But while they’d had handsome high school and college football heroes, a number of pro athletes, musicians and some of the people who pulled major strings on Wall Street, they’d never had anyone quite like Dustin Blake.
He was the topic du jour.
Drew Dicksen stepped in from outside. He walked directly over to her and the table with the ever-present coffee service.
“Hey, how are you doing, kid?” he asked her.
He seemed to look at her with concern all the time now.
“I’m doing all right. How about you?”
“Fine. Fine, thanks. So, you met the new guy.”
“Yeah.”
“How did it go?”
“Okay.”
Drew leaned against the wall, pensively watching the back room. “I wonder why he’s really here.”
“Pardon?” she said, startled. Did people know?
He smiled and lowered his voice. “I mean, what did he do? The kids talk about it constantly. They think maybe he cornered a serial killer—and shot him down rather than arresting him. Or he freaked in the middle of a tense situation. They keep making up scenarios—and they’re making me wonder, too.” He laughed. “In fact, it’s hard not to join in with their fantasies.”
“I doubt that he freaked out, or that he’s violent. If he was, I don’t think he’d be here,” Olivia said pragmatically.
“He’s sure got a rapport with kids,” Drew said.
“The kids adore you, too. More than that, they respect you.”
“Most of the ones we get are good kids,” he said. “Don’t worry, I’m not jealous. My real job is basically pooper-scooper. And he’s an FBI guy—where’s the comparison?”
“Andrew! You and Sydney save animals, animals found in the worst possible conditions sometimes. You care for them, and you keep everything in this place running.”
“Don’t say that in front of Aaron!” he said with a laugh. “Me, I don’t want to be an FBI man. I’m not at all fond of the concept of people shooting at me. Can’t help but be curious, though. So how did he do today?”
“Fine. He worked well with others and seems to know horses.”
“He is from Tennessee.”
“Drew, not everyone from Tennessee rides horses,” she reminded him.
“No kidding?”
Olivia rolled her eyes.
They heard a loud shrill of delight. “We won!” Joey cried happily.
“Rematch tomorrow!” Sean shouted back at him.
Sandra Cheever suddenly appeared, marching over to the boys. “Tomorrow being the key word. Out, young ’uns. We have to lock up.”
“Aw...”
The kids began filing out for the night. They all said their goodbyes to Olivia and Drew. Joey paused by the door. There was a sign-up sheet for the history/ghost tour and camping trip Mariah was planning to lead on Friday night.
Joey paused, turning around. Olivia thought he was talking to her at first when he asked, “Are you going?”
Then she realized that Dustin Blake was standing right behind her.
“What is it exactly?”
“Mariah Naughton. Remember, she was talking about it at the diner last night? We take the horses and ride out to sites that aren’t part of the National Battlefield Parks. I mean, they can’t own everything, and there was Civil War action all around here. She talks about Tennessee battles, the ghosts that remain, and then we go set up camp by the stream. It’s really cool.”
“Seriously, nothing here is really cool, man,” Sean said, sticking his head back in and placing his hands on Joey’s shoulders. “But it’s the coolest thing we get while we’re in purgatory.”
“You’re right. I do remember. Sounds great,” Dustin said.
Olivia glanced at him, trying not to frown. Ping-Pong and camping? That was how an agent worked?
Joey scribbled on the sheet and turned back to Dustin. “I put your name down, okay?”
“Thanks.”
Aaron had come out of his office. Sandra—herding the boys out the door—was now behind Dustin.
“Guess I need to get out of here, too,” Dustin said. “Thank you. I’ve heard about this place for years. It’s fantastic. Good day for me.”
“Glad to have you, Agent—Dustin,” Aaron said.
As he walked out, Aaron turned to them. “Drew, can you get Sydney? And, Sandra, can you find Mariah and Mason? We need a little meeting.”
Five minutes later, they were all seated on the couches and chairs in the entry room. Once everyone had settled in, Aaron said, “We have to decide how to handle this situation. First, just to let you know, Sandra and I have rescheduled all our sessions for tomorrow—the lawyer’s coming in the morning.” He cleared his throat. “I guess you’re all aware that Marcus was the end of his line. I believe, since he and I discussed it many times, that the facility was left to me, but no one can be certain of anything until his attorney reads his final will and testament. I know, as well, that he left something from his life for every one of you. There are also clauses that protect the property and the livestock in the event of my death. So...that’s one thing. The other is...we have to decide on spin.”
“Spin?” Mariah asked.
Aaron exhaled. “Well, the information about the autopsy is out. Naturally, in today’s age of instant information and social media, it was inevitable, and some people are going to make a big deal of it. We all know the autopsy revealed he was on drugs. The blood tests made that clear. I saw Marcus that morning—he was fine. In fact, he was in a great mood. What happened to make him relapse after all those years...I don’t know. The thing is, it puts us in a bad light. What good does any of this therapy do if the man who founded the Horse Farm died while on drugs?”
