Marcus was there, in the kitchen. “Wish I could’ve put the teakettle on for you,” he told her.
“That would have been nice.” She put the kettle on and leaned against the stove. “Maybe in time,” she said.
“In time!” he protested, then smiled at her. “That’s almost Biblical. A time to reap, a time to sow—and a time to walk into the light. I want to walk into that light, Liv. I’ve seen it. It’s beautiful. I should go there.”
“Oh, Marcus.” She wanted to give him a hug—but she couldn’t hug a ghost. “Marcus, if the light is there...and it’s what you want, then you should go into it. We’ll get along here, I promise. I’ll do everything I can. Malachi sent an agent out to investigate.” She paused.
Yeah, and he likes to play Ping-Pong and go camping!
“Marcus, have faith. In me, I mean. You can go to the light.”
“No, actually, I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m proven innocent. People do fall back into drugs. But the thing is—I didn’t. So I just can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know why not!” he said, aggrieved. “
You
figure out the meaning of life and death—I sure as hell don’t know it!”
Before she could respond, Sammy suddenly stood up and barked. Right after that, there was a knock on her door.
Olivia stared at Marcus, wondering why she should feel so alarmed. “Why don’t you answer that?” Marcus asked.
She nodded. “Fine. You stay put.”
She squinted through the peephole. The man at her door was Dustin Blake.
Surprised, she opened the door.
“We’re really not supposed to fraternize,” she said. “Not when I’m your therapist.”
“You’re not really my therapist,” he said. “And I’m not really in therapy. May I come in, please? I need to understand a lot more about what’s going on around here. One of our computer whizzes back in D.C. got me a copy of the autopsy report. There was heroin in Marcus Danby’s system.”
“Yes, I understand that. We may be in the backwoods of Tennessee, but we do have a county morgue and intelligent, well-educated medical examiners. I didn’t doubt the report. But the drug was
administered
to Marcus somehow. That’s the point.”
He stood just outside her door, stoic and patient. She recognized that he was kicking into true professional mode. “Ms. Gordon, I would be most unlikely to fault the capabilities of agencies in Tennessee, since I’m from the state myself and continue to love and admire my homeland. What I’m trying to tell you is that the facts of the situation are going to make it very hard. I’m trying to have a real discussion with you and find out everything you can possibly tell me.”
She opened the door wide. “Please come in. You actually don’t need to hear it from me. Would you like some tea, Agent Blake?”
She heard him close the door as he stepped in. Sammy gave a loud woof, then wagged his tail energetically and ran to the newcomer. Dustin Blake leaned down to scratch the dog’s head. “Hey, fellow, you’re a handsome lad. Poor thing, how’s the leg doing?”
“He’s healing nicely, thank you,” Olivia said. She led him into the kitchen; if Malachi had sent this man, if he was part of a Krewe, he must have some sense that the dead could, and sometimes did, speak.
“You should hear it from Marcus himself,” she said, coming around the counter.
But Marcus was gone.
Once more, he’d cut out on her without so much as a wave—now, when she needed him most.
4
O
livia 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?”