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 Also by Jullian Scott

Eliza Kingston Mysteries

Pride of Lions
Den of Snakes
Murder of Crows
Pack of Wolves
Host of Angels
School of Sharks
Nest of Vipers (Coming Soon)

Eliza Kingston Mysteries Box Set

Eliza Kingston Mysteries Box Set Two

Olivia Thompson Mysteries

Came Tumbling After
Ring Around the Rosie
Had a Great Fall
Down Came the Rain
Life is But a Dream
Happily Ever After
Silent Night
Once Upon a Time
The Cradle Will Fall
Fairest One of All
Tale as Old as Time
Loves Me Not
See How They Run
All is Calm
Stroke of Midnight
Don't Say a Word
Fast as You Can
 Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Sets
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Set One
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Set Two
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Set Three
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Set Four
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Box Set Five

Terror Island
Deadly Paradise
Haunted Paradise

Standalone
Perfectly Broken
Dangerous Beauty
Olivia Thompson Mysteries Special Edition Box Set Books One - Six
Eliza Kingston Mysteries Volume One
Olivia Thompson Mysteries (Book One – Book Fifteen)
RING AROUND THE ROSIE

JULLIAN SCOTT
 CONTENTS

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Fifteen Years Earlier - Monday
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Fifteen Years Earlier - Tuesday
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Fifteen Years Earlier - Wednesday
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Fifteen Years Earlier - Thursday
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Fifteen Years Earlier – Friday Morning
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
About the Author
Prologue
Chapter One
 Copyright © 2016 by Jullian Scott

All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or
used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the
publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
 CHAPTER ONE

A crack of thunder hurried Olivia’s journey across the empty

parking lot. She glanced up at the sky, but it was too dark to
tell if the storm clouds had arrived. When she was just a few yards
away from her car, she stopped dead in her tracks. The hairs on the
back of her neck stood at attention. Her eyes darted around but as
far as she could tell, she was alone. Suddenly, huge drops of water
pounded Olivia and the pavement.
She jogged the last few steps and dove into her car. Only a few
seconds in the rain, but her hair and clothes were damp. “Just
great,” she muttered to herself as she turned the key. She flipped on
the radio as she pulled out of the lot.
“It’s 9:00 on October 2 nd and you’re listening to Y104, Chicago’s
number one station for news you can use. It’s looking like a wet one
out there tonight, so don’t forget your umbrella.”
“Very helpful,” Olivia said as she turned onto Broadway and
headed north.
Olivia wasn’t a big driver and living in Chicago meant she didn’t
have to use her car very often. But on Tuesday nights, she taught a
night class at Randolph University and she usually didn’t get done
until after 9:00. Olivia didn’t like to take public transportation after
dark. Besides, it was October 2. It was not a day to tempt the
shadows that lurked in the dark.
Y104’s top requested song almost drowned out the ringing of
Olivia’s cell. She reached into her bag and checked to see who was
calling. “Later, Nater,” she told the phone as she tossed it back into
her bag.
The rain had turned traffic into a nightmare. Chicago drivers
could easily navigate through a foot of snow, but a few raindrops
created chaos on the roads. It took her almost thirty minutes to
travel four miles. After circling her block three times, she finally
found a parking spot and then had to run half a block to reach her
apartment.
Olivia lived on the first floor of a courtyard building built in the
1960s. She had lived there for two years and still didn’t know any of
her neighbors, but she preferred it that way. Dinner consisted of
leftover Chinese food directly out of the container and a bottle of
wine. Olivia was halfway through her third glass when her phone
rang again.
“Hey, stud.” Olivia muted the television so Nate wouldn’t hear
what she was watching. No need making him worry about her even
more than he already did.
“Where the hell have you been, Olivia?” Nate’s normally deep
voice dropped an octave as he scolded her.
“It’s Tuesday night, Nate.” Olivia refilled her wine glass. “You
know I teach a night class on Tuesdays.”
“I called you after 9:00. I know you aren’t dedicated enough to
your students to stick around after class.” Nate sighed into the
phone. “It’s October 2, Liv. I was worried about you.”
Olivia’s sigh matched Nate’s. “I know. And I appreciate the
concern. You’re a good friend, Nathaniel Tucker.”
 “Damn straight.” Olivia heard the clang of ice dropping into a
glass. Nate was pouring his nightly scotch, no doubt. “How you
holding up? You need me to come over?”
“Not necessary. I’m fine.” Olivia usually loved having Nate
around, but tonight she wanted to wallow in her misery alone. She
pulled an old, knit blanket around her shoulders. “How was your day,
dear?”
“Just fantastic.” Nate’s frown was practically audible. “Spent the
day catching up on paperwork and then when I stopped by to pick
up my dry cleaning, I had the pleasure of running right into
Candace.”
“Yikes.” Olivia grimaced. Nate and Candace had been divorced for
just over a year, and the parting had not been peaceful. “Any battle
wounds?”
“Nothing physical.” A television clicked on and Olivia could hear
Nate settling onto his leather couch. “She says hi, by the way.”
“I’m sure.” Olivia smirked at the thought.
She had been friends with Nate for 12 years. Always friends and
nothing more. But when Nate had started dating Candace five years
ago, his new girlfriend had been jealous of their relationship. She
had gone so far as to give Nate an ultimatum– stop seeing Olivia or
the relationship was over. Nate had sent her packing and it only took
a week for Candace to come crawling back, begging for forgiveness.
Eventually, Candace had come to accept that Olivia wasn’t going
anywhere, but she certainly hadn’t been happy about it.
Olivia finished off her wine with a big gulp and realized that she
was nice and buzzed. “Is Candy still blaming me for ending your
marriage?”
“Who knows? She’s a psycho.” Nate cleared his throat and Olivia
knew he was uncomfortable. Candace had made it clear when she
filed for divorce that she wasn’t interested in being the other
woman, not-so-subtly implying that Olivia was the woman Nate
really loved. It wasn’t true, at least not the way Candace meant, but
it still bothered Nate.
“True enough. And I would know– I have a degree in psychos.”
Olivia smiled when Nate laughed. She loved the sound of his laugh.
“Yeah, you would know, Dr. Thompson. Studied any good
psychopaths lately?”
“Besides your ex, no. I’ve been busy molding young minds.” She
lowered her voice as she confessed, “I went through her file again
today.”
Nate was quiet for a long time. “You really shouldn’t do that to
yourself, Liv.”
“I know.” Olivia did know, but she couldn’t stop herself. “She was
murdered fifteen years ago today, Nate. They still haven’t found the
killer.”
Nate’s end of the phone went quiet as he switched off the
television. “You shouldn’t be alone tonight. Let me come over,
Olivia.”
Olivia struggled to laugh off his suggestion. “How many times do
I have to turn down your booty calls before you take the hint that
I’m not interested?”
“Can’t you be serious for even a second?” Nate sounded
annoyed.
“Not usually.” Olivia looked up as a quiet figure entered the room.
“Nate, I appreciate the offer. I really do. But I just got good and
sauced off a bottle of red wine and now I’m going to bed. Your trip
over here would be a waste.”
“You’re sure?”
 “Positive. Finish your scotch and the baseball game. I’ll talk to
you tomorrow.” Olivia scooted over on the couch to make room for
her guest.
“Alright. Goodnight, Olivia.” Nate’s voice was faint as he switched
the game back on. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Nater.”
Olivia smiled softly as she hung up the phone. She always felt
better after talking to her best friend, even if he was an insufferable
ass sometimes.
“Barf. You two are disgusting.”
Olivia looked up quickly at her sister. “Don’t start, Rosie.”
“You two need to just get it on already. The sexual tension is
suffocating.” Rosie coughed dramatically. “What did old Nate want
anyway?”
“He was just checking on me. Wanted to make sure I was okay.”
Olivia didn’t bother saying why he was worried about her in the first
place. Of all people, Rosie knew the reason better than anyone.
“And are you? Okay, I mean?” Rosie narrowed her perfect blue
eyes at Olivia.
“Most definitely not.” Olivia was sure of that. “It’s been fifteen
years, Rosie.”
Rosie sighed loudly and fell back against the couch cushions.
“You are such a drama queen. It’s just another day.”
“How can you say that?” Olivia looked at her sister, with her
perfect blond hair and pouty red lips. It always hurt Olivia to look at
Rosie too closely. To see her looking so perfect and know that it was
all a lie was the worst form of torture. “It’s the anniversary of your
murder, Rosie. It’s not just another day.”
“Murder anniversary? Really?” Rosie sat up quickly. “I’m dead,
Liv. When are you going to accept that? You said it yourself- it’s
been fifteen years. It’s time to move on.”
Olivia didn’t bother pointing out that it would be impossible to
move on as long as Rosie kept visiting. She knew that it was crazy
that she could still picture her sister so clearly and carried on
conversations with her as if Rosie were still alive. But as odd as it
was to talk to her dead sister, she couldn’t imagine life without Rosie
in it.
“I really should lock myself up.” She laughed dryly and shook her
head. “You’ve been dead fifteen years, and yet I’m sitting here
talking to you like you are real.”
“I am real, sis.” Rosie’s blue eyes clouded over with sadness. “I’m
still me. And I’m still here.”
Olivia whispered the same question she had asked Rosie a
hundred times over the years. “Why? Why are you still here?”
Rosie tilted her head and smiled. “I’m your big sister, silly. I could
never leave you.”
Olivia blinked back the moisture that was pooling in her eyes. “I
should get some sleep.”
“In a minute. Can we just watch a little first?” Rosie pointed at
the paused television.
Olivia had been watching old family movies when Nate called.
Clips from Olivia’s childhood that starred a vibrant and very much
alive Rosie. It was something Olivia did every year on the
anniversary and as much as it hurt, it also helped heal the wound
that had never closed completely.
“Yes, let’s watch.” Olivia pressed play and Rosie’s laugh filled the
room. It was surreal to watch her sister dancing around on the
screen while sitting next to her ghost. It should’ve been enough to
make Olivia check into a mental institution but instead, she closed
her eyes and drifted into a deep, peaceful sleep.
 CHAPTER TWO

