Krewe 11 - The Night Is Forever

by Heather Graham

  Only, Marcus’s death had been real.

  * * *

  Dustin parked down on the road while Olivia drove up to her house. Although she lived in an area where every home had acreage around it—whether that was owned by the household, pasture belonging to nearby farmers or land owned by the park service—the front of her house was clearly visible from the road. No large bushes provided hiding.

  The hiding places lay to the sides and the rear, where forests flourished.

  In this section of the countryside, “neighbors” were far away.

  He watched, trying not to smile as she came out. He’d given her a small bag of dirt to scatter on the front porch. He wanted to know if anyone tried to drop in on her that night.

  She was actually pretty good at being unobtrusive as she spread the dirt around. He didn’t think anyone was watching the house at that time. He kept a careful eye on the front; he doubted that anyone hiding in the woods would be able to see exactly what she was doing.

  He didn’t believe they were dealing with a master criminal, although he was equally certain the killer wasn’t stupid.

  She hurried down the dirt-and-stone drive to the street where he was parked and slid into the car. She carried a large backpack rather than a suitcase, and he found himself pleased that she’d evidently realized a backpack might go anywhere while a suitcase would advertise the fact that she was going away.

  “Is this the right thing to do?” she asked anxiously, fastening her seat belt. “I mean, shouldn’t we be doing more to pursue the killer?”

  “I can’t burst into homes and demand that people let me interrogate them,” he said. “At the moment, we’re doing what’s most important.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Making sure the killer doesn’t strike again.” He drove in silence as they headed for the highway.

  “You do know exactly where you’re going,” she murmured.

  He lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “I’ve told you—I really am from Nashville.”

  “That was convenient for us all.”

  He couldn’t quite tell what the tone of her voice meant so he didn’t respond. It was already growing late so he drove straight to the restaurant. F. Scott’s was a casual place where some dressed up and some dressed down and the music and food were good. Their table was in a corner by the wall; when they were seated, it seemed intimate. He couldn’t help marveling again that she could look like her cousin—and be so beautiful.

  “Why are you staring at me?”

  He grinned. “Honestly? I was finding it incredible that you could look so much like Malachi—but be so attractive.”

  “Malachi is very handsome!” she said, defending her cousin. “And thank you. I think.”

  “Sorry,” he murmured. “I think.”

  The waitress arrived. Olivia ordered a Jack Daniel’s on the rocks; he opted for the same. They both decided on steak and their order was in.

  She sipped her drink when it was served but still looked restless. “I just wish we could be doing something more.”

  “We actually are,” he told her.

  “We are? How?”

  “Back in the offices, they’re sifting through backgrounds and finding out everything that they can about everyone involved with the Horse Farm.”

  “But you’ve done that, haven’t you?”

  “We just keep going deeper and deeper,” he said. “Trying different approaches and looking for new connections.”

  “And does that help?” she asked. She rubbed the condensation on her glass. “I guess I’m afraid we’ll never get to the truth.”

  He was surprised when he found himself reaching across the table to take her hand. “We will. That’s what the Krewe units do.”

  She nodded.

  And she didn’t pull away.

  “This is all new to me,” she said. “Malachi was working for himself and the next thing I know he’s at the academy. I researched the Krewe of Hunters and read between the lines. I asked him a lot of questions. I was stunned to discover that he’s really happy. He’s engaged to a coworker and...and then when this happened and I called him...”

  “You ended up with me.”

  She didn’t reply; their food arrived. When the waitress left, Olivia cut a piece of meat and asked, “How did you come to be part of...this? How did you find the Krewe?”

  “They found me. Actually, Malachi was partnered in New Orleans with a detective who joined the force in Savannah. And I worked with the same guy, David Caswell, in Savannah. He’d suggested me before your situation came up, and since I do know Nashville and vicinity, it seemed like a good time and place to start.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know what I’m doing,” he told her. “I’d wanted to get in with the Krewe—but you don’t just apply for it. And guess what, Ms. Gordon? I have seniority over your cousin. He got roped into the academy through the Krewe. I was already an agent when I got recruited.” He stopped talking. He didn’t need to defend himself.

  She smiled. “I didn’t say anything. I’m just glad someone believed me. Except that I knew Malachi would.” She inhaled a shaky breath. “How...how did you find out? Are you one of those people who sees them—” She broke off, and lowered her voice. “Who often sees ghosts?”

  He nodded. “Often enough. It started when I was a kid. I used to talk to an old fellow who haunts a tavern—the place where I first met your cousin, by the way—and my parents thought I had an imaginary friend. I think, prior to that, I was intended to be an only child. No, I think I was a surprise myself. But I do know I made them decide to have another.”

  “You must have been a wonderful kid.”

  “Nope. I scared them. Anytime Rayna starts getting uppity with me, I remind her that she might not have existed if it weren’t for my ‘imaginary’ friends.”

  “She gets uppity?”

  “Occasionally.” He shook his head. “But not usually. She’s a good kid. And she’s the perfect product of Nashville. She loves music. In fact, she’s like a kid herself when she sees others perform.”

