“Frank, you know animals come to the farm not because we need more animals, but so they can survive. Whether Homer was left to me or Aaron or anyone else, I’m sure we’d all be delighted for you to have him.”
“Thanks. The kids are all grown up now with kids of their own, and since last fall... Well, I figured that dog kind of took a hankering to me and I kind of took a hankering to him,” Frank said.
Frank’s wife had passed away the year before from cancer. Olivia patted his hand. “Homer would be privileged to live with you, Frank.”
Frank nodded. Delilah brought plates of food for Dustin and Olivia and took Frank’s order. Twenty minutes later, Frank had finished his corned beef hash and grits and headed off to work. Olivia looked at her watch and asked Delilah for her check. She glanced at Dustin, who’d grown thoughtful when Frank left.
While Delilah tallied their bills, Dustin said, “So that’s the officer who won’t believe you about Marcus? Seems like you two get on well enough.”
“That’s one of them. We have two sheriff’s deputies who handle this area—Frank, and Jimmy Callahan. They’re both decent guys. But...they feel sorry for those of us who wear rose-tinted glasses, as Jimmy phrased it. They’re very kind when they try to make me understand what they see as the sad truth.”
Delilah was on her way toward them, and Dustin fell silent. “See you in class, Agent Blake,” Olivia said, rising to take her bill and put money on the counter. “Delilah, thank you. Delicious as usual.”
“Bye, honey. See you soon,” Delilah said.
The sun was bright now. Special agent Dustin Blake was still at the counter in the diner behind her as Olivia walked to her car, wondering if she’d simply imagined that someone had tried to gain entry to her house.
She drove the short distance to the Horse Farm. Pulling into the parking area in front of the office, she saw that Drew and Sydney had been up early, too; the horses were out in the pasture. A quick count assured her they were all there. Shebaan, an aging Tennessee Walker. Trickster, often used in therapy sessions. Beloved Battle-ax, an old Percheron mix who was as big as a house and gentle as the Easter bunny. Zeus, a Paint. Carina, a gentle palomino. Martin, an Arabian mix. Chapparal, a one-time champion barrel-racer. Pixie and Nixie, rescued mixes from the swamps of Georgia. Gargantua, some kind of Clydesdale mix Marcus had owned forever. Beryl, a sweet bay, and her own personal favorite, Shiloh.
“Hey, guys. Morning!” she called to the horses.
She entered the office. Drew and Sydney were there, talking with Aaron, who held one of the Horse Farm cats on his lap. Sandra Cheever was seated on the arm of the sofa, and Mason Garlano stood by the window, smoothing back his hair. She saw that the window was providing him with a reflection.
“Who are we missing?” Aaron asked, waving her in.
“Just Mariah,” Sandra announced. “She gave me a call a minute ago. She’s on her way.” She glanced at Olivia. “Liv, you’re looking a little...tired. You okay?”
“I’m fine, thanks. I didn’t get much sleep, though. Had some kind of animal sniffing around the house last night.”
Mason turned to her with a grin. “Some kind of animal? Olivia, you practically live in the woods. Or the country, anyway. There are lots of animals around you.”
“I know. But it made me decide to get an alarm system installed.”
“That’s never a bad idea,” Aaron said.
“Not really necessary around here, in my opinion,” Sandra said. She smiled. “But whatever. If creeping animals are giving you...well, the creeps!...you should get an alarm system.”
“Yep,” Mason agreed. He gave Olivia his best sexy smile. “Pretty girl in the woods. You never know when a wolf will show up.”
“We don’t have any wolves around here,” Aaron said.
“Ah, well, they also come on two feet, don’t they?” Mason teased. He grinned at Olivia. She grinned back. He’d tried to get something going with her when he’d first started working there. She liked him—as a friend. She knew that while he could be an effective therapist, he was also self-involved. He knew it, too. But his ego didn’t get in the way of his sense of humor, and they both saw the absurdity in many situations.
“They definitely come on two feet!” Sandra said, shaking her head. “Mason, would you bring me some more coffee?”
