The Uninvited (Krewe of Hunters #8)

The Uninvited (Krewe of Hunters #8) Page 18

He surveyed the table. They all stared back at him.

“I can’t think of anything,” Cherry said. “The house has had a thorough history done, which was easy because it went from the original family directly into the hands of the Old Philly organization.”

“An oral history,” Tyler said politely.

Cherry sat up very straight. “Would you suggest my family were liars, Agent Montague?”

“Not at all, Mrs. Addison,” Tyler assured her. “But oral history can be like the whispering game. Tell a friend, who tells a friend, and by the time they’ve told several friends, the story has changed. Don’t worry, I’m not implying that’s the case.” He rose; he’d been hoping to learn something he didn’t know or couldn’t access in his files. They were all looking to him for answers when he’d just arrived and was still figuring it out.

“You don’t think our guide—Ms. Leigh—might have, er, helped Mr. Mitchell die, do you?” Cherry asked.

Tyler was startled by the question. Maybe he shouldn’t have been. Despite Allison’s obvious grief at the loss of a colleague, the police had questioned her long enough.

He reminded himself that he barely knew Allison Leigh.

But he also had a good sense of people; he was seldom fooled.

“No, I don’t. Julian Mitchell was a physically fit man. It’s unlikely that even as a friend, joking around with him, she could have forced his chin down on that bayonet,” Tyler said.

Nathan frowned. “Cherry, that was horrible! To say such a thing.”

“However,” Ethan said, drumming his fingers on the table, “whoever trashed the attic might have been looking for Allison’s research.”

“Ethan, don’t be ridiculous,” Cherry said, waving a beautifully manicured hand in the air. “Her so-called research sheds no new light on anything. She’s found a few quotes and notations we didn’t know about. She has nothing new.” Cherry paused. “She did mention to me that she wanted to take a research trip to Valley Forge. She’s been communicating with some professor there who claims he owns letters written by Lucy Tarleton. I highly doubt this and I warned Allison he’s probably a fraud or the letters were faked, but I believe she still meant to investigate.”

Cherry didn’t exactly roll her eyes, but her opinion of the unnamed professor’s research was evident.

Tyler stood and said, “Well, Mrs. Addison, here’s the thing about history. It belongs to everyone and it’s not immutable. History changes when new facts emerge or when attitudes change—views on slavery being an obvious example. So I assume Ms. Leigh will follow where her research leads. Thank you all for your time and your faith. We’ll keep you advised of every move we make and, of course, anything we’re able to determine.”

Oxford and Pierson stood politely when Tyler did. He could tell they were going to talk about him when he was gone. That was all right; he’d learned from them what he could.

The rest of his Krewe would be arriving by nightfall. He returned to the house and did an inventory of the employees’ work area, not wanting to infringe on anyone’s private property, but figuring out the best way to make the place habitable. There was a small refrigerator, a microwave and a coffeepot. Not much, but it would do, especially since they were located in the heart of the historic district, which placed them in the middle of restaurant heaven.

Making a mental list of a few supplies to pick up, he left the house and walked over to Allison’s, about half a mile away. Passing through the historic district, he listened to the sounds of excitement from parents, couples and children, all thrilled to see the famous Liberty Bell and walk through Independence Hall.

He understood Allison’s deep passion for Philadelphia and its history. He often felt that the greatest achievement of American democracy had been freedom of speech and of the press, freedoms that could be abused at times and yet were necessary for a true government of the people.

With that thought in mind, he found himself thinking again of the two different paintings of Beast Bradley. It was remarkable what one man saw that another didn’t. And each had the right to his own views.

He tried Allison’s door; she didn’t answer. He tried her cell phone next but got her answering machine. He left a message, asking her to give him a call.

After that, he stopped at the hospital. The children weren’t there today but Haley Dixon was sitting by her husband’s side, holding his hand. She didn’t see Tyler at first and he felt a hard tug at his heartstrings—no relationship in the world was perfect, he knew that. But the love and tenderness in Haley’s eyes as she watched her husband, her hand curled around his, was beautiful.

He prayed that Dixon would recover even as he wondered whether the man’s condition could possibly have anything to do with the Tarleton-Dandridge House.

