her coffee, curled her arms around the dog and leaned against the side of the car. She hadn’t slept much lately.
“Taking a nap?” he asked.
“You’re doing the driving,” she said.
She didn’t really sleep but she must have dozed. The next thing she knew, they were drawing into Harpers Ferry, her home, a place where the rivers had flooded the land, where George Washington had gone, where John Brown had staged his famous raid and Civil War soldiers had fought time and time again.
Where ghost stories abounded in the often fog-shrouded valley low by the river.
Home. A place where Lara Mayhew might easily have come to hide.
*
Matt was familiar with Harpers Ferry. He figured it would’ve been nearly impossible to grow up in Richmond, attend military school and not know Harpers Ferry. The munitions here and the strategic placement of rivers and mountains led to its being valuable in war. Nowadays, it thrived on tourism. There was the history of the Civil War to be experienced; there was rafting and tubing on the river. Visitors could enjoy interesting shops and great stories told by the Rangers; there were reenactments, and all manner of entertainment. He didn’t, of course, know the town as well as someone who had lived here. As well as Meg Murray probably did.
Angela had done a wonderful job finding the kind of place they needed. From their hotel, they could ease right down to the John Brown firehouse. A climb up the hill would take them to Harper Cemetery and Jefferson Rock—where you could look down over the valley and the river and see for miles.
And the place allowed dogs.
He liked animals, although he didn’t have one because he traveled so frequently. He’d toyed with the idea of an independent cat, but hadn’t gotten around to adopting one yet.
Killer...
Damn, the mutt was ugly.
Still, there was something about him. Maybe the loyalty that had brought him to the morgue where his owner lay within. Matt figured if they ever encountered Genie’s ghost, the dog would come in handy.
He trusted his gut. Intuition was, he thought, akin to his ability to see the dead.
He found it somewhat irritating that Meg had insisted on bringing Killer, but as he’d said himself, the dog was with them now. They had to make it work.
The place they were staying was called the General Fitzhugh Lee Hotel. That was something of an exaggeration; it was more of a bed-and-breakfast, but for their purposes, just about perfect. They were greeted at a counter in the parlor by an older woman who recognized Meg immediately.
“Margaret Murray, child, how are you? When I saw your name I was so pleased. We miss you and your folks around here. I haven’t seen you in years!”
“Hi, Mrs. Lafferty,” Meg said, returning a hug from the woman, who’d walked around the counter to embrace her.
“Look at you,” Mrs. Lafferty exclaimed. “All grown-up and official! I don’t mean to ignore you, Mr. Bosworth, but it’s been ages since I’ve seen Meg!”
“Quite all right,” Matt assured her. It was totally enjoyable to watch Meg squirm and wonder what he was thinking. Still, the more time he spent with her, the more he admired her—despite the occasional flash of annoyance. She was young, she was new, she was raw. But she was passionate and determined. And undeniably attractive—tall, lithe, with her large blue eyes and generous mouth. He wasn’t a fool; he’d immediately responded to the sexual attraction she exuded. And she loved dogs. His grandmother used to say that you could tell who people were by the way they treated animals. Those who were good to animals were usually good human beings—and she always warned him to be careful of those who weren’t.
Then why be so hard on Meg? It wasn’t the new...or the raw.
Maybe it was the way he’d felt when she’d touched him that first day at the morgue. He’d pulled back because she’d been so warm, so filled with life, even with tears in her eyes. And a moment like that wasn’t the time to feel anything but empathy for another human being.
Meg immediately asked Mrs. Lafferty if she’d seen Lara Mayhew lately.