Balancing Act: Kovak & Quaid Horse Mystery Series (Kovak & Quaid Horse Mysteries Book 2)

by Toni Leland

  Dixie’s voice echoed from the living room. “Yoo hoo, anybody home?”

  “Back here in the studio.”

  A moment later, Dixie’s bright smile graced the room, reminding Kim of how much she loved this woman.

  Dixie hugged her, then stepped back. “Whatcha up to?”

  Kim gestured toward the work board. “Trying to put together some sense of a possible case.”

  Dixie’s eyebrows shot up. “Case? As in police work?”

  “Not exactly. More like private investigation.”

  Dixie planted her hands on her hips and set her jaw. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”

  Kim took a deep breath, then gave a complete rundown of everything that had transpired in Chicago, beginning with the runaway horse and finishing with Natalie’s call.

  “And you’re actually gonna take this on? Didn’t you learn anything from the theft ring case?”

  “Yes, I did. I learned that I miss police work more than you can possibly imagine. If I can use my skills to find a reasonable motive for why someone would harm Natalie’s horses, I want to do that. And this could be a really interesting case.”

  “But you’re not a private investigator.”

  “No, but I know a really good one.”

  Dixie’s features softened. “Kim, do you really need a crime in order to justify giving him a call?”

  Chapter 11

  Quaid gazed around the cottage in Chagrin Falls that he’d called home for several years. The silence was deafening. The weekend in Dayton had been one of the most enjoyable he could remember in a long time. Perhaps it was time to seriously consider moving. Now that he’d reconnected with Jenna and Ricky, he didn’t want to lose the momentum.

  He called Elizabeth Ferguson at noon.

  Her tone was cool, but not unfriendly. “I have a guest right now, but you can come by the house after two.”

  “That’s fine. What’s your address?”

  She gave him the information, then said goodbye. Quaid typed the address into a map program and zoomed in, releasing a long, slow breath. The Fergusons lived on a small estate in one of the best areas of Boston Heights. He switched to Google Earth and examined the property more closely. Swimming pool, tennis courts, gardens, and what looked like a fenced field with a small barn. Horses? Wouldn’t be surprising in this upscale part of Ohio.

  Just to give himself an inside edge, he looked up the Fergusons living at that address. Elizabeth’s husband, Kenneth, was the owner and CEO of an investment firm of long standing in the Cleveland area, a company started in 1928 by Kenneth’s father. Given the disastrous turn of the economy over the past few years, Ferguson was lucky to still be standing. Kind of stupid to screw around and risk losing it all to his wife.

  Elizabeth Ferguson’s house was as huge and elegant as Quaid had expected. What he hadn’t expected was the woman herself.

  She opened the door and smiled. “Please come in, Mr. Quaid.”

  She was simply beautiful. Older, possibly in her late sixties. Elegant makeup, hairstyle, and clothing, all understated and obviously expensive. Her salt and pepper hair swept back from a face that had probably stopped men in their tracks during her youth. Probably still could. She had luminous green eyes and fine features, though Quaid saw just a hint of the strain that her suspicions would have caused.

  She closed the door, sending a waft of light perfume swirling around him. “We’ll talk in the sun room. It’s such a lovely day, don’t you think? I do love fall.”

  A moment later, they stepped into a beautiful room, bright with sunlight streaming through large round-topped windows that provided views in three directions. Stunning gardens filled with lush shrubs and fall flowers surrounded a lawn so green that it looked almost fake. Soft gauzy curtains drifted gently in the breeze, and the sun dappled the rose-colored carpet. Old-fashioned white wicker furniture was arranged to provide a full view from any of the windows. Faded chintz in garden colors covered the seat cushions.

  Quaid sat down in one of the chairs and pulled out his notebook, then leaned forward and handed her a business card.

  “Before we begin, I’m obligated to inform you of our fees and policies.”

  She shook her head once. “Whatever you charge is fine. If you need me to sign something, I have no problem with that.”

