Krewe of Hunters The Unseen (29 page)

Kelsey considered the facts they’d already accumulated.

The women had died at different times, and so far, they did have an interest in the occult and in the Alamo. They’d been drugged, and although the highest percentage of what they’d been given was a painkiller, it had also included a

“roofie,” a drug that made them pliable, a date-rape drug.

It was also a drug under the inf luence of which they might have said or done anything.

Logan was on the right track; she was sure of it. The killer was looking for the Galveston diamond. His killing wasn’t as random as it seemed. He was luring women to a place where he could drug and seize them.

He wanted them to contact Rose Langley in the spirit world and have her tell them what she’d done with the Galveston diamond.

Kelsey asked the desk sergeant for a car. She drove back IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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to the inn and entered through the main doors, since there was really no way to slip up to any of the rooms. Sandy had told her once that outlaws had shimmied down the drainage pipes and leaped to the trees from the windows, but she didn’t think that would work so well today. Most of the trees were gone, and the drainage pipes were made of far cheaper and more fragile material.

When she came inside, the place was quiet. The lunch crowd had left, and it was too early for the cocktail group.

Ricky was behind the bar wiping glasses, and Corey Simmons, looking worn and groggy, sat on a bar stool.

He swung around when she entered. “Well, if it isn’t the beautiful Marshal. Welcome, ma’am, yes, welcome. Did you come back to have a drink with me? How’d you lose the long, tall Texas Ranger? Doesn’t matter. Good riddance.” He was drunk, she quickly ascertained, and it looked like too much alcohol brought out a nasty streak.

“What are you doing back here, Corey?”

He scowled. “I lost. What do you think? I lost—and it’s your fault!”

“Corey, if you lost, it was because you decided to stay out drinking all night,” Kelsey told him calmly. “It’s not my fault you didn’t get to bed until after three!” He wagged a finger at her. “It was past three-thirty when I hit the hay. See? It
was
your fault!”

“Oh, Corey. I don’t think so. I’m sorry—are you out of the competition altogether?”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m still in the bull riding.”

“Well, that’s good. Sober up and get some sleep, and you’ll do fine.”

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“Yeah, fine. But why don’t you come and have a drink with me first?”

“Because I have to get back to work. I just have to grab a few things from my room,” Kelsey said.

“One drink?” he wheedled. “Just one—”

“Corey,” Ricky broke in, walking over to him. “Kelsey is working on murder cases. Leave her alone, okay?” Corey raised his beer mug. “Oh, yeah. She thinks I’m a murderer. But I’m not, and she knows it now, don’t you, Kelsey? Word’s out that they identy-fied one of those girls, and it was the husband that done it, and he’s one of those actor types. He was probably a sicko right from the get-go.

Her murder case is solved, even if Kelsey and that loco Ranger wanted to make
me
out to be the killer. One drink.

Come on, please?”

“I think you should start worrying about the bull. I’m not having a drink, Corey, thank you,” she said, her words polite but firm. She hurried on up the stairs and felt his eyes following her all the way. A chill raced down her spine.

This time, however, she didn’t have to wonder about the reason for it. Corey Simmons was angry with her.

She ignored him and closed the door to her room. She looked around, but everything seemed perfectly normal.

Setting down her purse, she sat on the bed. Logan had found her in the corner of the room, staring at it. She’d been sleepwalking; she’d never done anything like that before.

But she wasn’t afraid of ghosts. She needed to stop, and wait, let her mind go, and hope they’d come to her, not in IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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her dreams but now, when she was awake. When she could understand.

From below, she heard the distant noise of the door opening and closing, and the occasional clicking of glass against glass. Someone had come in to play the old piano, and she could hear the soft and plaintive strains.

The drapes lifted in the false breeze of the air condi tioner.

Dust motes drifted on the air.

After a while, she lay down on the bed. She closed her eyes, then opened them; she was overtired and didn’t want to fall asleep. But her eyes fell shut again. She forced them open, and this time, when she did, she saw the shadow in the corner.

