“I don’t know anything about horses,” Garcia said, “but I guess you guys would know the signs. Did a veterinarian check them out?”
“Yeah, but he found nothing. He took blood, feces, saliva, and samples of the food and water, but he couldn’t find anything. I worry that maybe it’s something the murderer is doing—however he’s doing it—to set us on edge—or as some sort of warning that he’s still there and to scare us. Whatever it is he’s using, it’s undetectable.”
“How long has this been going on?” Moore asked.
Jared scratched his head. “Maybe two months.”
Garcia wrote something in his notebook. “Any theories as to why now after ten years?”
“Miss Lacey’s passing,” Jared said. “The killer knew Tara would come back here.”
Moore turned to Tara. “He or she would have to be familiar with horses to do whatever it is. Have you ever heard from you sister since . . . then?”
“Cassie? You think she might be behind this?”
“Not necessarily, but she would know how to slip in and out of the barns without being detected and doing whatever it is they’re doing to the horses.”
“Cassie would never do anything to hurt me. It couldn’t be her.”
“What if she was under duress and the killer threatened to hurt her or you if she didn’t do what he asked?”
Jared saw Tara was getting upset. “I don’t think Cassie has anything to do with this. She took off of her own volition—wasn’t kidnapped. She was so traumatized after the murders, I don’t think she thought it out. She just felt that she needed to get as far away as she could, and we couldn’t stop her. We couldn’t lock her in her room and put a guard on her door.”
Moore stood up. “If one or both of you could show us around the horse facilities, and then we’d like to take another look inside the house—particularly the room in which the murders took place. Sometimes, even after such a long time, something that didn’t show up before can become noticeable.”
“Did you ever look into Randall’s background? Randall Grant.” Jared saw Tara’s eyes go wide.
“He started working as the manager of the Taurus Center about six years ago, so he wasn’t around at the time of the murders. Tara’s Aunt Lacey put him on a pedestal and boasted about how wonderful he was at fundraising and how he managed the business so well, but that dude acted weird after Aunt Lacey got sick, and then he quit.”
“Weird? How so?”
“He was doing a good job as a manager as far as anyone could tell, but then he seemed to change and lose focus.” Jared shook his head. “It’s difficult to explain, but you just know when something is going on with a person. I wasn’t here for most of the time he was manager, but Jules, who works here, has told me how he changed. She’s around here somewhere, so you can ask her.”
“And the money,” Tara said. “There isn’t as much in the bank as I thought there would be so where did it go? As the manager, he did payroll and paid all the bills, so he had full access to the bank accounts. And he didn’t maintain the website, so what did he do? Jules says he pulled a bunch of old file boxes out of the guest cottage—it’s used for storage now. He was looking through them—they’re all over the floor of the office. “
“What’s in the boxes?”
“I haven’t had a chance yet to look, but according to the labels, they’re filled with company tax records.”
“We can take them and have someone go through them.”
“Let me take a look first,” Tara said. “I sometimes helped my mom file stuff and I may be more able to recognize something out of the ordinary.”
“We can bring him in for questioning. Let me have his details.”
Jared didn’t like Moore. He hadn’t gone easy on Jared when he thought he had committed the murders, but he was impressed with the thorough search he and his partner made. It was almost two hours later when they stood in the parking lot by the detectives’ vehicle.
“Murder cases are never closed, but we’ll do what we can. In the meantime, I’ll contact your local sheriff’s department and ask them to patrol here at night. Do you have any guns, Ms. Ericson?”
Jared answered, “I believe Tara’s aunt kept the guns that once belonged to Tara’s father.” He glanced at Tara. “Last time I saw them, they were in the gun safe in the house.”
Moore raised an eyebrow and then said to Tara, “I recommend that you keep a weapon close to you at night, assuming you know how to use one.”
“I haven’t fired a gun in years, but my dad used to take me hunting and I was a pretty good shot back then.”
Jared smiled. “Yes, you were. I’ll help you pick out one of the guns—you need a handgun and a rifle. I’ll even take you to the range if you want.”
“Good,” Moore said. “What about CCTV? Alarm system?”
“In time, Detective. When I have the funds, I’ll put in a CCTV and get someone to upgrade the old security system. I’m sure you remember my parents’ killer knew the code and disarmed the alarm, so it didn’t help them.” That was another mystery that had never been solved, and another reason they had pointed a finger at Jared. How did the killer know the alarm code?
“Well, please lock up well, Ms. Ericson, and call any time if you need anything. I mean that. We’ll be in touch.”
Tara looked pale as she watched them leave. “You okay?” Jared asked.
“I will be. It’s hard to relive it all again and again. I have these nightmares.” Her voice broke. “I wish I hadn’t come here. I didn’t want to.”
He slid his arm over her shoulders, half-expecting her to push him away. “I’m sorry. I wish I could do something to help.” Her hair smelled of green apples. Holding her close made his heart beat faster and his breath caught in his throat.
“I would like you to help me with the guns. I’ll feel a little safer knowing I can fight back if someone does break into the house.”