“Sure. Where’s the attorney?” Mason asked, walking over to the coffee service to oblige her. “He’s late.”
“I think that’s him driving in now,” Aaron said. “So, everyone, get your coffee and get settled.”
The attorney came in. Olivia had met him once before, just in passing. Aaron introduced him as Kevin Fairchild. He was a slim man, balding and out of place at the Horse Farm in a black business suit, white tailored shirt, striped tie and silver tiepin. But he was friendly, smiled easily and didn’t seem to care if he got dust or animal hair on his suit.
Mariah followed him in a moment later, sweeping her hair into a ponytail as she walked. She slid next to Olivia on the sofa and rolled her eyes. “Can you believe it? I overslept.”
“We’re all here, so we’ll get started,” Aaron said. “Mr. Fairchild, if you will? I have a feeling you’ll have to explain everything in layman’s terms. For me, certainly. I tried to fill out my own living will once and it confused the hell out of me!”
They all smiled and laughed, a little nervously, Olivia thought, although there was no reason for anyone to be nervous. Marcus’s will should hold no surprises.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen, let’s begin. I’ll explain the legalese as I go along and feel free to ask me questions.”
Fairchild started to read, and Olivia’s mind wandered as he went through legal phrase after legal phrase. It was more or less what she’d expected, although she’d never been to the “reading” of a will before. She found herself looking around at all her coworkers, trying to grasp the fact that one of them might have killed Marcus—and might want to kill her.
Aaron leaned against the counter, looking perplexed as he listened. Drew Dicksen appeared to be deep in thought. Sydney Roux dangled his key chain and stared out the window; from where he stood, he could see their horses in the field. Homer, the big yellow dog Deputy Frank Vine had asked her about, was running after a bird.
Mariah seemed to be dozing off.
Mason was worrying a fingernail.
Sandra Cheever was trying to look as if she was paying attention, but her eyes kept glazing over.
Olivia started as she suddenly heard her name. Fairchild was silent, as were the others; they all studied her curiously.
“I don’t understand,” Sandra said. “Aaron gets the place, but not really. And after him, Olivia gets it, and if she doesn’t run it into the ground, she names her own successor?”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Olivia murmured to Sandra, except that she was surprised herself and realized Sandra hadn’t meant to be offensive. She flashed her an apologetic smile.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere,” Aaron said.
“Better not!” Olivia told him.
“The Horse Farm is in a trust,” Fairchild explained. “Aaron maintains the senior position and makes all the decisions. In the event of something happening to Aaron, Olivia will take over as senior operating official. Sometime in the next year, they’re to name the others who’ll follow in their places, and so on, down the line. It’s very straightforward. Marcus had this will written so he could ensure that the Horse Farm would continue. The nonprofit will not be dissolved, and someone will always be there to see that it goes on doing the work he intended.”
“What would happen in the event of a natural catastrophe, like a flood?” Mason asked. “We did have that major one a few years back!”
“Okay, if something catastrophic were to happen or if the Horse Farm fell into such severe financial hardship that it couldn’t be maintained and your salaries couldn’t be paid, the property would revert to the actual estate. The land woul
d go up for sale, and any profits would be distributed to a number of other charities. Do you all understand?” Fairchild asked, looking around at them.
They all nodded.
“Now let me go on with the individual items he’s left you.”
Olivia listened but his words blurred. Marcus had left them things that were special to him. A saddle and a desk to Drew, collectible books to Mariah, a sterling tea set to Sandra and other personal property to others. She heard her name again and looked up.
“What?”
Once more, they were all staring at her. “Another house,” Sandra said. “Nice.”
“What?”
“He left you his house and the immediate property around it,” Aaron told her with a smile. “You can now search it to your heart’s content.”
“You can tear it to pieces, if you choose,” Fairchild said. “The house is yours, free and clear.”
“The house,” she murmured. It should have gone to Aaron. But Aaron didn’t seem disturbed, didn’t seem to care.
Was it an act?
You bastard, Marcus! Why didn’t you warn me?
