The Night Is Forever

4

Olivia Gordon had appeared irritated—and smug. As if she’d been about to prove to an upstart that her every word was true.

But she was obviously perplexed as they walked into the kitchen. Surprised by something, and off balance.

“What’s wrong?” Dustin asked.

She had the ability to collect herself quickly. “Nothing. Would you like tea?”

“Uh, sure.”

She went through the motions, moving a little too precisely, setting the mugs down a little too hard.

“Black or green?” she asked. “Milk? Sugar?”

“Black or green, and just plain, thank you,” he said. She knew, of course, that he was watching her. “I was going to hear what happened from Marcus?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him as if she wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t her cousin, but he’d come because of her cousin.

“Hey,” he said. “I’ll be honest with you. I’ve wanted to join up with one of Jackson Crow’s units since I heard about them. It’s a hard world to walk around in when you’re the only one who sees and hears things that others don’t. When you talk to the dead.”

Still looking up at him, she flushed.

“He was here,” she said. “He was in the kitchen, telling me how much he wanted to go to the light, but that he couldn’t. And he was sorry, he said, that he doesn’t have all the answers, but he just can’t go into the light. Not until he and the Horse Farm are vindicated.”

She reached for a tea bag. She was still agitated and the tea bag went flying across the kitchen floor.

He set his hand on hers. “Relax. It’s okay.”

“He was right here,” she repeated.

“Yeah. I believe you.”

“So, you’ve come to help. Why did he just vanish? Why did he vanish on me before?”

“He doesn’t trust me. And maybe, despite the fact that he seems to have learned how to haunt you, he may not have the force or the energy to stay around for too long—or at least not in a form in which you can see him. Like he said, he doesn’t have all the answers. We certainly don’t have them, either. There isn’t really any book of the dead. I’ve come across spirits who haven’t learned to communicate, and I’ve come across those who might be any friend chatting with you before a fire. We don’t know why. Then, there are some who are quick to appear before many people—and there are those who only appear after centuries and only because they believe they’ve found the person with whom they need to communicate.”

She stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped back. “Are we okay?” he asked.

“Yeah,” she said thickly. “Want to hand me another tea bag?”

He did. She finished preparing the two cups of tea, picked up both of them and walked out to her parlor. She placed the cups on a coffee table and sat on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her. He sat across from her on one of the old carved wooden chairs. The place was nice, he thought. It was historic, but it had been treated lovingly and had aged well. It seemed to offer the best of the old and the new.

“What do you need from me?” she asked. Before he could answer, she asked, “How did you get here? Do you have a car out front? We’re really not supposed to hang out with guests.”

He leaned forward. “No car out there—I walked. I’m at Willis House and I have the room with the separate entrance. People saw me go into my room, but they didn’t see me leave. Even if they find out I’m not there, they won’t know where I am.”

“You walked? Willis House is several miles from here.”

“Yeah. Pretty country for walking. The temperature is great.”

She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.

“And no one saw me—unless, of course, they were hiding in your bushes. But if someone was messing around outside your house, I think Sammy would’ve known. I heard him bark before I came up the walk.”

“Aaron told me today that he and the others would help me in any way they could,” she said.

Dustin felt his brow furrowing and made an effort to ease it. “They know you’re convinced that Marcus was murdered?”

“I—I didn’t exactly announce that he was murdered. But I did deny that he’d gone back on drugs.”

“Just to Aaron—or to everyone?”

She looked at him warily. “Well, to everyone. We had a meeting at the end of the day. Marcus’s lawyer is going to be at the Horse Farm tomorrow morning to discuss the will. We’re all mentioned in it, apparently. From what we know, the Horse Farm itself goes to Aaron Bentley, but I believe Marcus had safeguards written in. I don’t understand the legal ramifications of any of it. As far as we’re aware at this point, we go on exactly as we’ve been doing. We’re nonprofit, so it isn’t as if anyone stands to get rich.”

“Yes, I know.”

“You know?”

He grinned. “Everyone has access to public records, Olivia. We have access to a little more than that.” He was quiet for a minute and then said, “That’s why it’s hard to understand why someone would have done this.”