N ate Tucker squinted up at the sky before pulling on his

sunglasses. It was an unusually warm October day for Chicago
and he could feel the sweat beginning to build beneath his suit
jacket. Dried leaves made loud crunching noises as he strode across
the park.
“You are quiet today,” Nate’s partner said. “Are you hungover?”
“We’re here to do a job, Monroe. Not gossip and talk about our
feelings.” Nate tried to ignore the twisting in his stomach. He always
felt out of sorts when these types of calls came in.
Vincent Monroe knew better than to keep pushing. He had been
Nate’s partner for just short of three months, but was well
acquainted with his mood swings. “Did you see Olivia last night?” he
asked with a raised eyebrow.
“No.” Nate frowned. Vince, and just about everyone else at the
station, assumed Olivia was more than a platonic friend. He had long
since given up arguing with them. “She teaches a night class on
Tuesdays.”
“You think this is a case for her?” Vince gestured to the area of
the park surrounded by police tape and wide-eyed police officers.
Olivia’s expertise in criminal psychology meant that Nate was often
hitting her up for advice when he had a particularly difficult murder
case.
“Only one way to find out.” Nate approached the officer that
seemed the least frazzled and held out his hand.
“Detective Tucker. This is Detective Monroe. Who is the lead
here?” Nate noticed that the other man’s hand was damp as they
shook.
“I’m Officer Conrad. I’m not sure who is in charge around here,
but I would assume you are now, Detective.” Officer Conrad smiled
weakly.
“What have we got down there?” Nate nodded toward the crime
scene.
Officer Conrad twitched. “It’s ugly. Pretty young thing with her
head bashed in. A runner found her just off the jogging path. The
first men on the scene established the perimeter.”
“You talk to the runner?” Vince was making notes on a small
notepad.
“Someone did.” Officer Conrad shrugged sheepishly. “It’s a bit of
a clusterfuck right now. But don’t worry, we asked him to stick
around. He’s over there.”
“Thanks. We’ll take it from here, Officer.” Nate shook his hand
again and then ducked under the police tape. He could feel eyes
following him, but he stared straight ahead.
He stopped several yards away from the body. Normally his
thoughts would be focused, carefully piecing together the clues and
evidence. But once Nate’s eyes found the victim, all his training
vanished and he had only one thought in his brain– he had to find
Olivia.
But he couldn’t do that just yet. He had work to do.
 He snapped on gloves while circling the victim. Kneeling next to
the body, he surveyed the fatal wound. The young woman had been
hit in the back of the head by a blunt object. It was brutal, but it
was nothing compared to the rest of her.
The body had been positioned on its back with her hands folded
on her stomach. Her dark hair had been framed carefully around her
face, most of it matted with blood. She was wearing a heavy layer of
make-up, carefully applied.
“She didn’t die here,” Nate said, pointing out the obvious. None
of her blood had soaked into the earth. “If I had to guess, I’d say
she was also sexually assaulted.”
“What makes you say that?” Vince looked doubtful.
“The styling, strategic placement… it all screams sexual fetish.”
Vince shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe the murderer was just a neat
freak.”
“We’ll wait for the coroner report.” Nate knew that he was right,
but he needed more than just his hunch. He needed to talk to Olivia.
When he stepped onto the Randolph University campus four
hours later, he was even more troubled. Nothing at the crime scene
had given him a solid lead on who might have committed the
murder. Interviewing the runner who had found the body proved
equally fruitless and the autopsy on the victim wasn’t scheduled until
the next morning. The only positive turn of events was that they had
been able to identify the body– Karen Collins.
Vince was back at the station compiling as much information as
he could on Karen. Nate should be doing the same thing, but he had
to talk to Olivia first.
The campus was packed with young kids hurrying to class or
soaking up some sun in the quad. Nate noticed that several of the
females were eyeing him openly, but he ignored them. It wasn’t
exactly an uncommon occurrence. Nate was a good-looking guy. He
had gotten lucky in the genetic lottery and while he had enjoyed the
easy conquests in his teens and twenties, now that he was in his
thirties he found the attention more embarrassing than anything
else.
Olivia’s classes were all in Randolph Hall and Nate was able to
easily track down her lecture hall. The room was large with stadium
seating. Nearly every seat had a young body in it. Nate smiled
knowingly as he quietly slid through the door in the back of the
room and settled into one of the only empty chairs on the aisle. The
first three rows of the room were almost all males.
Olivia stood at the front of the class, talking animatedly with
swinging arms. She looked stunning in her sophisticated black dress.
Nate regularly teased her for her mature clothing choices, but he
knew that she chose her wardrobe carefully. She was barely thirty
years old but looked five years younger and she was teaching a
room full of twenty-somethings. If she wanted them to treat her like
a professor, she had to look the part. But no matter how matronly
she tried to dress, she couldn’t cover up her beauty.
As she paced the width of the room, her long, toned legs made
graceful strides and her hair fluttered slightly. Several of the guys in
the front row leaned forward as she headed in their direction, only
to sigh and lean back when she turned the other way. Nate
wondered if any of them was actually listening to her lecture.
“It’s important to remember, these types of murderers follow a
pattern. They kill the way they do for a reason. Nothing about their
crimes is random, or coincidental.” Olivia had stopped pacing and
glanced at the clock. Her time was almost up. She looked back at
the class and her eyes found Nate. A sparkle lit up her eyes as she
smiled at him. “Midterms are due in two weeks, guys. I’d advise you
to start on those soon if you haven’t already. Or at least start
searching the internet for the paper you want to buy. Pickings will
get slimmer if you don’t act soon.”
The class laughed at Olivia’s joke and she shuffled the papers on
the podium. Nate stayed in his seat as most of the class lumbered
past, several of them startled by the presence of the old guy in a
suit.
A few students milled about the front of the room, asking Olivia
questions and just generally basking in her presence. Nate didn’t
have a lot of time to waste, so he pushed out of the lecture seat and
slowly approached the front of the room.
Olivia was listening to a scrawny kid dressed in all black as he
questioned her about convenience killers. He seemed very pleased
with himself when Olivia nodded. “That’s a great question, Mark.”
Nate’s lips twitched up in a smile when Olivia glanced in his
direction. “In fact, Detective Tucker could probably answer your
question even better than myself.”
“Could I?” Nate noted that the emo guy was glowering at him.
“Professor Thompson is being generous. I rarely know the answer to
any question, as I’m sure my college transcripts will show.”
“Mark was just asking whether it’s easier to catch a killer of
convenience than other types of killers. Care to weigh in?” Olivia
smirked at Nate.
“In my experience, the only killers that are easy to catch are the
stupid ones.” He turned to Mark. “Feel free to quote me on that in
your midterm.”
Olivia stifled a groan. “Please, refrain from listening to the
detective. He has a terrible sense of humor.”
“I wasn’t trying to be funny,” Nate protested.
 “We’ll pick this up in the next class, hm?” Olivia was experienced
at dismissing clingy students. They reluctantly left the room and
Mark glanced over his shoulder several times on his way out.
“You have an admirer,” Nate observed. “Cute.”
“Why are you here, Nate?” Olivia was immune to Nate’s charming
smile. She’d been friends with him long enough to know when
something was bothering him.
“Can’t I just visit my best friend?” Nate settled into one of the
seats in the front row.
“You’ve never popped in on one of my classes. You didn’t even
go to class when you were actually enrolled, so I find it a little hard
to believe you would stop by just for fun.” Olivia stared down at him
with her unblinking blue eyes and the smile slipped from his face. He
would’ve given anything to protect Olivia from what he had to say.
“I got called in on a new case today.” Nate gestured to the seat
next to him. “Maybe you should sit.”
“Damn it, Nate. What is it?” Olivia’s voice cracked.
Nate leaned forward and rested his elbows on his knees. “A
young girl was murdered.”
“Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be, oh I don’t know, doing
your job?” Olivia crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at
Nate. It was like she knew what he was about to say and she was
bracing for impact.
“The girl was eighteen-years-old. Her head was bashed in and
she was dumped in Randolph Park just down the road.” Nate and
Olivia stared at one another. Nate saw the fear that was building in
her eyes. He took a deep breath before he said, “Her hands were
folded on her stomach, Olivia.”
Olivia blinked rapidly. “And?” she whispered.
 “And a single rose had been placed in her hands,” Nate finished.
“Just like…” he trailed off.
Olivia let out her breath in a whoosh of air. “Just like Rosie.”
 CHAPTER THREE