  Quaid opened his attaché case and removed a contract, confidentiality agreement, and client information questionnaire. Mrs. Ferguson made short work of all of it, then clasped her hands in her lap and looked at him expectantly.

  Quaid started his initial questioning with the basics.

  “What is your husband’s name and age?”

  “Kenneth George Ferguson the Second. He is 76.” She looked away, muttering, “The old fool.”

  Quaid suppressed a smile. “Do you have a snapshot that I may take with me?”

  She nodded, then retrieved a photograph from a stack of papers and handed it across the coffee table.

  Quaid looked briefly at the image of an unremarkable man with a receding hairline and a pleasant face.

  “Mrs. Ferguson, why do you think your husband is having an affair?”

  “The firm has several branches around the Midwest and, though he is now predominantly a figurehead, Kenneth spends a great deal of time traveling to the Chicago office.”

  Quaid cocked his head. “That doesn’t seem to me to be a reason for suspicion.”

  “Originally, I didn’t give it a thought, but two weeks ago, Kenneth inadvertently took my car keys instead of his own. I needed to get to a charity board meeting, so I looked for his set of keys and found them in a coat pocket. In the same coat, I also found one of those cheap disposable phones. That seemed odd to me because Kenneth has the newest iPhone.” She hesitated for a moment, obviously collecting her thoughts. “I turned on the phone I found and looked at the list of calls. He’d received calls from and made calls to the same number, but no others.”

  “Do you have that number? Do you have any idea whose it is?”

  She leaned over and handed him a piece of paper. “I wrote it down, but I don’t know who it is – only that it’s a woman.”

  Quaid raised his eyebrows. “How do you know that?”

  “Because I called the number and a woman answered.”

  Her expression did not change as she talked, and Quaid could not get a sense of whether she was brokenhearted, or simply interested in revenge and a lucrative divorce.

  “Okay, so you say your husband is away on business right now. Do you know where?”

  “He’s in Chicago, supposedly for a six day conference. I was going to check up on that, but decided I’d call you instead.” Her gentle features hardened. “Mr. Quaid, I want answers and proof. I’ve spent forty years with this man, given up my own dreams and thoughts of a career, and if that doesn’t mean something to him, then I don’t want him in my life anymore.”

  As Quaid drove home from Boston Heights, he mulled over the information Elizabeth Ferguson had given him about her husband. If the guy was really at the conference, but using it as a cover for a fling, Quaid wouldn’t have much trouble finding out. He shook his head. He didn’t understand why people thought that, because they were in another town, they were invisible. Actually, the so-called anonymity worked against them, providing a false sense of security so that they didn’t take the precautions they would if they were in their own territory. But if Kenneth Ferguson was enjoying the company of a lady, he’d likely be overly careful at an industry function. He’d be too well known to chance a public appearance with someone other than his wife. Which should make checking up on him quite easy. He was either involved with someone at work, or spending all his time in a hotel room.

  Quaid’s phone rang and United Equine Assurance Company’s number came up on the screen.

  He adjusted his Bluetooth. “Garrett Quaid.”

  The young man who assisted in the fraud department came on the line. “Hey, Garrett, boss wants to see you.
”

  “Put her on the line.”

  “No, she wants you to come in, sooner than later.”

  “Huh, am I in some kind of trouble?”

  “I have no idea, she just said to give you a call.”

  Quaid saw the exit sign for Bedford. “Okay, tell her I’ll be there in about thirty minutes.”

  The afternoon traffic on I-480 was beginning to pick up and Quaid stayed focused on his driving, while part of his brain wondered why the company director wouldn’t just pick up the phone for whatever she wanted. A tight knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Businesses didn’t fire people with a telephone call, so this summons couldn’t be a good thing. Even though he wasn’t an employee, but rather an independent contractor, Quaid counted on the significant income from the huge insurance company’s fraud cases.

