The Hexed (Krewe of Hunters) (12 page)

Or so Devin prayed.

But death was not so merciful and quick. The woman kicked and squirmed. It was horrible to see, until finally...

She was dead, strangled, and the deed was done. And in Devin’s dream the clouds roiled overhead and darkness descended.

She awoke drenched in sweat, almost screaming aloud. A moment later, a worried Auntie Mina was there in her room, trying to comfort her.

“Just a nightmare, love. You had them when you were a child, too.”

“I did?”

“You did, sweetheart. Don’t worry. You’re safe. I’m watching out for you.”

A ghost was watching out for her.

She smiled. “Thank you, Auntie Mina,” she said.

“I love you, dear. Now try to get some sleep,” Aunt Mina said. And then she disappeared.

Devin stared at the ceiling for a moment. Just days ago she’d had a comfortable life, a good career, friends, and she’d been...

Normal.

And now a ghost was reassuring her after a nightmare.

Out in the parlor, Poe let out a sudden caw.

She could almost swear the bird had said, “Nevermore.”

* * *

Rocky found James Jefferson, the second name on Jenna’s list, living in Lynn and running a mom-and-pop grocery store.

He’d already been to see Mary McCafferty, first on the list. Mary hadn’t driven in ages—she’d broken her leg in several places three weeks ago on a hiking trip to Colorado.

James Jefferson was an affable man, and he recognized Rocky’s name from years past. “I think you were the great white hope when you were here,” he told Rocky. “You don’t remember me—and you wouldn’t. I was only a freshman. Boy, could you throw a football!”

As it turned out, Jefferson had been on vacation in Florida until two nights ago. No, he said in answer to Rocky’s question, his children didn’t use his car. They didn’t even live in the state.

Just as Rocky left the grocery store, he got a call from Jenna and Angela, who had been interviewing the people who lived in Lynn. One, Cindy Marks, had been working a church school carnival the day their Jane Doe had been killed, and half the parish could attest to that. Another, Roger Garcia, was a salesman, and he’d been in Buffalo on the date of Carly Henderson’s murder.

Fourteen. They were down to fourteen names. Then it was thirteen. His next call was from Sam, who had gone down to Boston where Jordan Michaels, a magician by trade, was playing at the convention center. Michaels, it seemed, had been playing to sold-out crowds around the country for the entire summer. Tens of thousands of people could attest to his whereabouts. He’d also been out of state until just a week ago.

“You sure about this list?” Sam asked him.

“No, I’m not sure at all. But we had to start somewhere.” Rocky didn’t like the fact that the parameters he had settled on to narrow down the suspect list involved people he knew. He paused for a moment. “I think I’m going to plan a get-together tonight.”

“Pardon?” Sam said, an edge of disbelief in his voice.

“With three of the people on our list,” Rocky added.

“Ah.” Sam was quiet a minute. “Sorry I doubted you.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Just be ready to party—and pay attention.”

“How are you explaining us?” Sam asked.

“Using guile and a clever ruse—I’m going to tell the truth,” Rocky told him.

When he hung up, he called Jack. He explained that due to simple process of elimination, they were “suspects” and need to answer a few questions.

Jack sighed. “Well, let’s try not to piss off Haley,” he said. “I’d do anything to catch the killer, but don’t forget—I have to live with Haley.”

“Right,” Rocky said. “I’ll be careful. You want to call Vince and Renee, or should I?”

“You don’t really think it could be one of them, do you?”

“No.”

“Then—”

“I have to be sure,” Rocky said.

He hung up and called Devin; he wondered if he had planned the get-together for that night because he didn’t want her to be alone and needed an excuse to spend some more time with her.

Yeah, probably.

But it was also true that his friends were on his suspect list.

When Devin answered, she sounded pleased to hear his voice.

And a little uneasy, as well.

“Are you all right? Has anything happened?” he asked.

“No, nothing, but I’ve been reading all kinds of history books.”

There was something she wasn’t telling him.

“That’s great, but aren’t you supposed to be writing?”

“Not every minute of every day, and I love reading,” she said. “And there are things I had forgotten, or at least not thought about in ages, things I never had a solid opinion on. But I’ll tell you about it later. How about you? Have you come up with anything new?” she asked anxiously.

