The Last MacKlenna

by Katherine Lowry Logan

“I’M COMING. Don’t beat down the damn house,” Elliott yelled as he hobbled through the MacKlenna Mansion’s wide foyer. He yanked open the oak door darkened with the patina of two centuries to find Jim Manning, the farm’s attorney and his friend of twenty years, standing on the portico stomping snow from his boots.

  “We should be in Naples, Florida.” The lawyer’s sour tone reflected the miserable weather conditions.

  “I know why the hell I’m not. Why aren’t you?” Elliott asked.

  Jim entered the house and removed his snow-dusted overcoat. “My kids threatened not to come home for Christmas if we went south. My wife didn’t take to that idea at all. When this storm hit, she changed her mind, but by then we couldn’t get a flight out, and you weren’t offering your jet.”

  “It’s parked at the airport if you can get out before the storm of the century arrives.”

  “The forecast isn’t that bad, and I might take you up on the offer if you’re staying put.”

  In spite of Elliott’s holiday planning, he’d arrived at the one place he didn’t want to be. At least he’d talked Meredith into a visit. She had become his Bethlehem Star on a very bleak night. “Let’s talk in the office.” He led the way through the elegantly appointed entrance hall. When he reached the light switches installed in an alcove beneath the grand staircase, he turned up the crystal chandeliers.

  “You look like hell,” Jim said.

  “Feel like it, too. I’m barely hanging on this time. Even considering giving the leg up.”

  Jim came to a sudden stop, squeaking his rubber soles on the hardwood floor. “After all you’ve been through. Why?”

  Elliott swung the crutches across the threshold and entered the office. “Give me a prosthetic device and I could run a marathon instead of living with this crap.”

  “Listen to your damn doctors.”

  Elliot poked his tongue against the back of his teeth. “Don’t start with me.”

  “I’m not the only one telling you to see a therapist.” The attorney threw up his hands and strode over to the bar with the same swagger he’d used on the basketball court when he’d played at the University of Kentucky years earlier. “Why quit now?”

  Elliott sat in a leather chair and put his leg on the footstool. “The injury stopped me once before from doing what I needed to do. Came close to doing it again.”

  “You nearly died in that attack—”

  “I did die,” he mumbled.

  “Your sacrifice saved Kit from a lot worse than she got.”

  Elliott swallowed hard and gazed off into some invisible distance to look beyond the horror of that night. “Just pour me a whiskey.”

  “Why’d you call? I’m sure it’s not to talk about your health. You could get more sympathy from Mrs. Collins.”

  “We’ve got a problem.”

  Jim handed Elliott his drink, loosened his tie, and sat in a wingback chair that framed the fireplace. “Start at the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

  “Has anyone ever told you your bedside manner sucks?”

  “You want sympathy, go—”

  Elliott held up his hand to stop his friend from repeating the mantra Get Help. He didn’t need a therapist. He needed good doctors, good lawyers, and a detailed CFO. “Galahad was murdered, or more accurately, euthanized. If the insurance company’s investigation concludes that we put him down, they won’t pay the claim.”

  Jim whistled. “We’ve got a hell of a problem.” He put down his glass, pulled a small notepad and pen from his shirt pocket, and jotted down a few notes. “The insurance company doesn’t want another Alydar situation.”

  “The murder of that horse set in motion the collapse of a financial house of cards. That’s not what we’ve got here,” Elliott said. “These horses are worth more to us alive than dead.”

  “That wasn’t the situation with Alydar.” Jim put the notepad aside and took another sip of his drink. “No one on the farm would have harmed Galahad. Who did? Any suspects?”

  Elliott grimaced from the nasty taste of a cocktail mixed with anger, grief, and frustration. Those questions had kept his mind racing around an endless track for the last several hours. “There’s only one person who had that kind of grudge against the farm, and he’s dead.”

  “You’re thinking of Gates, aren’t you?”

  Even the sound of the name evoked visions of demonic spirits. Elliott knocked back his drink and wanted another. He reached for his crutches.

  Jim came to his feet. “Here, I’ll do it.”

