The Hidden by Heather Graham

constitutional but hadn’t made it.
    Like everyone else at the table, they looked tired and worried.
    “Hello, there,” Ben greeted Diego and Scarlet as they came in. “Join us—we’re busy thinking about all the things we don’t want to do because we’re depressed.”
    “It’s strange,” Gigi said. “I mean, we didn’t know the couple who were killed. We never even saw them, but...”
    “But it feels personal, because it happened right here on the ranch,” Gwen said.
    “And we didn’t even know,” Ben said.
    “We didn’t hear a thing,” Trisha agreed.
    “What were they doing up here?” Clark mused.
    “How did they get up here?” Terry asked. “The police didn’t find a car.”
    “There are hiking trails all through the woods,” Ben said.
    Clark stood suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said to Diego, offering him a hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Clark Levin, and this is my wife, Gigi.”
    The others stood, too, and introductions were made all round.
    “Pull up a chair—be depressed with us,” Trisha said.
    “Thanks,” Diego said, pulling out a chair for Scarlet before sitting down himself.
    Always courteous, she thought. But then, she knew Julia Lopez McCullough, Diego’s mother. And while she was the sweetest woman in the world, she had been an old-fashioned parent and had taught her son manners.
    “Coffee?” Ben suggested.
    “Sure, thanks,” Diego said, filling cups for himself and Scarlet.
    “So you’re a G-man,” Clark said to Diego.
    “A what?” Gwen asked.
    “Government man,” Clark explained, grimacing. “I guess it’s not an expression anyone uses much these days.”
    “What kind of a government man?” Charles asked.
    “FBI,” Diego told him.
    “I feel safer and less depressed already,” Gwen said brightening. “And your friends—are they G-men, too?”
    “Except for Meg. She’s a G-woman,” Diego said.
    “With so many of you here, we really
are
safe, aren’t we?” Gigi said.
    “I told you before that we’re safe,” Clark said. “It’s just a terrible coincidence, that couple being killed here.”
    “The police are certainly investigating every angle,” Diego said. “But I think you’re safe here. At the moment you even have a police officer parked down at the end of the drive.” He turned to Ben. “Just to be sure I have everything straight, was anyone staying in the bunkhouse the night of the murders, or was everyone here in the main house?”
    “Everyone was here. Unless someone specifically requests the bunkhouse, we keep it empty unless we need the extra space.”
    “How was it that no one heard the shots?” Gwen asked.
    “Most of us weren’t here,” Terry said. “I was in town at the moose store. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was great. They’ve got moose shirts, moose mugs, moose welcome mats and wind chimes and you name it,” he said to Diego.
    “But Trisha and I were right here in the house,” Ben said. “And we didn’t hear a thing.”
    “We were watching television, and we had it turned up because someone wasn’t wearing his hearing aids,” Trisha reminded him.
    “Trisha!” Ben said, his face turning bright red.
    Trisha waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s a tiny little thing, but Ben is embarrassed. He’s afraid people will think he’s too old to be fun if he wears hearing aids.”
    “Oh, Ben,” Gwen said. “My sister wears a hearing aid, and she’s only thirty.”
    “Anyway,” Trisha said, “we were watching some cop movie, and it was full of gunfire. We might have heard those shots and not even known it.”
    Linda Reagan entered the dining room from the kitchen just then, shaking her head and setting something in front of Ben.
    “Thank you,” he said, his cheeks coloring again.
    “No problem,” she told him. “I thought you might need them.”
    Linda was tall, about five-nine, with ash-blond hair she kept swept back in ponytail and green eyes. She was far more than the head