Horror-Ween (Krewe of Hunters) Read online

  “Give it a break! You were there, Gordon. People were fed to the pigs. God knows how they died before they were fed to the pigs. There wasn’t enough of them left for a definitive answer, not according to the documentary I watched.”

  “Lance, we’ve just ordered dinner,” Gail reminded them.

  “Bad things happen all the time,” Janice said quietly. “And Gail is right; we’ve just ordered dinner. Sure, news like this is scary, but we stick together. We behave like intelligent adults. We don’t do stupid things. Then we’re okay.”

  “Halloween is just two nights away,” Steve said. “And since, according to your documentary, Lance, the guy was never caught, he could be anywhere. We just need to be smart, which we’ve now said over and over. Can we talk about something else?”

  “Yeah. I got a call back for a toothpaste commercial.” Rowdy said. He smiled, showing his pearly whites.

  Everyone excitedly congratulated him.

  Gordon kept his eyes on Keri.

  She made a point of excusing herself, rising, and heading toward the restrooms. They were inside to the left down a little hall.

  She was pretty sure he wanted to say something to her.

  She wanted to afford him a chance to do so.

  As she expected, he followed her.

  Gordon was a very good-looking man, aware of his charm, and quick to use it. But he didn’t even try.

  “Keri,” he said quietly, coming behind her.

  She stopped before reaching the restroom door. “Hey, Gordon, what’s up?”

  “I know who you are.”

  “Pardon?”

  “You’re not an actress; you write non-fiction books. You wrote a book on what happened in Massachusetts. You’re using a different name, but that can be common enough. I guess you didn’t want to be bugged about your books. But you did write that book.” He made a face. “No picture in the back of the book, but I had friends who spoke to you when you wrote it.”

  She nodded slowly. “And I knew you’d been in Massachusetts, too.”

  He nodded.

  “I don’t think you responded when I asked for people who wouldn’t mind talking to me about what had happened.”

  He shrugged. “Not to be a bad person; I just didn’t know what to say. I had nothing to tell you. I didn’t know the kids who were killed, and . . . I don’t know what could have happened or who it could have been.”

  “Yeah. I get it. Sadly, no one knew who it might have been. Well, that’s not true. Dozens of suspicions were investigated; they led nowhere.”

  “I guess you don’t want people to know you’ve going to write a book about this place. Or is that your intent? Is something going on here?”

  She smiled. “I’m having fun. Joe wants to be an actor.”

  He laughed. “Oh, I see, moonlighting for love.”

  “Something like that,” she told him.

  Keri saw Joe had come down the hall. He’d tell her later he hadn’t been worried; it was just that partners always had one another’s backs. She smiled.

  “Hey, food has arrived. These are all unisex, right? If you two are just gabbing . . .”

  “Go right ahead, my friend,” Gordon told him. “I was just . . . I figured out today who Keri was.”

  “Oh?” Joe said.

  “She’s a writer. But you know that. And she says she knows I was in Massachusetts, so I guess you know it, too.”

  Joe nodded and shrugged. “We knew but figured you might not want others to know.”

  “Just like I knew Keri might not want to be identified as a writer.”

  “Good call, thanks. She’s just here because I finagled her into it,” Joe said.

  “So, I heard. Anyway, it’s good to have you both,” Gordon said. “You fit in nicely with our little crowd. And right now, I’m feeling it’s best to stay with the crowd.”

  “Thanks,” Joe told him.

  Gordon turned and headed back to the table.

  “We should have known someone would peg you,” Joe said.

  “Does it matter? I’m a writer who longs to play characters at Halloween,” Keri said.

  “I think it’s fine,” Joe said. “I had a bit of a heart-stopping minute there—thought he might have known you as an agent.”

  “Except I’m not officially an agent yet,” she reminded him.

  “Ah, but a star pupil,” he said smiling. “Learning all the time.”

  “Yes. Never trust hotel door locks or bolts, and always have your weapon within reach.”

  “So smart,” he told her, pulling her close and placing a quick kiss on her lips. “We need to get back to the table.”