“Do you think I’m in denial? Panicking?” Her tone was as stiff as her body.

“I didn’t say that you were in denial or panicking.”

“It’s everyone’s first thought, isn’t it?”

“First thought, maybe. But calling Malachi was the right thing.”

“You know Malachi?” she asked. “You’ve worked with him?”

“Yes, I’ve met Malachi. No, I haven’t worked with him. This is my first assignment with the Krewe of Hunters.”

“What?” She jumped up, sloshing tea, and then set her mug on the coffee table as she stared at him. “What? Oh, I don’t mean to be insulting, it’s just that...I call for help, and my cousin sends a newbie?”

“I’m hardly a newbie, Olivia,” he told her, trying not to lose his temper. She was looking at him as if he’d barely managed to graduate from high school. “I’ve been with the bureau. I’ve been a marine. I’ve been a cop. I think I’m up to the task.”

“I—I—I said I was sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to offend you, but this isn’t... Well, you can see how much good it’s done to go to the police, to anyone—”

“And I told you that I believe you when you tell me you’re speaking to a dead man!” He was letting his voice grow too hard. She didn’t mean to offend. She wasn’t trying to do so.

But it seemed that she didn’t need to try.

She opened her mouth and closed it again, struggling for poise. He kept his own mouth shut, waiting. He was a professional, for God’s sake. He would act like one.

“Okay,” he said at last. “Cards on the table. I wasn’t thrilled to have my first Krewe assignment be a situation in which we’re not even officially invited and in which everyone I meet seems to think I’m a lawman run amok. Half of them assume I shot up a pool of suspects and the others figure I went crazy. Still, that’s part of the job. I said I believe you, and you need to do me the same courtesy. But you have to trust in me and keep me informed. And please don’t worry so much about my credentials. According to Jackson Crow, I’ve been on his radar for a while now, and when this came up, it seemed the right time for him to call on me. I’m from Nashville. I know the city and I know this area. Malachi couldn’t come himself—not with any real validity, or any real chance of blending in with the locals, if you will. Do you understand?”

She slowly sank back onto the couch.

“Yes,” she said flatly. She still didn’t look happy.

He shook his head and leaned forward. “There are laws, and this country has a constitution, Olivia. You’re fighting for a friend. You hoped that Malachi could get the government barging in and demanding that it all be solved. It doesn’t work that way. And that’s why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

“I said yes. My capacity for comprehension is actually pretty good.”

He wasn’t sure if she was trying to lighten up or if she was speaking seriously.

He leaned back again. “Okay, so tell me what happened with you.”

“With me?”

“The day Marcus was killed.”

“I’d had a few sessions and I’d just finished up with the last one when I heard a commotion going on. We knew something was wrong when Sammy came running to the Horse Farm, badly hurt. Marcus loved Sammy. And the dog was devoted to him. If Sammy was there, something had to be wrong with Marcus.”

“You didn’t let Sammy lead you back to him?”

“By then, the dog was exhausted. He’d lost too much blood. Physically, it would’ve been impossible for him to search. We did call the police, and two officers came out to help us look.” She was quiet for a minute, pensive, remembering. “I—I’ve never blacked out in my life before, but...after I found Marcus, I blacked out. When I came to, Aaron was at my side, the police were already making notes and...”

“And?”

“And then Marcus’s body was taken away.”

“Why did you black out?”

She pursed her lips. “You’re from this area, right?”

“I’m from Nashville. But naturally, growing up, I came out to the country plenty of times. Every school kid’s done some of the battlefield tours. I’ve been hiking, camping, skiing...you name it.” She was still quiet.

He smiled. “Ah.”

“Ah?”

“You’ve seen the general,” he said.

She sat straighter. “You know, then—you know about General Rufus Cunningham?”

