Darkest Journey by Heather Graham

reenactment,” Randy said, sounding very much like a cop and very little like the old friend with whom Ethan had gone to school.
    Ethan nodded. “Last meals, Doc?”
    â€œGumbo—both of them,” Franklin said. “Probably from someplace here in town. They died twenty-four to forty hours apart. They weren’t at dinner together or anything. If they had been, they would have been at different stages of digestion, which they weren’t. And, actually, I’m waiting for the lab results before I can be definitive with regard to Mr. Hickory. I’m going by my own gut, if you’ll excuse the pun, in his case.”
    Ethan nodded; Franklin had been at this long enough to recognize what he saw and smelled.
    â€œThey eat long before they died?” he asked.
    â€œA couple of hours,” Franklin said.
    Ethan turned to Randy. “Is there a reason why they would have been in their uniforms?”
    Randy shrugged. “There’s been a photographer in town paying people to pose. He said he hadn’t asked either of them, though. He was at the reenactment, though, and took some shots there. As I’m sure you know, Brad Thornton and his brother, Mike, are making that movie with Charlie Moreau. Maybe they wanted to be extras. Hickory told his housekeeper he would be going out for a meeting, and she didn’t need to leave him dinner. His people closed up the public part of the plantation right at five. The housekeeper was the last person to see him, right about that time, and he wasn’t in uniform then. As far as Corley goes, no one seems to know anything definitive. He was on a research sabbatical, so he wasn’t expected in class. He called a friend and asked her to feed his cats for the next few days, and that’s the last we know of his whereabouts. His home is just this side of Baton Rouge, where he taught.”
    â€œHe didn’t happen to tell the friend what he was up to, did he?” Ethan asked.
    â€œSaid he had some meetings in St. Francisville. That was it,” Randy told him.
    â€œWell,” Dr. Franklin said, pulling the sheets fully over both bodies, “I’ll let these gentlemen get back to rest. Any more questions, Ethan?”
    Ethan shook his head. “Not now, Doc. But—”
    â€œYou can call me anytime. You know that. I’m here.”
    â€œThank you.”
    Ethan and Randy didn’t speak again until they were back out on the street.
    â€œYou coming in to the office?” Randy asked. “You want to see what else we’ve got?”
    â€œWhat else do you have?” Ethan asked.
    â€œNothing except a pretty damned good crime board with times and pictures and everything laid out in one place. I’m going to start interviewing the rest of the people involved in that Journey reenactment, and, after that, everyone else who was on board. Is that what the Feds would do?”
    â€œYep. It is.”
    â€œSo...you coming?”
    â€œGive me an hour?” Ethan asked. “There are a few things I’d like to do. Haven’t even opened up my folks’ old house yet.”
    â€œYou all still own the place?”
    â€œYep. My folks rent it out, but they’re looking for new tenants now, so it’s empty. Worked out nicely for me.”
    â€œAn hour, then. I’ll make some phone calls while I wait for you, get some of the St. Francisville police going door to door to see if anyone heard or saw anything. It’s always quieter and easier to call when the night shift’s on,” Randy told him.
    â€œSee you soon,” Ethan said.
    Just then Randy’s phone rang, and he motioned to Ethan to wait while he answered. After a one-sided conversation consisting mostly of “Uh-huh” and “You’re sure?” he thanked the caller. His expression serious, he turned to Ethan and said, “Ethan, I just got some news, and it’s something you need to