Leaving her to Adam, he strolled up the walkway. He wanted to spend some time in the house alone.
At the front door he once again slit the tape before typing in the alarm code and using the key hed received from Detective Jenson to let himself in. When he entered the foyer, it felt as if hed stepped back in time.
Tyler stood there for a minute. You didnt need to be a Krewe member to feel a house, a battlefield or any other historic place. Hed seen the most skeptical, steel-souled Texas Ranger take on a look of grim reverence when standing at the Alamo. It was a feeling that touched most people on the battlefields at Gettysburg or in the middle of Westminster Abbey, Notre Dame or other such historic places.
This house had it. That feeling. It was a sense of the past, a past that was somehow still present. Perhaps the energy, passion and emotion of life that had once existed here lingered in these rooms.
This was a beautiful house and maintained in a period manner that no doubt added to the feel.
Tyler didnt stay in the entry long. He could hear Adam and Allison following behind him, Adam explaining that what they investigated was history rather than ghosts.
He knew that Julian Mitchells death had occurred in the old study, and he strode down the hallway toward it. He stared at the old maple desk; blood stained the wood and the Persian rug beneath it where the deceased man had been found. A few spatters lay on the reproduction ledgers and account books covering the desk. Initial contact with the blade had caused a spurt, and the blood had drained straight down. A lot of it.
Tyler tried to picture the scene as it had been described to himthe young man seated in the chair, the musket between his legs, the bayonet through his throat and mouth as if hed used it to prop himself up. He had bled out quickly, according to the pathologist whod first examined him. He hadnt appeared distressed and he didnt appear to have fought with anyone. He had simply sat down, set his chin upon the bayonet as though to rest on itand skewered himself with it.
Who the hell accidentally put a bayonet blade through his own chin?
But he hadnt cried out. Tourists leaving the premises would have heard or, at the very least, Allison Leigh would have as she locked up for the night.
Tyler remained near the entrance to the room, noting its location. There was the door that opened off the entry hall, and another that led from the study to the next room. This meant there were two points of access, as well as a way to exit.
But how did you get someone to die on a bayonet in such a position and leave no sign of a struggle? Talk him into it?
He looked at the paintings on the wall, which were authentic period pieces. Two men had been depicted at somewhere between the ages of thirty and forty. Beneath one, he made out the name Angus Tarleton; the other was labeled with the description Brian Beast Bradley.
The eyes of the latter seemed to have an unusual power. The artist had managed to depict a handsome manand also a cruel and cunning one. Hed read that the Mona Lisas eyes seemed to follow her viewers. Bradleys did the same, apparently focusing on him as he moved about the room.
He turned to the hallway. Allison Leigh was pale as she stood next to Adam, who watched and waited for Tyler to take the lead.
Allison, can you tell me exactly what happened leading up to your discovery of Julian? he asked her.
She winced. I shouldve written it down earlier, Ive had to repeat it so many times, she muttered. She was hostile again, he thought. Hostile and angry, but that was good. If shed fallen apart, broken into tears, she wouldnt have been much help.
I didnt run into a bloodthirsty ghost, she told him.
I wouldve been surprised if you had, Tyler said. Im sorry, but you do want to catch the killer, right?
She stared back at him with eyes that were as clear and beautiful as a summer sky.
I dont think there was a killer, she said. Julian could be a clown. He was full of himself, an entertainer. He had a tendency to piss the rest of us off with his unwillingness to accept responsibility, but he also made us laugh andhe was a friend. She took a deep breath. It looked as if he sat down, started fooling around with the musket and set his head right on the blade. Yes, we use real muskets and bayonets, and never, ever, have we had a problem. The costumed interpreters dont carry bullets or gunpowder and no ones ever gone crazy and tried to bayonet a tourist. Whod imagine that anyone could die on one?
He wasnt in any way suicidal? Tyler asked.
Julian? He was convinced the world was waiting for him, she said. No, I dont believe he committed suicide. She hesitated for a moment. We were all angry with him, figuring hed had some kind of great offer and decided just to disappear.