I t had been a long time since Olivia had felt like her lungs had
been sucked out of her chest. It had been fifteen years, in fact.
But this time, Nate was there to catch her when her legs buckled. He
eased her to the ground and then sat next to her.
“You’re going to get your suit dirty,” she said, her mouth
completely dry.
“Bubba will be thrilled.” Nate patted Olivia on the back
awkwardly.
“Bubba?”
“My dry cleaner,” Nate said as if it was the most natural thing in
the world.
In spite of everything, Olivia laughed. “Your dry cleaner is named
Bubba?”
“You’re awfully judgmental today.” Nate’s smile was forced.
Olivia wanted to say something that would make things between
them less tense, but she had to know about the girl. “Who was she,
Nate?”
Nate glanced nervously toward the open door. “We haven’t
notified the family yet. Let’s go to your office.”
 Nate pulled Olivia to her shaky feet and led the way to her office.
It was more of a closet, really. It was only her second year of
teaching at Randolph University and she hadn’t been upgraded to
the real offices yet. But she had enough room for a desk, some
bookshelves and a couple of chairs.
She sank heavily into the nearest chair while Nate perched on
the edge of her desk.
“Her name was Karen Collins.” Nate watched Olivia closely for her
reaction. He shifted on the desk and Olivia caught a glimpse of his
gun. She found it comforting.
“Should I know that name?” Olivia didn’t like the way Nate was
looking at her.
“Maybe.” He regarded her carefully. “She was registered for your
Intro to Criminal Psychology class last year.”
Olivia sucked in a sharp breath. “She was one of my students?”
Nate nodded. His eyes roamed the room and settled somewhere
just above Olivia’s head. “You don’t remember her?”
“No.” Olivia felt her brow furrow as she dug deeper into her brain
for any recollection of the name Karen Collins. “I have 300 students
in a semester, Nate. If she was in one of my smaller classes, I would
know her. But Criminal Psychology has over 100 students in it.”
“It’s okay, Liv. You don’t have to explain it to me. I get it.” Nate’s
eyes dropped until they locked on hers.
“You think there’s a connection.” Olivia had figured out why Nate
was sitting in her office instead of investigating the murder. “What
are you thinking exactly, Nate?
“The body was positioned identically to Rosie’s, Liv. Down to the
rose in her hand.” Nate moved to the seat next to Olivia and leaned
close. “That information was never released to the public. No one
knew about that except your family, the police, and the killer.”
 “You think Rosie’s murderer is back?” Olivia shivered as a chill
shot down her spine. “And you think the fact that his newest victim
was one of my students isn’t just a coincidence?”
“You just said it yourself back in the lecture hall,” Nate reminded
her. “With serial murderers, nothing is a coincidence.”
Olivia felt another tremor dart through her body. “Am I in danger,
Nate?” she asked in a barely audible voice.
Nate reached over and took her hand between his. “I don’t know,
Olivia. But try not to worry. I’m not going to let anything happen to
you.”
It took Olivia almost an hour to convince Nate that he should
head back to work. She had another lecture to lead, and Nate
needed to find a serial killer. He reluctantly agreed to leave, but only
after Olivia promised to let him stop by her place after work. That
likely meant she would have to cook him dinner, too, but she was
pretty much used to that.
She was distracted during her lecture and it showed. At one
point, she accidentally said that Marilyn Manson was responsible for
Helter Skelter rather than Charles Manson. The class laughed, but to
Olivia it was a pretty big sign that she should wrap up class early.
She didn’t even stay to answer questions, but headed directly
outside and into a cab. She was home in less than ten minutes.
“Rosie! You better be floating around here somewhere,” she
called out as she tossed her keys onto the entry table and kicked off
her heels. “We need to talk.”
Olivia had never figured out how the whole Rosie ghost thing
worked. Rosie just showed up, but only when Olivia was alone.
Sometimes Olivia would call out to her and she would appear, but
other times nothing happened. Olivia had no idea what to expect
this time, but she was desperate to talk to her sister.
 “You don’t have to shout.” Rosie was resting comfortably on
Olivia’s bed. “Bad day at work?”
“Something like that.” Olivia frowned at her ghost sister and
flopped onto the bed next to her. “I have something to tell you that
you aren’t going to like.”
“You’re getting a roommate?” Rosie guessed.
“No. But Nate is coming over tonight so please behave.” While
Rosie never made an appearance when someone else was present,
she did like to exert her ghostly influence every now and then. When
Nate was around, that usually meant dimming some lights or
switching on the radio to a soft rock station. Nate was convinced
that Olivia’s place was haunted and Olivia had a hard time not telling
him that he was right.
“I will be on my best behavior. Cross my heart.” Rosie drew a
cross over her chest with one pale finger. “Assuming I have a heart.
I don’t know. Do ghosts have hearts?”
“We have more important things to discuss, Rose.” Olivia stared
at the ceiling. The paint was looking a little dingy and she wondered
if she could convince Nate to do some painting for her. He was quite
handy for a pretty boy. “Nate paid me a visit at school today.”
“He doesn’t usually do that, does he?” Rosie’s eyes flickered. She
knew something was up.
“No, he doesn’t. But it was important.” Olivia took a deep breath
and said, “A girl was murdered last night. Her body was left in the
park with her head bashed in and rope marks around her wrists.”
Rosie bolted upright. “What about the rose?”
“Yes, she had a rose tucked into her hand.”
“He’s back,” Rosie hissed. Her eyes were wide with fright.
“It’s okay, Rosie. He can’t hurt you anymore.” Olivia was
surprised by Rosie’s reaction. She had expected her to be upset, but
Rosie looked downright fearful.
“I’m not worried about myself, Olivia,” she said with a defiant
toss of her hair. “If he’s killing again, why Chicago? It’s a long way
from where I was murdered. Unless…”
Rosie grabbed Olivia’s arm with her ice-cold ghost hand. She had
just realized what Nate had thought from the very beginning. “Is he
here because of you, Olivia?”
Olivia tried not to look scared as she said, “Maybe. Nate seems to
think so.”
“You have to let Nate protect you,” Rosie declared with a fierce
nod of her head. “He carries a gun. He’s tough. Nate can keep you
safe.”
“He will, Rosie. Don’t worry.” Olivia had convinced herself that
Nate was just being paranoid by assuming that Olivia was somehow
the ultimate target of the new murder. But seeing Rosie’s reaction,
she was glad Nate would be spending the night. “Rosie, are you sure
you don’t remember anything about your killer?”
It was a topic they had been over hundreds of times, and the
answer never changed. Rosie’s lips pressed into a thin line as she
said, “No, Olivia. I don’t remember anything. He hit me from behind,
remember?”
“I remember.” Olivia tried not to think about the image of Rosie’s
head being bashed in. “Sorry, I had to ask.”
“I know.” Rosie smiled. “Don’t worry. I still love you.”
“Gee, thanks.” Olivia returned the smile. “I still love you, too,
Rose. Even if you are just a figment of my imagination and I’m
completely insane.”
 FIFTEEN YEARS EARLIER - MONDAY

“Did you take my blue sweater?” Rosie didn’t bother knocking before
barging into her sister’s room. She was already running late for
school.
“What? No.” Olivia scowled at her. “It would never fit me anyway.
Your boobs are so much bigger than mine.”
Rosie ignored her and opened the closet door. “Maybe Mom put it
in your closet by mistake.”
“Maybe you lost it just like you always lose everything.” Olivia
was busy shoving books into her schoolbag. “You need to finish
getting dressed. We’re already late.”
“This is so annoying!” Rosie said, slamming the closet door. She
didn’t even like that blue sweater, but she knew it looked good on
her. She needed to look her best today because the school would be
voting for Homecoming Queen.
Olivia calmly said, “Why don’t you wear that pink top with the V-
neck. That color looks really good on you.”
“I guess that will work.” Rosie turned to leave. “Thanks, Livvy.”
“Anytime, Rose.”
She had thought that would be her only meltdown of the day.
But when she got to school, she noticed a familiar motorcycle parked
on the street. Rosie hurried to lock her car and nearly jogged toward
the school.
“What’s wrong?” Olivia asked, hurrying behind her.
“Nothing. We’re just way late.” Rosie glanced over her shoulder
to make sure they weren’t being followed.
She didn’t start to relax until they were safely inside. Olivia
hurried off in the direction of her first class while Rosie strolled to
her locker. She didn’t care if she was late to class.
“I thought you weren’t going to show.” Dylan was waiting for her,
leaning against her locker. His dark hair hung in its usual messy
waves. Rosie loved to run her fingers through his hair.
“Wardrobe malfunction,” Rosie explained, grinning at him. Even
after dating for six months, she still got butterflies in her stomach
whenever he was around. “You waited for me.”
“I walk you to class in the morning. That’s my thing.” He stepped
aside so that she could open her locker. “Besides, you have my Trig
homework and I need to turn it in this morning.”
Rosie smacked a hand to her forehead. “Right! I almost forgot.”
“You know, cheaters only cheat themselves,” Dylan said with a
smirk.
“Only the kids that are dumb enough to do their own work think
that,” Rosie replied, handing him the homework. “Ready?”
Dylan took her hand as they walked down the hallway. Most of
their classmates were already inside the rooms. Only a few
stragglers were still roaming the hall.
“We should talk about plans for Saturday night,” Dylan said.
“What time should I pick you up?”
“Early,” Rosie said. “We can go to The Spot before we go to the
dance.”
Dylan grinned. “You are the best girlfriend ever.”
 The Spot was a secret place where teenagers in Mercy went for
some private time. Rosie and Dylan went there almost every
weekend.
“Of course I am,” she agreed. “That’s why you love me.”
“I do,” he said urgently. “I love you.”
Rosie was surprised at his intensity. “I know you do. I love you,
too.”
“Good.” He nodded to the door. “We’re here. You should hurry
inside before the bell rings.”
She hesitated in the doorway, just as the bell rang. “Will you wait
for me after school and walk me to my car?”
Dylan froze, then nodded slowly. “Of course. I’ll always wait for
you.”
Rosie kissed him quickly, offered him one last smile, and hurried
to her seat.
It was Rosie’s last Monday alive.
 CHAPTER FOUR