“No, but I’m having that get-together tonight. We’re going to meet at Jack’s house.”

“Oh. Do you want me to drive myself there? I just need to know the address.”

“No,” he told her quickly. “I’ll pick you up. About six. Is that all right?”

“Yes, definitely,” she told him.

* * *

It was 5:45 p.m., and Devin was ready, armed with a number of books from the collection that she, her aunt and her parents had acquired over the years. She planned to share them with Rocky at the right time—and with others, if a question arose.

Auntie Mina had been around most of the day. Poe had gotten accustomed to the fact that Aunt Mina was there, yet not really there. He had grown fond of sitting on Devin’s shoulder, which made her grateful that Aunt Mina had rescued the bird a long time ago, when he’d been very young, and trained him well.

In fact, Poe was far better trained than the puppy she’d rescued when she was four. Her parents had lovingly tended to the little mutt, but the poor thing had never really mastered control of his bladder. But then, he’d been riddled with worms and other parasites when she’d found him and spent his first weeks at the vet. Pup—she hadn’t been even slightly creative with his name—had died the year before she left for college. She still missed him.

Even with Poe there, Devin felt alone in the cottage. Auntie Mina had recently faded out while sitting on the sofa and watching her beloved reruns of
Frasier.

She’d spent most of the day reading, trying to make sense of her dream, which had continued to plague her throughout the day. Most of what she read was information she’d known—or at least known about. There was quite a dispute about the real location of Gallows Hill. Historian Sydney Perley had determined early in the twentieth century that it couldn’t possibly be where it was “officially” located, the current recreational area. She was sure a copy of the map Perley had used or created for his thesis had to exist, but she couldn’t find it online.

She’d called Brent to see if he knew where she could locate a copy. He’d been busy but had promised to see if he could come up with it. Of course, he’d wanted to know why.

“Your tour last night,” she told him. “It got me intrigued with the city again.”

“Now that I think about it, you were a little too good,” he said. “Don’t become my competition.”

“Not a chance,” she assured him.

The day had passed quickly, and having Aunt Mina there had been somehow reassuring.

But now Aunt Mina was gone and it felt as if time was crawling.

She glanced at her watch: 5:50 p.m. Rocky would be there soon. She picked up her keys, ready to lock the house.

And that was when she saw a face at the window.

The same face Auntie Mina had seen. The face of the woman Rocky had tried to catch up to the night before.

The woman who wanted to speak...

To her.

The woman stared in at Devin.

Devin stared back at her.

Then the woman turned away.

“Wait!” Devin cried, having no idea if she could be heard or not.

She set down the pile of books and headed to the door, throwing it open and rushing out.

“Hello?”

The woman was nowhere to be seen. As Devin desperately looked around, she saw her.

A fleeting remnant of her in her dark Puritan garb and her white cap...

Disappearing. Disappearing into the canopy of the trees.

Devin hurried after her, trying to see through the green darkness under the canopy of the trees, the little clump of woods between her house and her neighbor.

“Hello? Please, I’m here—please, talk to me.” Forgetting all about personal safety, she headed for the trees. “Hello?”

No response. She heard nothing. She saw nothing.

“Please, I’m trying to help you. And we need you. We need you, and I believe that you’re trying to talk to me.”

A strange shimmer shifted the air around her. It was almost as if the air itself had turned to forest green. And yet the sun hadn’t fallen, and little dapples of light made their way through the leaves.

She realized she’d walked deeply into the stand of pines and oaks. Even as she called herself a fool and started back, she heard a rustling in the woods.

What, she asked herself, had she done?

Walked out like an idiot.

She winced, trying to swallow her fear and berating herself for her sheer stupidity in her eagerness to reach the disappearing specter.

She stood dead still, thinking maybe she’d imagined the sound.

But it came again. A rustling. Ghosts—in her experience—didn’t rustle brush and leaves the way that the living did. Someone flesh and blood was out there—between her and her house.

Had she even shut the door? If she went back, was she in just as much danger?

It came again. The sound. Someone was moving closer to her.

The rustle again, and then...

The evening sunlight trickled weakly through the trees. It created shadows that moved and writhed as the soft breeze of near-dusk shifted branches and leaves.