  “Aha! It’s parental and sibling issues that plague you! We can work on that at the Horse Farm,” she said solemnly, but a small smile curved her lips.

  He grinned, sitting back. “My parents are great people, too. They’re major-league academics and spend their lives pursuing interesting places and knowledge, even in retirement. They don’t see ghosts or believe in them. Ghosts aren’t scientifically verifiable, in their opinion. What about you? What’s your history with ghosts?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve tried to avoid seeing them—or else I tell myself that I don’t see them. But of course Malachi always knew and when I needed someone to talk to about a ghost or...when I was scared, I talked to him.” She smiled. “You may already know this, but Malachi has a live-in ghost who’s friendly, charming and interesting. I’ve always seen General Cunningham, but I guess I usually pretend I don’t. None of this is easy.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s not. So, tell me about the jerk who left you. Did that have to do with you seeing ghosts?”

  “Ouch!” she said, straightening. “He’s not a jerk. No, it had nothing to do with ghosts. He never suspected I saw anything...unusual. He’s in music, like your sister. A producer. He had fabulous opportunities in Austin. He asked me to come with him, but I knew our relationship wasn’t really going anywhere. We were...comfortable together. That’s all we were by then. So, what about you? Did the love of your life slap you down in public for being too inquisitive?”

  He laughed, setting down his fork. “No. No love of my life. In high school, I became involved with the police because I’d seen a ghost. Naturally, I didn’t tell them that.” He hesitated and then shrugged. Her life had been laid bare for him; no reason not to tell the truth. “I was dating the high school prom queen, the puppy love of my young life, when I met Sarah Sharman. She’s dead, by the way, and she was dead when I ‘met’ her.

  “She wa
s standing outside the alley where I’d wait for my sister. I’d pick her up after her private music class. So I talked with this young woman who seemed very sad. After I’d seen her a few times, I guess I wound up having an adolescent crush on her. I said I wanted to take her out somewhere, make her happy. She said, ‘Oh, Dustin, don’t you understand? I can’t go anywhere. I just stay here, and I watch and I wait and I try to help.’ Turns out this killer was kidnapping women and taking them to a derelict meat plant, and what he was doing before they died is...not dinner conversation. Anyway, she gave me some details that I passed on to the police, and they caught him before he could kill the next girl. I claimed I’d overheard a conversation in an alley. It all turned into a big deal, and I tried to hide from it. In the midst of talking to the police and the whole thing, I missed some school, missed some games...and my high school queen ended up with the quarterback.”

  “That was your last affair?” she asked dubiously. “If affair’s the right word.”

  He grinned. “The last one that broke my heart, anyway. I was seeing someone in Savannah for a while. But I was restless, and I wanted to go to the academy. So I guess I’m the jerk. I felt I had to leave. We split up.”

  “And that was it?”

  “Well, there were a few brief interludes. We never exchanged numbers.”

  “Ohh,” she said.

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means...oh.”

  “You don’t approve.”

  “I don’t think it’s any of my business.”

  “You’ve never wanted to have a wild, fantastic night with no obligations?”

  “Sounds...meaningless.”

  He laughed. “Well, it is meaningless. That’s the point.”

  “I guess it’s not me.”

  “You’re never lonely? You’d never like a night where you were with someone, no commitment? Or where you just go out?”

  She shrugged. “I—I’m boring, I guess. I don’t just go out. We don’t have that many places to just go out.”

  “You never come to the city?”

  “We do. Sometimes we all go to the Ryman Center for a concert, or come in to see a movie or...we go bowling.”

  “Bowling is fun.”

  “Bowling is fun!”

  “Hey! I’m agreeing with you. So, let me get this straight. The guy you weren’t really in love with went to Austin. And you decided to remain unattached. Single and celibate?”

  “No. Not that it’s your concern, but I haven’t decided anything.”

  “Ah.”

  “Ah, what?”

  “Online dating!” he said. “That’s the answer.”

  She laughed, shaking her head. “No, but don’t knock it. I do have friends who’ve found the loves of their lives through online dating.”

  “I always wonder what happens when everything looks perfect but you meet someone and you just don’t gel.”

  “Then you part ways. Maybe you should try online dating.”

  “And what do I put? ‘Must love ghosts and be willing to spend long evenings waiting for them to appear’?”

  She smiled at that and smoothed her napkin on the table. “Speaking of ghosts... We’ve got ten minutes to make the downtown ghost tour.”

  “You really want to do it?”

  “I really do.”

  “Then let’s get going.”

  He was afraid she’d argue over the check, but he insisted and she acquiesced. A few minutes later, he was finding parking downtown at the meeting spot, and they joined the group and listened to the stories. Dustin was astonished to realize what a good time he was having with her. They heard a few stories that might have occurred anywhere, like the one about the waitress who haunted a particular bar, serving up ale when people weren’t expecting it. Apparently she was still waiting for her soldier to return from the war. They heard about the four thousand Native Americans who died as U.S. policy forced them from their homes to reservations west of the Tennessee border. They went by the Ryman Auditorium—originally the Union Gospel Tabernacle and still undisputed mother church of country music. Dustin teased her that he could’ve given her a much better tour—an insider’s tour—if his sister had been home.

