“Either that, or the greatest lover in history. You said Annie was expecting this man, that they’d met at the graveyard before. She was excited to see him, so he must have been the mystery man her friends knew about. That would lead us to speculate he picked up the other women, wooed them until they were comfortable with him... But he started this months ago in Virginia. And even before then.”
“Maybe he’d been having an affair with Annie, and the others were just pickups.”
He grimaced. “The other victims had substance abuse issues or were sex workers. They were, I imagine, easy enough for him to charm or coerce. Who takes a date to a graveyard?”
Kylie shook her head. “I think in Annie Hampton’s case, she knew the place well. The graveyard was perfectly natural to her—she’d known it forever and ever. And whoever he was, if it turned out they didn’t have the place to themselves, he’d have an excuse for being there. Playing tourist or doing some research.” She hesitated.
She’d seen his face again, the enraged face of the politician.
She was afraid to speak her thoughts out loud.
But again, Jon seemed to be reading her mind. “I checked out Michael Westerly’s calendar, including confirmed dates when he was seen by crowds of people. It doesn’t allow for him to have committed the other murders.”
“I guess my friends were right—I just saw his picture somewhere,” Kylie said. “That’s what put him into my daydream or nightmare or whatever it was.”
He glanced her way again. “I have an appointment with him in an hour.”
She twisted to look at him. “And what are you going to say? ‘A random woman trying to be regressed to a past life saw you murder Annie Hampton’?”
“I’m going to say an anonymous tip came in, and there are people who believe he was Annie’s mysterious boyfriend.”
“I see,” she murmured. “The fact that he’s married would account for the secrecy with Annie.”
They reached town quickly. He parked in a municipal garage and when they walked out, she asked, “Where are you meeting him?”
“Walking distance,” he said. “The restaurant at your hotel.”
“He’s staying there?” she asked with horror.
“I don’t know. His secretary set it up.” He frowned. “I’ll find out, if you want me to.”
“I guess... Yeah, I’d like to know.”
He grimaced. “You all are welcome at my place, but there’s only the one bed.”
She shook her head but couldn’t help grinning. “There are four of us. I’m sure we’ll be fine. And it’s pretty ridiculous. I saw him during a regression. I’m not up on the law, but I don’t think that would stand up in court. Unless we went to the witchcraft days and I could say his spectral presence murdered her.”
“And he might have hanged for it,” Jon said.
She hesitated. They paused at the intersection that would take them by the Peabody Essex Museum and into the pedestrian walk on Essex Street—right by the Old Burying Point. It was ancient, for the US, at least; the second oldest cemetery in the country, right behind the Miles Standish Burial Ground in Duxbury. It was similar to the one they had just left; stones were awry and tree roots grew haphazardly through and around many, though some stones had been carefully preserved.
A memorial to those hanged as witches during the craze—and to Giles Corey, pressed to death—was next to the cemetery. Twenty benches had been created for the tercentenary of the trials in 1992; names of the accused and the dates of their deaths were etched into the stone benches. It was a simple and moving memorial, surrounded by trees and in the center of the tourist district.
Kylie had been to the Old Burying Point many times. It was moving, of course. The cemetery held the graves of a Mayflower Pilgrim and a witch trial judge—John Hathorne, great-great-great-grandfather of Nathaniel Hawthorne, a man so distressed by his ancestor’s part in the witch trials he put a w in his name, as if that could dispel his association with such a man.
The Old Burying Point had never bothered her; rather it had fascinated her. So much history could be found there.
She had felt so differently that afternoon, at the graveyard surrounding the abandoned church.
“Are you all right?” Jon asked her.
“Fine. Really. Absolutely fine. I’m going to call Corrine and the girls and find out where they are and I’ll just meet up with them.” She hesitated before awkwardly adding, “Oh, I’m supposed to invite you to dinner.”
“To a bachelorette dinner?” he asked, his mouth curving.
“It’s not like we’re the most exciting group out there,” Kylie said. “I know you’re really busy, but...you have to eat sometime.”
He laughed softly. “They want me to come? I thought they were about to accuse me of abduction and forced confinement last night.”
Kylie shook her head. “They understand. They’re a bit scared by what happened. But okay, I’ll be honest. Nancy has a lot of friends and family in this area. She checked you out. They like you now.”
She wondered if she should have spoken—if her words were offensive.
But he laughed again and gave her a grin. “Well, I’m glad I passed muster. Sure, I’d love to stop by and eat with you and your lovely group. Just text me and tell me a time and a place. You kept my card from last night, right?”
“I have your number,” she assured him.
A soft breeze was blowing; the temperature was pleasant, as if winter was only a memory. Tourists still flocked the streets, but she was surprised when he said, “Why don’t you find out where they are? Can’t be far. I’ll walk you there, meet them, and then still have plenty of time to walk back to the hotel.”
“Oh, you needn’t bother—”
“Humor me,” he said, “please.”
She nodded and put a call through to Corrine. She and Nancy and Jenny were close, just down at the wax museum.
“You don’t have to walk me,” Kylie said again with a smile. “You can just watch me from here. They’re right there.” She pointed. “I think we’re heading down to Derby Street after, to the Pirate Museum. History suggests that pirates of old weren’t quite as romantic as we like to think of them these days. But Corrine loves pirates, so—”
“Museum on Derby Street, and you’ll be right by the brewery,” he said. “Get going. I’ll be watching. And I’ll meet you later.”
Kylie nodded and turned to go, lowering her head with a smile, but she looked up as she walked away. She was surprised that she’d had...not a good time, that was impossible when the memory of a murder was still so strong within her. But she liked him. Many, many things about him. Not to mention the way he touched her, held her, and made her feel...safe.