The Hidden

“FBI,” Diego told him.

“I feel safer and less depressed already,” Gwen said brightening. “And your friends—are they G-men, too?”

“Except for Meg. She’s a G-woman,” Diego said.

“With so many of you here, we really are safe, aren’t we?” Gigi said.

“I told you before that we’re safe,” Clark said. “It’s just a terrible coincidence, that couple being killed here.”

“The police are certainly investigating every angle,” Diego said. “But I think you’re safe here. At the moment you even have a police officer parked down at the end of the drive.” He turned to Ben. “Just to be sure I have everything straight, was anyone staying in the bunkhouse the night of the murders, or was everyone here in the main house?”

“Everyone was here. Unless someone specifically requests the bunkhouse, we keep it empty unless we need the extra space.”

“How was it that no one heard the shots?” Gwen asked.

“Most of us weren’t here,” Terry said. “I was in town at the moose store. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was great. They’ve got moose shirts, moose mugs, moose welcome mats and wind chimes and you name it,” he said to Diego.

“But Trisha and I were right here in the house,” Ben said. “And we didn’t hear a thing.”

“We were watching television, and we had it turned up because someone wasn’t wearing his hearing aids,” Trisha reminded him.

“Trisha!” Ben said, his face turning bright red.

Trisha waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s a tiny little thing, but Ben is embarrassed. He’s afraid people will think he’s too old to be fun if he wears hearing aids.”

“Oh, Ben,” Gwen said. “My sister wears a hearing aid, and she’s only thirty.”

“Anyway,” Trisha said, “we were watching some cop movie, and it was full of gunfire. We might have heard those shots and not even known it.”

Linda Reagan entered the dining room from the kitchen just then, shaking her head and setting something in front of Ben.

“Thank you,” he said, his cheeks coloring again.

“No problem,” she told him. “I thought you might need them.”

Linda was tall, about five-nine, with ash-blond hair she kept swept back in ponytail and green eyes. She was far more than the head housekeeper, Scarlet knew. Among other things she discreetly managed guests who wouldn’t leave on time or caused problems in any way.

“What did you find?” Trisha asked.

Linda didn’t answer right away.

“Oh, just tell them,” Ben said.

“His hearing aids,” Linda said.

Heads lowered around the table as people tried to hide their smiles.

“Laugh at me,” Ben said. “It will be good for your souls. Linda, this is Diego McCullough. He’s an FBI agent, and he and some of his friends are here for a few days. They’re friends of Scarlet’s.”

“Nice to have you,” Linda said, sitting down at the table. “Terrible what happened. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked Diego.

“I don’t know anything yet. We just got here this morning. My fellow agents are in town right now, though, seeing if we can be of assistance.”

“Is it like it is on television? Do they get all mad when you guys show up?” Gwen asked, sounding eager for it to be true.

“There are certainly some police who are territorial, but not many,” Diego said with a shrug. “Usually, everyone just wants to catch the bad guy.”

“I get that,” Terry said, nodding. “I’ve heard there are, like, dozens of serial killers at large in the United States at any given time. It’s scary, if you ask me.”

“It is scary,” Diego said, then turned to Linda. “You didn’t hear anything last night, either?”

“I wasn’t here,” she said, and smiled. “I had a date. The police questioned all of us, though. Every one of us had to make a statement, even if we weren’t here.”