Delicious Torment

by Linsey Lanier

  Miranda lifted her head from the cushion, where she’d been half-dozing. “Are we there yet, Dad?”

  “Almost.”

  They traveled several more miles, until Parker turned onto a country road. Here the landscape became even more rural, if that were possible, even denser with trees. After another mile, Miranda caught sight of a big, white wooden sign shaded by the rustling leaves of a large oak.

  The words “Aquitaine Farms” were embossed on it in a fancy script. She half-expected to hear the theme from Gone With the Wind.

  “Guess this is the place.”

  Parker peered out the window, his body tense. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been here, but the landscape hasn’t changed much.”

  That remark made her wonder again about his past with Delta Langford.

  He made a right turn and the Mazda rumbled down a long dirt pathway. Slowly, the huge structure came into view.

  The place was gorgeous. A majestic, sprawling, white plantation house done in antebellum Greek revival, with dozens of columns rising to tall stories, and rows of high Palladian windows. Framed by foliage, green pastures and acres of trees, it had a fresh, healthy feel. Where was that Gone With the Wind theme?

  In the distance, behind the house, Miranda could see barns and paddocks. Several horses were outside. “Kennicot will be in the barns, no doubt.”

  “Let’s head for the house,” Miranda said. “I want to talk to Delta first.” She felt she owed it to her to tell her she’d taken the case, though she wouldn’t mention the client.

  “Very well.” Parker turned and headed that way.

  “No protest?”

  “I don’t question the lead on a case.”

  Until he disagreed with her. And as long as he got to make stipulations. But it wasn’t so terrible that he insisted sticking with her. There was a lot to learn from Parker. Professionally. As far as the personal part went, she guessed she was learning to be just as big a sneak there, too. What was she going to do about their pretend-this-is-all-normal living arrangements? Sooner or later she’d have to do something about that. She’d figure out exactly what later.

  As Parker steered the car up the circular drive, the sprawling Southern mansion loomed before them, its white columns like giant soldiers on guard. The smell of magnolias wafted through the car windows.

  He parked just behind a row of Azalea bushes, so the Mazda wouldn’t be seen from the large, Palladian windows.

  Miranda regarded the yawning veranda. It was twice as big as the Parker mansion’s porch, and that was no small potatoes.

  She batted her eyelashes at Parker and put on a fake accent. “Why, Ashley. We’re home.”

  His lip curled. “I thought you’d think of me as more of a Rhett.”

  “Yeah, sometimes you just don’t give a damn.”

  He ignored her comment. “Why don’t you go ring the bell?”

  “All alone?”

  He nodded.

  She titled her head and grinned prettily. “Are you sure?”

  He inhaled slowly. “If Delta is home, my presence won’t make her talkative.”

  Must be that unpleasant history again. “You sure I can handle it? By myself I mean?” After all, he had said she wasn’t to work this case without him. She couldn’t resist rubbing it in.

  He reached over and patted her hand. “I have the utmost confidence in you.”

  With a satisfied smirk, Miranda got out of the car and strolled casually up the stairs. At the door, she took a deep breath and rang the bell.

  No answer.

  She waited a minute and rang the bell again.

  Nothing.

  She gazed up at the huge domicile and had the feeling she was being watched from one of the upper windows. Once more she rang the bell. “Culligan man,” she called out impatiently.

  “Yes?” A young black women dressed in a stiff, dark uniform answered the door. “May I help you?” Her accent sounded British.

  “Uh, I’m here to see Delta Langford.”

  “I’m sorry, Ms. Langford’s not home at the moment.”

  Miranda thought fast. “Is Mr. Langford at home?”

  She lifted a sharp, dark brow. “Mr. Eli Langford? No. He’s in town. Do you have an appointment with the Langfords, ma’am?”

  The stiff formality was killing her. “Uh, no. I was just in the neighborhood and wanted to stop by and pay my respects. I understand Ms. Langford lost her sister recently.”

  The woman nodded solemnly. “Yes, she did. Shall I tell Ms. Langford you came by, Ms.—?”

