“I believe in what we’re doing. I kid all the time about wanting to be a movie star, but...I love what we do,” Mason said. “The thing is...we’ve all still got to live.”
“Eating is a good pastime,” Mariah murmured.
“I’ve got savings,” Drew said. “I’m fine, and I’ll stick it out.”
“Horses have to eat, too,” Sydney reminded him.
Mariah stood up. “I’m going home, okay?”
“That’s not a good idea right now.”
“But I’m exhausted!”
“If you go home, you’ll be doing so at your own risk,” the deputy said.
Everyone in the room seemed to freeze.
At last Mariah repeated his words weakly. “At my own risk?”
“We don’t believe these were accidents anymore,” Callahan told her.
She sank back into her chair. “You think that someone...that something...that Aaron was...pushed into the water?”
“We don’t know for sure. Not yet. We’re hoping to learn the truth,” Callahan said. “We’re hoping Aaron will wake up.”
“And what if he doesn’t?” Sydney asked sadly.
Drew managed a faint smile. “He has to wake up. I can’t spend the rest of my life just looking at you guys! Not that I don’t love you, but there are days Sydney and I can’t wait for you to leave so we can head up to our apartments!”
The others tried to smile, too. It was then that Callahan’s phone rang. He answered it and spoke briefly.
“Aaron Bentley is conscious,” he announced.
11
“I don’t care what Sandra Cheever does, she’s not getting in to see Aaron,” Dustin told Frank Vine. “And I’m thankful as can be that Aaron Bentley is alive. But he has to speak with us before he sees anyone else. It doesn’t matter if they’re a couple. For one thing, Sandra was out here in the woods. For another, I don’t believe that Aaron going face-first into the stream was an accident.”
“And you’re still convinced he was struck with a dart?” Frank shook head grudgingly. “I’ve decided to go with you on all this, but you do know it still sounds crazy.”
They were halfway back to the Horse Farm, Frank’s discovery rolled up and draped over his saddle.
It was General Rufus Cunningham. Or rather, Frank had come upon a rendering of the general on cotton gauze. He’d stumbled across it in the trees, stretched between two branches. While the artwork was darned good, the cloth was the type often used by community theater groups—or colleges. Places without Broadway budgets for their backdrops. This particular piece seemed like the kind of thing frat guys might use to scare their dates.
But it was equally possible that someone in their group had put it up and done some vocal tricks to lure Mariah into the forest—just when Aaron was supposed to be dying.
With Frank Vine now grudgingly accepting the fact that things might not be what they seemed, Dustin had faith that the image would be investigated.
“Let’s not mention the cheesecloth image of the general yet,” Dustin suggested. “I think we should investigate and find out where it was produced and by whom.”
Frank Vine glanced over at him. “Agent Blake, you must have a lot more resources at your fingertips than we have out here. I cover a pretty wide space and I do it with an eight-man team. Well, sorry, that includes two women. I’m not trying to be a sexist.”
Dustin grinned. “I didn’t take you for one, Vine.”
“Or a yokel.”
“Neither did I take you for a yokel, sir. I’m grateful that you’re giving me a chance—and that you’re willing to look at this thing from all sides.”
“Could still simply be accidents. Strange and sad accidents,” Vine reminded him.
“Could be,” he agreed. But they weren’t. He couldn’t explain to Frank Vine that a ghost had told them about his own murder.
They were almost back at the Horse Farm. Frank, who’d arrived via the rescue helicopter, had ridden back on Shebaan, Sandra’s mount. The tents were folded up and the gear was being carried back on Gargantua, who was trailing behind them. Luckily the massive horse didn’t seem to be overburdened.
As they closed in on the property, Frank’s phone rang. At the same moment, Dustin felt his own pocket vibrate. He answered; Olivia was on the other end, speaking softly. “He’s conscious! We got a call that Aaron is conscious.”
“I guess that’s the same information Frank’s getting right now,” Dustin said.
“Sandra’s having a fit. They’re giving her some information but not allowing her to see him.”
“She can’t see him. Not until I—” he glanced over at Vine “—not until we’ve had a chance to interview him.”
“Where are you?” she asked, sounding a little desperate.
“Almost at the Horse Farm.”
“Thank God. The natives are getting restless,” she murmured.
“If you can get Drew and Sydney to meet us, that would be helpful,” he told her.
“Will do,” Olivia said, and hung up.
He glanced over at the deputy sheriff again.
“You don’t want anyone in to see him?” Vine asked him. “They say Sandra’s hollering up a storm.”
“Like I said, she was there when it all happened.”
“And you think she somehow got a dart into Aaron Bentley and ran back to the camp?” Despite his open mind on the matter, Frank sounded somewhat skeptical.
“Someone did,” Dustin said.
“We don’t really know that. Remember, you’re talking to me about an investigation. We’re going to need to deal with facts—not supposition.”
“Okay. My educated theory—because of what I found in the woods when I was riding with Olivia—is that someone is knocking people out with a dart gun. Once they’re unconscious, this person kills them and makes the deaths look like accidents. Like they’re caused by an overdose or a lack of coordination. Look, I know this still seems far-fetched to you, but I swear there’s more to it, and if we don’t find out the truth, there’ll be another body. A dead one.”
“I’ll play along—best as I can,” Frank told him.
“I can bring in help.”
Vine was silent.
“You don’t want me to invite in the FBI?” Dustin asked after a minute. “It doesn’t have to be that official. If you prefer, I can just get a few people to drive over to Tennessee and do some legwork.”
Vine shook his head. “Damn, I wish I could say I can manage this without help.”
Dustin smiled. “Frank, we couldn’t come in and manage anything—if you weren’t giving us help.”
“I see a couple of guys coming out to give us a hand with all this gear. I’m assuming you want to get right to the hospital?”
“I do. And I want Olivia Gordon with us.”
Frank groaned. “Something else going on?”
“I think someone tried to break into her house the other night.”
“You should’ve called. We could have done something.”
Dustin didn’t respond, and Frank sighed. “Yeah, yeah, you’re right. We would’ve walked around and seen nothing and probably thought she heard raccoons crawling around on her porch. But you don’t think it was that.”
“No.”
Frank sighed again. “Things are weird around here, no matter how you look at it. I’m damned glad I’ve already taken my dog from that place! So, here’s the deal. You bring in whoever you want—but you keep me apprised. You make me aware of everything.”
“Agreed.”
They didn’t speak anymore; they’d reached the ranch and both Drew and Sydney were outside, waiting to take the horses as they dismounted. Sammy was out in the yard and he greeted Dustin as if he were his master, as if they’d been together ever since the big mutt had been a puppy. He could only give the dog his distracted attention because Drew was anxious to speak.