“Everyone knows about him.” He grinned. “Okay, not everyone, but most people who’ve lived around here. My grandfather belonged to a Civil War roundtable. You know—groups of men who may or may not do reenactments, but who are fascinated by the history of the Civil War. They love to argue strategy. Which side did the right thing when, what could have changed the tide of battle. I’ve been to a few. They’re especially interesting here in Tennessee, because this state was so divided. Tennessee seceded from the Union, but the Union held Nashville early in the war, beginning in 1862. Pitched battles went on around Nashville, but the Confederates never regained the city. When they’re all arguing policy and strategy at the roundtables, they occasionally agree on one thing. Like the fact that General Rufus Cunningham was one hell of an interesting and commendable man. He was out to win back the city, but he was also a humanitarian. When he was in charge, the wounded were helped, no matter what the color of their uniform. He’d take personal and physical risk when necessary.”

She nodded. “It always seemed to me that his death was a terrible tragedy.” She paused again. “Have you ever seen him?”

“Yes.”

“You have?” She asked the question very carefully.

He nodded. “I was about sixteen. We were at the old Brentwood Campground. I’ve heard the acreage has been bought by a large corporation and is due for a major building operation, but back then it was a campground. It’s only a few miles from here and borders the same stream that runs through Horse Farm acreage. I woke up in the middle of the night during that camping trip. I was restless. Didn’t want to wake the other kid in my tent so I went outside. The general was standing by the stream, just staring at it, almost like he was keeping watch. He had a foot up on a rock. He was leaning on his knee with one arm and he held his horse’s reins in the other hand. He looked at me. I looked back at him. He tipped his hat, and I waved.”

“Did he disappear? Fade into the night?”

“No, he stayed there.”

“So—then what?”

“I waved again and went back to bed.”

“You weren’t frightened?”

“No. Are you still frightened when you see the dead?”

“Actually, I haven’t seen that many just wandering around. I’ve seen General Cunningham a few times. But half the world’s seen General Cunningham, or at least a lot of people believe they’ve seen him, so... And I know my cousin’s ghost. Zachary Albright. He’s been around since the American Revolution, but he’s... I don’t know. That was easy. Malachi was there and Malachi and I are the only two in the family, as far as we know, who...talk to the dead.”

“I don’t think anyone would need to be afraid of General Cunningham. He hated the war, hated pain and suffering. I think he stays around to try and prevent it,” Dustin said.

“Yeah. Maybe. And I’m not frightened of him.”

“But...you were frightened of Marcus Danby?”

“It was the way it all happened,” Olivia explained. “First, I found Marcus down in the ravine. Then, I saw General Cunningham up on his horse. Next thing I knew, I was with the body of Marcus Danby when the spirit of Marcus Danby tapped me on the shoulder. Frightened? Stunned? Both. But I’m not afraid of Marcus. He’s so...real.”

“Well, in a way, he is real. He’s just not flesh-and-blood real,” Dustin said.

“Strange dilemma, isn’t it?” she asked, and then gestured with one hand. “Anyway, I’m not prone to hysteria or passing out, but when I was holding Marcus, and Marcus was behind me at the same time, I passed out cold. Just like I told you. When I came to, there was no sign of Marcus’s spirit or the general’s.”

“But then Marcus visited you here?” he asked. “Twice?”

“Yes. This was the second time. But as soon as I walked to the door to let you in, he disappeared.”

“Does he know what happened to him?”

“He told me that Sammy ran ahead of him in the woods, barking. He went to find the dog—and after that, he doesn’t know. So, whoever did this was waiting for him.”

“Or happened to be there.”

“You don’t have heroin available to inject into someone if you’re not expecting to see that person,” Olivia said.

“Unless you were in the woods doing heroin and didn’t want to be found by Marcus Danby.”

“Why hurt the dog?” Olivia asked.

“Maybe Sammy attacked the person.”

“Sammy doesn’t attack.”

He smiled. “Glad to hear it. Or maybe not so glad. Olivia, if someone did intend to kill Marcus—”

“They more than intended it. They accomplished it,” she said. “I’m not making any of this up!”

“I never suggested you were. What I’m saying is that you might have put yourself in danger.”

That seemed to puzzle her. “Me? I have no power over anything.”

