5
Dustin’s phone had rung at exactly 4:32 a.m.
It took him until 4:34 a.m. to throw on some clothes, his holster and gun, jacket and shoes and to sling his backpack over his shoulder. He was out the back door in ten seconds, in his car in another twenty and speeding down the road. Thankfully, walking distance to her place from Willis House was less than fifteen minutes at a brisk pace and driving there—even with the winding Tennessee country road—was about six minutes.
His eyes were on the house as he pulled into her driveway. But there was just one car there and no sign of anyone. Jerking to a halt, he leaped out of the car, still surveying his surroundings, and raced to the front door. He could hear the dog barking inside. “Olivia, it’s Dustin.”
The door flew open. “Sammy, it’s all good. It’s Dustin, a friend.”
She had evidently been waiting for him; she was wrapped in a long velvet robe. Her hair was mussed but she was as striking as a lingerie ad.
Her features were tense; her whole body was tense. She gripped the handle of a good-size waffle maker.
“You all right?” he asked.
She nodded. “But someone was here, Dustin. I saw the front door being tried. The knob was moving. And Sammy...well, Sammy knows when someone’s there.”
“But you’re certain no one got in.”
She shook her head. “Sammy would know.”
“Stay here. I’m going to take a look around.”
“Oh, no, no. I’m not staying alone,” she said. “Sammy and I are coming with you.”
She might be frightened, but there was determination in her eyes.
“Get the keys. If we’re both going out, we’ll lock the front,” he said.
She picked up the keys sitting on the buffet near the front door and frowned. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at his backpack.
“Supplies,” he said.
She arched her brows.
“You’ll see.”
She followed him out. A look at the front door yielded nothing, of course. Digging into the backpack, he came out with his fingerprinting kit, quickly dusted the door and searched for prints.
“Well?” she asked him.
“Smudges.”
“What does that mean?”
“There should’ve been prints. Your prints and other prints, all on top of one another. I think someone had gloves on and made a point of smudging the surface, as well.”
Resealing the container of fingerprint powder, he searched the porch. There’d been no dust on it and no snow, and there wasn’t the faintest sign of a footprint. As he walked slowly down the porch steps, he continued to search, playing his flashlight over the dark grass and nearby shrubs.
He wondered if his movements were being observed.
He paused when he reached the ground.
Olivia Gordon plowed into his back, she was so close behind him. She still held the waffle iron in a death grip.
“Sorry,” she murmured.
“It’s all right.”
And it was. He’d rather liked the feel of her—vividly warm, sweet-smelling, seductively shaped—crushed momentarily against him.
Suddenly aware of what he was doing—and feeling—he stepped forward. An expanse of clear rolling ground lay to the front, rear and sides of her house. The front yard stretched out to the road, and there was forest on either side of the cleared land. He could see trails, some more established than others, leading through the trees. He made a mental picture of the area; he already knew the way to Willis House through the woods. If he moved to the rear, he could take the trail that led over the hills to the pastureland and then on to more trees, more rolling hills and the Horse Farm. The stream that went through the area for several miles could probably be reached through the rear of the property, as well. Anyone who’d been here could have gone anywhere, in any direction. Her nearest neighbor was down the hill a few acres away; trees separated them.
He’d need an army to find someone out there.
He walked around the house with Olivia at his heels. Sammy trailed along, wagging his tail. The dog was a perfect monitor, and his actions certainly didn’t signal that anyone else was present. Whoever had been there was definitely gone.
There was no indication that anyone had tried to break window locks, although he could well imagine the route someone might have taken to do so.
When he’d completed a circuit around the house, Dustin inspected the ground as best he could in the dark, with only his flashlight to provide illumination. He headed toward the trail that wound through the trees and led to Willis House, but there was no sign that someone had come through. It might not have meant much in any case, since there was national parkland that wove in and out around them. People could easily wander off government land and onto private property without ever knowing it.
At last, he stopped and turned to look at her.
“I’m sorry. There’s no way for me to find anything now.”
“That’s okay,” Olivia said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
“It’s what I do, ma’am,” he said lightly.
She turned and walked back to the house. He followed her thoughtfully.
“We’ll have coffee,” she said. Then she stopped and looked back at him. “Well, I guess that was presumptuous. I’m going to make coffee. It’s past five and I don’t see any reason to go back to sleep. But, of course, you might want to. Anyway, Sammy and I are fine now. Really.”
He could tell that she wasn’t fine; she was afraid. But she was going to try hard not to show it.
“Coffee would be great, and you’re right. It’s morning. It’ll be light soon. No sense going back to bed.”
She unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping on lights. She paused for a minute, as if trying to sense something.
“He isn’t here, is he?” Dustin asked.
“Marcus, you mean?”
“Right.”
“The bastard said he was coming back. To watch over me. He didn’t.”
“In all seriousness—although I suppose he could warn you if there’s trouble—I’m not sure what he could do. You made the right call. The pun’s accidental, but it’s still true.”