“N o more shots, Nate. I mean it.” Olivia pushed away the

shot glass the waitress placed in front of her.
“It’s Friday night, Olivia. Have some fun for a change.” Nate
slammed his own shot of whiskey. It had been a hard week. He and
Vince had been working around the clock investigating Karen Collin’s
murder but so far, they had nothing to go on.
Karen’s family hadn’t talked to her in a week. It wasn’t
uncommon for them to go for a couple of weeks without speaking.
Karen was immersed in her new college life. Nate had spent the day
on campus questioning Karen’s friends, but none of them had
anything new to offer. Karen’s roommate hadn’t spent the night in
their dorm room since Sunday and the few friends she did have
hadn’t known her long enough to know if she had any enemies.
The real problem, though, was that Nate suspected Karen’s killer
hadn’t known her at all. It seemed much more likely that Karen had
simply crossed the killer’s path right when he happened to be
looking for a victim.
“I would probably have more fun if my sister’s murderer wasn’t
hanging around campus.” Olivia took a long swig of her beer.
 Nate couldn’t argue with that. “I guess it is good you’ll be getting
out of town then.”
“It would be better if I was going somewhere besides Mercy.”
Olivia scrunched her nose in distaste. Mercy, Ohio, was Olivia’s
hometown. Nate had heard about the town for years but had never
actually been there. “It would also be better if I wasn’t being forced
to attend Camilla’s wedding.”
“It won’t be that bad.” Nate thought Olivia was being a bit
dramatic. She saw her family maybe once every three years and
always made a big production of it.
“You met Camilla, Nate. You know I’m not exaggerating.” Olivia
flagged down the waitress and asked for the check.
“Oh, that’s right. I tried to block that out.” Nate had met Olivia’s
cousin one month earlier when she was in town for her bachelorette
party. He had to admit, Olivia wasn’t being overly dramatic. “Did she
ever find the dozen doves she wanted for after the ceremony?”
“Who knows and who cares. You’re not going to back out on me,
are you, Nater?” Olivia smiled sweetly and batted her eyes.
Nate could never say no to Olivia when she smiled at him like
that. “Of course not. You know I’ve been dying to visit Mercy–
birthplace of the great Olivia Thompson.”
“Birthplace of boredom and despair is more like it.” Olivia
checked the time on her phone. “We should get going soon. We
need to leave at a reasonable time tomorrow and I don’t want to
show up with a hungover date. According to my Aunt Sheri, it’s bad
enough that I’m still single.”
“Marriage is overrated,” Nate said as he finished off his beer.
“Trust me on that. Camilla is the unlucky one in this scenario.”
“You are so bitter.” Olivia shook her head sadly. “Did you ever
stop to think that maybe the problem wasn’t marriage in general?
Maybe it was you.”
“According to my ex-wife, you’ve hit the nail on the head.”
Candace had told Nate at least a hundred times that their failed
marriage was his fault. It was enough to make the most confident
man begin to question himself. After a lot of soul searching, Nate
had come to realize that while he had been part of the problem, two
people had destroyed his marriage. It was only too typical that
Candace was too stubborn and arrogant to accept any responsibility.
“Nate, you know I was kidding, right?” Olivia put a gentle hand
on his arm. “It wasn’t all your fault.”
“So, you’re saying maybe I am still the marrying kind?” Nate’s
attempt at a joke was weak, but Olivia laughed anyway.
“I’m not saying I would marry you, but some desperately lonely
woman in her mid-forties might say yes if you got her drunk before
you asked her.”
Nate gave her his best wounded puppy look. “Thanks for your
vote of confidence. Now let’s go back to your place so I can curl up
on that couch of yours and get some shut-eye.”
“Stop it. You know I can’t take it when you look at me like that.”
Olivia threw some money on the table.
Nate widened his eyes at her, feigning innocence. “I don’t know
what you mean.”
“Ugh. You know exactly what you are doing.” Olivia pushed back
her chair. “Fine, you pathetic divorcé. I will let you sleep in the bed
tonight.”
Nate grinned in triumph as he followed Olivia to the door. “It’s
the least you could do, considering I’ve only been staying at your
place to protect you from a serial killer.”
“Stop being so smug.” Olivia stopped and wagged a finger at
him. “And you will stay on your side of the bed or I will use your gun
against you.”
“You’re all talk, you big softie.” Nate planted a wet kiss on Olivia’s
cheek and threw an arm over her shoulder. “We both know you can’t
get enough of me. And now you’re begging me to sleep in your bed.
It was only a matter of time.”
“I revoke my invitation.” Olivia slipped away from him. “You can
sleep on the floor for all I care.”
“Too late. I already accepted.” Nate stepped into the street to hail
a cab. As he opened the door for Olivia, he said, “You should know, I
sleep in the nude.”
Olivia glared at him. “Try it. I dare you.”
Nate really didn’t want to sleep on the couch again, so he kept
his boxers on when he slid under Olivia’s sheets. “Don’t try anything
funny, Thompson,” he said with a loud yawn.
“In your dreams.” Olivia punched her pillow, likely wishing it was
Nate’s face. “If you start snoring, I’m kicking you out.”
“It might behoove you to remember that I keep my gun on the
nightstand.” Nate turned over on his side, facing Olivia.
“I’ll sleep better tonight knowing that.” Olivia frowned at him in
the dark. Her room was illuminated only by the faint glow of the
streetlight peeking around the curtains. “This case is bothering you,
isn’t it?”
Nate was startled. He thought he was hiding it better than that.
“She was just a young girl, Olivia. Just a young, pretty girl with her
whole life ahead of her.”
“So was Rosie.” Olivia rolled onto her side and stared at Nate
with unblinking eyes.
“She had just turned eighteen, right?” Nate had only heard the
full story one time. Olivia had drunk too much whiskey at a friend’s
wedding seven years earlier and she had blurted out the story of
Rosie’s murder over a line of shots and three slices of wedding cake.
“Her birthday was a week earlier.” Olivia turned back to the
ceiling. “It was a Friday night. Our parents were out for the night
visiting with friends, and Rosie was supposed to be watching me and
Brian, but she had other plans. She told me she was meeting up
with someone when she left me at the house.”
“And what time was that?” Nate hoped that something about
Rosie’s last night might shed some light on Karen’s murder.
“Just after nine o’clock. Our parents called to check in right at
nine, and she left immediately after that.” Olivia closed her eyes as
she remembered. “It was cold out. She grabbed a jacket on her way
out the door.”
“Do you remember anything else?” Nate closed his eyes, too,
trying to picture what had happened to Olivia’s beautiful sister,
Rosie, on that tragic night.
Olivia’s voice sounded so far away. “She told me not to wait up.
And then she smiled one of her perfect Rosie smiles and that was it.
She was gone.”
Nate had interviewed a lot of witnesses in his time as a detective.
He’d also interrogated a lot of suspects. But right then, lying in
Olivia’s bed and listening to her soft breathing, he had absolutely
nothing left to say.
 CHAPTER FIVE

“I can’t believe you’re stopping again. Ohio isn’t that far away,
Nate.”
Letting Nate drive had been a bad decision. His typical
restlessness and inability to focus kicked into overdrive once he got
behind the wheel. They had already stopped twice– once for gas and
once for Nate to use the bathroom– and they were only halfway to
their destination. Olivia was growing impatient.
“The whole point of a road trip is to spend some time enjoying
the journey.” Nate turned off the engine empathically. “Now, get out
of the car. We’re going to have a nice time, damn it.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, but she got out of the car. Despite his cool-
guy good looks and tough attitude, at his core, Nate was a total
dork. That was partly why he and Olivia had remained such good
friends over the years. It shouldn’t have been a big surprise that he
wanted to stop at an apple orchard on their way to Mercy.
“Sometimes, I think you’re a seventy-year-old woman trapped in
a man’s body.”
Nate scoffed. “Please. A seventy-year-old woman wouldn’t know
what to do with this body.”
“If you weren’t the one driving, I would so leave you here.”
 “No way. You would miss me too much.” Nate grinned and tossed
an arm around Olivia’s shoulders. She pretended to be annoyed, but
they both knew Nate was right– Olivia liked having him around. By
the time they entered the old barn converted into a charming
storefront for apples and pumpkins, Olivia was wearing a reluctant
smile.
“You need to be on your best behavior this weekend, Nathaniel.”
Olivia had already warned Nate several times about not making
inappropriate jokes or drinking too much in front of her family. He
had only partly listened each time.
“Liv. Stop worrying. People love me.” Nate grabbed an apple and
tossed it in the air, catching it effortlessly.
Olivia didn’t smile this time. “I mean it, Nate. No jokes about our
relationship. No telling embarrassing stories about me. And
absolutely do not go into the details of your job.”
“My job? Really? You’re pretty much eliminating every possible
talking point.” Nate grabbed a free sample of apple cider and
chugged it down. “What am I supposed to do when someone asks
me what I do for a living?”
“You can tell them. Just keep out the details.” Olivia frowned at
an overwhelming display of pumpkin-flavored products. “They don’t
need any reminders of Rosie’s death.”
Nate finally understood. “Ah. I see.”
“They don’t like to talk about her on a normal day, so I’m pretty
sure they don’t want any murder stories dredging up painful
memories at Camilla’s day of happily-ever-after.” Olivia cringed a
little when she heard the anger in her voice.
Losing a loved one was never easy on a family, but having them
taken away by a murderer was devastating. Having the murder
remain unsolved for fifteen years only prolonged the torture. Talking
about Rosie was like pouring acid in an open wound.
“Fine. I’ll keep it nice and light. No bloody details.” Nate took
Olivia’s hand and pulled her toward the bakery. “But first you have to
buy me some pie.”
Olivia bought Nate a slice of pie and scanned the morning
newspaper on the counter while she waited for her change. After
reading the headline, she realized it was an older paper– nearly a
week old. It also wasn’t a local paper, but Olivia recognized the type
font of the Mercy News Daily. The headline screamed: “Murder.”
A murder in Chicago wasn’t exactly breaking news. In one
weekend, it wasn’t uncommon for the city to have a dozen murders.
But Karen Collins’ murder was special. She was a pretty, young,
teenage girl with seemingly her whole life in front of her. The
newspaper hadn’t hesitated to lay out the similarities with Rosie’s
murder. Olivia felt her chest tighten as she read the article.
“Hello?” The cashier waved Olivia’s change in front of her face.
“Oh. Thanks.” She held up the newspaper. “Can I take this?”
The cashier shrugged. “Sure. Some customer left it here a few
days ago and I keep forgetting to toss it out.”
Nate’s face lit up when Olivia placed his pie in front of him. “Eat
up,” she advised.
“In case you were wondering, the way to this man’s heart is
definitely through his stomach.” He ate half the slice in one giant
bite. “Candace was a terrible cook and she couldn’t bake a pie to
save her life.”
“Mhmm.” Olivia didn’t hear a word Nate said.
“Earth to Olivia. Pay attention to me.” Nate finished his pie and
shoved away the empty plate. “Alright, I’ll take the bait. What ya got
there, Olivia?”
 “The police never had a solid lead in Rosie’s case. No good
suspect ever emerged.” Olivia held up the paper. “According to this
article, there’s new evidence that might change that.”
Nate grabbed the paper and read quickly, his dark eyes flashing.
“This journalist seems to have been doing some rogue detective
work. It’s possible none of this is true.”
“But what if it is true, Nate?” Olivia thought about how it would
feel to finally know who killed her sister. She wondered if solving the
crime would let her sister find peace on the other side.
Nate said slowly, “Try not to get your hopes up, Liv. But if you
want, I’ll dig into this.”
“I want.” Olivia didn’t have to think about it all. Bringing Rosie’s
killer to justice was all she had ever wanted.
“Well, then.” Nate pushed his chair away from the table. “We
better get back on the road.”
There were no more stops on the way to Mercy. The drive also
lacked conversation as both Nate and Olivia were thinking about the
murders. Olivia kept glancing at Nate, his jaw clenched and his
knuckles white on the steering wheel. She knew that he had been
following Rosie’s case over the years, making calls to the Mercy
Police Department to get updates. He spent late nights pouring over
the evidence from the case, which wasn’t much.
Olivia had never asked him to do any of those things. It was just
Nate, being a good friend. But now Olivia had officially requested his
help and she knew he wouldn’t rest until the case was solved. It was
a selfish thing to ask of him, but she was desperate. With the
murderer striking again so close, she no longer had the luxury of
time.
The town of Mercy hadn’t changed much over the years. Olivia
had only been back about a dozen times since moving away at 18
and she always expected it to look completely different from her
memories. But that wasn’t the case. She recognized every street
name and house, remembered the turns to get to her childhood
home, and knew exactly what would be waiting for her behind the
front door.
Rosie’s murder had shocked the small town. Parents had kept
their kids close and looked at every stranger as a potential threat.
But for Olivia’s family, it had been more than just a simple reminder
that evil things happened, even in small towns. The murder had torn
her family apart, and even after all these years, Olivia had never
found a way to put it back together.
Nate was practically giddy as Olivia rang the familiar doorbell. He
had a bizarre fascination with her past and that included her
dysfunctional family. Shortly after Rosie’s murder, Olivia’s parents
had separated. In the following years, neither of them had ever
mustered enough courage to follow through with a divorce, so they
remained in a state of marital blisslessness.
Olivia had finished her high school years living with her father
while her mother had moved to an apartment on the far end of
town. She hadn’t been able to stay in their home with Rosie’s
undisturbed bedroom reminding them of their loss. Her mother’s
exodus had felt like a betrayal to Olivia and she had never fully been
able to forgive her for not being strong enough to stay.
“Olivia.”
Mr. Thompson greeted his daughter with minimal enthusiasm.
Since the murder, her dad had been walking around numbly, an
empty shell that was shuffling through life against its will. Olivia
hugged him stiffly, faintly remembering how she used to run into his
arms as a child, her skinny arms and legs wrapping around his
strong frame. Now he was older, frailer, and so was she.
 “Hi, Dad.” She couldn’t look at him too closely.
He glanced over her shoulder, eyes weary. Nate stepped forward
and offered his hand.
“Nathaniel Tucker, sir.”
“Call me Ed.” A flicker of recognition passed over his face. “You’re
the detective?”
Nate smiled, pleased that Olivia had mentioned him to her father.
“That’s right.”
Ed sighed. “I suppose we had to meet eventually. Come on
inside.”
Nate looked at Olivia, eyebrows raised, but she ignored him and
moved inside. To appease her father’s worries about her living in the
city as a single woman, she often talked about Nate’s presence in
her life. It was possible that her father had interpreted their
relationship as something more than just a close friendship. Bringing
Nate home for her cousin’s wedding wasn’t likely to change that
interpretation.
“You should take your stuff on upstairs. I won’t inquire into
sleeping arrangements as my heart is already susceptible to failure.”
Ed pointed to the stairs. “I’ve been sleeping in the guest room down
here these days, so you’ll have the second floor to yourselves.”
Olivia didn’t ask why her father chose to sleep in the drafty,
musty guest room rather than the master bedroom. She suspected
that he had grown tired of walking past his children’s empty rooms
on a daily basis, stark reminders of a time when the house had been
full of laughter and life.
She pointed Nate to her brother’s old room. Brian, six years
younger than Olivia, still lived in Mercy with his wife, Taylor, and
their two kids. Olivia usually saw them a couple of times each year
when they brought the kids to the city for extended weekend visits.
She loved her niece and nephew more than anything, but sometimes
seeing her brother surrounded by his family reminded her that she
was completely alone. Unless you counted Rosie’s ghost.
Olivia’s childhood room remained untouched– a shrine to the
teenage Olivia that had hung posters on the walls and tucked photos
into the corners of the dresser mirror. Standing in that room, Olivia
was instantly transported back to a simpler time.
She was fourteen and awkward, all limbs and bony joints. A boy
had sent her a note in class, asking her if she would be his girlfriend.
It was Olivia’s first crush and she couldn’t stop grinning, bouncing
around with excitement. As she danced around her bedroom, Rosie
stuck her head through the partially opened door.
“You’re grinning like a goof,” Rosie teased, her smile infectious.
“Who’s the boy?”
“Ben Briarson,” Olivia replied, not bothering to try to hide it from
her sister. Rosie was too good at guessing exactly what Olivia was
thinking. “He asked me to be his girlfriend.”
Rosie entered the room completely and leaned against the
doorframe. “You like him?”
Olivia nodded.
“Then I’m happy for you.” Rosie suddenly looked very serious.
“Just promise me you will protect your heart, Olivia. You can never
count on a guy to keep it safe for you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Olivia teased with a laugh. Rosie didn’t
return it.
“You should listen to me, little sis. I won’t always be here to give
you advice.”
Olivia rolled her eyes, certain that her big sister was just trying to
sound wise and mature. Rosie was always acting like she knew more
than Olivia, imparting words of wisdom and making bold
declarations. Next autumn, the elder Thompson sister would head
off to college and Olivia knew that she would miss Rosie, even if she
was a bit of a know-it-all.
“Stop being so fatalistic, Rose. You have decades to boss me
around.”
Rosie would be dead in less than a month.
“Your brother has a serious porn collection under his mattress,”
Nate informed Olivia happily, interrupting her blast from the past.
“I guess we know how you’ll be occupying your time later this
evening.” Olivia’s mind was still returning slowly to the present.
Immediately after the murder, she had spent hours lost in flashbacks
of Rosie. This was the first one she’d experienced in months. “I think
Brian also kept an impressive baseball card collection in his room,
too.”
“Sex and baseball. Two of my favorite pastimes.” Nate grinned
wickedly.
Olivia’s eyes narrowed. “Remember, no sex jokes in front of my
father. He has guns and he’s not afraid to use them.”
“You worry too much. Parents love me.”
It was true– everyone loved Nate. That was part of the problem.
Olivia hadn’t seen most of her family in over a decade, and she
would no doubt be awkward and impersonal around them. Nate
would win them over in seconds, his charming personality further
exacerbating Olivia’s hard and cold demeanor.
“Try not to be too Nate this weekend, okay?”
“What does that mean?” Nate pretended to be offended. “If I
didn’t know that you love me, my feelings would be hurt.”
Olivia shoved Nate toward the door. “Come on. Let’s go for a
walk.”
 CHAPTER SIX

