“Stupid! You bastard, I’m hardly stupid!”
“No? Then you did know what was going on. So, which is it? Are you stupid—or guilty?”
“Neither!” she yelled.
“Who had the key? Who did you tell about your affair? What was the
real
plan—if you didn’t want Aaron dead? And, if you loved him so much, why did you leave his house when you knew your accomplice was in there, lying in wait for him?”
She didn’t answer.
He stood up. “Frank? Frank, come and book her for murder. She’s definitely involved. She didn’t do the killing, but she was in on the conspiracy. She facilitated the killer.” He turned back to Sandra. “But then the whole thing got away from you, didn’t it? Then you started fearing for your own life, right? So you figured you had to keep quiet. Because unless we caught the killer—”
He broke off. He was pretty sure he had it figured out, but he needed to trip Sandra up just once.
He slammed his palms down on the table. “The Horse Farm was supposed to go under, right? But not so it could be sold to a Nashville lawyer.
Right?
”
Sandra glared at him. Then she jumped to her feet and pointed to the one-way mirror.
“It’s his fault—all his fault! Jimmy Callahan! He was always talking about the countryside and how wonderful it is, but he said the Horse Farm was a nothing place. He’s the one who talked about the land, and how someone who came from such a long line of Tennesseans should be the one to own it! Someone like that could turn it into a special destination, he said. It was him—he started it all!”
Dustin turned and stared at the mirror himself; that wasn’t the direction he’d been going with this at all.
Before he could move, Jimmy Callahan burst into the room.
“What are you talking about?” he shrieked. “Oh, my God!”
* * *
Even as Olivia watched Drew, a dark silhouette in the doorframe with sunlight pouring in behind him, he pitched over. She hadn’t heard the whizzing sound that time; she’d been watching Sloan fall before she turned to Drew.
Something told her she needed to get the dart out of Sloan’s back.
She managed to rip out the tiny shaft and drop down by the sofa, ruining anyone’s clear shot at her.
It wasn’t Drew trying to kill her, though, because poor Drew was out on the floor. Sydney?
But Sydney was in the stables.
No, he wasn’t.
“Drew? Hey, Drew! Liv? Sloan? Where the hell is everyone?” Sydney had left the stables; he sounded perplexed, and he was on his way to the office.
“Sydney, no! Go back, get on the phone! Call for help!” Olivia shouted, staying down, hoping she was protected by the sofa—and the drugged bodies of the two agents with her.
Too late.
This time she heard the strange “zzzz” sound.
And she heard Sydney’s body hit the earth, a few feet from the door.
FBI agents are always armed!
Down in front of the sofa, she groped at Sloan’s body until she found the holster at his side. She struggled to find the gun—and get it out without killing herself. She had no idea how to use it.
It was a gun, she told herself; you took the safety off, you pointed and fired.
But even as her fingers curled around it, she heard movement behind her.
“Come on out, Olivia. They’re all down. And I don’t want to hurt you. Not yet. We’re going for a little ride. Don’t you want to buy all the time you can? Come on, now, get up—slowly.”
Olivia’s fingers were curled around Sloan’s gun. She straightened her back, which was toward the killer. Not allowing any other part of her body to move, she slipped the gun into her fingers.
“No more cutesy little dart guns, Olivia. I have a Smith & Wesson trained on you now.”
Olivia stiffened, arching, trying to pretend she was giving up.
She managed to shove the gun under the waistband of her jeans. Then she rose slowly, just as she’d been ordered.
She was terrified. She was going to faint, her knees would give out.... Being afraid could make you smart; that was what Dustin had said.
She hoped the gun didn’t protrude from her belly—or that she wouldn’t shoot off the lower portion of her body.
A shot suddenly exploded over her head, and Olivia froze in shock.
“Just wanted you to know I have a real gun with real bullets.”
She turned to face the killer she should have known.
“Where are we riding to? And which horse am I taking? You nearly killed Shiloh.”
She was answered with a careless shrug. “I had to be sure you’d come here today. So...don’t worry. We have a number of horses to choose from. Let’s go.”
* * *
Dustin drove in the sheriff’s department car with Frank Vine and Jimmy Callahan.
Not one of his phone calls to the Horse Farm had been answered. Malachi and Abby were on their way and backup vehicles, including ambulances, were behind them.
