As the three investigators retrieved their luggage from the car, Jeff surveyed the surroundings. “We should check out the grounds.”
Virginia slammed the trunk shut. “No one died outside.”
“That we know of. Maybe Blair Geister’s ghost killed the gardener, too.”
“Still alive.” Emory tilted his head to the side, toward a fiftyish man sporting a safari hat and canvas gloves, standing amidst several plastic pots of blooming daffodils. He appeared to be ready to plant them in the patch of dirt between two anemic hemlock bushes at the side of the house, but at the moment, he was engaged in a coughing fit.
“All right. I’m just curious then.” Jeff dropped his bags beside the car.
Virginia pulled up the handle of her white suitcase with brown trim. “You two go ahead. I’m going to find the office and set up shop.”
Emory pulled his wool satchel and two gray, wheeled duffle bags from the backseat. “I want to unpack and then pay a visit to the local sheriff.”
Jeff smirked at him. “You really think he’s going to tell us anything?”
“I’m hoping he’ll at least tell us where he sent the bodies. Autopsies in Tennessee are performed at one of five regional forensics centers – Knoxville, Nashville, Memphis, Chattanooga and Johnson City.”
“Probably Chattanooga,” said Jeff. “It’s the closest.”
Emory agreed. “That’d be my guess too. Assuming the sheriff won’t give us details about the deaths, we’ll have another chance with the medical examiner.”
“Before we start spinning our wheels, I’m going to take a few minutes just to relax and take in the scenery.”
Emory raised his luggage-laden hands. “At least wait until I get these inside.”
“Good lord, no one’s going to steal your bags. If they did, they’d bring them right back once they saw the clothes inside.”
As Virginia snickered, Emory clinched his lips and lowered his luggage to the pavers. “What’s the big rush?”
“I just want to do it before it gets dark. You can join me or not. Whatever.” Jeff headed toward the wooded area that cloaked the western edge of the estate. Before Emory even caught up with him, Jeff spoke as if they were side-by-side. “Six hundred and twenty-five million, and she buys this.”
“I know.” Emory brushed aside the bristly branches of a cedar tree. “Why live here instead of a penthouse in one of her buildings?”
“No, I mean why just twelve acres? Why not a thousand acres? She could’ve had her own Balmoral, owned everything as far as the eye could see.”
“Mine’s a better question. Why here at all?”
“She grew up around here.” Jeff took a breath of a dogwood bestrewn with white blossoms. “I guess it’s home.”
“You don’t think it’s something more than that?”
Jeff turned his head to flash a smirk back at Emory. “Not everyone runs from home the first opportunity they get.”
Emory jerked his head back. “You did!”
Jeff motioned ahead. “I was running toward something. Can you honestly say the same? Ooh, locust.” He pulled an insect husk from the bark of a maple tree and held it up to Emory. “I used to collect them and have them fight my army men. Attack of the Giant Locusts!”
Emory laughed at the thought. “That’s actually a cicada husk.”
“Really? We always called them locusts. Attack of the Giant Cicadas doesn’t instill quite the same air of terror.” Jeff dropped the husk and continued forward.
“How much further do you want to walk?”
“To the end.”
“But we don’t know where the property lines are.”
Jeff nodded ahead. “I see a fence up there.”
Emory peered over his partner’s shoulder and glimpsed through the foliage the same vertical iron posts he saw extending from the driveway gate. He felt his phone vibrating in his pocket and retrieved it to see a text message from his mother. Emory stopped talking to respond.
Emory pocketed his phone, along with the uneasiness memories of his journal brought. He turned his attention back to his partner, and the first thought to come to mind was of the file on Jeff that TBI Director Anderson Alexander had given him after their last case. Ever since, he had wanted to talk to Jeff about its contents, but he kept putting it off, afraid of where the confrontation might lead. Was now the right time?
“Look at that tree!” Jeff, several yards ahead, hurried toward a huge cedar within the fence line.
Emory quickened his pace to catch up with his partner. When he did, he saw a twelve-foot gap in the property fence, in the middle of which stood the giant cedar tree. A chain draped from knee-high stakes created a five-foot perimeter around the base of the trunk. “That’s a big break in the fence. Anyone could just walk right onto the property from the woods on the other side.”
“Kind of defeats the purpose. I wonder why they didn’t continue the fence all the way up to the tree, or cut down the tree.”
“It’s protected.” Emory read an engraved marker embedded in a large stone block just outside the circle of the chain. “It’s an eastern red cedar tree, estimated to be 250 years old.”
“Cool.”
“No, it’s officially designated a Historic Tree by the state of Tennessee. The Cherokee considered cedar trees sacred, believing they housed the souls of the dead. They gathered around this one to honor those who died on this stretch of the Trail of Tears. The fallen were buried in unmarked graves in the area…” Emory stopped reading when he saw Jeff about to step over the chain. “What are you doing?!”
