The Hidden

But still she paused.

The dining room was different now. The glare of the electric chandelier fell differently on the antique furniture, the arrow-riddled chairs and the downed moose head. Despite the destruction, the room didn’t feel at all spooky. The magical aura of the séance was gone.

And yet...

They had found Nathan Kendall. Or rather, he had found them.

He had said that she knew who had killed him, but he hadn’t ruled out the possibility that he knew his murderer’s identity, too. So, did he know? And could he help them?

They had expected something to come from the séance, and it had, though it certainly hadn’t been anything they’d expected.

She wasn’t Krewe or any kind of law enforcement, but the ghosts of the Conway Ranch were coming to her. And that had to mean something, right?

Brett and Diego were waiting expectantly for her to join them, but she ignored them both.

“Nathan,” she said softly to the room. “Nathan Kendall. We need your help. Are you still here? Will you speak to me?”

She didn’t receive an answer in words.

But she could have sworn that a gentle hand touched her cheek.

“Scarlet?” Diego called.

“Come on,” Brett urged gently.

Reluctantly, she joined them as they went to greet Lieutenant Gray.

As Brett had said, the fun and parlor games were just beginning.





16

“This is ridiculous. Why are you questioning us?” Gwen asked indignantly. “We just came for our honeymoon. We stayed on after what happened because we didn’t want to be like rats deserting a sinking ship. But to suspect that Charles and I could be guilty of any of this is—is preposterous!”

“And I was nearly killed,” Linda said, tossing back her blond hair. “You can’t possibly believe I was stupid enough to rig up a weapon and then let it kill me.”

“No, I’m the one who was nearly killed,” Terry said, staring at her and holding up his wounded arm.

A paramedic had already seen to his injury, applying antibiotic ointment and, as Scarlet had predicted, a small bandage.

Lieutenant Gray was in the parlor, watching, listening, questioning. A crime-scene unit had been called, and they were working throughout the house, with a focus on the dining room.

Gray was standing by the mantel. He had the look of a man who had unexpectedly found himself in the middle of a freak show.

Brett had headed over to the stables and asked Angus to join them, so the grizzled old stable master was there now as well, his expression clearly saying that he thought he’d landed in the middle of an asylum.

“We didn’t do this,” Ben insisted to Gray. Trisha, sitting next to him, nodded.

“Don’t look at us,” Clark said.

“As far as I’m concerned, we’re through with Estes Park,” Gigi said firmly. “The area’s absolutely ruined for us now.”

“Thank the Lord Almighty I wasn’t here for that idiotic séance,” Angus muttered.

“There’s absolutely no reason to hold us all here. If anything, we’re victims, too. What about Scarlet? She’s the one who had those awful photos on her camera. She’s the one who brought in her quote-unquote friends. Some special agents, nearly getting us all killed. She’s far more suspicious than anyone else I can think of.”

“Scarlet was seen in town by dozens of people the night the Parkers were killed,” Lieutenant Gray told them. He looked at Ben almost apologetically. “While you and your wife were here. Yes,” he said, turning to stare at Gwen, “and so were you, Mrs. Barton, along with your husband. So if any of you knows anything, now would be the time to talk to me.”

Diego didn’t blame Gray for being angry. He felt as if he had stepped into an Agatha Christie mystery himself, except that there would be no drawing-room conclusion tonight.