The Night Is Forever (19 page)

“You’re confident.”

“Yes.”

“Arrogant, really.”

“No, let’s be kind. Go back to confident.”

She began to pick up their dishes, and he rose to help. As she moved into the kitchen she asked, “Who, then? Mason? His greatest flaw is his self-regard—but he’s still a good therapist. Mariah loves history, is almost obsessed with it, but that doesn’t seem like much of a flaw. Sandra—well, okay, she can be bitchy. I had my head in the clouds about her and Aaron. I mean, I had no idea there was an affair going on. But if they’re in love, and I think they are, it sure doesn’t make sense that she’d try to hurt him, does it? Anyway, Aaron is really a doll. He’s always patient and never loses his temper. As you say, Sydney and Drew are great. They’re both low-key. Drew works with the boys from Parsonage House a lot, while Sydney is more of a loner. He’s the sweetest man on earth, but he does tend to like animals better than people. I don’t really hold that against him. And...you did suspect Aaron.”

He stood behind her at the sink. His arms were almost around her as he set down their glasses. He had to step away. He’d barely heard what she’d said; he’d been breathing in the scent of her hair.

He cleared his throat. “They all have clean backgrounds,” he said. He paused. “None of them have any charges against them, no criminal history or official complaints.”

“Does any of that matter?”

“I don’t know, but finding out everything we can about all of them is important.”

The dishes were done; the kitchen was clean.

“I’ve got to go outside with Sammy,” she said. “Usually I’d just let him out, but tonight...”

“We’ll go with him.”

They walked to the front and unlocked the door, waiting for Sammy, who came running. Olivia stood on the porch, with Dustin just behind her.

“Sammy, stay in the front, please. Do what you need to do and come back in, okay?”

The dog barked as if he understood her every word.

Maybe he did.

When they were back inside, Dustin watched her lock the door.

“I wish we hadn’t missed the alarm company,” she said anxiously.

“It’s okay. We have a dedicated watchdog—and I sleep with a big gun beside me.”

She smiled at that, then yawned. “I...guess I’ll go on up. Like I said before, make yourself at home.”

She turned quickly and ran up the stairs.

Dustin double-checked the door. He walked through the house, checking all the windows but, of course, they remained bolted tight. The way the dog had behaved earlier disturbed him, though. He was pretty sure someone had been at the house—someone other than the mailman or the people from the alarm company.

Satisfied that no locks had been compromised, he returned to the back porch and his computer and tried to focus on the histories of the people involved. He needed to go deeper into their backgrounds, searching for motives, but he had a hard time concentrating. Restless, he stood and called the information line at the hospital; Aaron’s condition was described as “good.”

Next, he called Frank Vine, who seemed grumpy when he answered. Okay, it
was
nighttime, and it had been a long day. Yes, Frank had been in touch with the officers on duty at the hospital and everything was fine; Sandra Cheever was sleeping in a chair next to Aaron. Frank grumbled a little more about the overtime it was going to cost him and hung up.

He’d barely put his cell phone away when it rang. He could tell from his call display that it was Ellie, the young clerk at Willis House. “Hi, Agent Blake. I don’t mean to bother you, but we were just a bit worried. We knew you were off on the camping trip, but then we hadn’t heard from you.... It’s pretty quiet out here, so we tend to worry about other people’s business.”

He smiled. “I’m fine, Ellie. But I won’t be back tonight. Don’t worry—and please don’t let my room go, okay?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t do that, Agent Blake.”

“And I intend to pay for every night, whether I’m in the room or not.”

She giggled. “Not to worry. We’ve got your credit card number. The management
definitely
intends to make you pay. I was just checking that you’re all right. Because, of course, everyone knows what happened today!”

“Everyone knows...what?”

“You’re a hero! You saved Aaron Bentley’s life!”

He winced. “No, Ellie, that’s kind of embarrassing. I’m not a hero. The real heroes are the nurses and doctors and paramedics who save lives every day. I’ve taken a few classes in emergency procedures, that’s all. Pretty basic stuff. And it was more a matter of right time, right place.”

“Yeah? Maybe I should take a class.”

