“I’m on my way to finding out what I need,” he assured her.
The door to the office flew open. Sandra Cheever burst out, looking somewhat flustered. Seeing the two of them, she regained her composure quickly. “You’re finished with your sessions for the day?” she asked Mariah.
“Yes, all done.”
“Well, good.” Sandra turned to Dustin. “As soon as Olivia comes in, we’ll close the office.”
“Where’s Mason?” Mariah asked.
“He had some business in Nashville this afternoon.” Sandra shook her head. “I’m ready to go home! This has been a long day and I’m exhausted.”
She turned abruptly and left them. A minute later, Olivia came in. Before she could speak, Aaron hurried out of his office. “Hey, Liv. I’ve got the keys to Marcus’s house, if you want them. You don’t have to take them today, but I was thinking you might want to get those locks changed. Who knows how many keys Marcus might’ve had made to give to friends—or strangers!—who needed a place to stay.”
“Thanks, Aaron. I will take them. I—I...think I’ll go by and just take a look at the place,” Olivia said.
While she was with Aaron, Dustin sent a text to the office in Virginia, asking for Marcus’s address and directions to his house. He didn’t want to head out with Olivia.
But he’d be damned if he’d let her go to that house alone. The Ping-Pong rematch would have to wait.
Marcus Danby’s small ranch house really had no historic significance. It was little more than an extended log cabin with only one floor.
The front door opened into a small hallway; immediately to the right was the kitchen and beyond that a spacious living-dining area. Marcus had furnished it with quilted throws and handcrafted furniture. There was Native American art on the walls and various sculptures; he’d loved dream catchers and there were a number of them scattered about.
Olivia stepped into the living room, switched on a light and looked around. “Marcus?” she said aloud.
There was no answer.
A fine layer of dust was beginning to form on the furniture and objects. Other than that, it was just as Marcus had left it. Or so it appeared. Olivia glanced at the hall that led to the three small bedrooms. One he’d kept as a guest room, one was an office and one was his own.
She walked into the living room and sat on one of the sofas. A quilt—hand-stitched by the grandmother of one of their guests who’d proven to be a success story—was draped over a sofa. The sofa had also been handcrafted by another former guest who’d started a furniture-making business. Marcus had always helped out, not just with his talks and the Horse Farm, but also by supporting those who were trying to make a new life for themselves.
She looked at the coffee table, carved from the trunk of an old tree. There were a number of colored pages on it—drawings done by some of the boys who’d stayed at Parsonage House.
“So, you’re being a jerk as a ghost, but you were one hell of a good guy, Marcus,” she said. She studied the drawings. She knew the boys were sometimes asked to draw what they saw as the demons of their pasts, and sometimes they were asked to draw what they saw as their futures.
She picked up one that Joey had done. It was actually a good drawing. He’d portrayed a gaping black hole with demon eyes and razor-sharp teeth reaching into a sunlit room where he sat at a desk. Emptiness. Joey feared the emptiness of his life, she thought.
Hearing a sound behind her, Olivia started, jumping to her feet and whirling around in one motion.
It was Dustin. He still wore his casual tweed jacket over a denim shirt and the jeans he’d been wearing earlier.
Somehow, she’d known that he’d come. He would come because Malachi had sent him here and because protecting her was part of his job description.
She was glad he was there. He seemed to fill a room—an area, even in the midst of a forest or pasture— with confidence, with strength, like an invulnerable bastion.
“What the hell are you doing?” he asked her, clearly irritated.
So much for being glad to see him.
“I’m looking around Marcus’s house,” she said. “My house,” she added.
“You didn’t even lock the door!” he admonished.
She flushed. She hadn’t thought to lock the door; she wasn’t accustomed to being worried about her every move.
“I knew you were coming,” she told him.
“You didn’t know who else might be coming,” he said, still aggravated. He started walking into the house.
To her amusement, he suddenly tripped. A corner of the rug stretched out on the hardwood floor had curled back.
Straightening, he swore softly.
“He has no right to be rude to you!” Olivia heard.
Turning around, she saw that the ghost of Marcus Danby had decided to join them.
“Rude!” Dustin snapped. “What the hell? I’m trying to keep her from getting killed, and you don’t seem to be helping a whole lot!”
Olivia turned again to look at Dustin, who was staring at Marcus.
“You see him,” she breathed.
“Of course I see him. And hear him. And, Mr. Danby, under the circumstances, it’s about time you stuck around to meet me,” Dustin said. “I need to know everything about you and everything you did on the day you were killed. Your memory might be the only thing that can keep Olivia alive.”
Marcus, startled—and offended—made his ghostly way across the room to stand in front of Dustin. “You— you’re FBI.
“You put her in danger the minute you dragged her into this!” Dustin snapped.
“Hey, someone killed me! It’s not just Olivia’s life that’s at stake. The Horse Farm itself is.”
“So, you’d get her killed, as well?”
“She could hear me. I had to tell someone the truth.”
“Excuse me,” she began.
But neither seemed to hear her.
“You need to be worried about her safety before anything else,” Dustin was saying.
“And you have to find my killer,” Marcus countered. “That’ll keep her out of danger.”
“But you obviously have the information we need.”
“No. You’re the one with all the advantages. You’re the one—”
“Yeah?”
“You’re the one who’s...alive.”
Marcus’s final statement apparently won the argument. Within minutes, he and Olivia were seated on the sofa, while Dustin was in a wing-back chair across the coffee table from them.
Olivia and Dustin had coffee—black. Marcus had told them the coffee was fine, but since he’d been dead for a while now, the milk probably wasn’t so good. Olivia should throw it out.
Marcus went over the day of his death with Dustin; Dustin asked for details but Marcus really couldn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know. Dustin pressed him, anyway.
“Okay, you heard the dog from the woods and you went to find him. That’s the last you remember?” Dustin asked.
“Yes, I just said that,” Marcus replied in an exasperated tone.
