The Hidden

“Really,” Jane said.

“I’m Miriam, by the way. Miriam Colby.”

They introduced themselves, and Jane pulled the pad she was never without from her shoulder bag.

Brett and Matt returned while Jane was working. Scarlet saw them go over to the manager and shake their heads, clearly telling him they hadn’t been able to find anyone. Which, since she hadn’t seen anyone in the first place, was only to be expected.

They came back to the table, where Miriam was sitting in Matt’s seat, watching Jane draw and, under Jane’s prompting, giving her details on the guy’s appearance.

“His nose was like patrician, I think. You know, perfectly straight, just the right size for his face.”

“Like that?” Jane asked, sketching.

“Just like that,” Miriam agreed. “The eyebrows should be a little more arched. And thicker.”

“Okay, I’ll adjust,” Jane said, erasing and resketching.

Scarlet looked over Miriam’s shoulder and gasped. She stared up at Diego and the others, and she could see that they, too, had seen the resemblance.

Jane had drawn an excellent likeness of Terry Ballantree.





13

When they returned to the Conway Ranch that night, they all headed straight into the main house despite the hour. Diego said that Ben and Trisha would just have to deal with the commotion and the fact that they might be waking up a guest.

Gwen and Charles had followed them back, feeling spooked after Gwen had come over to the table to chat, arriving just in time to see Jane’s sketch.

“That looks like Terry!” she’d exclaimed. “But, we didn’t see Terry here last night.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t here,” Charles said.

From that point on, Charles and Gwen had stuck close to the Krewe.

Diego had to admit, he hadn’t really figured Terry Ballantree for a murderer—but then, it was hard to think of anyone at the Conway Ranch in that light, even though logic led him to believe the killer was indeed connected to the ranch in some way. The timing of Daniel’s death seemed to argue against Terry or the Bartons being guilty of murder, and yet, he just couldn’t be sure that something hadn’t gone on that they didn’t know about.

Of course, the fact that Terry had spoken with Cassandra didn’t mean that he had murdered her. But Lieutenant Gray hadn’t called to say the man had come forward to say he had been with the victim. Then again, he reminded himself, he’d talked to several people tonight who’d seen Cassandra at the bar, and for various reasons none of them had talked to the police yet, either.

He ran through everyone connected to the ranch and was forced to admit that none of them fit the profile of a cold-blooded killer. Of course history was filled with sadistic killers who had appeared to the general public, even to their friends and family, to be just as sane and good-hearted as the next man.

He couldn’t help it. He still felt it had to be someone close, someone associated with the ranch.

If the murder weapon really was the gun that had gone missing from the museum—and that seemed overwhelmingly likely—then that meant the killer knew about the gun collection and how minimal the security had been.

But Terry Ballantree?

Why not?

And if not Terry, who?

Ben and Trisha, who had tied their lives to the ranch?

Gigi and Clark, who spent time here every year?

Angus, who loved his horses and wanted to keep his job, or Linda Reagan, who ran the household with ease?

Gwen and Charles, who seemed to have no substantial connection to the ranch?

Or Terry Ballantree, yet another descendant of Nathan Kendall?

Trisha was the first to hear them come in, and she wandered out into the upstairs hallway in a long flannel robe, immediately followed by Ben, who had his shotgun behind his back.

“What’s going on?” Ben asked, shaking his head as he walked down the stairs.

“Sorry to wake you up,” Diego said, “but we need to talk to Terry.”