“Knowing first aid is always a good idea—for anyone.”

“Yeah. Well, Coot says hello. He says he misses you and that you should go to the café for breakfast tomorrow.”

“Tell him I’ll try to make it.”

He put his cell away and hesitated for a minute; instinct really did count for a lot in his field. His instincts told him it would be quiet tonight. Or maybe it was pure logic—if the killer didn’t want to be caught, he or she would lie low for a while.

He walked to the stairs and paused there. “Marcus?” he said aloud. But he hadn’t sensed the presence of the ghost. And Marcus didn’t respond.

It was quiet on the second floor. He went into the bedroom and placed his Glock within easy reach on the nearby table. He prepared for bed, then prowled the room anxiously before he settled down to sleep. He was glad Malachi was coming with more Krewe members tomorrow. His concentration was at a low point, maybe because he’d figured out he was a fool. Everything wasn’t forever; everything didn’t need to mean something. Adults encountered one another in life, enjoyed physical relationships, moved on....

Yes. Hell, yes, it happened all the time. Didn’t make people enemies; didn’t naturally make them lasting friends or lovers, but...

Sometimes the attraction was too strong, too much was expected, he told himself. And in those situations, getting involved was a mistake.

Oh, bull. He’d been an idiot to turn her down.

As he lay there, he heard her door open and close. She was going downstairs. He waited for a few minutes and leaped to his feet. There was nothing that suggested a break-in; he was certain he would have heard.

He left the room and walked to the landing. Sammy was sleeping there. He raised his head, wagged his tail when he saw Dustin and went right back to sleep.

Nothing could be wrong if the dog was so sedate and unconcerned, but still...

Barefoot, he moved quickly and quietly down the stairs. As he rounded the staircase, he saw her in the kitchen, wearing a robe, something that clung to her body like silk, making a cup of tea.

“Uh, hello,” he said, wishing he’d grabbed a robe himself rather than running down in his boxers.

“You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said thickly. “I just heard you down here.”

She stared at him. “Tea,” she said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

“Me, neither.”

She let the tea bag fall into the cup and, grinning, walked up to him. If a man could emit sexual desire like sweat, he’d have been drenched. He didn’t move. He was afraid to—for several reasons. There was the way he felt. There was his lack of attire. She was so close he could breathe in her scent, and if he moved, he’d
have
to touch her.

“This is ridiculous,” she said.

“This?”

“Us. Here. Not, um...not. You and me...
not?
”

“I know,” he said.

“You do?”

“I agree.”

“I mean, after all,” she told him seriously, “I’m quite prepared. I’m on birth control. It doesn’t make sense for two people to abstain when the desire is there. And, well, it’s the age of
Fifty Shades of Grey
—and...I want to have sex.”

“Hmm. Just sex?”

“Yes, just sex.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

“What kind of sex?” he asked, but he knew she saw the grin twisting his lips.

He thought she was about to say
normal sex.
But she stopped herself and moved a fraction of an inch closer, her presence touching him without touching him, the heat of her excitement reaching out to him.

“Mmm,” she said softly, eyes alight. “Let’s see. Hot, steamy, passionate, wet, sweaty sex? Energetic, explosive...sensual, vital, vibrant, amazing, incredible... The kind that makes you forget everything else in the world.”

“Okay,” he said. Still, he didn’t touch her. Not yet. Then he asked, “Did you want that once—or twice? If you’d like it twice, I’ll do my very best to oblige.”

“Something tells me you’re up for the job—and that you’ll be pretty good.”

“Just
pretty
good?”

“Possibly excellent. This is all still theory, you know?”

“Theories need to be tested,” he said. “That’s the only way to prove them.” He didn’t know which one of them moved first. She eased up on her toes; he crushed her into his arms. He found her mouth and kissed her, trembling in his effort to control the force of everything he wanted. She returned the kiss and it was passionate...and hot, wet, steamy. His hands were on her and the robe seemed to slide from her skin in slow motion. She was naked beneath; maybe she’d been dreaming of him, of this, before she felt the urge for tea. Maybe she’d even hoped he’d come down.

