***
Tom and Brandon had searched Tavia’s house with little expectation of finding anything useful. All they took away with them was a locked fireproof box Brandon had found on the floor in her bedroom closet behind a jumble of shoes and boots, plus a set of small keys Tom found in a desk drawer. The storage box or Tavia’s safe deposit box might contain something that would point to her children’s whereabouts.
With the box secured in the trunk of the cruiser, Tom drove over to Joanna’s horse farm. In the passenger seat beside him, Brandon sat rigid, his hands clutching his knees and his boyish face grave with tension. Tom, used to his deputy’s enthusiastic theorizing, felt grateful for Brandon’s silence now. Questioning Joanna about a murder was going to be one of the hardest things Tom had ever done as a cop.
Although the Richardson farm abutted Joanna’s property in the rear, the route from one front door to the other in a car involved two turns and two roads. The McKendrick horse farm had never belonged to Isaac Jones, but the swath of meadows and farm fields that wrapped around it in an L shape had all been his property before he sold off parcels decades ago to the Kellys, Hollingers, and Richardsons. Tom had never before had reason to consider how easy it was to walk between the farms without using a road. And without being seen.
Ronan Kelly’s car was no longer parked outside the McKendrick house, but Sheila Kelly’s rental sat in the driveway behind Joanna’s Cherokee.
Sheila answered the door, a humorless half-smile twisting her lips. She held the storm door open. “Come to check up on me already? Well, I’m still alive and kicking, as you can see. Ronan got in his car and left after I drove him over here—he didn’t stick around. The only assault my brother has committed against me today was verbal.” She cocked her head to look past Tom and nod a greeting at Brandon.
Tom could imagine the barbs and accusations that passed between brother and sister during the drive from jail to Joanna’s house, and he wasn’t interested in hearing her repeat any of it. “I’m glad to see you’re okay, but I came to talk to Joanna.”
“She’s not here right now. She’s off somewhere, working.” Sheila indicated the whole of the farm with a vague wave of one hand.
“When did she leave?” If Sheila placed Joanna at the house when Tavia was shot, Tom could get back in the car and drive away, a heavy burden lifted.
“I haven’t seen her since lunch. Around twelve-thirty. You could call her on her cell phone and come in and wait.”
“We’ll catch up with her. There aren’t too many places she could be.”
As he and Brandon started down the steps, Sheila said, “Tom?”
He looked around, but gestured for Brandon to continue to the cruiser. “Yeah?”
“Was that a gunshot I heard a while ago?”
“Yes, it was. Where were you when you heard it?”
“Sitting out here on the porch. Thinking. Trying to figure out a few things. Who was shooting? What happened?”
“Was anybody with you?”
“No, I was by myself.” Her expression of concern deepened into alarm. “Just tell me what happened, for God’s sake. Has somebody else been shot, or was it just a hunter?”
“Tavia Richardson was murdered on Jake Hollinger’s farm.”
Sheila’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh my God.” Then her eyes widened in outrage and she dropped her hand. “Were you asking if I had an alibi?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I didn’t have the slightest reason to hurt Tavia Rich—”
“I’ll take your word. Now I need to find Joanna.”
For a long moment Sheila’s eyes held his, and Tom expected her to launch a defense of Joanna, a protest against the idea that she could kill anyone. Instead, she nodded, her face solemn, then stepped back and closed the door.
***
“Her brother probably doesn’t have an alibi either,” Brandon said in the cruiser
“He also had no reason I can see to kill Tavia Richardson.” Tom shifted into drive and started down the farm lane. “They were on the same side, and her death is going to slow down the sale of her land. Besides, Ronan doesn’t have much to gain anymore. The land sale would help him, but it won’t save him.”
Beyond the wood frame house where the farm manager and his wife lived, the meadows and horse paddocks stretched out for almost a mile on both sides of the paved lane. Elegant American Saddlebred horses in a variety of colors grazed in small groups, their sleek coats gleaming. Farther on, the barn and the cavernous stable faced each other. At the far end of the pavement sat the small cottage where Rachel had lived for more than two years after she bought Mountainview Animal Hospital and moved to Mason County. At any other time, the sight of the cottage in the distance would be enough to make Tom smile. But even pleasant memories couldn’t lighten his mood today.
Brandon broke the silence. “You think anybody working this far out could’ve heard the shot?”
“Maybe, maybe not. Joanna’s house isn’t too far from Jake’s barn, straight across the fields. But out here, this is a long way from where Tavia was shot.”
“There’s Mrs. McKendrick.” Brandon pointed to the paddock on the right up ahead. “With that devil horse.”
Joanna stood in the grass, rubbing the long nose of a big chestnut mare named Marcella. The horse lowered her head and nuzzled Joanna’s neck. The three dogs, Joanna’s two and the one orphaned by the Kellys, dozed in the sunshine just outside the fence. The Kellys’ dog, Tom noticed, wore a leash that was looped over a post. It might be a while before she could be trusted not to run off toward home in search of her owners.
“The only other person who can handle that horse is Holly,” Brandon said, with a touch of pride. “I’ve seen Marcella run to Holly like a puppy, practically begging for attention.”
