Krewe of Hunters 8 The Uninvited (27 page)

“You feel threatened?” Tyler tried to take in the little museum
as he spoke. It was really the man’s downstairs living area. But there were
display cases on tables throughout; he had remnants of clothing, vests, caps,
belts and a number of powder horns and flintlock muskets. The walls were adorned
with maps and sketches of generals and the rank and file of the Revolutionary
armies.

Standish was watching him and shaking his head. “What, sir?
Agent or not, what are you, stupid?” Standish demanded rudely. “You’ve got
corpses at that house. And I’ve got that woman calling me first, and this
morning I get three calls, and oddly enough, although the voices were similar,
each claimed to be from a different place—supposedly researchers out of
Virginia, New York City and Vermont! And what’s happening in Philly around the
Tarleton-Dandridge House? That’s scary. Coincidence that a woman dies in a car
accident after a fellow stabs himself to death with his costume bayonet? No, I
don’t think so. I don’t believe in coincidence, no sirree. I’m getting out of
here and not telling a soul except my daughter where I’ll be.”

Tyler glanced at Allison. “Could you tell whether the caller
today was a man or a woman?”

“Couldn’t tell at all.”

“I’d like your permission to check your phone records. We can
find out where those calls came from,” Tyler said.

Standish raised his brows. “Sure. If you can do that,
great.”

“It only takes a phone call.”

Standish seemed to like him then.

“I don’t understand it. Someone’s worried that the story about
the Tarleton-Dandridge House might not be entirely true,” Standish said. “We
need to admit our mistakes. I’m referring to the things we
did
wrong and the stories we
got
wrong.
It doesn’t mean we’re not a great country if we do. Lord, there’s power in
seeing the past clearly.” He looked at Allison. “You teach history to our young
minds. You know it’s wrong to pollute the past by pretending that the men who
came before us were without fault. The media today puts every indiscretion, big
or small, out there for the world to see. But can anyone in our society be
foolish enough not to realize that men of power have
always
held a sexual attraction for those around them? And that
they’re frequently willing to exploit it?” He made a scornful sound, shaking his
head. “Thomas Jefferson! We worship the ground he walked on, but he had an
affair with his slave Sally Hemings. Everyone back then talked about it and his
mixed-race children—everyone except Jefferson. The man just kept mum.” He wagged
a finger in the air. “But the interesting thing is that Sally Hemings was
already Jefferson’s sister-in-law. She was the daughter of Jefferson’s wife’s
father. People talked about him back then, but he still came down in history as
a great man. But scandal isn’t new, is it?”

“No, Mr. Standish, scandal isn’t new at all. I don’t think most
people are alarmed when politicians are human. I think we’re alarmed when they
lie and make bad decisions. When we see that a politician lied about an affair
and covered it up, we wonder what else he might lie about,” Allison said.

Tyler cleared his throat. “What’s the lie that surrounds the
Tarleton-Dandridge House, Mr. Standish? If we can discover the truth, maybe we
can prove that someone doesn’t want history changed—and we can make sure no one
else is killed.” He took out his phone and put a call through to Logan, asking
Standish for particulars as he requested Logan to get Standish’s phone records
pulled.

“Now, as to Lucy Tarleton! Let me show you....”

Standish had been ready for them. They weren’t going to have to
sort through anything.

He brought out a safety deposit box. “I keep the museum at a
constant temperature of about sixty-eight degrees,” he told them. “You don’t go
laminating precious things like this. You don’t cover them with any substance
and you don’t use paper clips or the like. And you handle them as little as
possible. I have copies, but…” He turned to Allison. “For you, the real
thing.”

Allison thanked him with a grateful smile that seemed to make
his day.

Standish brought over a magnifying glass. “Helps to read that
old cursive style with the glass…and there’s a light on it, a mild one. Harsh
sunlight and artificial light can play havoc with such valuable pieces.”

Standish removed a letter from the box and laid it out on a
clean glass surface. “There, my dear!”