Maybe
didn’t matter. They were together. Everything in the kitchen—pots, pans appliances—seemed to evaporate. He slid down the length of her body where they stood, his kisses covering her flesh, his fingers sweeping along it. Desire stoked energy, and each time his lips touched a new inch of her, it seemed as though something gripped him and shook him and wouldn’t let him go. He felt her hands on his shoulders, heard her sweet urgent whispers and sought her with ever greater intimacy. She trembled, crying out at last, as she slipped into his arms. Their mouths met in another kiss and he lifted her up, seating her on the counter. She was breathless and beautiful, lips parted softly, eyes intense with sensuality.

He moved against her, thinking about his boxers, but somehow he’d lost them; he couldn’t recall when. Something on the counter crashed to the floor. Neither of them paid any heed. They just began to move, clinging to each other.

He’d wanted her. He denied himself, and now...

The excitement, the urgency, was almost unbearable. His muscles ached and trembled, and everything in him—muscle, flesh, blood—felt the building explosion.

It was inevitable; the moment of climax came and seemed to roar through him with the shattering force of a windstorm. He’d tried to hold out...and yet he felt her fall against him, heard the lyrical tone of her cry as she held him tight, shaking, all but melded to him.

And there they were, on the counter in her kitchen. Tremors continued to rack his body so that he almost feared he wouldn’t be able to stand.

He smoothed back her damp hair, feeling awkward because, as he’d feared, somehow it wasn’t just sex, although it had been incredible sex.

“I think we nailed the sweaty,” he told her, trying to lighten the mood.

He felt her smile before she pulled away to look up at him. Her arms locked around his neck as she leaned her head back.

“Pretty good on the passionate, too,” she said.

“And vital, I think.”

“Oh, yes.” Her smile deepened.

“Did you want to give our theory a second go-round?”

“There’s nothing like checking and rechecking the facts,” she agreed.

“Always important,” he said.

She slid off the counter and into his arms. He ducked down to retrieve his boxers and her robe. They ran up the stairs.

Olivia stopped on the landing, and he nearly plowed into her. He looked over her shoulder.

Sammy had raised his head again. Once more, he wagged his tail—and promptly went back to sleep.

“Thank God!” he said. “I wonder where I’d be if the dog didn’t approve.”

She laughed, caught his hand and led him into her darkened room. The moon was almost full and its opaque glow seemed to shine like a strange and magical blessing.

He fell into bed beside her and felt her hands moving over him, felt the unrestrained passion of her kisses.

“Wow,” he murmured.

“Hmm.”

“Are you ready to try this again?”

“Hmm...”

* * *

“I know it’s a cliché, but...I think the earth moved,” she said solemnly. She rose up on her elbows. Her hair cascaded around her face. He marveled again at her stunning beauty, and he marveled that they were together.

He lay with his hands laced behind his head. He smiled. “Really? The earth moved?”

She shrugged. “Who knows? They might’ve been digging in a nearby mine.”

“
Are
there nearby mines anymore?” he asked her.

“Oh. Maybe not. So the earth moved, and...”

He supported himself on one elbow, facing her. “And?”

“And it was even better than that,” she told him.

“Oh?”

“I forgot the world,” she whispered.

He pulled her back into his arms. The moon shined on.

They might forget the world when they were together like this, but reality always came back soon enough.

As if sensing his thoughts she sighed softly. “Nothing compares to a night like this.” She smiled. “Our theory was a good one.”

“Theories should always be thoroughly proven,” he whispered. “Are you interested in some more fact-checking?”

Her eyes were absolutely hypnotic and dazzling in the moonlight. “I’ll do my best to oblige,” she said.

And she did.

14

W
hen morning arrived, Olivia was glad they’d enjoyed such an incredible night. And glad that they’d slept in each other’s arms.

In the morning, Dustin explained that he’d talked to Ellie over at Willis House and that she’d said Coot wanted him to show up for breakfast.

“Sounds like a plan,” she told Dustin. “The café has a great Sunday brunch. But I wasn’t aware you’d gotten to know old Coot so well.”