  “Oh, don’t bother. I’ll call. Thanks.” She took a step backward, heading for the car, then turned back. “On second thought, tell Ms. Langford Miranda Steele came by. Tell her, uh, that matter we discussed is being looked into.”

  The woman nodded and closed the door. Miranda made her way back to Parker.

  “No luck.” She scooted inside the car. “Nobody’s home but the staff. Let’s try the stables.”

  * * *

  The barn was a tall, rustic looking structure of treated wood with a high ceiling and big red doors, crisscrossed with yellow planks. It stood wide open, like welcoming arms.

  In the nearby paddocks, riders were exercising some of the horses. Farther out, more animals grazed in a pasture.

  Miranda got out of the car and headed for the open door, her boots kicking up the dry red earth on the path. This time, Parker came with her. She didn’t mind the company.

  Inside, it was bright and clean, the sun streaming in through the high windows. The air was thick with the smell of fresh hay. She could hear it being pitched somewhere, but didn’t see any workers. Now and then she heard a low whinny.

  Then she turned a corner and caught sight of a large man squatting down. In his hands was the hoof of a chestnut horse tethered to a post.

  “Excuse me,” Miranda said to him.

  With a surprised frown, he turned his head, then gently put the horse’s foot down and rose. “Can I help you?”

  He seemed to be in his early fifties. Tall and broad-shouldered, he was rugged-looking, with deep, weathered lines in his face and wavy graying hair, cut short. He had on khaki slacks and a green plaid shirt. Even in casual clothes, he had a professional air about him.

  She approached him. “Are you Dr. Gabriel Kennicot?”

  “Yes. Who are you?” So this was the notorious vet, Desirée’s old flame. According to Ferraro Usher. He had green, wide-set eyes that gave him a quizzical look. Or maybe that was the scientist in him.

  “My name is Miranda Steele. I’m looking into the death of Desirée Langford.”

  His thick gray brows drew together, making the furrows in his face deeper. And more defensive looking. “Are you with the police?”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, we’re private.”

  Kennicot gestured toward Parker. “Who is this?”

  “Wade Parker of the Parker Agency.” Smoothly, Parker reached into his jacket for a business card and gave it to Kennicot.

  The doctor stared down at it a moment. “Detectives? Why are you looking into Desirée’s death? It was a suicide.”

  “Some people don’t think so.” She folded her arms.

  He blinked at them, looking genuinely shocked. Then he moved over to a stall and leaned against the wooden door to steady himself. “My God.”

  Miranda glanced at Parker. He raised an eyebrow and nodded toward Kennicot. He was going to let her handle the questioning. Well, that’s what she’d been training for.

  She took a deep breath and stepped over to the vet. “Dr. Kennicot, according to the Medical Examiner’s report, Ms. Langford died of an overdose of phencyclidine. PCP. Angel dust, on the street.”

  “Yes,” he said quietly. “I know that.”

  “One hundred milligrams of PCP were found in her bloodstream.” She tried in vain to sound gentle.

  He closed his eyes and nodded. The words were painful for him to listen to. “Yes.”

  Befor
e she could ask another question, with a dazed look, the large man sat down on a bale of hay and put his head in his hands. “My beautiful Desirée. I loved her so. How can she be gone?” he looked up at Miranda with pleading eyes. “Ms. Steele, do you really think someone killed her?”

  “We don’t know yet.” Her heart went out to the grieving man, but she had to press. She took another breath. “As a vet, you’d have access to large doses of PCP, wouldn’t you?”

  His mouth opened in shock. He looked at Parker for a moment, then back at her. “Do you mean Sernylan? That drug was discontinued years ago due to its side effects.”

  She nodded in admission. “It’s rare, but some veterinarians still use it.” She’d noted that during her research the other afternoon.

  Dr. Kennicot stood up, straightened himself and glared at her. “Sernylan can cause delirium, disorientation, hallucination. Not the type of effect my clients would want in a prize breeder or a racer. Not the type of effect I want to induce in the animals I treat.”