  “And back to the hotel. Tomorrow morning, early.”

  “Yep.”

  He let her go first, lingering behind for a minute.

  Then he returned to the table. By then, everyone was all talking about auditions and callbacks again. Joe said he’d been auditioning for a theater in Washington.

  Easy enough as Adam Harrison owned the theater.

  Then it was time to leave for the night.

  “Anything?” Joe asked as they drove.

  “Surprises tonight, anything said, anything done?” She asked. She shook her head. “Gordon knows who I am. Brian is creepy. We forgot—or never knew—Belinda’s last name. Let’s see, our haunted cemetery folks all have little kids and alibis, and Angela has basically told us they would be most unlikely. We’ve barely met anyone connected with the rides, but none of them has had a name change of any kind, and they aren’t connected to the other parks. We’re back to those on the hayride—Janice, who is really Jillian’s friend, Francie Dumont; Rowdy Cornwall; and Steve Jenson, who is really Jillian’s acquaintance, Eddy Canton, her old principal’s son. Then there is Gordon who admits to being in Massachusetts. Brian who is a creepy middle-aged make-up man, and our granny Belinda. Or who the hell knows, I mean, none of this may get us anywhere. The killer is most probably someone who just slips into the fair.”

  Joe shook his head. “I don’t think so, but . . . anyway . . . hotel, showers, sleep.”

  Keri grinned.

  “What?” Joe asked her.

  “You’re always polite and perfect, Joe.”

  “How is that?”

  “You’re worried about me getting enough sleep. You’re trying not to hover like a helicopter, but you’re worried about me in general.”

  “No, I just . . .”

  “What you’re really thinking is hotel, showers, sex, sleep.” She grinned, watching him as he turned to give his attention to the road while trying not to smile.

  “It’s okay,” she assured him. “Sex,” she teased. “I think better after a shower, sex, and sleep.”

  They’d reached the hotel. He slid the car into park, turned off the ignition and looked at her.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “When I say you’re perfect, I do mean perfect,” he told her.

  “Showers, sex, sleep—always knowing my gun is within reach,” she said.

  “Not practically, but perfectly perfect in every way,” he assured her. “Let’s get started on that agenda. Tomorrow is going to come fast.”

  “Nothing like being perfect.” she said, brushing his lips with a quick kiss before exiting the car.

  He was right; tomorrow would come quickly.

  They had to make use of the time they had. In so many ways.

  Chapter 9

  Keri looked around the graveyard, impressed with what had been created. Most of it, she knew, was cardboard and plastic; some pieces were simply torn down while others were put away, useful again when the season rolled around and perhaps in another location.

  But this was damned good.

  There was a central “mausoleum,” an actual prefab structure that came down folding into four pieces, Mel told them. He hired a company called “Miracle Buildable Magicians” to provide most of the décor for the park and he thought they were great.

  Keri had to agree. The mau
soleum appeared to be covered in some lichen or moss. It was darkened and eerie, with a praying angel with a bowed head and a creepy, leering face atop it. There were other smaller mausoleums about, family style, most made of Styrofoam. And there were the obligatory above-ground coffins and single gravestones, almost all at an angle as if time itself had long ago forgotten the cemetery.

  There were motion-activated ghosts and goblins joined by the live actors at night when the graveyard opened.

  “I was lucky; my property here had tons of trees, and we all decided it was perfect for a graveyard,” Mel told Keri, Joe, and Jackson, who had joined them that morning.

  Jackson smiled.

  Keri knew he was thinking they allowed for plenty of places for a killer to hide.

  “For fun,” Joe said aloud, “it’s great. This Halloween . . .”

  He let his voice trail and looked at Jackson.

  “Starting tonight, you’ll have a few agents in here, too. We won’t have them be actors; they’ll be in black like your behind-the-scenes people. And the trees will be just great for them,” Jackson said.

  “Okay,” Mel said a little uncertainly. He glanced at his watch. “Um, the park opens for young children in just about thirty minutes. Can we move on to the hayride?”

