Purebred

by Patricia Rosemoor

  * * *

  “SO YOU FETCHED THIS from the stream?” Pierce asked.

  Cat had called the detective the moment the excited teenagers had brought the suitcase to her. She’d been through this with them while waiting for Pierce to arrive. Now it was his turn to repeat the questions she and Aidan had already asked. They and the kids sat at the kitchen table, while Pierce did a cursory inspection of the rolling case that sat on the floor halfway between them and the back door. She had to keep the dogs in check. As with anything that smelled odd, they kept wanting to investigate for themselves.

  “It was stuck on a tree limb,” Vincent said, “like the storm had thrown it there.”

  “Where exactly did you find it?”

  Vincent and Laura looked at each other, and Cat saw something secretive pass between them.

  Reaching across the table to give Laura’s hand a squeeze, Vincent continued to do the talking. “Downstream from the ravine.”

  “And you just rode by and saw it?”

  “Well, not exactly.”

  The kids exchanged another look.

  Laura made a face and admitted, “We were, uh, swimming.”

  Pierce gave them a once-over. “But your clothes are dry.”

  “Yeah, well, we weren’t exactly wearing them,” Vincent said.

  “We weren’t naked!” Laura was quick to add.

  Cat noted the teenager’s face flushed with embarrassment, but she said nothing.

  “So, do you think you will get fingerprints from the case?” Aidan asked.

  “The outside? Doubtful. It’s been through a lot of weather, a lot of water.” The detective turned to Cat. “You can identify this case for certain as belonging to George Odell, though, right?”

  “If I’m wrong, all you have to do is open it to find out.”

  “At the lab. You never know what we might find inside.” He picked up the filthy wet case with gloved hands and headed for the door. “You’ll be hearing from me.”

  “I’m sure I will.” She waited until the detective left before giving the kids her fiercest expression. “Skinny-dipping?” Not that she was a prude, but while they were here, whether working for her or otherwise, she was the responsible adult. “What do you think your parents will say about that?”

  Laura squealed. “You can’t tell them!”

  “I wasn’t planning on it…as long as you tell me you won’t do that again, not while you’re taking my horses out.”

  “We won’t!” both teenagers promised.

  Aidan said, “That does not speak to Detective Pierce’s discretion, however.”

  “Oh, great, Vincent.” Laura sounded as if she were ready to cry. “I told you we were going to get in trouble.”

  “Yeah, well, it didn’t take long to convince you to take that chance.”

  Her face deepening to a beet-red, Laura smacked Vincent in the arm, and when she ran out of the kitchen, he was directly behind her.

  “C’mon, I was just teasing you!” he yelled as he went out the back door.

  Apparently thinking they were playing, the dogs squeezed out the door before it slammed.

  “Young love,” Aidan said.

  “Love has no age limit, and I fear it never gets easier.”

  Or so it seemed to her. Though she’d tried to put Jack out of mind, he kept inserting himself back into her life, reminding her of how gullible she had been, how willing to accept what he’d said on faith.

  And now her growing feelings for Aidan scared her silly.

  What if she was wrong about him, too?

  She was giving herself a hard time for nothing—it was far too soon to decide where their relationship was or was not headed.

  “I wonder how long it will take Pierce to have his people check out the suitcase.”

  “Even if he learns something, he may not tell us until he has enough to arrest the murderer.”

  “If it even gives him enough to go on. Fingerprints. Hair. Whatever. If the person responsible has never been arrested, he’ll never make a match.”

  “’Tis the only thing we have to go on.”

  “For now. I’ll just have to be patient.” She sighed. “And keep busy.”

  “Do you not think you have done enough for the day? Perhaps you need to take it easy.”

  “And go crazy thinking about it? I need to check on the mares anyway. I no longer have a vet, so until I have time to get a new one, it’s up to me to decide when a mare is pregnant and whether or not it’s time to breed one.”

