Deadly Night by Heather Graham
Plantation, Aidan thought.
The word summoned up visions of long, oak-shaded drives, rich and verdant fields, pastures—and a Greek Revival house painted pristine white, with beautiful women in long flowing dresses sitting on the porch sipping mint juleps.
If anyone were caught imbibing anything here, it would be derelicts chugging beer out of bottles hidden in brown paper bags.
Oh yeah. He definitely should have investigated.
Zachary, the youngest of the trio, who was a mixture of his eldest brother’s hard stoicism and his other’s open-mindedness, let out a breath.
“Well, I guess you could call it a fixer-upper,” he mused dryly.
Aidan turned to stare at him. Zachary stood a half inch over six-two, just like Jeremy. It was as if the three brothers had been cast in the same mold, then painted in different shades. Aidan’s own eyes were a blue that varied from icy to almost as black as his hair. Jeremy’s eyes were cloud-gray, his hair a dark brown with a touch of auburn. As a kid, Zachary had fought to toughen up, because he’d been born with strawberry-blond curls. The color had deepened as he aged, but that red tint remained. His eyes were almost aqua. Aidan and Jeremy had teased him mercilessly when they were young, but the truth was, he was as striking as a Greek god. He had grown up fighting—but then, as their mother had mourned frequently, there was a reason for the expression “fighting Irish.” Regardless, the years had been good for Zach. He could hold his own in any fight, but his first love had always been music, and, like Jeremy, he turned to it often. The soul’s solace, he called it.
He had been equally ready to opt into the family business. After years in the Miami forensics unit, he had hit his limit when he was called in after a crack addict dad had micro-waved his infant son. He had already acquired a part ownership of a number of small recording studios around the country, but when he had heard the plan to open an investigations office, the idea had intrigued him, and he immediately quit the force.
Aidan was thirty-six now, Jeremy thirty-five, and Zachary thirty-three. They’d done a hell of a lot of fighting as kids, but as adults, they had grown into being friends.
“We should just sell it,” Aidan said.
“I’m not real sure what we’d get for it, in its present condition,” Zach pointed out.
“Sell it?” Jeremy protested. “It’s our…well, it’s our heritage.”
The other brothers turned to stare at him, frowning. “Our heritage? We didn’t even know the placed existed until that lawyer called,” Aidan reminded him.
Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe so, but hey, a whole lot of Flynns lived in that house, and now it’s come to us. I think that’s cool. How many people wake up one morning and discover that they’ve inherited an antebellum plantation?”
Aidan and Zach stared at the house, then back at their brother.
“Come on,” Jeremy protested. “The land alone has to be worth something.”
“Right,” Aidan said. “So I say we should sell it for its land value.”
“No, we should do something with it,” Jeremy said, shaking his head. He stared intently at the house, rather than at his brothers. Then he turned to them at last. “What’s to keep us from moving to the area, huh?”
Aidan started to object, but he crossed his arms over his chest, instead.
It was true.
He’d come to New Orleans to hunt down a runaway teen. Now that he’d done that, he’d been intending to return to the place he’d called home for some time now, Orlando, Florida. But why? They could relocate the business anywhere they wanted, and without Serena, there was really nothing to tie him to Orlando.
And all three of them liked New Orleans and could find plenty to do on the side here. Jeremy could keep working with Children’s House, and Zach often came here anyway, to play in a band with some old friends. And now, after the recent death of Amelia Flynn, they were the only family left to inherit her falling-down plantation.
Maybe it shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was. They knew their father’s family went way back in the South, but he’d been an only child, and his father had been an only child, and before him…well, people lost track of people, and that’s the way it was.
Not that their branch of the Flynn family had gotten far, Aidan thought wryly.
“We can all chip in to fix it up, then sell it,” Jeremy said. “If we get it into decent shape, we’ll probably make a pretty good profit. Once it stops looking like a haunted house, people will be all over us to buy it.”
“Haunted house?” Zach said.
“It really is supposed to be haunted, isn’t it?” Jeremy asked.
“Yeah,” Zach said. “Something about cousins who fought on opposite sides during the Civil War and ended up killing each other on the front lawn. Creepy.”
“That’s tragic, not creepy,” Aidan said impatiently.
“It is sad, but it’s a little creepy, too. I mean, they were our ancestors. Our family,” Zach said.
The wind whistled softly, as if in agreement.
“I’m with Jeremy. I say we restore the place,” Zach announced firmly.
“Absolutely. Turn her back into a grande dame,” Jeremy agreed.
Aidan stared at the two of them. “Are you two nuts?” he demanded.
Zach grinned as he looked at him. “What’s the matter? Scared of ghosts? I doubt it’s really haunted,” he teased.
“We’re investigators, not builders. And all old houses are supposed to have ghosts,” Aidan said, surprised that he felt so irritable about it. “And if it has a reputation for being haunted, that means we’ll have all kinds of idiots coming out of the woodwork wanting to research or whatever.”