A young woman. She wore a pretty nightgown, and her hair was tied back at her neck with a ribbon.

Sierra Monte.

“Help me,” she said plaintively.

Kelsey rose to go to her. She moved slowly, afraid the apparition would vanish if she moved too fast.

As she came closer, she saw that a second shadow was joining the first.

Kelsey paused. Those who were decent in life, she told herself, would be decent in death. But what about those who
hadn’t
been so decent?

Be careful!

She didn’t know if she spoke the words out loud or in her mind. For a moment, she was seized with fear—fear that she’d come back to urge something evil out of hiding.

But Sierra turned slightly and smiled. The second shadow behind her began to take shape, and Kelsey saw that it was IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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the woman she knew from the scene replayed before her twice—it was Rose Langley.

The women had come to her together.

“Tell me what I can do,” Kelsey begged. “We’re trying, I swear, we’re trying. Can you help us? We need your help, don’t you see?”

Rose set a gentle hand on Sierra’s shoulder. “It’s the stone,” she said. “They always want the stone.”

“Where

is
the stone?” Kelsey asked.

“I…don’t know,” Rose said. “But it was cursed. They said it was cursed. And so it was, and so it is today.”

“Sierra, did you find the stone?” Kelsey asked next.

“They thought I could.” She shook her head. “It was my fault. I pretended I knew so much, that I could reach out and touch the dead. And now, I
am
the dead.” Her melodic, thin-as-air voice seemed to break.

“Who, Sierra, who?”

“I don’t know! I remember sleeping, but I don’t remember waking… . I don’t even remember dying.”
Like the others, she’d been drugged.

“I will help you, I swear. I’ll do anything I can,” Kelsey promised.

“No…no…you mustn’t! They know about you. They’ll slip in when you’re sleeping. They’ll come, and you won’t remember. If you can’t find the stone, you’ll fail them, and you won’t remember what you said or how you died, and you’ll wake up and you’ll be with us.”

There was a sudden, loud knock at her door. Kelsey jumped; her apparitions vanished not in a f lurry of wings, but as if they’d never been.

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“Kelsey? Kelsey! Are you all right?”

It was Sandy. Kelsey cursed her bad luck or her foolish-ness. She should’ve tracked down Sandy, told her she was there, explained that she was working.

She gritted her teeth, not wanting to look angry when she opened the door. She managed a smile.

Sandy stared at her for a minute. “I’m sorry, but Ricky just told me Corey was being a pest and you ran up here.

You’re not usually back in the middle of the day, and there’s so much going on… . I was just worried.”

“That’s sweet of you, Sandy. But I’m fine. I had a few things to do that I needed a bit of privacy to accomplish, so I came back here and holed up.”

Sandy still looked worried, and Kelsey gave her a hug.

“I swear, I’m fine.”

“Okay, then. I’ll leave you to your own devices.” As Sandy backed away from the door, Kelsey called out,

“Oh, Sandy, thank you!”

“For

what?”

“You helped us tremendously. We identified at least one of the girls with information from you and Ricky.”

“That’s great,” Sandy said, then sighed loudly. “Oh, Kelsey! Why couldn’t you have been a runway model?

Then I wouldn’t have had to worry about you all the time.” Kelsey laughed. “For one thing, I’m not that thin. For another—well, then you’d
really
have to worry about me.

I’m a klutz, and if they’d put me in high heels, I’d have broken my neck on the runway. So, kid, I’m fine, I swear it!” Sandy nodded and started to go, but came rushing back, obviously f lustered. “Kelsey, he’s down there!” IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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“Who

is?”

“Him,

him!
That hunk-a-hunk Jeff Chasson!”

“Well, go and play hostess.”

“He came back here!” Sandy said in awe.

“You’re the best-looking innkeep in town. Go on! Buy him a drink!”

Kelsey finally got Sandy to go downstairs. She looked around the room, but whatever momentum she’d found was gone.

“Why can’t we figure out how to do dial-a-ghost?” she muttered to herself.