“And, of course, Shiloh,” Fairchild added. “He felt that you and the horse shared something unique. You’re free to keep Shiloh at the facility or build a barn at the house you’ve just inherited or on your own property. There’s a lot of fine print here—but that’s what it means.”
She nodded, grateful for his explanation. She wasn’t sure she needed another house—but she did love the horse!
“What about Homer?” she asked. “Yellow Dog as we sometimes call him.”
“What about him?”
“Deputy Vine asked if he could have him,” Olivia said.
Fairchild looked at his papers. “Rescue animals will continue to come and go from the facility as determined by those in charge. No animal will be put to death or set into the hands of those who would euthanize said animal or abuse it. Adoptions will be given due consideration by the entire staff and should continue with majority approval.”
“I say Deputy Vine gets Homer.” Aaron surveyed the room as he spoke. “Agreed?”
“Sure. One less mouth to feed at night—until one of us drags in another,” Drew said.
“Agreed,” Sydney chimed in.
“Hell, yeah!” Mariah said.
“Well, then, that’s it,” Fairchild told them. “My office is available to you. Anyone feeling any confusion is more than welcome to call me for clarification.” He paused a little awkwardly. “Marcus was my client. I didn’t know him that well. But he held each of you in high regard, I do know that. Naturally, none of us suspected he’d be leaving us quite so soon, but...you should be aware how valued and appreciated you all were in his eyes.” He looked at each of them in turn and then at Aaron. “Well, then, I’ll be on my way.”
When he’d departed, Drew and Sydney stood, leaving to attend to their duties. Mason got to his feet, too, and was out the door before the women had even managed to rise.
When the door closed behind him, they were all silent. “Well,” Aaron said brusquely, “that’s it. We start up again right after lunch, so if you want a break, take it now. Thank you all for being here on time, and...” He sighed. “That’s it,” he repeated. “The will’s been read, the die is cast, Marcus is gone. We carry on.”
Looking over at Aaron, who stood near his office door, Olivia shivered.
Aaron frowned at her. “Olivia?”
“Sorry. I just got a strange feeling. Someone walking on my grave, or whatever that saying is.”
“It’s all right,” Aaron said gently. “We all have to get back to normal. We have a legacy to live up to, but Marcus is gone.”
She nodded.
Except that Marcus wasn’t gone at all. He was leaning against the doorway of Aaron’s office, arms crossed, grinning as he watched the proceedings.
He smiled at her and then seemed to fade into the wall.
Was he just letting her know he was around, watching?
Ever hopeful that he’d see or hear something that would help catch his killer?
6
“The one-eyed Persian is Oscar. The old ginger boy sound asleep in the hayloft in Trickster’s stall is Orange Cat. You’ll see about a dozen of them running around, going into and out of the office,” Drew told Dustin. “Marcus was a sucker for just about anything that had a heartbeat, so you’ll see cats, dogs and a few other pets an owner brought home and then tossed. Horses, needless to say. If you see a cat you like or a pup, just talk to Aaron. We’re continuing with the policy of bring ’em in—and if you find a good home, let ’em go.”
Dustin had just admired one of the massive cats keeping “rat guard” in the stables. Now he knew the feline’s name was Orange Cat. Not imaginative, but certainly fitting.
“It’s a wonderful policy,” he said. Drew didn’t seem to mind that Dustin was there and had been for about forty-five minutes. He’d helped bring some of the horses in from pasture and brushed them down. Mariah had an individual therapy session coming up and Mason was taking out a new group.
He’d been scheduled for a ride with Olivia—but not alone. Apparently, because of the time lost that morning, Joey Walters was going to be with them. Which was fine; he liked Joey.
