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  “We still strive to move forward,” Andre said, smiling. It was evident that Lady Miller had done her proper duty in life. But it appeared that, somewhere during her days on Earth, she might have been in love with someone she wasn’t allowed to be with.

  “Ah, yes. So, delightfully, here we three are! You’re not screaming or fainting or weeping to someone around you that you’re about to have the vapors. It’s…not common. And again, so delightful. Now, most obviously, you are American.”

  “Most obviously, it seems,” Cheyenne agreed with a smile.

  “There’s something about you…” Elizabeth murmured, “that leads me to believe you are here for a purpose. And I heard your guide telling you that his cousin, the inspector, arranged for your tour here today.”

  “We are law enforcement officers in the States,” Andre said.

  “And here to help my cousin,” Cheyenne continued. “I believe she’s in danger. Or that she and her boyfriend are being set up so they appear to be killers.”

  “Ah,” Elizabeth murmured.

  “Our guide, Monte. Have you seen him before?” Andre asked suddenly.

  Elizabeth seemed thoughtful and then shrugged with a sweet smile. Cheyenne believed the woman must have been truly amazing in life—born to nobility, perhaps, but not bred to elitism. She was probably kind to everyone around her.

  “I might have, I’m not sure. Not as a guide, though. Curious. But I’m not always watching or roaming where a guide might be. While I am most proud of my heritage and my country, I have heard tour guides many times. And not to be rude or cruel in any way, but the tours can be…a bit boring after a time.”

  “Of course,” Cheyenne murmured. “Elizabeth, none of the bodies have been found here, but the killer has obviously been playing with the concept of the Highgate Cemetery. Do you believe he comes here, or is he just using the legend?”

  Elizabeth smiled. “In the sixties and seventies—nineteen sixties and nineteen seventies, that is—the cemetery fell into serious disrepair. It was overgrown and not at all maintained. Today, of course, things are quite different.”

  “So, while an individual or a cult might have slipped in and out easily years ago, it’s a bit different now. The killer is playing off a legend,” Andre mused.

  “The murders…most horrible!” Elizabeth said. “I’ve often wondered if one so cruelly taken from life might stay as I did. But if so, I have not seen them. Oh, I don’t mean just here. I move beyond these confines occasionally. But while I love this precious chance to speak with the living, I followed you for a reason.”

  “Because you know something? You’ve seen something?” Andre asked, his handsome features sharp with hope and intensity.

  “Nothing truly helpful, I’m afraid. To my sorrow. But there is something strange happening that has plagued me since it all started. I’m not sure what it means.”

  “Dear lady, please, what? We are grateful for any information,” Andre said.

  Elizabeth hesitated. “I have heard screams. Or cries…desperate sounds. I’m not sure…”

  “From where?” Andre asked.

  The ghost looked perplexed. “As I said, I’m not sure. It’s like…like a moan from the earth.”

  “Here, in the cemetery?” Cheyenne asked.

  “No, I don’t believe so. But there’s something like a tremor, an echo of sound. I’ve tried to trace the source, and all I’m certain of is that it is coming from the earth. Yet it seems to originate just north. On Swain’s Lane, but…beyond the cemetery.”

  They were all silent for a moment.

  Then Andre said, “Thank you, Lady Miller. Thank you, sincerely.”

  “Indeed, thank you,” Cheyenne said softly.

  “I will watch and listen and seek the advice of others who roam here,” Elizabeth promised them. “I will listen for the moans from the earth. And I will follow them.”

  Cheyenne wished she could put her arms around the woman. She seemed strong yet one in need of comforting.

  “Be careful,” Cheyenne whispered.

  Lady Elizabeth smiled. “What have I got to lose, dear friend? What have I got to lose?”

  Chapter 5

  With the cemetery closing, Andre and Cheyenne headed back out to Swain’s Lane. Andre glanced at Cheyenne. She seemed so saddened by their meeting with Elizabeth Miller. She caught him watching her and smiled.