Allison didn’t touch it. Standish held the glass and she read
aloud, “‘My dearest friend and confidant, my…prayers are with you for your
safety always. My father and sister fare well and my own disposition is
excellent. The dreary days of pain go on, but I must tell you that nothing puts
us in distress. There are galas, which I of course attend; they are the greatest
source of pleasure for one such as me, and from them I gain my strength. Do not
fear for me or my family. The emotions that tug at the heart are one matter,
while the truth of the day is another. I remain, most and always, faithfully,
your best friend.’”

Allison looked up at Standish. She smiled and quoted, “‘…they
are the greatest source of pleasure for one such as me.’”

“Greatest source of pleasure,” Tyler said. “Because those
parties were where Lucy got her information.”

Allison spoke excitedly. “If Lucy did write this, she was
writing to a friend in the patriot forces. She wanted him to know she wasn’t
suffering and she hinted at what she was doing for the American cause.
If
Lucy wrote it.”

Standish smiled. He went to one of the display cases and
brought out a framed livestock bill. “This is a copy, but it’s a bill that was
signed by Lucy Tarleton. You see her signature and her notation that she would
like ten more laying chickens. Look at the writing, and then look at the
letter.”

Allison and Tyler both did. The handwriting was almost
identical, down to the curlicues on her capital letters.

“There’s an
S
on this side of the
sheet. I assume she didn’t have access to an envelope. But I suspect Lucy gave
this letter to a friend here at Valley Forge and the friend was to give it to
S—Stewart Douglas,” Standish explained.

“She wanted him to know she was doing well,” Allison said.

“She wanted him to know she was collecting secrets and living
in comparative comfort,” Tyler said. “But…it doesn’t sound like a letter one
would write a lover.”

“No!” Standish seemed pleased.

Tyler was glad. His last remark had apparently improved the
man’s estimation of his intelligence.

“Here’s the second!” Standish said, producing a second safety
deposit box. He did love his letters. There was a case for each.

Allison read again. Once more, the letter was addressed to “My
dearest friend and confidant.”

“‘You may have heard the rumors concerning my health. I am
well, no matter what is said. Because you know me, I am certain you will
understand. Know I have not and will not betray our cause or that which is
expected of me. And if you fail to understand, you will nonetheless have pity
and forgiveness for me. We all play our role in the human drama set before us,
with its treacheries of flesh and feeling that may become a small part of the
tragedy that wrecks our world. Pray, understand. I am a true friend to you and
to all that is our dream. However, when you hear about wolves that howl at night
and tear at man and creature, do not be deceived. Rumor must start when there is
an enemy, even though that enemy be nothing more than human. I pray for your
health; beware the diseases that ravage. Stay low, my dear brother, and keep
your powder dry,’” Allison read.

“Yes, yes?” Standish prompted.

“So, Stewart Douglas
wasn’t
the
great love of her life. She was trying to explain that she set out to seduce
Brian Bradley’s secrets from him, playing a role, but she found she enjoyed her
role too much—she really cared for the man,” Tyler conjectured. “He wasn’t a
beast.”

“Yes!” Standish said with great delight. “There’s one more
letter that bears examination,” he said, bringing out another of his safety
deposit boxes. “This one,” he told them, “is from S to L. It has to be from
Stewart Douglas to Lucy.”

Tyler stepped forward. This time, he read aloud. “‘My dearest
friend and sweetest confidant, little sister mine. I laugh sometimes when I
think of the roles the world would have us play and the roles that Fate gives to
us instead. I pray for your safety above all else, because it is a dangerous
stage upon which you perform. I had heard they noticed the anxiety upon your
beautiful face. Whatever the future may bring, wherever it will take you, do not
let it steal away the smile you used to wear. We are but a speck in the grand
scheme of God’s great plan. While you may play true to your design, remember
that war will end.’”

“Stewart Douglas wasn’t angry with her. It doesn’t even sound
as if he was—or had ever been—in love with her,” Allison commented.

