She messaged a thumbs-up to the sender. “Time to go to work, Freud.”

  Rowan took her mug to the lounge. Around three this morning, when she still couldn’t sleep, she had decided to start leaving Freud with free rein in the funeral home whenever she was away. After moving back into the funeral home earlier this year, she had concluded that leaving Freud in the living quarters if she had to go out for any reason was the best strategy. With the cleaning team and other staff members in and out, it had worked out better since Freud could be a little intimidating. But everyone on the DuPont team knew him now so there was really no need to do so. Perhaps if an intruder heard his ferocious bark beyond whatever door or window he’d chosen to illegally enter, he or she would think twice about breaking in. On the other hand, Rowan wasn’t sure Freud could have stopped whoever made off with Sanchez’s body. Worse, he might even have been hurt.

  “Maybe you should stay upstairs, boy.”

  He cocked his head and stared at her with those pleading dark eyes.

  “All right. We’ll try it this way and see how it goes.”

  A quick trip upstairs for her bag, and to lock up, and she was ready to go. At the west side exit, she set the alarm, leaving the motion sensors inactive since Freud would be running around. Then she climbed into her father’s hearse and headed for the hospital. For the first couple of months back she had avoided using the hearse. It had felt strange sitting in the driver’s seat—her father’s seat. She’d left pickups to Woody, her former assistant, and to Herman. When they were both gone, the task had shifted to Charlotte, her only full-time assistant.

  Driving the hearse was actually easy—just like driving a station wagon. The front seat and dashboard were no different than any other vehicle. Certainly, the mechanisms that made the vehicle operational were the same. The primary modifications were the curtained rear windows and the casket rollers and pins for stabilizing the load being transported in the cargo area, which included a flatbed where a back seat would have been.

  Winchester was a fairly small town, particularly when compared to a place like Nashville. Most of the time a drive to practically any destination in the county required less than twenty minutes. No heavy traffic, no exit bottlenecks and rarely any road construction. She would never have believed that the slower pace and perpetual quiet would suit her, but it did.

  Her life might even be considered dull and quite normal if not for the Julian Addington nightmare hanging over her head, along with those long-buried DuPont secrets that kept scratching their way to the surface.

  The pumpkins, hay bales and cornstalks adorning most storefronts reminded her that Halloween was only a few days away. Black cats, spiders and ghosts populated more front yards than not. The end of the year was scarcely more than two months away.

  It didn’t seem possible that it had been so very long since her life in Nashville fell completely apart.

  Surprisingly, for the first time, she noticed she didn’t experience that hollow feeling she once had when she thought of that painful time all those months ago. Her new life was growing on her.

  As she pulled into the hospital’s rear parking area, big black spiders appeared to be crawling over the brick walls. Spiders were more reasonable than skeletons, she decided. One of the houses on High Street had skeletons crawling up toward windows and onto the roof. Some folks went all out for the holiday. Before she could stop the errant thought, she wondered how Herman was doing. He was a patient in one of those rooms, and though she wanted to pretend she didn’t care, it was impossible not to. He’d been a part of her family for as long as she could remember, and no matter what he had done, she couldn’t erase him so easily.

  Pushing Herman out of her thoughts, Rowan considered that she and Billy had discussed the possibility that the stolen body was a Halloween prank. Sanchez might very well be somewhere close by. In her opinion, that scenario was one of the less likely possibilities they had considered.

  Perhaps it was someone else in the area who was connected to one or both of her parents and their many secrets. Or maybe to Julian. It still felt strange when she considered that for her entire adult life, she had believed she and Julian first met during her freshman year of college. It was hard to fathom that he had known her since she was a child, had kept tabs on her to some degree all those years.

  The concept that she should have her DNA compared to his nudged her again. Hard as she tried not to toy with the prospect, she couldn’t help wondering if he had done all of these things because she was his biological daughter. She had accepted the strong probability that he and her mother had carried on an affair. If she and Raven had been his biological children, it was possible his daughter, Alisha, discovered this additional travesty and set out to destroy her illicit siblings.

  Didn’t matter what DNA told her, Rowan was a DuPont. No test was going to change who she was. To that end, why bother? The results would only give the FBI something else to use against her and would be a slap in the face of the memory of the man who had raised her.

  She backed up the hearse to the loading area and climbed out. A press of the call button notified the morgue attendant she had arrived. A couple of minutes later, Thomas Harvey was loaded and Rowan was headed back to the funeral home. She’d already called the family for a meeting and then she’d left a message for Charlotte to see if she could give her a hand with the unloading.

  When her cell vibrated in the seat next to her, she worried that Charlotte was unavailable. Rowan hadn’t had any luck with finding another assistant willing to work part-time to take some of the load off Charlotte. Folks were looking for full-time jobs with benefits, neither of which she could offer at this time.

  Billy’s name and smiling face flashed on the screen. Rowan wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or concerned. If Special Agent Dressler had arrived already, he would just have to wait.

  She grabbed her phone and accepted the call as she braked to a stop at the intersection of Hospital Road and College Street. “Hey, Billy.”

  “Where are you?”