As Tom pulled to the side of the lane, Joanna gave the horse a last pat and walked over to meet them at the fence. She crossed her arms along the top rail. She wore jeans, boots, and a sweater, and her strawberry blond hair was gathered in a wide gold clasp at the back of her neck. “Hey, boys. What can I do for you?”
Tom slammed his door and joined her at the fence, Brandon following him. “I guess you haven’t heard the news.”
The same alarm and dread he’d seen on Sheila’s face spread over Joanna’s. “Oh, good God. Now what?”
Genuine apprehension? Or was she fearful because he had sought her out so soon after the killing? He told her what had happened.
Joanna lowered her head to her folded arms and stood that way, her shoulders rising and falling with her rapid breaths. Glancing at Brandon, Tom found the deputy watching her warily, as if he was afraid she might erupt with an extreme reaction at any second. Tom wavered between concern for Joanna’s own safety and the reluctant recognition that she could be the person who waited in the woods and fired one expertly placed round through Tavia’s chest.
Drawing a deep breath, Joanna lifted her head and swiped at her eyes with the back of one hand.
“You and Tavia weren’t close, were you?” Tom asked.
“No. We didn’t like each other. But does that mean I can’t be upset that somebody murdered her?”
Tom gave a noncommittal grunt. “So you didn’t hear the shot?”
Joanna shook her head. “I wouldn’t expect to, with all the hills and trees between here and there. Who would do this? Do you have any idea?”
How long, Tom wondered, would it take a woman Joanna’s age, in good shape, to run between the Hollinger farm and this end of the horse farm? “Somebody opposed to the resort development. That could be totally off-base, but it’s my first thought. Do you know anybody who feels that strongly about it? You’ve all been getting together, haven’t you, to talk about stopping Packard?”
Joanna stared at him for a long moment, her expression gradually turning cold an
d guarded. She pulled her arms from the rail and folded them across her chest. “I’m not giving you a list of possible suspects, if that’s what you’re after.”
“I don’t expect you to do that. But I do expect you to give me any information you’ve got that could help stop these killings.”
Another long, silent stare before she spoke. “I don’t know anything that could help you.”
Tom nodded. He looked around and saw none of the farm hands. One person who had been here with her, just one…that was all he needed. “Where is everybody?”
“It’s Sunday, Tom. Nobody works all day on Sunday. You know that. A couple of the guys will be back to help me get the animals inside before dark.”
“Have you been out here all afternoon? Just yourself?”
Her gaze, cold and defiant, held his. “And the dogs. Too bad they can’t talk. They can’t give me an alibi.”
“People are dying,” Tom said. “I’m trying to put a stop to it. I can’t be worried about anybody’s feelings right now.”
Joanna’s eyes shifted from Tom to Brandon. “Pay attention,” she told him. “Tom’s going to teach you how to lose every friend you’ve got in the world.”
“I’m doing my job,” Tom said.
“Well, I don’t have to prove anything to you. You’re the one who has to come up with proof. Now I want you to leave. I have things to do, and I don’t have anything left to tell you.”
Joanna turned and walked off toward the stable, her gait barely short of a jog. The horse, Marcella, snorted and trotted after her.
***
During dinner Tom commented that Rachel wasn’t eating and asked if she felt okay. She was fine, she told him. Just not hungry. She avoided making eye contact for the rest of the meal. No point in telling him about upchucking the offending pastry, at least not while he was trying to eat.
Later, when they were getting into bed, Tom studied Rachel’s face. “You look a little green around the gills.”
“Oh, thanks.” She smiled as she drew back the covers and slid into bed. Her stomach lurched, but the spasm of nausea was mild and quickly passed. “You say the sweetest things.”
He got into bed beside her and propped himself on an elbow. Running a finger along her jaw line, he said, “Seriously, do you feel all right?”
“I’m fine. Really. The Jones sisters tried to poison me today, but I’ll survive.”
“What?” Tom sat up straight, looking horrified.
Rachel laughed. “Kidding, kidding. They gave me some pastry that didn’t agree with me, but I’m perfectly all right now. Come on, let’s get some sleep. We both have busy days tomorrow, and we have to get Simon off to school early.”
Tom lay down, stretching out his legs. He kissed her goodnight, and gave her a last look, his brow creased with stubborn concern, before he turned off the lamp.
Chapter Twenty-five
Rachel’s nausea had faded overnight, but the sight of Lawrence Archer in her clinic threatened to bring it on again. The casual way the Packard Resorts official leaned on the reception desk irritated her. Smug, condescending, insensitive, mercenary—she could exhaust her supply of negatives without fully expressing her dislike for this man.
If she had a choice, she would duck into the back hallway and avoid him, but she had a patient to check out, and that required delivering the chart to the front desk so Shannon could give the kitten’s owner a bill and take her payment.
When Rachel approached, Archer’s smile widened, the perfect complement to his impeccably creased gray slacks, his blue silk open-necked shirt, and a light suede jacket that looked soft as butter. Not her type—he was no more than a high-end huckster who thought everybody was for sale because he was—but plenty of women would let his good looks and surface charm sway their decisions.