He was supposed to be workingand he wasnt?
Yes. Well, he showed up for the morning tours. He took off after lunch, probably for an audition.
But you found him in his period costume?
She nodded. He was with a bar band that had higher aspirations. They did a lot of auditioning and sometimes they had permits to play in the historic areas, so it wasnt uncommon for him to stay in his work clothing.
But none of you saw him after lunch?
She shook her head.
Are there places in the house where he couldve been and you wouldnt see him? Tyler asked.
She glanced at him. A closet? There was a hint of sarcasm in her voice. Or, she said, her tone serious, the attic. We dont go up to the attic with any of the tour groups.
May I see it now?
If you want.
Shall we? Adam suggested.
Allison seemed to go back into tour-guide mode as she led the way. She pointed out the ladies parlor, the music room and, across the entry, the dining room and parlor. As they walked up the first flight of stairs she talked about the owners of the house and the bedrooms used by the familyand by the British invaders.
Tyler paused at Lucy Tarletons bedroom; from the doorway hed noticed another painting of Beast Bradley.
It was different from the one in the study. The light of cruelty wasnt apparent in the eyes. Hed been depicted in a more thoughtful mood, his eyes conveying wisdom and strength rather than cruelty.
One more floor to the attic, Allison said. If youll
Im curious about this painting, he interrupted.
Its Beast Bradley. I dont really know why the paintings in here. Bradley took over the master bedroom while he was in residence at the house.
This is a nice painting of him.
Im sure he had friends.
Its interesting that the foundation chose to keep the painting here, since he moved into the master bedroom, Tyler commented.
The house was owned by the family until it was turned into a nonprofit institution, Allison said. Thats where the painting was. The board determined to keep everything as it was, getting rid of modern additions and buying a few authentic pieces to bring it back to the Revolutionary period. But in the 1930s, when the work was being done, the painting was in Lucys bedroom and the board at the time decided to keep it there.
Adding insult to injury for poor Lucy. The original family must be rolling in their graves, Tyler said. He tried to keep any irony from his voice.
Adding insult to injury for poor Lucy. The original family must be rolling in their graves, Tyler said. He tried to keep any irony from his voice.
A derisive sound escaped her. The expression might be a common one, but in her world, people did not roll in their graves.
Some old houses had stairs that were pulled down for access to the attic. Not the Tarleton-Dandridge House. At the end of the upper hallway he saw a staircase leading to the door; a sign on it read Staff Only! He assumed the door was usually locked, and he was right.
The front door key opens the attic, as well, Allison explained.
He used the key and pushed the door open. It led to a few more stairs. He climbed them and found himself standing on the attic level of the house. It was dark up here, but the moonlight and streetlamps offered some relief from the black shadows as his eyes grew accustomed to the change.
Someone had been there. Someone had tossed the place, rummaging through the old boxes and trunks and the modern equipment that had sat on a desk. A computer lay on the floor, along with a printer. Letters and correspondence were everywhere and, scattered among them, posters for special events and other paraphernalia.
My God! Allison breathed.
Tyler turned to Adam. We need to get the crime scene techs back here. I doubt well find fingerprints other than those that belong here, but you never know.
Adam nodded and pulled out his cell phone.
Allison continued to stare at the mess. She seemed almost punch-drunk, as if the day itself had just been way too long. He empathized with her, even if she considered him an oversize caricature of a slime-seeking ghost buster.
Theyll be here shortly, Adam said.
Ohhhh. Moaning, Allison sank down to the floor, her period dress drifting in a bell around her.
* * *
It was natural that the death of Julian Mitchell drew headlines across the country.
He had died in a historic homea haunted house, according to just about everyoneand whether or not people believed in ghosts, it was undeniably a house riddled with tragic history.
Allison saw the headline minutes after she woke the next morning. She still had a newspaper delivered each day. She loved flipping leisurely through real pages while she drank her coffee.
