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  As he approached her, he wondered how much of what she would say could be believed. He reasoned that if he was wanting to book a trip to a haunted castle in Ireland she might be inclined to tell him a load of crap about cold breezes and floating apparitions, but what would she say when she discovered he wouldn’t be spending any money there?

  All right, so he was the same old Shadoe, overly suspicious, but he couldn’t help it, he was a cop for God’s sake. After spending years on the force, it covered him like moss on a tree. And it wasn’t easy to take it off at the drop of a hat. Over the years he had learned that everybody had an angle, and he would bet a dollar to a donut that the attractive travel agent had one as well. When she learned he wasn’t going to spend a dime there, she would probably toss him off like so much garbage.

  Gently slapping the stiff paper against his palm thoughtfully, he hesitantly approached her and listened to everything she said.

  “Scarlet Bay is a lovely spot,” she assured him. “The windswept shores of the private beach are not far from a ridge that rises up stark and steep. The rocky shoreline below is filled with the most unusual-shaped rocks you will ever see. For thousands of years the surf has worn them into the shape of what looks like human bones. There isn’t another place on earth that you can find rocks like that. Legend has it that the rocks are the bones of a warrior god that met his death on the shore, and when his blood drained into the ocean, it caused the scarlet sunrise. The giant is said to come to life during a full moon to roam the beach, looking for the one who killed him.” She leaned closer, her voice lowering to an ominous tone. “If one night when the moon is full and you hear a strange clatter, look out on the beach. Chances are you’ll see the bones walking around.”

  Shadoe gave a chuckle. “Come on, now. You don’t expect me to believe that, surely.”

  She smiled, expecting his reaction. “I didn’t expect you to believe it, but since it’s part of the legend I have to include it. You understand.”

  “So, is that it?”

  “Not even close,” she said, grinning. “The rocks have marks that have been dug out by the wind and saltwater. One is a perfect horned moon. The geologists call them chanter marks. On a very windy night you can hear a tune being played through those marks. It’s very--” She rubbed her arms as if she had a chill, “--eerie.”

  “What about the sunrises? I see here....”

  “Oh yes,” she said, excited. “The sunrises are absolutely stunning. The sun flames across the sky in a vivid scarlet color, and actually moves in a ripple as the sun rises. It bathes the water and the beach with a deep crimson beauty that cannot be believed. Words can’t describe it, and pictures can’t do it justice. The greatest thrill you will ever have is to stand on that beach and let the sun immerse you in that magnificent scarlet beauty.”

  “So what about the inn? The brochure says it was rebuilt after the Civil War, and at one time it was a favorite place of the stars. What do you know about it?”

  “Yes, here too is a lovely old legend. It’s been said....”

  By the time he had heard everything, Shadoe had to admit that he had underestimated her. Instead of tossing him off, she took time, telling him all about the spooky old legends and making him feel guilty about not spending any money there. Anxious to get started, he thanked her, went home and packed a few belongings, then struck out, heading down I-95 toward a little dot on the map called Scarlet, Georgia.

  Home of the notorious Scarlet Bay Inn.

  CHAPTER TWO

  The dirty little urchin who hid among the trees had no face. She moved in the shadows just inside the woods, busily raking dirt into a mound and mixing it with water. When the mixture was just right she rolled it, squeezed it, then flattened it and laid it on the ground. She furtively glanced around to make sure no one was watching, then carefully put her hand in her pocket and pulled out a match and a candle. She pressed the candle into the top of the little mud cake, struck the match, and lit it. When she saw the flame leap, she smiled, feeling a thrill rush and swirl inside her.

  “I’m eighteen today,” she said excitedly to the small animals that had gathered around her. “I’m grown … a woman,” she said, feeling a rogue wind blow, causing her to shiver. She cupped her hands around the small flame for warmth. “I wish it could be a real birthday cake, but … well … maybe someday.”

  She wore nothing to warm herself in the chill morning air but a tattered thin dress and a handcrafted mask that not only hid her face, but also covered her head. Holes for her eyes, nose, and mouth had been crudely cut out, the edges bound by stitches. A rope of glossy red-gold hair rippled down her back and glinted in the thin sunshine.

  Just then she heard something and quickly leaned down to blow out the candle. Like a skittering animal, she promptly scooted around and hid herself behind the tree. She crouched perfectly still, watching a car slowly roll up the drive and inch to a stop. Her breath caught in her lungs when she saw a tall, dark man emerge.

  * * * *

  Shadoe Madison was a green-eyed savage. A half-breed Indian with dark skin and long hair that flowed down his back like a dark river. He and his Cherokee mother had lived with his father until he died in a plane crash when Shadoe was only three. Not knowing what else to do, she bundled Shadoe up and took him back to the reservation where he lived under Indian rule until he was fifteen. A lot of his mother’s ancestry flowed through his veins, but his father, who had been a Chicago cop, had given him his green eyes and his natural love for law enforcement. His mother called him Shadoe because he had been born in the shadow of the moon, making him the Son of the Moon.

