“Well, I guess it’s possible,” she said. “You see and do things every day and you don’t really pay much attention to your surroundings. We often keep the horses in the pastures, and we’ve never had to worry about them. Sometimes they hang around the fences. Sometimes they cluster in the corner by the trees. When I get here every morning, at least some of them are usually out in the pasture, unless they’re being brushed for a session or saddled for a ride. They’re always in their stalls at night, but during the day...” She shrugged. “Honestly, you’d have to ask me to count them. Otherwise, I’d assume they were all where they’re supposed to be.”
“So, it is possible someone took him without being seen,” Dustin concluded.
“I guess so,” Olivia said unhappily.
“Anything else?” Sloan asked.
“We found one of our horse-shaped thumbtacks out in the woods. We’re assuming that means whoever tacked up the image of the general brought it from here—and probably came from here.”
“I believe I’ve learned the source of the image,” Jane said. She sat on the sofa with her laptop and opened it. “Five weekends ago, there was an art show at the Opryland Mall in Nashville. It was kind of a big deal. They had name bands playing there, as well as a contest for artists to create props for haunted houses.” She turned her computer around. There was the gauze cloth, with the watercolor and chalk image of the general. A young man of perhaps twenty-two was standing next to it; a judge stood beside him, handing him an award. “The kid who won is a senior at Vanderbilt. His work will go into a haunted house being set up in an old farmhouse near Murfreesboro. His prize was a grant of five thousand.”
“Have you contacted him?” Dustin asked.
Jane nodded. “His name is Simon Latinsky and you can visit him this afternoon. He rents a room on Capri Street. He’s expecting you anytime before five. Oh, by the way—the original, the one we’re seeing in this picture, is already in the haunted house. But he did a few practice runs, which he sold.”
Dustin looked at Olivia, meeting her eyes. “Why don’t we go talk to the budding artist?”
“Okay with me,” she murmured.
“Meanwhile, I’ll spend some time with Sydney and Drew,” Malachi said. “See if I can find out anything else.”
“Maybe one of you could drop by the café,” Dustin suggested. “Delilah is a veritable fount of information and sometimes some of the kids from Parsonage House go there. Oh, if you run into Coot, say hi.”
“I’m going to check up on the whereabouts of your fellow therapists, Mason and Mariah—and I’ll stop by and introduce myself to Sandra Cheever,” Sloan said with a grimace. “I’ve already talked to her on the phone a few times.”
“Really? Why?” Olivia asked.
“According to the last will Aaron Bentley wrote, you’re his executor. And Sandra wants to plan the funeral. Oh, by the way—she quits.”
Olivia groaned. “Another funeral...and I’m not surprised she wants to handle it. All she had to do was talk to me. I’m happy to let her make the arrangements.”
“I don’t think she likes you a lot right now,” Sloan told her.
Dustin nudged Olivia. “Finish your coffee and let’s go,” he said. “We have an art student to see.”
“Sammy and I will hold down the fort here,” Abby said. She yawned. “Maybe take a bit of a nap on that sofa.”
Olivia set down her cup and took Dustin’s hand. “Come on, let’s go. Let’s see what Simon Latinsky has to say.” Sammy let out a mournful howl, as if he knew he was being left again.
“Ah, come here, boy. I’m going to cuddle you while we take a nap,” Abby crooned, enticing him over.
“Just FYI, he’s not supposed to be on the couch,” Olivia said.
Abby grinned at her. “Okay, I’ll be on the couch—and he can sleep on me!”
Olivia smiled. It was evident that she approved of the woman who’d become Malachi’s partner in every possible way.
* * *
Simon Latinsky lived in a turn-of-the-century house on Capri Street near Vanderbilt. When they knocked on the door, the woman who opened it seemed to be expecting them; she welcomed them in and asked if they wanted coffee. They declined, and she directed them to Simon’s room, explaining that she owned the house but rented four of her rooms to students.
The house reminded Dustin of his college days. The tenants seemed to be musicians and artists. He and Olivia could hear someone practicing a guitar as they walked up the stairs, and the hallway was lined with lithographs.
Simon let them into his room. He looked much as he had in the picture Jane had found online.
“Hi!” he greeted them. “Come on in. Sorry, it’s such a mess.” It was a mess. Simon dumped a pile of clothing from a chair and another from the foot of his bed so they could sit. “I heard you’re with the FBI!” he told Dustin.
“I am,” Dustin said, introducing himself and Olivia.
“Cool. But I’m not sure what I can do to help. The lady on the phone was asking me about my General Cunningham picture. She says the sheriff out by you found one—in some trees. The thing is, it can’t be the one in the newspaper photo. That’s owned by Hysterically Haunted Happenings—they’re the guys who had the contest. I was really happy to win. Tuition is stiff, you know?”
“I remember,” Olivia said. “And I sympathize.”
“Hey, want to be a model? What a great face you’ve got.”
“No, but thank you.”
“I didn’t mean a nude or anything. I have a little money now.” He grinned. “I could even pay you.”
“Maybe some other time.” Olivia smiled at him. “If you’re looking for models, we have gorgeous horses at the Horse Farm, not to mention adorable dogs and cats. You could come out and see them sometime.”