“Most murderers don’t want to get caught. Whoever killed Marcus has an agenda, which probably doesn’t include prison. That means his killer doesn’t want an investigation. This person wants Marcus’s death accepted as an accident. Your house is out here—with pasture and forest around it. Do you have an alarm system?”

“I have locks on all the doors and windows,” she told him.

“That’s not an alarm system.”

“You think someone would really break into my house to kill me?” she asked incredulously. “That would hardly be an accident.”

“All kinds of accidents can happen in a home,” he replied. “A fall down the stairs...a hair dryer being dropped in a tub or the sink. A slip on the floor. Trust me, ‘accidents’ can happen. Do you have a gun?”

“Yeah. I have a Revolutionary-era Brown Bess in a display box upstairs. And an 1853 Enfield rifle that my uncle found on this property. I’m afraid I have no ammunition for either of them—nor have I ever fired a gun.”

“You should be able to protect yourself. I’ll see that you have mace or pepper spray, at least,” he said.

“I have Sammy.”

“You just said Sammy’s not an attack dog.”

“But he’ll bark his head off,” she said. “He’ll give me plenty of warning.”

Dustin wasn’t sure that a dog barking was going to be enough. There was property around all the houses here. Lots of woods, lots of distance. No matter how good emergency services might be, it took time to get to the scene of a crime.

It only took seconds to kill.

But for the time being, he let it go and stood up. She stood, as well. “I guess I should go back, just in case anyone’s watching the activity around here. I’ll be back tomorrow night to make sure you’re armed to defend yourself. I’m going to text you my phone number. Get it into your home phone on speed dial and your cell phone’s list of contacts.”

She nodded. He was glad she wasn’t fighting him.

“Is Malachi going to be able to come at all?” she asked.

“I think that’s still up in the air,” he told her. So much for her faith in him.

He didn’t move for a moment, just looking at her. The woman was breathtaking and still, somehow, while she must have considerable strength of will given her work with people and animals, she had a touch of naiveté, too. She was slim and athletic, but well built. Her eyes were that haunting crystalline blue, touched with green. They compelled him to want to watch her; they also seemed to have a touch of vulnerability. Someone had died and, in her mind, he’d been definitely and irrefutably murdered. And Dustin didn’t doubt that she’d spoken with a ghost. She saw things others couldn’t.

Yet she didn’t see her own danger.

He suddenly felt as if they weren’t alone. It was a sensation he knew fairly well; he was being watched. Marcus Danby, he thought.

Marcus was nearby but wasn’t planning to show himself at the moment.

Olivia didn’t seem to be aware; she wasn’t accustomed to waiting for that feeling that was like catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of one’s eye.

“You can go out the back,” she was saying. “If you cut through the forest it’s dark, but there’s a decent moon out tonight.”

“That’s fine. That’s the way I came. My nocturnal vision’s pretty good, and then there’s this modern thing called a flashlight. I always have one with me,” he told her, offering a smile.

She didn’t smile in return. Instead, she looked at him gravely. “Be careful.”

“I’m not the person anyone’s going to be after,” he said.

“Oh? Really? They all know you’re an agent. What if the killer’s afraid you’ll be snooping around and then he wants you out of the picture?”

Maybe she wasn’t so naive.

“But I’m also a big guy who works out, has had training—and carries a big gun,” he said. “That does make me safer.”

“Hmm. All right, I’ll go along with that,” she conceded.

“By tomorrow night I’ll see that you at least have some mace. Friday night, we’ll both do the camping trip.”

“Camping and Ping-Pong,” she said.

“Exactly. Ping-Pong is a great way to get to know the people who hang out at the Horse Farm. And camping will give me a glimpse of a lot more. If we’re going to find out who did this to Marcus Danby, we need to find out why.”

“Okay,” she said. “That makes sense. Come on, I’ll walk you out back.”

Olivia led him through the kitchen, the dining room, something that now seemed to be a family room and, finally, out the back door. She was polite and agreeable.

“Make sure everything’s locked down tight,” he told her. “If someone’s determined to get in, they’ll figure out a way. But it’s best to make it as hard for them as possible. That gives you more time to call the cops or come up with an escape route yourself.”

“I will lock everything,” she promised.

