“I am,” Dustin said, introducing himself and Olivia.
“Cool. But I’m not sure what I can do to help. The lady on the phone was asking me about my General Cunningham picture. She says the sheriff out by you found one—in some trees. The thing is, it can’t be the one in the newspaper photo. That’s owned by Hysterically Haunted Happenings—they’re the guys who had the contest. I was really happy to win. Tuition is stiff, you know?”
“I remember,” Olivia said. “And I sympathize.”
“Hey, want to be a model? What a great face you’ve got.”
“No, but thank you.”
“I didn’t mean a nude or anything. I have a little money now.” He grinned. “I could even pay you.”
“Maybe some other time.” Olivia smiled at him. “If you’re looking for models, we have gorgeous horses at the Horse Farm, not to mention adorable dogs and cats. You could come out and see them sometime.”
“Yeah, a woman on a horse. A naked woman on a horse! Oh, no—sorry. You can tell I like historical images,” Simon said.
“I’m no Lady Godiva.”
Dustin brought the subject back to their original purpose. “My associate told me that you had a few other renderings of the general. Practice runs, she called them. But you sold them all?”
“Too bad I didn’t know I was going to win!” Simon groused. “I’d have held out for more money. Yeah, I did two practice images. They weren’t as well-shadowed or defined as the one I entered, but they were still pretty good. They probably wound up someplace where they won’t really be appreciated.”
“Oh, I think one of them is appreciated,” Olivia murmured.
“So, you sold two. Who did you sell them to?” Dustin asked.
Simon screwed up his face. “We had an art sale right in the yard,” he said. “We do them every few months. Mrs. B.—you met her, she owns this place—is really cool. Some of my friends play their own music, she makes lemonade and sangria and we have a great day. I sold a bunch of stuff, sketches, some watercolors—and the practice pieces.”
“Yes, but who did you sell them to?” Olivia asked, repeating Dustin’s question.
“Well, I’m trying to remember,” Simon told them. “’Cause I sold so much.”
“Was it all cash?” Dustin asked.
Simon brightened. “No. No, I took several checks.... Oh, yeah! I took a check for one of the renderings.”
“Who wrote it?” Dustin persisted.
“Um—a guy,” Simon said vaguely.
“Old guy, young guy?”
“Sort of in the middle. He wasn’t a kid, but he wasn’t keeling over or anything, either.”
“Was he dark-or light-skinned? What color were his eyes? Did he have a beard? How was he dressed? Is there anything you remember about him?”
“Well, he was wearing a baseball cap, I’m pretty sure. I don’t remember his eyes. No, he didn’t have a beard.”
“Do you have the check he gave you?” Olivia asked.
“I already deposited it,” he replied. “Everyone told me I was an idiot to take a check. But here’s the good thing—it didn’t bounce!”
“Simon, I swear we’re not after your bank account, but you must have online banking,” Olivia said. “If you pull up your account, you should be able to find a copy of the check.”
He got up. His desk was piled high with pens and pencils, art sheets and school memos. He brushed them out of the way to get to his computer. A minute later, he’d drawn up his records and hit all the right keys. He swiveled in his desk chair to look at them proudly. “I found it!”
Olivia got up and walked over to stand behind the boy, studying the computer image of the check he’d been given.
She turned to look at Dustin with stricken eyes.
“Aaron,” she said softly. “Aaron bought the general’s image.”
17
“I don’t know how we’ll ever get at the truth,” Olivia said as they drove out of the city. She realized that although she’d discovered something she hadn’t wanted to know, she’d been glad to get away—even if Nashville wasn’t really “away.” Any trip there, however brief, was a pleasure; the city was sophisticated and filled with music and charm and yet still had a small-town feel.
But she loved the Horse Farm, too. She had adored Marcus; she’d cared about Aaron. But Aaron might have gone crazy before he’d died—or been killed. Every clue seemed to lead them in circles.
“We will,” Dustin said in a reassuring voice. He was driving, and she sat in the passenger seat, gazing out the window, wishing she could roll back time.
“What now?” she asked him.
“I’ll call Frank in a little while and find out if he’s come across anything new.” He reached over and squeezed her hand. “Hungry?”
“Yes, actually. We never did have lunch. We could turn around. I know some incredible restaurants on Elm Pike or back by Music Row.”
He grinned at her. “I was thinking more of the café.”
“I thought Jane was going.”