The Night Is Forever

5

Dustin’s phone had rung at exactly 4:32 a.m.

It took him until 4:34 a.m. to throw on some clothes, his holster and gun, jacket and shoes and to sling his backpack over his shoulder. He was out the back door in ten seconds, in his car in another twenty and speeding down the road. Thankfully, walking distance to her place from Willis House was less than fifteen minutes at a brisk pace and driving there—even with the winding Tennessee country road—was about six minutes.

His eyes were on the house as he pulled into her driveway. But there was just one car there and no sign of anyone. Jerking to a halt, he leaped out of the car, still surveying his surroundings, and raced to the front door. He could hear the dog barking inside. “Olivia, it’s Dustin.”

The door flew open. “Sammy, it’s all good. It’s Dustin, a friend.”

She had evidently been waiting for him; she was wrapped in a long velvet robe. Her hair was mussed but she was as striking as a lingerie ad.

Her features were tense; her whole body was tense. She gripped the handle of a good-size waffle maker.

“You all right?” he asked.

She nodded. “But someone was here, Dustin. I saw the front door being tried. The knob was moving. And Sammy...well, Sammy knows when someone’s there.”

“But you’re certain no one got in.”

She shook her head. “Sammy would know.”

“Stay here. I’m going to take a look around.”

“Oh, no, no. I’m not staying alone,” she said. “Sammy and I are coming with you.”

She might be frightened, but there was determination in her eyes.

“Get the keys. If we’re both going out, we’ll lock the front,” he said.

She picked up the keys sitting on the buffet near the front door and frowned. “What’s that?” she asked, pointing at his backpack.

“Supplies,” he said.

She arched her brows.

“You’ll see.”

She followed him out. A look at the front door yielded nothing, of course. Digging into the backpack, he came out with his fingerprinting kit, quickly dusted the door and searched for prints.

“Well?” she asked him.

“Smudges.”

“What does that mean?”

“There should’ve been prints. Your prints and other prints, all on top of one another. I think someone had gloves on and made a point of smudging the surface, as well.”

Resealing the container of fingerprint powder, he searched the porch. There’d been no dust on it and no snow, and there wasn’t the faintest sign of a footprint. As he walked slowly down the porch steps, he continued to search, playing his flashlight over the dark grass and nearby shrubs.

He wondered if his movements were being observed.

He paused when he reached the ground.

Olivia Gordon plowed into his back, she was so close behind him. She still held the waffle iron in a death grip.

“Sorry,” she murmured.

“It’s all right.”

And it was. He’d rather liked the feel of her—vividly warm, sweet-smelling, seductively shaped—crushed momentarily against him.

Suddenly aware of what he was doing—and feeling—he stepped forward. An expanse of clear rolling ground lay to the front, rear and sides of her house. The front yard stretched out to the road, and there was forest on either side of the cleared land. He could see trails, some more established than others, leading through the trees. He made a mental picture of the area; he already knew the way to Willis House through the woods. If he moved to the rear, he could take the trail that led over the hills to the pastureland and then on to more trees, more rolling hills and the Horse Farm. The stream that went through the area for several miles could probably be reached through the rear of the property, as well. Anyone who’d been here could have gone anywhere, in any direction. Her nearest neighbor was down the hill a few acres away; trees separated them.

He’d need an army to find someone out there.

He walked around the house with Olivia at his heels. Sammy trailed along, wagging his tail. The dog was a perfect monitor, and his actions certainly didn’t signal that anyone else was present. Whoever had been there was definitely gone.

There was no indication that anyone had tried to break window locks, although he could well imagine the route someone might have taken to do so.

When he’d completed a circuit around the house, Dustin inspected the ground as best he could in the dark, with only his flashlight to provide illumination. He headed toward the trail that wound through the trees and led to Willis House, but there was no sign that someone had come through. It might not have meant much in any case, since there was national parkland that wove in and out around them. People could easily wander off government land and onto private property without ever knowing it.

At last, he stopped and turned to look at her.

“I’m sorry. There’s no way for me to find anything now.”

“That’s okay,” Olivia said. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

“It’s what I do, ma’am,” he said lightly.

She turned and walked back to the house. He followed her thoughtfully.

“We’ll have coffee,” she said. Then she stopped and looked back at him. “Well, I guess that was presumptuous. I’m going to make coffee. It’s past five and I don’t see any reason to go back to sleep. But, of course, you might want to. Anyway, Sammy and I are fine now. Really.”

He could tell that she wasn’t fine; she was afraid. But she was going to try hard not to show it.

“Coffee would be great, and you’re right. It’s morning. It’ll be light soon. No sense going back to bed.”