He had the feeling that the minute he was gone, she’d be on the phone calling Malachi and asking him if the agent he’d sent was really capable of getting anything done.

Olivia had never been afraid in her own house before. Now it was inhabited by a ghost who appeared out of nowhere whenever he chose. And on top of that, she was worried that someone might try to break in while she was asleep.

It was still early. She returned to the kitchen, ready to forage through the refrigerator for something to eat. Instead, she walked around downstairs and then upstairs, closing and locking windows. When she was done, she checked the front door again, followed by the back door—even though she’d just locked it behind Dustin Blake.

There was nothing else to lock.

She returned to the kitchen once more only to freeze, startled.

Marcus was back.

“Thank you very much. You made me look like an idiot,” she said.

“I had to see who it was and make a judgment call,” Marcus told her. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he knew I was here.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve walked around the Horse Farm. I even waved my hands and tried to blow cold breath at people. They can’t see me. But this guy—I think he may be the real deal.”

“What are you talking about? He didn’t tell me he saw you.”

“I didn’t say he saw me. I said he knew I was around. I didn’t intend to be seen. Not yet.”

“Why not?” Olivia demanded, annoyed with him.

“I had to be sure he’s the one,” Marcus said.

“The one what?”

“Who could really help. I mean, if they’d just sent you a facts guy, we’d be in trouble. But I think he does believe you, and I know he can see and feel and sense what’s there—and what’s not.”

“You might have introduced yourself at the end, Marcus. And how will all these abilities actually make a difference? You weren’t killed by a ghost—were you?”

“No,” he said. “Someone flesh-and-blood killed me. But...now I’m sorry I asked for help. I want the killer caught and the truth exposed, but I hadn’t—well, I hadn’t recognized the danger I was putting you in.”

Now Marcus was telling her she should be afraid, too!

“So,” Marcus continued, “you have the agent here. He’ll investigate, and you just need to keep quiet from now on. If they say I fell back into drugs, let them say it.”

“Isn’t it too late?” she asked him. “They’re already saying it. And move, please. You’re blocking the refrigerator.”

“I can’t really block it,” he said, but he moved aside.

She reached in and brought out a head of lettuce, shaking it at him. “And quit appearing and disappearing.”

“All right. I’d, um, give you a hand if I could. Since I can’t...I’m going to go prowl around the Horse Farm and see what I can learn.”

Olivia set the lettuce on the cutting board and looked at him. She’d been about to warn him to be careful. She managed to refrain.

“Marcus, why do you think someone wanted you dead?”

“Let’s see. I wasn’t blackmailing anyone. I wasn’t sleeping with anyone’s wife. I wasn’t dealing drugs and I hadn’t robbed any banks. I’ll be damned if I know, Liv.”

“The property?”

“The Horse Farm is nonprofit, and while the management remains in the hands of Aaron Bentley, there’s nothing to be gained by my death. Oh, well, there are specific bequests in the will, but nothing anyone would kill for. Anyway, I’m off.”

“Are you coming back?” she asked him. “I’m so jumpy I actually wouldn’t mind having you around.”

“Keep everything locked up, like the fed told you.”

“But will you be back?”

He smiled. “Of course I’ll be back. I intend to watch out for you through the night.”

Sammy whined and Marcus leaned down to pat his head. Olivia thought the dog couldn’t possibly feel his hand.

And yet it was as if he did.

Then, just like Dustin Blake, he left through the back.

Except that Marcus didn’t have to open the door.

Dustin walked back to Willis House and entered his room by the private door. He put through a call to Malachi and told him he’d been to see Olivia and they’d talked about Marcus Danby. “Do you have anything more on the situation, or on Danby?” Dustin asked.

“Nothing that would explain why anyone wanted the man dead. The property is really only worth anything with a functioning business, and the business only functions if the Horse Farm is successful. The land is valuable to an extent, but there are acreages of similar land if someone was looking to buy, and some of it’s for sale. I don’t think anyone’s crawling out of the man’s past—the Horse Farm isn’t a rehab facility, it’s a therapy center. On paper, there’s nothing our people have been able to find. How is Olivia?”