Haley Dixon must have heard him then because she turned toward him. Her eyes were damp, but she smiled. She gently released her husband’s hand and walked over to join him at the door.

“Any change?” he asked.

She shook her head. “They’re still waiting for the test results.”

“How are the boys?”

Haley shrugged apologetically. “Todd’s convinced that a ghost did this to his father. But he’s also convinced that Ms. Leigh can do something about it, and he believes in you.”

“I wish I could promise you that all we had to do was talk to a ghost and everything would be all right. But I can promise you that I have a team coming in tonight and we’ll do everything possible to find out if there were any factors at the house that could have caused this.”

She nodded. “All the other tourists and docents are okay—” She broke off and grimaced. “Except for the young man who died, of course. Do you think there could be some kind of toxin? Mold in the walls, lead, anything that might be responsible for this? Something Artie’s allergic to, maybe, that doesn’t affect most people?”

“Government regulations are pretty stringent, but you never know what might’ve been missed. We’ll keep at it.”

She suddenly stood on tiptoe to plant a kiss on his cheek. She flushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just that a lot of people would think we’re ridiculous for believing the house could have caused any of this, and I want you to know that I—we, all of us—are grateful for your concern and anything you can do.”

“A kiss on the cheek is never anything to apologize for,” he told her. “I’ll check back with you tomorrow.”

Leaving the hospital, Tyler headed to the police station. So far, the police had gained nothing from their forensic investigation of the house or the attic. The prints they’d lifted all belonged to those who worked there and, presumably, tourists. There’d been an abundance of prints with no matches in the databases. The medical examiner had yet to make a ruling on Julian Mitchell’s death, and it might be several days before he was able to do so.

Detective Jenson looked sad as usual, a little world-weary, but like the faithful old bloodhound he so resembled, ready to take on the world. “I would’ve given you a call in the next hour or so. I’d asked the board of directors to keep everyone out of the attic until we’d processed some of our information, but now we need someone back in there. Someone associated with the house. It might just have been mischief, but the only way we’ll discover who created the mess up in the Tarleton-Dandridge attic is to discover if anything’s missing. Everyone I’ve spoken with is totally mystified. Nathan Pierson said he was pretty sure no one would find any illegal substances. Now, as I say, I’d like to get one of the historical staff back in there. To be honest, it wouldn’t be much of a priority for the department if it weren’t for the dead boy—and the fact that the medical examiner hasn’t made any kind of statement.” Detective Jenson paused for a moment. “I’m surprised they’ve got the feds on something like this, although I have heard a little about your group. Got to admit I don’t quite understand it.”

“Don’t worry. Those of us involved don’t always understand it, either, but we get results,” Tyler said. He liked Jenson and liked dealing with him. The man didn’t seem at all territorial and didn’t argue with someone else taking care of a crime that might have been a prank and a murder that might have been an accident.

“I’ll bring Ms. Leigh back in to start putting the attic in order. She’s apparently more or less in charge of the other guides,” Tyler told him. “She can decide whether to bring in her coworkers.”

Jenson nodded. He glanced down, his expression strange, and then he looked up at Tyler again. “It was the damnedest thing. Finding that young man—it almost looked as if he was resting his chin on the musket except that the bayonet had gone through his chin and there was blood everywhere. His eyes were still wide open and he was staring at the wall. I have to tell you, I’ve seen a lot in my years on the force here, but that young man…” His voice trailed off and then he focused on Tyler and shrugged. “Nothing wrong with the feds taking over on this, not the way I see it.”

Tyler thanked him for his help and left the station. He called Allison’s cell on his way but she didn’t answer.

She’d probably seen his name on her caller ID.

After going to the store, he’d stop by her place before returning to the Tarleton-Dandridge House.

Allison went to Starbucks and ordered a latte with two extra shots, since it might not be easy to stay awake today.

She hovered there, wishing she’d had the presence of mind to bring her laptop or iPad, anything she might have played with so she could have joined those casually enjoying their coffee.

There was only so long she could linger. She felt restless.

What she needed was a shot of courage, not just caffeine. She’d seen Dr. “What do you think?” Blount and now she really had to go home.