  Miranda looked down at her nails. “I hear Desirée Langford was often disoriented and hallucinating.”

  “What are you saying, Ms. Steele? That I had something to do with Desirée’s death?”

  She stood quietly, watched his eyes flame.

  “I don’t use PCP.” His words were clipped. “You’re welcome to check my office if you don’t believe me.” He pulled out a cell phone, his fingers shaking with emotion. “I’ll have my assistant let you into my cabinets. You can search the entire place, if you like. I have nothing to hide.”

  Miranda held up a hand. “That won’t be necessary.” The doctor might have been protesting too much, but he seemed genuinely offended at her insinuation. Still, if he had PCP, it would have been smart to remove it from his office. Right now though, she was inclined to believe him.

  Slowly he put his cell phone back in his pocket and sank back down on the bale of hay. “I didn’t have anything to do with her death, Ms. Steele, if that’s what you’re trying to imply. My God, I loved her.”

  Miranda spotted another bale in front of the next stall. As Parker watched, she strolled over to it and sat down. Trying to simulate an intimate conversation with this man, she decided to play dumb. “Loved her?” she said gently. “What exactly was your relationship to Desirée Langford, Doctor?”

  His eyes narrowed. “We were close. We worked together here at Aquitaine.”

  She waited a beat. “Close?”

  He let out a long breath. “Everyone knows she left that leech she was married to for me.”

  “Ferraro Usher.”

  “Yes.”

  “Usher was a leech?”

  “Desirée supported him for years while he pursued his career as an artist. He couldn’t have survived without her. Or become as successful as he now is.”

  Interesting. “So you encouraged Desirée to leave him?”

  His jaw twitched angrily. “He was bad for her. I saw what that bastard was doing to her. I told her to leave him many times. I told her to stop using. She finally walked out on him last Christmas. The divorce was final three months ago.”

  Christmas? Santy Claus wasn’t too good to the brooding artist last year. That parting scene couldn’t have been a pleasant one. The two times Miranda had seen Usher, he’d acted like he was still in love with Desirée. Desperately in love. At her funeral, he said he was still seeing her and begging her to come back to him. Stalking her, perhaps.

  What did Kennicot know about that? She leaned toward him. “Did Usher try to see Desirée after their breakup?”

  He stiffened. “Not with my consent.”

  “But he did see her.”

  He nodded.

  “How often?”

  He shook his head, as if in denial about it. “I don’t know. She kept it from me.”

  But he still knew about it. “Was Usher threatening Desirée, Dr. Kennicot?”

  He looked at her blankly.

  Dr. Kennicot didn’t strike her as the type of man to let someone like Usher threaten his love interest. Maybe she was going down the wrong path here. Objectivity. Could Desirée have been playing the two men who were in love with her against each other? Boinking both of them at the same time? Like Farrah Simmons and her two lovers-on-the-side?

  She wet her lips and swallowed. “Do you think Desirée was sleeping with Usher?”

  His look grew even blanker.

  She took a deep breath and decided to play her trump card. “Usher said Desirée was about to leave you and go back to him.”

  He stared at her a moment, then let out an anguished laugh. “Impossible. Desirée loved me since she was a teenager.”

  Usher had said that.

  With a faraway look in his wide-set eyes, Kennicot continued. “She was sixteen when I came to Georgia and started my practice. Eli Langford was one of my first clients. She loved the horses and was always in the barn when I came to do examinations. I wasn’t here a month before she caught me alone in a stall.”

  A young stable hand came and untethered the horse the doctor had been examining. He glanced over at the three of them. “Are you finished with Horizon, Dr. Kennicot?” he asked in a high-pitched voice.

  The doctor nodded to him. “Yes. He’s ready for his breeze.”

  The hand led the horse out of the barn.

  When they were gone, Miranda turned back to Kennicot. “Caught you?” she asked.

  He hung his head, as if embarrassed. “She threw her arms around me and started kissing me. She said she was madly in love with me.”

  “And you kissed her back.”