After breakfast at the café, Dustin had spent a few hours on his computer and done some fact-checking with the office back in Virginia. He’d read bios on everyone here over and over again. Nothing stood out. No history of mental illness, much less homicidal tendencies. Before coming to the Horse Farm, Sandra Cheever had worked for a medical office, arranging schedules and dealing with patients for a group of psychiatrists; she’d left only because Aaron had lured her away. She’d never received even a parking ticket. Mason Garlano had been working at a physical rehab center until he followed his girlfriend to Nashville. They had since broken up, but the girlfriend was alive and well and working as a sound technician for a studio in Nashville. Andrew Dicksen had moved to the Nashville area from Biloxi, Mississippi, with his family when he’d been ten. He’d done the rodeo circuit until his thirtieth birthday when a fall from a bull had damaged his collarbone; he’d known Marcus, and Marcus had offered him the job. Aaron Bentley had been a college student studying toward a business degree and working at a hack ranch when he’d met Marcus, who’d hired him. That had been twenty years ago. Both Sydney Roux and Mariah Naughton were from the area, and had lived there all their lives. Sydney had been arrested once in college for protesting a military action. Not one of them had a history of violence, theft, drug abuse or any other ill-doing that might have raised a pale pink flag, never mind a red one.
And still, Dustin was convinced that Marcus had been murdered and by someone close, someone who knew him well. That meant—as he’d assumed earlier—that there had to have been a motive, a secret agenda, since no fight had broken out. He hadn’t been killed in a fit of anger. His murder had been carefully calculated to look like an accidental death.
Official records were helpful, but they didn’t say much that was personal about anyone. Dustin was grateful for social media; he looked up every form of internet page or link he could for each of his suspects. Apparently, Drew had yet to enter the media age. He had a Facebook page but never posted. Mariah, on the other hand, loved her page—and used it, of course, to promote the ghost tours she did twice a month. Sandra Cheever used hers to communicate with family in New York. Mason kept up with friends in Texas—and made social arrangements with his friends in Nashville. Sydney Roux posted a lot of pictures of the animals at the Horse Farm. He took good pictures and made it clear that the puppies and kittens who wound up there were available for adoption to good homes. Aaron only had a professional page that led back directly to the Horse Farm.
He found himself looking up Olivia’s Facebook page, as well; she, too, liked to post pictures of the adoptable animals at the Horse Farm but she also mentioned social events and proudly posted beautiful pictures that showed off the grace and beauty of T
ennessee.
He could spend his life on the computer, but it was nothing compared to actually spending time with people, face-to-face. He’d discovered he liked Drew; he really hoped the man wasn’t hiding some kind of dark secret. One thing the academy had taught him was that you could never be too careful—it was dangerous to trust a friendly face. Some of the nation’s most heinous serial killers had actually been charming when not slicing or strangling their victims.
“Did you ever meet Marcus?” Andrew asked him, hoisting a saddle onto Shiloh.
“No, I never did.”
“But you’re from the area?”
“From the city, originally,” Dustin said.
“Nashville’s the best city in the world, but I love these rolling hills out here,” Drew told him. He shrugged. “I guess even though it’s small in comparison to New York, Atlanta or Chicago, Nashville’s actually pretty big. Folks could wander around for years and never meet one another. Out here, we do.” He grinned. “And regardless of how long I’ve lived in the state, I’ll never be a real homeboy to people who are from here—like Mariah or Sydney. They can trace their families back for generations. But Olivia used to come out here all the time with her parents, and I know she and Mariah never met.” He shrugged. “A lot of life is an accident of timing, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Dustin said. “It’s easy to go through life not knowing everyone—even in a small town, let alone a big city,” he added wryly.
“That’s true enough.” Drew grinned. “Listen, thanks for the help.”
“Not a problem. I love horses,” Dustin said. “And cats—and dogs.”
“Plenty around here,” Andrew said. “In fact, you really would be a good candidate to take home a pup or a kitten.”
“I wish I was. I’m never in one place long enough to be a good owner.”
“Because of your work.”
“I’m a field agent. That means going out in the field.”
“Yeah, well, takes a good man to know when he can’t have an animal, too. That’s the problem, people picking up cute kittens or pups and not realizing the little critters are going to get big. So they dump them. Or the dog messes in the house. Or they get the pet and then have kids and forget they have the pet. But all the animals lucky enough to come here, well, they’ll still be taken care of.”
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