  “I just picked up Thomas Harvey at the morgue and I’m headed back to the funeral home.” There was an uneasiness in his voice and no small amount of frustration. “What’s going on?”

  “Herman is missing.”

  Rowan glanced in her rearview mirror at the hospital building behind her. “Missing? When did this happen?”

  “As best we can tell, between one and four this morning. The nurse took his vitals just before one. When she went back at four, he was gone.”

  “I’m assuming he was secured and had at least one guard.” Rowan shook her head. How could this have happened?

  “The guard went to the bathroom just once. He thought Herman was asleep. When he came back, he stuck his head in the room and all looked to be as it should. Herman had tucked pillows under the sheets to give the appearance that he was still in the bed. And, yes, he was secured to the bed rails with a handcuff. No clue how he unlocked the damn thing. I’m at the hospital now watching the security video feed to see if anyone besides staff went into his room. Just be watchful, okay? We don’t know his agenda. He may have revenge on his mind.”

  “Or joining his wife,” she pointed out. “If I hear from him, I’ll let you know.”

  After tossing her phone back onto the seat, Rowan barreled out onto College Street. If Herman killed himself or disappeared, she would have no hope of learning the truth. She couldn’t trust anything Julian told her.

  She had to find Herman...and stop him from doing whatever the hell he had planned.

  * * *

  Charlotte was waiting at the funeral home when Rowan arrived. They unloaded Mr. Harvey and Charlotte had agreed to begin the preparations so Rowan could talk to the family, who were waiting in her office already. Once the arrangements were sorted out and Rowan ensured Charlotte had everything under control, she grabbed the keys to her small SUV and rushed out the door. Last month she’d traded her car for an all-wheel-drive crossover SUV. Winchester didn’t get that much snow in the winter, but it did endure its share of icy roads. Besides, she liked the way the vehicle handled and the ability to use the cargo and back seat areas almost like the bed of a pickup truck. The best of both worlds.

  Even more important, it was perfect for all those back roads in the area. Rowan had driven to each place in the county her mother had mentioned. She had strolled along the riverbanks and followed paths into the woods. Though the scenery had been interesting, particularly as fall descended, she’d found nothing useful in her journeys. Each location appeared to have been a rendezvous location and the one thing they’d all had in common was remoteness. Rowan had concluded that if her mother had met men like Julian or Carlos Sanchez at those locations, she’d had a serious death wish. As independent as Rowan was, she had taken her weapon and Freud on her excursions.

  Then again, Julian might have presented himself as a good and caring person to Norah, as well. He’d done exactly that with Rowan for two damn decades. She hadn’t known he was a killer until just before he murdered her father.

  What a fool she had been, and her father had paid the price.

  Or so it seemed. Rowan made the turn toward the cemetery where Herman’s wife was interred. Not long after her father’s death she had learned that Edward DuPont had kept a few secrets of his own. For instance, the fact that he had known Julian before Rowan introduced the two of them. Or the idea that the two men had met for drinks at a local bar back in January. Julian insisted that Edward had finally admitted killing Alisha, Julian’s daughter.

  Rowan did not and would not believe him.

  Still, how could she not have known her father was keeping secrets? Why hadn’t he told her that he knew Julian on some level?

  Frustrated all over again, Rowan parked and emerged from her SUV. This was the primary reason she couldn’t allow Herman to disappear or to take his life. It had taken her all these months to realize she needed him. Maybe it wasn’t about recognizing the need, but putting aside her pride and acknowledging it. She had been determined to rid her life of all those who had betrayed her.

  “How’s that working out for you?” she muttered.

  It wasn’t. At all. Though she could not trust Julian, he knew things she wanted to know. The problem was filtering the truth from all the lies he spewed. Herman could help her with the process...if he only would.

  The sleek marble marker now standing at the head of Estelle’s grave carried her name and dates of birth and death. Herman’s name and date of birth were there, as well. The date of death had been left blank, as was the custom when one partner passed and the other was left behind. Rowan scanned the cemetery. No sign of Herman. Bare branches shifted in the breeze, the cold air making her shiver. Leaves tumbled across the graves, some smacking against headstones. Fall cleanup was right around the corner. As a child she’d loved raking the leaves from around the grave markers. She had made up stories about the folks she didn’t know named on the headstones. At age eleven, she’d mentioned to her sister the stories she came up with for the dead people she didn’t know in the cemetery. Raven had thought she was mental, as she’d put it, with a roll of her eyes that perfectly matched Rowan’s. Norah had smiled and said Rowan was a storyteller like her.

  At the time, Rowan had felt a sense of pride. Now she felt nothing but resentment and a burning need to find the truth.

  She scanned the acres of headstones once more. “Where the hell are you, Herman?”

  The cemetery was deserted. If Herman had stopped here, he was long gone now.

  Sliding back behind the steering wheel, she decided to try his house next. His personal residence was likely the first place the police went looking for him, but it was worth a drive along the block. Would give her a few more minutes of hope before she had to admit defeat and acknowledge the fact that there was a very good chance Herman had cut and run.

  Two police cruisers sat in the driveway of Herman’s home. Billy’s truck was there, too. Rowan kept driving. No need to get caught up in that aspect of the search. If Billy found him, he would let her know. Billy had never let her down. Not once. He understood how desperately she needed answers.

