Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(33)

“You didn’t ask them to get into uniform and meet you anywhere, did you?”

“As God is my witness, I did not,” Morgan said solemnly. “That sounds nice and Southern, right? I’m actually from nowheresville up in northern Wisconsin, but I love all this Southern atmosphere so much. The history, the reenactments...great stuff, especially for a photographer.”

Ethan nodded. “So after the event on the Journey, you went...?”

“I was in Baton Rouge until yesterday, then I was out at the Myrtles, shooting a wedding. Man, would I have loved to own a plantation. Anyway, if you’re worried, I can prove where I was. There were witnesses everywhere, and the metadata on my camera will back them up. I liked those guys, so why would I kill them?”

“All right, so tell me about the day you shot the reenactment on the Journey.”

“Amazing,” Morgan said. “It started out with the Confederates on deck. The narrator was super—what a voice. The story just soared.”

“Jonathan Moreau?”

“Yeah. I think that was his name.”

“What about the argument? Between Corley and Hickory?” Ethan asked.

“Oh, that was before the performance. They had the deck cleared while they got set up, no passengers allowed. I got the feeling when they weren’t fighting, the dudes were friends. They called each other by their first names, were talking fine before they started arguing. I think Hickory started it. I heard him yell something about wanting to be authentic. Said no Southerner at the time would have handed the ship over to a man of color. That’s the way he said it, too. Not black man, not African American, but ‘man of color.’ Then Corley shouted back that he had records proving such a man had accompanied the Union troops aboard the ship, and he told his friend to quit being a bigot. Hickory was all offended at that. Said he was the least prejudiced man he knew, if he did say so himself, and that Corley knew it. That’s when that historian guy—”

“Jonathan Moreau?”

“Yeah, him. That’s when he broke in. Calmed them both down. Said the records were a little vague, but that it was more than possible. Said there were records of a unit of freed African Americans in the area, mostly digging trenches, bringing in the wounded, but because there were so many wounded, some of them ended up working with the surgeons. Anyway, it was settled.”

“What about the other people around? Anybody voice an opinion?”

“Everyone,” Morgan said drily. “Oh, my God, if it weren’t for Moreau, it might have turned into another war right there, and they might never have gotten the program started. It was really cool, too. You saw everyone being enemies at first, but by the end everyone was suddenly acting human. When the commanders transferred control of the ship, then shook hands and wished each other long life, they meant it. I’m telling you, I almost cried.”

“Before things calmed down, do you remember anyone who might have been angry with both Corley and Hickory?” Ethan asked.

“No, it was just like the reenactment. At first, the actors were all arguing, but by the end they were all laughing and man-hugging each other. I was shocked when I heard Corley was murdered. I figured it had to be some kind of hate crime. Then Hickory wound up dead, too, and now I don’t know what to think.”

“You have photographs from that day, obviously,” Ethan said.

“Is Wisconsin known for beer and cheese? You bet I have photos.”

“I’m going to need them. For the investigation. I won’t be posting them on social media or anything that would mess with your copyright.”

“Okay, sure. Want me to bring them to you? I can get you prints by tomorrow, or I can send the files tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“Send me the files. If I need prints, I can make them at the police station.”

“Whatever you need. Um, I’d still like you to pose for me, if you wouldn’t mind. You know, you look like one of the guys whose picture is in the museum in town. I was just there... Let me think. McKee! Anson McKee. Yeah, that’s it. There’s a picture of him in New Orleans, too. There’s a great traveling exhibit there now—‘Letters to Loved Ones.’ Anyway, if I could take a few shots... I mean, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“I have to get back to work, but if Brad gives the okay, as far as I’m concerned, you can take whatever pictures you want.”

Ethan headed back over to where Brad and Mike were waiting, and let Luke reattach his mic before he left, saying something about joining the others for a bite.

He was getting a bit tired of being compared to a man who was long dead.

Even if he did consider the man’s ghost to be a friend.

*

Charlie hurried over toward the catering tent—at least as much as she could hurry in those ridiculous heels—craving the company of a crowd.

She’d seen Ethan out in the field with Brad and Mike as she headed past.

For a moment, as she’d watched them all talking, she’d felt as if she were alone in the world.

She knew she should go over and tell Ethan what had just happened, but she wasn’t ready for the others to know she saw ghosts or even that she was afraid a flesh-and-blood killer was after her. She was safe—for now—and there would be time enough later to fill Ethan in.

Bizarrely, when she got there she found the catering tent empty. She sat down at a table, and a moment later Jennie came in, flopped down in one of the folding chairs with an exhausted sigh and said, “Whoa, hope this film does well, ’cause these are long days we’re putting in.”