The Night Is Forever koh-11

by Heather Graham

  She walked away to fill his order. He picked up a copy of the free local paper, which was only six pages—mostly ads, a few columns of local news. The restaurant was small, and even if he wasn’t interested in what was going on around him, he wouldn’t have been able to avoid eavesdropping.

  Two of the boys were cutting up, stealing another boy’s baseball cap and tossing it back and forth.

  “Stop. Give it back. We’re in a restaurant,” the older man said. He didn’t yell, but he spoke sternly and they listened to him.

  One of them complained teasingly, “Hey, Joey had a good day. He was out with Olivia Gordon for half the afternoon!”

  “Yes, and you had your horse therapy session, too,” the older man said.

  “Yeah, yeah—but I had Aaron.”

  “Aaron’s great with the horses—and with you kids,” the older man said.

  “Joey’s happy he didn’t get Aaron, right, Joey?” one of the boys joked.

  Dustin could just see Joey. The kid was blushing.

  “Joey’s got a crush on his therapist!” another one teased.

  “I don’t have a crush on her—you guys have a crush on her!” Joey protested. “And it’s dumb. She thinks we’re all kids.”

  “You are all kids,” the older man said.

  “Hey, Drew,” one of the boys said. “Did you ever try to date her?”

  The older man laughed. “I’ve known Olivia Gordon since she was a kid, and no, Sean, we never dated. She was a Nashville girl, and we met when she came out here to visit her uncle.”

  “So? City girls didn’t date country bumpkins?” Joey asked.

  “No, Olivia was never like that,” the man, Drew, said. He was smiling; it was evident that he liked Olivia Gordon, too. “She’s always been nice to everyone, and she’s very serious about her work. So don’t go making life miserable for her, huh? She’s...”

  “She’s what?” Joey demanded.

  “She’s just different,” Drew said. “Special. And a really fine therapist, so you all behave like gentlemen when you’re around her, y’hear?”

  “Yes, sir,” one of the boys who’d teased Joey said. “This whole thing, though... It’s all a little hypocritical, isn’t it?”

  “He’s talking about old Danby going back on the juice,” another boy said.

  “Hey, that’s nothing but a rumor,” Drew said firmly. “Certainly at this point. I’m not even sure how it got started.”

  “But what if the rumor’s real?” Joey asked.

  “I don’t believe it,” Drew said. “I knew and worked with Marcus for years. But if he did go back to drugs, well... Hell, that’s not what you want for yourselves. Found dead in a ditch. Anyway, he shouldn’t be remembered for his relapse, if there was one. He should be remembered for everything he did right—for people and animals!”

  Delilah stepped between Dustin’s booth and that of the group. The boys ordered, and when they spoke again, they were subdued. In another few minutes, Delilah brought out Dustin’s order. “Enjoy!” she said. She rolled her eyes toward the boys and Drew at the end of the dining car and hurried back around the counter.

  The food was good, the corn bread as excellent as Ellie had told him it would be. But when he was done eating, Dustin stood and walked over to the group’s table. “Hello,” he said. “My name is Dustin Blake. My apologies, but I heard you speaking about the Horse Farm. My first day there is tomorrow. It sounds like you all think highly of the place.”

  Drew started to rise in greeting but Dustin urged him to keep his seat.

  “The Horse Farm is a great facility,” Drew responded. “I’m Andrew Dicksen, although I’m known as Drew. I’m one of the stable managers there, and these are a few young men who are working things out up there, too. Joey Walters, Matt Dougal, Sean Modine and Nick Stevens. I take them to their meetings a few nights a week and then we have a bite here—and maybe we’ll see a movie. If they’re polite, that is!”

  The boys shook hands very politely, grinning all the while. They wanted to go to the movie, he was pretty sure. But they were quiet and respectful and they obviously paid heed to Andrew, even without bribery.

  I hope these guys are the ones who make it, Dustin thought.

  “It’s great,” Joey said. “The Horse Farm, I mean. It’s the best of all the things we do.”

  “It’s really cool when you get to actually ride horses,” Sean added.