But the dark form was real.

A man was standing there, clutching something tightly in his hand.

A knife?

Her heart seemed to stop.

And then slide back into action.

What to do? She hadn’t even brought out her hockey stick!

Slip back into the trees? Head for the road?

Run for your life!
she warned herself.

She suddenly heard the sound of a car out on the road, slowing....

It was Rocky, coming to pick her up.

But would he arrive in time?

All she had to do was scream and he would find her. Save her.

Too late!

He
moved. The figure lurking in the green shadows of the trees moved closer.

Coming toward her.

A scream rose in her throat.

8

T
he beautifully wrought silver pentagrams had to be a crucial clue,
Rocky thought.

But it hardly took a brilliant mind to know that. The trick was in figuring out what they meant. Were they a straightforward indication that witchcraft was involved, or were they a cold-blooded attempt to cast suspicion on the innocent Wiccan community?

Jenna had looked at him with narrowed eyes when he’d asked her to cross-reference purchases of similar pentagrams with the remaining names on the suspect shortlist, then amended it to the entire list of dark-SUV owners, “Just in case.”

“Do you know how hard it was to discover which of the people on that list had purchased athames?” she’d asked him. “First you have to do the credit search and get their card numbers. Then you have to search for places where athames are sold and break down their sales records item by item. And now you want pentagrams,” she’d said, rolling her eyes. “Half the people who come to Salem buy a pentagram.”

“But we’re only looking for people who are already on our radar,” Rocky told her. “Not every tourist who’s come through in the past thirteen years.”

Sam laughed and told Jenna, “Hey, I’ll help.” He looked at Rocky. “I understand what you’re doing, but remember that some of the facts and figures we get may not mean anything.”

Rocky nodded. He liked Sam, just as he really liked every one of the agents in Jackson Crow’s Krewes. He liked the way they worked. They all had one another on speed dial and felt comfortable calling any time of day or night if a clue appeared, and when they were on an active case they got together at least once every twenty-four hours to discuss where they were so far and where to go next.

“In the end,” Sam said, “sometimes it all comes down to instinct. And we’re already running these searches based on your instinct, aren’t we?”

They were. But they weren’t relying just on instinct. They’d talked things through, and tomorrow Sam, Jenna and Angela were going back to the two recent crime scenes, while he and Jane revisited the place where Melissa had been killed, though that killing had been thirteen years ago and the odds of finding anything helpful were remote.

“But about tonight...why don’t you fill us in on your friends?” Sam had asked him, before he and Jenna lost themselves in the data. “Tell us what to expect.” Because of his legal career, he tended to approach things in a linear and straightforward way.

Now, as he drove toward Devin’s house, Rocky reflected on the plans for tomorrow. They would look for physical evidence. But more than that, they would search for clues that might not be physical.

Does it come down to me to solve this?
he wondered. Was that really why he was back, all these years later?

It occurred to him that he should probably be grateful that he was still in California working a set of drug-related murders when Carly Henderson was killed. If he hadn’t been, he might be his own prime suspect.

Did this case really go back that far? Did it have something to do with events from thirteen years ago?

But how and why? It was unusual for a potential serial killer to just stop at one murder and not pick back up until years later.

Unless Melissa Wilson had been a separate case and whoever was killing now was simply taking his or her guidelines from the details of her murder to throw them off the track.

Not likely, he told himself. There were just too many unreleased details that had been exactly the same in all three murders. So if they
were
dealing with a copycat...

Then it was someone who had seen Melissa Wilson dead.

And that included his old friends, no matter how much he didn’t want to believe that one of them could be guilty. Even Haley—she hadn’t been with them, but they had all talked about it immediately after, probably describing far too graphically what they had seen.

He stopped trying to fathom the possible association between his own past and the recent murders, because he’d reached Devin’s house.

Her door stood wide-open.

As he jerked the car into Park and jumped out, he heard a terrible, high-pitched scream rip through the air.

It didn’t sound human!

“Devin!” he shouted, and ran to the front door. “Devin!”

He saw Mina, hovering just inside, her eyes enormous with fear.

He didn’t waste time asking questions she probably couldn’t answer, anyway; he just raced into the woods that bordered the house.

