The Hidden

Together they hurried down the street to the parking lot.

Trisha drove, and she glanced at Scarlet in the rearview mirror and said, “Ben saw them—the bodies, I mean—from a distance, but he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, just that something was there. He went to see what it was, and then he called the police on his cell. He waited there for them, and I kept people away.”

“It was a mess,” Ben said. “Blood everywhere. He was all cut up, and shot, too. The woman...she was just shot.”

They were all silent after that, until they neared the ranch and Trisha said, “You’re more than welcome to stay at the main house, you know, Scarlet.”

“I’m fine, really. Only you and Ben have keys to the museum, and I’ll be sure to lock up. I’m way too tired to pack up and move right now,” Scarlet said. “But thank you.”

There was silence for a minute in the car, and then Trisha said, “I hope you had a nice night in town. I mean, before all this happened.”

“Nice and a little weird,” Scarlet said.

“How so?” Ben asked.

“Just some guy pestering me on the street. But I ran into some friends, and one of them walked me to my car.”

“Maybe something is going on with the planets,” Trisha said, shaking her head.

Scarlet took a deep breath and then asked again, “Who were they—the couple who were killed?”

“We don’t know. The police haven’t released that information yet, pending notification of next of kin,” Trisha informed her.

“Young? Old?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t really look,” Ben said. “I just turned the other way and called 911.”

They were quiet again. They’d reached the ranch. None of them looked toward the woods as they parked and got out of the car.

Trisha slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Let’s see that Scarlet gets upstairs safely. We’ll just walk through the museum and make sure no one’s there.”

“That would be great,” Scarlet said. “Thanks.”

Ben opened the door to the building. Trisha hit the lights. They walked through the museum. It was empty.

Empty, of course, except for the stationary residents standing on their pedestals, bearing silent witness to the night.

“Upstairs,” Trisha said, and started walking up. Ben followed her.

Scarlet followed Ben, then paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the mannequin of Nathan Kendall.

If the artist’s rendering had been a true one, he’d been a handsome man. He’d been captured in time in his early thirties, the age he’d been when he’d died.

His eyes seemed to be wise and world-weary. They’d been painted blue.

For a moment she almost felt as if he would speak.

She forced herself to reach out and touch the statue.

Wood. It was made of wood.

“Scarlet?” Trisha called.

“Coming!”

“We’re right next door,” Trisha reminded Scarlet as she reached the top of the stairs. “And you really are more than welcome there.”

“I know,” Scarlet said. “Thank you. And thank you for waiting for me and driving me home.” She hesitated. “I asked an old friend out here to help. My ex-husband, actually. He’s with the FBI. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Ben asked. “I think that’s great.”

“I’m guessing his partner will be coming with him. They should be here tomorrow, I hope. Sometime in the morning.”

“Wonderful. We’ll get some rooms ready for them,” Trisha said. “For now, let’s check out this whole place, just for safety’s sake.”

They went together from room to room, then wound up in the kitchen, staring at one another.

With everything seemingly safe and nothing more to be done that night, an exhausted Scarlet followed them downstairs and locked up behind them, then made her way back up to her apartment.

She couldn’t help wondering, though, whether she really was going to be all right, or if maybe she should have agreed to sleep at the main house.