“The sooner the better. I have a job and I have to leave in a few minutes, but I’ll try to come back this afternoon. You should go visit the deputies in Hardship. I’m sure Moore or Garcia will contact them, but it would be best if you also make the effort.”
“So you’ve also thought about Randall.” She changed the subject. “I’ve been wondering about some of the things he did before he left.”
Jared squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll help you go through the boxes if you want. Maybe it’ll give us some kind of clue.”
“You really think it could be him? He didn’t start working there until after—”
“I don’t know. He has no reason to hate you or me and I’ve tried to think of anyone we could have offended or upset, but apart from the others who were taken in for questioning and cleared, I can’t think of anyone.”
“What if they cleared someone erroneously? What if they interviewed the killer and he was laughing his ass off while you sat in a prison cell?”
“That happens. It’s good Garcia’s the new partner. Fresh eyes. Maybe he’ll see something none of us can see. Moore still doesn’t trust me.”
Tara was quiet for a few moments. “I’ve found it hard to accept or come to terms with the fact that you didn’t do it.”
“But you do now?” Jared’s heart was hammering so fast he could hardly breathe.
“Yes. I do believe you. I—I’m sorry about before . . .”
“That’s okay. Thank you.” He squeezed her shoulders as some of the anxiety washed out of him and left him feeling drained. He sighed and ran his hands through his hair. Was it okay? He didn’t know what to think. He would never understand how she could have believed he would be capable of such a horrible crime, and now she said she was struggling to accept that he didn’t do it.
His phone buzzed. He looked at the screen. “Sorry, I have
to go, and then I have two more appointments. I’ll come by this evening and help you look through the boxes. I’ll bring something for us to eat.”
As he drove, Jared wondered about Tara’s safety. Should he offer to stay with her in the house or patrol the grounds? He didn’t think she’d agree to either, but he could sneak in after she went to bed. He still had a key.
Chapter 20
Deputy Tim Bowen sat behind his desk, staring at the computer screen. He jumped up when he saw Tara, and a smile crossed his lips.
“I was wonderin’ when you were gonna pay us a visit.” Stocky, with a shaved head and gray eyes, he pulled her close and hugged her. He held her at arm’s length and looked her up and down. “You look good.”
Tara stepped back away from his grasp. “You look well, too, Timmy. This isn’t a social call, though.”
“I was afraid of that. Sit.” He indicated the wooden chair at his desk across from him. “Come on, Tara, don’t disappoint me. How long has it been? Tell me you missed me a little.”
She grinned. “Of course, I missed you. You know that.”
“And now you’re back. I guess you’re aware Jared’s been pardoned.”
“I know now.”
“If you’d visited more often, you might’ve known more about what was going on here. I found it hard to believe at first he didn’t do it.”
“I know.” She didn’t want to talk about Jared. She’d been having a hard enough time trying to keep from thinking about him. “My problem is that now that Jared’s been cleared, we don’t know if the real killer is still around.”
He rocked back in his chair. “Yeah. Detective Garcia called.”
“I’m a little nervous, and there have been some strange things happening to the horses,” Tara explained.
Deputy Bowen scratched his chin. “I know the old alarm system doesn’t work, but maybe you should think about having it upgraded. You have any guns out there?”
“I think so. Jared is going to help me with that tonight.”
“And you were always a good shot, so promise me you’ll put them where you can get a hold of them—loaded. I’ll try to make a run out there at random times to check on you, too. If there’s a killer out there, you need to be prepared. Be sure to lock up well.”
Tara looked at her nails and then looked up again. “I have something else I wanted to discuss with you. I have a problem with, uh . . . a child.”
Tim smiled. “Not your child, I take it?” His gaze strayed to her stomach.
“No, no. I don’t have a child. It’s Kaitlyn Boone.”
He sat up straighter. “Oh, Kaitlyn. That little girl’s as cute as a button, but she’s like a horse that doesn’t want to be corralled.”
“Yes, she seems to run away from home—or her foster home—on a regular basis and I can’t… It just bothers me, that little waif of a girl out on the streets on her own.” She shook her head.
“Yeah, I know. Lou has her hands full. She can’t always watch her and she’s a little escape artist. I’ve been to pick her up more than a couple of times when she was with her previous foster parents. There’s not a lot I can do. I could—should report it to DCF, but Lou asked me to give her another chance. She had burglar bars put on all the windows, but if she gets out of those, somethin’s gonna have to be done. They’ll just take her back and put her in the system again. It seems to me that she’s better off with a home, even if it isn’t ideal.”
She shifted in her chair. Apparently, the deputy didn’t know about Kaitlyn’s latest escape. “Where’s Lou’s husband?”
“Yeah. He works at the mill and he’s hardly ever home. He spends his off time in Mad Dog’s.”
“So there’s nothing you can do to help keep that child safe?”
“I drive by there as often as I can, but that’s about all I can do. One more escape, and I’ll report it.” He scratched his neck.
Tara stood up. “I gotta go. Good to see you, Tim.”