M ercy, Ohio was exactly like Nate had pictured it in his head-
10,000 people crammed into 20 square blocks. Every front
yard was neatly trimmed, cars sparkled in the driveways, and
children played in the street. Neighbors eyed them suspiciously as
they passed.
“Do I have ‘kidnapper’ stamped across my forehead?” Nate
asked.
“You walk like a cop,” Olivia answered easily.
“What does that even mean?”
Olivia shrugged. “It’s not easily definable. You just know it when
you see it.”
“Shouldn’t that be a good thing? Cops are the good guys.”
“This town has exactly one sheriff and two volunteer deputies.
The last time these people saw an outsider cop was the day after
Rosie’s murder. When people see you, they don’t think ‘good guy.’
They think, ‘I wonder what tragedy has struck Mercy this time’.”
Nate wasn’t sure if Olivia was right, or if she was just giving him
a hard time, but he tucked his hands into his pockets and tried to
look less like a cop anyway.
 “So, do you have a destination in mind, or are we just taking an
ambling stroll through town?”
Olivia tucked her hand into the crook of Nate’s elbow, like an old
lady needing help crossing the street. “A little bit of both, actually.
There’s something I want you to see.”
Nate was surprised at how much her grip tightened over his arm
when they entered an abandoned park. Her footsteps slowed, too,
until they were barely moving forward.
“This is it, isn’t it?”
Olivia nodded. “This is where Rosie died.”
It was an empty park now, with rotting trees and overgrown
weeds, but Nate could picture what it had looked like back then. For
one thing, he had looked at the crime scene photos at least a
hundred times. But also, this park was just like the parks he had
played in as a kid- open areas for playing tag, monkey bars and
swings, and a small shelter house to duck into when it rained.
“There.” Olivia dropped Nate’s arm and nodded toward the
swings.
Nate remembered from his research that Rosie had been found
on a bare patch of ground just past the swings. He followed Olivia
slowly, taking in their surroundings. After all these years, there was
unlikely to be any remaining evidence from the crime, but his
training had taught him to always see everything, even if it seemed
futile.
Olivia stopped at the edge of the worn grass and knelt before it.
Her hand grazed the blades and her eyes grew moist. After being
friends for so long, Nate knew exactly what she was thinking at that
very moment– she was picturing her sister’s blood soaking into the
ground.
 “Liv.” He put a hand on her shoulder. “Are you sure you want to
be here?”
She looked up at him with unblinking eyes. “I came to this spot
every single day after her death until I moved away. This was where
she took her last breath.”
“Why do you always say her death and not her murder?” Nate
knew from his experience dealing with murder victim’s families that
they often couldn’t get over the brutality of their loved one’s passing.
Olivia instead spoke of Rosie like she had just drifted off to sleep.
“The murder was just the act. Her death was the tragedy.” Olivia
stood up and brushed dirt from her knees. “Don’t get me wrong, I
want to find her murderer more than anything.”
“I know.” Nate watched Olivia settle onto one of the swings, her
feet kicking up dirt as she pushed off.
“Rosie and I used to come here when we were kids.” Olivia
kicked higher and threw back her head. “She loved to swing. Said it
felt like she was flying.”
Nate took a seat on the swing next to hers and watched her
swing. She was laughing and her hair flew madly over her face.
Watching her, Nate could see what she must have been like before
Rosie’s murder and how much life and joy had been taken from her.
“You should swing more often,” Nate advised, unable to keep a
smile from his face. “It looks good on you.”
Olivia stopped pumping her legs and let the swing come to a
stop. She brushed her hair from her face and looked at Nate. “Am I
a miserable person?”
“What?” Nate’s head snapped back. He certainly hadn’t been
expecting a question like that. “Of course not. Why would you ask
that?”
 She shrugged and twisted a toe into the ground. “I know I’m not
fun to be around. I mope a lot. I have a hard time letting people in.
I don’t like meeting strangers. I hate small talk.” She looked at Nate
earnestly. “I don’t mean to be so miserable, but I know that I push
people away. Even you.”
Nate didn’t know what to say. He didn’t think Olivia was a
miserable person, but most of the things she said were true. She
kept a very close circle of friends and that was it. She rarely even
dated and the one guy she had been seriously involved with had left
her when she turned down his proposal after they had been
together for four years. When Nate had asked her why she hadn’t
wanted to get married, she didn’t have an answer.
“I don’t think you are miserable, Olivia. But I do think you have a
hard time letting people get to know you.” Nate knew her better
than anyone and even he found himself on the outside looking in
more often than not. “Look, I love you just the way you are, but I’m
an idiot so you might not want to listen to me.”
“You’re not an idiot, Nate.” Olivia smiled sadly. “You’re my best
friend. I wouldn’t be best friends with an idiot.”
“What about that girl, Casey, from grad school. She was pretty
stupid.” Nate was rewarded with a happier smile from Olivia.
“She wasn’t stupid. She was in grad school, after all.”
“Really? She was getting a Masters in art, and she didn’t know
Van Gogh’s first name.”
Olivia laughed at the disbelieving look on Nate’s face. “Okay, fine.
She wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier. And I wouldn’t
exactly call her my best friend.”
“Hey, Liv. There’s something I need to ask you.” Nate had been
trying to decide on the best way to bring up his plans without
upsetting her. So far, he’d come up with nothing, so he was just
going to be direct. “I want to talk to some people while we are in
town, about Rosie’s murder.”
“Which people?”
“I’d like to start with your dad.” Nate waited for Olivia to shoot
him down, but she just gave him a long look. “Only if it’s okay with
you.”
“Good luck with that.” She laughed. “If you can get him to talk,
it’s fine with me. Who else?”
“Some other family members that were close to Rosie. I think
your cousin would be a good source. I’m not sure how much she’ll
want to gossip about her dead cousin on her wedding day, but I’ll
give it my best shot.”
“Just wear a tight-fitting shirt and smile a lot,” Olivia advised. “I
can put you in touch with Crystal, too. She was Rosie’s best friend.”
“Good. Thanks.” Nate felt better now that Olivia was onboard
with his plan.
“One condition.”
He should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy. “Yeah?”
“I want to go with you when you talk to them.”
“Olivia, I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Nate knew he had to
tread carefully. When Olivia had her heart set on something, it was
almost impossible to convince her otherwise. “You’re too close to this
case. People might not be willing to talk if you are there.”
Olivia shook her head. “It’s no use, Nater. I’m going with you. I
might be close to this case, but I also know it better than anyone.
Even you.”
“You might hear things about Rosie that you won’t like.” People
often remembered the past differently as the years went on. Rosie’s
friends might not be as clouded by their grief now and they might
divulge secrets that could hurt Olivia.
 “I can handle it.” Olivia’s jaw was clenched and her eyes
narrowed. It was her determined face and Nate knew better than to
keep trying to fight it.
“Okay, fine. But let me do the talking.”
Olivia held out her hand, and Nate shook it.
“I want you to remember this moment, Nate. This is the moment
when you and I became partners.” Olivia grinned triumphantly.
“I’m expecting the world to stop spinning at any time.” Nate
sighed. “When do we start? Should we wait until after the wedding?”
“No way. We start right now.”
Olivia’s dad was watching a baseball game on television and he
barely looked up when they entered the room. Nate took a seat on
the couch and Olivia grabbed them each a beer from the kitchen.
“Dad, Nate has something he wants to ask you.” Olivia sat next
to Nate, her hands fidgeting with the label on her beer bottle. It was
her nervous tell.
Ed sighed loudly and turned off the television. “I figured this was
coming. How far along are you?”
“What?” Olivia dropped her beer, scoping it up before it spilled.
Nate would’ve been impressed by her reflexes if he wasn’t frozen
in shock.
“You’re pregnant, right? Nate wants to make an honest woman
out of you before the baby comes?” Ed grunted as he shifted in his
chair. “I’m not exactly happy about this situation, but you’re a grown
woman and these things happen.”
“Dad, for the love of all that is holy, please stop talking.” Olivia’s
face was a brilliant shade of red. Under other circumstances, Nate
would’ve found it funny.
“It is okay, Olivia.” Ed glared in Nate’s direction. “I would’ve
preferred to have met your boyfriend before the unplanned
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Abb. 13 Die Hoflößnitz Eingang zum
Festsaal
Aufnahme von J. Ostermaier, Dresden-Blasewitz

