He’d been scheduled for a ride with Olivia—but not alone. Apparently, because of the time lost that morning, Joey Walters was going to be with them. Which was fine; he liked Joey.
After breakfast at the café, Dustin had spent a few hours on his computer and done some fact-checking with the office back in Virginia. He’d read bios on everyone here over and over again. Nothing stood out. No history of mental illness, much less homicidal tendencies. Before coming to the Horse Farm, Sandra Cheever had worked for a medical office, arranging schedules and dealing with patients for a group of psychiatrists; she’d left only because Aaron had lured her away. She’d never received even a parking ticket. Mason Garlano had been working at a physical rehab center until he followed his girlfriend to Nashville. They had since broken up, but the girlfriend was alive and well and working as a sound technician for a studio in Nashville. Andrew Dicksen had moved to the Nashville area from Biloxi, Mississippi, with his family when he’d been ten. He’d done the rodeo circuit until his thirtieth birthday when a fall from a bull had damaged his collarbone; he’d known Marcus, and Marcus had offered him the job. Aaron Bentley had been a college student studying toward a business degree and working at a hack ranch when he’d met Marcus, who’d hired him. That had been twenty years ago. Both Sydney Roux and Mariah Naughton were from the area, and had lived there all their lives. Sydney had been arrested once in college for protesting a military action. Not one of them had a history of violence, theft, drug abuse or any other ill-doing that might have raised a pale pink flag, never mind a red one.
And still, Dustin was convinced that Marcus had been murdered and by someone close, someone who knew him well. That meant—as he’d assumed earlier—that there had to have been a motive, a secret agenda, since no fight had broken out. He hadn’t been killed in a fit of anger. His murder had been carefully calculated to look like an accidental death.
Official records were helpful, but they didn’t say much that was personal about anyone. Dustin was grateful for social media; he looked up every form of internet page or link he could for each of his suspects. Apparently, Drew had yet to enter the media age. He had a Facebook page but never posted. Mariah, on the other hand, loved her page—and used it, of course, to promote the ghost tours she did twice a month. Sandra Cheever used hers to communicate with family in New York. Mason kept up with friends in Texas—and made social arrangements with his friends in Nashville. Sydney Roux posted a lot of pictures of the animals at the Horse Farm. He took good pictures and made it clear that the puppies and kittens who wound up there were available for adoption to good homes. Aaron only had a professional page that led back directly to the Horse Farm.
He found himself looking up Olivia’s Facebook page, as well; she, too, liked to post pictures of the adoptable animals at the Horse Farm but she also mentioned social events and proudly posted beautiful pictures that showed off the grace and beauty of Tennessee.
He could spend his life on the computer, but it was nothing compared to actually spending time with people, face-to-face. He’d discovered he liked Drew; he really hoped the man wasn’t hiding some kind of dark secret. One thing the academy had taught him was that you could never be too careful—it was dangerous to trust a friendly face. Some of the nation’s most heinous serial killers had actually been charming when not slicing or strangling their victims.
“Did you ever meet Marcus?” Andrew asked him, hoisting a saddle onto Shiloh.
“No, I never did.”
“But you’re from the area?”
“From the city, originally,” Dustin said.
“Nashville’s the best city in the world, but I love these rolling hills out here,” Drew told him. He shrugged. “I guess even though it’s small in comparison to New York, Atlanta or Chicago, Nashville’s actually pretty big. Folks could wander around for years and never meet one another. Out here, we do.” He grinned. “And regardless of how long I’ve lived in the state, I’ll never be a real homeboy to people who are from here—like Mariah or Sydney. They can trace their families back for generations. But Olivia used to come out here all the time with her parents, and I know she and Mariah never met.” He shrugged. “A lot of life is an accident of timing, isn’t it?”
“I guess so,” Dustin said. “It’s easy to go through life not knowing everyone—even in a small town, let alone a big city,” he added wryly.
“That’s true enough.” Drew grinned. “Listen, thanks for the help.”
“Not a problem. I love horses,” Dustin said. “And cats—and dogs.”
“Plenty around here,” Andrew said. “In fact, you really would be a good candidate to take home a pup or a kitten.”
“I wish I was. I’m never in one place long enough to be a good owner.”
“Because of your work.”