“You’re the professional historian,” he said, smiling at her,
“and I’m just an amateur. But I do know that marriages were frequently arranged
at the time.”

“Yes, of course. They were good friends and perhaps the
families expected her to marry Stewart. But he wasn’t out for Bradley’s blood
for having taken his fiancée. He understood what she was telling him.” Allison
sighed. “But this doesn’t mean Bradley didn’t kill Lucy Tarleton.”

“The comments regarding her health might have referred to a
pregnancy,” Tyler said.

“Why, yes! That’s possible,” Standish agreed.

“But if Lucy was pregnant with Bradley’s child,” Allison said,
“why would he have killed her?”

“Maybe in a fit of rage,” Standish suggested.

“I don’t think he did kill her,” Tyler said.

“If he didn’t, then who did? It doesn’t sound like it would
have been Stewart Douglas. The way these letters read, it’s more like a sister
and brother writing to each other,” Allison argued.

“I made copies for you. You may take them,” Standish said, as
if presenting them with the crown jewels.

“That’s extremely kind of you, Mr. Standish,” Allison said.

“Yes, indeed, thank you.” Tyler felt the buzz of his cell phone
in his pocket, excused himself and answered it.

It was Logan, and he already had a report on the phone records.
“There were seven calls made to Mr. Standish this morning. Four of them were
from Ms. Mia Standish of King of Prussia, Pennsylvania.”

“Mia’s your daughter, I assume?” he asked Standish, who
nodded.

“And?” Tyler returned to Logan.

“The other three were made from a prepaid cell. It was
purchased with cash on Saturday from a Quickie Mart, so no one knows who bought
that particular phone. But tracing the satellites, we know the calls were made
from Philly.”

Tyler thanked Logan and assured him they were making headway.
He hung up and explained to Standish that they couldn’t trace the calls more
precisely because they’d been made from a prepaid cell phone.

“I didn’t think you’d get the info on that.” He looked at
Tyler. “You’re an agent, for real?”

“I am.”

“Good. Then you can see me to my car and follow me for a few
miles. I’m going north to a cabin I have up in the woods with some old hunting
friends. I’m not sticking around to die.”

“The danger seems to be in Philly,” Allison said gently.

Standish snorted. “You know, that guide dying in the late
seventies might have been an accident, but the rest of the deaths associated
with that place? The kid being electrocuted, the heart attack in Angus’s study.
And now…another dead guide and a dead board member? Someone is killing people.
And I’m going into hiding.”

“I think you’re doing the right thing,” Tyler said.

Allison nodded in agreement. Standish gave her copies of the
letters and she thanked him again. He locked his place and went into the garage,
where he got into a pickup truck with a shotgun on the front seat.

They followed him for an hour.

There was a chain hotel on the way as they headed back. Tyler
suggested they stop there for the night.

When they entered their room, he immediately pulled her into
his arms.

She responded with a fiery, passionate kiss, her fingers
playing with his waistband and the buckle of his belt. He disarmed himself
quickly, fumbling as he unfastened her shirt.

She pulled back, breathless. “This case is all…falling into
place.... Perhaps we should be more, um, try to figure it out.”

He reached for her again, letting out a groan as his naked body
came into contact with hers.

“I
am
trying to figure it all
out.”

“No, you’re not. You’re kissing my neck,” she told him.

“Yes, and if you keep running your fingers along my spine like
that…”

“I should stop.”

“No,” he said huskily, taking hold of her face and staring into
her eyes. “What better way could there be to figure out—” he paused to kiss her
“—what was going on in the minds of a pair of lovers…than to
be
a pair of lovers?”

“I like your logic,” she whispered. And proceeded to show him
just how much.

16

T
yler had just opened his eyes, feeling the
warmth of the morning sun through the motel-room drapes, when his phone began to
buzz on the bedside table.

He scrambled to answer it.

Logan was calling him. “Hey, did I wake you?” he asked.

“No, I was waking up. Has something happened?”

“No, but Sean thinks he has the solution to the painting.”