Der beiden prächtigen, vasengekrönten Majolikaöfen in den

beiden Wohnzimmern sei noch besonders gedacht. Der weiß-grüne
im Zimmer der Kurfürstin zeigt als Verzierung der (weißen) Kacheln
Blumen und Fruchtgehänge, der blau-weiße des Kurfürsten (s.
Abbildung 14) Feuersalamander und Ignis (Feuer) in höchst
eigenartiger Darstellung.
 Abb. 14 Die Hoflößnitz Ofen im
Wohnzimmer des Kurfürsten
Aufnahme von J. Ostermaier, Dresden-Blasewitz

Müde vom vielen Schauen gönnen wir uns eine kurze Rast unter
den alten Kastanien der geräumigen Aussichtsterrasse, die
zwischen dem Hoflößnitzer Herrenhause und dem gemütlichen
Weinschanke liegt, der sich in einem der alten Hofgebäude
eingenistet hat. Zu einem Fläschchen Wein oder wenigstens
Schoppen wäre schon der Durst vorhanden. Ob aber auch die
nötigen Billionen, ohne die heutzutage niemand an so etwas denken
darf? Mag die durstige Kehle dursten! Dafür trinkt das durstige Auge
die Schönheit, die der Blick auf die liebliche Lößnitz zu unsern
Füßen bietet, in vollen Zügen. Ein andrer Blick wieder, als vom
Jakobstein über Wackerbarths Ruhe, die aus der Ferne noch einmal
zu uns freundlich herübergrüßt, aber auch bezaubernd schön in
seiner Art. Der um die Vervollkommnung des Lößnitzer Weinbaus
hochverdiente Johann Paul Knoll, der »erste Winzer der Lößnitz«,
dessen Bild in der Schankstube nebenan von der Wand
herablächelt, durfte schon mit Recht singen:

»Hier steht das Helden-Hauß, das um und um mit Reben

Sehr lieblich ist umschrenckt. Die überschöne Flur,
Die selbsten angelegt die gütige Natur,
Kann keinem Lande nicht im wenigsten nachgeben.

Churfürst Johann Georg der Erste ließ es heben;

Der andre Churfürst drauff, des Reiches Cynosur,
Macht es zur Hofe-Stadt, damit auch hier die Spur
Zu sehen möchte seyn, wie Er vergnügt kann leben.

Ein Landes-Vater muß nicht stets in Sorgen stehn;

Drum hat er es zur Lust gantz fürstlich ausgezieret;
Die schönste Schilderey hat Er da auffgeführet,
Daß mit den Frembden es mög in die Wette gehn.

Viel schöner noch als schön ist es vor Menschen Sinnen,

Ist aber hier sein Wirth, so ist nichts Schöners drinnen.«
 Die Lößnitz und die Dresdner Heide
Von Oskar Merker, Dresden
Wir sind gewöhnt, die Lößnitz stolz das Sächsische Nizza zu
nennen – wir können es mit berechtigtem Stolze! Herrliche Bilder
des sonnigen Südens werden durch dieses eine Wort lebendig; wir
sehen den Blütenreichtum dieses gesegneten Gebietes, seine schier
unerschöpfliche Fruchtbarkeit, seine Weinberge, seine Obstgärten,
die jedem, der sie einmal in vollem Blütenschmucke gesehen hat,
unvergeßlich sein werden. Über diesem glanzvollen Bilde haben wir
aber ganz verlernt, gleichzeitig der bescheideneren Bilder der
Dresdner Heide zu gedenken. Und doch ist die stolze Lößnitz sehr
wohl von der Heide abhängig gewesen – bis in die Gegenwart
herein! Daß das vergessen werden konnte, hat seinen Grund wohl
vor allem darin, daß die jetzt üblichen »Heidekarten« nur um ein
weniges westwärts über die Prießnitz herübergreifen. Die
»Grundkarte von Deutschland« dagegen gibt auf Blatt 417, 443 die
tatsächlichen Verhältnisse: bis weit nach Westen ist hier das Gebiet
der Dresdner Heide zu erkennen, die »Junge Heide« ist mit umfaßt!
Ein im Dresdner Hauptstaatsarchiv aufbewahrtes Forstzeichenbuch
vom Jahre 1571 umgrenzt durch Nennung der Orte, »so umb die
Heyde gelegen,« deren Gebiet: »Nawendorff, Bieschen, Dracha,
Rödebeul, Serckewitz, Ketzschenbroda, Wansdorff, Reichenberg,
Bocksdorff, Wilschdorff, Renes (Rähnitz), Klotzschen, Lausnitz,
Langenbrück« usw. Mathias Oeder hat, etwa im Jahre 1600, ein
entsprechendes Kartenbild gezeichnet.
Eine Wechselwirkung zwischen der Lößnitz und der Dresdner
Heide ist also wohl ohne weiteres anzunehmen. Einige Streiflichter
hierzu!
Bekannt ist, daß die Dresdner Heide eins der Jagdgebiete der
sächsischen Fürsten von jeher gewesen ist. Die Wettiner waren
bemüht, dieses Gebiet immer mehr abzurunden, seinen Wildbestand
auf unvergleichlicher Höhe zu halten. Verzeichnisse der
Jagdergebnisse geben überraschende Einblicke, ebenso Berichte,
wie der von 1687, in dem wir lesen, daß »bey der Hirschfeist 609
Mann … aus 17 Ämbtern … aufgewarttet« haben, die 19 Mann des
Amtes Moritzburg z. B. »vom 13. Julii bis mit den 1. Sept. zusammen
51 Tage …« Die Dörfer, die der Wildbahn angrenzten, waren nicht zu
beneiden! Immer und immer wieder klagen sie über entstandenen
Wildschaden und bitten um Entschädigung. Oft erreichen sie erst
nach langer Zeit, oft nicht einmal ganz ihr Ziel!
Das sind Dinge, die genug bekannt, die aber oft geflissentlich
einseitig scharf beleuchtet worden sind! Haben die Bauern der
Lößnitzdörfer nicht auch um anderes gebeten, als um Ersatz für
erlittenen Wildschaden? Haben sie nicht oft auch Gesuche
eingereicht, sich aus der Heide Holz für ihren Hausbau, für Planken
um ihre Weinberge, Holz für Weinpfähle holen zu dürfen? Haben sie
dies nicht ebenso erhalten, wie die Erlaubnis zum Streurechen, zur
Hutung in der Heide? Aber gleich bringt man den Hinweis auf die
bäuerlichen Gegenleistungen, die bestanden haben in »Sensen- und
Sicheltagen zum Vorwerk Ostra und in Jagddiensten auf Dresdner
Heide«. Warum fragt man nicht danach, was jenen im Winter das
mangelnde Stroh hätte ersetzen können, wenn sie das Laub der
Heide nicht gehabt hätten?! Warum weist man nicht darauf hin, wie
unentbehrlich ihrem Vieh vom Frühjahre bis zum späten Herbste
diese Hutung in der Heide gewesen ist?!
Ich habe durch eine starke Linie auf der eingangs erwähnten
»Grundkarte« (s. Abb. 1) all die Gemeinden – ohne Dresden –
umschlossen, die in der Heide von jenen Rechten Gebrauch
gemacht haben. Oft zum Schaden des Waldes, zum Schmerze der
Oberförster, die sehr wohl erkannten, wie schädlich ihrem Walde
diese Nutzung war!
Eine Bittschrift vom Jahre 1580 möchte ich hier einfügen – nicht,
um Nörglern Stoff zu bieten! Sie betrifft »die Sieben Dorffschafften
Kaditz, Serckwitz, Radebeull, Trachau, Pischenn, Muckten vnd
V̈ bigen«, die, wollten sie ihren Holzbedarf decken, nicht etwa in die
nahe Heide, sondern »in den Tarandischen Waldt« ziehen mußten,
während »etzliche Dorffschafften vber der Elbe In die Dreßdnische
Heide« gewiesen wurden! Noch 1593 ist die Angelegenheit nicht
endgültig geregelt, weil »der her Jegermeister durch den Zeitlichen
thot von dieser welt abgefordert worden«.