  “It’s cool even when you don’t—especially if you get Liv.” Nick made a strangled sound; Dustin realized that Joey had kicked him under the table.

  “I hope I get to hang around long enough to get back there,” Matt said. He was a lanky kid with long hair. He’d spoken last and almost to himself.

  “Why wouldn’t you go back?” Dustin asked him.

  Matt flushed uncomfortably.

  “Yes, why?” Drew echoed. “Is there a problem?”

  Matt looked as if he wished he’d kept his words to himself. “Um, my dad may drag me back home and send me somewhere in Minnesota,” he admitted unhappily. “He, um, said that if the people running the place couldn’t stay clean, what chance is there for kids like us?”

  This was followed by a brief silence.

  “I’m sorry,” Dustin said. “I heard about the tragic loss of the Horse Farm’s founder.”

  Drew Dicksen nodded. “He was a good guy. A damned good man,” he said quietly. “Whatever anyone says.” He raised his head. “It’s a wonderful place. I hope things work out. I believe they will,” he said. “Anyway, Mr. Blake—”

  “He’s an agent. Agent Blake. FBI!” Sean said excitedly. He grimaced as he looked at Dustin. “Sorry. I heard Aaron adding your name to the roster. So, we were all talking about you. I mean, it’s pretty exciting. We’re at a place where the feds send their guys!”

  “Thanks,” Dustin murmured. “I guess.”

  “Hey, did you shoot somebody?” Sean asked. “Is that why you’re here?”

  Dustin shook his head. “Nothing like that,” he said.

  “So, why’d they send you?” Nick persisted.

  “They figure we all need a break now and then. We see too much,” Dustin explained

  “Wow, cool. Who have you hunted down?” Matt asked.

  “I’m here to not think about it for a while,” Dustin told him.

  The door swung open, and a woman of about thirty-five stepped into the coffee shop. She was in jeans and a blue denim shirt—attractive without being beautiful. She smiled at him and then at those sitting at the table. “Hi.” She walked straight to Dustin and offered him a hearty handshake. “You must be Agent Blake.”

  “I am. Nice to meet you...?”

  “Mariah Naughton, and the pleasure is mine. Oh, I’m sorry, I must seem so rude. I work at the Horse Farm—I’m one of the therapists. We were notified that you were coming in tonight and that you’d be at the Horse Farm tomorrow morning. I believe Aaron has you going out with a small group first.”

  “Is it with you?”

  “No,” she answered, “sad to say it’s not me. You’ll be going out with Olivia Gordon. Aaron likes to start people out with Liv—and in small groups. She’s our most popular therapist. You’ll see why. Hey, Drew, boys, how are you all doing?”

  Sean laughed softly. “You’re great, too, Mariah.”

  Mariah grinned good-naturedly at that. “I’m just not twenty-something and gorgeous, huh?”

  “You’re just fine,” Matt said fervently. “We all—”

  “Don’t worry about it, Matt.” Mariah laughed. “It’s true that Liv has an exceptional gift with animals, so it’s good for people to learn with her first. Now me, I’m the historian! My family’s been here forever. We’ve lived here since the first frontiersman headed out to this part of Tennessee. In fact, I do tours every second Friday night and I lead these guys and a bunch of others on camping trips. We go out on horseback. I hope you’ll be joining us.”

  “I’m sure I will. I’m a history buff, too.”
<
br />   “Yeah?” Mariah asked. “Then you should spend some time with Drew, as well. He’s part of a reenactors’ group,” she said proudly. “They’ve even done reenactments for movies. They’re really good.”

  Drew shrugged, looking slightly embarrassed. “I enjoy it. I particularly like the research end of it.”

  “Drew is great at making history fun,” Sean said.

  “Mariah does haunted history,” Matt put in. “She’s got lots of ghost stories to tell.”

  “It all sounds good,” Dustin said. “I’ll look forward to it.”

  “Glad you like the idea,” Drew remarked. “But just to prepare you for tomorrow... With any kind of therapy, you have to be open to it. Although, honestly, half the time people aren’t. And those people don’t do well with the horses. Can’t blame a horse for his reactions and he’s probably not out to get you, right?” he asked, smiling.