  He looked up, his eyes flashing. “No. I stopped her. I was thirty-three and married, for God’s sake. I had two sons who were almost her age.” He ran a hand through his hair. “I dismissed it as some sort of teenage obsession. I assumed she saw me as a father figure. She didn’t get along with her own father. I often heard them arguing at the house.”

  Like Mr. P had said, Eli Langford didn’t treat his daughters very well.

  “I told her she was too young and I was too old. I tried everything I could to discourage her.”

  “But it didn’t work.”

  He shrugged. “She grew up, went to college, and came back home to breed horses. By then my wife had died. Heart attack.”

  “I’m sorry.” The man had had it rough.

  He took a breath and went on. “We began working together here at the Farm. After awhile, Desirée told me she still loved me. But I was too much in mourning for my wife to consider a relationship then. And I still thought she was too young. She was twenty-three. I was forty.”

  Rejected twice by the one you thought was the love of your life. That could bring on a depression. “And so?”

  “She started hanging out with a wild crowd. Took up with a local artist group. That was where she met Usher. They used to have parties out here when her father was in the city. It was all for spite. She threw herself at Usher to get back at me.”

  Good Lord. “How did you know that?”

  “She told me. Many times. She married Usher about seven years ago. The night before the wedding she called me and told me she could never be happy, but it was too late for us so she had no choice.”

  Desirée had married Usher but longed for Kennicot all those years? Miranda supposed it was possible. She thought of her colleague Dave Becker, who was still pining away after his childhood sweetheart. You can get badly burned by an old flame.

  “My sons had grown up and left home. As the years passed, I watched Desirée grow into a top horse breeder. More and more, her work brought us together. I admired her. Everyone did. Eventually, I fell as much in love with her as she had been with me in the beginning. Last winter, I finally got the courage to tell her so. It took her two full months to tell Usher it was over and leave him. We were planning to be married this fall.”

  “But she was still seeing Usher.”

  He nodded. “I couldn’t stop her.”

  Miranda paused t
o take in what he’d told her. Then she drew a deep breath. “Witnesses saw them together at the Steeplechase before her accident.”

  “That’s right. I tried to run Usher off, Desirée wouldn’t let me. I got angry with her. If only I could have that moment back.”

  Must have been the argument some of the interviewees reported.

  Miranda got up from the bale of hay and brushed off her slacks. She stared down at the poor, broken man before her, her heart aching for him. He was in genuine pain, in bitter mourning for someone he’d loved deeply. She felt terrible for having to pelt him with a lot of painful questions. But she needed just a little more information.

  She sucked in another breath and fired. “One witness said Usher and Desirée were snorting coke at the Steeplechase.”

  Dr. Kennicot put his head in his hands again, looking weary and more bewildered than ever. He nodded. “She had a drug problem. She was an addict. She was in therapy for it and for her recurring bouts of depression. I wanted her to go to a clinic. She refused.”

  “So she saw Usher for drugs.”

  Once more, he nodded. “As far as I know, he was her supplier. He’s the one who gave her that lethal dose of PCP.” Then he looked up and fixed Miranda with a deep, penetrating look. “But Desirée’s the one who took it.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Miranda slid into the passenger seat of Parker’s silver Mazda and sat back. As he rolled down the dirt lane, she stared numbly at the tall trees. So many shades of green in their lush summer loveliness.

  She blew out a long breath. “That was rough.”

  Parker drove on silently until they reached the paved road. Before he turned onto it, he stopped and gave her a long look. “I must remember to give Detective Judd a hefty raise.”

  “Detective Judd?”

  “His training in interviewing techniques has produced excellent results.”

  She gave him a sad smile. “Thanks.”

  He nodded approvingly. “Natural talent helps, too.”

  “You think I have natural talent?”

  “I do.” He turned onto the road and took off.

  Miranda rubbed her eyes. Parker’s approval felt good. But she was exhausted and she felt raw after raking the grieving doctor over the coals. “I’m not so sure about that. I hated having to put Kennicot through those questions.”