  Cat didn’t want to think about having to repeat today’s experience. At least Helen’s family was planning the wake and funeral, but Cat would of course attend both. Helen had been not only her vet, but a friend.

  “What can I do to help?” Aidan asked.

  “With the mares? Nothing. But you could do something about dinner.”

  “You want me to cook? ’Tis a request you may regret.”

  “Actually, I was thinking of takeout. There’s a place in town just off the square called the Italian Villa. It has great pasta and even better pizza. If you like Italian.”

  “Sounds grand.”

  She told him how to find it. “Take your time. I should be done in an hour or so, but sometimes checking on the horses takes longer than I expect.”

  “I’m familiar with that particular problem.”

  Cat was glad to see him go. She needed some time alone to process. It had been quite a day. She’d bred a horse. She’d buried an old friend. She’d possibly identified the link to the murderer.

  If only she could do more to nail whoever had killed George and Helen. It had to be the same person. The same person who’d been doing something secretive in her barn and had knocked her out. Someone who’d come to the gravesite to look innocent?

  Moments flitted through her mind. The cast of mourners, for example. Aidan had never told her what he’d had to say to Tim Browne, or what it was he’d wanted to tell her when he’d arrived. More than a backstretch worker—what did that mean? He’d never explained. Afterward, he’d merely said Browne had come to pay his respects.

  Placido being there had confused her, as well. He might have met George when he’d come to see his brother, but he hadn’t really known the barn manager. Undoubtedly, he’d simply wanted to impress Mac’s owner. Or at least to become more visible to Aidan.

  What was Jack’s reason for showing up to the burial of someone he didn’t even like? Quite possibly he’d simply wanted to torture her. Or to somehow impress his future father-in-law. Unless, of course, he was the murderer, there to see what people suspected, something she really didn’t want to believe.

  And then there was Martin’s argument with Bernie. Had Bernie done something with Martin’s horses that the owner hadn’t liked? Bernie had denied being in the barn late at night when she’d asked, but he’d raised her suspicions. And Jack had used him to establish how long he’d been in the barn while she was in Ireland.

  She might call Martin to feel him out about the argument, but she couldn’t forget that he was a suspect, as was every other person at the burial.

  Other than the kids, of course.

  The thought stuck with her. Bernie was always friendly with both Vincent and Laura—perhaps because he was the youngest full-time employee and had gone to high school with their older siblings.

  So when she was done in the barn and went back to the house, and Aidan and dinner were nowhere in sight, she decided to call Vincent.

  “Hey, Miss Clarke, sorry about before—”

  “That’s not why I’m calling.” Despite her worries, Cat kept her tone as even as she could manage. “I wanted to ask you about Bernie.”

  “Why? What did he do?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I’m trying to find out. At the cemetery today, he and Mr. Bradley were having words. I’m worried Bernie did something to make Mr. Bradley angry.”

  “That wouldn’t be too hard.”

  “Bernie doing something he sh
ouldn’t have? Or Mr. Bradley getting angry easily?”

  “Both, them being related and all.”

  A statement that shocked Cat into silence for a moment. Then she asked, “Related? How?”

  “You didn’t know Mr. Bradley is Bernie’s uncle?”

  News to her. “No.”

  “Mr. Bradley is the one who told Bernie about the job. But he makes Bernie miserable anytime he’s around. I guess he’s pretty critical.”

  “You’ve heard them argue before?”

  “Only once. But Bernie said his uncle was on his back a lot lately, making him do stuff he didn’t want to do.”

  “Like what?” It was getting harder to sound normal. “Things around here?”

  “He didn’t say.”

  “Thanks, Vincent. Do me a favor and don’t say anything to Bernie about this. I wouldn’t want to embarrass him.”

  “Well, yeah, I guess I owe you one,” he said, lowering his voice. “Since you’re not going to say anything to Laura’s and my parents and all.”

