Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(26)

When Ethan had reached him, Morgan was shooting a wedding at the Myrtles, but he’d told Ethan he could see him the following day any time he wanted. They’d made an appointment for nine o’clock the next morning.

He examined Randy’s board on the big screen. Examined it over and over again. Randy had dispassionately told him that Jonathan Moreau made a damned good suspect. He’d argued with both the dead men. Either of the men might easily have planned to meet him to discuss a new project. Jonathan Moreau knew about Civil War weapons, including bayonets. He knew the area like few other men.

But when Ethan looked at things closely, even considering the fact Moreau was Charlie’s father and he had an emotional connection with Charlie from the past, he came to the conclusion that Randy’s reasoning was really only a lot of speculation.

They didn’t have anything concrete. No witnesses. No physical evidence. Just two men who had died wearing reproduction uniforms, killed by a weapon that could have been a Civil War bayonet.

Ethan turned away from the screen.

It was tempting to believe the murders had something to do with an old grudge that led back to the Civil War, or at least someone’s interpretation of it. Even when he’d been a kid in school, there had been teachers who referred to “the War of Northern Aggression.”

So many terrible things had happened back then. The war itself. Reconstruction. The rise of the KKK. Murder and mayhem and resentment for years and years to follow. At least in the world they lived in now equality was the law of the land, although that wasn’t always true in reality.

You could never tell what was really going on in a man’s heart or mind, no matter what the law dictated.

And the fact that, based simply on the identities of the victims, the murders appeared to have a connection to history and those who reenacted it bothered Ethan, in part because the connection was so obvious.

When it came to solving crime, the obvious explanation was often the true one.

But sometimes it wasn’t.

Ethan turned and looked at all the information again. He needed to be objective.

Objective, yes.

Whoever had killed those men...

He was damn well sure it hadn’t been Charlie’s father.

*

“It’s wonderful, Charlie. You have to see it,” Clara Avery said excitedly over the phone. “It’s in Northern Virginia and was actually built as a theater in the early 1800s. It was a venue for political speeches, as well. It became a movie theater in the 1930s, and then it was a bowling alley for about forty-five years. Then someone started to develop it as a theater again, ran out of money and interest, and headed west, abandoning it. But it’s beautiful. The architecture is stunning, and the sound is fantastic.”

“It does sound wonderful,” Charlie said.

She suddenly heard something slam against the door, and she took the phone with her as she went to look out the peephole. There was no one there, and no one on the street.

She shrugged. She must have imagined the sound.

“I’m so happy for you and Alexi. Your own theater! But...wow, that’s a lot of work, choosing shows, casting, hiring a permanent crew to do lighting and set design and...wow,” she said again.

“You have to come perform here,” Clara said.

“Yes, of course,” Charlie said distractedly, still wondering about that noise at the door.

“Charlie, you don’t sound like yourself. Ethan is there, right? He’ll figure out what’s going on. And—”

“Clara, you know those murders I told you about? My father is a suspect.”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m sure there are other suspects, too, but he’s among them.”

“Oh, no.” Clara was quiet for a minute. “Thor Erikson—the agent in Alaska who worked with Jackson there and is now...now with me!—told me that Jackson might be going down himself, and probably Jude McCoy, too. I can come and stay with you if—”

“You’ve got a theater to manage.”

“We’re still in the early stages of renovation. We have a fabulous contractor who’s handling everything. Alexi and I can both come.” She was quiet for another long moment. “We both know how you’re feeling,” she added.

“Well, the two of you could be in the movie,” Charlie said. “But you know I didn’t call you to cry on your shoulder and try to get you to come down here and take care of me.”

“I know that, but we’re happy to do it, and this really is a good time.”

“Well, then...” Charlie hesitated. “If you think you can both come, there’s something else I want to try to work out.”

“Oh?”

Charlie was about to start explaining her idea when she heard another thump. No, not really a thump, more of a...a scrape. Against the side window of the parlor. She hurried over there, forgetting that Clara was still waiting for her to say something.

“Charlie?”

“Oh, um, sorry. I think the murders are connected to the Celtic American Line. So, my idea has to do with the Celtic American Line! You and Alexi used to work for the line,” she said. “My dad works for Celtic American. Between the three of you, we must have an in. We need to find out more about what happened on that ship.”

Her old softball bat was in the hall closet, or it had been. Charlie went to get it. She knew there was a gun somewhere. Her dad had taught her to shoot because their neighbors weren’t that close and you never knew what could happen. She hadn’t taken it to New Orleans, but she had no idea where it was now. Her father would have made sure that it was kept somewhere safe, but where the hell that was, she didn’t know.