Free The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) by Heather Graham Page A

jacket.”
    “Yeah.”
    When she hung up, Grace was ecstatic. “Yes! We’re out of here.”
    “Hey, you didn’t
have
to be here.”
    “What? You think I wanted to be at my house? Uh-uh! But I’m ready for a bunch of people, society...and good food. Tommy has the best cheese steaks around.”
    “Want me to drive?” Mo asked.
    “I guess we should take both cars. I can just go home from there.”
    Mo agreed, and they were ready to leave within minutes. Darkness had fallen, and she paused after opening her car door. The breeze moving through the trees created a distinct rustling sound that was almost like a strange whisper. She could see movement in the shadows cast by foliage in the moonlight. The air was crisp and cool, and the night seemed to have its own sense of expectation.
    Of waiting.
    Then the late train went chugging by; it screamed of the everyday and the mundane, and the odd spell that had taken hold was lifted.
    As it turned out, Tommy had been wrong to worry about business. While traveling to his restaurant had seemed like a voyage through a land that was asleep, his parking lot was so crowded that Grace called her cell and suggested they park on the street by the Old Dutch Church.
    They did. Mo wasn’t afraid. Rollo was with her and wagging his tail.
    But she found herself pausing again. Seeing the old graves up the hill at the Old Dutch Church and then beyond at Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, she felt there was no place where the past seemed more alive. She could hear the water trickling under the new bridge, and she could easily imagine Irving’s Ichabod Crane as he rode home on a broken-down nag through the trees, their skeletal branches dipping and swaying in the moonlight.
    “Hey!” Grace had parked near her. “We going in or what?”
    “Yep. If we can get in. Look how busy it is! And it’s only a little after nine. Early for the bar to be hopping like this.”
    “Go figure!” Grace said. “Gruesome murder draws a crowd!”
    “Hey, people love haunted houses,” Mo reminded her. “
You
should know that.”
    “Yeah,” Grace admitted. “True enough.”
    “I like old mysteries,” Mo said thoughtfully. “I don’t like to think about the families left behind when something terrible happens, though. If it’s far in the past, everyone’s at rest and there’s no one still alive to be hurt by this kind of fascination with blood and guts.”
    “Yes, well...heads showing up in headless horseman territory...that is, I don’t know, scary, so we need to band together.”
    While the streets had been quiet, it seemed that everyone in the village of Sleepy Hollow as well as Tarrytown and Irving had descended on the Headless Horseman Hideaway Restaurant and Bar.
    “Nice! I love it. All these people! Tonight it feels good,” Grace said.
    Mo looked back at the Old Dutch Church. White wraiths seemed to slip between the graves and mausoleums up on the hill. It was just the moon playing tricks, she knew. Because tonight an autumn mist was actually forming.
    When they walked in, the crowd at the bar was three-deep; all the tables were taken. But Tommy, working behind the bar, saw them arrive.
    “I saved a table for you!” he called to them.
    Hurrying out, he caught hold of Mo’s arm and smiled over at Grace. He was beaming. “I should feel bad, right? I
do
feel bad. I feel terrible. But...I didn’t know Richard Highsmith. And the crowds at Halloween and during the fall and at Christmas keep us going through the rest of the year.”
    “It’s okay, Tommy,” Mo said. She was glad they’d come, and he was obviously pleased that she and Grace were there.
    As they moved through the crowd, people kept turning to look at Rollo. Some patted him; some asked first. Luckily, Rollo would never hurt anyone. Mo caught bits and pieces of conversation as they walked. Most people were talking about what had happened. Speculation ran high as to whether it was a political assassination or a maniac on the