“She’s fine. I’m sure she’s called you.”

“Not since you’ve been there,” Malachi said.

That was a surprise.

“She was asking about you coming out.”

“I need to handle this delicately. If local law enforcement believes we’re trying to home in on their territory, it could get dicey.”

“Right. Well, as far as I know, law enforcement considers his death an open-and-shut case.”

“What do you think?”

“I think your cousin has spoken to a ghost and that the ghost knows he was murdered,” Dustin said flatly.

“Tread carefully.”

“I intend to.”

“And keep an eye on Liv for me, will you?”

“I’ll do my best.”

They rang off. Dustin figured that since he hadn’t eaten, he might as well go to the diner again. He just might pick up something more than dinner there.

The house was silent as he headed out. The other residents were either gone or in bed. He locked the door behind him, and as he did, he realized Coot was sitting in his usual rocker on the porch.

“Hey, there, Coot,” he said.

“Howdy. Nice night.” Dustin heard the sound of Coot’s rocker moving back and forth.

“I thought I’d go to the café for a bite to eat. Do you want to join me?” Dustin asked.

He thought the old-timer would say no. To his surprise the rocker creaked and Coot stood up and walked over to him. “Sure. Be happy to go along. Thanks for the invite.”

“I’d enjoy the company,” Dustin said, guessing there was more to be learned from the old man.

“We gonna drive?”

Dustin nodded. It seemed like a simpler and safer alternative, with a possible killer skulking in the nearby woods.

Coot knew which car was his and waited patiently at the passenger door for Dustin to open it.

The drive was short. Coot didn’t talk; he merely gazed out the window at the darkened landscape.

Delilah, who was waiting tables again, welcomed them both warmly. Her coffee was fresh, good and strong, and in a few minutes they ordered—the daily special, chicken potpie—and sat facing each other. The café’s only occupants when they came in were a family foursome that appeared to be parents and a girl of twelve or so and a boy of maybe ten.

Delilah, of course, knew all about them. They were the Richardson family and they were driving to Nashville from Colorado; their daughter had won tickets to see the newest sensation on the Nashville charts.

Coot sipped his coffee and stared at Dustin while they waited for their meals.

“You don’t look like you’re in any trouble to me,” he said.

“I’m not in trouble.”

“Thought you law guys hated it when they want you to see shrinks or go through therapy.”

“No, I was ready for a respite. That’s about it,” Dustin responded.

Coot shrugged and lowered his head, trying to hide a smile. Then he glanced up. “I know who you are,” he said.

“You do?” Dustin smiled. “Dustin Blake. That’s my name, sir. Special agent—that’s what I do for a living.”

“I heard about a boy they called Dustin about twenty years ago. I was a reporter in my day. In Nashville, I used to hang out with the cops—I handled the police beat. I’m pretty sure that boy was you. You would’ve been a kid, a few years older than the two at that table over there, when this all happened, but I remember your name. Hell, even the media has some decency. They didn’t let out your name, and maybe I just heard your first name among friends. Anyway, you picked up some knowledge on the street—or in some other way—that helped them find a killer. Am I right?”

Dustin’s coffee cup was halfway to his lips. He paused. It was so long ago. No one ever connected him with the Opry-Buff, as the killer had been labeled, or the police shootout that had taken him out.

“I am right,” Coot said, nodding sagely. “So what are you doing here?”

“I’m enjoying the Horse Farm. Really.”

“Sure. So, you seen the general?”

“Hasn’t everyone?”

“Oh, everyone claims he sits on that warhorse of his up in the hills, ever watching out. But not many really see him.”

“But you have?”

“Yep. I’ve seen him. I’ve had him tip his hat to me. When the mists are lying low over the pastures and fields, some folks see him ’cause they want to. They see him in the cloud patterns, too, on a summer’s day. But there are those who really see him. Like young Olivia.”

Olivia, he thought, had to be in her mid-to late twenties. To Coot that was young.

“And, I reckon,” Coot went on, “you.”

“Who knows what we see and don’t see?” Dustin said evasively.