  “Give me a double.”

  “How much pain medication have you had today?”

  Elliott glared at his friend. “I’m not driving. Pour me a damn drink.”

  “The police never recovered the fifty thousand dollars he stole from the farm.”

  “After this long, we’ll never get the money back.” Elliott took the refilled glass. The barman shorted him on the double, but Elliott sipped his drink without complaint. “I see wheels spinning behind your eyes. What are you thinking?”

  Jim sat, crossed his ankle over his opposite knee, and fiddled with his pants’ cuff. “That he gave the money to someone to do what he couldn’t.” He met Elliott’s gaze with his usual exterior calm.

  “I mentioned to Jake there could be a connection to Gates.”

  “Maybe he hired someone in jail and that person just got out,” Jim said.

  “Thank God Kit’s not here.”

  “This is all conjecture,” Jim said. “If someone’s bent on retaliation, he’s after you, not Kit.” Jim finished his drink. “I’ll talk to my investigator tomorrow and ask him to track down Gates’ friends and family members. We might get lucky.”

  “David’s available to work the case if you need him.”

  The lawyer dropped his foot to the floor and sat straight in his chair. “Let’s see what Chuck can find out. I get nervous when a member of SCOTS DG starts nosing around.”

  “David’s retired from the army.”

  “Those guys never retire.”

  Elliott had never met a more tight-lipped individual than David. Elliott never asked his friend what he did when he wasn’t working security at Fraser House. If Jim’s investigator didn’t get immediate results, Elliott would make the call.

  Breaking into the temporary silence, Jim asked, “Have you filed the insurance claim?”

  “Harrison notified the insurance company. It’s now in the hands of the claims adjuster—”

  “—who’ll wait on the final necropsy report,” Jim said.

  “MacKlenna Farm only owned twenty-five percent of Galahad. We’ll have to pay out almost nineteen million dollars.”

  Manning gave a look that went from startled to sick in one second flat. “Thanks for reminding me.”

  “We’ll take a bath in the global economy if we have to liquidate assets.”

  “You got anything of value you don’t have to liquidate?”

  Elliott gave a hollow laugh. “We could rezone the two-hundred-acre tract across the road to a developer.”

  “You’d have one hell of a battle with the planning and zoning commission. It would quickly get personal and ugly.” Jim sipped his drink. “I’m not saying I like the idea, but if you could sell that acreage for development, you’d put a sizable dent in what the farm will owe the shareholders if the claim’s denied.” He made another note on the pad. “I’ll ask my law partner to look into it.”

  Elliott scowled. “Don’t run up the bill on a hypothetical.”

  “Three months from now it might not be a hypothetical. Pay now, pay later. The difference is that later, you’ll want an answer in an hour, and the entire firm will have to stop what they’re doing to get you an answer.”

  Elliott curled his lip. “Bloodsuckers, the whole lot of you.”

  Jim stepped over to the bar and refilled his drink. “The biggest problem I see is that the farm sits on the Fayette-Woodford County line where residents of both counties use the words dev
eloper and devil interchangeably.”

  Elliott held out his empty glass. “Won’t be the first time someone’s called me the devil.”

  “I think the last one was the red head from Virginia,” Jim said, pouring the other half of the double into the glass.

  “How the hell do you keep track of my dates? Do you have spies here?”

  Jim held up his hand and made a basketball dunking motion. “I live vicariously through you. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

  “Not only me, but the entire University of Kentucky Men’s Basketball Team. You need to get a life,” Elliott said.

  All Jim said in response to that was an indifferent, “Yeah.”

  The two men sat in silence, sipping and thinking. The chimes on the tall clock marked the half hour, and still they sat. Finally, Jim said, “You know, Sean will turn flips in his coffin if we sell, but it’s a revenue stream the board of directors will need to consider. Galahad’s shareholders will have to sue the farm first. That puts us into the next year or the year after before we’d have to pay anything out.”

  Elliott glanced up at Sean’s portrait hanging over the fireplace, shaking his head. “Sean’s second worst nightmare—a lawsuit.”

