“So,” Jimmy Callahan said, “we’re looking for someone with access to the workers at the Horse Farm, someone who knows their hours and their habits. This someone also knows the campsite and the surrounding area. And he or she knows about tranquilizer drug concoctions that don’t show up in blood tests at a customary autopsy. And this person happens to be a fairly decent artist.”

“Except maybe our killer doesn’t need to be an artist at all, decent or not.”

“Yes,” Jane agreed. “This person—the killer—could have bought the image.”

Dustin nodded. “The murderer knew that Mariah would go snooping if she thought she was about to see the general. Although I don’t think she ever got to see this picture of the general floating in the forest mist. She happened on the pieces of coyote-torn cow first.”

Frank sat on the edge of his table and shook his head. “How did this person lure Mariah out—and hit Aaron Bentley with a dart at the same time?”

“It could’ve been done,” Dustin said. “The plans would have had to be laid the night before. And then the killer had to count on luck, as well. But most people know that Mariah is the local historian and ghost-queen. An eerie sound would definitely have caught her attention. Not a rebel yell or anything like that—too loud. A whisper? A distant bugle? Whoever this was came prepared.”

Frank shook his head again. “You still think Sandra?”

“At the very least, I think she knows something.”

“What’s your plan?” Frank asked.

“I’ll take a group riding—retrace our steps again, see what we can discover,” Dustin told him. “I particularly want to check out the stream.”

“My partner and I will be at the Horse Farm,” Jane told him quickly.

Frank looked at Jimmy. “Go pay Sandra Cheever a visit. Tell her you’ll be watching over her so that she can get some rest. See if you can stay inside at her place, rather than out in the car.”

“Yep, you got it.” Tipping his hat to Jane, Jimmy left the room.

“Is this crazy, or what? Is everyone at that place supposed to die in some kind of presumed accident?” Frank asked.

“Could be. What’s still eluding us is the reason,” Dustin muttered.

“You’ll be watching over Olivia, right?”

“A killer would have to get to her over my dead body,” Dustin assured him. “And you know that Malachi Gordon—Olivia’s cousin—is here, too.”

Frank nodded. He walked around to his desk and rummaged in his bottom drawer, then handed Dustin an outdated walkie-talkie. “You can reach the station with this. Keep me apprised of your movements.”

Dustin agreed to do that. As they drove back to the Horse Farm, he asked Jane, “There was nothing else you could get from that image of the general?”

She shrugged. “I’ve just spent a couple of hours with Frank Vine. We’re working with the facts, sir, just the facts. Like I said, the artist was decent. The rendering seems relatively accurate, judging by some of the Civil War photographs I looked at online. And some of the shading was really nice. This artist probably does have a career in his or her future.”

“So, you’d say a young artist?”

“I think so. Although art is—no pun intended—a sketchy field. It might be an older artist who’s a better technician than he or she is at finding a personal style. That’s my opinion. I work with reconstruction a lot. Or doing sketches from someone’s description. This seems to be along those lines. There must be a portrait of the general like that somewhere. I didn’t come across it in my online research but I’ll keep looking. The artist almost certainly copied the painting—or maybe even a photograph. I asked Frank, but they weren’t able to lift any fingerprints, nor did they find hairs or fibers or anything that might help.”

“So, we have to locate the artist.”

“We have to locate the artist,” Jane agreed.

It wasn’t that she’d been away for any length of time, but Olivia was glad to be at the Horse Farm. Everything was in good shape, just as it always was. Stalls were clean; horses were well fed and watered. Drew told her that Sydney had even gone on a cleaning binge in the office.

The two of them knew Malachi from other visits he’d made over the past several years, and they seemed to like Abby Anderson when they met her, as well. While they waited for Jane and Dustin to return, Drew and Sydney took them by the stalls, introducing them to each of the horses, the cats prowling around and the Horse Farm dogs. By the time Jane and Dustin returned, they were ready for their ride. Olivia, of course, would be on Shiloh. Dustin would take Chapparal. Malachi would ride Zeus, the big paint—a horse he’d ridden before—and Abby, who hadn’t been on a horse all that often, would be on the palomino mare, Carina. Carina could move when needed; she was also extremely gentle.

But while Olivia rummaged around in the cupboards below the coffee machine in the office, gathering supplies, Jane told them about the rendering of the general she’d studied.

Olivia paused. “You think it was a copy of another work?” she asked.

“Yes. The general appeared to be posed—as if for a picture,” Jane said.

“I think I might know the painting, then. Of course, I haven’t seen this particular rendering. But there’s a Civil War picture of the general in the county archives. It was actually taken by Matthew Brady—according to local lore. And it’s possible, since the general had been assigned to different fields of battle during the war, although legend has it that Brady did take the picture of him somewhere in Tennessee. Both he and the general were at Chattanooga. I’m sure there are copies of the picture here and there. I only know of one, but it’s in a coffee shop near Vanderbilt University.”

“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.”