Krewe 11 - The Night Is Forever

by Heather Graham

  She stared at him, wide-eyed. He stepped back. “Are we okay?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” she said thickly. “Want to hand me another tea bag?”

  He did. She finished preparing the two cups of tea, picked up both of them and walked out to her parlor. She placed the cups on a coffee table and sat on the sofa, curling her legs beneath her. He sat across from her on one of the old carved wooden chairs. The place was nice, he thought. It was historic, but it had been treated lovingly and had aged well. It seemed to offer the best of the old and the new.

  “What do you need from me?” she asked. Before he could answer, she asked, “How did you get here? Do you have a car out front? We’re really not supposed to hang out with guests.”

  He leaned forward. “No car out there—I walked. I’m at Willis House and I have the room with the separate entrance. People saw me go into my room, but they didn’t see me leave. Even if they find out I’m not there, they won’t know where I am.”

  “You walked? Willis House is several miles from here.”

  “Yeah. Pretty country for walking. The temperature is great.”

  She reached for her cup and took a sip of tea.

  “And no one saw me—unless, of course, they were hiding in your bushes. But if someone was messing around outside your house, I think Sammy would’ve known. I heard him bark before I came up the walk.”

  “Aaron told me today that he and the others would help me in any way they could,” she said.

  Dustin felt his brow furrowing and made an effort to ease it. “They know you’re convinced that Marcus was murdered?”

  “I—I didn’t exactly announce that he was murdered. But I did deny that he’d gone back on drugs.”

  “Just to Aaron—or to everyone?”

  She looked at him warily. “Well, to everyone. We had a meeting at the end of the day. Marcus’s lawyer is going to be at the Horse Farm tomorrow morning to discuss the will. We’re all mentioned in it, apparently. From what we know, the Horse Farm itself goes to Aaron Bentley, but I believe Marcus had safeguards written in. I don’t understand the legal ramifications of any of it. As far as we’re aware at this point, we go on exactly as we’ve been doing. We’re nonprofit, so it isn’t as if anyone stands to get rich.”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “You know?”

  He grinned. “Everyone has access to public records, Olivia. We have access to a little more than that.” He was quiet for a minute and then said, “That’s why it’s hard to understand why someone would have done this.”

  “Do you think I’m in denial? Panicking?” Her tone was as stiff as her body.

  “I didn’t say that you were in denial or panicking.”

  “It’s everyone’s first thought, isn’t it?”

  “First thought, maybe. But calling Malachi was the right thing.”

  “You know Malachi?” she asked. “You’ve worked with him?”

  “Yes, I’ve met Malachi. No, I haven’t worked with him. This is my first assignment with the Krewe of Hunters.”

  “What?” She jumped up, sloshing tea, and then set her mug on the coffee table as she stared at him. “What? Oh, I don’t mean to be insulting, it’s just that...I call for help, and my cousin sends a newbie?”

  “I’m hardly a newbie, Olivia,” he told her, trying not to lose his temper. She was looking at him as if he’d barely managed to graduate from high school. “I’ve been with the bureau. I’ve been a marine. I’ve been a cop. I think I’m up to the task.”

  “I—I—I said I was sorry,” she said. “I’m not trying to offend you, but this isn’t... Well, you can see how much good it’s done to go to the police, to anyone—”

  “And I told you that I believe you when you tell me you’re speaking to a dead man!” He was letting his voice grow too hard. She didn’t mean to offend. She wasn’t trying to do so.

  But it seemed that she didn’t need to try.

  She opened her mouth and closed it again, struggling for poise. He kept his own mouth shut, waiting. He was a professional, for God’s sake. He would act like one.

