“Thanks,” she told him.
“So the attorney is coming here at ten,” Aaron said. “See you in the morning.”
They all moved. Some of them would get into conversations about Marcus—or about Dustin, Olivia knew.
She didn’t want to get into a conversation.
She drove home. Sammy greeted her and she stroked the dog’s back and spoke to him for a minute before she looked around downstairs.
“Marcus?” she called.
There was no answer. She went up to her room and changed into comfortable sweats, then came back downstairs.
Marcus was there, in the kitchen. “Wish I could’ve put the teakettle on for you,” he told her.
“That would have been nice.” She put the kettle on and leaned against the stove. “Maybe in time,” she said.
“In time!” he protested, then smiled at her. “That’s almost Biblical. A time to reap, a time to sow—and a time to walk into the light. I want to walk into that light, Liv. I’ve seen it. It’s beautiful. I should go there.”
“Oh, Marcus.” She wanted to give him a hug—but she couldn’t hug a ghost. “Marcus, if the light is there...and it’s what you want, then you should go into it. We’ll get along here, I promise. I’ll do everything I can. Malachi sent an agent out to investigate.” She paused. Yeah, and he likes to play Ping-Pong and go camping!
“Marcus, have faith. In me, I mean. You can go to the light.”
“No, actually, I can’t. Not yet. Not until I’m proven innocent. People do fall back into drugs. But the thing is—I didn’t. So I just can’t leave.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know why not!” he said, aggrieved. “You figure out the meaning of life and death—I sure as hell don’t know it!”
Before she could respond, Sammy suddenly stood up and barked. Right after that, there was a knock on her door.
Olivia stared at Marcus, wondering why she should feel so alarmed. “Why don’t you answer that?” Marcus asked.
She nodded. “Fine. You stay put.”
She squinted through the peephole. The man at her door was Dustin Blake.
Surprised, she opened the door.
“We’re really not supposed to fraternize,” she said. “Not when I’m your therapist.”
“You’re not really my therapist,” he said. “And I’m not really in therapy. May I come in, please? I need to understand a lot more about what’s going on around here. One of our computer whizzes back in D.C. got me a copy of the autopsy report. There was heroin in Marcus Danby’s system.”
“Yes, I understand that. We may be in the backwoods of Tennessee, but we do have a county morgue and intelligent, well-educated medical examiners. I didn’t doubt the report. But the drug was administered to Marcus somehow. That’s the point.”
He stood just outside her door, stoic and patient. She recognized that he was kicking into true professional mode. “Ms. Gordon, I would be most unlikely to fault the capabilities of agencies in Tennessee, since I’m from the state myself and continue to love and admire my homeland. What I’m trying to tell you is that the facts of the situation are going to make it very hard. I’m trying to have a real discussion with you and find out everything you can possibly tell me.”
She opened the door wide. “Please come in. You actually don’t need to hear it from me. Would you like some tea, Agent Blake?”
She heard him close the door as he stepped in. Sammy gave a loud woof, then wagged his tail energetically and ran to the newcomer. Dustin Blake leaned down to scratch the dog’s head. “Hey, fellow, you’re a handsome lad. Poor thing, how’s the leg doing?”
“He’s healing nicely, thank you,” Olivia said. She led him into the kitchen; if Malachi had sent this man, if he was part of a Krewe, he must have some sense that the dead could, and sometimes did, speak.
“You should hear it from Marcus himself,” she said, coming around the counter.
But Marcus was gone.
Once more, he’d cut out on her without so much as a wave—now, when she needed him most.
4
Olivia Gordon had appeared irritated—and smug. As if she’d been about to prove to an upstart that her every word was true.
But she was obviously perplexed as they walked into the kitchen. Surprised by something, and off balance.
“What’s wrong?” Dustin asked.
She had the ability to collect herself quickly. “Nothing. Would you like tea?”
“Uh, sure.”
She went through the motions, moving a little too precisely, setting the mugs down a little too hard.
“Black or green?” she asked. “Milk? Sugar?”
“Black or green, and just plain, thank you,” he said. She knew, of course, that he was watching her. “I was going to hear what happened from Marcus?” he asked quietly.