“Hello there,” he said. “I’ve been going around to all the businesses in town to introduce myself, and I wanted to stop by and say hello to you and your staff.”
“We’re all busy. I’m afraid I can’t interrupt everybody’s work to introduce you.” Rachel handed Shannon the chart with the current day’s charge sheet clipped to it. She smiled at the client, a middle-aged woman named Eileen Pearce, and said, “Pepper’s a beautiful kitten. I’m going to enjoy watching her grow up. Thank you for giving her a good home.”
Archer leaned down to peer into the small carrier Mrs. Pearce held. He wiggled a finger through the metal grill door and cooed, “You’re a cute little thing, aren’t you?”
The gray tabby kitten let out a bloodcurdling screech and raked her claws down his finger.
“Ow!” Archer jerked his hand away. “Damn it! Shit!” Blood dripped from his finger.
Rachel bit her lip to keep from laughing.
“I’m sorry she scratched you,” Mrs. Pearce said, “but you should have more sense than to stick your finger in an animal’s face when she doesn’t know you. She was already upset about being at the vet’s. And I don’t appreciate your language, by the way.”
Archer forced a smile as he pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his pants pocket and wrapped it around the finger. “You’re absolutely right. I just couldn’t resist her, she’s so cute. I apologize for swearing.”
“I’ll clean that and put a bandage on it,” Rachel told him. She glanced past Archer, through the clinic’s glass door. No wonder he was wandering around town instead of staying put in his office across the street. A couple dozen protesters carrying signs milled around outside the store front Packard Resorts had leased. Although Joanna wasn’t visible at the moment, Rachel knew she was somewhere in that crowd. Joanna had organized the protest and tried to talk Rachel into joining it.
“Oh, it’s just a little scratch, it’s fine,” Archer said. “I don’t want to put you to any trouble.”
“Come with me.” Rachel motioned for him to follow and didn’t wait for a response. She led him down the hall to an empty exam room.
Rachel pulled disposable gloves from a box on the counter and stretched them on. Standing across the exam table from her and looking sheepish, Archer presented the finger for inspection. When she wiped it with alcohol, he reacted to the sting with a gasp. “I’ll admit I’ve always been a coward about anything medical.”
Rachel stripped the wrapper off an adhesive bandage. “Yeah, well, you really should be more careful around strange animals.”
“Right. Lesson learned.”
She wrapped the bandage around his finger and tossed the bloodied alcohol wipe into the hazmat trashcan. “All set. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to work.”
“Could I have just a minute of your time? I won’t take long.”
“All right, but just a minute. I have patients waiting. What is it?”
“In the short time I’ve been here,” Archer said, “I’ve come to realize that you’re one of the opinion makers in Mason County. Someone other people listen to.”
Again Rachel had to clamp down on the urge to laugh. “Oh, really? I can’t say I’ve ever seen myself that way.”
Archer smiled. “You’re too modest. You’re one of the county’s most prominent citizens.”
Where did he come up with this stuff? Rachel might be married to Tom, but if she lived here until she was a hundred years old, the natives would always consider her an outsider. “What do you want from me, Mr. Archer?”
“Call me Larry, please. And I hope I can call you Rachel?”
“I need to get back to work, Mr. Archer.”
He put on a wounded expression that lacked any trace of sincerity. “Work is what I’m here to talk to you about. I’d like to hire you.”
“What?”
“Our resort will allow people to bring their pets with them. I’d like to put you on retainer as our official veterinarian, so our guests will know they always have access to the best of care for their
pets while they’re here, away from home. We’ll feature you in our brochure.”
Was he for real? “Aren’t you getting a little ahead of yourself? You don’t even know for sure that you can build a resort here.”
“We always think positively. We believe it will all work out in the end. So, can we count on you to look after our guests’ pets? I can draw up a contract and offer you an advance on the retainer.”
“You want to give me money now, before you’ve even bought the land?”
“Some of our employees will be coming here during the development stage, and they might want to bring their families with them, including their pets.”
“Well, if that happens, and they need a vet, all they have to do is call here and make an appointment, like everybody else. I don’t want Packard’s money.”
He looked at her for a long moment, a half-smile on his face, his gaze speculative. “You’re a very direct person, Dr. Goddard.”
“I try to be. I don’t see much point in anything else.”
“Then I’ll be direct, too. We are going to build this resort. I’d like to have you on our side.” He paused. “And I’m not sure you realize the consequences of opposing us.”
Rachel stared at him. His tone of voice hadn’t changed. His smarmy little smile hadn’t faltered. He didn’t have an evil maniacal gleam in his eyes. But his message came across clearly. He was threatening her.
“Exactly what consequences are you talking about?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Gosh, I hate to be spreading tales, but—”
“Go right ahead. I promise I won’t think less of you.” As if it were possible to think any less of him than she already did.
“Well…” He screwed up his face as if it pained him to say what he was about to tell her. “The powers-that-be around here aren’t too happy about your opposition to this project.”
Was that all? She was relieved, but at the same time she wondered why she’d expected him to say anything she didn’t already know. “I’m sure they aren’t. But I have a right to my opinion.”
Poisoned Ground Page 17