“Yeah, a woman on a horse. A naked woman on a horse! Oh, no—sorry. You can tell I like historical images,” Simon said.
“I’m no Lady Godiva.”
Dustin brought the subject back to their original purpose. “My associate told me that you had a few other renderings of the general. Practice runs, she called them. But you sold them all?”
“Too bad I didn’t know I was going to win!” Simon groused. “I’d have held out for more money. Yeah, I did two practice images. They weren’t as well-shadowed or defined as the one I entered, but they were still pretty good. They probably wound up someplace where they won’t really be appreciated.”
“Oh, I think one of them is appreciated,” Olivia murmured.
“So, you sold two. Who did you sell them to?” Dustin asked.
Simon screwed up his face. “We had an art sale right in the yard,” he said. “We do them every few months. Mrs. B.—you met her, she owns this place—is really cool. Some of my friends play their own music, she makes lemonade and sangria and we have a great day. I sold a bunch of stuff, sketches, some watercolors—and the practice pieces.”
“Yes, but who did you sell them to?” Olivia asked, repeating Dustin’s question.
“Well, I’m trying to remember,” Simon told them. “’Cause I sold so much.”
“Was it all cash?” Dustin asked.
Simon brightened. “No. No, I took several checks.... Oh, yeah! I took a check for one of the renderings.”
“Who wrote it?” Dustin persisted.
“Um—a guy,” Simon said vaguely.
“Old guy, young guy?”
“Sort of in the middle. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t keeling over or anything, either.”
“Was he dark-or light-skinned? What color were his eyes? Did he have a beard? How was he dressed? Is there anything you remember about him?”
“Well, he was wearing a baseball cap, I’m pretty sure. I don’t remember his eyes. No, he didn’t have a beard.”
“I already deposited it,” he replied. “Everyone told me I was an idiot to take a check. But here’s the good thing—it didn’t bounce!”
“Simon, I swear we’re not after your bank account, but you must have online banking,” Olivia said. “If you pull up your account, you should be able to find a copy of the check.”
He got up. His desk was piled high with pens and pencils, art sheets and school memos. He brushed them out of the way to get to his computer. A minute later, he’d drawn up his records and hit all the right keys. He swiveled in his desk chair to look at them proudly. “I found it!”
Olivia got up and walked over to stand behind the boy, studying the computer image of the check he’d been given.
She turned to look at Dustin with stricken eyes.
“Aaron,” she said softly. “Aaron bought the general’s image.”
17
“I don’t know how we’ll ever get at the truth,” Olivia said as they drove out of the city. She realized that although she’d discovered something she hadn’t wanted to know, she’d been glad to get away—even if Nashville wasn’t really “away.” Any trip there, however brief, was a pleasure; the city was sophisticated and filled with music and charm and yet still had a small-town feel.
But she loved the Horse Farm, too. She had adored Marcus; she’d cared about Aaron. But Aaron might have gone crazy before he’d died—or been killed. Every clue seemed to lead them in circles.
“We will,” Dustin said in a reassuring voice. He was driving, and she sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, wishing she could roll back time.
“What now?” she asked him.
“I’ll call Frank in a little while and find out if he’s come across anything new.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hungry?”
“Yes, actually. We never did have lunch. We could turn around. I know some incredible restaurants on Elm Pike or back by Music Row.”
He grinned at her. “I was thinking more of the café.”
“I thought Jane was going.”
“Maybe she hasn’t gone yet. Maybe we should all meet up there.”
“And to think I once really enjoyed that café!” she said.
“Grab my phone and call Jane. See if they want to meet us there for an early dinner. Someone should stay at the Horse Farm, though.”
“All right.” As directed, she got his phone. Jane hadn’t been to the café yet; she and Abby had spent most of the afternoon on the computer, hacking into her coworkers’ social network sites.
“You can do that?” she asked Jane.
“Sometimes. Pretty easy in this case. Your coworkers use their email addresses as their user names and the name of one of the horses as their passcodes. It wasn’t terribly hard.”
“And?”
“No red flags, but we’ll talk at the café.”
Olivia leaned back in the passenger seat.
“Tired?” he asked.
She glanced at him. “Well—I’m tired of being on edge,” she said. “Uh, where are we sleeping tonight?” She meant the question to sound very casual.
“Your house,” he told her. “Jane and Sloan will remain at the Horse Farm, and Malachi and Abby will go and stay at Marcus’s house—or more accurately, your other house.”
“Oh,” she said. “Will everyone know that?” she asked carefully.
She thought he was smiling. “I don’t think Malachi will mind.”
“He’s kind of protective....”
“He just wanted to make sure I knew how extraordinary you are.”
“He is my cousin.”
“I assured him that I think you’re completely extraordinary.”
“Ah,” she murmured.
He was quiet for a few minutes. “We’ve talked a little about what others see as our strange experiences. Do you remember the first time you had one of those experiences—when you saw a ghost?”
