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a lot of my friends worked as extras and made nice money at it.”
    â€œRight. So we need to find out who has a grudge against one or both men, who else was on the ship when the victims were, who might have been fighting with whom....” He sighed. “Hell, maybe some idiot just decided to refight the Civil War.”
    â€œIt’s not some idiot refighting the war. The victims represented both sides of the conflict. If you were a bitter Confederate, you’d kill Union men. And if you lost a relative fighting for the Union during the war, you’d want to bring down the Confederates.”
    â€œIt’s not race. One man was half black, and the other one was white,” Ethan said. “But they were both in that reenactment on the Journey , so my gut tells me it has to go back to that somehow.”
    â€œMaybe someone on the Journey had a fight with both of them,” Charlie said.
    Ethan shrugged. He still had a lot of investigating ahead of him. It was much too early to settle on any one theory. He’d just gotten to town—and he’d headed straight out to see Charlie. He didn’t ask himself why that had seemed like the most important thing to do.
    Now he’d seen her.
    And while so much was different after a decade had passed, everything he felt about her was just the same.
    â€œI have to meet with the police and find out what they know,” he said.
    â€œCan I go with you?”
    â€œNo, not this time, anyway. Besides, when I was headed up here, I overheard you telling your father you were going straight home.” When she looked as if she might object, he added, “Charlie, this doesn’t really involve you, you know.”
    â€œNeither did the last murder,” she said sharply.
    Once again they looked at one another in silence, and he thought back to that night in the graveyard.
    She’d found the bracelet; he’d called the police. He’d known it would be important for them to know exactly where the bracelet had been found, so he’d insisted on waiting there until the cops arrived.
    Restless, Charlie had gotten up and perched on a headstone, while he’d walked off and leaned against a tree. Neither one of them had seen the killer when he’d come, searching for the bracelet, his trophy from his last victim. Then something, a rustle, a whisper, a movement—maybe even the Confederate officer who had led him to Charlie—had alerted him, and he’d turned just in time to see a man bearing down on Charlie with a raised butcher knife.
    Luckily for him, the killer was nothing but a coward with a knife—a sick little bastard who didn’t even put up a fight when Ethan tackled him. He screamed and cried like a baby when Ethan brought him down, knocking the knife from his hand.
    By the time the police arrived, the killer had been caught.
    He and Charlie had been credited with bringing him down.
    Charlie had quit the Cherubs and sworn she would never have anything to do with such a ridiculous organization again.
    And Jonathan Moreau had despised Ethan ever since. He said a real man would have gotten Charlie to safety, not made her stay anywhere near the site of a murder when the killer could return at any moment. Charlie had almost been killed, and as far as he was concerned, that was entirely Ethan’s fault.
    Charlie’s mother, on the other hand, had applauded the fact that his quick thinking and determination had saved Charlie.
    And Charlie herself...
    She’d visited him once after he’d gone back to college. They’d talked a lot about seeing the dead. They’d wondered why some spirits stayed and others didn’t, wondered why, when loved ones died, the living rarely got to speak with them. They agreed that they would never fathom it, not while they were here on earth. They’d come so close....
    And then he’d made her leave.
    He hadn’t wanted to. Even at sixteen, she was already elegant