Free All Hallows Eve: A Krewe of Hunters Novella (1001 Dark Nights) by Heather Graham Page B

Do we need to question people spouting against Gloria Day? Definitely. But the medical examiner’s office hasn’t even started on the second autopsy yet. Let’s see what comes of that.”
    Jenna was introduced—she smiled and greeted old friends and thanked those she’d worked with before, asking that they be especially vigilant in the areas surrounding the mortuary, graveyard, and forest, and to listen to what they heard around town. “You know Salem. You’ll know when something isn’t right or when it feels strange. We need to keep a close eye on the mortuary. The first murder apparently happened at a time when those in charge were busy or unaware. And we need to watch out for local situations. Crack pots, cults, culture clashes of any kind.”
    The meeting ended and Sam and Jenna wound up discussing their next moves in one of the conference rooms while Lieutenant Huntington went on to speak to the press. The community, Sam knew, would be talking about nothing else. But, none of it would stop Halloween or Samhain celebrations. Salem had a life of its own at this time of year. A pulse. A beat. Like a living entity.
    Gary Martin was working hard. He hadn’t wanted a murder, but he’d wound up with two. His men had retrieved a fair amount of evidence from the forest where Gloria Day’s body had been found. All of the cigarette butts, cans, bits and pieces of hair, and everything else would go to the DNA lab. And while TV shows might get their results back in an hour, it would be days, possibly weeks, before these would be ready. Sam harbored no illusions. They were not going to get anything off an old cola can. Their killer wasn’t sitting there enjoying a soda before hanging a woman. Results would come from walking and talking and discovering what was going on in the community. Someone had to have seen a car. The hill upon which the mortuary sat alongside the cemetery wasn’t in walking distance from town. And Gloria Day’s killer had not forced her to walk up the hill then into the forest to be hanged. It made sense that John Bradbury had been in the basement of the mortuary. He worked there. But Gloria Day was another matter. Her shop and school sat in the middle of town, down the street from the Hawthorne Hotel. Had she been lured up there to see something unusual? To participate in some kind of ceremony? Sam was anxious to get to her shop, but he also wanted to know more about the various groups in the community now. And much of it, he thought, needed to be done by himself and Jenna, or Rocky and Devin. The local police were good. But the Krewe team was better.
    Alone with Gary Martin and Jenna in the conference room, Sam looked over the files on locals, along with the notes they’d received from Angela Hawkins, Jackson Crow’s wife and top assistant. She’d found pages and pages of Facebook, Instagram, Google, and other social media communications that spoke of an all-out verbal war between two factions in the city. Two main rivals were clear. The Coven of the Silver Moon, Gloria Day’s group. And the Coven of the Silver Wolf, Tandy Whitehall’s people. Each of the two had hives, where the overflow went when there were too many people in a coven. Thirteen was considered the ideal number, but that wasn’t etched in stone. Hives, he knew, kept their membership low so as not to become unwieldy, the perfect place for a newly ordained high priest or priestess. Both Day and Whitehall had enjoyed a lot of popularity, their hives numerous and, on occasions like Samhain, they gathered together. In Salem, that usually happened at Gallows Hill, which, frankly, Sam didn’t agree with, and for good reason.
    Just seemed the wrong place.
    “There’s been a lot of talk on the web,” Martin said, reading through some of the notes Angela had e-mailed. “The word ‘bitch’ seems overly popular. Gloria Day seems to be accused of being a greedy, manipulative usurper, determined to rule all of Salem. She gives good