“I’ll sit in and watch. Thanks. I think you’ll ask the right questions, and I can judge the responses. Ashley? Would you like to start bringing people in? First, guests—”

“Yes, guests who have never been here before. I’ve got it,” she said.

He lowered his head, smiling. Ashley—tough Ashley—was back.

He settled into a chair. It was going to be a long night.

Martha could stand and walk and move, so it seemed most reasonable to let Martha, and then Herbert, go first. Ashley realized that she was trying to bring people in and out from a police questioning room as if she were still a hostess and it was a social situation, and she felt a little foolish at first but then decided it was the best way to keep everyone calm.

Beth pitched right in, brewing coffee and producing a nice array of finger foods.

Jake emerged from the room at one point, asking her to check her registration books and make sure that all guests still at the plantation were present, and also to give him a list of those who had left already.

She nodded, glad of anything to do that kept her moving and busy.

She realized that no one had really shed a tear yet for Charles Osgood. She felt like crying over his life then. He hadn’t been handsome; he hadn’t been popular. He had still been a decent fellow—always wanting to be handsome and popular. And now he was gone. And the question remained, of course: Had he been killed because he’d been Charles Osgood…or because he’d been playing the part of Marshall Donegal?

Finally, Colby had interviewed all of their casual guests, moved on to repeat guests and was ready to start on those who were close to the reenactment, the plantation or the family. Beth was surprised when she was called in, but she shrugged and went all the same. Justin followed next, and Ashley was close enough to the door to hear one of his answers to Colby.

“Oh, yeah. Of course, I brought my children along while I planned and plotted a bizarre murder. I’ve been hiding Charles under the kids’ beds for the last night. Right, yes, of course, question away.”

She grinned before moving on. She heard Jake patiently explain that they were hoping to find out if he’d seen anything, noticed anything or could give them any possible information.

Cliff went in after him, and while Cliff was being interviewed, she was startled to see that two new comers—people she’d never seen before—were in the parlor, chatting with Frazier, who was still up, still making sure that he went the distance with his guests.

She hurried over to meet the couple. The man was tall, taller even, perhaps, than Jake. He obviously had Native American blood in his heritage somewhere. The woman was a pretty blonde, who almost appeared fragile.

“Ashley, Jackson Crow and Angela Hawkins,” Frazier said.

She shook hands with both of them. “You’re with Adam Harrison’s team,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

“Yes, and we’re so sorry that your missing person has been discovered dead,” Angela told her.

Jackson nodded. “Will you bring me, please, to Jake and the local officer who is doing the questioning?”

“Absolutely.”

“Beth will bring Angela up, assign them and Jake rooms,” Frazier told her.

“This way.” And she took him in.

Jackson Crow had a low, level voice, rich with authority. The door to the study had quickly shut behind him, but she had to smile, hearing the tone of his voice, through the wood paneling. He and Jake seemed to have the ability to be completely even-keeled—and yet say exactly what they meant in a way that brooked no interference.

She started to walk away, but the door opened and Jake came out.

“You and your household are to go to bed and get some sleep,” he told her.

“Oh, I don’t think—”

“We’re almost done here for the night. Jackson is taking over,” Jake told her. “I want to get some sleep. You must need some, too. How about it? Where am I sleeping?”

She wanted to ask, Could you sleep in the chair in my room?

“I’m sure Grampa would have told Beth to put you in the Jeb Stuart room,” she told him. “Do you want to get your things?”

He waved a hand in the air. “Right now, I want to crash. If I remember right, there’s soap, shampoo, razors, toothpaste, you name it, in the rooms, right?”

She nodded.

“Then I’ll run down in the morning. Come on, I’ll walk you to your room.”

Ah, yes, Jake could be the Southern gentleman. There was no “home” to walk her to now, so he’d walk her to her room.

“Hey, I live here,” she reminded him.

“And I want to see you in. And lock your door.”

“Oh, come on, Jake! I am not afraid of my grandfather or Beth—”

“Someone managed to get an unconscious, living man into the graveyard and to kill him there. Ashley, lock your door.”

She nodded. They went through the living room, where Jake assured Beth and Frazier that they were free to get some rest; Jackson would deal with Mack Colby and arrangements for the continuing investigation. They’d see that Cliff got back to his place, that officers remained on the property until midmorning and that everything was locked up and safe.

Frazier kissed Ashley’s forehead; Beth gave her a hug. She and Jake followed them up the stairs.