She unlocked the door and walked inside, flipping on lights. She paused for a minute, as if trying to sense something.

“He isn’t here, is he?” Dustin asked.

“Marcus, you mean?”

“Right.”

“The bastard said he was coming back. To watch over me. He didn’t.”

“In all seriousness—although I suppose he could warn you if there’s trouble—I’m not sure what he could do. You made the right call. The pun’s accidental, but it’s still true.”

“You’re better than 9-1-1?”

“You tell me.”

She didn’t answer, but moved on into the kitchen. There were old attractively refurbished stable stools in front of the counter. Dustin sat on one of them, watching as she returned the waffle iron to a lower cabinet and set about making coffee.

“I don’t understand,” she mused. “Why would someone come to my house like that? It would be hard to break in during the middle of the night and make it look as if I had a terrible accident.”

“When someone with the right agenda wants in, they’ll get in,” Dustin said. “But no one tried to break a window or shoot up a door. My guess is that this was just a trial run, a way of testing the waters.”

“So someone’s out to get me—because of what I’ve been saying?” she asked.

Sammy whined and settled at his feet. Dustin leaned down for a moment to pat the dog. When he looked up, she was at the counter, waiting for him to face her, waiting for his reply.

“I would guess that’s it, yes,” he told her. “Here’s the good thing. Whoever’s doing this hasn’t gotten to a point where they’re desperate. This person is just...researching the situation right now.”

“What should I do?”

“Tell everyone you’re getting an alarm system.”

“And then?”

“Get an alarm system.”

“Oh!”

“Listen, no one else believes that Marcus met with foul play. Well, other people might suspect it, but the police found nothing that would lend to more of an investigation than the one that’s been done. You can’t blame them. They found you with a man who was already dead. Thankfully, he’d been dead for hours, or you might’ve ended up as a suspect. But they found a man who’d been an addict dead with heroin in his system. There was no one around and no sign that anyone had been. There were no obvious marks on his body, other than those attributed to the fall.”

“There were also no needles or drug paraphernalia,” she reminded him sharply.

“True, but no addict keeps his stash where it can easily be discovered.”

The coffee gurgled its last and she poured them both cups.

“The attorney’s coming to the Horse Farm today to explain the will and dole out the individual bequests Marcus left.”

“Just go, listen, watch other people. And as soon as possible, call an alarm system company.”

“You don’t think that’s kind of paranoid?”

“Paranoid is better than—” He broke off. He’d been about to say dead. “You’ve heard the old adage a thousand times. Better safe than sorry.”

She smiled at that. She’d known what he’d been about to say. “Would you hang around down here for a few minutes while I go up and get ready for the day?”

“Of course.”

She’d drunk half her coffee. Leaving it, she turned around and dashed up the stairs.

He was going to be sorry to see the beautiful robe go, he thought.

Restlessly, he walked the ground floor of the house, checking windows as he went. The place was sealed tight. He sat in the parlor, thinking about the psychology of what had happened. Whoever had done this wasn’t a serial killer with a penchant for a certain physical type; this was a person or persons with an agenda.

Dustin knew he should be looking for someone who was after something that wasn’t obvious. Or maybe Marcus’s killer had been seeking revenge for some reason. But if revenge was the only agenda, why come after anyone else?

No, fear of discovery had to be the motive for targeting Olivia Gordon. What did she know that she didn’t even realize she knew?

And how far was the killer willing to go to safeguard a secret?

Olivia came down the stairs, Sammy at her heels. It was barely seven and beginning to get light outside.

He rose. “I have an idea. Go to the café in your car. I’ll get my own car and follow you. You are allowed to dine with ‘guests’ if you happen to arrive at a restaurant at the same time?”

“Yes, we always run into people at the café and there’s never been any kind of policy against sharing a meal. After all, we do the camping trips, Mariah runs her ghost tours... I’m sure that ‘running into you’ will be fine.”

She seemed grateful for the suggestion.

He collected his backpack; she picked up a shoulder bag.

“All right, Olivia, I know I already mentioned this, but it’s important. You need to make it known that you’re hiring an alarm company.”

“What reason would I give for suddenly doing that?”

“You say you heard noises—and that you’re far away from anyone else. You’re just feeling nervous, that’s all.”

“Okay,” she said.

They headed out.

At the door, Sammy whined. “You need to protect the homefront,” Olivia told him, then locked the door, checking it a couple of times.

She got in her car; he waited until she was safe inside, backing out onto the drive. Then he followed. As they approached the café, he slowed his car. He wanted her to be there for a few minutes before he joined her.

And yet, he wondered if whoever had attempted entry at her house had been there all the while, hidden somewhere in the trees.

Watching him watch Olivia.

