The Night Is Forever (14 page)

“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 was 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

N
o 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 they’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.

To her relief, their time together wasn’t awkward at all. He was completely natural. Still fun, still quick to smile, even quicker to tease her.

But when he pulled into her driveway, he sat there for a few seconds, looking over at her. It was going to get awkward then, she just knew it.

“I don’t even know how to say what I want to say, what I want you to know. I can’t tell you how much I would have loved to have been with you last night. You’re...spellbinding. That’s the only word I can think of. You must have some idea how attractive you are. More than attractive—beautiful, inside and out. And I admire what you do. But...I wouldn’t want just one night. I’d want a lot more. And we both know what it’s like when people leave—or when you have to go.”

She gazed down at her hands and then raised her eyes to meet his. “When I said thank you, I meant it. You were really decent about the...situation. You were honest—and kind. You’re a good person.” To her, there was no higher praise.

“No, no, I’m not. I spent years being bitter and wondering why I was a freak. Then I spent more years patting myself on the back for being a freak—but for dealing with it so well. I finally figured out that my...unusual skills could be of some service in the right line of... Good? Decent? I don’t know. I’m kind of hard and brash and not always socially adept. I’m constantly looking over my shoulder. But I do care about you, and—”

“I have a dog who must really need to go out by now,” she said.

He smiled, lowering his head. “Yeah. But first...”

She didn’t know what to expect when he opened the compartment between the seats. What he produced was a can that looked like it might contain hair spray.

“Pepper spray,” he told her. “Better than nothing.”

“How does it work?”

“Flip this tab. That’s it—no safety or anything. Flip the tab. Keep it on you at all times, okay?”

“That’s going to be a little tough.”

“Why?”

“I don’t carry things when I’m working. I leave my purse in the office, and I shove my phone in a jeans pocket.”

He sighed with exasperation. “I was afraid of that,” he said. “Keep the pepper spray with you, in your bag, so you have it while you’re in your car, or going to and from your car—whenever you’re out. I’ve got something else that’ll do during the day. This is the best I can manage unless you want to go to a shooting range, and that can’t be done for a while.”

“What is it?”

He reached into the console compartment again. The next thing he took out looked like lipstick.

“This one, you do have to pull the cap. It’s also pepper spray. It works just like a tiny perfume bottle. The spray is small but you can at least aim for the eyes and blind someone temporarily.”

She took it from him. “This will fit in my pocket,” she said. She’d bent close to listen to him and could feel the energy of his body, which seemed to radiate to hers. They looked at each other. She’d already been rejected once, but...

She leaned in even closer and kissed him swiftly. Felt his lips, and the vibrant aura of assurance about him. Something threatened to spring to life and she instantly pulled away—not giving him another chance to reject her. Then she opened her door to get out of the car.

Oddly, she was hurting more than she had last evening. But, of course, he was right. If they got involved, where could they go with it?

“Wait up,” Dustin said, exiting the car and running behind her. He stepped in front, blocking her as they reached the porch. “Someone’s been here,” he said.

She glanced around him at the porch. The dirt she’d left yesterday had been disturbed. He moved ahead of her gingerly, hunkering down to study the prints in the dirt. She bent down to look. “There’s not enough to get a clear impression. But I’d say a man in boots—probably a size twelve or thirteen.”

“That could be Aaron, Mason, Sydney or Drew,” Olivia said. “Or half the men in the area. It’s horse country, farm country—cow country, too. Everyone wears boots.”

He nodded. “But who gained the most from Marcus’s death?”

“Well,” she replied unhappily, “Aaron.”

He stood up and smiled grimly at her. “That means Aaron might have been here. On the other hand, the fact that he benefited from the will doesn’t prove anything. So...it could equally be someone else. And whoever it was may well have come here to hurt you.”

“So we haven’t got anywhere?”

“No. But it’s a good thing you’re getting an alarm put in tomorrow,” he said.

“I have to let Sammy out and feed him.”

He stepped aside, and she started to open the door, inserting the key. She gave him a questioning look before she turned it, despite Sammy’s frantic barking.

He raised his voice. “We already know that whoever came here wears gloves,” he said. “This person wouldn’t have known if you were here or at Marcus’s house, but probably tried both.”

“So, if someone asks where I was last night, what do I say?” Olivia asked.

“My guess is that no one will ask because no one’s going to admit he was hunting you down.” Dustin shrugged. “Or if someone does ask—and there is, of course, a slight chance that your visitor was legitimate—you can say you were going back and forth between the two places. That’s not even a lie. You were at both houses last night.”

Olivia opened the door. Sammy greeted her as if she’d been gone an eternity. “Hey, boy! It was just overnight,” she murmured.

Either Sammy didn’t know it was Dustin’s idea they not spend the previous night there or he was so happy to see anyone human that he leaped up on Dustin in a frenzied greeting. “Down, boy, down, and I’ll scratch ya good, I promise.” Dustin kept his promise, and Sammy barked happily, then headed for the door.

“Does he need a leash?”

“No, not really, but—” Olivia broke off, remembering that the dog had recently been injured. “One of us should be out with him. He’ll just run around and then head to his spot at the side of the house.”