“Really?” He sat up. Beside him, Allison stirred underneath the
sheet. He smiled at her, setting a hand on her hip to reassure her that nothing
else—like another horrific accident—had taken place.

“So what is it?” he asked Logan.

“It’s not the painting.”

“Pardon?”

“He looked at the painting from every angle with his special
lights. Studied it in every way he could without ripping into the canvas—which
is just canvas—or taking the whole thing apart. And when he was done, he said he
had the answer. There have to be two paintings. Someone has a
second
painting, and there’s light for the eyes and
perhaps some kind of recorder to terrify people or divert their attention. He
believes that whoever is doing this somehow manages to switch the
paintings.”

Tyler rubbed his eyes. “We’ll hurry back.”

“No rush. Yesterday was uneventful. We went through all the
records we could find on the Leigh family—Allison’s branch—and there was no
mention anywhere of a baby having been adopted. But there
was
a son listed as having been born to one of the young Leigh wives
in June of 1778, around the time Lucy Tarleton was killed and just before the
British evacuated Philly. We can still disinter Lucy and do some DNA testing,
but I’m sure we’re right on the money in suspecting that Allison is a
descendent.”

“I don’t think we should let Cherry know,” Tyler murmured.
Allison was looking at him, and he smiled reassuringly again—or he hoped it was
reassuring—but didn’t explain.

“What did you learn?” Logan asked.

“We’re discovering there are a lot of holes in the history
that’s been taught. We don’t have the whole picture yet, but I do think Lucy was
pregnant—and she had Brian Bradley’s child, not Stewart Douglas’s. What we
haven’t figured out is who spirited the baby away and who killed Lucy Tarleton.
It doesn’t make any sense for Bradley to have done it.”

“Unless he was afraid of being branded a traitor by the
British.”

“Not to be cynical, but remember, having an illegitimate child
would have been par for the course on the male side, especially for an
aristocrat. The female would be branded the whore. If a British officer, who
held power in Philadelphia at the time, had a child with a patriot woman, it
might’ve been seen as a ho-hum event. Or even a feather in his cap.”

Allison was frowning at him, but then she smiled. “It’s true,”
she whispered. “No one would have thought badly of him. As for Lucy…”

“Regardless of which side he was fighting on,” Tyler said, “I
believe he was a good soldier and I don’t believe he was a ‘beast.’ By military
standards, it was a sound tactic for the British to take Philly. I see Bradley
as a military man. I don’t see him as the kind of man who would kill a woman he
loved—a woman who had just borne his child.”

“What about her lover?” Logan asked. “Stewart Douglas.”

Tyler shook his head. “I doubt she and Stewart Douglas were
ever really lovers, although they were likely engaged,” he said. “We have copies
of the letters. I don’t think Stewart Douglas killed her, either, but I don’t
know enough about him. By the way, Martin Standish is a good guy—and a scared
one. He left his place for a cabin in the woods. He didn’t tell anyone where
he’s going except for his daughter, and we saw him out of town. No one followed
him,” Tyler said. “I’m still uncomfortable with the whole situation, though. The
office was trashed and Standish received those strange calls yesterday, the ones
from the prepaid cell phone. He’s worried. I’m thinking maybe he has reason to
be and we should take some action.”

“Can you have Allison try to reach him? Maybe she can persuade
him to allow a few agents to watch over him up there. I can send Kelsey and
Sean. Bring Allison back to the house. By the way, not a ghost has stirred here.
Well, except for Julian Mitchell. He’s ‘keeping guard’ by haunting the entry—and
falling asleep on the sofa. That is, when he’s not following Jane around.”

“I’ll have Allison call Standish right away,” Tyler said, “and
then we’ll get something to eat and head back to Philly.”