“You’re better than 9-1-1?”
“You tell me.”
She didn’t answer, but moved on into the kitchen. There were old attractively refurbished stable stools in front of the counter. Dustin sat on one of them, watching as she returned the waffle iron to a lower cabinet and set about making coffee.
“I don’t understand,” she mused. “Why would someone come to my house like that? It would be hard to break in during the middle of the night and make it look as if I had a terrible accident.”
“When someone with the right agenda wants in, they’ll get in,” Dustin said. “But no one tried to break a window or shoot up a door. My guess is that this was just a trial run, a way of testing the waters.”
“So someone’s out to get me—because of what I’ve been saying?” she asked.
Sammy whined and settled at his feet. Dustin leaned down for a moment to pat the dog. When he looked up, she was at the counter, waiting for him to face her, waiting for his reply.
“I would guess that’s it, yes,” he told her. “Here’s the good thing. Whoever’s doing this hasn’t gotten to a point where they’re desperate. This person is just...researching the situation right now.”
“What should I do?”
“Tell everyone you’re getting an alarm system.”
“And then?”
“Get an alarm system.”
“Oh!”
“Listen, no one else believes that Marcus met with foul play. Well, other people might suspect it, but the police found nothing that would
lend to more of an investigation than the one that’s been done. You can’t blame them. They found you with a man who was already dead. Thankfully, he’d been dead for hours, or you might’ve ended up as a suspect. But they found a man who’d been an addict dead with heroin in his system. There was no one around and no sign that anyone had been. There were no obvious marks on his body, other than those attributed to the fall.”
“There were also no needles or drug paraphernalia,” she reminded him sharply.
“True, but no addict keeps his stash where it can easily be discovered.”
The coffee gurgled its last and she poured them both cups.
“The attorney’s coming to the Horse Farm today to explain the will and dole out the individual bequests Marcus left.”
“Just go, listen, watch other people. And as soon as possible, call an alarm system company.”
“You don’t think that’s kind of paranoid?”
“Paranoid is better than—” He broke off. He’d been about to say dead. “You’ve heard the old adage a thousand times. Better safe than sorry.”
She smiled at that. She’d known what he’d been about to say. “Would you hang around down here for a few minutes while I go up and get ready for the day?”
“Of course.”
She’d drunk half her coffee. Leaving it, she turned around and dashed up the stairs.
He was going to be sorry to see the beautiful robe go, he thought.
Restlessly, he walked the ground floor of the house, checking windows as he went. The place was sealed tight. He sat in the parlor, thinking about the psychology of what had happened. Whoever had done this wasn’t a serial killer with a penchant for a certain physical type; this was a person or persons with an agenda.
Dustin knew he should be looking for someone who was after something that wasn’t obvious. Or maybe Marcus’s killer had been seeking revenge for some reason. But if revenge was the only agenda, why come after anyone else?
No, fear of discovery had to be the motive for targeting Olivia Gordon. What did she know that she didn’t even realize she knew?
And how far was the killer willing to go to safeguard a secret?
Olivia came down the stairs, Sammy at her heels. It was barely seven and beginning to get light outside.
He rose. “I have an idea. Go to the café in your car. I’ll get my own car and follow you. You are allowed to dine with ‘guests’ if you happen to arrive at a restaurant at the same time?”
“Yes, we always run into people at the café and there’s never been any kind of policy against sharing a meal. After all, we do the camping trips, Mariah runs her ghost tours... I’m sure that ‘running into you’ will be fine.”
She seemed grateful for the suggestion.
He collected his backpack; she picked up a shoulder bag.
“All right, Olivia, I know I already mentioned this, but it’s important. You need to make it known that you’re hiring an alarm company.”
“What reason would I give for suddenly doing that?”
“You say you heard noises—and that you’re far away from anyone else. You’re just feeling nervous, that’s all.”
“Okay,” she said.
They headed out.
At the door, Sammy whined. “You need to protect the homefront,” Olivia told him, then locked the door, checking it a couple of times.
She got in her car; he waited until she was safe inside, backing out onto the drive. Then he followed. As they approached the café, he slowed his car. He wanted her to be there for a few minutes before he joined her.
And yet, he wondered if whoever had attempted entry at her house had been there all the while, hidden somewhere in the trees.
Watching him watch Olivia.
* * *
Olivia was the first customer to arrive at the café that morning. Behind the counter, still setting up, Delilah looked at her with surprise. “Liv, honey! What are you doing here so early?”
“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and I didn’t feel like my own company,” Olivia explained.
Delilah nodded as if she understood. “I hear ya, honey. I know you people at the Horse Farm have to meet up with Marcus’s attorney this morning. That’s going to be hard for you.”