  “Sure thing,” Keri said.

  As they started to leave the cemetery, she thought she saw something moving. One of the motion-activated ghosts. But it wasn’t.

  It was a ghostly creature all right, but a real one. It was Lieutenant Emil Woodruff, Jillian’s Revolutionary soldier.

  She was surprised he was here, surprised he had left Jillian’s side. He must have some faith in the FBI, or perhaps he had deemed it even more important to search the place before Jillian arrives this evening. Keri was anxious to talk to him—and equally anxious to see the hayride attractions.

  She glanced over at Joe inclining her head slightly, indicating the tree.

  “Hey, Mel, if you wouldn’t mind, we’ll stay here a minute longer, walk around. I know you’re in a hurry, but this part of the park doesn’t open until five. Are you all right with us walking around, and then seeing the hayride on our own?”

  “I—yeah, I guess,” Mel said. “The barn, where you get in line and take your turn on the hayride, is just over there, almost across from here. Food and game kiosks in between.”

  “Thank you,” Keri said.

  They watched as he waved and left them, disappearing toward the front section of the fair. Woodruff had been watching too. When Mel was gone, he stepped out from behind the tree and strode toward them, his features grim, his strides long.

  “This is too similar,” he said, before pausing. “How rude, good morning, I’m sorry. But Special Agent Crow and I met last night, at Jillian’s place.”

  “Good morning to you,” Keri said.

  “How did you get here?” Jackson asked him. “You could have come with me.”

  “Sir, I am by now, I assure you, quite capable of getting myself where I need to be,” Woodruff said. “I had to check this out. I haven’t gotten to the hayride area myself yet, but this cemetery is so much like the one in Massachusetts.”

  “Have we checked out the company that makes this stuff?” Joe asked Jackson.

  Jackson arched a brow.

  “Yeah, yeah, of course, you have,” Joe said.

  “And employees don’t work the park,” Jackson told him. “They set up, then they come back and take down.”

  “So, no employees,” Keri murmured.

  “Whoever it is . . . well, they know the set-ups, I think. They studied everything about the fairs, and while the attractions might be the same because they’re made by the same company, the crafts and animals and such attractions have to be different, community by community,” Joe said.

  “And the kiosks—the food vendors—they’d all be different, too,” Keri murmured.

  “I don’t know if we should have Jillian here,” Woodruff said. He hesitated. “I feel . . . something.”

  They all looked at him and he smiled sadly.

  “Right. I’m a ghost. No feelings. But perhaps it’s good if you know now, or maybe you already do. The physical self can feel pain. Hell, yes. Forgive my language. Hell, yes. We all know that. Death by cannon fire is extreme, I assure you. But this may ring true or sound absurd—the soul feels more than the physical being. The soul can sense and know . . . and feel the greatest agony, and sense . . . sense danger or . . . death. I was able to die fighting for a dream I believed in, a new country for every man from every other country, free from the tyranny of kings, a land where neighbor respected neighbor—completely freed from religious persecution of any kind.” He paused. “Sorry, I’m so sorry. But I want you to understand—I died for what I dreamed, what I believed in. Murder is different. Murder is one man stealing the life of another, the greatest evil man can commit against man. And I saw something in that lovely young woman that night. And I believe the killer saw her, too. That he sensed something in her—a beautiful soul, if you will, glorious and sweet and giving. And I believe he’ll come after her again.”

  “Jillian will come tonight—but not tomorrow night,” Joe assured him. “He won’t kill tonight; it would ruin his perfect plan. We’ll make sure we talk about her coming tomorrow night, and assuming he is among the cast here, we’ll throw him off—because she won’t be here. And tonight—”

  “I’ll be with her myself,” Jackson said. “Along with Special Agent Angus McGee, and he thinks the world of her. He would die to protect her for duty and because he cares. And you’ll be with her. And I know you will move heaven and earth for her.”

  Emil Woodruff nodded grimly. “Hayride. Let’s see the hayride,” he said.