As she picked up the paper, she felt tears stinging her eyes again. Julian had often been a jerk, but hed still been a coworker and a friend. She blinked hard and realized how exhausted she was. Shed spent most of the night with the police. She was still horrified that they saw Julians death as suspicious and knew that any suspicions of murder certainly included her. After all, shed found him. She couldnt believe the number of hours shed spent at the station and then at the house when the crime scene techs had arrived again.
She glanced over at the clockit was already eleven, and she still felt exhausted. It was a good thing the house was closed down until it had been investigated. She couldnt begin to offer a tour today, and she was glad she didnt have a crowded schedule in the coming semester, just a few lectures. She felt numb about history, even though it was the love of her life. Rich and giving and
Taking. It had somehow taken Julians life. She didnt understand how or why, but she sensed that the past had something to do with it. Shed claimed that his death had to be an accident. And yet
Allison set the paper on the counter of her small house on Chestnut Street and walked over to the coffee machine, popping a pod in place and waiting the few seconds for it to brew.
The coffee tasted delicious. She figured she needed about a gallon of it. Shed been at the Tarleton-Dandridge until nearly 3:00 a.m., when one of the officers had driven her home.
She wished she couldve slept the entire day, and then thought she should just be grateful she hadnt had horrible dreams, considering how Julian had looked....
A shower seemed in order, although shed taken one the night before. A psychiatrist would probably tell her she was trying to wash away what shed seen but she didnt care. It might make her feel more human. Or at least more awake.
While the water streamed over her, she thought about Julian and let her tears flow. She thought about the many times theyd been ready to smack him for his lack of responsibility or for leaving one of them in the lurch. It didnt matter. Hed still been a friend. Worse, it was such a ridiculous way to die.
When shed first found him, after the initial horror and disbelief, she wondered if hed sat there to play a prank on her, maybe planning to apologize for disappearing. Maybe hed tell her hed gotten the gig of a lifetime because hed taken off that afternoon.
It had never occurred to her that anyone had killed him. His death had looked like a tragic, stupid accident. And that was terrible enough, but
Why would anyone kill Julian Mitchell, and why would that person go up to the attic and trash everything there?
And how had it happened with her and Jason in the house, not to mention the thirty or so people in their tour groups?
Shed barely dressed and her hair was still dripping when her doorbell rang. She cringed, not wanting to see anyone, but curiosity got the better of her and she walked to the door to look through the peephole.
It was the Texas ghost buster.
She watched him as she ignored the buzzer. He rang again.
He didnt go away.
She considered it bizarre that the police had called in the FBIand that theyd called in this unit. Allison had to admit she didnt know that much about the FBI or the Krewe of Hunters, but shed checked the internet when she first met Adam Harrison and read that they were a special unit sent in when circumstances were unusual. Unusual meant that something paranormal might be going on, or seemed to be going on, and it appalled Allison that a historic property like the Tarleton-Dandridge House could be turned into a supernatural oddity. Of course, the ghost tours in the city loved the house and the tales that went with it, but those tours were for fun. And that kind of fun was great as long as it didnt detract from the real wonders of Philadelphia.
All the information she could find about Adamor his Krewesseemed to have plenty of read-between-the-lines suggestions that there was something out of the ordinary about them. From what she could gather, the Krewes were well acquainted with the paranormal and made use of strange communications in solving crimes. No way could she buy into that!
Peering out at Tyler Montague seemed to make it all the more ludicrous. He looked as if he should be in a barbarian movie; he was tall as a house and built with pure, lean muscle. How could such a man believe in ghosts?
He had waited a respectable amount of time. He rang the bell again.
With a sigh, Allison threw the door open. What? she demanded.
I need your help.
She turned and walked back through her house toward the counter that divided the kitchen from the living area. With what? Do you need a cup of coffee? That I have. Do you want to know about the Tarleton ghosts? Cant help you there. Ive never seen them. Oh, and I suppose I should mention thisI dont believe they exist. We have a shot at life, then we die. Period. I believe in God as an entity seen by different people in different ways, but I dont think He has an open-door policy in heaven, saying, Hey, come and go as you please. But coffee? Ive got that.