  “Yeah, the horses are way better than sitting there in psych group waiting for someone to talk.” Sean brightened. “I like throwing things at the rock, though. That’s fun.”

  “We make paper bombs and throw them at a big rock,” Mariah explained. “Helps let out steam. Throw away anger, resentment, pain...”

  “Well,” Dustin said. “It’s been a long day. Nice to meet you all and thanks for the information.” Waving, he left the diner. He knew they’d be talking about him the second the door closed behind him.

  Returning to the bed-and-breakfast, he realized he was more curious than ever about what was going on—and he realized, too, that he’d have to be very careful.

  A hell of a lot of talking went on in this area.

  * * *

  Olivia sat on the couch in her parlor, an untouched cup of tea in her hands, while Marcus Danby was in the chair across from her. He looked as if he were alive. He wasn’t, of course, but he was there—almost in the flesh. He appeared to move, to walk, to talk, to be her friend as he’d been in life.

  Except, of course, that he was upset. With her?

  She shouldn’t be so frozen, she told herself. She’d seen ghosts before, met ghosts before! For God’s sake, her cousin, Malachi, lived with a great old fellow, a Revolutionary War ghost.

  And she’d seen the general on the Tennessee hills many times. Some in this area called it a gift, some called it a curse, and some thought those who claimed to have it were flat-out crazy. Therefore, most people learned at an early age to pretend that what was...wasn’t. And when you knew that ghosts could make you appear crazy or even feel like you were crazy, you learned how to cope.

  Malachi had kept her sane when they were kids. He’d convinced her that it had to be a secret they shared. And, of course, she sometimes had to be wary of the ghosts themselves. They stayed behind for a reason. It was best to know that reason before making friends.

  She remembered one time when they were older, when he’d come out to her college graduation. He’d talked to her once they had some time alone, and she’d smiled because only Malachi had been able to make her laugh.

  “I’ve got it,” she’d told him with mock-seriousness. “The way to handle ghosts is by not acknowledging the dead. You keep walking as if you’re in a hurry. You step over bodies along the way—ah, I’ve got it. Pretend you’re a stereotypical New Yorker. You march forward with an agenda at all times, walking briskly, and for the love of God, you never make eye contact.”

  “Hey, some of my best friends are New Yorkers!” Malachi said, laughing.

  Malachi had always had a sense of humor—and he’d always been tough. He’d gone into police work, and now he was with the FBI. She’d called him hysterically after the authorities had come to claim Marcus’s body, and he’d been so helpful. He’d made her understand that the federal government had to be invited in when there wasn’t a major crime that involved perpetrators crossing state lines, a kidnapping or circumstances in which local authorities had requested assistance.

  Never once, however, had he suggested that she was making things up to save the Horse Farm, or that she was overwrought. He’d promised her that he would find a way to help her. “I’m not sure if I’m the right one to come out there at this point. Too many people are aware that I’m your cousin, and it’ll immediately appear as if you’re asking for outside help,” he’d told her. “Good way to piss off the local cops.”

  She didn’t care about appearances. She wished Malachi had come.

  The most bizarre thing was that Marcus Danby—or the ghost of Marcus Danby—was speaking much more easily than she seemed capable of doing at the moment.

  Olivia managed to take a sip of her tea. She stilled her shattered nerves, took a deep breath and spoke to him. “Marcus, there was an autopsy.”

  “I know. Ugh!” Marcus said, grimacing, a shiver racing visibly through his body. “Yes, no one’s fault—accidental death and all that.”

  “And drugs were found in your system.”

  “That’s just it, Liv. I swore, so many years ago, that I’d never touch drugs again as long as I lived. I wasn’t tempted. I didn’t hit what they call a trigger situation. I was a happy man.”

  “So?”