He ended the call and as he looked over at Allison, he felt a
tremor streak through him. He hadn’t realized how much he’d like waking next to
her. Against the hotel’s snow-white sheets, her hair truly was the color of a
raven’s wing, so dark it was touched by a cast of blue. Her eyes were as bright
and clear as the sky—and seemed as deep as a sun-kissed sea. It wasn’t just that
he found her arousing, which he did, but that being with her seemed so
right.
She was like someone who’d been missing from
his life, and even the good relationships he’d had—the relationships, not the
casual nights—didn’t compare with the way he felt now. He couldn’t remember not
having her beside him and he would never
not
want
her beside him; he didn’t want to envision a morning without seeing her eyes on
his when she woke, or feeling her warmth.

They really had just met. That seemed to mean nothing. He felt
like he’d known her forever…or been waiting to know her forever.

She was looking at him expectantly, and he asked her to try
calling Standish. She nodded and rose, searching for her handbag and her cell
phone. She moved so naturally and easily, comfortable with him in her
nakedness.

Yes, he felt like he’d known her forever, but not so long that
he didn’t feel an immediate stirring in his groin as he watched her.

Sitting on the foot of the bed, she called Standish’s cell.

“He’s not answering,” she said.

Tyler leaped out of bed, grabbing his clothes. “Call Logan and
get Standish’s daughter’s number. Ask her for a location. And have her check
with his cronies up at that cabin and see if he’s just gone out with them. I’m
going to find him.”

Allison quickly did as he asked; meanwhile, Tyler hurried to
throw water on his face and run a toothbrush over his teeth.

He’d just finished when Allison was in the bathroom beside him.
“I’m not staying here,” she said.

“I want to go see if—”

“And you’re not leaving me here. It’s not safe, is it?”

He paused.

“I can shower later. Logan is calling Standish’s daughter. I’ll
be ready by the time we have an address.”

He looked at her, shaking his head slightly. But she was right.
She shouldn’t be alone.

Even if a murderer couldn’t be in more than one place and even
if the only person who knew where they were was Logan…

“Let’s do it,” he said.

They were both ready in less than five minutes.

He was disappointed to leave the room behind.

There would be no leisurely morning.

But he found he was more taken with her than ever. When it was
time to move, Allison didn’t hesitate.

* * *

As Logan drove, Allison keyed the coordinates of the
cabin into the satellite navigator in the car. Logan had gotten the address from
Standish’s daughter, who’d been upset but quick to understand and give them the
directions. She hadn’t been able to reach her father that morning, either.

Sean was driving up with Kelsey, but Tyler and Allison would
get to the cabin first.

It was about a thirty-minute drive for them. Tyler could have
kicked himself for not realizing yesterday that Martin Standish might prove to
be a major target for the killer, who now seemed determined to protect a
lie.

The countryside was beautiful, rolling hills, forests and
farmland. They climbed higher into the foothills; as they neared the cabin, the
road grew narrow. A mist settled over the land, soft and lovely—and yet it was
the last thing Tyler wanted right then.

A concealing mist.

Eventually, they climbed a rough stone path with the car
protesting all the way. They’d arrived at the cabin, a small log structure
surrounded by trees.

“There’s his truck,” Allison said, pointing out Standish’s
small Ford.

She climbed out of the car. He did the same, drawing his Glock
and warning her, “Stay behind me.”

“This killer isn’t going to shoot it out with you. He’s not
particularly brave, just devious,” she said, and he was glad of the anger in her
voice.

“Stay behind me,” he repeated.

They walked up to the cabin, with Tyler keeping a keen eye on
the woods.

He banged on the front door. Standish didn’t answer. When he
twisted the knob, the door opened and they went in.

It was just a small cabin, consisting of two rooms and a bath.
There was a coffeepot on the counter; it was still hot.

“He’s not here,” Tyler said, stating the obvious.

“There’s his cell phone.” Allison pointed to a rough-hewn table
by an old wingback chair in front of a wood-burning stove.

“So he made coffee and walked out of the cabin, leaving his
cell phone behind. He doesn’t seem like the kind of man who has to have it every
second, so maybe that’s not unusual.”

“Or maybe he went fishing,” Allison said hopefully. “Lots of
streams in this area. And these guys come up here to go hunting. I don’t see his
rifle, and I didn’t see it on the rack of his pickup truck.”