  “Sorry, she was just so lovely…understanding illness, knowing what it’s like to forgive. I’m not sure I could do it. And it’s incredible she remains for her family. I suppose she hopes the time will come when she can keep her fate from befalling another.”

  “She just might, you know.”

  “The earth is crying,” Cheyenne murmured. “She hears screams or moans. But,” she paused, a frown knitting her brow, “wouldn’t the living hear, as well?”

  “Yes, but since the cemetery is known to be haunted, and half the world’s population now thinks of themselves as paranormal researchers, you can find dozens of social media sites with people who claim to have met ghosts here. And those who say they’ve seen the vampire. Trying to determine what might be real and what’s not is going to be quite a feat. Now, our good friend Inspector-slash-cousin Mikey might be able to find a way for us to search more of the underground cemetery. But I don’t think his partner, Birmingham, is going to allow it. He doesn’t want us here at all.”

  “That’s it,” Cheyenne said. “This killer is kidnapping his victims and taking them into a vault or somewhere underground. The very geographical structure here clearly allows for all manner of hidden vaults or tombs—or underground lairs!”

  “Yes.”

  “So, what do we do?” Cheyenne asked, looking frustrated.

  He smiled, pausing and turning to take her by the shoulders to pull her to him. He lifted her chin. “We figure it out. We need to regroup. I’m going to call Jackson and tell him another young woman is missing, and time is of the essence. Maybe Adam has a few more rabbits he can pull out of his hat. While we’re waiting, we have a few more persons of interest to meet. And we took a long, long flight, got here at the crack of dawn, and have been going ever since. I’m going to suggest dinner with your cousin and Eric, and then procedure. We need to organize what we do and do not know and make a plan for moving forward.”

  “Procedure, of course,” she said, smiling at him.

  He remembered how they had met—or re-met—not so long ago. She had lost Janine when she was young, and he knew now that Janine’s funeral had been Cheyenne’s introduction to those who remained. While he’d barely seen Cheyenne at the time, her cries for her cousin had led to the murderer’s capture and to Cheyenne becoming an FBI agent.

  Years later, a killer had started up again in a copycat manner. And while their initial meeting had been rocky, she’d been determined to come to him so they could work together.

  Cheyenne knew how to work a case.

  But, once again, she was very close to this one. Another cousin was involved.

  “French Riviera, I think,” he said. “Or maybe Costa del Sol.”

  “Pardon?”

  “When this is solved.”

  “Andre, we have to work this,” she whispered. “We don’t have much time. I mean, this needs to be solved, and we aren’t British, we’re American. And even in the Krewe, we will be expected to return to work—”

  “Means we’d better move quickly, right? And, remember, we are human. Meaning we require meals and sleep. Especially if we want our minds to function.”

  She nodded. “So, back to the house?”

  “Back to the house. And put some calls in to Jackson to see what magic Adam can work. And get Angela researching a few of our persons of interest.”

  Cheyenne smiled and caught Andre’s hand. He looked at her. They were always professional on the job.

  She laughed. “Hey, we’re not official anything here, remember? We’re a couple on vacation visiting a relative.”

  “True.” He
caught her hand and pulled her against him. Lifting her chin, he kissed her lips. He took a moment to revel in the feel and scent of her.

  To his surprise, she pulled away, frowning.

  “What?”

  She looked around quickly.

  They stood on Swain’s Lane. A few people moved around them, likely heading home from a day at work. Most either gave them little head nods or smiled at the lovers enjoying one another.

  “I felt…I don’t know. Like someone was watching us.”

  “People are watching us. We’re in a public place.”

  “Yes, but…uh, sorry.”

  He stood very still for a minute.

  “Monte,” he said.

  “What?”

  “He did follow us into the other side of the cemetery.”

  “Perhaps his cousin ordered him to spy on us. You don’t think—?”

  “That he could be a suspect?” Andre asked. “I think anyone could be a suspect. And I think there was something odd about Monte.”

  “He was nice and knowledgeable,” Cheyenne offered. “And curious. Though he did seem to be watching us. But he’d know about us from Inspector Adair.”

