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.”
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
“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
“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
“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.”