  As he entered the downtown Cleveland area and headed toward the high-rise building that housed United Equine, he kicked himself for not expanding his own business to include other things. Most of his eggs were in United Equine’s basket. He needed more jobs like Elizabeth Ferguson. A few minutes later, striding across the polished marble floor toward the bank of elevators, Quaid promised himself he’d become more aggressive about growing his private investigation business.

  Nerves jangling lightly, Quaid rapped on the director’s doorjamb. She looked up from her desk and smiled.

  “Hi, Garrett. Thanks for getting back to me so fast. Come on in and sit down. And close the door, please.”

  She was way too friendly to be harboring bad news. He stole a glance at her as he took a seat. Harriett Post stood less than five feet tall, with dark frizzy hair and a face that had always reminded him of one of the characters in the movie, Planet of the Apes. Her physical attributes aside, she’d been a good manager, although he’d heard that if she got a burr up her butt, there was no changing her mind.

  “Garrett, you’ve been with us for five years now, and I want you to know how much I’ve appreciated your work and good attitude.”

  Oh, crap, here it comes.

  Harriett smiled, her warm brown eyes belying bad news. “I’ve always believed in rewarding good people, regardless of seniority.” She clasped her hands on the desk and leaned forward. “We’re opening a branch in Columbus and I’d like you to manage the fraud department.”

  Quaid almost laughed out loud, relief rushing over him like a windstorm.

  “Wow, this is so unexpected. I’m honored that you’d consider me.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Could you give me some more details?”

  She sat back, all business. “Salary plus commission on the cases you personally take on. We would expect you to be available for our Cleveland cases too. You would spend about forty percent of your time managing the branch and the remainder working on investigations. It’s a lot to handle, but I believe you’re the one to do it.”

  Quaid sat back and thought about it. One of the things he had always loved about the private investigation business was the ability to be his own boss, work on his own schedule, and operate out of his home most of the time. This job would take away all those things. Was the security and money worth it?

  Harriett broke into his thoughts. “The monthly salary will be reviewed for increase after six months. Your commissions will be based on our in-house scale, which is less than we pay you now as an independent, but the salary and benefits should offset that. You’ll get mileage and expenses, the same as now.”

  Quaid gazed at her for a moment. “Could I have some time to think about it?”

  She smiled brightly. “Of course, but I’ll need your answer by Friday. We’re negotiating office space in downtown Columbus right now. You’d make the transition at the end of the month.”

  Ten minutes later, Quaid pushed through the revolving front doors and stepped onto the sidewalk, inhaling a deep breath of cold air to clear his head. In the space of half an hour, his world had turned on its axis to provide new opportunities. Or new obstacles. Which was it? The thoughts racing through his head didn’t stay long enough to examine. Too many things to consider.

  He pulled out his phone, dialed, and left a message.

  “Dixie, this is Garrett Quaid. Would you give me a call?”

  Kim finished adjusting the photos for the magazine layout, then began the task of attaching captions to each one. She had a good array of images, with one exception – she had no photographs of the horses practicing or in actual performance. Natalie had given her that disk with promotional shots, but Kim wasn’t sure the editor would want them. Plus, the magazine would not pay her for pictures she didn’t take. She would just have to explain the circumstances that prevented her from getting the shots herself. She frowned. Would Natalie’s dire situation make the story irrelevant now? The story might even be discarded and Kim would lose the income.

  Putting those disturbing possibilities out of her mind, she slid Natalie’s CD into the player slot, then sat back to see what Dream Horse Ballet was all about. The first scene showed Natalie’s white stallion, Goran, draped in glittering headdress, moving in perfect slow-motion time to a dancer on the ground. The horse followed every move the dancer made, all in exact time to the haunting strains of the music from Swan Lake. At the end, Goran bowed deeply, one leg stretched far out in front of him, his beautiful neck arching down, his forehead touching his knee – the mirror image of the ballet dancer beside him, in a deep finale bow.

  Several more clips showed the same precision and balance of the dancing partnership – a breathtaking array of performances. And a force to be reckoned with in the entertainment world.

