Hallow Be the Haunt (Krewe of Hunters #22.5)(6)

He sighed and rose, headed for the shower.

He was dedicated to his work. It sounded funny, but since he’d been a kid, injustice had infuriated him—he’d always wanted to be there for the victims. And now, once again, he was leaving to answer the call to help someone else. But for some reason, he stopped and turned… Even though he wasn’t sure of what he’d been about to say.

Ashley sat up on the bed, sheets slightly tangled around her, her eyes on him, her hair streaming around her in a provocatively messy torrent.

He stopped and turned around, walking back to her.

She arched her brows. “‘Truth, justice, and the American way’ are waiting for you,” she semi-quoted with a saucy grin.

“They can wait for five minutes.” He kissed her just below her ear.

“A quickie?” she breathed.

“Sorry, but…”

She grinned. “I haven’t a thing in the world against quickies.”

And yet, neither of them really wanted quick. The passion and the fire were easy…

She clung to him, and he held her tight, not wanting to let go.

And he knew, somehow, that Jackson’s phone call had changed things. As if a knock on the helm had shifted a great ship out at sea.

Maybe it had begun even before the phone had started ringing. Because Ashley hadn’t even heard it all, and still…

She shoved him suddenly. “Go to work. I have ghosts and goblins and things that go bump in the night to deal with.”

Real and unreal, he thought dryly.

Halloween.

What the hell had made them come at Halloween?

He had to let go of her.

Reluctantly, he did so. And hurried into the shower.





Frazier Donegal sat tall and straight and completely dignified. He had a headful of snow-white hair, the epitome of a Southern gentleman.

Ashley kissed her grandfather’s cheek as she joined him and Beth at breakfast, dressed for the day in jeans and a T-shirt.

“Why? Why do we do this? We’re just flat out crazy,” he said, sipping his coffee.

Ashley shook her head. “Sir, you know we do this for three reasons. A. Halloween is fun. B. We’re known as a fabulous attraction—people flock here for both the re-enactment and the Halloween festivities. C. The money we make during these times helps us maintain the house, the stables, the property—and the wonderful people we are so incredibly lucky to have working here.”

“Oh, yes. That’s right,” Frazier said and smiled proudly as he looked out the window at his property. Cliff—their horse master—was rehanging a giant spider that had slipped down a rafter.

Frazier shuddered, shook his head, and took another sip of his coffee.

“Meeting of our cast of ghoulies in thirty,” Beth said, glancing at her watch. She grinned at Ashley. “We’ve got several new attractions this year. Wait until you see what happens at the smokehouse. You’re going to love it. Honestly, we have a great group of actors this year.”

“Can’t wait,” Ashley said. “You never hire anyone but the best.”

“Of course not.” Beth nodded. “Want to walk out now?”

“Sure.” Ashley rose and kissed her grandfather on the top of his head. “Not to worry, sir. You can hole up in your room.”

And he would, she knew. Frazier was not a fan of the plantation being turned into a haunted house. History was haunting enough, as far as he was concerned. But he did know the cogs on the giant wheel that was the plantation were expensive. And he did love his home.

More importantly, he thought it was imperative to preserve history—be it noble or ignoble. Truth and learning, in Frazier’s mind, swayed the future. Lying about or hiding any event was wrong. Man could only learn through his mistakes.

“Have fun, children,” he said as they headed out.

The meeting would be in the office at the stables—a really nice, big space. Years and years ago, her father had seen to it that the office was completely modernized, that the air-conditioning system was upgraded and put on a maintenance plan. There was a large desk, which had been there since 1852, a Chesterfield sofa and a number of armchairs. The stables were in mint condition as well, the horses well-tended and loved. Frazier had always had an obsession with making sure his animals received the best treatment possible.

They walked on behind the stables, though, to the smokehouse.

“Wait for it… Wait for it...” Beth said, pausing before she threw open the door with a flourish.

Ashley looked in. She tried to smile but inwardly, she winced. Through their own difficulties and Jake’s work, she’d seen too much real creepiness. She knew Halloween was supposed to be fun and spooky—but the smokehouse was positively sinister this year.

Hooks that had historically held meat to feed the many mouths on the plantation now held mock human torsos and limbs. A butcher-block table was covered in blood, and a mannequin that had been partially disarticulated—as if the limbs and torso were being prepared for hanging in the smokehouse as well—lay haphazardly to the side. Blood spattered the wall, and on the ledge was a row of human heads—apparently the ones that had belonged to the mannequin bodies. They were male and female, young and old—with wide eyes and mouths open in horror.

“Whoa,” Ashley said.