“He didn’t take drugs willingly,” Olivia said firmly.
They were all silent, looking at her. She knew that pitying stare. They all believed she just couldn’t accept it.
To her surprise, Sydney Roux, Drew’s partner in looking after the stables, spoke up, too. He stood to do so; Sydney was an old Tennessean. His grandparents and their grandparents had grown up in the nearby hills. He was a gentleman to the nth degree. He fingered the baseball cap he’d removed when he entered the office as he said, “I can’t believe it, either. I remember I was in my room above the stables one evening when he came by. I’d been drinking a beer and I tried to hide it. He told me, ‘Sydney, I’m an addict. You’re not. Don’t go thinking you can’t have that brew because I stopped by. I’m long past my trigger days.’ And I believe that—just like Olivia believes it. Something happened. Someone tricked him.”
“If only,” Sandra murmured.
“How could we ever find out? How could we prove such a thing?” Mariah asked. “We had cops out here. They searched with us that day.”
“They didn’t find anything!” Olivia said, sitting up straight.
Aaron looked at her. “Right.”
“Don’t you see? They didn’t find anything. They didn’t find heroin, crack or anything else on him—and they didn’t find a needle in his possession. Where were the drugs or the paraphernalia he would have needed?”
Sandra came and sat on the edge of the sofa by her. “Oh, Liv, the acreage here seems to go on forever and we’re surrounded by forests. He could’ve left stuff anywhere on the property and we might never find it. A hundred years from now, when they’re digging the place up to build condos, they might come across a broken needle or something and wonder what the hell?”
“Someone else could have put it in him,” Olivia said stubbornly.
Sandra looked helplessly at Aaron.
“I don’t know what happened and I probably never will. And it doesn’t matter. Marcus was one of the greatest men I’ve ever known,” Aaron said. “The point is h
ow do we handle this?”
“With honesty,” Mariah said. “What other way is there?”
“We downplay it,” Mason insisted. “We tell the truth. We’re honest. But we say that it never happened before—and that is the truth. We say that Marcus had thirty years of clean living, and many people—and animals—benefited because of him. And that we’re continuing on in that fine tradition of faith and belief.”
“Mason,” Mariah said. “That was wonderful! If you get tired of being a therapist, you can go into public relations.”
Olivia nodded. “It really was a good statement.”
“And it’s the truth,” Aaron agreed. “All right, then. We just lie low. When asked, we say that we don’t know what was going on in his mind at the end but that we loved him and he did a world of good. We’ll say that we’ll never forget him or what he gave to others. However, don’t bring up the subject unless you’re asked. So, everyone, have a good night.”
“Wait, wait, wait,” Olivia said, rising. “I think what we’ve talked about here is important. We also need to find out what happened.” She looked around at all of them. “Do you honestly think Marcus just had a stash out in the woods? That he had it there for a long time—just in case the day came when he suddenly broke after decades of clean living? We need to pursue the truth.”
“How?” Mariah asked. “We’d need an army to comb the property and the woods. There are just seven of us. The police have other things to do, and we’re not asking clients—some of them addicts—to look for drug paraphernalia!”
“There’s his house,” Olivia said, turning to Aaron. “If his house was searched, we’d at least know he wasn’t using there—or considering it.”
Aaron left out a soft sigh. “I believe that, as of tomorrow, the house will be mine. You can search to your heart’s content, Liv. And if any of us thinks of a forest hidey-hole, we can search that, too. Liv, I don’t know what else to do!”
“I’ve been in his house,” Sydney said. He worked the cap furiously in his hands. “I went to get his suit for the funeral home. I didn’t search the place, but it’s not big, and I sure as hell didn’t see anything that would indicate Marcus had lost it. Of course, that was before they released the autopsy report.”
“Maybe tomorrow night you and I can go back,” Olivia suggested.
“Yeah,” Sandra said. “Oh, Olivia, honey, I know how much you loved Marcus. But what can we possibly prove?”
“That he didn’t fall back on drugs, Sandra! It could mean everything for the Horse Farm.”
“You search his house tomorrow night if you want,” Aaron said. “Olivia, you can do anything that’ll make you feel better, and when you need our help, just say so.”
She had the feeling that what he really meant was emotional help; still, it seemed that Aaron was on her side, and that mattered.
“Thanks,” she told him.
“So the attorney is coming here at ten,” Aaron said. “See you in the morning.”
They all moved. Some of them would get into conversations about Marcus—or about Dustin, Olivia knew.
She didn’t want to get into a conversation.
She drove home. Sammy greeted her and she stroked the dog’s back and spoke to him for a minute before she looked around downstairs.
“Marcus?” she called.
There was no answer. She went up to her room and changed into comfortable sweats, then came back downstairs.
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
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.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 66