  Kim looked over at the casework board she’d started the night before. Too many spaces remained empty. Without knowing anything about Natalie’s circumstances or relationships or background, Kim wouldn’t be able to fill those gaps. Was there really a crime here? Or simply a stretch of bad luck for Natalie and her dreams.

  Kim picked up the phone and dialed, mildly annoyed at the thump in her chest.

  Quaid’s smile came through his voice. “Well, hello, Miz Kovak.”

  Kim grinned at the familiar teasing dig. “Hello yourself, Inspector. How’ve you been?”

  “Really good. And you? How’s that leg?”

  “Still attached. Can’t complain. Do you have a minute to talk?”

  Kim rolled her eyes at how inane their conversation sounded, but it had been so long since they’d spoken, she couldn’t just jump in without some small talk.

  “Sure. What’s up?”

  “I’ve been asked to look into a possible case of sabotage at a horse barn in Chicago and–”

  “What? Lady, don’t you ever learn? Didn’t you have enough excitement last summer?”

  Kim laughed out loud. “That’s exactly what Dixie said, and that’s why I’m calling you. Now, do you want to hear the details, or should I try another PI?”

  “Nah, lemme hear it.”

  Kim outlined what she knew for sure, then filled him in on the disease and its consequences.

  Quaid let out a low whistle. “Man, that sounds like a tough break to me. What makes this woman think it’s something other than bad luck?”

  “That’s the thing. She’s convinced it’s intentional contamination to keep her from opening the theater next month. I suspect she hasn’t told me everything I would need to know to prove or disprove that, but...”

  Kim suddenly wasn’t quite sure how she wanted to proceed with Quaid. Did she need him to do some legwork and snooping? Or was she just looking for some brainstorming possibilities to help her reach some conclusions? Either way, she would have to share whatever fees she earned from the job.

  Quaid’s voice cut in. “You need more information before you can make any kind of case for this. I’m actually headed up to Chicago this week on a job. If you want, I could snoop around a little.”

  “That would be perfect. I need to decide whether to go with this. I was just up there, but right now I’m not up to another
long drive.”

  After listening to the pertinent details, Quaid promised to call her in a few days. As his number faded from the screen, she smiled. It would be good to work together again.

  Quaid pulled into his driveway as Kovak said goodbye. He sat quite still for a moment, gazing through the windshield at the brilliant maples in his yard, watching some dry leaves spin on tiny whirlwinds across the yellowing grass. The scant details of Kovak’s story sounded mundane, but he’d learned long ago that some of the most devilish schemes often lurked beneath an ordinary façade. Professional sabotage wasn’t so outrageous, given the vanity and egos of most artistic types. This case could be fascinating.

  He climbed out of his truck and exhaled softly. He had his answer. No way could he give up the excitement of the chase, the independence and power that grew from being his own boss. There wasn’t a “secure” job in the world that could replace those feelings. In fact, there was no such thing as job security.

  His phone rang and Dixie’s number appeared. He closed his eyes for moment, trying to think what to say. He’d called her on a knee-jerk impulse, and now he felt stupid.

  “Dixie darlin’, how’s my favorite cop?”

  “Very curious about your message. You sounded...well, worried. Everything okay?”

  Quaid chuckled. “Yeah, I had a job offer and sort of wanted to bounce it off somebody. But I’m fine now.”

  “A job? You mean in addition to what you do now?”

  “No, instead of what I do now. But I’m all set.”

  “Oh, no you don’t. I want details. You can’t leave me hanging.”

  Quaid told her the deal, chuckling when she interrupted.

  “Columbus? But of course you want to take it! You’d be right here and we could all have such a good time.” Her tone became wicked. “And you could visit Bandit any time you wanted.”

  “You know, Dix, if you didn’t carry a gun, I’d be tempted to smack you.”

  “Seriously, Garrett. It would be a good thing for you, I think. You’d be closer to your family. It’s only about an hour to Dayton from the west side of Columbus.”