“He’s not fishing,” Tyler said. “He left because he heard
something outside. He took the rifle with him.” He strode back to the door.
There’d been some rain in the area recently, and he could make out what might be
Standish’s footprints leading into the copse of trees to the rear of the
cabin.

“Stay close!” he told Allison.

She followed him as they moved into the woods. The mist that
hovered in the foothills grew thicker, and the sun couldn’t cut through the high
canopy of pines. It felt as if they were in a realm of shadow where the pines
could come to life and the low-hanging branches could reach out like fingers to
snare the unwary.

“Allison?”

“I’m close,” she said, crashing into him as he stopped.

He nodded and kept going. He could hear a brook and they walked
toward it. He paused every so often, listening. There was no breeze so the mist
seemed stagnant; they heard only minor rustling when small forest denizens
scurried about. Still, he found himself moving very carefully. He suddenly felt
certain that someone with malicious purpose
had
been
there, and recently. Whether that someone had fled or not, he didn’t know.

As they neared the little stream, he heard Allison cry out.
“There! Oh, Tyler, there he is!”

She rushed around him and he chased after her, instinctively
searching the perimeter. He could see no one.

Allison was already in the stream and down on her knees by the
fallen form of Martin Standish. He was headfirst in the water, and she rolled
him over.

She leaned against him. “He’s not breathing, Tyler!”

“Call 9-1-1. Get them out here as fast as possible.”

He hunkered down, checking Standish for visible wounds. Despite
the icy water of the stream, he was still warm. Tyler pulled him from the
rippling water onto the shore and started performing CPR, counting as he
listened to Allison make the call.

She knelt down on Martin’s other side to help. Tyler instructed
her, breathing into Standish’s mouth as she held his nose, and he applied
pressure to the man’s chest, counting.

He was about to give up. They’d tried long and hard, and he was
afraid he’d broken one of Martin’s ribs despite his best efforts to exert
pressure at the perfect level.

Then Standish breathed. He gulped in a huge swallow of air and
began coughing violently.

Allison looked up at Tyler. “He…he might make it!”

Tyler nodded, feeling for the man’s pulse. It was faint and
irregular, but it was there. He ripped off his jacket, covering him.

Standish opened his eyes. He stared at Tyler and Allison, and
seemed to recognize them.

“Voices,” he said hoarsely. “There were voices in the
woods…ghosts. There were ghosts in the woods.”

His eyes closed. Allison and Tyler frowned at each other.

Tyler wanted to search the woods, but he wasn’t leaving
Standish and Allison alone.

“What should we do?” she asked.

“We wait,” he said. He pulled out his cell phone to call Sean
first and then Logan.

Allison watched him, her blue eyes grave. Then she looked out
at the surrounding trees. “This just happened, Tyler,” she said. “If we hadn’t
come when we did, he would have drowned.”

“He may still have a long haul ahead of him.”

“Voices in the woods,” she repeated. “Ghosts.”

“There were no ghosts in the woods,” Tyler said, gritting his
teeth.

“Listen!” she said.

He heard it. From somewhere down in the rugged terrain of the
foothills, a motor was being revved.

“Whoever it was took a different path,” he said, feeling
angrier.

They never should have left Standish.

It seemed like forever before he heard Sean shouting for them.
He and Kelsey came bursting through to the stream, armed and wary.

“Over here!” Allison called, although they’d been seen.

Tyler rose. “EMTs should be here any moment,” he said. “Kelsey,
stay with them. Sean, I’m pretty sure our killer has fled, but I want to get
into the woods.”

Kelsey crouched down by Martin Standish and Allison. Tyler,
with Sean flanking him, walked back into the woods.

The mist lay everywhere among the trees.

But someone had come here.
Someone
who knew about Martin Standish and had been interested enough to learn his
habits—and where he spent his leisure time. Someone who’d been watching the
activity at the Tarleton-Dandridge House and had known, or surmised, that he and
Allison had come to see Standish.