“I’ve got him,” Dustin said. Olivia set her bag down. She hurried into the kitchen to refill the dog’s food and water, then changed her mind. Sammy was coming to work with her. The camping trip was tonight, and she’d leave him at the Farm with Sydney.

She ran upstairs and packed fresh clothes, then exchanged the regular shoes she’d been wearing for her boots. When she hurried down, Dustin and Sammy were back inside. “He’s coming with us today,” she told Dustin.

“Okay.” They went out again, Dustin starting for his car, and Olivia for hers. He made an abrupt turn.

“What’s your schedule today?” he asked.

“Two groups in the morning. A couple of hours with a patient—but only in the pasture—this afternoon. A group meeting with Mariah and the kids coming on the camping trip at five. And then we all head out.” She hesitated. “Are you going to be around during the day?”

“I have some business to deal with, so I’ll need a few hours this morning. Nothing’s going to happen to you while you’re with the groups. I should be back by about noon. First, though, I’m going to see that you get there safely, and please keep that pepper spray handy.”

She waved, and Sammy jumped into the car. “You can hang around the horses but you have to behave, okay, Sammy?”

Sammy gave a pleased whine, obviously grateful that he wasn’t being left home again.

* * *

He could call it professional interest. Or curiosity. Either way, Dustin wasn’t really worried about getting into the morgue.

And, in fact, it wasn’t difficult. He flashed his badge. The handsome middle-aged woman at the reception desk accepted his credentials without question and told him she’d page Dr. Wilson. A moment later, he came out and shook Dustin’s hand.

Dustin told the most plausible story he could, which was—in the midst of his lie—the truth.

“I’m attending the Horse Farm, doing a few sessions there. It’s a vacation with some therapy thrown in. I’ve been on some rough cases lately,” he told Wilson.

Wilson shook his head. “I worked L.A. for a while and wound up doing autopsies on some of the victims of a serial killer—a sexual sadist. I can see where you guys might need a break now and then.” Wilson seemed trustworthy and solid. He was probably in his late fifties, lean, with white hair that was thinning and tufted on top. “Come on into my office,” he invited.

When Dustin was seated in front of him, he asked, “What can I do for you, Agent Blake?”

“I’ll get right to the point. I’m interested in Marcus Danby. I’ve become aware of some, shall we say, dubious circumstances concerning the way he died. What can you tell me?”

“Mr. Danby was buried four days after his death, you know.”

“Four days? It was about eight, wasn’t it, before you let the police have the results of the autopsy?”

Wilson nodded. “I was holding off. Not stalling, mind you, but holding off. I was waiting on a few of the tests I had done because, frankly, I didn’t want the truth out there. Trust me—every move I made was within the law. But I have to say, it broke my heart to release that report. I sent a nephew out to do some sessions at the Horse Farm. Changed his life. Well, I guess the whole rehab thing I got him into had a lot to do with it, but the Horse Farm gave him a new direction. He’s still working with horses. He bought into a hack ranch in the area. Anyway, I had a lot of respect for Marcus Danby.”

“So how did he take the drugs?” Dustin asked.

“It was easy to find. Needle mark right in the crook of his arm.”

“But there was no drug paraphernalia found near him. And it appeared to be a first-time event for Marcus? I heard that he’d been clean for decades.”

The medical examiner nodded again. “No collapsed veins, nothing to indicate he’d relapsed at any point before. Just the one needle mark.”

“And no needles anywhere around him.”

“I work on the human body, Agent Blake. The police are responsible for finding evidence. I can only tell you that Marcus Danby did receive a lethal dose of heroin that caused his heart to fail.”

“No alcohol in his system, or some kind of pain relaxer or antianxiety pill that might have made him want to go further?” Dustin noted that Dr. Wilson had said “received” rather than “shot up” or any other term.

“Nothing. Just heroin.”

Dustin leaned forward. “Do you really believe the man killed himself—accidentally or otherwise?”

“I just look at facts, Agent Blake,” Wilson said.

“Well, thank you for your time. I really have no official standing here, you know,” Dustin told him, getting to his feet.

“No problem.” Wilson rose, too, and Dustin turned to leave.

“Odd, though,” Wilson said in a low voice. Dustin immediately turned back. “Suppose a man who’d been clean for over twenty years suddenly decided he couldn’t take the pressure anymore, that he had to feel the high one more time... Suppose that happened. He was off by himself. He could’ve had a stash in the woods. But...if it were me, I would’ve shot up between the toes, done it somewhere hard to find. That way—if I wasn’t planning on killing myself, and I don’t think Marcus was—it would be much harder for anyone to see.” He paused. “Addicts know about these things, these little tricks.”

Dustin studied the medical examiner for a moment. “Thanks again for your time,” he said. “This has been very informative.”

“Don’t mention it. I don’t even remember that you were here.”

* * *

Matt Dougal, Sean Modine, Nick Stevens, Joey Walters and Brent Lockwood were scheduled to be in Olivia’s early group that morning. They’d be staying all day, helping out at the stables and joining Mariah’s tour and campout that night. Olivia was gratified to be working with everyone in this group.

When the boys from Parsonage House had first started doing group with Brent, they’d giggled behind the young man’s back, making fun of his Down syndrome. Brent had quickly proven how adept he could be with horses; he’d shown them nothing but unconditional acceptance and had beaten the heck out of them in a game of Pictionary following a session.