“Can’t say I know him
that
well,” Dustin responded. “But I’ve spent some time talking to him and he seems like a savvy guy. He watches the people around him. He appears to be an elderly gentleman simply enjoying the beauty of the countryside as his later years slip by. People wouldn’t expect him to be as observant as he really is.”

“So, we’ll meet Coot for breakfast,” Olivia said.

Before they left, they let Sammy run around the yard for a while, and Olivia lavished some affection on the dog.

Delilah called out a greeting to them as they entered the café and indicated that Coot was sitting in a booth toward the rear. They waved to her and slid into the booth with Coot.

“Morning,” he told them. “I’m just enjoying a ‘Liv’ here. Mighty good coffee. And I’m glad to see you two young people looking so healthy. That was something, what I heard about yesterday morning!”

“Far too much excitement for a camping trip,” Dustin said.

Coot shook his head.

“Could’ve been much worse.” Delilah served some tourists at the counter, then came bustling around to see them. “Why, honey, I am so proud of you!” she said to Dustin. “What you did was
amazing.
”

As he lowered his head, Olivia realized that she was loving more and more about the man; he was uncomfortable when people put him on a pedestal. He glanced at her and a little smile came to his lips. “I think we decided that the ‘amazing’ actually went to you,” he whispered.

She blushed, hoping the others hadn’t heard. Dustin looked up at Delilah. “Honestly, it was nothing more than simple first aid, but thank you, Delilah. I’d love to have a ‘Liv’ this morning.”

“Me, too,” Olivia said. “And I’d also love your Sunday-morning hash and—oh, Dustin! If you haven’t had them yet, you have to try the cheese grits. They’re the best in the South, I swear.”

“Well, then, two ‘Livs,’ two orders of corned beef hash and two orders of cheese grits,” Dustin said.

“Don’t forget the biscuits,” Coot added.

When Delilah was gone, Dustin turned to Coot and asked softly, “You know something?”

“Can’t rightly say I
know
anything,” he said. “But I just figured, what with everything that’s going on, any small thing might be important.”

Dustin nodded. “Yes, you’re right.”

Coot glanced at Olivia. “A bunch of those boys from Parsonage House were in here last night, with one of their monitors. I was sitting at a booth reading the paper.” He shook his head sadly. “Aaron is great with those boys but I guess everyone over at the Horse Farm is kind of on the ‘watch and wait’ list.”

Olivia cringed and stared down at the table. “The monitor was reading a book, not paying much mind to the boys. They were talking about the camping trip.”

“And they said something,” Dustin said, gently urging Coot to go on.

“Yeah, they were trying to reconstruct things for themselves,” Coot told them.

“What did they talk about?”

“Who was where when. Seems Joey saw you go flying out of the tent when everyone heard the scream. He scrambled out himself. He saw Olivia—and she grabbed Drew and they ran off.”

“That’s pretty much what happened,” Olivia said.

“They went on to talk about it, and they said there was one person they didn’t notice until Dustin asked about Aaron. She must’ve been gone for a while, ’cause she came back to the group late,” Coot said.

“Sandra?” Olivia asked.

Coot looked at her. “Yeah. How did you know?”

“She was the only other ‘she’ there.”

“They didn’t see her crawl out of the tent?” Dustin asked.

“They might have—they’re not sure. But they’re certain they didn’t see her the
whole
time. They all mulled it over for a while, but then, of course, they started saying they couldn’t be positive, so they’d best not say anything.”

“Thanks, Coot.” They all fell silent as Delilah came over with their food.

“There you go,” she said, setting down the plates, which were garnished with melon and apple slices. “Now you two eat up. I’m glad you ordered big. This isn’t a morning to be snacking on nothing but tomato juice and a few wedges of fruit. The body needs nourishment.”

“It looks wonderful, and we’re going to enjoy every fattening bite of it,” Olivia assured her.

“You burn energy like a bird in flight, Liv,” Delilah said. “Speaking of juice—want some?”

“Sure, juice sounds great,” Olivia replied. “That will make it a bit healthier, right?”