“It was the general,” she said. “I saw him sitting proudly on his horse. He was so dignified. And I wasn’t afraid.... And, of course, there was Malachi’s resident ghost. He lives in the family home in Virginia. I sometimes wondered when I was young if I really saw him or if it was just Malachi’s way of teasing me. But...he was a good ghost. A family ghost. You’d never be afraid of him. I haven’t spent my life having conversations with ghosts, though. Not the way it seems the rest of you have.”
“Ghosts don’t always have a reason to speak or make themselves known,” Dustin said. “But once you’ve gotten accustomed to the fact that the dead can walk—and speak—you can seek them out. Not everyone, of course. But you definitely have the talent.”
“Talent,” she echoed. She closed her eyes. “If I didn’t have the ‘talent,’ as you say, I would’ve been forced to accept—whether I really believed it or not—that Marcus had relapsed. And in that case...Aaron might still be alive. There might be hope for the Horse Farm.”
“But Marcus Danby deserves justice. You know that.”
“I do.”
“But...” he began. He didn’t finish. It was almost as if he regretted speaking at all.
“But?” she demanded. “Don’t you dare give me a ‘but’ and then go silent!”
He looked over at her. For a moment she wished she’d met him under better circumstances. She loved the line of his jaw, the strength of his conviction and inner resolve and, admittedly, she loved lying in bed with him....
“Jackson would find a place for you,” he murmured. “Jackson Crow. Working with one of the units. You could even be based in northern Virginia.”
She laughed. “Dustin, I know how to fire a tranquilizer gun, but I’ve never held a real firearm in my life. I’m a coward!”
“If we didn’t have the sense to be afraid, we’d be worthless. Fear can consume you—or it can make you wary and intelligent about what you do and how you do it. I’m just saying that if you were looking to move...on to something else...”
“If the Horse Farm goes under and we’re forced to find homes for the animals and sell the land, I’ll have to,” she said.
“It hasn’t happened.”
“It is happening.”
He squeezed her hand again. “We’ll find the truth, and the truth could repair all the harm that’s been done.”
“So far it looks as if our founder died of an overdose and our first-in-command was so off his rocker that he nearly drowned and then managed to electrocute himself in his bathtub. The other alternative—to the average observer—is that one or more people who work at the Horse Farm is a devious, bloodthirsty murderer.”
“The truth could still salvage the situation,” he insisted. “Whatever that truth is.”
They’d driven off I-40 and taken the back road. She could see the café ahead; the SUV in which Malachi and his team had arrived was parked in the lot.
Olivia braced herself to go in.
The Krewe agents already had the largest table at the café, the one at the far end, away from the door. As Olivia and Dustin walked through to join them, Delilah was serving a coffee refill to a lone tourist. She returned the pot to the burner and came toward them and, as Olivia had feared, she threw both arms around her in a huge hug. The last thing Olivia felt she could cope with right now was pity.
“Oh, honey, I am so sorry. I can’t imagine how hard this is for you—all of you. But Sandra, well, she’s a tough bird, and Mariah and Mason just aren’t as invested... Oh, and poor Drew and Sydney! What will they do? They’ve both given their lives to that place!” Delilah said. “Anyway, I’m so sorry about Aaron! Now,” she added briskly, “what can I get you, love?”
“Iced tea would be great, Delilah.”
“Same for me,” Dustin s
aid.
“Well, this table is just one big group of tea drinkers!” Delilah chuckled. “I have chicken potpie tonight, and if I do say so myself, it’s the best!”
“Chicken potpie?” Malachi asked, looking around the table to nods of assent. “We’ll make it easy, Delilah. We’ll all have potpie.”
“Why, that is easy!” Beaming, Delilah bustled off to fill their order.
“I see you’ve gotten to know her,” Olivia said to the others.
Jane smiled. “It’s impossible not to get to know Delilah.”
“What did you learn?” Malachi asked.
“Aaron bought the drawing of the general,” Dustin said, getting right to the point.
“You’re sure?”
“I know his handwriting—and I know Horse Farm checks,” Olivia said.
“But,” Abby argued, “his buying the art doesn’t mean he put it in the forest during the camping trip. Or even if he did, it might have been a practical joke.”
“We don’t play practical jokes,” Olivia said. “Not when we’re dealing with kids who are struggling with addiction or other issues.”
“He might have intended it for some other purpose,” Malachi said. “Maybe he bought the artwork and then someone else discovered it—and took it.”
“And used his horse?” Olivia asked grimly. “I suppose that if anyone had a motive to kill Marcus, it would’ve been Aaron. And, of course, if anyone had a motive to kill Aaron...people would think it’s me.”
“Except,” Dustin pointed out, “by the time it got to you, so much damage would be done to the Horse Farm’s reputation that you really wouldn’t have a motive to kill him—certainly not this quickly.”
“Shh,” Malachi warned.
Delilah came sweeping down on them with a massive tray. Chicken potpies were served with a large plate of biscuits. Delilah fluttered around the table, making sure they had butter, jam and honey for the biscuits, silverware and iced tea refills. When she was finished, she said, “Olivia, honey, have you heard from that lawyer fellow yet?”
Krewe of Hunters, Volume 3: The Night Is WatchingThe Night Is AliveThe Night Is Forever Page 86