Read Online All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Heather Graham - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Heather Graham
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and gold down on the graves. Both the cemetery and house occupied a hill that sloped down to thick forest, the leaves a brilliant collage of orange, crimson, and gold. Past a decaying mausoleum and a weeping angel, she thought she saw something.
A strange flash of darkness and light.
Near the weeping angel and a worn tombstone stood someone in a black cape. Someone with a red face and body. The boo-hag they’d seen the other night. What would someone in costume be doing at the edge of a forlorn graveyard at this time of day, just looking up at the mortuary? She excused herself and headed down the rocky drive toward the cemetery. She leapt over a few tombstones and wove around ancient sarcophagi. But, when she reached the far side and the forest edge, the boo-hag was gone.
She drew her weapon and called out, “FBI. Get the hell out here, whoever you are.”
She hadn’t really expected a reply, not unless it might come from some holdover partier unsure of where he was from a function the previous night. She moved cautiously into the woods, alert and wary, careful of the leaves and twigs beneath her feet.
And then stopped.
No boo-hag was in sight.
Instead, a woman dangled from a tree limb.
* * * *
“Hanged by the neck until they be dead,’” Detective Gary Martin said, quoting from the death warrants handed down to those executed back in 1692.
Sam watched as a forensic photographer snapped pictures. The victim had been dressed up for display. Their male victim, John Bradbury, had also been decked out in Puritanical garb. Whether this woman often dressed in period clothing for one reason or another, they had no way of knowing. He and Gary Martin had arrived on the scene within minutes of Jenna’s call, both on the outskirts of Salem. Once again, Sam was plagued with a feeling of urgency and fear.
The boo-hag.
But Jenna hadn’t mentioned a boo-hag. She just said that she’d left the mortuary, come through the graveyard, then walked into the forest, finding a dead woman hanged from a tree. She was calm. No surprise. She was one hell of an agent. She’d touched nothing, securing the scene until forensics and a medical examiner could arrive. They’d asked if Laura Foster might be sent, explaining that they might be looking at a serial killer. He and Martin stood next to Jenna, watching while the crime scene techs did their thing.
“Think this one is a suicide too?” Jenna asked Martin sarcastically.
“Kind of hard to hang yourself from a tree,” Martin said. “Unless she climbed up there, then out on the limb, tied the rope, then jumped. Not likely.”
Jenna smiled at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a pain.”
Martin moved around the tree, trying to get a better look at the hanging victim. A large white bonnet hid most of her face and it was difficult—without disturbing the rope—to get a good look at her face.
“It’s Gloria Day,” Martin said. “She’s a big Samhain fest organizer and throws a witches’ ball on Halloween. Or it’s Samhain, to her, I guess.”
“You knew her?” Sam asked.
Martin shook his head. “Not really. I know of her. Her face is on a number of advertisements. This is really going to shake up the community.”
Sam and Jenna moved carefully around to where Martin stood to study the corpse too. As they did, the medical examiner’s van arrived through the trees. When Laura Foster stepped out, Sam was grateful. They were going to need her on this one. Jenna had not met her, so he introduced the two women and then Laura went to work. Enough photographs had been taken from every angle so the rope was cut and the corpse lowered, laid carefully on a tarp that could be formed into a body bag. A temperature check indicated that the time of death had been somewhere between five and six A.M.
Laura provided as many specifics as she could from a cursory inspection, pointing out the corpse’s coloration, the neck had not broken, and she was probably
A strange flash of darkness and light.
Near the weeping angel and a worn tombstone stood someone in a black cape. Someone with a red face and body. The boo-hag they’d seen the other night. What would someone in costume be doing at the edge of a forlorn graveyard at this time of day, just looking up at the mortuary? She excused herself and headed down the rocky drive toward the cemetery. She leapt over a few tombstones and wove around ancient sarcophagi. But, when she reached the far side and the forest edge, the boo-hag was gone.
She drew her weapon and called out, “FBI. Get the hell out here, whoever you are.”
She hadn’t really expected a reply, not unless it might come from some holdover partier unsure of where he was from a function the previous night. She moved cautiously into the woods, alert and wary, careful of the leaves and twigs beneath her feet.
And then stopped.
No boo-hag was in sight.
Instead, a woman dangled from a tree limb.
* * * *
“Hanged by the neck until they be dead,’” Detective Gary Martin said, quoting from the death warrants handed down to those executed back in 1692.
Sam watched as a forensic photographer snapped pictures. The victim had been dressed up for display. Their male victim, John Bradbury, had also been decked out in Puritanical garb. Whether this woman often dressed in period clothing for one reason or another, they had no way of knowing. He and Gary Martin had arrived on the scene within minutes of Jenna’s call, both on the outskirts of Salem. Once again, Sam was plagued with a feeling of urgency and fear.
The boo-hag.
But Jenna hadn’t mentioned a boo-hag. She just said that she’d left the mortuary, come through the graveyard, then walked into the forest, finding a dead woman hanged from a tree. She was calm. No surprise. She was one hell of an agent. She’d touched nothing, securing the scene until forensics and a medical examiner could arrive. They’d asked if Laura Foster might be sent, explaining that they might be looking at a serial killer. He and Martin stood next to Jenna, watching while the crime scene techs did their thing.
“Think this one is a suicide too?” Jenna asked Martin sarcastically.
“Kind of hard to hang yourself from a tree,” Martin said. “Unless she climbed up there, then out on the limb, tied the rope, then jumped. Not likely.”
Jenna smiled at him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be a pain.”
Martin moved around the tree, trying to get a better look at the hanging victim. A large white bonnet hid most of her face and it was difficult—without disturbing the rope—to get a good look at her face.
“It’s Gloria Day,” Martin said. “She’s a big Samhain fest organizer and throws a witches’ ball on Halloween. Or it’s Samhain, to her, I guess.”
“You knew her?” Sam asked.
Martin shook his head. “Not really. I know of her. Her face is on a number of advertisements. This is really going to shake up the community.”
Sam and Jenna moved carefully around to where Martin stood to study the corpse too. As they did, the medical examiner’s van arrived through the trees. When Laura Foster stepped out, Sam was grateful. They were going to need her on this one. Jenna had not met her, so he introduced the two women and then Laura went to work. Enough photographs had been taken from every angle so the rope was cut and the corpse lowered, laid carefully on a tarp that could be formed into a body bag. A temperature check indicated that the time of death had been somewhere between five and six A.M.
Laura provided as many specifics as she could from a cursory inspection, pointing out the corpse’s coloration, the neck had not broken, and she was probably
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