  When he became of age he became the tribe’s Shadow Dancer, and it was his duty within the tribe to perform this ritual. He would paint his face, dress himself in warrior dress, and go to the highest place he could find and perform this dance to the haunting tune of Indian chants. It was believed that evil spirits fled while Shadoe’s silhouette gyrated against the silver brightness of the full moon. During the ritual the tribe sat at his feet, swaying and chanting.

  When his mother died, the only thing she left him was a jade jewel. It became his most prized possession and he had it implanted on his cheek bone, just beneath his left eye. White man might have pawned it, or had it made into a ring or a necklace, but according to the beliefs of his tribe, having it implanted into his skin would honor his mother, and her spirit would become part of him, guiding him through life.

  Soon after her death he left the reservation, walking down a dusty old road thumbing a ride. He’d been happy as an Indian child, but now he belonged in his father’s world, a world he was anxious to explore. City life was new to him, but he managed to fit in. Daily he walked down the city streets with his long hair flying behind him, and the mysterious jade glittering in reflected light. His appearance was that of a young man in keeping with the wild decorations people put on themselves these days, so it was rarely questioned.

  Back then he’d been a pretty-boy type and even married once. But the girl was spoiled and rich, and turned out to be the adventurous type. She had chosen him only because he represented a walk on the wild side and knew their relationship would drive her father crazy. She and her father were part of the rich class, and were constantly playing games with people’s lives. When Shadoe found out about it, he was tempted to put an old Indian curse on them, but instead quietly disappeared into the dusty Texas wind.

  Eventually Shadoe made it to the Police Academy, and knew immediately he had found his element. Now, after looking death square in the face day after day, his handsome features had the troubles of the world tattooed upon them. In his van weren't only his luggage, but a holster and gun that he used every day of his life. He cringed when he thought of all the midnight chases he’d been involved in, and the streaks of fire that had burst forth from his weapon while in gunplay. He hated it, but at the same time he loved it. Someone nearly always died, and someday he knew it would be him.

  Being an undercover
cop with a big city police department had been his dream since the day he found out he was a half-breed. For years he’d seen only the surface of law enforcement, but weeks stretched out into years and he gradually became introduced to the underbelly. He’d seen good cops go bad, dead bodies riddled with bullets, and dangerous criminals caught only to be freed by some stupid judge, or an ambitious, attention-getting lawyer. He’d had a bellyful, and then some, but he continued living in this dangerous world he’d chosen. Homicide, drugs, prostitution, that was his beat, but at the moment he’d been forced to put it all aside.

  Now that he was here, he decided it hadn’t been such a bad idea. The ocean was hidden by trees on one side, but on the other, a path led down to the private beach. He lifted his nose smelling the salt air, and could hear the waves crashing on the bones at the bottom of the ridge. He looked down at the picture on the brochure of the early morning sunrise that bathed the water and beach with an astounding crimson glow that gave the place its name. Even the picture was amazing and gave Shadoe a chill when he considered that the sea turned to blood once a day. It almost seemed as if it meant something. Something hellish. Telling himself he was imagining things, he threw the brochure aside and leaned into his trunk, reached past the holster, and picked up his camera.

  “Okay, Captain, you win,” he muttered to himself while pulling the leather strap down over his head. “I’ll spend a few days here with my trusty camera, go back with a pocketful of snapshots and you’ll....” Shadoe’s words faded when he turned and caught a look at the looming stature of the inn.

  It was beautiful … distressingly so. The aging façade was the face of a cherished silent film star, a wilting rose, a haunting old song, or a bygone era that could never be recaptured. Shadoe could almost feel the ghostly past being lived around him. Another time… another era. The windows had sea green shutters, and a wide veranda wrapped around the mansion, supported by large columns. The wraparound porch had a line of white rocking chairs that rocked in the wind. It reminded him of the haunted visitors that were said to still inhabit this place. The center of the porch formed a semicircle platform with about seven steps leading down to a circular drive of crushed shells, that when catching the sun, sparkled with a rainbow of different colors.

  In the center of the circular drive was a large fountain where the statue of a nude couple stood on a pedestal kissing passionately, water overflowing from a shallow bowl above their heads. On a plaque at the side, he discovered that it was called The Kissing Fountain. It explained that if you threw in a penny you would find your true love. If you looked down into the clear water, you could see the bottom strewn with pennies, no doubt thrown by those who still believed in fairy tales. A wide bench circled it, providing a place to sit and play in the water, or just linger and enjoy the beauty of the couple as they made love against the aging beauty that still existed in the deep South.

  He looked up at the dark tower that pierced the roof on one side. He could almost see the woman who was rumored to float along the widow’s walk during storms, her eyes glowing like coals of fire, and her nightdress flaring out in the wind. On one hand he thought it was ridiculous, but on the other, the possibility of it made the hair prickle along his neck.