  Her cell vibrated against the console. She picked it up and said hello without checking the screen. One of these days she needed to take the time to set up the connection between her new vehicle and her phone. Then again, she wasn’t sure she wanted it to automatically connect every time she got into the car. There were times when she had no desire to be interrupted by the phone. Not that she allowed a call to go unanswered, anyway. The funeral home line was forwarded to her cell whenever she was out, and that made ignoring calls a risk she couldn’t afford to take.

  “Ro, it’s Charlotte.”

  Her assistant’s worried tone drew Rowan’s full attention to the call. “Hey, Charlotte. Is everything okay?”

  “There’s someone here to see you.”

  Rowan had been wrong. The emotion she heard in Charlotte’s voice wasn’t worry. It was fear. “Great.” Rowan infused as much pleasantness as she could muster into her tone. “I’m almost there.”

  Another three minutes and she would be back at the funeral home. Not nearly fast enough if there was trouble. Should she hang up and call Billy?

  “I’ll let him know you’ll be here shortly.”

  Him. Surely Julian wouldn’t appear out of the blue like this? Would he have the nerve to show up at the funeral home when Rowan wasn’t there? How could he be sure Charlotte was calling Rowan? She could be calling anyone. It didn’t sound as if her phone was set on the speaker option.

  No. Julian was far too smart to make such an elementary mistake.

  As if the other woman had read her mind, Charlotte said, “I offered him sweet tea, but he said he wasn’t thirsty.”

  Sweet tea. Herman.

  “Tell him I’m turning onto First Avenue now.”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Charlotte...”

  “Yes?”

  “For now, let’s keep his visit to ourselves.”

  “I promised him I would. We’re waiting in your office.”

  “I’m pulling up to the funeral home now.”

  Rowan ended the call, shoved the gearshift into Park, shut off the engine and hurried from the SUV. Charlotte was nervous and Rowan didn’t blame her. She hated putting the younger woman in this position, but it was necessary.

  Since the front door was still locked and Rowan had to use her key to get in, she wondered if Herman had come to the back door. If he’d rung the bell at the loading entrance Charlotte would likely have believed it was Rowan. Otherwise she wouldn’t have opened the door without checking first.

  Inside, Rowan locked the door behind her and headed along the hall toward her office. Her pulse rate rose with each step as she rounded the corner and hesitated a few feet away from the open door.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t like some coffee or tea?” Charlotte’s voice trembled ever so slightly.

  “I just need to talk to Ro.”

  Herman’s voice sounded weary. No sympathy, Rowan reminded herself.

  She strode the final few steps into her office and produced a smile for Charlotte. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”

  She nodded to the visitor waiting in one of the two chairs in front of her desk—the chairs family sat in to go over the options for their deceased loved one. “Herman.” Turning back to her assistant, she suggested, “Charlotte, why don’t you get back to Mr. Harvey? Herman and I have some catching up to do.”

  “No.” Herman shook his head adamantly. “She’ll call Billy or Colt.”

  Colt Tanner was the county sheriff. Like Billy, he would not be happy about Herman’s escape. The older man appeared extremely agitated. Not surprising. He was no spring chicken and he’d just escaped law-enforcement custody. He was a criminal awaiting trial and now he was a fugitive.

  “She won’t call anyone. Will you, Charlotte?”

  Charlotte shook her head just as adamantly as Herman had. “All I want is to get back to work. This is none of my business and I don’t intend to make it my business, Mr. Carter.”

  Herman visibly relaxed.

  “You go ahead. I’ve got this,” Rowan assured her.

  Charlotte nodded and stood, vacating the chair behind Rowan’s desk. She still wore the apron and gloves she donned when preparing a body. “Let me know if you need anything.”

  “If you call anyone and they show up,” Herman warned, “I will make you sorry.” Herman withdrew a small handgun from the pocket of his trousers.

  Charlotte let out a squeak of fear. Rowan wasn’t particularly scared; she was just disappointed. “Go on, Charlotte. We’ll be fine.”

  Charlotte stared at Rowan for a moment as if she feared leaving the room. Rowan gave her a nod to go on. No need for both of them to be stuck in here with an armed man running out of time and options.

  When Charlotte had gone, Rowan addressed the man before her with dead calm. “The gun is a bad idea, Herman. You should put it away.”

  He placed the weapon in his lap. “This is not about hurting you, Ro. I just need you to listen to what I have to say.”

  “You couldn’t call me? I would have come by the hospital.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t have much time.”

  So, he intended to run. How was it that this kind, seemingly caring man, whom she had known her whole life, had come to this?

  She sat down in the chair behind her desk. “What is it you expect me to do or to say?”

  “Nothing. I just need you to listen.”

  “All right. I’m listening.”

  “There are things you need to know.” He leaned his head to one side in a sort of shrug. “But he won’t allow me to give you the answers. You have to find them for yourself.”

  “Who won’t allow you?” A blast of outrage roared through her as much at the idea of who he meant as at the reality that he, too, had just admitted to some connection to Julian Addington, the bastard who’d started all of this.