Dustin turned to Olivia. “Could he just have disappeared from a pasture and reappeared? Drew and Sydney didn’t seem certain.”
“Well, I guess it’s possible,” she said. “You see and do things every day and you don’t really pay much attention to your surroundings. We often keep the horses in the pastures, and we’ve never had to worry about them. Sometimes they hang around the fences. Sometimes they cluster in the corner by the trees. When I get here every morning, at least some of them are usually out in the pasture, unless they’re being brushed for a session or saddled for a ride. They’re always in their stalls at night, but during the day...” She shrugged. “Honestly, you’d have to ask me to count them. Otherwise, I’d assume they were all where they’re supposed to be.”
“So, it is possible someone took him without being seen,” Dustin concluded.
“I guess so,” Olivia said unhappily.
“Anything else?” Sloan asked.
“We found one of our horse-shaped thumbtacks out in the woods. We’re assuming that means whoever tacked up the image of the general brought it from here—and probably came from here.”
“I believe I’ve learned the source of the image,” Jane said. She sat on the sofa with her laptop and opened it. “Five weekends ago, there was an art show at the Opryland Mall in Nashville. It was kind of a big deal. They had name bands playing there, as well as a contest for artists to create props for haunted houses.” She turned her computer around. There was the gauze cloth, with the watercolor and chalk image of the general. A young man of perhaps twenty-two was standing next to it; a judge stood beside him, handing him an award. “The kid who won is a senior at Vanderbilt. His work will go into a haunted house being set up in an old farmhouse near Murfreesboro. His prize was a grant of five thousand.”
“Have you contacted him?” Dustin asked.
Jane nodded. “His name is Simon Latinsky and you can visit him this afternoon. He rents a room on Capri Street. He’s expecting you anytime before five. Oh, by the way—the original, the one we’re seeing in this picture, is already in the haunted house. But he did a few practice runs, which he sold.”
Dustin looked at Olivia, meeting her eyes. “Why don’t we go talk to the budding artist?”
“Okay with me,” she murmured.
“Meanwhile, I’ll spend some time with Sydney and Drew,” Malachi said. “See if I can find out anything else.”
“Maybe one of you could drop by the café,” Dustin suggested. “Delilah is a veritable fount of information and sometimes some of the kids from Parsonage House go there. Oh, if you run into Coot, say hi.”
“I’m going to check up on the whereabouts of your fellow therapists, Mason and Mariah—and I’ll stop by and introduce myself to Sandra Cheever,” Sloan said with a grimace. “I’ve already talked to her on the phone a few times.”
“Really? Why?” Olivia asked.
“According to the last will Aaron Bentley wrote, you’re his executor. And Sandra wants to plan the funeral. Oh, by the way—she quits.”
Olivia groaned. “Another funeral...and I’m not surprised she wants to handle it. All she had to do was talk to me. I’m happy to let her make the arrangements.”
“I don’t think she likes you a lot right now,” Sloan told her.
Dustin nudged Olivia. “Finish your coffee and let’s go,” he said. “We have an art student to see.”
“Sammy and I will hold down the fort here,” Abby said. She yawned. “Maybe take a bit of a nap on that sofa.”
Olivia set down her cup and took Dustin’s hand. “Come on, let’s go. Let’s see what Simon Latinsky has to say.” Sammy let out a mournful howl, as if he knew he was being left again.
“Ah, come here, boy. I’m going to cuddle you while we take a nap,” Abby crooned, enticing him over.
“Just FYI, he’s not supposed to be on the couch,” Olivia said.
Abby grinned at her. “Okay, I’ll be on the couch—and he can sleep on me!”
Olivia smiled. It was evident that she approved of the woman who’d become Malachi’s partner in every possible way.
*
Simon Latinsky lived in a turn-of-the-century house on Capri Street near Vanderbilt. When they knocked on the door, the woman who opened it seemed to be expecting them; she welcomed them in and asked if they wanted coffee. They declined, and she directed them to Simon’s room, explaining that she owned the house but rented four of her rooms to students.
The house reminded Dustin of his college days. The tenants seemed to be musicians and artists. He and Olivia could hear someone practicing a guitar as they walked up the stairs, and the hallway was lined with lithographs.
Simon let them into his room. He looked much as he had in the picture Jane had found online.
“Hi!” he greeted them. “Come on in. Sorry, it’s such a mess.” It was a mess. Simon dumped a pile of clothing from a chair and another from the foot of his bed so they could sit. “I heard you’re with the FBI!” he told Dustin.