Nevermore...
Eager to start their life together, historian Vickie Preston and Special Agent Griffin Pryce take a detour en route to their new home in Virginia and stop for a visit in Baltimore. But their romantic weekend is interrupted when a popular author is found dead in the basement of an Edgar Allan Poethemed restaurant. Because of the mysterious circumstances surrounding the corpse, the FBIs Krewe of Hunters paranormal team is invited to investigate. As more bizarre deaths occur, Vickie and Griffin are drawn into a case that has disturbing echoes of Poes great works, bringing the horrors of his fiction to life.
The restaurant is headquarters to scholars and fans, and any of them could be a merciless killer. Except theres also something reaching out from beyond the grave. The late, great Edgar Allan Poe himself is appearing to Vickie in dreams and visions with cryptic information about the murders. Unless they can uncover whose twisted mind is orchestrating the dramatic re-creations, Vickie and Griffins future as a couple might never begin...
Praise for the novels of
New York Times bestselling author
Heather Graham
Graham is a master at world building and her latest is a thrilling, dark, and deadly tale of romantic suspense.
Booklist, starred review, on Haunted Destiny
Intricate, fast-paced, and intense, this riveting thriller blends romance and suspense in perfect combination and keeps readers guessing and the tension taut until the very end.
Library Journal on Flawless
Graham is the queen of romantic suspense, and her latest is proof that she deserves the title. What makes this story more fun than most is the relationship between Kieran Finnegan, who wants nothing more than family harmony and a functioning restaurant, and FBI agent Craig Fraiser, who wants justice. Sparks fly, and its electric.
RT Book Reviews on Flawless
The Krewe is back! Graham excels at weaving history, finding the proper balance between past and present and keeping a story fresh and authentic, with Haunted Destiny being no exception. The chaos and camaraderie of the characters are captured with vivid detail, and the identity of the killer will keep you guessing until the very end.
RT Book Reviews on Haunted Destiny
Riveting mystery...interesting history, sweet romance with a second chance at love.
Fresh Fiction on Darkest Journey
Graham stands at the top of the romantic suspense category.
Publishers Weekly
An incredible storyteller.
Los Angeles Daily News
Wicked Deeds
Heather Graham
For my oldest son, Jason Pozzessere,
and for Kari Stewart, a true delight to have in our lives.
Also for her folks, Kelly and Gail Stewart
simply wonderful people.
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Griffin Prycespecial agent with the FBIs Krewe of Hunters
Victoria (Vickie) Prestonhistorian and author
The Krewe of Hunters
Adam Harrisonhead of the Krewe of Hunters
Jackson Crowfield director, Krewe of Hunters
Angela Hawkinsspecial agent, married to Jackson Crow
In Baltimore
Franklin Vernepopular bestselling author
Monica Vernehis widow
Myron HatfieldBaltimore medical examiner
Carl Morrisdetective, Baltimore Police
At the Black Bird restaurant
Gary Framptonrestaurant owner
Alice Framptonhis daughter, hostess at the restaurant
Lacey Shawgift shop manager
Liza Harcourtpresident of the Blackbird society, a Poe appreciation group
Brent Whaleywriter, member of the Blackbird society
Alistair MalcolmPoe expert, member of the Blackbird society
Jon Skyewaiter
At Frampton Manor
Hattie Long and Sven Mollerhousekeeper and caretaker
Contents
Cover
Back Cover Text
Praise
Title Page
Dedication
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Epilogue
Copyright
Prologue
In Dreams
It was dark, and it was night, and she was following along a strange wooded path.
Vickie Preston fought against it; good things never started this way.
But she wasnt in deep woods. She was not far from some kind of a cityshe could see light through the trees.
The light seemed strange. It wasnt the contemporary, bright luminescence of electricity that shined with such fervor that it was easily seen from space. This was different. Soft light. As if it came from candles or...gas. Gas lamps.
She had, she thought, stumbled into a different time, a different place. She made a turn, and the darkness was gone, things changing suddenly in that way of dreams; she was in a city, and it was day, late afternoon perhaps, with evening on its way.
People were rushing about, here, there and everywhere.
Vote! Fourth Ward polls! someone called out.
A woman with a big hoop skirt pushed by Vickie, dragging a man about by an ear. Harold Finder! Voting is no excuse for my husband to show himself in public, drunk! she said angrily.
Harold was twice his wifes size, but Mrs. Finder seemed to have an exceptional hold on his ear!
They had just come from what appeared to be a tavern. Vickie looked about, wondering why no one noticed her. They were all dressed so differently; men in frock coats and waistcoats and cravats and women with their tightly corseted tops and great, billowing skirts. Granted, she was sleeping in a long white cotton gown, puritanical, or so Griffin had teased her.
No, no, oh, yuck! You know how I feel about our dear historical Puritans! shed told him.
Vickie, like Griffin, had grown up in Boston. Shed become a historian and wrote nonfiction books. Despite trying to understand the very different times they had lived in, she just didnt care much for the people who had first settled her areathey were completely intolerant.
