The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) by Heather Graham Read Free Book Online

had been displaced.
    The ivied entrance with its small pillars led to a long hallway. The dining room was to the left of the kitchen, which came complete with modern conveniences. A door from the dining room led out to what was still called the “hospital porch.” To the right was the staircase and the parlor, and beyond the parlor was an office/library. Behind that, she had a large family room. The house was filled with marvelous little features—a recessed area in the office for a daybed, a bay window at the front of the parlor and built-in shelving for bric-a-brac and plates and books. The family room had French doors that opened onto the back porch with its view of the river. There were the trains, of course. That was okay. For her beautiful little piece of the world, she could deal with the trains.
    She set her keys on the eighteenth-century occasional table by the door and pulled off her jacket, hanging it on a hook. Then she started a pot of coffee in the kitchen, and after that, went to the office to sit at her computer—and stare at it. While Halloween might be approaching, she was working on designs for Valentine’s Day.
    His nails clicking on the hardwood floors, Rollo came down the hall and settled in her office, next to her desk. She tried to focus on the screen. She’d been working on a verse for a pop-up card she’d designed that revealed a cherubic cupid pulsing with sun rays when the card was opened. He was aiming an arrow with a heart for a tip, and so far she’d written, “Roses are red, violets are blue, my world is brilliant, since I have you.”
    Mo loved what she did. She’d been a visual arts major, and while still in college she became fascinated with pop-up cards. She’d worked for a number of card companies, but eventually she’d started working at home. She did the artwork and the “paper engineering” on the cards before they were sent off to be replicated in large numbers.
    She made a decent living from her art. She and Rollo never accepted money for working with the police; to her, it wouldn’t have seemed right.
    “What do you think of my latest card, Rollo? Simple and sweet. Gotta tell ya, this isn’t easy when...”
    She could still see that first horseman—with the head of Richard Highsmith on it.
    Mo heard the slight creak of old floorboards and turned around. Rollo was already at her feet so she knew it wasn’t the dog moving.
    Her heart quickened for a moment. She had just seen two people who’d been decapitated. Noises in the house didn’t usually bother her. It was old; it was constantly settling. And, of course, she had several resident ghosts—some better than others in their abilities to make floorboards creak and cause solid objects to move.
    This time it was Candy Lewiston who had come to see her.
    Even as a ghost, Candy was rivetingly beautiful. She’d come to the house through the Underground Railroad during the Civil War. Her heritage was mixed—African-American, European and Native American. She had large, dark eyes, her cheekbones were perfectly sculpted and she moved with effortless grace. Ghosts could appear to float, yes, but Candy moved as if she were still flesh and blood, graceful and lithe beyond measure.
    She knew the good and the bad of history. As a child, she’d had a gentle master who’d been happy to spend time with his slaves, attend baptisms of their children and be as generous as a father. At his death she’d found herself the property of a new master; she said he was the cruelest man to ever walk the earth. The daughter of her first owner—who’d been forced to sell the slaves—had actually helped Candy escape, and in their friendship, they’d both realized how wrong it was for any man or woman to own any other.
    They’d ended up living at the cottage down from Irving’s Sunnyside, and while Sarah Jane—Candy’s friend—had gone on after death, Candy had lingered. But that was because she’d fallen in love with one of the