Jeremy was still grinning at Zach. “I have to admit, I think it’s exciting, owning a piece of history. And we belong to the house as much as it belongs to us. I mean, this is Flynn Plantation, and we’re all that’s left of the Flynns.”
Aidan groaned aloud. He was already outvoted. And he didn’t know why, but when he looked at the house, he didn’t want anything to do with it.
It was nothing but a white elephant, he decided. No, not white. A peeling gray elephant.
“We don’t even know if it’s structurally sound,” he said.
As he stared up at the house, the sun blinded him for a moment. And then…
Then he saw a woman on the balcony. She was tall, with flowing dark auburn hair, and she was wearing something long and white that seemed to float out behind her, just like her hair. She was oddly beautiful—and she looked very real.
He blinked, and she was gone.
“Hey, did you just see someone?” he asked his brothers.
“No, but the woman who was helping Amelia might be here. The lawyer said something about her coming by to pick up her things.”
“I thought I saw someone in a…never mind,” Aidan said.
He searched the balcony, then the windows. There was no one there.
If his brothers had noticed his intense survey of the house, they weren’t saying anything. They were too busy arguing about their carpentry skills.
He left them behind and started walking toward the house.
“Aidan!” Zach yelled. “What are you doing?”
“Taking a closer look,” he called back.
They caught up with him a minute later, and they all walked together up the graveled drive, under parallel rows of mature oaks that offered a welcome respite from the sun. As they neared the house, Aidan saw that the paint was in even worse shape than he’d realized. The place would need some real work, he thought with an inward groan.
“We can’t possibly have any zoning problems out here,” Zach said.
“If it’s a historic landmark, we’ll still have to deal with someone,” Aidan pointed out.
Zach shook his head. “I’m sure it must have some kind of historic designation. But…historic properties are important. Aidan, I don’t know about you, but sometimes…hell, sometimes I feel like we’ve
Aidan’s features tightened as he stopped walking and stared at his brother. “What are you talking about?”
Zach shrugged. “I’ve seen so much bad shit out there—hell, we all have—and I can’t help it, but I just feel that this is something important, something we’re meant to do.”
“What if the historical society wanted to buy the place?” Aidan demanded.
Zach stared at him. “I know it’s been years since the storm, but you and I both know it’s going to take a decade for real money to start flowing into the region again. I’m sure the historical society has done all they can do to fix up the properties they already own. But we could do something important by putting this place back the way it was. There could be lectures and concerts here, maybe even reenactors to remind visitors of everything it took to make a country.” Zach flushed, probably a little surprised by his own speech, but he didn’t back down.
When Jeremy added his own “Count me in,” Aidan lifted his hands in surrender. “In fact, I have an idea,” Jeremy went on.
“Oh?” Aidan said.
“Why don’t we give ourselves a real goal? Like Halloween. We could host an event to benefit Children’s House.”
Aidan looked at Jeremy. His brother was serious. And why shouldn’t he be? When his job had thrown him the worst he could imagine, he hadn’t turned bitter or given up. He’d taken up a cause, so more kids wouldn’t end up dead at the bottom of a river.
Sure, Jeremy could be a little obsessive, but so what? Maybe it was in the blood. Hadn’t he himself stood on a riverbank less than an hour ago, insisting that a single bone, which everyone else seemed happy to assume was just an aftereffect of nature’s wrath, had to be taken seriously and fully investigated?
Zachary had supported Jeremy’s cause wholeheartedly from the beginning, but what the hell had he, the oldest, done?
Nothing, that’s what. He’d let his soul die.
Well, enough of that. He owed his brother.
“An event?” he said, still careful to be the voice of logic.
“A Halloween party.” Jeremy smiled as the idea grew. “We can decorate the place, hire people to dress up and be scary.”
Aidan groaned aloud.
“Think about it, Aidan. This place was like a gift to us, so why not use it to help other people?” Zach asked, siding with Jeremy.
They didn’t need his blessing, Aidan knew. He was outvoted.
But they wanted his support.
“Let’s spend today worrying about whether the house will stand up if it rains, huh?” Aidan said. “I’m open to anything later.”
“He’s open to anything. Did you hear that?” Zach asked Jeremy.
“Yeah. He must’ve been out in the sun too long,” Jeremy replied with a grin.
Aidan started walking again. They followed, giving him space. They knew him so well, he thought.
He could remember how, growing up, they’d fought constantly, driving his parents insane. He had been expected to behave the best because he was the oldest. Most of the time, he had stopped things before they got too bad. They’d been brothers, though. Whenever anyone went up against one of them, they’d shown a united front. They were the Flynn brothers, as close-knit as a clan could be when the chips were down.
But then he’d gone into the military, trading his service for money to help with his education. Even when he was gone overseas, he’d gotten family visits, of course—at least when he was stationed in Germany. But it hadn’t been the same as being here. He’d moved on first. The other two had been, if not at home, at least in the state and near the family home. And Jeremy and Zach shared their love of music—not that he wasn’t fond of it—which further bonded them. Then, when he came home for good, he’d gone into the FBI. The classes had been fascinating, even if rigorous, but somehow, the structure of it all—maybe because of his years in the military—had felt uncomfortable and constraining. He’d left, hopefully with no hard feelings. He was pretty sure he was in the clear; he’d gotten discreet help a few times when he’d come up against dead ends through civilian channels.