Olivia was the first customer to arrive at the café that morning. Behind the counter, still setting up, Delilah looked at her with surprise. “Liv, honey! What are you doing here so early?”

“Oh, I couldn’t sleep, so I got up and I didn’t feel like my own company,” Olivia explained.

Delilah nodded as if she understood. “I hear ya, honey. I know you people at the Horse Farm have to meet up with Marcus’s attorney this morning. That’s going to be hard for you.”

“I’m okay, Delilah,” Olivia said. And she was, although she felt angry with Marcus. Not the anger that typically came with grief, in which a person was angry about being abandoned by a loved one; she would have recognized such an emotion. No, she was angry with Marcus’s spirit—a spirit who showed up to shock her and then disappeared just when he was needed. A ghost who didn’t bother to return when he’d promised he would.

“I’ve just gotten this new-fangled machine in here.” Delilah pointed at a shiny silver contraption. “Makes a perfect espresso every time, according to the box. You want to try one?”

“Hmm. I’d love a cup of regular coffee—with a shot of espresso,” Olivia said.

“Hey, great idea. Maybe I should try one of those myself. I’ve been working long hours lately. My waitress—you remember that sweet young thing, Genie?—she took off for Nashville last week. Decided she was going to get a job in the city. Can’t say as I blame her. I mean, folks out here like country and the city is close enough...but a young girl? She needed more. So, anyway, to make a long story short, I’ve been filling in mornings and nights. But I own the place and Steve back there has been my cook for the past twenty years. Reckon we’ll make it till we get some help.” Delilah grinned wickedly. Steve was her husband as well as her chief cook and bottle washer.

“If I hear of anyone looking for work, I’ll send them your way,” Olivia said. She pulled out her smartphone and started looking for area alarm companies.

“What ya doin’, honey? Can I help?” Delilah asked.

“Oh, I’m going to get an alarm system installed,” Olivia replied.

“Out here? We never have trouble out here. Of course, I’ve got my man and a shotgun if anyone’s going to give me trouble!”

Olivia shook her head. “I don’t have a man or a shotgun.”

Delilah wagged a finger at her. “You should get yourself a man, Liv. Pretty little thing like you. Just ’cause that ornery Bill Preston decided to up and head on out of your life... And that was more than a year ago!”

Olivia sighed. She’d been in an almost-live-in relationship with a music promoter. After a trip to Austin, he’d discovered some great opportunities there. It had come time for her to weigh the importance of the relationship. She hadn’t been in love. Not enough to leave.

“Bill’s a good guy—we were just going different places, Delilah.”

Delilah tsked at her, then selected a little pod for her new machine; her frown became a smile of pleasure when her espresso machine instantly began to steam up and pour out dark brown liquid. She prepared the coffee, added the espresso and set it before Olivia. “I should name this concoction after you!” she said proudly.

“Oh, I don’t think it really needs a name,” Olivia told her. “The chain coffee shops have it already, I’m afraid. They just call it coffee with a shot of espresso.”

“Here’s it going to be a ‘Liv’!” Delilah insisted.

The door opened and Dustin made his entrance. “Morning, Delilah,” he said. “Good morning, Olivia.” He walked up to take a seat at the counter beside her.

“My, my, you folks are up early today,” Delilah remarked. “Nice to see you, Agent Blake. Sorry—Dustin.”

“Thanks.”

“How about a ‘Liv’?” Delilah offered.

“A Liv?” he asked with a question in his eyes as he smiled over at her.

The man had a good smile, Olivia thought. At the moment, it revealed charm and a touch of amusement. He really was a perfect man—lean, hard-muscled and fit. His skin was slightly bronzed, his eyes a striking deep green and his shock of neatly clipped hair defined the concept of auburn.

She hoped he couldn’t read her thoughts. She felt her cheeks flush and spoke quickly to cover her embarrassment. “I happen to be the first person Delilah’s ever served a coffee with an espresso thrown in. She’s going to call it a ‘Liv’ from now on.”

“Oh,” he said gravely, turning to Delilah. “Sounds wonderful. Looks wonderful. How does it taste?”

“It’s excellent,” Olivia assured him.

“Guess when you’re up and at ’em this early, makes good sense,” Delilah said. “So, did you find an alarm company, hon? I can’t really help—we never needed an alarm around here, you know?”

“I found one.” Olivia stood up. “Excuse me while I give them a call.” She walked down to the end of the little diner. The office was open and she arranged for a technician to come out on Saturday. That was the earliest someone would be available.

It would have to do, she told herself. Two days. She returned to her chair.

“Any luck, honey?” Delilah asked.

“Yeah, I’m all set up.”