“I’ve never touched a 250-year-old tree before.”
“You can’t do that. The perimeter around the tree is protected by the state. It can’t be touched.”
Jeff put a toe on the muddy ground within the chained perimeter. “I think I just did.” He brought his other foot over.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that. It’s probably bad for the roots.”
“Relax. The roots are fine.” Jeff touched the trunk and looked up at the nearest branch, ten feet above their heads. “How tall do you think it is?”
Emory shrugged. “Eighty, ninety feet.”
Jeff looked past Emory. “I can see the house from here.”
“Fascinating. Now would you please come back on this side of the chain?”
Jeff shook his head and complied. “You know, you worry too much.”
“And you don’t worry nearly enough. Let’s get back to the house.”
“We’re not done with our tour. I can hear the river down this way.”
As Emory followed Jeff along the fence, the sacred tree brought a story to mind. “Did I ever tell you about Hugo Hickory?”
“It sounds familiar, but—”
“It’s the ghost story my granny used to tell me.”
“If it’s a ghost story, save it for bedtime.” Jeff motioned ahead. “There’s the river.”
They emerged from the woods at the muddy bank of the Hiwassee River, where the wake of a passing motorboat slapped against the final post in the bordering fence.
“Nice!” Jeff leaned his back against the trunk of a sycamore tree, entwined in cerulean morning glories, and took in his surroundings. The afternoon sunlight skipped across the ripples in the river and strobed the erratic flightpath of a green dragonfly skimming its golden surface. The bank on the other side abutted tree-covered hills and held no edifices as far as could be seen in either direction. Eastward on their side, a pier stretched from Blair Geister’s property to a large boathouse about halfway across the river. Jeff smirked at Emory. “Let’s take a dip in the altogether.”
“In the al—”
“You know. Nude.”
“I know what it means. I don’t swim.” Emory’s eyes fixed on the flowers behind Jeff. “Could you move?”
“Why?” Jeff pushed away from the tree. “Am I on something?”
“No. Let’s just walk.”
Jeff laughed. “What, are you afraid I’m hurting the morning glories? They’re fine.”
“That’s not it.” Emory shifted the subject as they continued along the water. “I wonder if Geisterhaus is off the grid.”
“Why do you say that?”
Emory eyed the boathouse, coming up on their left. “Solar panels on the roof and a waterwheel.” He looked to his right and saw Geisterhaus on the hilltop. A lawn about one thousand feet wide ascended from the riverbank to the house and the pool. Dotted with occasional trees and islands of flowering plants, the grass separated the woods they had just left from the less-wooded area on the opposite side of the property.
“Maybe.” Jeff followed Emory’s gaze up the hill before spotting a long silver pole protruding up from the roof. “Huh, you don’t see big antennas on house rooftops much anymore. I wonder why she didn’t have it removed.”
Emory stopped to pick up a flat rock. “I didn’t think much of it at first, but this really is a beautiful property.” He threw the rock at the river, and it skipped three times before sinking beneath the surface.
Jeff threw a rock of his own, skipping it five times. “I was thinking the same thing. Makes me think about an old friend from college. He would’ve loved this place. We used to canoe down the Tennessee River on the weekends.”
“What’s his name?”
“Trevor.”
Emory perked up at the name. “Do you stay in touch?”
“Not since he died.”
“Trevor Park?” Emory pinched his lips together.
Jeff tilted his head. “How’d you know his last name?”
“You’ve mentioned him before.”
“I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”
“It must’ve been Virginia then.” Emory’s eyes darted about before finding a point of focus. “Is that a woodcock?”
“What?” Jeff looked down.
Emory nodded downriver. “The big-beaked bird over there.”
“I have no idea. How do you?”
“I used to be into birds when I was a kid.” Emory took a step up on the grass. “It’s getting late. Let’s get back to the house.”
“We’re not done with the tour.” Jeff grabbed his partner’s hand and pulled him back to the bank. “The fence for the other side of the property is right up ahead. We’ll follow it up and cut over to the house.”
Emory complied but made sure to keep the topic of discussion innocuous as they approached the property’s western boundary and ascended the hill. “I wonder how the construction’s going at the office.”
“I’m fine staying here until it’s done.” Jeff called his attention to the house on the other side of the fence. “Look how small the neighbor’s house is compared to Geister’s.” He stopped in his tracks. “What the hell is that?”
Emory followed his partner’s line of sight to a huge black statue by the fence. Atop its body of roughly six feet rested a much larger head with a snarl of a grin focused on the neighbor’s house. “Is that art? I don’t get it.”
“I wonder how the neighbors feel about looking out their window every morning and seeing this guy sneering at him.”
“Not just this one.” Emory pointed up the hill toward at least three similar statues, all facing the neighbor’s house. “It’s like Easter Island.”
Jeff gawked at the hideous figures. “Something tells me Blair Geister and her neighbor didn’t get along.”