  “Yes.”

  “So?”

  “I don’t know. Just…something.”

  “We’ll put him on our list of people to find out more about.”

  Andre caught her hand again. “Right. So, let’s get back, shall we?”

  * * * *

  Emily had decided that she was going to welcome her family with a large pot of gumbo, cornbread, and boudin—tastes of home.

  Cheyenne hugged her cousin and asked Eric how he felt about their homestyle meal.

  “Love it when she cooks. She’s a marvel. She’s taught me all about spices,” Eric said.

  “He’s quite a cook himself,” Emily said affectionately.

  Eric stood a bit taller. “Which I shall demonstrate tomorrow night.”

  After they returned from the cemetery, things were very casual. Still, Cheyenne noted that Andre had been doing some texting—back to the States. It would still be day there, and she knew that while they were here unofficially, Angela and Jackson would do whatever they could to help them along from home.

  They went about the hustle of getting the meal on the table, and after they all sat down to eat, Cheyenne and Andre told the couple about their day—omitting the part about Lady Elizabeth Miller.

  “I’ve seen pictures on the telly of the most recent woman who went missing,” Eric said. “They’re saying she was last seen on Swain’s Lane. That she left the high-rise to go out with friends, was seen walking back to her family’s place, and didn’t show up for work this morning. I hate to be pessimistic, but…”

  “He’s got her,” Emily said, her tone sad. “She’ll appear somewhere soon enough—her body will, at least. And then the police will be back after us. Why in God’s name do they think we’re such ghouls?”

  “Because they’re grasping at straws,” Andre told her. “Anytime someone is murdered, police have to look at the spouse or partner first, then the extended family and friends list. Random killings are the hardest to solve. And if this is part of a cult or just an individual with a mental illness, a sociopath or psychopath, finding him or her becomes very difficult. With Sheila, they think they at least have motive. Eric, for your part, you might have been afraid of something she could tell Emily, ruining your relationship. Emily, they may believe that you wanted to get rid of the woman who had opportunity to seize Eric back from you.”

  “But…that’s not true at all!” Emily protested.

  “No. Though, as I said, they’re grasping. We went to see Father Faith today. He is an interesting character, however…I admit, I didn’t get a killer vibe. Although, at the moment, that isn’t something I can depend on. We’re looking to meet the other persons of interest,” Andre assured her.

  “Who?” Emily asked anxiously.

  “Clark Brighton, Mark Bower, Benjamin Turner. Do any of those names mean anything to you?” Cheyenne asked.

  “Of course,” Emily said.

  “Benjamin Turner has garnered an audience for himself—and a number of sponsors—on his Internet channel,” Eric said.

  “He does bits on local history, the Tower of London, Whitechapel,” Emily added. "And he did a Halloween piece one year about Highgate Cemetery. Many Internet sensations have done that.”

  “He’s local?” Andre asked.

  “A bit closer to the heart of London, but local enough,” Eric said.

  “Have you ever met him?” Cheyenne asked.

  Eric nodded. “Why, yes. He also wrote a book. Bloody Weird History. He was having a thing at a local bookshop a while back. Can’t say I know the chap. Happened in at the end of it all and thought I’d support a somewhat-local author in his endeavor. I bought the book. Met him.”

  “I wasn’t with him,” Emily added.

  “How did he strike you?” Cheyenne asked Eric.

  “Decent. But you can see easily enough for yourself. Just do a search on his name. It will return a few of his videos. They’re about five minutes each. He said he was taught that amount of time was pushing the limit of a person’s focus these days, but he’d go the five anyway to get in what was important about the subject or place.”

  “Sheila dated him,” Cheyenne said.

  “Did she now?” Eric asked.

  “But that wasn’t something she shared with you,” Andre observed.

  Eric shrugged. “She owed me no accounting of her dating.”

  “She also dated a banker. Mark Bower,” Cheyenne said.