“Explain this to me again,” Frank said to Callahan. “Damn you, Jimmy, why the hell didn’t you figure out what was going on?”
“How was I to know I was dating a maniac?” Callahan demanded. “Frank, we talked about family history. I thought it was really interesting that she could trace her history back so far, and I also suggested that maybe she should consider taking a job in Nashville when it was offered. She might have gotten one of those ghost tour shows—she might have gone really far. I had no idea that...that...whatever!”
They reached the Horse Farm; Dustin paid no heed to the arguing officers.
He saw the prone body of Sydney Roux in front of the house and rushed to him, crouching down to check for a pulse. It was faint. On the porch, he found Drew. He, too, was still alive.
As he rushed into the house, he saw that Jane was trying to help Sloan stagger to his feet.
“Dustin, they used the darts.... We were down.... Olivia... I think Olivia pulled the darts out of us,” Sloan said, and swore furiously.
“Whoever...came in from the back—none of the dogs barked,” Jane told him.
“Where is she? Where’s Olivia?”
“I don’t know. But the attack came from inside the house,” Sloan said. “And whoever it was took my gun...”
Dustin rushed out. Sloan and Jane came tearing after him, but as they arrived at the stables, Jane faltered.
Sloan stayed back to steady her. Dustin swung on both of them. “What’s the matter with you? You’re in no shape to be running around! Wait here—ambulances are on their way.” As he spoke, Malachi came driving in with Abby.
Frank left the stables and headed for Dustin, while Malachi and Abby ran to meet them.
“Two of the horses are gone,” Frank said breathlessly.
“Yeah, and we need to get going. Malachi, tell them—they’ve been hurt. They can’t come.”
Malachi pointed at Sloan and Jane. “You two—emergency attention,” Malachi said.
“Come on,” Dustin urged, “we’ve got to follow quickly. I can’t imagine what she’s planning for Olivia, but if she rode away with her, we’ve got a chance.”
Jimmy Callahan hurried to the stables. As Dustin followed, he heard movement in one of the stalls. He pulled his gun and whirled around.
It was Shiloh. The horse was back on its feet.
“Wait!” Malachi shouted.
Dustin turned to stare at him. “Look, we’re not talking about someone in her right mind here. And she’s just about gone over the edge while being in a desperate situation at the same time.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying we have to be prepared to play mind games.”
“And do you have a suggestion?” Malachi demanded.
“I do,” Jimmy Callahan said, striding between them. “I do. Mariah is crazy about the history here—crazy about General Rufus Cunningham. She’ll say everyone sees him except her, but that
she’s
the one who deserves to know him. If you want—”
“Dammit, tell me what you’re talking about!” Dustin snapped.
“It’ll take another five minutes. Come with me. To Drew’s room. He’s involved with a reenactment group. Come on, I’ll show you.”
Dustin had no idea whether it was going to work or not; it might be his only chance. He was trying with all his might to think rationally, like an agent, and not like a man who felt he’d die if something happened to the woman he, yes, loved.
He looked at Malachi and remembered that he and Liv were cousins and that Malachi must be feeling as torn as he was.
“All right. I’ll do it. I’ve done a lot of reading on the general,” he said.
Five minutes later—as Jimmy had promised—he was ready.
Malachi and Abby were on their way out, while ambulances thronged the drive to the Horse Farm. Various deputies were mounted up and moving, and Chapparal had been saddled and bridled for him. He climbed on the horse and started to leave the stables.
“Whoa!” Malachi held up a hand. “Let’s divide the area into sections. We’ve got a lot of property to cover.”
Callahan was on Battle-ax. “The ravine?” he asked Dustin. “The ravine—where Marcus died?”
“Maybe. Frank, why don’t you take the ravine with some deputies. Malachi, you and Abby stay with me, but give me some space. I’m going to follow the trail to the campground.”
He galloped out of the stable on Chapparal and across the pastures.
If you were crazy and thought you had some kind of divine right to a piece of land—as well as the hereditary right to speak to a ghost—where would you go?
A cemetery.
* * *
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” Olivia said. “You’re a good therapist, Mariah. And I always thought you loved what you did.”
