“What?”
“He left
“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?
“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
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?
“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 cafe, 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 Tennessee.
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?”
