hand on the table and breathed some more. He opened his eyes. “Right. Interrogation. The band members are stable, but the backups and roadies change out often. None are technically employees. We have a full-time farm manager, Pam Gower, who is at Myrtle Beach on vacation. She handles rotating the pastures, growing hay and some grain. She checked in and talked to someone. FBI? I think.”
“Good,” Occam said, but I could tell by his tone he wasn’t happy that Smythe had gotten to her first.
“The horses are overseen by me. I’m full-time. We currently have five part-time farmhands and always have a minimum of eight part-time riders.” Pacillo paused, staring at his hand on the table. “The house was handled by Verna Upton, the housekeeper, and Stella had her assistant, Monica Belcher, both full-time.
“But we were more than employees. We were family. You never saw such dedicated and loyal people as the ones Stella gathered around her. Turnover is nonexistent among the band members and all full-time staff.”
Occam opened a small spiral pad and clicked a pen. “I’d like the names and addresses of all the part-timers and full-timers.”
I said quickly, “Are there other horses in the stalls right now?” I hadn’t heard any feet stomping or the restless sounds of animals.
“I turned all of them out for the night. Temperature is good, grass is as good as it will get for the season,” Pacillo said. “Why do you ask?”
“I have a piece of equipment that reads magical energies,” I said, patting my empty pocket as if I currently carried a psy-meter. “I’d like to read the stalls and the central area. And then behind the barn.”
“Go for it. Read anything you want. Arrest the woman who did this. That’s all I want.”
I wanted to tell him not all witches were women. “I’ll be doing my readings,” I said instead, frowning.
“Ingram? Alone?” Occam asked. Because I could get in trouble with that, get all rooty again, and grow closer to becoming a tree. Not in my life plans.
I held up a single finger. “I’ll be careful.” The gesture indicated that I’d use only one finger.
Occam frowned. “I’ll check on you in a bit. Like, ten minutes.”
I gave him a professional smile—not the loving smile I wanted to give—and slipped from the room, carrying my potted plant and the faded blanket. Pacillo’s eyes followed my exit with the plant. I’m an eccentric, I thought. In the South that was not just allowed, it was expected and accepted, a lovely thing to be. I stopped only a few feet from the office and tested the soil in the central area of the barn. Nothing. I glanced back and caught Occam watching. “It’s all good!” I called out.
He gave me a jaw jut, the kind guys give each other to say they are macho and fine, and turned back to Pacillo.
All of the stalls read fine. The long central area read fine. The grooming/shower stall for horses read fine. The tack room and feed room read fine. The bathroom we had used all day read fine. The entire barn read fine, which I did not expect.
It was much faster work than any group of readings I had ever done. Midway, I realized that I had been carrying the potted vampire tree at each reading—the tiny tree a part of the self-proclaimed Green Knight.
I could communicate with Soulwood over distances. The tree had learned how to do that too, probably from observing me. The idea of being watched by the tree was a mite chilling.
I stuck my fingers into the tree’s soil and whispered, “Are you’un watching over me? Making this easier on me? Or are you’un jist spyin’? ’Cause if’n you’un’s doing either, I’ll have to rethink about when I’ll carry you around and when I’m leaving you in the car.”
The potted plant didn’t answer. Talking trees would be a nuisance and definitely creepy.
I called to Occam, visible through the open door, that everything was negative and that I was heading out back. He stiffened, suggesting that he didn’t like me going out on my own, but after a moment he nodded, rigid, but accepting.
I walked behind the barn, away from the house, and let my eyes adjust to the total dark again. Without the security lights it was dark as the devil’s armpit. There were gates in three directions, to three different pastures. Bending under one railing, I stepped into the pasture beyond, one facing the opposite direction from the one Adrian’s