Ive got it, shed told him with mock-seriousness. The way to handle ghosts is by not acknowledging the dead. You keep walking as if youre in a hurry. You step over bodies along the wayah, Ive got it. Pretend youre 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 humorand hed always been tough. Hed gone into police work, and now he was with the FBI. Shed called him hysterically after the authorities had come to claim Marcuss body, and hed been so helpful. Hed made her understand that the federal government had to be invited in when there wasnt 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. Hed promised her that he would find a way to help her. Im not sure if Im the right one to come out there at this point. Too many people are aware that Im your cousin, and itll immediately appear as if youre asking for outside help, hed told her. Good way to piss off the local cops.
She didnt care about appearances. She wished Malachi had come.
The most bizarre thing was that Marcus Danbyor the ghost of Marcus Danbywas 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 ones faultaccidental death and all that.
And drugs were found in your system.
I know. Ugh! Marcus said, grimacing, a shiver racing visibly through his body. Yes, no ones faultaccidental death and all that.
And drugs were found in your system.
Thats just it, Liv. I swore, so many years ago, that Id never touch drugs again as long as I lived. I wasnt tempted. I didnt 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 yearnot 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 didnt come back. So I called out to him and followed him, and the next thing I knew I was on the ground. I didnt feel pain. I was just...on the ground. He paused as if taking a deep breath.
He couldnt have been taking a breath. He wasnt alive. Olivia took another sip of her tea. Shed be heading into her kitchen for the brandy in a minute.
You were on the ground, she said, encouraging him to continue.
I dont know if I was hit in the head, if... I just dont know. At first, there was nothing. And then...then I was on a high like you wouldnt 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. Ive sworn it, Ive defended you, I...I called my cousin.
Malachi?
Hes an FBI agent, Marcus.
And hes coming out here?
Ah, no. But hes 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. Im sure hes the help Malachis sending.
Why doesnt Malachi come himself? Why doesnt he tell you things directly?
Hes with the government. Those guys are all paranoid, I think, Olivia muttered. Anyway, its complicated, Marcus. People in this area know that were cousins. Some of them know Malachi. Like you. Sorry, I mean, you knew him
Its all right. Go on.
You cant just step on the toes of the local police. So Malachis managed to get a big shot to believe that somethings wrong here, and theyre 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.
Ill do everything I can, Marcus, she promised. She closed her eyes for a minute.
When she opened them, Marcus was gone.
Great. In death, Marcusalways the most polite of menhad 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 hed 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. Im 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.
Its 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. Shed 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 giraffes.
Agent Blake?
Yes, he said.
Sandra, Sandra Cheever. Or Mama Cheever, as you heard, which I still dont get. I dont cuddle patients, dont tuck them inI dont even brew tea, for Gods sake. But I do handle the paperwork and the scheduling around here. We have everything we need except your signature for the files. These daysespecially working with animalswe have to get waivers. But your office took care of everything else.
Thats great. What do I do? Where do I start? Im ready to sign.
Hands on her hips, she cast her head at an angle to study him.
Its good to hear your enthusiasm, she told him. I was afraid youd be hostile to the situationthat it was a come here or lose your job scenario.
Im from Nashville, but you know that. You probably know everything about me, Dustin said. And I love horses. This sounded better than any other offer Ive had, so yep. Im enthusiastic.
Excellent. Then Ill just bring you in to see Aaron. Hes our managing director.
She lifted a hand to point at a door with a placard that read Aaron Bentley.
Just tap and go on in, Sandra said, grimacing as they heard a loud squeal from the back. Im going to go supervise. Theyre good kids. When theyre here, anyway. But...they can get a bit crazy.
Sandra hurried to the back. Dustin watched her go as he tapped on the door.
Come in, its open!
Dustin stepped into the office. It was old-fashioned, to say the least. While the desk bore a laptop computer and a printer, an old blotter still sat on it, too, along with a memo tray piled high with papers. The room had two big leather-covered chairs in front of the desk and a worn couch to the rear. Windows looked out over one of the pastures.
The man standing behind the desk was about six feet tall, bearded and balding. His beard was neatly clipped; he seemed far better organized in his personal appearance than he did in his office management skills. Thin gold-rimmed glasses sat on his nose. He smiled seeing Dustin and walked around the desk, offering his hand.
You must be Agent Blake. Im sorry. One of us should have been out there to greet you.
Oh, a nice woman named Sandra did greet me. And yes, I am. But please call me Dustin.
We go by first names here, so thats great. Im Aaron. Aaron Bentley. Were glad to have you here, Dustin. Weve broken ground with many different groups, you know. About ten years ago, we started working with veteransthe physically wounded, and those who have wounded minds. We help children with disabilities, addicts of all ages, you name ithorse therapy can work wonders. But youre our first law enforcement official. Lets sit down for a moment.
Aaron returned to the swivel chair behind his desk, while Dustin sank into one of the old leather armchairs. It was comfortable. As messy as the office might look, that apparent chaos actually contributed to a sense of ease.
I spoke with your supervisor, a Mr. Jackson Crow, Aaron said, folding his hands in front of him. He didnt glance at papers or fiddle with anything on his desk. He gave his absolute attention to Dustin. He said you were having nightmares and that he believes youre
Burned out? Dustin suggested.
No. Experiencing one of those spells where youre having trouble weighing the good youre able to provide against the horrors you have to see. I admit, when I first got the call, I suspected youd been involved in some dreadful situation where innocents had been killed. But he tells me youre one of his best agents and that he wants you to take some time off. He also said you dont do well with traditional psychiatrists or therapy and that he hopes this will work for you.
Ah, did he tell you that? Dustin murmured. Hed had a general idea of what Jackson Crow had planned on saying; he didnt know how close to home it might be.