* * *

Devin never had the chance to scream, because a chilling sound tore through the air before a sound could burst from her lips.

It was a terrible shriek—as if some ancient god had let out a horrible cry.

For a split second she was stunned, unable to move or even to think.

Then she recognized the sound. She knew what it was.

The scream of a crow.

Suddenly she heard a man screaming. “Stop it! What the hell?”

She knew the voice—just as she had recognized the crow.

Devin stepped back onto the path. Just as she had suspected, the man standing in the green shadows of the path was Brent Corbin.

“Devin!” he cried. “Get him off me!”

“Brent!” she shouted. “What on earth—”

“Your raven! That stupid bird attacked me!”

Poe was about to dive-bomb Brent again. “Hey, mister—come here,” Devin called.

“Sweet Jesus!” Brent cried. “He’s a monster.”

“Well, what the hell did you expect, sneaking around the woods?” she demanded.

“Sneaking? I was coming to see you, and then I saw you out here and followed you.”

She looked and saw that he was holding a cardboard poster tube, and in her fear she had seen a knife. Okay, maybe she was getting just a little paranoid.

But a woman had recently died here....

Just as Poe settled on her shoulder, Rocky came rushing through the trees. He had a gun out, ready to shoot.

“What the hell?” Brent demanded. “You people are crazy! Put that thing away, and get that wretched bird out of here, too.”

“Brent, he’s fine now,” Devin said. “He’s on my shoulder.”

“What’s going on here?” Rocky demanded harshly.

Poe cawed loudly, and Brent flinched. He didn’t seem to know where to turn. He didn’t want to take his eyes off Poe or Rocky.

Rocky looked at Devin. She widened her eyes and lifted her shoulder in a shrug. Poe squawked again.

“Get that monster away from me!” Brent said.

“Calm down,” Devin said. “He only went after you because he was protecting me.”

She almost smiled; she might not have a big dog, but she did have an attack bird.

“From me?” Brent demanded. “Rocky, please. Lower that gun.”

“Tell me what the hell is going on here,” Rocky snapped. “Why are you two out here in the woods?” He looked from one of them to the other. “Well?”

“I saw the— I thought I saw something, so I came out to investigate,” Devin said. Rocky’s eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth to speak. She quickly explained. “I know, I know, but I wasn’t thinking. So anyway, I came out here, and everything was fine, but then I heard...I heard Brent.” She turned to face him. “You should have said it was you instead of scaring me like that. Poe was just protecting me.”

“From what?” Brent demanded.

“You. I thought you were coming after me.”

“Coming after you? I came out to see you, so I was just following you,” Brent said. “And now your boyfriend is here—and he’s still aiming a gun at me.”

“Why?” Rocky’s question sounded like a gunshot. “Why did you come to see Devin?”

“I brought her a copy of a map she asked me about. A map of Salem with the location of the real Gallows Hill according to Sydney Perley.”

At last Rocky put away his gun. She noticed that beneath his casual denim jacket he had a shoulder holster.

At the moment she was glad that Agent Rockwell was armed.

This is a good thing,
she told herself. When homicidal maniacs with knives were running around in the local woods, a fed with a gun was a good thing.

But Brent still looked terrified.

“Rocky?” she murmured.

“Your front door is wide-open,” he told her.

She winced. “Let’s go back so I can close it, then.”

“I think I’d rather just go home,” Brent said. “I know people are afraid because of the murders, but...” He looked at Rocky. “You’ve been away. We have pretty strict gun laws.”

“I’m an FBI agent,” Rocky informed him.

Brent looked stunned. “Agent?” he asked, and turned to Devin.

“Hey, everybody has to make a living,” she said lightly. It didn’t work. Brent still looked ready to collapse.

She set a hand on his arm. “It’s all right. You just scared the hell out of me. Poe saw me come out here, and he followed me to protect me,” Devin said.

“He scratched my cheek—practically gouged it,” Brent said.

“It’s not that bad. Come on—I’ll get the first-aid kit.”

“I might get rabies,” Brent said.

“Birds don’t get rabies,” Rocky assured him. He was speaking to Brent, but he was staring at Devin.

His expression was filled with words he didn’t speak.

What the hell were you doing out here? Are you mad?

“Let’s go in,” she repeated.