  Jim put his glass in the sink and returned his notebook to his breast pocket. “I’ll talk to the insurance company. In the meantime, don’t talk to the press or the claims adjuster. Go to the doctor. Watch your back and the stallions’. That asshole could come back for more.” Jim checked his watch. “I’ve got to run. No need to see me out. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  Elliott gave his friend the thumbs-up.

  Jim glanced up at the portrait, too, and let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not the same with the big guy gone, is it?”

  Elliott shook his head. “Sean was a giant among ordinary men. But I’m glad he’s not here to see this.” On reflection, Elliott wished he wasn’t either. He’d failed his anamchara.

  Elliot stared out the window into the black of night. “If you’re watching, my soul friend, I’m sorry it’s come to this.” Cold stillness turned into hot impatience. He picked up the autopsy report Doc had left for him, crushed it in his hands, and threw it across the room.

  I’ll find out who’s responsible. This will not be my legacy.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Lexington Blue Grass Airport – Early Evening on December 26

  THE FARM’S CHIEF of Security drove Elliott to the airport to pick up Meredith. He had given himself a shot of Demerol earlier that barely touched the pain. Either his tolerance had taken a dip or his leg was worse this time.

  Begrudgingly, he knew he’d have to be at his doctor’s office when the door opened in the morning. Dr. Chris Lyles wouldn’t be in, thank God, but his PA would see Elliott immediately. After Jim dumped on him, Elliott didn’t relish a dose from his surgeon too. He hadn’t wanted to switch doctors and go to New York, but Chris insisted, thinking a new approach to Elliott’s care might be more successful.

  Jake went inside the terminal to check Meredith’s ETA. While Elliott waited in the car at the farm’s private hangar, he fiddled with his wristwatch. The strap seemed looser than usual. Was he losing weight? He jiggled his belt buckle. It had extra slack, too. “Damn.” Better not get on the scales in the morning. Weight loss would give Chris more ammunition to blast in Elliott’s direction.

  Jake returned to the car and Elliott lowered the window. “The plane should be on the ground in about five minutes. The customs inspector is inside staying warm.”

  Elliott rolled the window back up. In the dark and silent car, Galahad’s necropsy pictures filled the void. In life, the horse had been a magnificent animal. In death, he looked unrecognizable as the animal Elliott had loved. Long, smooth, well-defined muscles had pulsed with the blood of champions. In the photographs, they were flat and unresponsive.

  Elliott pounded his fist on the armrest. Son of a bitch. Whoever did this, I’ll kill him.

  A text message beeped, pulling him from his torment.

  “I’m on the ground,” Meredith’s message said.

  His dick swelled in response. He gave the appendage a slight squeeze. “You operate on your own don’t you, buddy? Don’t give a rat’s ass about my pain.” Elliott wiped perspiration from his forehead.

  The plane landed and taxied to the MacKlenna hangar. It took a few minutes, but when the cabin door opened, Meredith appeared at the entrance. She slipped a cap out of her pocket, tugged it on her head and down over her ears, leaving a fringe of dark hair around her neck.

  “Damn, you’re cute.” His left foot tapped an impatient beat. “Zip up. It’s cold.” The flight attendant standing next to her must have said the same thing. She zipped her white fur jacket. Then, ducking her head against the cold, she descended the steps toward the customs officer. Jake gathered up her bags and followed the officer and Meredith into the hangar.

  If Elliott didn’t stop tapping his foot, there’d be a hole in the floorboard. He checked his watch. Waited. Checked the time again. “What are you carrying in those bags, m’dear?” He reached for the door handle. “Enough of this.” Just then, she reappeared at the hangar entrance, laughing, and so was Jake, who held tight to her elbow. “What the crap.” Elliott crossed his arms in front of his chest and sneered at his security chief.

  Jake opened the car door and Meredith slid in beside Elliott. When their eyes met, he pulled her into his arms, reading the unspoken message that she wanted him as he wanted her. He paused for only an instant as his gaze was drawn to her lips, parted, full, and glistening. Then he lowered his mouth to hers—warm and welcoming—and he claimed her. He unzipped her jacket, and she leaned into him, pressing her small, soft breasts against his chest.