  “Okay,” he said at last. “Cards on the table. I wasn’t thrilled to have my first Krewe assignment be a situation in which we’re not even officially invited and in which everyone I meet seems to think I’m a lawman run amok. Half of them assume I shot up a pool of suspects and the others figure I went crazy. Still, that’s part of the job. I said I believe you, and you need to do me the same courtesy. But you have to trust in me and keep me informed. And please don’t worry so much about my credentials. According to Jackson Crow, I’ve been on his radar for a while now, and when this came up, it seemed the right time for him to call on me. I’m from Nashville. I know the city and I know this area. Malachi couldn’t come himself—not with any real validity, or any real chance of blending in with the locals, if you will. Do you understand?”

  She slowly sank back onto the couch.

  “Yes,” she said flatly. She still didn’t look happy.

  He shook his head and leaned forward. “There are laws, and this country has a constitution, Olivia. You’re fighting for a friend. You hoped that Malachi could get the government barging in and demanding that it all be solved. It doesn’t work that way. And that’s why we’re doing what we’re doing.”

  “I said yes. My capacity for comprehension is actually pretty good.”

  He wasn’t sure if she was trying to lighten up or if she was speaking seriously.

  He leaned back again. “Okay, so tell me what happened with you.”

  “With me?”

  “The day Marcus was killed.”

  “I’d had a few sessions and I’d just finished up with the last one when I heard a commotion going on. We knew something was wrong when Sammy came running to the Horse Farm, badly hurt. Marcus loved Sammy. And the dog was devoted to him. If Sammy was there, something had to be wrong with Marcus.”

  “You didn’t let Sammy lead you back to him?”

  “By then, the dog was exhausted. He’d lost too much blood. Physically, it would’ve been impossible for him to search. We did call the police, and two officers came out to help us look.” She was quiet for a minute, pensive, remembering. “I—I’ve never blacked out in my life before, but...after I found Marcus, I blacked out. When I came to, Aaron was at my side, the police were already making notes and...”

  “And?”

  “And then Marcus’s body was taken away.”

  “Why did you black out?”

  She pursed her lips. “You’re from this area, right?”

  “I’m from Nashville. But naturally, growing up, I came out to the country plenty of times. Every school kid’s done some of the battlefield tours. I’ve been hiking, camping, skiing...you name it.” She was still quiet.

  He smiled. “Ah.”

  “Ah?”

  “You’ve seen the general,” he said.

  She sat straighter. “You know, then—you know about General Rufus Cunningham?”

  “Everyone knows about him.” He grinned. “Okay, not everyone, but most people who’ve lived around here. My grandfather belonged to a Civil War roundtable. You know—groups of men who may or may not do reenactments, but who are fascinated by the history of the Civil War. They love to argue strategy. Which side did the right thing when, what could have changed the tide of battle. I’ve been to a few. They’re especially interesting here in Tennessee, because this state was so divided. Tennessee seceded from the Union, but the Union held Nashville early in the war, beginning in 1862. Pitched battles went on around Nashville, but the Confederates never regained the city. When they’re all arguing policy and strategy at the roundtables, they occasionally agree on one thing. Like the fact that General Rufus Cunningham was one hell of an interesting and commendable man. He was out to win back the city, but he was also a humanitarian. When he was in charge, the wounded were helped, no matter what the color of their uniform. He’d take personal and physical risk when necessary.”

&
nbsp; She nodded. “It always seemed to me that his death was a terrible tragedy.” She paused again. “Have you ever seen him?”

  “Yes.”

  “You have?” She asked the question very carefully.

  He nodded. “I was about sixteen. We were at the old Brentwood Campground. I’ve heard the acreage has been bought by a large corporation and is due for a major building operation, but back then it was a campground. It’s only a few miles from here and borders the same stream that runs through Horse Farm acreage. I woke up in the middle of the night during that camping trip. I was restless. Didn’t want to wake the other kid in my tent so I went outside. The general was standing by the stream, just staring at it, almost like he was keeping watch. He had a foot up on a rock. He was leaning on his knee with one arm and he held his horse’s reins in the other hand. He looked at me. I looked back at him. He tipped his hat, and I waved.”