“I’ve been thinking about Olivia, you know. She’s one special person. The girl could’ve done just about anything, gone just about anywhere. But she’s done some mighty good things instead. Sometimes she’s got kids with autism so bad the parents are at wits’ end, and she can calm ’em down for a few hours and get ’em grooming the horses, laughing in the field. She’s great with the youth-in-rebellion types, too. I don’t want anything happening to her.”

Dustin felt a coldness in his gut. This old man—this old observer—was worried.

“She thinks someone killed Marcus Danby,” Coot said.

“Well, she’s upset. She doesn’t want to believe he went back to his old ways.”

Coot snorted. “You really figure that’s what he did? I didn’t take you for a fool, Special Agent Blake!”

Dustin was careful when he spoke. “So you think someone drugged Marcus Danby and threw him in the ravine?”

Coot narrowed his eyes. “Threw him, or gave him a shove. Yeah. I knew Marcus. A guy like that doesn’t go twenty-odd years, then take a walk in the woods one day and decide he’s gotta have a fix. Think about it, boy. It doesn’t work like that.”

“I’ve seen addicts go in and out of recovery.”

“There was nothing—absolutely nothing—to make Marcus do that. It would be like me waking up and saying to myself, ‘Hey, nice day, think I’ll put a Smith & Wesson in my mouth and pull the trigger.’”

“Everyone else seems to have accepted it.”

“They only see what’s there. They aren’t looking for more. Sometimes people have to look beyond the obvious to get the real picture. Hell, you know that.”

“But who would have killed Marcus—and why?”

“Now, there’s a dilemma,” Coot agreed. “Aaron gets the place, or rather, the management of it and the pay that comes with being boss, even when you’re nonprofit. That means things aren’t going to change much, since Aaron’s been in charge a long time. Marcus never liked being in charge. He liked to be more like a...a shaman walking down from the mountain to impart his words of wisdom and go off on another nature walk. But someone had to be in charge and do the day-to-day work, and that someone was Aaron Bentley. Then, of course, there’s Mama Cheever, as they call her. Sandra Cheever. Why she’s Mama Cheever, I don’t know. Nothing maternal about that woman. More of a drill sergeant type. Schedules are everything to her. She yells at the kids and gets obsessed about upkeep.”

“Why would she want to kill Marcus?”

“He was sloppy? Well, he was. Came in and left his coffee cup wherever, tracked mud into the offices... Ruined her schedules a lot. He’d make an appearance and a whole class might run late.”

“You think that would cause her to kill him?” Dustin asked skeptically.

“No... Just sayin’.”

“What about the students? The clients.”

“The ‘guests,’ you mean?” Coot said dryly. “No. The students come and go. None of ’em that I know of ever had a grudge against the place.”

“Has any kid—or adult, for that matter—ever been kicked out?”

“Nope. Not a one. If there’s problems with a therapist, they just shift people around.”

“How do you know so much about the place?” Dustin asked.

He grinned. “’Cause Marcus was my friend. I’m an old horse-lover from way back. Found a few animals I got him to take. Animals that needed rescuing. There’s a big old Lab-shepherd mix you’ll see around the stables. I found him on the road and Marcus took him in.”

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Dustin told him.

“Thanks. I can see you mean that.”

“So,” Dustin pursued. “If not a student, who?”

Coot shook his head. Delilah was bringing their food. “You’ve heard that old saying?” he muttered. “‘Tell a woman, tele-gram’? Well, it was written for Delilah.”

Delilah arrived at their table, and Coot smiled up at her. “Thank you, Delilah! Looks wonderful.”

“Enjoy!”

She stood there a minute, but they both made a pretense of being fascinated with their chicken potpie.

“More coffee, gentlemen?” she asked.

“Yes, please,” Dustin told her.

She refilled their coffee. Then the family of four apparently needed some directions, and Delilah was distracted.

“I’d say look at those closest to him,” Coot said in a low voice. “Isn’t that what you law types do in situations like this?”

“Usually, yes.”