  “Are we going to do it in the backseat with everyone watching?” she whispered against his mouth.

  “Only if we can’t wait.” His need for her seared him, and he moaned. He didn’t want to wait, but he would. His fingers inched underneath her cap and pushed it off, freeing her thick, dark hair. He cradled her head while his tongue stroked the interior of her mouth, tasting sweet wine.

  “I can wait. And you have a fever,” she said, pulling away slightly.

  “My whole body’s on fire.”

  “You need a doctor.”

  “I am one.” He kissed her again.

  “I’m going home if you don’t get treatment.”

  “I’ll go in the morning.”

  “Okay,” she said and kissed him back.

  The trunk lid slammed, and he straightened. “We’re starting from right here when we get to the house,” he said in a husky voice.

  Jake climbed in behind the steering wheel. “I put two bags and a computer case in the trunk, and your crew is on the way to their hotel. Is there anything else you need, Ms. Montgomery?”

  “I’m fine. Thanks.” She nestled next to Elliott. “How far is the farm from here?”

  “Fifteen minutes in that direction.”

  Meredith laced her arm with his. “That should give you plenty of time to give me the short version of what happened to bring you home in such a hurry.”

  “What did Louise tell you?”

  “That you went home on business.”

  He settled back into the seat, holding her in the crook of his arm. “Galahad was murdered, and we don’t think the insurance company will pay the twenty-five million dollar claim. We’re in for a battle and a hunt for the killer.”

  “Oh my,” Meredith said. “I’m not surprised you left after getting that kind of news. What’s the next step? Do the police have any leads?”

  “We’re on our own. The police don’t care.”

  She looked at him, scrunching her brow. “Wasn’t there a famous horse killed by its owner several years ago?”

  “You’re thinking of Alydar. The most highly leveraged horse in history. Insurance fraud was never proved in that case, but the owner went to prison for other matters relating to his farm’s bankruptcy. The equine insurance i
ndustry started denying claims in sudden death situations, holding owners responsible.”

  “How do you prove you didn’t kill him?”

  “Find the person who did.”

  “That’s dangerous.”

  “We don’t have a choice.” He glanced out the window for a moment. “See the white fence up there on the left? That’s the eastern edge of the farm. We’ll turn off and go in through the side entrance.”

  “I’ve heard about the white fences.”

  “Most are painted black now. It’s too expensive to keep them white. MacKlenna Farm will always have white fences though.”

  “How many acres?”

  “Three thousand. The farm’s governed by a revocable trust agreement that established a board of directors. If Kit doesn’t revoke the trust within ten years, the farm passes to the University of Kentucky in perpetuity. I’ll be long gone by then.” If this mess with Galahad isn’t cleared up, I’ll be gone sooner.

  Jake turned into a drive, and the gate lifted automatically. Bare-branched trees lined the path to a well-lit, red-bricked mansion. Meredith sat forward in her seat. “The house is beautiful. The Doric columns are exquisite.”

  “They’re affectionately known as the Venerable Old Soldiers, and they have quite a reputation. The farm gets calls every week from brides who want to use the portico as a backdrop for wedding pictures. We try to accommodate as many as we can.”

  “That’s risky for the farm.”

  “The photographer has to be on the approved list. We’ve never had a problem.”

  “What about security? How do you handle employee egress and ingress?”

  “Farm vehicles have sensors that open and close the gates. Employees go in and out through the main guarded entrance. That way we don’t have to change codes or collect security cards when employees leave.”

  “What about at night?”

  “Security walks through each barn every hour, and when the horses are out, checks the paddocks.”

  “How did someone know when they could safely get in and out of Galahad’s stall?”

  “We’re looking into that.”

  “Security’s a big concern at the vineyard. That’s why I asked. When Jonathan had his stroke—” She stopped, blew out a puff of breath, then continued. “—a worker found him unconscious in the vineyard. Now security keeps up with everyone. It’s annoying, but I’m getting used to the intrusion.”