“I’m okay, Delilah,” Olivia said. And she was, although she felt angry with Marcus. Not the anger that typically came with grief, in which a person was angry about being abandoned by a loved one; she would have recognized such an emotion. No, she was angry with Marcus’s spirit—a spirit who showed up to shock her and then disappeared just when he was needed. A ghost who didn’t bother to return when he’d promised he would.
“I’ve just gotten this new-fangled machine in here.” Delilah pointed at a shiny silver contraption. “Makes a perfect espresso every time, according to the box. You want to try one?”
“Hmm. I’d love a cup of regular coffee—with a shot of espresso,” Olivia said.
“Hey, great idea. Maybe I should try one of those myself. I’ve been working long hours lately. My waitress—you remember that sweet young thing, Genie?—she took off for Nashville last week. Decided she was going to get a job in the city. Can’t say as I blame her. I mean, folks out here like country and the city is close enough...but a young girl? She needed more. So, anyway, to make a long story short, I’ve been filling in mornings and nights. But I own the place and Steve back there has been my cook for the past twenty years. Reckon we’ll make it till we get some help.” Delilah grinned wickedly. Steve was her husband as well as her chief cook and bottle washer.
“If I hear of anyone looking for work, I’ll send them your way,” Olivia said. She pulled out her smartphone and started looking for area alarm companies.
“What ya doin’, honey? Can I help?” Delilah asked.
“Oh, I’m going to get an alarm system installed,” Olivia replied.
“Out here? We never have trouble out here. Of course, I’ve got my man and a shotgun if anyone’s going to give me trouble!”
Olivia shook her head. “I don’t have a man or a shotgun.”
Delilah wagged a finger at her. “You should get yourself a man, Liv. Pretty little thing like you. Just ’cause that ornery Bill Preston decided to up and head on out of your life... And that was more than a year ago!”
Olivia sighed. She’d been in an almost-live-in relationship with a music promoter. After a trip to Austin, he’d discovered some great opportunities there. It had come time for her to weigh the importance of the relationship. She hadn’t been in love. Not enough to leave.
“Bill’s a good guy—we were just going different places, Delilah.”
Delilah tsked at her, then selected a little pod for her new machine; her frown became a smile of pleasure when her espresso machine instantly began to steam up and pour out dark brown liquid. She prepared the coffee, added the espresso and set it before Olivia. “I should name this concoction after you!” she said proudly.
“Oh, I don’t think it really needs a name,” Olivia told her. “The chain coffee shops have it already, I’m afraid. They just call it coffee with a shot of espresso.”
“Here’s it going to be a ‘Liv’!” Delilah insisted.
The door opened and Dustin made his entrance. “Morning, Delilah,” he said. “Good morning, Olivia.” He walked up to take a seat at the counter beside her.
“My, my, you folks are up early today,” Delilah remarked. “Nice to see you, Agent Blake. Sorry—Dustin.”
“Thanks.”
“How about a ‘Liv’?” Delilah offered.
“A Liv?” he asked with a question in his eyes as he smiled over at her.
The man had a good smile, Olivia thought. At the moment, it revealed charm and a touch of amusement. He really was a perfect man—lean, hard-muscled and fit. His
skin was slightly bronzed, his eyes a striking deep green and his shock of neatly clipped hair defined the concept of auburn.
She hoped he couldn’t read her thoughts. She felt her cheeks flush and spoke quickly to cover her embarrassment. “I happen to be the first person Delilah’s ever served a coffee with an espresso thrown in. She’s going to call it a ‘Liv’ from now on.”
“Oh,” he said gravely, turning to Delilah. “Sounds wonderful. Looks wonderful. How does it taste?”
“It’s excellent,” Olivia assured him.
“Guess when you’re up and at ’em this early, makes good sense,” Delilah said. “So, did you find an alarm company, hon? I can’t really help—we never needed an alarm around here, you know?”
“I found one.” Olivia stood up. “Excuse me while I give them a call.” She walked down to the end of the little diner. The office was open and she arranged for a technician to come out on Saturday. That was the earliest someone would be available.
It would have to do, she told herself. Two days. She returned to her chair.
“Any luck, honey?” Delilah asked.
“Yeah, I’m all set up.”
Delilah turned to Dustin. “I said I couldn’t advise her. I’ve got a shotgun—and a man.” She nodded knowingly, then gestured at Olivia. “Can you imagine? This sweet young thing was with a fella who lit out for Austin!”
Olivia could feel Dustin’s eyes on her.
She groaned. “Delilah, he’s making a great living in Austin and I’m happy for him. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”
“Some people are fine, you know,” Dustin said. There was amusement in his voice. But he seemed to sense her discomfort and changed the subject.
“I’d love to have a ‘Liv,’ too,” he said. “And some of your pancakes, please.”
Olivia decided on an omelet.
Whistling, Delilah conveyed their orders to Steve and set to work on Dustin’s coffee. After glancing at Olivia and obviously trying not to grin, Dustin chatted casually, asking her how they went about choosing the right horses to work with people.
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 69