“Glad you’re back. Remember to lock your doors, and make sure you have some form of protection.”
Tara thought about Kaitlyn as she left the sheriff’s office. This part of town was quiet, with only the sound of an occasional vehicle. She had parked in a space in the shade of a pepper tree directly across the road, outside Shane’s Boutique, which was neighbors with Henry’s Barber Shop, and Hardship Collectibles and Antiques. She waited for two cars to pass before she stepped into the narrow street.
Were Lou and Tim right? Would Kaitlyn be worse off if she went back into the system? What if she offered to let her ride for free and ask her to promise she would stay home in the future as a kind of exchange. Could that work?
Someone screamed. “Look out! Oh, my God!”
Chapter 21
Tara dove sideways onto the grass shoulder and rolled down into a ditch.
A pickup truck swerved and careened past her at high speed, the wheels barely missing her head. Brakes screeched and stank of burning rubber.
She lay where she had fallen, dazed. A cloud of dust hung over her. She coughed. “Are you okay?” Someone was touching her arm. A woman she didn’t recognize. She was older than Tara—probably in her forties, and wore blue jeans, a white T-shirt, a straw hat covering her hair, and white tennis shoes. Her brow was wrinkled with concern.
Tara scrambled to her feet, breathing hard, and spat out bits of leaves and sand. “I . . . I think so.” She looked down at her hands and knees. The skin was broken and blood trickled out of scrapes on both knees and one hand.
She stared at the old, beat-up Ford as it slowed and stopped about half a block ahead of her. The driver’s side door opened.
Cassie? I saw Cassie in that car.
The woman bent down and dusted the sand and grit off her knees. “Ouch!” Tara winced.
“You’re a little scraped up. But I think you’ll be okay.” She smiled. “You were inches from being killed or at least seriously injured. I don’t know how he missed you.”
She’s alive. Cassie’s alive. I saw her. I would know her anywhere. Her face was pressed up against the glass in the crew cab back seat. She looked like she was yelling.
“I have to go,” Tara said and turned and took a step toward the truck.
Deputy Tim intercepted her. “Tara, are you okay? What happened?” He took hold of her shoulders and stared into her eyes.
“I’m okay,” she stammered. She wished her voice didn’t sound so shaky. The driver had climbed out and was approaching them.
“I am so sorry, ma’am,” he said in a gruff voice. “Are you okay?” His bushy brown beard and the camouflage cap pulled low on his head made it difficult to see much of his face. He was shorter than Tara, wore khaki cargo pants and a short-sleeve, blue button-up shirt, and brown work boots, and had a stocky build.
Tim put a protective arm around her and spoke to the man. “What the hell do you think you were doing? I need to see your license and registration.”
“I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention. It was so stupid of me. Just lost my concentration.”
“Sometimes I think all the drivers in this town need to go back to driving school,” Tim said. “It’s lucky for you, she seems to be okay, but I still need your license and registration.”
“Oh, no, officer. The driver of that truck was deliberately trying to hit Tara. He aimed for her.” The woman who had helped her spoke up and glared at the bearded man.
“I don’t think… No one would try to run me down.”
The man looked down at his clenched hands. “I wasn’t paying attention. I dropped my cell phone and I was trying to retrieve it and I took my eyes off the road. I guess my foot tramped harder on the gas pedal. I’m so sorry and thank goodness you’re okay, ma’am.”
What was that at the base of his neck? A tatto
o? A weird place for a tattoo. Just above his collarbone on his throat. Tara strained to see what it depicted. His collar covered it most of the time.
“No, that’s not true,” the woman said. “He was staring straight at her. I was…”
Tara cut her off. “Who’s in the truck with you?”
“Just my wife, Missy.” For a moment, the tattoo was visible and she saw it was a bull’s head, facing out with big horns and it was snorting steam.
“Are you sure that’s her name?”
The stranger wrinkled his brow. “Yes, of course. She’s not feeling too good, that’s why she’s staying in the truck.” He pulled his collar up and she guessed he had noticed her staring at the tattoo.
Tara desperately wanted to go and look for herself. She tried to shrug off Tim’s protective arm.
“I still need to see your credentials, sir,” Tim said in a stern voice to the stranger. “I should give you a ticket for reckless driving. What’s your name? I haven’t seen you around here before.”
“Jerry. Jerry Lundgren.”
“I’ll be happy to give a statement and tell you what I saw,” the woman said, challenging the stranger with her eyes.
“Rita, I appreciate that and I’m sure Tara does . . .”
“I’m not sure I need to . . .” Tara stared at the truck. “I think—there’s someone I want to see in that truck. She looked like Cassie. I saw her. I’m sure it was her.”
“You need to get those cuts and scratches cleaned up,” Tim said. “Go into the office and I’ll get the first aid kit out and you can clean up. I’m the only one there at the moment. The other deputy, Randy Biggs, is out investigating a complaint. I don’t think you know him. I keep asking them for a clerical person, but they say the budget’s too small. Could you go with her, Rita, and wait in the office, please?”
Tempestuous Taurus Page 8
