“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 could have died under those circumstances, even if he was trying to save himself, but...”
“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!”
“It’s just the right time,” Abby said quietly. And it was. The moon was rising; the sun had almost fallen below the horizon. The hills, the plains, the landscape—all had that magical quality of twilight.
They were still for a minute, until Dustin cleared his throat, and the sound roused them from their trance.
“Maybe the general’s at the cemetery,” Malachi suggested.
Olivia nodded. “Let’s forge ahead.”
They rode on and eventually came to the clearing that led to the small cemetery.
“This is one of Mariah’s favorite places,” Olivia told them. “The stories, of course, that go with the cemetery are tragic.”
“Ghost stories often are,” Malachi said
Dustin dismounted, lifting his lantern high. “Liv, do we leave the horses and walk along the trail?” he asked.
“No. There are coyotes in the area. We don’t want spooked horses. If we had to walk back, it would be a very long walk.”
“All right, this is your terrain, Liv. I’ll stay with the horses,” Dustin offered.
“No, I’ve been to the cemetery plenty of times,” Malachi said. “Olivia’s house belonged to our uncle when we were growing up,” he reminded Dustin. “I came out here—” he paused, grinning “—to the frontier often enough. You show Abby.”
Dustin didn’t argue. Olivia raised her own lantern high and led the way along the trail.
They came to the graves, and the old lichen-covered stones were haunting and sad in the moonlight.
“I’m surprised the general has been allowed to rest here—that someone hasn’t decided to dig him up for a memorial,” Abby said. She knelt down by the grave, dusting it off. “It’s nice here, though. Lonely.”
“Seems to be a Tennessee thing, respecting his right to this place,” Olivia said, getting down on her knees beside Abby. “There’s never even been any vandalism out here, nor do we ever find beer cans or any hint of frat kids fooling around. Not here, not in the cemetery.” She glanced up at them. “There’s an urban legend about the place—that in the 1960s or ’70s, some kids came out here, but there was a coyote prowling the area and they got scared and started to run. One of the boys got tangled in some vines. He was in a panic and he swore afterward that the general came and helped him. People believe that this cemetery is haunted—by more than coyotes. I guess it’s been tacitly accepted through the generations. The cemetery is maintained by local restoration groups, and no one interferes with it.”