The Hidden

“They think you did it?” he asked, incredulous. Scarlet wasn’t perfect, and she could certainly get good and angry. But murder? Never.

“Okay, let me get this straight. They’re holding you on suspicion of murder because of pictures that were on your camera but that aren’t there now?” Diego asked.

“Yes.”

“Then they have nothing.”

“Except Ben saw the pictures, too, and he told the police about them, so they think I erased them.”

“They need to get the camera to a police tech and examine the memory card.”

“They already have.”

“And they’re still holding you?”

“Yes!”

“I’ll be there as soon as I can. I’ll make some calls, get the right people involved. Just don’t go snapping at anyone until I get there and can straighten things out.”

“I don’t snap.”

“You do when your pride is hurt. But don’t let them get to you, okay? Just be honest with them.”

“Yes, of course.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

And then she was gone.

He suddenly found himself thinking about the refugees they had rescued and the words the old woman had said to him.

But you—you must be very careful. And you must go where you are called. You understand? You will know. You must go where you are called.

He’d always been open to possibilities in life, but he’d never been superstitious or a believer in omens.

But now...

It was time to join the Krewe.

He headed back inside to find Brett, and he prayed that the Krewe really did operate as efficiently and swiftly as he’d heard.

Because with or without official benediction, he was heading west.

He found Brett talking to Matt Bosworth, a longtime Krewe agent, and pulled them aside.

“This Krewe thing—I want in. But first I need help.”

“What is it?” Brett asked.

“I’ve got to get to Estes Park, Colorado, fast. As fast as possible. It’s Scarlet. She’s in trouble. They’re holding her for murder.”

Diego was amazed at the speed with which things happened after that. In short order their transport was set up for early the following morning, and he still had a few hours left to sleep. Luckily he’d taught himself how to sleep in any circumstances, even in the middle of a case.

But that night his sleep was disjointed and troubled. His dreams were of the old woman, and of Scarlet walking toward him through a fog.

A fog filled with the faces of the nameless dead.

*

The one place Scarlet had never expected to be in Estes Park was an interrogation room at the police station.

She understood that she wasn’t under arrest, at least not yet. Officially, she had only been asked in for questioning. But the questioning, she quickly realized, was intended to trip her up and lead to her arrest.

Her camera was with the police techs, and she really did understand why they suspected her and didn’t blame Ben for being so shocked that he hadn’t been able to stop himself from talking about the pictures. She hadn’t been allowed to speak with him, but she had seen him and Trisha, arm in arm, standing on the porch together, looking as if they’d been hit by a sledgehammer.

Meanwhile, she was reeling from the fact that two people had been found murdered right where the majestic elk had been standing earlier. Right where the bodies had been in the pictures.

And then there was that wacko in town who had warned her to be careful and had said she was “one of us,” whatever that might mean.

In one day, her world had gone mad.

“Tell me again about your day, Mrs. McCullough,” her interrogator said. Lieutenant Gray was somewhere between thirty-five and forty. He’d started out in a suit, but his jacket was gone now, his sleeves rolled up. His hair was military short, and his eyes were tired, his face haggard. His name fit him very well, she thought.

Though she had told him a dozen times that she was divorced, he insisted on calling her Mrs. McCullough. Somehow it seemed especially painful to hear that name tonight.