Heather Graham - The Cursed

Dallas swallowed the last of his lemonade. “I’ll step outside, then, and let the techs know to get started.”

Leaving the two of them in the kitchen, he went outside and walked half a block toward Duval, then turned around and retraced his steps. He tried to envision what had happened—and where.

He moved slowly, checking for signs of blood on both the sidewalk and the grass.

He knew he wasn’t going to find anything like the kind of high velocity spatter a bullet created. According to Dirk, Rodriguez’s jugular had been nicked, leading to a fatal loss of blood.

But Rodriguez had cut his attacker, as well.

He gave up searching for blood drops and walked through the yard. If Rodriguez had crashed through the hedge, he should be able to see where.

The door to the house opened, and Hannah came out. He paused. He should thank her. She had gotten him the clearance he needed to examine Holloway’s property without a warrant. If there was evidence he had to find it now, and getting a warrant would take time.

“Here’s my theory. I think he came from the street...that way,” she said, and pointed to the right. She wasn’t looking at him as she approached. “He heard his attacker coming up behind him. He was with a group of new...friends, but they took off when he was attacked from behind. He got away and ended up here. Somewhere along the way he drew his knife and fought back, managing to slice his attacker, which gave him time to get away. He gripped his throat and staggered through the hedge and into my yard.”

Hannah walked to what had to be the exact spot where the dying man had gone through the hedge. As he followed her, Dallas could see the trail.

“Here,” she said softly, coming to a stop by a lounge chair near the pool. “Here’s where he scared Shelly and Stuart half to death. But he must have heard the killer coming, so he staggered out to the alley. He needed to lure the killer away. But I think the killer saw where he went and never even came through my yard, so Shelly and Stuart never saw him.”

Dallas stared at her. She didn’t appear to be in a trance, hadn’t claimed to be a psychic, but somehow she seemed to know exactly what had happened.

Of course, any good detective would have figured out the course of events; the evidence was clear.

She wasn’t a detective, yet she had homed in so exactly on the truth....

She walked from the pool through the yard, her footsteps faltering. She wasn’t staggering the way a dying man might have done, she was just following the path Dallas knew he had taken.

Dallas followed her out to the alley. She stopped just outside the crime scene tape.

She met his eyes at last.

Dallas was very still, watching her.

“Anyone would think you’d been with Agent Rodriguez.”

“It’s just...apparent.”

“Apparent, yes. But...”

“But?” she asked.

“It’s as if you know something,” he said.

She flushed. “Are you accusing me of—?”

“I’m not accusing you of anything,” he said. “Let’s go inside.”

“The house? The killer was nowhere near the house.”

“I want to rent a room,” he told her.

“What?”

“You operate a bed-and-breakfast, right?”

“You have a home here. You work here,” she said.

“I want to rent a room.”

It was obvious she didn’t want him staying in her house.

“My cousin is coming soon, maybe as early as tomorrow. I’m not sure how many people are coming with her, but they’ll probably need all my rooms.”

“Not a problem. I only need a room for tonight,” he said.

“Why?” she asked him.

“Do you have a guard dog?” he asked.

“A guard dog? No.”

“Do you have an alarm system?”

“Oh, please. Didn’t you listen to me? Jose led the killer away. There’s no reason for him to come here looking for me or anyone else.”

He turned and walked back through her yard, then waited at the rear door. She followed him, still confused and a little belligerent. “I don’t understand—”

“You were thinking about calling people you’d turned away to see if anyone still needed a room, so I know you have space. How do you work things? Do guests get two keys? One for the door to the house and another for the door to their rooms?” he asked her.

“Why the third degree? Are you still suspicious of me for some reason?”

He let out an impatient groan. “No, I’m not suspicious. I’m worried, and I’m thinking like a cop. The killer was, to all intents and purposes, right here. He almost certainly saw you and knows that you found the body.”

“How?” she demanded.

Dallas hesitated. “It might be a cliché, but killers do sometimes return to the scene of the crime. Sometimes, they’re sick bastards who come back to enjoy the kill all over again. Sometimes they come back to watch the cops and see what they’ve discovered. There’s every chance the killer was in that alley this morning. But say he wasn’t. That newswoman shot a lot of footage, and you’re bound to be in it. Just as a precaution, rent me a room.”

She stared at him, but he couldn’t tell what she was thinking. She was too damn good at keeping her face expressionless.

“I have good locks.”

“You could have the best locks ever invented,” he told her, “and if someone wants to get in, they’ll get in.”

She moved ahead of him and unlocked the door. She went inside without looking back to see if he followed, but she didn’t slam the door on him, either. He followed her to the reception desk, where she opened a drawer and produced a set of keys.

“The whole house is empty, right?” he asked her.

“At this moment? Yes.”

“Then I’d like the Melody Chandler room, please.”

“What?” she asked.

He let out a sigh that he hoped didn’t sound as impatient as he felt. His start with Hannah had not been a good one, and it didn’t seem as if they were going to get along any better now.

“I told you,” he said quietly, “I’m from here. This was Melody Chandler’s home. She lived here when the man she loved, Hagen Dundee, died trying to save passengers off the Wind and the Sea when she went down. When I was a kid, I took a ghost tour and the guide pointed out her window. I’d like to stay in her room.”

“I sleep in Melody Chandler’s room,” she told him.

“Ah,” he murmured. “Then give me her father’s room, the Ian Chandler room.”

For a long moment she stared at him.

“Please,” he said. His tone was gruff, and he realized that even when he was trying to be polite, he sounded like an ass. And he didn’t know why. What was it about her that brought out this side of him?

He couldn’t help it. He pictured Jose Rodriguez. Dead.

And he pictured Adrian Hall where she, too, had lain dead in a pool of her own blood.

He pulled out his wallet to produce a credit card.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she said. “You’re staying here for one night to make sure I don’t get killed. I’m not going to charge you.”

“Don’t be silly. I’ll put it on an expense report.”

“You want to stay here—stay here. If not, leave. I won’t charge an officer of the law for doing what he sees as his duty.”

“Fine. Keys, please.”

She slammed a set of keys down on the desk. “I give a ghost tour at eight. I never take more than sixteen people out. They start arriving around 7:30 p.m. We’re here for about thirty minutes, starting from eight. I’m back at about 10:30.”

“Great. Sign me up.”

“I’m fully booked for tonight.”

“Consider me a special guest.”

“I only take sixteen.”

“Then think of me as an annoying fly following you wherever you go.”