  “Okay, here was my day. I got up, had my coffee. Came by the Horse Farm. I love this time of year—not cold yet, not hot like summer. Sammy was playful. I was going to go for a ride and then I decided on a walk so I could take him along. Suddenly, not far from the ravine, Sammy starts wagging his tail, then barking like crazy. He raced off toward the grove of trees west of the ravine and he didn’t come back. So I called out to him and followed him, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I didn’t feel pain. I was just...on the ground.” He paused as if taking a deep breath.

  He couldn’t have been taking a breath. He wasn’t alive. Olivia took another sip of her tea. She’d be heading into her kitchen for the brandy in a minute.

  “You were on the ground,” she said, encouraging him to continue.

  “I don’t know if I was hit in the head, if... I just don’t know. At first, there was nothing. And then...then I was on a high like you wouldn’t believe, and I knew I was in trouble. I got up and started walking and then...I felt a shove at my back and I fell and you know the rest of it!”

  “So you believe that someone intentionally drugged you?”

  “Yes. Not to mention the part about killing me.”

  “I told the police you would never have intentionally relapsed, Marcus. I’ve sworn it, I’ve defended you, I...I called my cousin.”

  “Malachi?”

  “He’s an FBI agent, Marcus.”

  “And he’s coming out here?”

  “Ah, no. But he’s working on something. After I talked to Malachi and he promised to get someone here, I found out that we have a federal agent showing up as a client tomorrow. I’m sure he’s the help Malachi’s sending.”

  “Why doesn’t Malachi come himself? Why doesn’t he tell you things directly?”

  “He’s with the government. Those guys are all paranoid, I think,” Olivia muttered. “Anyway, it’s complicated, Marcus. People in this area know that we’re cousins. Some of them know Malachi. Like you. Sorry, I mean, you knew him—”

  “It’s all right. Go on.”

  “You can’t just step on the toes of the local police. So Malachi’s managed to get a big shot to believe that something’s wrong here, and they’re sending someone out. Under the guise of a client.”

  Marcus remained somber but he nodded and looked at her with hope in his eyes. “Thanks, Liv. You have to solve this. The Horse Farm is a one-of-a-kind place. We work with addicts, with autistic and Down syndrome kids, with burned-out adults, the severely depressed.... But you know all that. And you know that it was always my way to make amends and to help others live quality lives and...you love the Horse Farm, too,” he finished.

  “I’ll do everything I can, Marcus,” she promised. She closed her eyes for a minute.

  When she opened them, Marcus was gone.

  Great. In death, Marcus—always t
he most polite of men—had suddenly decided to be rude.

  3

  Dustin arrived at the Horse Farm. There was a massive sign on the narrow paved road that led to a long dirt drive, a sign announcing that he’d reached the Horse Farm.

  It was an impressive place. Acres of rolling fields surrounded it, gorgeous hills crested in the background and rich forests stood beyond the pastures and meadows. When he got there, he saw that to the right of the drive were the massive stables, painted a cheerful bright red. To the left was the office and rec building; it, too, was large, but built ranch-style with only one story. Parking in the dusty drive out front, he headed for the office. Opening the door, he found old western furniture, walls covered with prints, paintings and newspaper clippings of horses, and overstuffed leather sofas. He saw a games room with people playing Ping-Pong and heard the whack, whack, whack of the ball going back and forth. A young woman breezed by him with a quick “Hello!” and hurried on to the back. “I’m challenging the winner!” she called.

  A woman in her mid-or late thirties stepped aside to allow the young blonde to move past, to the games room. She shook her head but smiled tolerantly.

  “Sorry, Mama Cheever!” the younger woman said.

  “It’s fine, Liz. Go save your spot.” There was something both matronly and businesslike about her. She wore western-style boots, jeans and a colorful cotton shirt. She’d seen Dustin arrive and was coming toward him. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun. Maybe that was it. She had a long, sharp-featured face that rather resembled a giraffe’s.

  “Agent Blake?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Sandra, Sandra Cheever. Or Mama Cheever, as you heard, which I still don’t get. I don’t cuddle patients, don’t tuck them in—I don’t even brew tea, for God’s sake. But I do handle the paperwork and the scheduling around here. We have everything we need except your signature for the files. These days—especially working with animals—we have to get waivers. But your office took care of everything else.”