Griffin could usually just shrug off the past; hed been a cop when shed first met him and he was an FBI agent now. The past mattered to him, but mostly when it helped solve crime in the present.
Hed been sleeping next to her, of course. They were on their way to Virginia from Boston, ready to start a new life. But theyd stopped in Baltimore, at a hotel... Theyd laughed as they got ready for bed, hed teased her about the nightgown...
She did not look like a Puritan!
Griffin had assured her that she wouldnt wear the puritanical gown long, and she hadnt, but then, freezing in the air-conditioning of their hotel, shed put it back on...
She was glad, of course. Otherwise, shed be walking stark naked around this unknown and bizarre place.
Where was she?
She turned to the doorway of the polling place where Harold and his wife had just departed. She could hear all manner of laughing and talking. It was definitely a tavern. Gunnars Place.
And there was nothing indicating Puritan Massachusetts hereshe wasnt in Massachusetts and these people certainly werent Puritans.
She walked in, wondering if women were welcome. It didnt matter. No one seemed to notice her.
The place was smoky and dusty. Barmaids were hurrying about, handing out drinks. Men were being solicited for their votes.
There was a lone man seated on a wooden bench at a table, head hanging low. But when Vickie entered, he looked up, and he beckoned to her.
Ive been waiting for you, he said impatiently. He stood, wavering.
He was a small man, just a little shorter than Vickie, maybe five-eight to her five-nine. His hair was dark and a curl hung over his forehead. His eyes seemed red-rimmed and sunken in his face, which was quite ashen, with a yellow pallor.
She knew him.
Shed seen his picture throughout her life; shed loved his work. Shed loved that hed been born in Bostoneven if he had come to hate that city. There was a wonderful statue of him now, a life-size bronze figure of the writer, hurrying along with a briefcase and a raven.
She knew his face from so many pictures and images, a man haunted by demons in life, most of those demons brought about by his alcohol addiction. Shed always wondered if more knowledge during his age might have helped him; a really good therapist, a good program...
Im hallucinating you, you know. Delirium tremors, he told her gravely. But I have been waiting for you, Victoria.
I love your work! Vickie said. She flushed. It was a dream, or a nightmare, and she was having a fangirl moment. She needed control and decorum.
Yes, well, then, you are brighter than my insidious detractors, he told her. But heres the thing. You must stop it. I am being usedmy work, my memory. It was goodit was all good, until I came here, until I reached Baltimore. Then, they...were upon me.
They who? she asked. No one knowsits still a mystery.
They were upon me, he repeated.
Vickie reached across the table and set her hand gently upon his. He was trembling, she realized, violently. Youre not looking very well, she said.
And he turned to give her a rueful smile. No. I will not be here long, you see. But Im glad that you made it, so glad that youre here. Its happening again. And you must do something. You must stop it. No one will see, because its much the same. Do you understand?
Not a word, she assured him.
He looked across the room and seemed concerned; he stood suddenly and hurried toward the door. Vickie raced after him.
She didnt see him at first. He was on the ground, slumped against the building. She tried to reach him, but there was already a man at his side, attempting to help him. She noted an address then, Lombard Street.
As she stood there while the one man tried to help, people continued to hurry along the street. Hawkers shouted out their waresand their candidates. Drinks were promised for votes; there was laughter, there was a rush of music, someone playing a fiddle...
She tried to reach the fallen man, thankful that at least someone was helping him.
Across the bit of distance between them, he opened his eyes and looked at her.
I have to go now, he said.
No...!
But I must. And you...
Yes?
You must pay attention. He laughed softly. Dont let it happen again.
Whats that? she asked.
A loud cawing sound seemed to rip through the air.
He looked at her sadly and said, Quoth the ravennevermore!
1
Theres been an incident, a very bizarre incident, Jackson Crow said.
His voice over the phone as he spoke to Griffin Pryce was steadyas always. Jackson had pretty much seen it all. As field director of a special unit of the FBIunofficially known as the Krewe of HuntersJackson had just about seen it all, although hed be the first to say theyd probably never see it all.
The bizarre was usually the reason the Krewe got called in.
Whats the incident?
Youve heard of Franklin Verne? Jackson asked.
The writer? Yes, of course. Kind of impossible not to have heard of himhe likes to do his own commercials. Hes known for action books with shades of horror, right?
Yes, thats right.
What about him?
Hes dead.
Griffin frowned, thinking about the night before. Hed actually heard mention of Franklin Vernes namehe and Vickie had stopped for a damned good dinner and some excellent wine at a spectacular new Baltimore restaurant. Their waiter had mentioned that Franklin Verne was in the city and they were hoping to see him in the restaurant for a mealand, of course, an endorsement!
Griffin?
Yeah. Im thinking that youre about to tell me how he died, and since youre on the phone with me, and you know were in Baltimore, Im assuming he died in Baltimore?