“That’s exactly what I told Sandra Cheever last night. She said she’d been sitting at the hospital for hours and was going back—but that she had to have something besides hospital food.”

Coot frowned. “Sandra was here last night? I didn’t see her.”

“Oh, she came in before you and the boys.” Delilah made a dismissive gesture. “First she says she has to have some good food—then she turns her nose up at my menu, saying I didn’t have
healthy
choices. Why, I told her to have some juice and a salad and she said I needed fat-free dressings!”

As she spoke, the door to the café opened again.

Frank Vine came in. He nodded to the tourists at the counter and walked back to join them in the booth.

“Strong coffee, Delilah, please,” Frank said as he slid in next to Coot. “Morning, everyone.”

They all greeted him, and Delilah asked, “That’s it, Frank, just coffee?”

Frank nodded. When she’d left, Frank looked at all of them.

He inhaled loudly and rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Aaron Bentley is dead,” he told them.

* * *

Accident. Like hell.

Dustin stood in Aaron Bentley’s bathroom, studying the scene.

Aaron had insisted he get out of the hospital that morning, and he’d been deemed well enough to go home. No problem; a cop had stayed outside his house.

Then, according to the police officer who’d been watching the house, there was a loud hissing sound and the house seemed to glow and then went dark.

He’d rushed in. Aaron had been alone in the bathtub, dead. Somehow, he hadn’t had the sense
not
to place his iPod charger on the back of the commode—next to the tub. It was ridiculous. He’d been saved from drowning only to die in his bathtub—electrocuted.

Dustin still couldn’t believe the man had died so stupidly. Or that such a death could have been an accident. According to the crime scene tech who’d first escorted him through, Aaron Bentley must have reached for the iPod to change it—but knocked the whole system into the tub. It had been plugged in. Electricity had raced through the water like wildfire.

There was nothing in the bathroom to suggest that anyone else had been with him. Dustin’s first question, of course, had to do with Sandra Cheever. She’d been so determined that she was going to stay with Aaron. Where the hell had she been?

According to Sandra—and there were witnesses to verify that it was true—she’d dropped Aaron at home and gone, at his suggestion, to check on things at the Horse Farm. She’d promised to be right back. But by the time she’d returned, the officer on duty had already flown into the house—breaking the lock to get in.

So, the house had been locked, an officer had been on duty, Sandra had been at the Horse Farm—and Aaron had managed to kill himself in his bathtub.

He remained in the tub.

Frank Vine had come to the diner to make the announcement regarding Aaron’s death, then bring Dustin back with him to Aaron’s house.

* * *

Dustin hadn’t left Olivia behind. But he hadn’t brought her in here, either. She and Callahan were outside, waiting. There was no reason for her to see a man she worked with and cared about as he was now, naked and scorched, his eyes still open as if they were about to pop out of his skull, an expression of horror on his face. The smell of singed flesh hung all around them like a musky haze.

“What do you say to this?” Frank asked him.

“I say he didn’t reach for anything—that someone was here and tossed that charger into the water and electrocuted him.”

“There’s absolutely no indication that anyone was in here with him,” Frank said.

“So I hear.”

“You don’t believe it?”

“Bring Sandra in for questioning. And, of course, the medical examiner may find something we’re not seeing. Then again, he may not. Why the hell did the idiot have to take a bath?” Dustin muttered. “He made it so damned easy for whoever was here.”

“He just got out of the hospital. After a camping trip. He was probably trying to relax—hell, why not?” Frank said disgustedly. “There was a sheriff’s car right in front of his house. He must have felt safe and secure.”

Dustin turned around and stalked out of the bathroom. The sheriff’s department, crime scene people and medical personnel were all still at work. He paused in various rooms of the house, looking around, trying to stay out of everyone’s way. He noticed that the medical examiner was Dr. Wilson.

Wilson walked straight over to him. He seemed to be glancing around to see if Frank Vine was anywhere near them and satisfied himself that he wasn’t.