  “And I won’t, since you’re going to keep your promise not to skinny-dip again and all.” Hearing the truck coming up the drive, she used it as her excuse to end the conversation. “Ah, dinner has arrived. I’ll see you tomorrow, Vincent.”

  When Aidan entered the kitchen, his arms and hands were full. “I hope you’re hungry.”

  Hoping they were in for a treat, the dogs crowded them.

  “Good grief, you bought out the restaurant. You must be starving.”

  “That I am. Truthfully, I could not decide what to get, so I just bought everything that appealed. And I know how to use a micro to warm up leftover food.”

  Cat smiled for the first time that day. “A good talent to have.”

  When they set out the food on the table—stuffed-sausage pizza, calamari, fettuccini alfredo with shrimp, gnocchi in marinara sauce, Caesar salad and garlic bread—there was hardly room enough for them. Smokey and Topaz sat between them, hopeful gazes going from one human to the other.

  As they ate, Cat allowed herself to enjoy the food and Aidan’s company. She was getting used to having him around. Having him in her bed. Not the night before, though. He’d said she needed to sleep without him disturbing her, but was that really it? Something had been bothering him, was bothering him now. She saw past the banter and the smile.

  His eyes told of a different mood.

  A mood that carried through the evening as he helped her clear the table and then escorted her to the barn for a good-night check on the mares.

  A mood that followed him back into the house where he announced his intention to sleep on her sofa again.

  Feeling vulnerable, Cat wished him into her bed. But still, he never appeared. Alone with only the dogs to keep her company, she stared up into the dark, wondering what had changed between them.

  Had her growing feelings for Aidan scared him away?

  She was scared, and not only of a murderer being on the loose. Had she been wrong about Aidan’s feelings for her in the first place?

  She couldn’t stand the thought of being broken by love again.

  * * *

  HER MIND WAS GOING IN circles as she checked on all the horses. She kept trying to focus, but her thoughts kept wandering back to the cemetery. To finding George. To imagining what horror Helen must have felt when she’d been euthanized like an animal.

  She shuddered. Would the nightmare never end? Dread filled her but she continued working, hurrying to finish. Hurrying to put distance between her and whatever was frightening her.

  Then she tried hurrying from the barn, from the invisible threat that frightened her, but a sharp pain in her back stopped her cold. Her legs gave out and she fell facedown on the stable floor. She lay there, unable to move, her thoughts hazy. A commotion from nearby told her one of the horses was in danger.

  Hooves crashed against stall boards, followed by an almost human scream…

  The scream carried into real time…one of the horses…

  Aidan nearly fell off the couch in his hurry to check on Cat. He didn’t take a breath until he saw her there, safe in her bed. Though she was sleeping, she must have been dreaming, as well, for she thrashed…settled…thrashed some more.

  What nightmares plagued her sleep?

  He wanted in the worst way to slip into bed with her and take her in his arms…to comfort her…to love her.

  Instead, he shook away his own longing and entered the office farther down the hall to check the monitors hooked up to the cameras in the barn. The barn was dark as it had been last time he’d checked, so there was nothing to see. That horse’s scream had been all in his head. Nothing going on there. He could barely make out the movement of a few restless horses.

  Disappointed for multiple reasons, he returned to the couch. This wasn’t about what he wanted; it was about keeping Cat safe from Sheelin’s damn curse.

  If only he could get her to believe.

  Then he could warn her, tell her about the dream that was so like the first one he’d had. Similar but different. Some things had changed—time of day, sensory details—but in the end she was drugged, as she had been in the first dream. Could he still be mixing up the danger to Cat with what had happened to the vet?

  He shook his head. It was all too fuzzy, too unspecific. Cat would never believe him. Even if she did, what did he expect her to do? Walk away from her business? Go somewhere to hide until the killer was caught?

  If she would do it, he would go with her.

  And then a plan took shape in his mind.

  If Cashel weren’t so far off in Ireland, Aidan would call his older brother and tell him what he decided he had to do to protect Cat.

