He shook his head. “Look, Ashley, I know we’re all kind of scared right now, so maybe you could quit with the trail riding in the middle of night until they find whoever killed Charles!”

“She won’t be out alone again,” Jake said firmly, in a voice that seemed to scrape all the way down her spine. “It’s pitch-dark and chilly out here, and the mosquitoes are big enough to rustle the woods themselves. We’re going to get on back now.”

Toby clicked on his own high-beam flashlight. Once again, they protected their eyes.

“Toby!” Ashley said quickly.

“Yes?”

“Were you under this tree a few minutes ago?” she asked.

He looked at her and squinted. “No. Well, hell, I don’t think so. I didn’t know what the hell was out here—I was moving around quiet as I could, trying to listen. Why?”

“I—I thought I might have seen you,” she said.

“Well, if you’d seen me, it would have been nice if you’d said something,” he told her indignantly. “I’m getting back.”

Toby turned and started tramping down the trail. They could follow the glow of his flashlight as he headed for the bayou.

“What was that all about?” Jake asked Ashley.

“I climbed the tree because…because I was afraid. I thought something was stalking me. I saw someone beneath me, and it scared the hell out of me,” Ashley said.

“What were you doing out here?” Jake demanded, perplexed.

“Riding!” she snapped.

“Well, he’s right. You shouldn’t have been, and you damned well better not do so again until the killer is found.”

“And what if you brilliant people with your brilliant team never find the killer?” Ashley demanded.

Jake didn’t answer. Cliff did.

“Then we won’t be out here, period. The plantation will go down, and the Donegal family won’t own it anymore. You’ll see sugarcane here, just like you see it beyond the cemetery side.”

Jake was staring at her; she could see that in the glow of the flashlight Cliff still held on the little copse where they stood.

“We’ll find him. We’ll find the killer,” Jake said, and he turned away. “Come on, you can ride with me.”

She was angry…and worse, she realized. She was still feeling rejected, no matter how stupid any of it might have been—even if she had been the one to put a block on him years before.

“I’ll ride with Cliff,” she said.

Cliff was startled, but he looked down at her with a shrug, sheathed his shotgun in his saddle and shifted the light in his hands to reach down for her.

“Let’s hope Varina made her way home—and that your grandfather hasn’t gone out and had a heart attack!”

With Cliff’s strong grasp, she leapt up behind him on Jeff. Ahead on the trail, finding his way through the dark, Jake mounted up on his horse.

They made a silent trek back through the woods to the house.

Approaching the stables, they saw that Varina had indeed made her way home. She was walking around in the center of the stables as if she were teasing the horses who were still in their stalls.

“I’ve got the horses,” Cliff said gruffly. “You get in the house, Ashley, before Frazier realizes that you’re not around anywhere.”

She started toward the house. Jake was right behind her. She felt him come closer and closer, but she didn’t realize he was going to stop her until she felt his hands on her shoulders.

“What the hell were you really doing?” he demanded.

“Riding. I do it all the time.”

“Right—after a corpse is found in the cemetery.”

She turned around and stared at him.

“A murdered man!” he said with some force.

“Look, this is my house. I live here, and I don’t think I’m under suspicion—by anyone’s standards. I’ll ride when I feel like riding!” she told him.

She was startled when she suddenly saw him take a breath and smile.

“What?” she demanded.

“I’ll just talk to Frazier,” he said and walked past her.

“Damn it, Jake, stop!”

He did so, turning back to her.

“I—I heard a rumor after the reenactment,” she said. “I heard that Emma Donegal was actually Cliff’s ancestor and not one of the men in the family. She could never admit—not at that time—that she had an ex-slave, Harold Boudreaux, for a lover, or that she’d given birth to a child of mixed blood. But she loved him, and I heard that there was a gravestone out there. She had him buried out by the bayou. I thought if I found the stone, it might all be real. I went to find it.”

He paused, watching her for a moment. “And did you find it?”

“Yes, it’s there.”

“It has his name on it?”

“The word Friend was carved into it.”

He was quiet, and his silence seemed to scream that a stone that said Friend didn’t really mean a thing, and that it was incredibly stupid at this time to be wandering around in the woods looking for the headstone of a man who might or might not have been an ancestor’s lover.