“Horrible business, this,” he said. He lowered his voice. “I have results for you. That dart you brought me. There was a concoction of drugs—some had seeped into the bark. It was a cocktail of stuff, the kind that wouldn’t be found in an autopsy unless specific tests were ordered. The kind that would do a swift number—a real doozy on someone—and then fade quickly away.” He stopped speaking. Dustin turned to see that Frank had come out of the bathroom.

“It’s all right, Robbie,” he told Dr. Wilson. “You’re not conspiring against me. Agent Blake is working this case with my permission and he’s called in a few coworkers, I believe?”

Wilson—apparently “Robbie” to Frank Vine—let out a sigh of relief. “Frank, I haven’t seen anything like this in all my years out here. Best to accept any and all help, I’d say.”

“You might want to remove your corpse,” Frank suggested.

“I’m going to get the body now,” Wilson said. “At least we know the time of death,” Frank pointed out. “The deputy made a note of it. Not to mention that all the clocks stopped at 10:23 a.m.”

“I’ll get Aaron down to the morgue and get right on this.” Wilson shook his head wearily. “Hell, twice. Men I liked, men I admired. This is a sad day for all of us.”

As he returned to the bathroom. Dustin looked at Frank Vine. “I still say you bring Sandra in.”

“There were witnesses who saw her when this happened,” Frank argued. “She was nowhere near the house.”

“She still might know something. See if Aaron was talking about having anyone over, or if he said anything to her about what he planned to do,” Dustin said. “We’ve got to shake this up, Frank. There could be other victims.”

“You coming down to the station?” Frank asked him.

Dustin nodded.

“What about Olivia?”

“I’m not letting her out of my sight,” Dustin replied.

Vine didn’t protest; he just nodded. “All right. I’ll have her brought in.”

“Have your men checked whether there’s any sign of forced entry?” Dustin asked. “Windows?”

“None.”

“Is there a back door?”

“Yes.”

Dustin walked toward it. He used a paper towel he grabbed from the kitchen to check it. There was no bolt, only a push lock, the kind you could depress as you were leaving and the door would lock behind you.

“Someone could have left this way,” Dustin told Frank, who’d come with him.

“Yeah, they could have left this way, but how would they have gotten in?”

“With a key.”

“Not Sandra. An officer followed them from the hospital. She let him off, waved to the deputy watching the house and drove away before Aaron even went inside.”

“That doesn’t mean someone else wasn’t already in the house,” Dustin said.

Disposing of the paper towel, Dustin walked outside. Olivia was leaning against the car; Deputy Jimmy Callahan stood next to her, arms crossed over his chest, looking vigilant. When he saw Dustin, he nodded and walked into the house to talk to Frank.

Olivia gazed mutely at Dustin, her eyes beseeching him to tell her it wasn’t true.

She knew it was.

She didn’t cry. Her face, though, was pinched and tight. She was in shock, he thought. Two men she’d worked closely with, two men she saw almost every day, were dead. He wanted to tell her to cry, that it was all right.

But she spoke before he could.

“Have they informed the others yet?” she asked.

“I think someone from the sheriff’s department was calling—trying to reach the Horse Farm to let Sydney and Drew know what happened. I’m sure they’ll try to contact Mason and Mariah, too. They’re going to pick up Sandra now.” He indicated a news van down the street, held back by an officer in uniform. “The media have picked up on it. The police always try to make the first notification.”

“Of course. It’s dreadful to hear that something horrible has happened to someone you know via the TV or radio or— They’re going to pick up Sandra? Why? Sandra wasn’t even with Aaron when he...died....”

“They have to rattle some cages. They’ll start interviewing everyone now, wanting to know where they were every second.”

She nodded. “I’d like to go to the Horse Farm. I just want... I want to tell Sydney and Drew that we’ll do everything in our power.... That we’ll hang in there.” She looked at him. “Dustin, if someone wanted the Horse Farm—I’m the next person in line.”

“Yes,” he agreed.

“So people can’t be dying for the Horse Farm—I mean, there is no Horse Farm if we don’t have any clients. Any guests.”

“I know.” Dustin looked straight ahead as he drove, hardly able to bear her stoicism, her emotional restraint. He knew she had to be suffering and understood that she wasn’t ready to express her grief.