Krewe of Hunters 1 Phantom Evil by Heather Graham

life, but it doesn’t pay the bills. World religions, history and psychology.”
    Angela frowned. “Psychology, of course. You were with a Behavioral Science Unit. So, tell me, because I was thinking today that someone as involved as Regina was in preparing that home to be the perfect welcoming point for her husband wouldn’t have committed suicide. And to be honest, suicide had sounded like an entirely rational explanation to me before.”
    â€œIt’s hard to say. I didn’t know her,” Jackson said.
    Dessert and drinks arrived. He was persuasive; she did try thebread pudding, and it was delicious. And it felt oddly intimate to share a dessert. She hadn’t done so in years. Since Griffin had died.
    He sipped his brandy. “It does seem as if she was devoted to her husband, and as if she had determined to put her life to good use. That speaks against suicide. But then again, the loss of a child might have made her snap.”
    â€œBut that kind of snap? Going over a balcony?” Regina asked.
    â€œThat’s what we’re here to find out,” he told her.
    They left soon after. The walk back down Chartres Street was quiet; they took St. Peter’s up to Dauphine and crossed Bourbon once again. They were at the more subdued end of Bourbon there, but distracted, Angela had been walking a few steps ahead.
    â€œHey, honey, wanna party?” someone asked.
    He was a blond frat boy. He looked harmless. He was with other blond frat boys.
    She could take care of herself, she knew. But Jackson stepped forward easily, slipping an arm around her. “Not tonight, but you all have a good time, and take care,” he said pleasantly.
    The frat boys waved and went on. Jackson’s hold on her eased, but they walked next to each other.
    He didn’t say anything; neither did she. He knew she could have managed on her own; she knew that he had quickly defused the situation.
    And then they were back. They’d left lights on, and the house on Dauphine stood white and dignified in the moonlight, captured in shadow and in a soft glow. The windows might have been eyes, and, Angela thought, the ghosts ofdozens of lost souls might have looked out from behind them, gazing at the world they had left behind. The house wasn’t evil, but evil had lived behind the facade.
    Angela was suddenly certain that Regina Holloway had not committed suicide.

CHAPTER FOUR
    Before retiring for the night, Jackson had done a survey of the house, studying the alarm system.
    He’d learned two things: every window in the house was properly wired; and though the gate to the courtyard was wired as well, only the gate was wired. It would have been possible for someone to climb the wall into the courtyard. However, once that happened, they’d have to have the code to get through the alarm.
    Even so, it was possible and probable—no matter how excellent a police force might be—that someone had come over the wall. After that…
    It had been twilight when Regina Holloway died. A time when someone might have slipped over the wall. A time when she might have had the alarm off, since she had been out on the balcony. She might have had the doors locked, but if she had opened her bedroom doors to the balcony—or if anythinghad been left open by one of the maids—there would have been access to the house.
    The night, however, was uneventful.
    Angela Hawkins was still asleep when he came down to the kitchen. There was little there, but someone had seen to it that some basics had been stocked, so he was able to brew coffee and munch on one of the English muffins that had been left in a package in the refrigerator.
    He called to set up an interview with the senator. First, he reached a secretary, and then was put through to the senator’s aide, Martin DuPre, and while he was asking DuPre if the senator would be available for an appointment, DuPre’s protective hedging came to a quick