“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.”