Before they could argue further, the riverside door opened and Beth stepped out. “There you are! Goodness, I was starting to get worried. Jake, Jackson got back, and he’s looking for you. Crab cakes are on, and it’s time for dinner!”

Ashley turned from Jake and looked at Beth, forcing a cheerful smile.

“Crab cakes! Better yet, your crab cakes. Do we have a minute to wash up? Should I call Cliff?”

“I’ll get him on the house phone, honey. You run on up. Angela has given me a hand in the kitchen, and it will all be on the table in ten minutes, so hurry it up, girlfriend! And, we’ve got more company!”

Ashley looked at her, puzzled.

“Will and Whitney?” Jake asked.

“Yep. They’re as nice as they can be!” Beth told Ashley.

Ashley didn’t doubt that the pair was exactly that. She was surprised to feel a little tug at her heart, created by the sound of pleasure in Jake’s voice.

His friends were there. Maybe Whitney was more than a friend.

She suddenly felt out of step with his life and ashamed of herself. Jake had been the best friend in the world; she had loved him. She had turned from him. He deserved a little happiness.

“It will be great to meet them,” she said.

She flashed Jake a quick smile, and hurried on into the house.

It was odd, but somehow the arrival of Will and Whitney—with all their paraphernalia—was like a breath of fresh air.

A horrible murder had taken place, and they were in the midst of a rough investigation. But Whitney’s vibrant personality made its mark on the solemn household. As they sat down to dinner, she explained the setup that she and Will had carried out.

“Don’t worry—we haven’t put cameras in anybody’s bedroom,” she said, “but we do have the house nicely wired for sight and sound. Ashley, you haven’t seen it yet, but there’s a bank of screens in the living room. We have cameras aimed in both of the parlors, out to the front, out to the back and over the cemetery. Tomorrow we’ll set up over the stables. That way, we’ll be apprised of any unwanted visitors on the property. And—” she hesitated, casting Jake a questioning look “—and we’ll be aware of anything that might happen inside the house as well.”

She looked at Jake again.

Do they know that we investigate for paranormal occurrences or help? she seemed to be asking.

“I think what you’ve managed in a few short hours is amazing,” Jake told her. “A camera setup like this will definitely catch anyone trying to play games in the cemetery again. But we have to rig by the river as well.”

“They’ve done that,” Jackson told him. “We got here at about the same time, and I asked them to make sure the back wall of the cemetery and the river were both in view on our screens.”

“Did you have an interesting interview with Ramsay Clayton?” Jake asked him.

“Ramsay swears that he gave Charles the role out of the goodness of his heart. He also said that he’ll be back in New Orleans by tomorrow or the next day. He’s buying a guard dog and a pistol and getting a permit—he’s afraid that whoever killed Charles might have really been targeting him,” Jackson told them.

“That is a possibility,” Jake agreed.

“Yes,” Jackson said simply. “He asked the police for protection. They couldn’t give him anything full-time, but they have patrol cars watching his residence while he’s here. He said that when he goes back into the city, he’s going to stay at a hotel for a week.” Jackson smiled. “The casino hotel—there’s lots of security around it. Unseen, half the time, maybe, but it is there.”

Cliff let out a dry laugh. “Ramsay is a crack shot. But a dog is a good thing to have. Dogs really have a sixth sense. We used to have a dog.”

Ashley smiled. “Brutus,” she explained. “He was a Rottweiler, and I loved him to death.”

“What happened?” Jake asked. He’d never met Brutus.

“He loved me in return—but he hated the horses and tried to bite them all the time, and they tried to kick him. He went to live with my mom’s cousin in Gainesville. They’re still happy as clams, I believe,” Ashley said. She looked at her grandfather. “I should call Gina. She’s probably heard all this on the news, and she’ll be worried.”

“Already called her and assured her we were fine,” Frazier said. “She wants you to come stay with her and Brutus. I said it wasn’t a bad idea.”

“Oh, no. I’m not leaving,” Ashley told him. She stood and walked over, slipping her arms around him. “We didn’t do this, and Donegal Plantation itself is being victimized.” She stared across the table at Jake. “This team will find the killer.”