  “Did he disappear? Fade into the night?”

  “No, he stayed there.”

  “So—then what?”

  “I waved again and went back to bed.”

  “You weren’t frightened?”

  “No. Are you still frightened when you see the dead?”

  “Actually, I haven’t seen that many just wandering around. I’ve seen General Cunningham a few times. But half the world’s seen General Cunningham, or at least a lot of people believe they’ve seen him, so... And I know my cousin’s ghost. Zachary Albright. He’s been around since the American Revolution, but he’s... I don’t know. That was easy. Malachi was there and Malachi and I are the only two in the family, as far as we know, who...talk to the dead.”

  “I don’t think anyone would need to be afraid of General Cunningham. He hated the war, hated pain and suffering. I think he stays around to try and prevent it,” Dustin said.

  “Yeah. Maybe. And I’m not frightened of him.”

  “But...you were frightened of Marcus Danby?”

  “It was the way it all happened,” Olivia explained. “First, I found Marcus down in the ravine. Then, I saw General Cunningham up on his horse. Next thing I knew, I was with the body of Marcus Danby when the spirit of Marcus Danby tapped me on the shoulder. Frightened? Stunned? Both. But I’m not afraid of Marcus. He’s so...real.”

  “Well, in a way, he is real. He’s just not flesh-and-blood real,” Dustin said.

  “Strange dilemma, isn’t it?” she asked, and then gestured with one hand. “Anyway, I’m not prone to hysteria or passing out, but when I was holding Marcus, and Marcus was behind me at the same time, I passed out cold. Just like I told you. When I came to, there was no sign of Marcus’s spirit or the general’s.”

  “But then Marcus visited you here?” he asked. “Twice?”

  “Yes. This was the second time. But as soon as I walked to the door to let you in, he disappeared.”

  “Does he know what happened to him?”

  “He told me that Sammy ran ahead of him in the woods, barking. He went to find the dog—and after that, he doesn’t know. So, whoever did this was waiting for him.”

  “Or happened to be there.”

  “You don’t have heroin available to inject into someone if you’re not expecting to see that person,” Olivia said.

  “Unless you were in the woods doing heroin and didn’t want to be found by Marcus Danby.”

  “Why hurt the dog?” Olivia asked.

  “Maybe Sammy attacked the person.”

  “Sammy doesn’t attack.”

  He smiled. “Glad to hear it. Or maybe not so glad. Olivia, if someone did intend to kill Marcus—”

  “They more than intended it. They accomplished it,” she said. “I’m not making any of this up!”

  “I never suggested you were. What I’m saying is that you might have put yourself in danger.”

  That seemed to puzzle her. “Me? I have no power over anything.”

  “Most murderers don’t want to get caught. Whoever killed Marcus has an agenda, which probably doesn’t include prison. That means his killer doesn’t want an investigation. This person wants Marcus’s death accepted as an accident. Your house is out here—with pasture and forest around it. Do you have an alarm system?”

  “I have locks on all the doors and windows,” she told him.

  “That’s not an alarm system.”

  “You think someone would really break into my house to kill me?” she asked incredulously. “That would hardly be an accident.”

  “All kinds of accidents can happen in a home,” he replied. “A fall down the stairs...a hair dryer being dropped in a tub or the sink. A slip on the floor. Trust me, ‘accidents’ can happen. Do you have a gun?”

  “Yeah. I have a Revolutionary-era Brown Bess in a display box upstairs. And an 1853 Enfield rifle that my uncle found on this property. I’m afraid I have no ammunition for either of them—nor have I ever fired a gun.”

  “You should be able to protect yourself. I’ll see that you have mace or pepper spray, at least,” he said.

  “I have Sammy.”

  “You just said Sammy’s not an attack dog.”

  “But he’ll bark his head off,” she said. “He’ll give me plenty of warning.”

