Darkest Journey (Krewe of Hunters #20)(60)

“Their charity efforts are all public record. They’ll be easy for you to find.” He met Ethan’s eyes. “So you believe me, that their deaths had nothing to do with Shelley?”

“If no one knew, no. We’ll have to talk to Shelley just to cover all our bases. And I need to know if Farrell Hickory spoke with his son about this.”

Jonathan laughed. “Shelley is fifty. She and Farrell were not going to start procreating. Farrell’s boy didn’t need to worry about a new half brother and having to share the family fortune. That boy’s intelligent. He’d know that.”

“Yeah. I’m sure he would,” Ethan said. “Jonathan, I need to know everything you can think of about Farrell and Albion.”

“They were my friends. Good friends, both of them. We were lodge brothers. They were passionate about the environment, but they also understood business. They believed that business—the oil business, in particular—and environmentalists could work for the common good. They loved being reenactors. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

“Thank you,” Ethan said, and offered Jonathan his hand.

Jonathan held out his own and then shook his head. “You’re putting Charlie into the path of danger again.”

“Mr. Moreau, I’ve never put Charlie into the path of danger. I found her tied to a tombstone and freed her. We didn’t know that a killer was going to show up. And now I’m here because Charlie specifically asked to have me assigned to this case. I intend to do everything humanly possible to get to the bottom of this—and I will protect Charlie with my life.”

“That may not be good enough,” Jonathan told him flatly. “What if you can’t catch the killer?”

“Trust me, I’ll catch him. I intend to investigate everyone even tangentially involved with those men, and you might as well know that means you, too.”

“You know I didn’t kill those men.”

“I don’t believe you did, no. But you did lie to us.”

Jonathan said nothing as Ethan turned to leave the room. He was startled when Jonathan spoke again.

“Are you sleeping with my daughter?”

Ethan froze, his back to the man.

Sleeping? Well, technically, yes. But when it came to Jonathan’s real question, did one night count?

He turned around and met Jonathan’s eyes. “I care deeply for Charlie, and I have since the night I found her in the graveyard. But we haven’t seen one another in a very long time.”

“I didn’t ask you if you cared about her. I asked if you were sleeping with her.”

“We’re in the same cabin.”

Moreau nodded, and to Ethan’s surprise, he actually looked relieved. Had he been misreading the man? Curious, he said, “I hope that doesn’t upset you.”

“To be honest, at the moment I find it reassuring. I may not approve of my daughter’s taste in men, but under the circumstances, since she refuses to leave the area, she’s safest in your company.”

“And I intend to keep her that way,” Ethan said, and left.

His first action was to put through a call to Jackson Crow; he wanted Jackson to get someone to track down Shelley Corley. They needed to speak with her. The woman hadn’t—to the best of his knowledge—called the cops looking for information when Farrell Hickory had been killed.

Strange, if she was planning on marrying him.

On the other hand, no one had known about the wedding plans, so people might have wondered what her interest was.

But he wouldn’t know the real story until he talked to her, and Jackson had the resources to locate her quickly and maybe even set up a meeting.

“You don’t want to say anything to Detective Laurent about this yet?” Jackson asked Ethan, after he’d explained the situation.

“I’d like to speak with her first, find out how committed they really were and if she knows anything that could help us.”

Jackson agreed, and after ending the call, Ethan was satisfied that they’d made a good start on finding out the full story of Farrell’s secret proposal.

And then he wondered if Charlie’s father had talked to her about their conversation and, if so, exactly what he’d said.

*

They’d been rehearsing for a while when a lean, gray-haired man in a beige suit entered the main dining room and approached the stage. Before he got even halfway there, Jude was on his feet and staring down intimidatingly at the man, who Charlie thought looked vaguely familiar.

“Ricky Simpson—entertainment director,” Alexi whispered quickly.

“Oh, right,” Charlie murmured.

“Ricky, great to see you,” Alexi said. “You remember Clara, and you must have met Charlie somewhere along the line. And this is Jude McCoy.”

“Great to see you, too,” Simpson said, smiling. “I have to admit, I was a little surprised when management booked you for this cruise at the last minute, but you’ll be glad to hear you seem to have been quite the draw. We advertised your appearance on several travel sites, and the remaining cabins were reserved just last night. This being a history-focused cruise, I just need to know. Your stories are accurate, right?”

“Unless they’re legend, and then we say so,” Charlie said.

Simpson grinned. “You really are your father’s daughter. I heard you as I was coming in. You sound great. The passengers are going to love you. And you can do run-throughs in the mornings, after breakfast. Then—”