Purebred

by Patricia Rosemoor

  With that Browne escaped.

  At least that was the way Aidan saw it.

  The edgy conversation with Browne made him wonder if he should warn Cat about his dream, about what had happened to Pegeen.

  Would she believe it, though?

  She didn’t believe in the psychic connection he had with Mac. She didn’t believe in Sheelin O’Keefe’s curse. So why would she believe that he had dreams that foretold the future? He couldn’t even guarantee things would happen as he’d seen them, when his dreams were filled with half-truths.

  And if things didn’t happen as he predicted, would she assume he was lying? Like Jack? She’d made it very clear that her ex-husband had been not only a cheater, but a liar, a fact that she’d hated.

  If she thought he was lying, as well…

  If only he could be certain Cat would do as he asked to avoid another tragedy. Or, like Pegeen, would she back up and become more stubborn, would she insist on doing things her way despite anything he had to say?

  He didn’t want to test it. He wasn’t ready to tell Cat about the past, share the awful truth about the way Pegeen had died. He couldn’t stand to see Cat turn away from him in disgust.

  The best thing, then, would be to hold back his psychic musings and increase his vigilance, so that he could prevent anything bad from happening to another woman about whom he cared.

  He would do everything in his power to protect her.

  Aidan realized Helen Fox’s murder was hot news, but he hadn’t seen or read a report linking her death to Clarke Acres. And the attack on Cat had been kept from the media, thankfully. So where was Browne getting his information? He supposed it could have come from Raul by way of his brother, Placido. Undoubtedly, Browne knew the other jockey.

  Unless…what if Browne himself had been involved in the attack and/or murders?

  As unlikely as it seemed, Aidan had to give the idea credence.

  * * *

  BY THE TIME CAT WAS ON HER WAY to the cemetery, she was feeling better. Well-rested, at least. And the throbbing in her head was gone. But her physical well-being had no influence on her feelings.

  Her emotions were once more in turmoil, and she had no one to share them with.

  She’d dismissed the young policeman who had been dogging her steps all morning—she’d thought he might pass out as he watched her breed Be My Valentine, another of Dean Hill’s horses. Aidan was coming to the cemetery straight from the racetrack.

  The cemetery was small and well kept, with drifts of flowers in enough areas that it almost looked like a peaceful garden. Most of the plots had markers in the ground or plain headstones. No mausoleums here.

  As she drove along the cemetery road, Cat faced the questions that echoed over and over in her head—who had killed George and why? Did his death really have something to do with her? Or was she simply a chess piece who’d gotten in the way?

  No, it all had to be connected: George and Helen both murdered and her knocked out. How were the three separate incidents related?

  She thought back to her own attack. Someone had been in the barn late at night, and it wasn’t the first time. Though she’d never caught anyone, she’d felt another presence twice before in the past week. Something was going on there without her knowledge.

  Something that George must have discovered.

  But what about Helen? The vet hadn’t been killed in Cat’s barn. Was her death really connected?

  The unanswered questions plagued her as she pulled up behind several other vehicles near the gravesite. No farm truck. Aidan wasn’t here yet.

  Raul stood with his hand on the coffin, head bowed as if in prayer, then crossed himself and stepped back to where his brother, Placido, stood. Behind them, she spotted Nadim with a stranger who looked small enough to be another exercise rider or a jockey. Opposite them on the other side of chairs lined up before the coffin, Dean Hill stood with Martin Bradley, his daughter, Simone, and of all people, Jack.

  With her stomach clenched and her head going light, hardly able to believe her ex-husband had shown up when he hadn’t cared a bit about George, Cat grabbed the photographs she’d taken from her bedroom wall and left the SUV. Where was Aidan? He’d said he would meet her here.

  “Miss Clarke, there you are,” the funeral director said.

  “I have the photographs of George.”

  Handing them to the man, Cat watched as he set them on the coffin—one photo of the barn manager lunging a horse, the other of him with her whole family at a Fourth of July picnic.