  He looked toward the woods, wondering about the hooded creature the agent had told him about. Small in stature, always wearing a dirty, grimy hood. If she did exist, no doubt she was a colorful addition to the inn, bringing in tourists from far and near, all for a few additional bucks. He had to admire the stately magnolias that dotted the grounds, the lush foliage that thrived this late in the year, and a collection of statues placed here and there to lend the landscape appeal. His eyes fell on an angel with a harp, the breeze causing the strings that were actually wind chimes to tinkle sweetly in the moving current. He took a step to get to the path, then abruptly stopped and dug his hand into his pocket. Coming up with a handful of change, he fished out a penny. Looking around to make sure he wasn’t being observed, he tossed it into the fountain. He felt an immediate embarrassment. What the hell was wrong with him? he wondered. First a Barney Fife impression, then this. Yeah, he was stressed out all right. Get a grip, Madison, he told himself, then turned toward the looming old mansion.

  * * * *

  The urchin at the edge of the wood stared. She’d never seen anything like the man climbing the stairs of the portico. His long hair blew wildly in the roguish wind from off the ocean, his frame was husky and muscled, and the shadow of his beard gave him a strong virile look. His teeth were strikingly white against his swarthy complexion, and he walked tall, with confidence. As soon as he reached the door, she turned and ran like the wind. She had to get a better look at the dark-skinned god.

  A welcoming warmth greeted him. He stood for a moment, looking at the distinct French motif. The foyer floor was a striking white and gold marble, the decorative wood, an ornate white and gold French Provincial. The wide staircase coiled like a snake from the upper landing, the bottom curling to face the doorway where he stood. His eyes were busy admiring the bold red carpeting that covered each step until his attention was snared by two large globes of light. The perimeters of the moon-shaped orbs were wide and impressive and their round poles stood at least seven feet. They spiraled high, giving light to the cavernous room in the absence of the chandelier that was rumored to have fallen long ago from the domed ceiling, sending several partygoers to their deaths. These tall, impressive lights that reminded him of street lamps stood wrapped inside the ornately carved balustrade that swirled into a circle around them at the foot of the stairs.

  His eyes moved upward into the ceiling where the light fixture had hung, and saw shadows that seemed to dangle, dancing in the breeze like cobwebs. Strange that it hadn’t been replaced, he thought, then brought his eyes down and looked at the white wrought iron that supported the balustrade as it swirled up the steps in a magnificent design. As his eyes shifted around the room, he noticed more of the lacy white, wrought iron in the form of an elevator that stood in the crook of the winding stairs, no doubt used by those who found the steps a problem. There were towering plants with tangled shadows that stretched across the floor, and a few screens of flower-decorated lattice that gave the formal look of the foyer a warmer feel. A vase of fresh flowers was placed on a table with a marble top that matched the foyer floor, and a lemony scent he knew to be the sweet aroma of magnolia blossoms wafted lightly on the air.

  The final touch that brings the whole picture together, he thought. Very impressive. As the fragrant breeze blew against him, he knew the scent must be piped in through the ventilator system. Looking around, he saw two French doors leading into a plush dining room, also decorated in red and white, a comfortable library, a study, and what looked like a parlor being used as a gift shop. In spite of the sign outside that swirled the name of the inn in bold script, Shadoe had the distinct feeling he was entering someone’s private home. Wondering where everyone was, he set his luggage down and lifted his voice into the emptiness.

  “Anyone here?”

  Receiving no answer, he walked up to the counter that occupied one side of the foyer wall and slammed his palm down on the silver bell, still getting no response. He turned his head when he heard a scuffling noise from behind a plant at the entrance to a shadowy corridor.

  She knew he had seen her and she turned to run, but before she could get away, she heard his barking voice.

  “You there!”

  She abruptly stopped, but didn’t turn because she was frozen with fear.

  He walked over to her and turned her around with a tug on her shoulder. He gasped when he saw the mask.

  She saw his revulsion and dropped her head. “I’m sorry, sir,” she whispered timidly, “My--s-someone will be with you shortly.” He quickly turned and ran down a long shadowy hallway toward the back of the mansion. Only the hollow sound of her running footsteps could be heard.

  As soon as she was out of his sight, she leaned her back against a wall, breathi
ng heavily. It was him, she thought. He had spoken to her, even touched her. And he was handsome … so handsome! She had never seen anyone like him in person. Pictures in magazines … sometimes TV … that was as close as she’d come. But there, standing in front of her he’d been big as life, his beautiful green eyes holding her captive. And he’d had such a masculine smell. She closed her eyes and breathed deep. Just thinking of him was taking her breath away. But then suddenly she remembered the shock in his eyes, and her covered face crumpled in pain. She reached up and tugged at her mask, knowing she could never let him see her face. Thinking of what his reaction might be if he saw her, she emitted a sob and turned quickly and ran away.

  * * * *

  Shadoe was still peering down the hall when he heard a voice behind him, and whirled around. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

  “I asked if I might help you.”

  With an anxious stride, Shadoe hurried to the counter. “That … that girl....”

  “I’m sorry, sir, did she bother you?”

  “No, I … I was just wondering … the mask....” He indicated to his face with his hand. “I’ve never seen anything like it, why....”

  “Her face was mangled. It happened when she was an infant. An animal crawled into her cradle, and… well, we live so close to the woods.”