She sat on the bed again, gazing at the corner. A moment later, she stood and walked over to the wall, then went out to the hallway and studied the rooms and the doors. It didn’t tell her anything. She came back in, staring at the wall again. The longer she did, the more convinced she became that she was right.

Now she had a plan.

And now, all she had to do was work out how to imple-ment it.

Ned Bixby cried when they showed him the photo of his deceased wife. He laid his head on his arms and cried.

He was oblivious to the other women; he barely glanced at the photographs of the dead.

But he cried hard tears over his wife.

Despite that, Jackson and Logan took turns questioning him. He didn’t want a lawyer. No matter what they said, he denied killing his wife.

Jackson spoke very softly to him. “Ned, you’ve got to IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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help us out. We’re looking at a series of killings here. All the bodies were found in similar condition—decomposed, as you can see. I want things to go easy for you, but this is murder. They’ll search your house, Ned. They have probable cause because of what witnesses have said about your marriage, because you claimed that your wife had gone to New Mexico when it turned out she was dead. They’ll connect
all
the killings to you, and this is Texas, Ned. There’s a death penalty in this state.”

“I didn’t kill those women,” he said.

“Just your wife?” Logan asked him.

“No, no!” he shouted.

“Tell us something to give the district attorney,” Jackson said. “We don’t quite understand what—”

“I didn’t kill my wife or anyone!” Ned exploded before Jackson could finish.

“If you’re guilty,” Logan began. “We—”

Ned went very still. He wiped his eyes and cheeks, and stared at them. “I deserve to die,” he said suddenly.

“Ned, we need to know what happened.”

“It was me! I did it. I killed them. I killed them all,” he burst out. “Now I’m done. Arrest me. And I want an attorney.”

Ten minutes later, Ned Bixby was arraigned. Now, they had to wait until he had an attorney before they could talk to him again, although a search warrant was being issued for his house and car. Logan reminded the D.A. that the document had to be carefully worded; they didn’t want to discover that Ned Bixby had a toolshed or other extra IN PROCESS EDITION - JAN. 10, 2012

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building that, if not included, couldn’t be searched. They were looking specifically for a knife and for drugs and drug paraphernalia and, Logan added, for any reference to the Alamo, the Longhorn Saloon or the Galveston diamond.

The D.A. listened to Logan and then sighed. “Half the people in Texas and ninety percent of San Antonio have books that refer to the Alamo.”

“We’ll weed through it all,” Jackson said. “Please. It’s important.”

At last, the two of them returned to the task force office. Jake, Jane and Kat were there, taking calls and making notes.

“Where’s Kelsey?” Logan asked, concerned.

Jane raised her head from a file she’d been attaching notes to. “She left. Actually, a while ago now.”

“She didn’t say where she was going?”

“No, but she sounded like she wouldn’t be long,” Jake said. He frowned. “Sorry, this place is a madhouse. We’ve got a bunch of calls from palm readers who want to visit the corpses and touch their hands.”

Nodding, Logan tried to appear calm as he slid his cell phone from his pocket.

What was it with the woman?

Still, she had a firearm and was trained to use it. She knew what she was doing.

He was almost certain that she wasn’t going to answer her phone.

But she did.

“O’Brien.”

“Kelsey, where the hell are you?”

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“I’m at the Longhorn. Logan, can you come here?” She was speaking in a hushed voice.

“You never came back to the station. Kelsey, we picked up Cynthia Bixby’s husband. He confessed to all the murders.”

“And you believe him?” she asked.

“No,” he admitted.

“I know I should be there, but…can you come here?”

“Yes.”

Logan closed his phone. “She’s at the Longhorn and she asked me to meet her there,” he told Jackson. “I’ll call in.” As he started out, Kat called him back.

“Logan, she was talking to friends of our victims. You should know that Linsey Applewood was big into the occult. Kelsey also talked to the truck driver who drove Sheryl Higgins to San Antonio. Apparently, she made spare money as a palm reader.”