He looked, following the direction of her finger, wondering for a moment if Brenda had managed to arouse the spirit of the long-dead Gazelle.

But there was something by the remains of the old vault there. Something that stuck out in the growing dusk. White...

“Dan?” she whispered.

He didn’t reply. Brenda’s group was entranced by her performance, so Dan got down from the carriage and stepped over one of the broken chunks of fence. Then he jogged over to the chilling white thing they had seen.

He stopped short. It was a leg, or part of a leg, from the knee to the foot.

Beyond it, almost flush against the wall of the old vault, was the rest of the body.

It was a woman, he saw. There was little left of her face: it appeared an axe had sliced through her skull and between her eyes straight through the nose and mouth.

As he fumbled in his pocket for his phone, he felt Katie come up behind him.

“Don’t!” he warned her.

Too late. She was next to him, staring down at the corpse.

“Katie—”

“It’s all right. I can handle it.”

“But we have a group of tourists over there. Katie!”

She was just staring at the corpse. She hadn’t screamed. She was pale as she stared at the blood splatter on the body and the broken bricks and concrete and the twisted remains of the body.

The head bashed in, and nearly severed from the body.

And the left leg, removed jaggedly and just inches from the rest of the corpse.

There was really no telling who the body had once been...

Except Dan had an odd feeling he knew who she was, that he’d been seeking her all through the day.

Axel answered the phone immediately. He would send police, agents and Dr. Vincent right away.

Dan looked at Katie again. “We can’t let the group—”

“Right, right!” she mumbled.

She tore her gaze away from the gruesome sight. “I have to get them out of here, but what do I do? How do I get them away? I can’t force them all back into the carriage.”

“At least don’t let them see this or let them get into the yard. Tell them what you told me. History is often told by the victors, and then by those who feel wronged and are bitter and want revenge in legend, at least. Go tell them what might have been the real story, that there was no love triangle, people just tragically died. There are plenty of real horror stories from the Civil War.”

She nodded woodenly. But then she did as he asked. He heard her telling the group the different theories that might explain the loss of the beautiful home and family cemetery.

She didn’t have to keep them occupied for long.