Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(59)

Ethan had assured him that no one was targeting the Journey; they were simply trying to find out more about the day the two victims had been aboard.

“Seems to me you ought to be interviewing people in St. Francisville,” Banks had said.

“Trust me, the police are on that,” Ethan had assured him.

Ethan’s thoughts were interrupted when his phone started ringing.

“Ethan, hi.”

It was Charlie, and she sounded a little tense.

“Is anything wrong?”

“No, no...but you need to talk to my dad. Without accusing him of anything. Without...being hostile.”

“Charlie, I’m not hostile to your dad. Your dad is hostile to me. I can’t change that, but I still have to do my job.”

“I know, I know. Anyway, he knows I’m talking to you. He has information. He’s not guilty of anything except being a friend, but...talk to him, Ethan. There might be something to this that goes beyond the film connection. Please, just listen to him. Now I have to run and find Alexi and Clara so we can put our show together.”

“You’re alone?” he asked her. “You were with Jude and Clara last time I saw you.”

“I ran out to see my dad before rehearsal, no big deal.”

“Charlie, do me a favor. I’m not trying to be overprotective, but don’t be alone, okay? Hurry up and join the others.”

“All right, I’m almost there. Don’t worry. I’ll text you the minute I arrive,” she promised.

“Thanks. Where’s your father?”

“In his cabin.”

“All right, I’m on my way.”

He rang off, but before he went to find Jonathan’s cabin, he headed to the main dining room to make sure she arrived safely. He got her text when he was halfway there, but he wanted to see firsthand that she was safe.

He didn’t go in, just made sure she really was there and safely surrounded by friends. Jude saw him and nodded. Ethan nodded back and slipped away, glad the Krewe had his back.

*

It was easy, working with friends. As far as their vocal abilities went, they were well suited to perform together. Alexi was a talented pianist, and she could adapt anytime a singer made a mistake. Clara had a pure, clear soprano, while Charlie was an alto. Alexi couldn’t hit the highest notes, but had the broadest range of the three of them. As they went through the songs, Charlie created bits of dialogue to segue between songs, since they were mixing North and South.

She also planned to throw in bits of history that wouldn’t step on her father’s lectures.

They would share vocal duties on some songs, like “Dixie,” when they even planned to encourage the audience to join in. Other songs would be solos. Clara had claimed “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” as her own, and Alexi had done the same with “Bonnie Blue Flag.” As they made their set lists—allowing a half hour each night for requests—Charlie realized that she was having fun. She loved working anyway, and it was great to be back with Alexi and Clara.

For a little while she even forgot why she was there.

Then she glanced over to the table where Jude was sitting and enjoying the show, and it all came crashing back.

Because enjoying the show wasn’t the only thing he was doing. He was watching over them. He was their bodyguard.

As much as he might appear to be simply enjoying himself, he was watching...

Watching every entrance to the dining room, the kitchen doors...

It was good to feel safe.

It was also unnerving.

Especially when she thought about the red band of blood circling Selma Rodriguez, a woman murdered just because she might have known something about Albion Corley.

*

Jonathan wasn’t exactly hostile, but he was definitely cold. He let Ethan in and told him without preamble that Charlie had said he had to tell Ethan everything he knew, which he proceeded to do.

“Jonathan, you should have told us this right away. It would put a different spin on the investigation,” Ethan said.

“No, that’s just it,” Jonathan said emphatically. “No one would have had any objection to the wedding. But the thing is, no one did know. That was my whole point. I didn’t want you investigating this as a hate crime. There’s something else going on, dammit. Something we’re not seeing.”

“Now I know they were both Masons—like you.”

Jonathan exploded. “Oh, no! Don’t you go there! They try to blame everything on the Masons, from Jack the Ripper to government conspiracies. Yes, George Washington was a Mason, and so were half the founding fathers. All we do is work for children’s charities, for cancer research... We help people.”

“If you don’t want me to go there, then think. Can you think of anything else? Anything else that connected them? And maybe could relate to Selma Rodriguez, too?”

Jonathan sat, groaned and buried his face in his hands. Then he looked at Ethan and sighed. “I have thought. They were good men, not druggies, womanizers or gamblers. They did charity work, supported good causes. I’m sorry. I wish I could help, but I honestly don’t know a thing.”

“Actually, I think you have helped me,” Ethan told him.

“How?”

“By reminding me about their charity work. Can you tell me what committees they were on, what causes they were involved with lately? Because if this didn’t happen because of Shelley Corley, there has to be something else.”