Abb. 1 Grundkarte
Details
Geldknappheit ist durchaus keine neuzeitliche Erfindung! Anno
1675 hat ein »Wohlverordtneter Cammer-Juncker, auch Ober Forst
u. Wildtmeister … vor eingelieferte Hirsch Wildts und andere Heuthe
auch Rehe felle und anders (Wölfe sind mehrfach noch genannt!)
noch 496 fl 2 gr an Jägerrechte zu fordern«. Er bittet, wenigstens die
Hälfte ihm zu gewähren – die Forderung betraf die Jahre 1670–
1675!! Treue Dienste müssen aber doch belohnt werden! Ist kein
Geld da, dann eben auf andre Weise! Und so war denn der Kurfürst
auf den Gedanken verfallen, sein Waldgebiet dort zu opfern, wo es
der Wildbahn nicht schädlich war: er verlieh an Stelle vielleicht sehr
dringlicher Gehaltszulagen ein Stück derartigen Heidebodens – als
Weinbergsgelände! Die Karte (Abb. 2) nennt Namen und Stand der
Bedachten: Forstleute und Amtsschreiber, Bürgermeister und
Kammerdiener, alle werden fast gleichmäßig bedacht: zwischen vier
und sechs Ackern schwankt die Größe der »Neuen Weinbergstede«.
Die Karte zeigt übrigens auch, wie der Kurfürst gleichzeitig die
Gelegenheit benutzt hat, sein Heidegebiet abzurunden: »Diesen
Feldwinkl treten die Zwantzig Personen von Rädebeil vnderthenigst
ab! Zu ergäntzung dieser heyden ecken!« lesen wir unter anderem
im nordöstlichen Teile der Karte – sie ist umgekehrt orientiert wie
unsere Karten! Seit 1627 hat sie geruht – zum ersten Male wird sie
hier abgedruckt – im Dresdner Hauptstaatsarchiv fand ich sie (Loc.
38525, Rep. XVIIIa, Dresden 185), eine Zeichnung des Balthasar
Zimmermann, des kursächsischen Markscheiders, des Vetters jenes
berühmteren Mathias Oeder, dessen Heidekarte von 1600 bereits
Erwähnung fand.

Abb. 2 Karte von Balthasar Zimmermann 1627

Zimmermann besaß übrigens auch einen Weinberg in unserem

Gebiete – er hatte ja »dem Hause Sachsen langwierige, treue
Dienste« genug geleistet! »Mit großen vncosten hatte er den Platz
gerodet, mit weinstöcken bestecket vnd eine Mauer von Stein vnd
Plancken darumb geführet. Die Soldaten hatten aber (noch dazu im
Winter!) die Plancken wegkgeholet vnd verbrandt«. In der Nähe
befand sich ein Fleck, den seine Erben 1634 gern gehabt hätten.
Des Vaters Haus hatten sie »schulden halber verkauffen müssen,
vnd des Weinberges aus ermangelung Tüngers konnten sie nicht
mechtig werden«. Auf jenem Heideflecke sollten nun »einbaar Kühe
des Sommers über ihre trifft vndt weyde haben«. Der Fleck lag aber
innerhalb »der allgemeinen huttung«, der er auch verbleiben soll,
das Gesuch muß also abgelehnt werden – 1638 haben es die Erben
noch einmal versucht. Jener Heidefleck reichte »bis an die
Bohmwiese«, so berichtet der Oberforstmeister Bernstein; Balzer
Zimmermanns Erben schreiben: »bis an die Bahnwiese« – und
Oeder? Auf seiner Karte steht: »Am Baum«. Ob nun die
»Bahnwiese« endlich verschwindet und der »Baumwiese« Platz
macht?!
Zimmermanns Karte zeigt noch ein anderes sprachlich so
lehrreiches Beispiel: an der »Meisnischen stras« – der alten! – liegt
»Schneeweisens Bres«, also die Weinpresse des Schneeweiß! In
dem erwähnten Schriftstücke von 1627 wird sie oft zur genaueren
Ortsbestimmung benutzt. Das Gelände muß Hofbedienten zugesagt
haben; sie bewerben sich darum, »damit den Armen Gesellen zu
fortstellung der geringen Heußlichen nahrung vnd beßerer erhaltung
der Kleinen Kinderlein solcher vonn den trotzigen Bauern
außgeschlagener vbriger Platz (er hatte den Serkowitzern zunächst
nicht zugesagt!), der doch sonsten von andernn leuten ausgebeten
werden dürffte, gleich andern Dienern vnd Rentherey Schreiben
gnedigst bewilliget vnd Erblich eingereumt werden möge. Die Zinß
vnd Landsteuer wollen sie Jedesmahl gehorsamblich abstatten …«
Für sie, die Ortsfremden, wird nun auf einmal jene Presse zur
»Weißen Preße im Zippell genant«! Wozu auch »schneeweiß« –
weiß genügt! So mag mancher Name entstanden sein, den wir uns
heute nicht mehr erklären können! –
Streiflichter in Verhältnisse, die jahrhundertelang das Leben der
Bewohner der Lößnitz ganz wesentlich beeinflußt haben!
 Der Untergang des Weinbaus
Von Prof. Dr. A. Naumann
O du weinfrohe Lößnitz! Vor vier Jahrzehnten noch grünten
allüberall deine Rebenhöhen, mostvergnügte Menschen jubelten auf
deinen gartengeschmückten Straßen, und manch »graue« Züge
führten wackere Zecher heimwärts.
Winzerfeste wurden gefeiert, die Tausende natur- und
weinbegeisterter Städter in deine gesegneten Gefilde führten. Das
berühmteste Winzerfest fand statt am 25. Oktober des Jahres 1840.
Es war ein vaterländisches Fest »in Verbindung mit einer Wein- und
Traubenausstellung und Musterung,« wie es in der Denkschrift heißt.
Das Bild des Winzerzuges ist von Prof. Moritz Retzsch entworfen,
und dieses figurenreiche Erinnerungsblatt (Abbildung 1) ist noch in
gar mancher Weinstube, sogar in farbiger Ausführung[2], als
Wandschmuck zu finden.

1
2

4
5

7
 8
Gez. v. M. Retzsch Lith. v. E. Otte. Gedr. v. E. Böhme.
Abb. 1 Winzerzug

Kein Mensch ahnte in den achtziger Jahren des vorigen

Jahrhunderts den Feind, der, an den Wurzeln der Reben saugend,
all dieser Rebenherrlichkeit und Weinfröhlichkeit ein Ende bereiten
sollte. Ein winziger Schnabelkerf »die Reblaus« war unter der
sommerdurchwärmten Erde an der Arbeit; jahrzehntelang hatte sie
sich unbemerkt in das Wurzelwerk des europäischen Weinstockes,
unserer Vitis vinifera eingenistet.
Sie senkte ihre Stechborsten tief hinein in das weiche Gewebe der
Wurzelspitzen und saugte die Bildungssäfte auf (Abb. 2f). Wohl
wehrte sich das Wurzelende und suchte durch Anschwellungen und
hakige Krümmungen (Abb. 2h) den Feind zu überwuchern und zu
erdrücken; aber die Vermehrungskraft der Reblaus war zu gewaltig!
Die Altläuse (Abb. 2d) legten unbefruchtet, als sogenannte Ammen,
mehr denn vierzig Eier, denen nach zehn Tagen schon Jungläuse
(Abb. 2c) entschlüpften, die nach kurzer Saugtätigkeit wiederum
unbefruchtet zur Eiablage fähig waren. Bis zu fünf Generationen
wuchsen in einem Jahre heran, so daß eine einzige Wurzellaus die
Stammutter von etwa dreiundsiebzig Millionen Nachkommen sein
konnte. Da eine so ungeheuere Nachkommenschaft am
Geburtsstocke nicht genügend Nahrung fand, mußte die jugendliche,
ziemlich bewegliche Reblaus neue Nahrungsquellen aufsuchen und
dabei unterirdisch einen mühsamen Weg von Rebstock zu Rebstock
zurücklegen. Im sächsischen Weinbau war zur Vermehrung der
Weinstöcke das sogenannte Senkverfahren üblich: von einem
Mutterstock wurden die Reben niedergebogen und in die Erde
eingegraben, damit die Zweigspitzen, über der Erde hervorragend,
zu neuen Rebstöcken heranwuchsen. Hierdurch wurden für die
wandernden Jungläuse von Stock zu Stock bequeme unterirdische
Brücken geboten, und wir dürfen in den meisten Fällen die rasche
Verheerung der sächsischen Berge auf dieses Senkverfahren
zurückführen. – Mit jedem Karstschlag, mit jedem vom Winzerfuße
weitergetragenen Erdklümpchen verbreitete sich der tückische Feind
über alle Weingelände der Lößnitz, und bald konnte ein Kundiger an
dem Gilben des Stockes, an der nachlassenden Wuchskraft der
Reben, an dem jährlich geringer werdenden Ertrag herausfühlen,
daß dem Weinbau der Lößnitz, ja dem sächsischen Weinbau, eine
Katastrophe drohte. Im Jahre 1885 wurde durch einen Gärtner der
Lößnitz in den Königlichen Weinbergen daselbst die Reblaus
aufgefunden und der sächsischen Regierung darüber pflichtgemäß
Bericht erstattet.
Der damalige Garteninspektor Lämmerhirt, als Vertreter des
Landes-Obstbauvereins wurde mit Feststellung und Untersuchung
des Schädlings betraut, und als die Verseuchung größerer Flächen
durch die Reblaus erwiesen war, wurde der Reichsregierung
Mitteilung gemacht.
Dieselbe ordnete für Sachsen als Reichskommissar den
Oberförster Koch aus Trier ab und verfügte die durch die
internationale Konferenz der weinbautreibenden Staaten
festgesetzten Bekämpfungsmaßregeln. Es zeigte sich nun, daß die
Ausdehnung der Reblausschädigungen in Sachsen bereits einen
großen Umfang angenommen hatte; zumal die königlichen
Weinberge durften infolge ihres starken Befalles als die Herde der
Kalamität betrachtet werden.
Es erregte schon damals großes Erstaunen, daß die
Weinbergsinspektoren nicht vorher auf den schon lange bekannten
furchtbaren Rebfeind aufmerksam geworden waren. Inwieweit einer
oder der andern Behörde, beziehentlich deren Vertretern,
entsprechende Vorhalte zu machen wären, ist jetzt eine müßige
Frage.
 Tatsache war, daß die von Oberförster Koch mit zahlreichen
Hilfskräften und kostspieligen Bekämpfungsmitteln (Petroleum,
Schwefelkohlenstoff) organisierte Abwehr des Schädlings kaum
genügte, um die verseuchten Weinkulturflächen rechts der Elbe
einigermaßen gründlich zu untersuchen, geschweige denn zu retten.
Bereits im Jahre 1886 wurde mit dem Kampf gegen den
übermächtigen Schädling begonnen.
Woher aber war der Feind zu uns gekommen? War er schon seit
Jahrhunderten bei uns heimisch? Fast mußte es so scheinen, wenn
wir die Größe der Verheerung ermessen, welche die Reblaus nicht
bloß bei uns, nein auch in allen Weinbau treibenden Gebieten
Europas[3] angerichtet hatte. Nach allem, was wir bis jetzt
nachprüfen konnten, ist dieser Schädling aus Nord-Amerika zu uns
gelangt. Im Jahre 1865 wurde in der Provence die Reblaus zuerst
auf dem europäischen Kontinent aufgefunden. Sie soll von Amerika
aus in Englands große Weintreibereien gelangt und auf diesem
Umweg auch in die Freilandkulturen des europäischen Festlandes
gekommen sein. Nachdem sie ihren Vernichtungszug in den
südlichen Ländern Europas begonnen, gelangte sie in den achtziger
Jahren des vorigen Jahrhunderts auch zu uns nach Deutschland.
Zum Verständnis der zu schildernden Bekämpfungsmaßnahmen
diene eine kurze Betrachtung der Lebensweise unseres Schädlings.
 Abb. 2 Die Vernichterin des Lößnitzer Weinbaues: die Reblaus (Phylloxera
vastatrix) in ihrer Entwicklung

