LITMIR.BIZ

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a great scene with one of the ghosts. He talks about the way a man’s home state was everything to him back then. You get a real feel for people, and why they did what they did. And the soldiers... Did you know they would throw away their pipes and playing cards before they went into battle, anything it might have upset their families to find if they were killed. Of course, the movie’s really about our present day—ecologists, big oil, and the need to preserve the land while also making sure that people have jobs and can afford to eat.”

      Ethan nodded, loving how passionate she was about the project. “I’m sure it’s going to be a great movie. But what I need to know now is what happened to you last night.”

      “Right, last night.” She was quiet for a moment. “I’m never in that area without remembering, you know? I’m not afraid, not usually, despite what happened out there. I mean, the whole unhallowed ground thing doesn’t matter to me, because...because too many people were buried there just because they weren’t from here or up to local standards at the time, or whatever. But then I heard my name being called. I don’t really know if it was the murdered man calling me or if it was Anson McKee—Captain McKee, the cavalry commander who led you to me back when I was stupid enough to think I wanted to be a Cherub.” She let out a breath. “But I found him. Farrell Hickory, I mean. Brad called the police, and the rest you know.”

      “I gather both men performed aboard the Journey,” Ethan said.

      Charlie nodded, looking around. “Most reenactors own their own uniforms, swords and other props. So when someone’s looking for actors to fill specific historical roles, they can find the people they need easily enough, and the same people end up working together a lot. Friends of mine do it for fun—and for pay, when they can. They filmed a Civil War epic down near Houma not that long ago, and a lot of my friends worked as extras and made nice money at it.”

      “Right. 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.”

      “It’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.”

      “It’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.”

      “Maybe 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.

      “I have to meet with the police and find out what they know,” he said.

      “Can I go with you?”

      “No, 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.”

      “Neither 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 as well as beautiful. Some might have said that a three-year age difference wasn’t enough to make him give up the attraction—intellectual as well as physical—that sparked between them.

      But in his mind, it wouldn’t have been right; she was still a kid, still in high school. He was grown and out of the house, already in college.

      Not to mention that he couldn’t help thinking maybe her father had the right to hate him.

      Looking at her now, he realized she’d grown even more beautiful, even more elegant.

      “The killer was caught and tried, and it was all over and done with quickly, Charlie,” he said.

      “Really? Quickly? It still haunts me,” she said. “I’d really like to go with you to talk to the police, now that it’s all happening again.”

      “Do me a favor,” he said after a moment. “For now, just do what you told your father you would and go home, okay? I’ll let you know if I learn anything after I’ve had a chance to talk to Randy.”

      “Randy?”

      “Randall Laurent, the detective heading up the case. He’s an old friend, so I’m hoping things will go smoothly between us.”

      “I can’t imagine they won’t. I only vaguely remember him from school. Like you, he was three years older—a huge difference back then—and I know you were both on the football team. He seemed like a decent man when I talked to him last night. He wanted all the facts, but he was very understanding about asking. I guess he knew I was pretty much in a state of shock.”

      “That sounds like him,” Ethan agreed. He wished her eyes weren’t so blue. And that she wouldn’t look at him the way she was, as if he’d become a stranger.

      She walked past him, moving toward the path down to the road. They still hadn’t touched, but he could smell her perfume, something as light as air and yet inexplicably provocative.

      “Charlie?”

      She waved to him without turning around. “I’m going home. Call me when you’ve got something.”

      Ethan watched her go. She might be going home

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