She shrugged. “I’ve just spent a couple of hours with Frank Vine. We’re working with the facts, sir, just the facts. Like I said, the artist was decent. The rendering seems relatively accurate, judging by some of the Civil War photographs I looked at online. And some of the shading was really nice. This artist probably does have a career in his or her future.”
“So, you’d say a young artist?”
“I think so. Although art is—no pun intended—a sketchy field. It might be an older artist who’s a better technician than he or she is at finding a personal style. That’s my opinion. I work with reconstruction a lot. Or doing sketches from someone’s description. This seems to be along those lines. There must be a portrait of the general like that somewhere. I didn’t come across it in my online research but I’ll keep looking. The artist almost certainly copied the painting—or maybe even a photograph. I asked Frank, but they weren’t able to lift any fingerprints, nor did they find hairs or fibers or anything that might help.”
“So, we have to locate the artist.”
“We have to locate the artist,” Jane agreed.
It wasn’t that she’d been away for any length of time, but Olivia was glad to be at the Horse Farm. Everything was in good shape, just as it always was. Stalls were clean; horses were well fed and watered. Drew told her that Sydney had even gone on a cleaning binge in the office.
The two of them knew Malachi from other visits he’d made over the past several years, and they seemed to like Abby Anderson when they met her, as well. While they waited for Jane and Dustin to return, Drew and Sydney took them by the stalls, introducing them to each of the horses, the cats prowling around and the Horse Farm dogs. By the time Jane and Dustin returned, they were ready for their ride. Olivia, of course, would be on Shiloh. Dustin would take Chapparal. Malachi would ride Zeus, the big paint—a horse he’d ridden before—and Abby, who hadn’t been on a horse all that often, would be on the palomino mare, Carina. Carina could move when needed; she was also extremely gentle.
But while Olivia rummaged around in the cupboards below the coffee machine in the office, gathering supplies, Jane told them about the rendering of the general she’d studied.
Olivia paused. “You think it was a copy of another work?” she asked.
“Yes. The general appeared to be posed—as if for a picture,” Jane said.
“I think I might know the painting, then. Of course, I haven’t seen this particular rendering. But there’s a Civil War picture of the general in the county archives. It was actually taken by Matthew Brady—according to local lore. And it’s possible, since the general had been assigned to different fields of battle during the war, although legend has it that Brady did take the picture of him somewhere in Tennessee. Both he and the general were at Chattanooga. I’m sure there are copies of the picture here and there. I only know of one, but it’s in a coffee shop near Vanderbilt University.”
“So it’s likely any art student might see it?” Jane asked. “And copy it...”
“Imitation being the sincerest form of flattery and all that. Plus, kids come out here to camp. A lot of this land is public access and public park. It’s possible that some students recently decided to scare their friends—and left their artwork behind.”
Dustin had entered the office. “And it’s possible someone bought, borrowed or stole it. As you mentioned yourself back at the office,” he said to Jane. “While you and Sloan are keeping watch here, can you get on the computer and look up the different universities in the area and the art departments? It’s a long shot, but you might find something.”
“Will do,” Jane promised.
“We ready?” he asked Olivia. “We’ve got a tent packed, matches, lanterns, all the fixings. Did you find any food?”
“We’ll be having hot dogs, canned grits and soup,” she told him. “Oh, and some muffins for breakfast. They don’t taste too bad when heated over a fire. And we have lots of coffee and water.”
He grinned. “Then we’re good to go.”
“I just wanted to check in with Mariah and Mason before we leave. Is that an okay thing to do?”
“It’s a very good thing to do,” he said.
When she reached Mason, she wondered if it had been a mistake. He went on a rampage for what seemed like several minutes, horrified about Aaron, worried about their lives—and then worried about her. She managed to calm him down and ask him, “Mason, where are you now?”
“Still at the Hermitage,” he told her.
“Oh?”
“Well, I’d planned to come, and when I heard about Aaron, I almost changed my mind, but I couldn’t stay home. So I’m here. And I’m glad I came. Andrew Jackson was really an interesting guy. Yeah, he was a bastard as far as the Native Americans went, but he could be kind, too. And he loved Rachel—and Rachel was so reviled! But he didn’t give a damn. He loved her. She didn’t live long enough to go to the White House with him, but—”
“He was definitely an interesting man, Mason,” Olivia broke in. “And I’m glad you’re out and enjoying the day.” Dustin made a motion indicating that he wanted her phone for a minute. She handed it to him.
“Mason, you should keep on doing what you’re doing,” he said. “Seeing Nashville. Can you stay in the city tonight?”
Olivia couldn’t hear Mason’s response, but he must have agreed because Dustin continued with, “Good. Just to be on the safe side. Do something else that includes a lot of people tomorrow. Visit the Country Music Hall of Fame, for instance.” He said goodbye and gave the phone back to Olivia. “Mariah?”
She punched in Mariah’s number. Mariah answered almost immediately. She was upset, as well; she was whispering, but she sounded calmer than Mason. “I’m fine. One of the deputies came in with me to see Sandra. She’s sleeping now, so I’ll hang here for a while. Maybe I’ll just stay, since he’s still here.”
Olivia lowered her cell and told Dustin what Mariah had said.
He took the phone from her again. “Keep in touch, Mariah. And when you leave, see if they can send another deputy with you. Just call Frank Vine. He’ll make sure it happens. Callahan’s with you now, right?”
Mariah had obviously said yes, because Dustin nodded and handed the phone back to Olivia.
“Take care,” she started to say. But Mariah had already rung off.
“We should get moving,” Malachi said. “We’ll keep Sammy at the Horse Farm.”
It was nearing dusk; one of those beautiful evenings when the moon, although not quite full, rained down a glorious opaque and ivory light.
Dustin and Olivia led the way as the group set out on horseback. When she neared the ravine where Marcus had died, Olivia glanced over at Dustin and asked, “Do we stop?”
“Probably a good idea,” he said. “Let Malachi and Abby take a look around—see who or what appears. If anyone does, of course.”
Olivia dismounted and walked the few feet back to Malachi and Abby.
She didn’t have to say anything. “This is where Marcus died?” he asked.
She nodded.
Dustin, down from Chapparal, joined Malachi at the ravine’s edge.
“It’s obvious, even at night—and Marcus died during the day—that this ravine is here, that there’s a drop. And,” Malachi said, hunkering down at the edge, “if you did fall in, you’d roll and brace yourself and—”
“But Marcus had been knocked out and then shot up with heroin,” Olivia reminded her cousin. “He wouldn’t have been able to stop his fall.”
Malachi nodded. “Someone
“The general came. He looked down at me when Marcus was in my arms and tapped me on the shoulder at the same time, and...and I passed out,” Olivia said, embarrassed.
Dustin was glad that Abby laughed. “Trust me!” she said. “That kind of surprise would get to the most hardened of us.”
“She’s right,” he concurred. “We learn that we see and hear what others don’t. Doesn’t mean we can’t be startled as hell. That really never changes. Ghosts. Sometimes they show up when you least expect them—and hide when you’re trying to reach them!”