  They left the haunted cemetery and walked over to the barn where the wagon waited, but it hadn’t yet been hitched for the evening. It was drawn by two mules, Harvey and Heidi, and they were still happily munching hay.

  But the back doors led out to the area the hayride traversed, and they all headed out the back door.

  Pumpkins and scarecrows lined the rough dirt road. As they moved along, the trees became more dense. The night glow lights weren’t on yet either, but as they started through the trees, they noted the motion-activated figures that sprang out of them—ghosts, goblins, skeletons, bats, vampires, zombies, were-creatures, gargoyles, and one particularly creepy Chupacabra.

  “What in the world is that?” Woodruff asked.

  Joe grinned and told him, “Chupacabra—goat-eater. I guess you didn’t see too many of them back in Colonial days.”

  “And they exist?”

  “No. Not that I know of,” Joe said.

  “Witches—they attacked people as witches,” Woodruff said, shaking his head. “The suspicions that can creep into a man’s mind and turn him . . . into a madman. Witches, bah! And those crazy Puritans hanged a few Quakers, too. That’s why absolute separation of Church and State is so very important.”

  They’d all stopped to look at him.

  Keri wondered if she’d ever seen a ghost blush before; he blushed.

  “Sorry, folks.”

  “No, not at all,” Joe told him.

  “We cherish the Constitution,” Jackson assured him.

  “Yes, well . . . oh my, and . . . well, I need to tell you. This is eerily as it was the night Jillian was on the hayride in Massachusetts, the night I met her. I suppose any haunted hayride is going to be similar, but this area of Louisiana has such rich foliage and so many trees. Beautiful, natural, and—and I’m afraid, deadly.”

  “Again, I will be with Jillian, as will Angus, and you.”

  “Logically,” Joe said, looking at Jackson, “what do you think? This killer has kept four people back, murdered them, and displayed them—or fed them to pigs. How is he keeping four people without one of them escaping or creating a ruckus in some way?”

  “In Massachusetts, I believe he promised the young people a private, special tour. I didn’t see it; I and frie
nds heard whispers. And again, I felt a foreboding in my soul, and . . . yes, he is here. The killer is here. I feel it,” Woodruff said.

  No one mocked his belief or the possibility that dead, he could sense more than anyone living.

  Keri asked him, “Do you sense one killer or more than one?” she asked.

  He shook his head unhappily.

  “I just sense the evil. And as I said . . .”

  He grew quiet.

  “Yes?” Keri persisted.

  “I know he wanted Jillian, but she got out,” Woodruff said. “Now, I’m afraid it’s not just Jillian. He’s seen you, knows you.”

  “She’ll be with me,” Joe said huskily.

  “Not to mention ‘she’s’ training to be an agent,” Keri said, smiling. “I will be alert and wary, I promise you that, Lieutenant Woodruff.”

  He nodded and stared at Joe.

  “He plans to kill you, too.”

  “Hey, he can plan anything he wants,” Joe said. “But that’s okay—we plan to stop him. For good.”

  ***

  They met up with Jillian and Special Agent Angus McGee at a restaurant about ten miles east of the fair.

  Joe was pleased and surprised Jillian didn’t appear to be nervous.

  “You’re okay?” he asked her.

  She smiled at him. “I guess as good as I can be. Angus is here, and he gives me confidence in myself. And,” she said, her smiled deepening, “I know that my good Lieutenant Woodruff is somewhere near.”

  “Jillian is . . . strong,” Angus McGee said, sounding like a teacher who was very proud of a student.

  Or an agent becoming very close—perhaps too close—to the young woman he was protecting. But then, who was he to judge?

  He’d fallen for Keri; she had become his life. Part of his life—in every way.

  He nodded to Angus and smiled at Jillian. “Very strong,” he told her. “You may well help save many lives.”

  “Thank you. As may Lieutenant Woodruff. So, okay,” Jillian said, giving her attention to Keri. “Gordon knew who you were as a writer. And he knows you know me; he read the book you wrote. I guess that means we’re just going to be honest going in.”

  “You didn’t know Gordon, right?” Keri asked.