  “Bower, yes. We both know him,” Eric told them. “He’s with the local branch of our bank. Good fellow, I’d say. A little prim, but a proper British banker. I didn’t know that he and Sheila dated. Frankly, he’s a bit…well…staid. Then again, who knows what a chap is really like when he’s not on the job, eh?”

  “Clark Brighton is something of a local celebrity—or nut,” Emily said. “He goes on local shows now and then, touting one of his guides or booklets. Let’s see… His latest was something called Let the Moon Beam Down When the Sun Will Not. I mean, he sounds a bit off his rocker but harmless. Except he rants a lot about the evils of Satan, telling people they always need to look to the light.”

  Cheyenne caught Andre’s eye and knew they were thinking the same thing.

  They all sounded like interesting candidates.

  Clark Brighton might well be a case of “the lady doth protest too much, methinks,” as Shakespeare once said. Except, in this case, it was a man.

  Mark Bower, prim and proper by day…something else by night.

  Benjamin Turner, a man who knew the past well, with Highgate Cemetery being part of that history.

  “Where do we go from here?” Emily asked, her voice a worried whisper with just a touch of a sob.

  “We go about life,” Andre said firmly. “Cheyenne and I will do our best to meet others in your lineup of interesting characters. Just be careful.”

  “You think we’re in danger?” Eric asked.

  “I’d say everyone in this area is in danger until this killer is caught,” Andre said. “And, yes. I think you two need to be especially careful. Sheila was an ex-girlfriend. She was found on your steps. I believe the killer knew you had dated and hoped to send the police your way, Eric.”

  Eric nodded glumly.

  Cheyenne suddenly yawned, quickly clamping her hand over her mouth and looking around. “I’m so sorry! It isn’t the company.”

  “Oh, dear,” Emily said. “You came all this way, and you’ve been up for so long. You two should get some sleep. Eric brought your bags up. The guest room is at the top of the stairs to the left. If you need anything at all, just let me know. But you must sleep.”

  “We will. Though let us help clean up after dinner fi—” Andre started.

  “No!” Emily and Eric said in unison, interrupting him.

  “Go on upstairs and get to bed. Th
ere’s a shower in your attached bathroom. I left towels, soap, shampoo—hopefully, anything you might need,” Emily said.

  “We’ll just pick up a few plates—” Cheyenne began.

  “No!” Emily protested. “Go!”

  “Okay, okay!” Cheyenne paused, drawing her cousin to her for a hug. She tried to reassure her. “We will get to the bottom of this.”

  “I hope so,” Emily said.

  “Hey, it’s what we do,” Andre said, pausing behind Cheyenne. “It’s what we do.”

  Cheyenne turned to him. “Race you up the stairs!” She pushed past him, aware he remained for a minute with Emily.

  She heard him say, “I like to let her win now and then. You know?”

  “I’ll bet she wins plenty on her own.” Eric chuckled.

  “Yep. She does,” Andre agreed. “Goodnight. Windows and doors locked tight, right?”

  “Yes, sir, Special Agent Rousseau,” Eric said.

  A minute later, Cheyenne heard Andre’s footsteps as he followed her up the stairs.

  She knew it had taken a minute because he was Andre, and he likely checked the windows and the front and back doors himself.

  She waited by the bedroom door until he was in the room. Then she slipped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “You’re a good man. Do you know that?”

  “I’m very good. I mean, you know. Very good. In many ways,” he teased.

  “Aw, well, I should be the judge of that, right?” she asked.

  “Huh! I’m wounded to the core,” he said.

  She laughed. “Like hell. It would take far more than a few words from me to wound you to the core.”

  His dark eyes grew serious. “No, my love, you are the only one with the ability to wound me to the core.” He kissed her lips. A long kiss that started gently, becoming deeper and more passionate. She felt the pressure of his body against hers—along with the growth of his desire—and stepped back.

  “Race you into the shower!” she said.

  “No! Are you kidding? I shall take my time to join you, rather than have one of us slip on some unseen bit of soap, crash to the floor, break a bone, and totally ruin the moment.”