The Jeb Stuart room was next to Ashley’s at the back of the house, so he didn’t have to go far.

At her door, he said, “Good-night, and scream blue blazes if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Jake.”

He hesitated a minute. Jake had amazing sea-green eyes. They changed like the sea as well, but they were striking against his tanned face and auburn hair. She lowered her head suddenly, wondering why she had needed so desperately to step away from him.

Because her father had been dead. Dead. And Jake seemed to have spoken to him. Strange and scary—but, somehow believable. So her reaction had just been…fear.

Maybe even fear that her dreams should be believed as well.

“Hey, are you all right? Are you okay with me being here?” he asked her, lifting her chin and searching out her eyes. “The team is excellent. Angela and Jackson are amazing.”

“I’m fine. I’m glad you’re here. I mean, you know the plantation as no other investigator could possibly know it, and you know many of the people involved.”

“That’s true. I just want you to be all right…with me being here.”

“I’m fine.” She winced inwardly. “Jake, actually, I’m sorry. I know I overreacted, but…”

“Your father was dead,” he said flatly. “That was the past. It’s fine. I understand. Okay, as I said, I’m right next door. Just whistle—you know the old line!”

He waited for her to go into her room and lock the door; then she heard him enter his own room next door.

Ashley washed her face, brushed her teeth and realized she was still in her nightgown, but it was filthy, so she showered and changed. It was almost morning—no matter. She lay down and prayed for sleep.

It came.

The first pale rays of morning light seeping through the drapes woke her.

She frowned, still groggy. Was there someone at the foot of her bed?

Jake?

No, not Jake. It was a man in a Confederate uniform. He wore a sweeping, plumed hat. She knew who he was—her ancestor, Marshall Donegal.

She blinked; he would disappear, she knew.

He didn’t.

She opened her mouth to scream, and he leapt to his feet.

“By sweet Jesus, did I breed a line of whimpering cowards? Ashley Donegal, pull yourself together! I’m here to help you.”

Interlude

The television stations had gotten hold of the information.

He was stunned; the body shouldn’t have been found until morning. There should have been time for Charles to…ripen a bit.

But alone with his screen in front of him and dawn just breaking, he could see the reporter by the side of the road; a police car was blocking entry to the estate, but there was Donegal Plantation, as grand as ever, surviving time and death and change.

He didn’t quite feel the satisfaction he should have from the kill.

Of course, it wasn’t that he wanted to torture poor old Charles. He wanted the Donegal clan to suffer. It might have taken more than a hundred and fifty years for them to pay the piper, but they would be the ones to suffer. The sins of the fathers had to be paid.

The news crews couldn’t get onto the property, so they were padding the broadcast with pictures. First, old Frazier. He could almost hear the old man’s voice, rich but low, rippling along in that light accent like a roll of the Mississippi.

Then Ashley. The beautiful blonde, the belle, the last of the Donegal clan.

6

Back at Donegal. Jake couldn’t settle in. He’d stripped down to his briefs but now lay staring at the double doors to the wraparound porch, the ceiling and around the room.

Back at Donegal.

Alone, he could remember why he and Ashley had parted. He would never forget the look in her eyes, the last time he had seen her. The look in her eyes…the way she had backed away from him.

They’d been friends forever. When they’d been young, the three-years difference in their ages had been gargantuan; as they had grown older, the annoying little girl had become inquisitive and fun. And he had loved to tease her. They’d argued incessantly; they’d done their best to beat each other at every game, to outrace each other on Donegal horses, and they’d laughed when they’d unseated one another.

Then they had grown older still.

And he had fallen in love. Maybe he’d been falling in love all his life, and he had just been waiting for her to catch up.

They’d flirted, they’d played, they’d kissed—and when he’d been twenty-two and she had been nineteen, the flirting and the stolen adolescent kisses had become much more. He’d never forget the night. He’d been due to leave for his last semester at Carnegie Mellon, and everyone had come in from the countryside to celebrate his last night home. They couldn’t all crowd down to the bars on Bourbon or Frenchman streets, because several in the group were still underage, so they had rented out one of the old historic inns on St. Anne’s. They had partied by the brick fire and then, sometime in the wee hours, he’d walked her to her room and gone to his…but seconds later, he’d heard a knock on his door, and Ashley had been there with this look in her eyes. She had asked, “Must you be such a gentleman? After all, you’re heading back to college, and I’m off to school in Florida, and shouldn’t we have a few memories?”