Delilah turned to Dustin. “I said I couldn’t advise her. I’ve got a shotgun—and a man.” She nodded knowingly, then gestured at Olivia. “Can you imagine? This sweet young thing was with a fella who lit out for Austin!”

Olivia could feel Dustin’s eyes on her.

She groaned. “Delilah, he’s making a great living in Austin and I’m happy for him. I’m perfectly fine on my own.”

“Some people are fine, you know,” Dustin said. There was amusement in his voice. But he seemed to sense her discomfort and changed the subject.

“I’d love to have a ‘Liv,’ too,” he said. “And some of your pancakes, please.”

Olivia decided on an omelet.

Whistling, Delilah conveyed their orders to Steve and set to work on Dustin’s coffee. After glancing at Olivia and obviously trying not to grin, Dustin chatted casually, asking her how they went about choosing the right horses to work with people.

“Well, obviously, when Marcus brought in a rescue animal with bad kicking habits, or one that nipped, we kept working the horse ourselves.”

“And could you retrain all of them so they could work with others?” he asked.

“Most of the time, rescues have been neglected but they can work well with people and enjoy human interaction. Every once in a while, though, we’ve gotten a horse that was so abused it could never be assigned to anyone who wasn’t experienced with horses.”

“And then?”

Olivia shrugged. “And then one of the staff would just keep working with the horse or sometimes use it for group trail rides. Occasionally, if a horse had been so abused that Marcus could never feel comfortable allowing anyone to ride it, the horse was just retired and allowed to stay in the paddocks for the duration of its natural life.” She looked straight ahead for a moment. “Marcus made the Horse Farm a no-kill shelter.”

“Nice,” he said quietly.

The door opened, and Olivia twisted her head to see who had arrived.

It was Deputy Sheriff Frank Vine. He’d been on duty the day Marcus had disappeared. For a cop, Frank was an exceptionally gentle man. Fifty-something, with hair that was almost pure white and a laid-back manner, Frank could be tough, but he listened, weighing every situation carefully.

He’d even listened to her when she’d found Marcus. He’d soothed her and told her sadly that people didn’t always live up to their own expectations or those of others. It didn’t make them bad people. They just hadn’t had the strength they’d needed.

“Morning, Frank,” she said.

“Olivia, good morning. And how are you doing, young lady?” he asked, sliding onto the stool to her left. He beamed at Delilah and then leaned back, unabashedly studying Dustin. “Hello, sir.”

“Frank Vine, Dustin Blake.” Olivia made quick introductions. Dustin stood for a moment to shake Frank’s hand. Delilah came over with a cup and the coffeepot. “Morning, Deputy Frank,” she said. “Dustin here is one of your own. A federal officer of the law.”

“Oh, yeah?” Frank looked at Dustin again. “Are you out here for any special reason?”

“I am. I’m attending the Horse Farm,” Dustin said.

“Oh.” Frank nodded but obviously remained curious.

“And I’m originally from Nashville.”

“Ah.” That seemed to make sense to Frank. “Our own Music City.” His pride in Nashville was evident.

“No better place,” Dustin agreed.

Frank nodded happily; Dustin had made a friend.

“I hear the Horse Farm had to do a lot of rescheduling this morning, because the lawyer’s coming to discuss the terms of Marcus Danby’s will,” Frank said.

“It’s a formality, but I guess it’s necessary,” Olivia put in.

“Deputy,” Dustin began. “I’m curious. I believe the medical examiner concluded that Marcus Danby’s death was accidental. The result of a fall, possibly brought on by a mind-altering substance. Heroin. Where did Marcus inject?”

Frank’s face turned a mottled red. “The usual,” he murmured.

“Vein in the arm?” Dustin asked. “I guess at his point in his life—when he fell back into drugs—he wouldn’t have collapsed veins, and the needle mark would’ve been easy for the medical pathologist to find.”

“Right,” Frank said. He looked over at Dustin. “He was a mighty fine man and the Horse Farm is a mighty fine place. We don’t judge Marcus harshly, and we ask you not to do so, either. You’re here for healing, I imagine, son, so let the healing begin. Now, Liv,” Frank said, turning to her. “Today will make things all legal. Aaron takes over, and that’s fitting. Aaron’s been Marcus’s right-hand man for over a decade now. But...I need you to do me a favor.”

“What’s that, Frank?”

“There’s a big old yellow dog on the property. Marcus came back with him after a trip to Memphis. He was at some animal shelter over there and was running out of days,” Frank said.

“Homer. He’s some kind of Lab mix—probably about three or four years old. He’s a great dog.”

“I’d like to have him. Think you could make that happen for me? Marcus might’ve left him to you in his will. He liked the big old mutt almost as much as his Sammy.”

“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 would 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?