  She glanced back to see Bernie arrive. He stopped to say something to Martin, and the man stepped away from his daughter for a moment. It looked as if he and Bernie were arguing about something. Then, tight-lipped, Bernie stalked away and stood by himself while Martin rejoined his group.

  What was that about? Cat wondered.

  “Is everyone here?” the funeral director asked.

  A dark sedan drove up, and Detective Pierce got out. What in the world was he doing here? Surely he didn’t intend to conduct a gravesite investigation.

  “Not quite everyone,” she said, wondering if Aidan was going to show at all. “Give us a few more minutes.”

  “Of course.”

  Pierce stopped at a respectful distance behind the others and turned his gaze from one person to the other. Suspects? Her pulse picked up. Of course he would think that. He’d questioned just about everyone here. And just about everyone here had connections both to George and to Helen.

  Cat didn’t want to think anyone she knew was guilty of murder, certainly not people she worked with on a daily basis. Not wanting to face the others, especially not her ex-husband, not today, not alone, she turned to the coffin and stared at the photographs and hoped for fond memories of her barn manager to get her through the short service.

  The sound of a noisy engine made her turn back to the road to see the farm truck pull up. Not only did Aidan alight, but so did Laura and Vincent. Laura looked scared and Vincent held her hand. The teenagers hung back until a relieved Cat waved them over. Aidan followed. She’d never been so glad to see anyone. A weight lifted from her as he joined her, stopping a yard away and intently studying her face.

  “We were just about to start.” Giving him as much of a smile as she could muster, she turned to the funeral director and nodded.

  “Would everyone gather round?” He motioned everyone closer.

  Since there was a single row of chairs, Cat sat in the middle, Aidan on one side of her, the kids on the other. As people took their places, Martin, Simone and Dean sat in the seats on one side, Raul and Bernie on the other. The remaining mourners stood behind the chairs. The hair on the back of Cat’s neck stood at attention, making her certain that Jack was directly behind her.

  Aidan whispered, “What is Tim Browne doing here?”

  Cat glanced back to see Nadim with the stranger. “That’s Mac’s hotwalker?”

  “He’s more than a backstretch worker. I will explain later.”

  Though curious, Cat had to be content with that as the service started. Since George hadn’t professed any particular faith and hadn’t frequented any church she knew of, Cat had thought it appropriate to let the funeral director conduct the service.

  “We are here to bid farewell to George Ordell…”

  For a moment, it took all her will for Cat not to cry again. Yes, she was still sad, but more than that, she was angry. Someone had murdered a man who had played a major role in her life. A man about whom she deeply cared. Maybe someone present at this service. That same person had undoubtedly killed Helen Fox, as well. And knocked her out in her own barn.

  She looked around, studied the faces, tried to read them. Some wore sorrowful expressions. Some wore no expressions at all. One of the latter was Tim Browne, who stared directly at her, his expression narrowed and probing and making her heart skip a beat.

  What was that about?

  Strong fingers clasped hers and she looked down to see Aid
an holding her hand as if to give her strength. She clung to that and thought only of George through the end of the short service.

  And as the coffin was lowered into the ground, Cat swore she would help bring the killer to justice.

  * * *

  THROUGHOUT THE SERVICE, Aidan had the distinct feeling that not everyone was here out of fondness for George Odell. Or even for Cat, for that matter.

  Strong, dark vibes assaulted him, but he didn’t know from which direction. From Cat’s ex, perhaps?

  From the murderer?

  He could not help but notice the way Tim Browne had been studying Cat. And he could not help but be irritated by the presence of the man who had no reason to be here. The man was not showing his support because he was working with Mac, of that he was certain.

  And so when the service was over, and goodbyes were being said, he whispered in Cat’s ear, “Can you take Laura and Vincent back to the farm?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then I’ll meet you there in a while. I have something I need to take care of first.”

