Heather Graham - The Hidden

“I’ll be happy to make you a list, but this is ridiculous. I spoke with my ex-husband, and I am not lying to you, he’s a federal agent. He’s on his way here, and he’ll—”

She stopped abruptly. And he’ll show you who’s boss! she’d almost said. Now she wasn’t just thinking like a scared child, she was sounding like one.

“He’ll speak to your superiors and straighten everything out,” she said.

Gray shrugged. “Ex-husband?” he said. “I’m sure he’s just soaring his way right here.”

She felt her cheeks burn.

He didn’t know Diego. Diego would come.

There was a tap at the door. Lieutenant Gray scowled at her and went to answer it, leaving her alone in the interrogation room. She wondered if people were watching her from behind the glass, the way they did on TV.

She took the pad and began to write. A moment later, Lieutenant Gray, looking disgruntled, returned to the room.

“You can go,” he told her.

“Just like that?” she asked surprised.

“I can lock you up for twenty-four hours if you’d rather.”

She stood, anxious to leave. He opened the door for her.

As she passed him, she paused. “Why are you letting me go? It’s not because you believe me.”

“No,” he admitted. “My captain said to let you out. They can’t find anything on your camera to show those pictures were ever there. And,” he added grudgingly, “you were seen in town. Specifically, people remembered seeing you on the street, talking to yourself.”

“I was not talking to myself!” she protested.

Gray shrugged. “One of my own men actually saw you arguing with the air.”

“That’s ridiculous. I was stopped by a strange man and—”

Gray waved a hand, cutting her off. “You want me to hold you for twenty-four hours?”

“No!”

“Then leave. But I’ll be watching you. Even if that ex of yours shows up.”

“Thank you for a lovely evening,” she told him, chin held high.

She felt as if everyone was watching her as she walked through the station and out to the street. When she reached the sidewalk, she realized she didn’t have her car—she’d arrived in a police car.

Just as she thought about the best place to catch a cab, she saw that the Kendalls were there, Trisha standing still and watching as Ben paced. She was about to say something when Trisha saw her and came running over.

“Scarlet! This is so awful. Ben is beside himself. They’ve grilled him, too, but they didn’t hold him like they did you.”

Ben had reached them by that point. “Scarlet, I’m so sorry. When the cops told me about the murders, I—I wasn’t thinking. All I could think of was the pictures, and I said... Oh, God, I’m so sorry.”

“Both of you, please don’t worry,” she said. “It’s over.”

“I’m sure they know you could never do anything like that,” Trisha said.

“They don’t, but they do know I was in town at the time of the murders, and they couldn’t find anything in the camera. They didn’t give it back yet, but...it’s over, it’s okay.”

It really wasn’t over, she knew, but it was well past midnight and they were all ready to keel over. “What about the ranch?” she asked. “Who’s looking after the guests?”

Ben waved a hand dismissively. “Linda has the house, and Angus is down at the stables. Six of the guests left, too upset by what happened to stay on. Only Mr. Ballantree, the Bartons and Gigi and Clark Levin are still here.”

“What did happen?” Scarlet asked. “I mean... I know two people were killed but who and how and...?” Her voice trailed off.

“Let’s get to the car,” Trisha suggested. She was the perfect wife for Ben, Scarlet thought. They were lovely people separately as well as great together. Trisha was ready to go along with whatever people wanted, but she was also quick to take charge when she needed to. Tall, lean and athletic, with short gray hair, she fit right in on the ranch.

Together they hurried down the street to the parking lot.

Trisha drove, and she glanced at Scarlet in the rearview mirror and said, “Ben saw them—the bodies, I mean—from a distance, but he couldn’t tell what he was seeing, just that something was there. He went to see what it was, and then he called the police on his cell. He waited there for them, and I kept people away.”

“It was a mess,” Ben said. “Blood everywhere. He was all cut up, and shot, too. The woman...she was just shot.”

They were all silent after that, until they neared the ranch and Trisha said, “You’re more than welcome to stay at the main house, you know, Scarlet.”

“I’m fine, really. Only you and Ben have keys to the museum, and I’ll be sure to lock up. I’m way too tired to pack up and move right now,” Scarlet said. “But thank you.”

There was silence for a minute in the car, and then Trisha said, “I hope you had a nice night in town. I mean, before all this happened.”

“Nice and a little weird,” Scarlet said.

“How so?” Ben asked.

“Just some guy pestering me on the street. But I ran into some friends, and one of them walked me to my car.”

“Maybe something is going on with the planets,” Trisha said, shaking her head.

Scarlet took a deep breath and then asked again, “Who were they—the couple who were killed?”

“We don’t know. The police haven’t released that information yet, pending notification of next of kin,” Trisha informed her.

“Young? Old?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t really look,” Ben said. “I just turned the other way and called 911.”

They were quiet again. They’d reached the ranch. None of them looked toward the woods as they parked and got out of the car.

Trisha slipped her arm around her husband’s. “Let’s see that Scarlet gets upstairs safely. We’ll just walk through the museum and make sure no one’s there.”

“That would be great,” Scarlet said. “Thanks.”

Ben opened the door to the building. Trisha hit the lights. They walked through the museum. It was empty.

Empty, of course, except for the stationary residents standing on their pedestals, bearing silent witness to the night.

“Upstairs,” Trisha said, and started walking up. Ben followed her.

Scarlet followed Ben, then paused at the foot of the stairs, staring at the mannequin of Nathan Kendall.

If the artist’s rendering had been a true one, he’d been a handsome man. He’d been captured in time in his early thirties, the age he’d been when he’d died.

His eyes seemed to be wise and world-weary. They’d been painted blue.

For a moment she almost felt as if he would speak.

She forced herself to reach out and touch the statue.

Wood. It was made of wood.

“Scarlet?” Trisha called.

“Coming!”

“We’re right next door,” Trisha reminded Scarlet as she reached the top of the stairs. “And you really are more than welcome there.”

“I know,” Scarlet said. “Thank you. And thank you for waiting for me and driving me home.” She hesitated. “I asked an old friend out here to help. My ex-husband, actually. He’s with the FBI. Do you mind?”

“Mind?” Ben asked. “I think that’s great.”

“I’m guessing his partner will be coming with him. They should be here tomorrow, I hope. Sometime in the morning.”

“Wonderful. We’ll get some rooms ready for them,” Trisha said. “For now, let’s check out this whole place, just for safety’s sake.”

They went together from room to room, then wound up in the kitchen, staring at one another.

With everything seemingly safe and nothing more to be done that night, an exhausted Scarlet followed them downstairs and locked up behind them, then made her way back up to her apartment.