Then, of course, there had been Serena.
It all came down to Serena. She’d been the real beginning of his world.
And the end.
She’d been through it all with him, going back to high school. She’d helped him work through his doubts over all his major decisions. College or the military? Graphics or criminology? Stay with the military or go for a job with the FBI?
Then life changed in an instant, and he was sorry they hadn’t put aside his work and her political career. A doped-up drag racer had jumped the median, and Serena had been killed. And after that, nothing mattered at all.
But that had been five years ago. And despite doing work he was proud of, in spite of the good things he’d accomplished for other people, he still had no real purpose in life. Days came, and days went.
“I don’t think the two of you can begin to imagine how much work you’re talking about here,” he said. “And the licenses and the permits and insurance and—”
“Don’t sweat it. We’re the brothers Flynn,” Zachary said, stepping between Aidan and Jeremy and setting an arm around each of their shoulders. “How can we go wrong?”
Aidan looked up at the house. He felt an odd sense of dread again, which wasn’t like him at all. He was the logical, pragmatic brother. He didn’t get strange sensations like this.
He gave himself a mental shake. Well, what the hell?
“The brothers Flynn,” he agreed.
2
Damn.
They were here already.
The heirs hadn’t been around when Amelia was sick, and they hadn’t been around when she died. According to the lawyer, they hadn’t even known she existed until he contacted them with news of their inheritance, an excuse that sounded pretty damn suspect to her.
Kendall Montgomery receded from the balcony, where she had so often sat with Amelia, back into the master bedroom, hoping she hadn’t been seen. She knew that the attorney had met with the Flynns and given them title to the place.
She just hadn’t expected them to show up here. Not yet.
She had come to pick up the last of her things. Books and CDs she had loaned Amelia, some clothing she had left out here for the nights when she stayed over to keep the old woman company. She had done all she could to help Amelia, offering her love and loyalty, because the elderly woman had been there for her when she had needed someone so badly. Amelia had been a sweetheart, pleased to pass on fascinating bits and pieces of local history and the legend surrounding the house. Amelia had lived through a lot, and she had managed to hang on to the plantation—even if she’d been unable to keep it from falling into decay—which said a lot about the kind of woman she’d been.
Kendall looked down and realized she was holding something. The marvelous old diary she had discovered in the attic one day when Amelia had asked her to bring down an envelope of papers. She had set the diary by Amelia’s bed, thinking she would read it later, but somehow she’d never gotten around to it. Until today.
Today, when all she had intended to do was get in, get her things and get out, she had found herself picking it up.
And it was fascinating. It had been written by a woman living in the house during the Civil War, and once she had gotten into it, Kendall had found herself deeply involved. She had marveled that she was holding a book that went back over a hundred and fifty years, that she was reading words written that long ago. Words describing the thoughts of someone living in the midst of a horrible war that tore families apart. Words about survival. There were little tidbits of day-to-day life in the diary, and there were also hopes and dreams for the future.
The diary was what had kept her out here long after she should have gone home, and now the heirs were arriving.
She quickly stuck the diary into her backpack.
It didn’t belong to her. It belonged
But she had to finish reading it. She wouldn’t keep it, only borrow it until she’d read all the way to the end. She would give it back as soon as she was done. For now, she had to figure out how she was going to deal with the plantation’s new owners.
Kendall thought about hiding. About slipping out the back. But they would probably notice her car, parked around by the stables, before she could get to it. No. Better just to face the music of being here, where she supposed she shouldn’t be, not without their permission.
She would apologize for trespassing, explain that she’d only come to get her things, then get the hell out.
She’d heard Jeremy Flynn on the radio the other day, talking about raising money to help the children who’d lost their families in the hurricane. He was clearly a mover and a shaker, and he talked sense. She had to admit that she had liked him on the radio.
The lawyer had told her that there were three brothers, and that they ran a private investigation agency. Snapping pictures of married men having affairs and spying on babysitters, no doubt.
The French Quarter was a pretty close-knit group, and she’d heard that another one of the brothers was a nice guy and a hell of a guitarist.
The third brother, though…
A real hard-ass, she’d heard. Military, then FBI.
He’d probably have her arrested for trespassing.
The truth was, they owed her some genuine gratitude. She was the one who had been there for Amelia. And not for any personal gain. She had taken to spending almost all her time out here, because Amelia had been afraid. Amelia had spent her life in the old place, but in the last few months she’d become convinced that strange things were going on around her, that long-gone spirits from centuries past were present day and night—in the house and in her dreams. Once upon a time, a violent tragedy had played itself out on the grounds of the old plantation. As death neared for Amelia, she seemed to think her ancestors were creeping up on her, reaching for her with bony fingers from their graves.
And yet, in the hours before her death, she had seemed so peaceful. Glad to see the ghosts, as if they were family members who loved her and had come to take her home.