  For a moment, he considered his options.

  Tiernan was far away, as well, but South Dakota wasn’t “Ireland” far. He could catch a flight and be here by end of day tomorrow. The youngest McKenna brother had worked with the business until two years ago, and he’d helped train Mac when the colt had been a yearling. Tiernan could represent McKenna Racing and take over for him as Mac’s trainer for the upcoming stakes race.

  Tiernan had fought the curse and won. He and Ella were happily married. Once Aidan told him what was happening, Tiernan would surely agree to do whatever he could to help.

  Aidan checked the time. Hours before dawn. Earlier in South Dakota. Too early to call and wake his brother. He would wait for a decent hour. Tiernan would need his sleep to have his wits about him.

  In the meantime, Aidan would get things in order. Leaving a police officer to guard Cat again during the day, he would go to the racetrack for the morning training session, after which he would make the call. And then at last he would hire a jockey. Once Tiernan arrived, Aidan would kidnap Cat if necessary, and take her somewhere the murderer could never find her.

  She might hate him for it, but at least she would be alive.

  Chapter Eighteen

  By the time Cat awoke, sometime before noon, Aidan had left for the track. In his place on the couch was a different police officer than the one who’d shadowed her the day before. Stretched out, glued to a televised news show, he barely seemed to notice she was up and about. One glance at her and his gaze returned to his program.

  Going about her business, Cat caught a quick lunch, fed the dogs, then headed out for the barn.

  “I’m getting to work now,” she called back to him.

  Had he even noticed she’d left?

  The dogs went off on their daily rounds and she entered the barn. Not having some stranger trailing her around, asking questions and getting queasy watching her work as had happened the morning before was a relief. She could get more work done if she didn’t have to explain herself every few minutes.

  As she began with Dean’s mares, she found it hard to tell whether or not Fairy Tail had conceived. If not, Dean would be disappointed that his streak had ended. Diamond Dame was looking good, but it was too soon for Cat to tell if the mare had taken. Be My Valentine, t
he mare she’d bred the day before, seemed a little skittish this morning. Reminded of the way Fairy Tail had acted the night after being bred, Cat checked Valentine over thoroughly but found no reason to be concerned.

  Her restless night had her jumping out of bed nearly every hour to check the monitors in her office, only to see nothing. The barn had remained dark. Apparently nothing untoward had gone on here last night. Nothing to worry her.

  Thinking that she—and the horses—were all safe, Cat nearly jumped out of her skin when she left Valentine’s stall only to run into Bernie, who held a mucking shovel in hand.

  Heart thumping, she asked, “Why didn’t you say something? You could scare someone to death.”

  “Sorry. I was just trying to do my job.” As if to prove it, he entered the stall on the opposite side of the aisle.

  He sounded out of sorts. Remembering her conversation with Vincent, Cat asked, “Something troubling you?”

  Bernie merely grunted in return and heaved a shovelful of manure into the wheelbarrow he’d left in the aisle.

  “I understand your uncle has been riding you.”

  “My uncle?”

  “Martin Bradley is your uncle, right?”

  That stopped him dead. “Uh, yeah. How did you find out?”

  “I didn’t know it was supposed to be a secret.”

  “Well, it’s not. I just thought you might not hire me if you knew I was related to your best client.”

  “Why wouldn’t I?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Realizing he sounded irritated, Cat tried again. “So was the argument at the cemetery something serious?”

  Bernie stared at her, openmouthed, his eyes widening slightly. “No, of course not. Uncle Martin just likes to run things his way.”

  Did he mean personally or here at the farm? Cat chose not to ask.

  “Just remember that I’m your employer, and I haven’t had any complaints about your work. I think you do a great job around here.”

  Flushing, Bernie looked away from her, mumbling, “Thanks.”

  Was he embarrassed by the compliment or because he was doing something he shouldn’t…something his uncle had asked him to do?