Im Laufe der bereits erwähnten ungeschlechtlich erzeugten

Generationen traten, vielleicht infolge besonderer Ernährung, mit
Flügelstumpfen begabte Läuse auf, die man auf den schönen
Namen »Nymphen« getauft hat (Abb. 2a). Aus dieser schon mit
einer Art Taille versehenen Form entwickelt sich in warmen
Sommern eine geflügelte Laus: Die Reblausfliege (Abb. 2b). Diese
fliegt bei ruhigem Wetter auf benachbarte Berge und kann, vom
Winde getrieben, Kilometerstrecken zurücklegen. Sie landet
schließlich auf einem Weinblatt und legt dort wenige Eier von teils
runder, teils ovaler Form. Aus diesen erst schlüpfen die eigentlichen
»Geschlechtstiere« (Abb. 2e); aus den kleinen runden die
Männchen, aus den größeren ovalen die Weibchen. Beide
entbehren der Saugorgane, sind also bloße Geschlechtsmaschinen,
die nur dem Geschäfte der Begattung obliegen. Das befruchtete
Weibchen legt ein einziges, etwas dickschaligeres dunkles Winterei.
 Aufnahme von P. Georg Schäfer, Dresden
Abb. 3 Nußbaum in der Hoflößnitz

Es ist kaum anzunehmen, daß es in unseren Breiten oft zur

Ablage dieses Eies kommt, da um diese Zeit die bereits herbstlich
kühlen Nächte das Aufkommen der Geschlechtstiere in Frage
stellen. Wir müssen vielmehr annehmen, daß bei uns eine
Verbreitung nur durch Wanderung oder Verschleppung der
Wurzelreblaus möglich war[4]. Wir wußten nicht einmal mit Sicherheit,
wohin diese Wintereier abgelegt werden, ob an Weinstöcke, an
Rebpfähle oder an die Bäume, welche im Weinberge gepflanzt sind.
In der Lößnitz waren es meist Pfirsiche und Nußbäume. Ist doch das
gute Gedeihen des Nußbaumes (Abb. 3) u. a. ein besonderes
Kennzeichen guter und warmer Weinlagen; auch die Edelkastanie
(Abb. 4) deutet auf solche hin.
Ich mußte trotz allen Dunkels, welches über die Ablage des
Wintereies herrscht, diese Frage berühren, damit gewisse
drakonische Bekämpfungsmaßnahmen, nämlich das Abhauen und
Verbrennen der auf infizierten Bergen stehenden Bäume ihre
Erklärung finden. Haben doch gerade diese Maßregeln unter der
weinbautreibenden Bevölkerung der Lößnitz besonders böses Blut
gemacht, und ich erinnere mich noch mancher Tränen und Flüche,
die gerade der Vernichtung besonders geliebter Bäume galten. Auch
mir hat ebendiese Forderung gar oft meine Pflicht besonders schwer
gemacht.
Die Bekämpfungsmaßnahmen haben im Laufe der Jahrzehnte
manche Wandlung erfahren, eins aber ist sicher, daß sie eine völlige
Vernichtung der Reblaus nicht erreichen konnten!
Es war im Jahre 1886 als ich, an der Dresdner technischen
Hochschule Chemie studierend, durch Zeitungsnotizen darauf
aufmerksam wurde, daß für die Untersuchung reblaus-verseuchter
Gelände Hilfssachverständige gesucht wurden, welche mit der
Handhabung der Lupe vertraut und insektenkundig waren. Da ich
zum Weiterstudium auf Gelderwerb angewiesen war, machte ich
mich eines Tages auf den Weg, mich beim Reichskommissar um die
Stellung eines Hilfssachverständigen zu bewerben. Ich kam damals
zum erstenmal in die herrlichen Gefilde der Lößnitz und war
geradezu entzückt über die harmonische Vereinigung einer
jahrhundertealten, anheimelnden, vornehmen Siedlungskultur mit
einer herrlichen, durch die grünen Höhen der Weingelände
verschönten Natur. In dem Bad-Hotel zu Kötzschenbroda wollte ich
mich bei einem Schoppen Schieler nach dem Aufenthalt des
Reichskommissar Koch erkundigen. Da sah ich – es war
Frühstückszeit – am Nebentisch eine fröhliche Runde, zu welcher,
stürmisch begrüßt, ein jovialer alter Herr trat, eben der gesuchte
Herr Kommissar. Ich stellte mich ihm vor, brachte dreist meinen
Wunsch an, wurde an die frohe Tafelrunde gebeten, und nach etwa
einer Viertelstunde nicht allzu strenger Prüfung ward ich unter
frohem Gläserklingen wohlbestallter Hilfssachverständiger für
Reblausuntersuchungen in der Lößnitz; wohlgemerkt! mit sechs
Mark Tagegeld, für mich eine wertvolle Studienbeihilfe. Meine
Kollegen waren teils Forststudenten, teils Männer mit
landwirtschaftlicher Hochschulbildung, teils Gärtner. Ich habe meine
Stellung als Hilfssachverständiger genügend lange bekleidet, um
aus eigener Erfahrung erzählen zu können, wie sich Untersuchung
und Vernichtung der Weinberge damals vollzog – leider muß ich
sagen »Vernichtung der Weinberge«, denn die Bekämpfung des
Schädlings gelang bei der in der Lößnitz übermächtig auftretenden
und überall verbreiteten Reblaus nicht mehr. Nur wenige Berge
waren damals beinahe reblausfrei; es waren die vortrefflich
gehaltenen von Nacke und Böhme, die auch noch heute einen
Bestand aus jener Zeit – natürlich verjüngt – besitzen.
Die Untersuchung der Weinberge auf Reblaus wurde
folgendermaßen vorgenommen.

Aufnahme von Preusch, Dresden

Abb. 4 Edelkastanie im Grundstück des Herrn
Geheimrat Hilger in Zitzschewig: Haus Kynast
 Die Hilfssachverständigen, geführt von einem Sachverständigen,
etwa vier bis fünf Herren, begaben sich mit je zwei bis drei Arbeitern
(meist Winzern und gelernten Weinbergsarbeitern) in den zu
untersuchendem Weinberg, unter Vorzeigen eines vom Ministerium
des Innern ausgestellten Ausweises.
Ein allgemeiner Überblick über den Rebbestand ließ schon durch
die muldenförmige Abnahme der Wuchskraft und durch
Gelbstichigkeit der sonst tiefgrünen Stöcke einen Schluß auf die
reblausbefallenen Bergteile zu. Der Beweis des Befalls konnte aber
erst dadurch erbracht werden, daß die flach unter der
Bodenoberfläche verlaufenden sogenannten Tauwurzeln durch uns
mit der Lupe auf Anwesenheit von Reblaus geprüft wurden. Die
Arbeiter »schlugen die Stöcke an«, das heißt sie entfernten am
Wurzelhals die Erde bis zum Erscheinen der Wurzeln, schnitten
letztere ab und reichten sie dem Untersuchenden zu. (Abb. 5.)
 Aufnahme von Joh. Hartmann
Abb. 5 Untersuchung der Weinberge auf Reblaus

Dabei wurde reihenweise vorgerückt und möglichst jeder dritte

Stock angeschlagen. Fand sich der Schädling an den hakenförmigen
Krümmungen der Wurzeln, den Nodositäten, vor, was leider nur zu
oft eintrat – so wurde das von uns durch ein kräftig gerufenes
»Laus« verkündet, und ein Arbeiter kalkte den Rebpfahl des
befallenen Stockes oben ausgiebig an. Im Umkreis eines infizierten
Stockes wurde alsdann jeder Stock untersucht, und bald zeigte eine
ganze Anzahl weißer Pfahlspitzen den aufgefundenen Reblausherd
an. In diesen Herd wurden noch die scheinbar gesunden Reben im
Zwanzigmeter-Umkreis einbezirkt, und das Ganze wurde von einer
besonderen Kolonne, die mit pfahl- und drahtbeladenem Wagen
ankam, eingedrahtet und mit einer Verbotstafel versehen, welche
das Betreten des Herdes, auch den Besitzern, versagte. Die