  When they came to the capitol building, the guide went into a coughing fit and kept excusing himself. Olivia hurried to a nearby bar to get him some water. Dustin was actually feeling so comfortable and relaxed that he offered to tell the story. The distressed guide raised his eyebrows; Dustin launched in. Olivia, running back with a bottle of water, looked at him curiously.

  He bowed to her and began his speech.

  “When Tennessee first became a state, the capital was Knoxville—Nashville was the frontier back then, little more than a wilderness. But by 1806, Nashville was starting to thrive. Yeah...a lot of outlying areas were still wilderness, but she was now becoming a great city. An important city. So Nashville was voted as the capital but the seat of government was just a small building. In 1845, Architect William Strickland was hired to construct the new capitol building. He fought constantly with Samuel Morgan during the many years it took to get the building completed. Morgan, called the ‘Merchant Prince of Nashville,’ had been appointed by the Capitol Commission to oversee construction. The two men did not get into a duel or murder each other, but alas, they both died, William Strickland in 1854, Morgan some years later, in 1880. The capitol building wasn’t complete at Strickland’s death, but he would be interred in a vault within its walls. This honor went to only one other man—Samuel Morgan. Today, people believe, you can still hear the two of them, arguing eternally over the most minute details of construction.”

  By then the guide had recovered. He asked if Dustin would mind if he took over again, and Dustin stepped back beside Olivia. Not thinking, he placed an arm around her shoulders. She laughed at the guide’s antics and didn’t seem to notice.

  When the tour was over, he drove back to the small chain motel, where they checked into adjoining rooms under his name alone.

  He bade Olivia good-night and went to his own room. He’d slipped his Glock into the top drawer of his bedside table and had stripped down to his briefs when there was a knock at the adjoining door.

  He rose and walked over, opening it partially.

  Olivia stood there in a sheer black gown with red trim. It might have been the most seductive garment he’d ever seen—on the most seductive body.

  “Hi,” she said.

  “Hi.” His voice was too deep, too gruff.

  “I...was thinking about those one-night no-obligation flings you talked about.”

  He felt as if he’d suddenly become paralyzed, and then he felt as if someone had set him on fire. He lowered his head, fighting the fierce longing that ripped through him.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmured. “I apologize. I can tell that...” She started to step back, to close her side of the door. He stopped her, his hand firmly on the door she would have closed.

  “Don’t you see?” he asked her, his tone harsh. “I do know your number—and it would mean something.”

  She didn’t fight him. She didn’t run in embarrassment.

  She met his eyes. “Yes, yes, it would. Thank you. Thank you for rejecting me. I think.”

  “I’d never really reject you,” he whispered.

  She looked down and then back up at him, a trace of amusement in her eyes. “That’s very sweet. Thank you again. And good night.”

  Olivia shut the door, and he allowed her to do so. He went to bed, knowing he should have been seeking a killer in his mind even as he fell asleep. He should have been thinking about clues, about putting together small pieces of information in some logical order.

  Instead...

  He dreamed of what the night might have been.

  8

  No way out of it. Olivia was almost certain that the morning would be incredibly awkward. She wasn’t sure why she’d done what she’d done; maybe it was the way they’d laughed together or how much the
y’d shared. Maybe it was simply that she’d been impressed with the man from the moment she’d seen him. Maybe it was the fact that she’d given too much of herself and her life to the Horse Farm.

  It was a wonderful place. No, they weren’t a cure-all or a fix for everything that befell humanity. They didn’t cause autism to vanish; they didn’t make Down syndrome disappear. They couldn’t automatically make an addict see the light. But they did help people learn about trust, self-worth and their ability to control themselves, their own lives, within the world around them. Most important, perhaps, to believe that they could love themselves. All this because of Marcus Danby.

  All of it could be ruined. And here she was, upset about being rejected when she’d made her first sexually aggressive move ever. An action she still didn’t entirely understand...

  But what a nice rejection.

  For a moment, mortification seized her. Did men talk? Would he call Malachi and say, “That cousin of yours is really something. She tried to hop into my bed last night.”

  She didn’t think so—oh, not that men didn’t talk! She just didn’t think Dustin would be so callous.

  She’d just finished brushing her hair when there was a tap on the connecting door. She opened it. Dustin was dressed and ready to go. “I figure you have to be at work,” he said.

  “I do. But I have to go by the house first to take care of Sammy.”

  “Of course. Sorry. I was planning on stopping at your place first, anyway. I want to see if we have footprints on your porch.” He grimaced. “You can tell I don’t have a pet.”

  “You should have a pet,” she told him. “You’d be a good pet owner.”

  “Pets deserve more than I can give,” he said. He glanced at his watch. “Let’s grab some coffee in the lobby and drive to your house. After that, once you get your own car, I’m still going to follow you.”

  “Sounds good.”

  She picked up her backpack and they walked to the lobby, where the motel offered coffee and Danishes. They each filled cups and quickly chose some food.