  Cat nodded, and he squeezed her arm and then rushed to catch up to Browne before the man could get in Nadim’s car.

  “Wait. We need to talk.”

  “Tomorrow at the track.”

  “Now. Here.”

  Browne looked at Nadim. “Can you give us a few minutes?”

  “Certainly.” Nadim took his cell phone from his pocket and turned it on. “I need to check my messages anyway.”

  “This way.”

  Aidan moved away from the vehicles and people on the cemetery road. He stopped in the shelter of a shade tree, several inches of mulch beneath his feet.

  “What can I be doing for you, Mr. McKenna?”

  “Tell me why you’re here.”

  “Out of respect, of course.”

  “You knew the deceased?”

  “No. Never met the man. But I know you and through you, Miss Clarke.”

  “How exactly do you know me? What is it you want of me?”

  “I don’t understand.”

  The time for pretence was over. Aidan was going to get to the heart of the matter. “I am not one for coincidence. We both come from Ireland and we both end up at the same racetrack in the middle of America at virtually the same time. Explain that to me.”

  “I fear I cannot.”

  “Cannot or will not?” When Browne went silent, Aidan said, “Then explain why a jockey is working as a hotwalker.”

  Browne’s expression tightened. “You know who I am, then.”

  “I know you were racing in Southern Australia for the last several years, that you came back to Ireland and left again to come here. But not as a jockey. That takes some explaining.” When the jockey didn’t try, Aidan nearly exploded with frustration. “You came because of me, did you not? What was the plan? To ruin my partnership with Cat? Or to make me look like a murderer?”

  “You’re daft, man!”

  “Am I? Then explain yourself.”

  At first, Aidan didn’t think he would. Browne seemed torn, ready to leave as were the other mourners. Several vehicles passed them on the way to the exit.

  And then Browne said, “I came because of Pegeen.”

  Which took away Aidan’s breath. That was the last thing he’d expected to hear.

  “You knew Pegeen?” Not a stretch, since Pegeen had been a jockey like Browne.

  “She was my sister.”

  Aidan started. “Pegeen had two sisters, no brother. And her last name was Flynn, not Browne.”

  “She was my half sister. Several years after Da died, my mother remarried. She and her new husband had three daughters. Pegeen was the youngest, so there was more than a decade between us. The only thing we shared was our love of horses. I taught her what I could about being a jockey, but I was already in Australia when she got her first ride.”

  “I can check on your story.”

  “You do that, then.”

  Aidan studied the man’s face. He’d thought Tim Browne looked familiar and now he knew why. He saw traces of the woman he’d once loved in the determined jaw and the set of his mouth.

  “So you followed me here why?”

  “You were leaving Ireland just as I was about to meet you there.”

  “You came back from Australia to meet me?”

  “To see what kind of a man you were. Whether or not you were responsible for my sister’s death.”

  “What took you so long, then? Why did you not come home for your sister’s funeral?”

  “I was in no shape to travel. I was recuperating from surgeries to repair my leg and remove my spleen. The more I thought on Pegeen’s death, however, the more I had to find out for myself whether or not you were responsible.”

  “I was,” Aidan admitted, because it was true. Guilt flooded him. “I loved your sister, and ’tis my fault she died.”

  Browne stared in silence for a moment, then said, “I wanted to know what kind of trainer you were. Whether you would push a jockey to do something careless. I did not accuse you of anything more.”

  “’Tis the truth of the matter. I didn’t stop her from riding PushedToTheLimit.”

  “So you knew there was something wrong with the colt?”

  “There was nothing wrong with him. ’Twas a bad ride and they got caught between two horses, is what happened.”

  “Then how was that your fault? How is it you think you killed her?”

  “Because I saw it happen and didn’t stop it.”

  “Saw it?”