  Dustin wasn’t sure that a dog barking was going to be enough. There was property around all the houses here. Lots of woods, lots of distance. No matter how good emergency services might be, it took time to get to the scene of a crime.

  It only took seconds to kill.

  But for the time being, he let it go and stood up. She stood, as well. “I guess I should go back, just in case anyone’s watching the activity around here. I’ll be back tomorrow night to make sure you’re armed to defend yourself. I’m going to text you my phone number. Get it into your home phone on speed dial and your cell phone’s list of contacts.”

  She nodded. He was glad she wasn’t fighting him.

  “Is Malachi going to be able to come at all?” she asked.

  “I think that’s still up in the air,” he told her. So much for her faith in him.

  He didn’t move for a moment, just looking at her. The woman was breathtaking and still, somehow, while she must have considerable strength of will given her work with people and animals, she had a touch of naiveté, too. She was slim and athletic, but well built. Her eyes were that haunting crystalline blue, touched with green. They compelled him to want to watch her; they also seemed to have a touch of vulnerability. Someone had died and, in her mind, he’d been definitely and irrefutably murdered. And Dustin didn’t doubt that she’d spoken with a ghost. She saw things others couldn’t.

  Yet she didn’t see her own danger.

  He suddenly felt as if they weren’t alone. It was a sensation he knew fairly well; he was being watched. Marcus Danby, he thought.

  Marcus was nearby but wasn’t planning to show himself at the moment.

  Olivia didn’t seem to be aware; she wasn’t accustomed to waiting for that feeling that was like catching a glimpse of something out of the corner of one’s eye.

  “You can go out the back,” she was saying. “If you cut through the forest it’s dark, but there’s a decent moon out tonight.”

  “That’s fine. That’s the way I came. My nocturnal vision’s pretty good, and then there’s this modern thing called a flashlight. I always have one with me,” he told her, offering a smile.

  She didn’t smile in return. Instead, she looked at him gravely. “Be careful.”

  “I’m not the person anyone’s going to be after,” he said.

  “Oh? Really? They all know you’re an agent. What if the killer’s afraid you’ll be snooping around and then he wants you out of the picture?”

  Maybe she wasn’t so naive.

  “But I’m also a big guy who works out, has had training—and carries a big gun,” he said. “That does make me safer.”

  “Hmm. All right, I’ll go along with that,” she conceded.

  “By tomorrow night I’ll see that you at least have some mace. Friday night, we’l
l both do the camping trip.”

  “Camping and Ping-Pong,” she said.

  “Exactly. Ping-Pong is a great way to get to know the people who hang out at the Horse Farm. And camping will give me a glimpse of a lot more. If we’re going to find out who did this to Marcus Danby, we need to find out why.”

  “Okay,” she said. “That makes sense. Come on, I’ll walk you out back.”

  Olivia led him through the kitchen, the dining room, something that now seemed to be a family room and, finally, out the back door. She was polite and agreeable.

  “Make sure everything’s locked down tight,” he told her. “If someone’s determined to get in, they’ll figure out a way. But it’s best to make it as hard for them as possible. That gives you more time to call the cops or come up with an escape route yourself.”

  “I will lock everything,” she promised.

  He had the feeling that the minute he was gone, she’d be on the phone calling Malachi and asking him if the agent he’d sent was really capable of getting anything done.

  * * *

  Olivia had never been afraid in her own house before. Now it was inhabited by a ghost who appeared out of nowhere whenever he chose. And on top of that, she was worried that someone might try to break in while she was asleep.

  It was still early. She returned to the kitchen, ready to forage through the refrigerator for something to eat. Instead, she walked around downstairs and then upstairs, closing and locking windows. When she was done, she checked the front door again, followed by the back door—even though she’d just locked it behind Dustin Blake.

  There was nothing else to lock.

  She returned to the kitchen once more only to freeze, startled.

  Marcus was back.

  “Thank you very much. You made me look like an idiot,” she said.