The Hidden. Heather GrahamЧитать онлайн книгу.
Winchesters, you name it. Worth a fortune, if you wanted to sell.”
He shook his head. “My selling days are over. I’m looking forward to spending every day here, sharing all this with our guests, for the rest of my life.”
“You’re a happy man,” she said.
He grinned. “Best wife in the world and this little piece of heaven. How can I not be happy? Looks like you appreciate the place, too.” He nodded toward her camera.
“I just got a terrific picture of an elk. Big guy with a huge set of antlers.”
“Can’t bring yourself to say ‘big rack,’ huh?” he teased.
She laughed. “Honestly, it never occurred to me. One thing we don’t have in Florida are elk. Especially not elk that like to pose for you.”
“Let me see,” Ben said.
She produced her camera and hit the little button to show her stored photos.
Ben took the camera from her with a grin on his face, but his grin froze as he stared at the screen and then at her. “Where the hell were you? What is this?” he demanded, handing the camera back to her.
Startled, Scarlet took the camera and stared at the screen. There was no bull elk with majestic antlers. It was the same spot, but the picture was of a man. A man hanging from a branch of a mighty oak, blood dripping from his body to the ground.
She stared at it, stunned.
“I—I didn’t take this!” she said.
She hit the button to switch to the next picture. That one showed two people, the same man and a woman, on the ground, tangled together in a pool of blood.
She flicked backward and saw a picture of the woman while she was still alive, though just barely. A large red stain covered her midriff, her arms were thrown back and her mouth was open in an O of agony and shock. It looked as if a bullet had just ripped through her body.
Dead people. Her pictures were of dead people.
She flicked back to the shot of the couple. It was hard to tell exactly which limbs belonged to which person as they embraced in a pool of blood.
“Honestly, Scarlet, what the hell?”
“I—I don’t know,” she said. “I didn’t take these. I never saw any of this. I—I was right over there,” she said, pointing.
He looked at her for a moment as if she was severely disturbed. Scarlet looked back at the camera, flicking through the many shots she had taken in search of the elk.
It wasn’t there anywhere.
Just the man and the woman...
Perhaps her stunned expression had an effect on Ben, who asked, “Can a camera be hacked?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “But I just don’t get it. I didn’t see anything like that, and I never would have taken pictures of it if I had.” She shook her head and handed the camera back to Ben, as if she couldn’t bear to touch it.
Ben studied the camera and scrolled through the shots, then stared at her, frowning. “What did you do that for?”
“Do what?”
“Erase them all.”
“I didn’t erase anything!”
“Well, they’re gone. I admit your elk is fantastic, but why on earth would you fake pictures of corpses on my property?” Ben said.
She stared at him, angry now, and totally confused. How could those vile shots have disappeared and the elk have reappeared in their place? “Really, Ben? You think I could do something like that? Because I didn’t take those pictures, and I didn’t erase them, either. I don’t know how they got there, but I had nothing to do with it.”
“I’m sorry, Scarlet. But they were there, and it was a real shock to see them.”
He stared at her, puzzled, but she thought he believed her.
“We should just take your camera in to Marty Decker. He runs a great camera shop in town. I’m sure he can figure out what’s going on. You know, even if it’s just a camera, I think anything and everything can be hacked these days. I wouldn’t even have a computer if we didn’t need the damned thing for the business. Leave it with me. I’ll get it to him, and I’ll make sure he saves your pictures of the elk. They’re really beautiful.”
“Thanks, Ben,” she told him. “I use computers and cameras all the time while I’m working, but I’ve never seen anything like this.”
Ben shrugged, then asked, “You going to join us for dinner?”
She was still offended that he could even think she would do something like that, but on the other hand, she couldn’t really blame him. She forced a smile. “No, I’ve got some paperwork to finish, but thank you for the invitation. You’re sure you don’t mind taking the camera to your friend?”
“Not at all.”
“Okay, thanks.” She gave him a little wave and walked away. Terry Ballantree and the Bartons crossed her path, so she paused to say hello, even though she longed to get away and try to sort out what had happened.
“Scarlet, thanks so much for the tour yesterday,” Terry said. “Any way I can get another look before dinner? I’d love another look at some of those old photos.”
“We loved it, too,” Gwen said.
“I’m glad you enjoyed yourselves,” Scarlet said. “Ben is kind of strict about the museum. It’s only open Thursday to Sunday, and this is Monday, but if you’re all here for a few more days, I’ll ask him if I can take you back through for a private tour tomorrow or Wednesday.”
“Thanks,” Terry said.
“That would be great,” Gwen said. She and Charles were both in their twenties, and they almost looked like children playing at marriage, but Scarlet had found them both to be open and friendly. Charles had been a football player at Ole Miss, and Gwen had been a cheerleader. Now he had just started his own law practice. Gwen was blonde and blue-eyed, a perfect contrast to his tall, dark and handsome.
Terry was a nice guy, too, though his never-ending enthusiasm was a bit exhausting. He was good-looking, with sandy-brown hair and large hazel eyes, a generous mouth and a perfect nose. While he was only medium height, he was in good shape.
But with her nerves completely frayed right now, she just wasn’t up to dealing with any of them.
“I’ll talk to Ben and let you know,” Scarlet said, then quickly made her escape. “See you all later,” she called over her shoulder.
The old storage barn had been given windows sometime at the end of the Victorian era, and though plain shades were drawn over the museum windows, those upstairs boasted pretty drapes.
Scarlet unlocked the door and stepped inside. The security lights, added to the last of the daylight seeping in, created an eerie glow, but it didn’t bother her in the least. She was in love with the place. Many of the displays were the originals, over a hundred years old, as were the placards they held, written in cursive by a gentle hand almost a hundred and fifty years ago.
There were life-size figures on pedestals arranged throughout the room, ranging from Ute chiefs in full battle regalia to Yankee and Rebel soldiers, fur trappers, gunslingers and frontier women, along with excellent re-creations of real people like Teddy Roosevelt and John Muir. There were twenty-two of them altogether, the oldest nearly as old as the ranch itself. Her favorite was a Ute woman holding a child and looking skyward. There was something so beautiful in her expression that Scarlet was certain she had been modeled from life by an artist who adored her.
The stairs to her apartment were to the far left. A sign hanging from a velvet rope advised No Admittance. She unhooked the rope and walked