  “In a dream.” Aidan waited for a reaction, and when he got none, continued, “Not her dying, but the accident itself. The morning she died, I told Pegeen about it and asked her to beg off the ride. She simply laughed. She didn’t believe in such warnings.”

  And undoubtedly neither would her brother, though he noticed Browne didn’t seem in the least amused.

  “You have the sight, then.”

  Browne gave it credence, Aidan thought. “Of a sort.” He still couldn’t bring himself to talk about the curse. “I can’t always trust the dreams that come to me. That’s why I hesitated doing what I should have in order to stop the disaster from happening.”

  “Pegeen did what she wanted. A more stubborn lass never existed. If she wanted to ride, nothing would have stopped her.”

  “I could have pulled the colt. At the last minute, I could have said there was something medically wrong with PushedToTheLimit and pulled him from the schedule.”

  “But when the vet checked him out afterward, he wouldn’t find anything wrong. Making the wrong call might have ruined you.”

  “Do you think that’s what mattered to me?” Aidan hadn’t even thought of the repercussion to himself. “I cared about your sister. I cared about ending the colt’s career before it even started. I cared about letting down the owner who trusted me. There were too many things to consider. I could have been wrong. I knew that. I took too long to decide.”

  Browne stared at him intently, as if he were trying to get inside Aidan’s soul. Though Pegeen’s brother made him uncomfortable, Aidan allowed it. And if Browne wanted revenge for his sister, Aidan wouldn’t stop him.

  The man finally said, “It sounds to me like you did nothing wrong.”

  “You’re not the one who has to live with the uncertainty.” And the never-ending guilt.

  “I came here to see that Pegeen got justice…if I found it was warranted,” Browne admitted. “As I see it, you did nothing wrong, and yet you punish yourself more than anyone else ever could.”

  Sensing they weren’t alone, Aidan looked past Browne to see Nadim standing a few yards away. He was wearing an impatient expression.

  “Nadim wants to leave.”

  Browne glanced back. “I’ll be right there.” To Aidan he said, “Perhaps you should find another hotwalker.”

  “I am so deeply sorry about Pegeen.”

  Browne nodded. “My sister would not want you to make your life about what
happened to her. She would want you to get on with it and be happy.” With that, he left.

  Leaving Aidan wondering if Pegeen had sent her brother to ease his conscience and free him to do exactly that.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cat had brought the kids back to the farm and had spent more than an hour doing manual labor alongside them. After which, she’d let them take the horses out to make up for the wretched day.

  Now showered, her hair washed, she stood in the living room, staring out the window toward the barn.

  “How are you, really?” Aidan asked.

  “As well as can be expected, I guess, considering the authorities don’t seem to be getting anywhere with this case.”

  “Investigations take time.”

  Behind her, he placed his hands on her shoulders, making her want to melt back against him. She said, “It’s been time enough for a second murder.”

  “Pierce has only been at it a few days.”

  He should have been at it a few weeks, but there was no use in bringing that up again. “And it’s clear that I’m somehow involved.”

  “Not you. Your farm.”

  “I’m the one who was knocked out.”

  “Because you foolishly went to the barn alone in the middle of the night and interrupted something criminal.”

  “That won’t happen again,” she promised. “And whatever is going on there, I’ve got it covered.”

  “Meaning?”

  “I reset the video cameras, the ones meant to help me keep an eye from the house on the mares ready to give birth. The foaling stalls on the other side of the main aisles are double-size so the mares have enough room. And each stall is rigged with two cameras. I adjusted them to look over the whole barn. I can check on the barn all night from the office next to my bedroom.”

  The clop-clop of horses’ hooves and excited voices made Cat turn back to the window.

  “Laura and Vincent are back from their ride already.” And they were coming toward the house rather than the barn. “That’s odd. They usually stay out as long as possible.”

  “What is that Vincent is carrying?” Aidan asked.

  Cat focused on the bulky object he balanced in front of him on the saddle. “Oh, my…I think that’s George’s suitcase!”