Coot nodded. “So at the Horse Farm you’ve got two more therapists. You’ve got Mason Garlano. The guy’s great with animals, but too much of a narcissist to be as good with people. I think he’s waiting to be in the right ice cream parlor at the right time and have some Hollywood type ‘discover’ him. He gets some modeling jobs on the side. Mariah Naughton is nice enough. A bit of an edge to her sometimes, as if she believed there’d be more in the world for her.”

“Doesn’t sound like they’d have anything against Marcus, though.”

“No. Then you’re down to the stable managers. Drew Dicksen and Sydney Roux. They’re both decent types, far as I can tell. They run a tight ship there, not easy with the number of animals Marcus was always bringing in. His door was open to any abandoned creature, and I should know, since I brought him a bunch. He’d try to find homes for the cats and dogs, but most of ’em wound up staying at the farm. That meant lots of animals to feed. Lots of housekeeping. Lots of—literally—shit to shovel.”

“So even if you resented him because of the workload or whatever, don’t you think you’d find another line of work before killing a man?” Dustin asked.

“Yeah. There’s the dilemma. Which one would have an agenda? Damned if I know.”

A few minutes later they finished their meals. Coot was insistent that they split the check; he wasn’t taking taxpayer money by letting Dustin pay, he said, but neither was he going to pay more taxes by buying Dustin’s meal.

They rose to leave, setting their money on the table.

About to walk out, Dustin thanked Delilah, who was busy wiping tables, preparing to close for the night. He could honestly tell her the chicken potpie was excellent.

The house was quiet when they returned. But Coot didn’t have any more to say. He started up the stairs to his own room.

“Nice to talk with you, young fellow,” he told Dustin.

“Nice to talk with you, too, sir,” Dustin said politely.

In his own room, he went on his computer to look into everyone’s backgrounds.

Mariah, Marcus and Sydney Roux were all from the area and had families that had been around these parts for over a hundred years. Mariah had already told him as much, at least where she was concerned.

Aaron Bentley was originally from Arkansas, Andrew Dicksen from Biloxi, Mississippi, Sandra Cheever from White Plains, New York, and Mason Garlano was from Austin, Texas.

He wondered if any of that would be significant. Probably not, he assumed—but you never knew.

Olivia had actually fallen asleep when the dog suddenly went crazy. She was dimly aware of a little woof by her side, then the patter of his nails as he raced down the stairs. At the front door, he started a frenzy of barking.

Nervously she jumped out of bed. She looked around the room and realized that Dustin Blake was right—she was virtually defenseless. She thought about the knives in her kitchen and decided they wouldn’t do her much good. If there really was an assailant, he’d just turn her own knife on her. She wasn’t a weakling by any means, but neither did she know about combat.

Her heart thudding, she threw on a robe, then snatched her phone off the bedside table.

The screen told her it was 4:31 a.m.

As she started down the stairs, the barking seemed to come from the back of the house.

She reminded herself that the place was completely locked down.

But...if the person at her door had a gun, he could easily shoot out the locks. If so, wouldn’t he already have done that? It wasn’t as though she had neighbors who’d hear. She hesitated for a split second and then, instead of hitting 9-1-1, she called Dustin Blake’s number.

She wasn’t sure what she thought of him yet.

But at least he wouldn’t think she was an alarmist.

He answered on the second ring.

“There’s someone outside,” she whispered. “Sammy’s going crazy.”

“I’m on my way. Stay back from the windows. Don’t let yourself be seen. Don’t open a door until you hear my voice!”

“Okay.”

She hung up, wondering how long it would take him to get there. She stood at the top of the landing and saw the knob on the front door turn. Someone outside was obviously trying it.

Sammy’s barking escalated and he threw himself at the heavy wooden door.

The doorknob stopped moving. Barely daring to breathe, she stared down at her cell and watched painfully as time seemed to stand still. Then she dropped the phone in her pocket and hurried to the kitchen, where she shoved the knives below the counter to make them harder to find and, without turning on a light, scrabbled around until she came up with her weapon of choice.

The waffle maker. The handle was just long enough for her to get a good grip and the body was hard. It would make a great weapon for a surprise attack-and-run should she need it.