They walked back to the house. Rocky was on the alert, aware of everything—the perfect agent, Devin thought. He told them to wait at the door while he checked the house, but Devin could see Auntie Mina there and knew she would have told them about any intruder.

But Rocky went through the motions, anyway, because Brent would have been suspicious if he didn’t. Devin set Poe back on his perch and ran to the kitchen for the first-aid kit, then dabbed antiseptic on Brent’s scratches.

He grumbled through the whole procedure that the bird was a devil and should be put down.

“Stop being such a baby. Your scratches aren’t even that bad,” she said.

“It’s going to be a long time before I come see you again,” Brent said.

Devin saw Auntie Mina by the mantel and could tell she was amused by Brent’s carrying on.

Devin glared at the ghost.
It’s not that funny!

Aunt Mina’s smiled faded, and she nodded in acknowledgment that the situation was genuinely serious.

After going through the entire house, Rocky joined them in the parlor where Devin was just finishing up.

“He could have put my eye out,” Brent said.

“But he didn’t,” Devin pointed out.

Rocky was silent; Devin was certain he was waiting for Brent to leave before exploding and telling her that she had taken a stupid and dangerous chance.

“Good as new,” she told Brent, stepping back. His scratches hadn’t even bled.

Not much, at least,
she thought, wincing inwardly.

“Where’s the map?” she asked Brent.

He picked up the cardboard tube and produced a rolled-up map. “Obviously, this isn’t original, but there’s been an upswing of interest in Perley’s theories. Larson Jones, who owns the shop next to me, ordered a bunch of these, so I ran over to get you one, and then I drove out here so your bird could attack me.” He glared at her reproachfully.

It was going to be a long time before Brent forgave her—and Poe.

“That’s so thoughtful of you. I wish you had called, though. I’m truly sorry about Poe, Brent,” she said.

He grunted.

“What do I owe you?” she asked him.

He waved a hand in the air. “Nothing. You took over on the tour for me. But next time you’re looking for something, you can come in and get it.”

“And here I was thinking of having a lovely Halloween party,” she murmured.

He smiled. “By Halloween I’ll be all right. And I’ll get Beth or someone to stand in front of me and shield me from the monster.”

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee? Tea?” she asked.

“No, I’m heading home. Going to gargle salt water and try to get my voice back before my tour tonight.”

“Well, thank you again.”

Brent nodded and headed for the door.

Devin followed him, feeling Rocky right behind her. He made her uneasy. She felt his heat, breathed his scent. She was almost painfully aware of him as...

The opposite sex.

She closed the door and returned to the parlor, steeling herself for the anger she knew was coming.

But he didn’t yell. She realized that he was breathing deeply. Finally he looked at her and simply asked, “Why?”

“Because I saw her.”

He took that in, staring at her. At last he spoke. “The woman Mina saw at the window—the night you found our Jane Doe?”

“Yes. I saw her. You said that she was trying to talk to me, so I ran out after her.”

Then he asked her, “Do you have any self-control at all? You couldn’t stop yourself?”

“Hey!” she snapped.

But he had a point. She knew how stupidly she had acted.

Which, of course, was emphasized by the way he stood quietly.

Mina was still by the mantel, standing there quietly.

Rocky spun on her suddenly.

“And you just let her go?” he asked Mina.

“I couldn’t stop her,” Mina said. Now, of course, she was staring at Devin, too.

“She might have listened to you,” Rocky said. “She obviously has no idea just what danger is out there.”

“Hey!
She’s
standing right here. And yes, I made a tremendous mistake, but you will recall that you were the one to tell me that she might be the key,” Devin said.

“I never told you to run out into the woods after her!” he said. “And come on—you know it.”

“I can’t stay locked up forever,” Devin said.

He shook his head. “It won’t be forever.”

“It’s been thirteen years since the murder of Melissa Wilson,” Devin said.

She wished she could take it back. She knew that fact had been like a thorn in his side—something that had haunted him terribly throughout the years.

“This time, it won’t take so long,” he said.

There was truth, conviction, and dead-set determination in his voice. And she felt something warm shoot through her.

He wouldn’t stop. He wouldn’t give up. They’d have to drag him away before he left here without finding the killer.