“I’m an okay therapist,” Mariah told her. “You’re the great lover of the downtrodden, confused and drug-addicted. And, oh, yeah, they love you, too. You should see the disappointment on their faces when they find out they’re with Mason or me for the day. Now, what
I
am is a great historian. I can tell you everything about the occupation of Nashville. I can describe every Civil War battle in this state—oh, and I can tell you anything you want to know about Andrew Jackson.”
“I grew up in Nashville,” Olivia reminded her. She felt the gun inside her shirt and wondered if and when she’d get a chance to use it. During the ride they’d taken so far—running the horses hard most of the way—she’d had no opportunity.
Mariah was a good storyteller. She was also a skilled horsewoman. The entire way—gallop, trot, canter and walk—Mariah had kept the gun on her.
And Mariah knew a lot about marksmanship; she’d proven that.
“Yes, you grew up in Nashville. And your good-looking cousin is with the FBI. And you have a great house from your uncle, so naturally you just have to inherit another house from Marcus. And, of course, an agent comes out here with drop-dead looks and
of course
he immediately falls for you while... Never mind.”
“What do you mean, never mind?”
“Don’t pull any therapist bull on me, Olivia. You can’t analyze an analyzer.”
“Isn’t it more like you can’t con a con artist?” Olivia asked.
“Whatever. Give it up.”
“Okay. I take it you plan on killing me, although that’s pretty dumb. They’ll know it’s you.”
“They arrested Sandra Cheever.”
“And you think she’ll go down alone?”
“I’ll call her a liar. She had the motive. She was the one sleeping with Aaron.”
“But she’s in custody now, Mariah. She couldn’t have done this. People will arrive at the Horse Farm. They’ll find all the bodies you left strewn around—and they’ll realize I’m missing.”
“No one saw me. There are dozens of other people who might have done this,” Mariah said.
“You’re crazy. Aaron’s dead. Drew and Sydney are half-dead. Sandra is in custody and—”
“Mason is out there somewhere and, God knows, I’d implicate that crazy old broad at the café.”
“Key words, Mariah—crazy old broad
at the café.
She’s always working, always surrounded by witnesses. When could she have done any of this? But the point is, if you’re going to kill me... What started all this? Marcus was good to everyone. Why did you kill him?”
“I looked it up, Olivia. My great-great-great-grandfather was born on this land.
I’m
entitled to it. The Horse Farm
had
to fail.”
“So you could buy it?” Olivia asked incredulously.
“It’s really my land. I have the right to it. I shouldn’t even
have
to buy it—but I will.”
“It was Marcus’s family land—that’s how he got it,” Olivia said.
“Yeah, well, I went on one of those ancestry sites. And it led me back a bunch of generations. My great-great-whatever was Marcus’s great-whatever’s brother, which means I have just as much right to the land as he did. And then I wouldn’t have to be a so-so therapist. I’d get to be a great hostess for a haunted bed-and-breakfast, and every night I’d give history and ghost tours.”
“You’re crazy.”
“No.” She shook her head. “It should have been so simple. Everyone should just have said, oh, how sad. Marcus Danby became a heroin-whore again and it proves that the whole therapy thing was a pile of bullshit. It would’ve been simple as hell.”
Simple? The murder had been
simple?
“But no...you wouldn’t believe it. You dragged in the law, and then when the law here realized that yes, addicts do fall back, you just had to call your cousin. You know, I was onto you—I knew as soon I saw Mr. Handsome Federal Agent walk in that you’d pulled some strings. Yeah, he needed therapy, my ass!”
“Sandra was in on it, though, right?” Olivia said. “I mean, you needed help, didn’t you?”
“Sandra is an idiot!” Mariah snapped. “She wanted Marcus out of the way because she wanted Aaron running the place. She wanted Marcus’s house, and she wanted Aaron in charge, and she wanted a raise. After that, she wanted the two of them to play house forever and ever. But then, when everything seemed to be coming together once Marcus was dead, it looked like the Horse Farm was going to survive! And Aaron was a jerk—”
“But Sandra just let you kill him?”
Mariah sighed. “Sandra might have been a bad choice as a helper—although she
should’ve
been good. She can be such a bitch, but she’s really a total coward. And dumb! She actually thought what happened at the stream was an accident! I set up the image of the general so I could get all excited and create a diversion before Aaron was found. She didn’t help me. She didn’t even know. I didn’t count on the ripped-up pieces of that cow being all over—they really did make me scream. And it meant I could leave the picture behind, which made everything that much more convincing.”