by Toni Leland
“Yes, what does it say, and what’s the name of the farm?”
“Breakstone Thoroughbreds....small operation...oh, crap. The place is under quarantine for strangles.”
“That’s the one. Thanks.”
“Hey, wait! Tell me what’s going on.”
“I can’t right now, I’m still at the race course. Gotta get out of here before Natalie comes back. I’ll share later.”
She disconnected and drove quickly toward the exit, her brain on fire. From what she had read, the strangles inoculation was one of the important precautions that horse owners took seriously. For a large operation, it could be expensive. For Natalie, there’d be no question whether it should be done. Her livelihood hung on the decision. So how could two farms within a few miles of each other have major outbreaks? A common denominator – someone who had visited both farms and been the vector. But the Aurora farm raised Thoroughbreds, so why would anyone from Knight’s go there? Perhaps not for professional reasons, but maybe to invest in racehorses? Or buy a horse for a kid? Or to get a sample of the bacteria?
And how would someone from the horse theater manage to get in and out of Natalie’s barn without being recognized? Actually, they could get someone else to do it, maybe some underpaid stable boy from the race barns who needed the extra cash. Kim’s shoulders slumped. If the fly spray delivery system were used, it was unlikely that a stranger would be up in the rafters depositing the bacteria on the device. Unless it was done at night. And obviously, getting into Natalie’s barn was easy to do if someone knew about the arena door. That knowledge would implicate someone close to Natalie.
Kim set her GPS and headed for Aurora. As exotic as the fly spray idea was, right now it seemed too complicated.
Chapter 27
Breakstone Thoroughbred Farm had seen better days. Kim took her foot off the gas as the barns came into view. It reminded her of the run-down, shabby ranches she’d seen in California last summer when she’d been there as photographer for a horse show. Again, that memory brought the international theft ring into her thoughts and she gritted her teeth. There had to be a way to tie up that loose end.
A large white sign was posted at the entrance to the driveway. quarantine area. She eased into a parking space by the house, wondering if she’d wasted the trip. She thought for a moment. What, exactly, was she going to say to these people? She climbed out of the car and started toward the house. Suddenly, the aroma of roasting meat assaulted her senses and she almost reeled back with the recognition of what she smelled.
I can’t talk to these folks right now! What was I thinking?
A man appeared from somewhere and strode quickly toward her, his face dark with intent.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “You can’t come in here.”
Kim recovered her composure. “Yes, I can see you have a problem.”
“You can’t imagine.”
“Actually, I can. I’m an insurance investigator for another operation that’s under quarantine. I was hoping you might have some information I need.”
He blew out a long breath. “Sure, what the hell.”
“In the week before your outbreak, did you have any visitors?”
He thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Maybe one or two. We haven’t been selling many horses lately. The market’s in the toilet.”
“Do you remember who they were and when they came?”
“One guy was a tall cowboy type. Didn’t get his name ’cause he just wanted to look around. Said he might be buying a horse for his daughter. Later.”
“Do you remember what he looked like?”
“Like I said, tall, dressed in jeans and boots. Gray hair. Moustache. Kinda reminded me of Sam Elliott.”
Mark Knight to a tee.
“When was that?”
The man screwed up his mouth and squinted at the ground. “Mighta been three, four weeks ago. Once this thing hit our barn, I lost track of most everything.”
Timing is right.
“And he didn’t say where he was from?”
“Nope, but he did have Illinois plates in a Chicago dealership frame. Probably local.”
“Thanks, you’ve been quite helpful. I hope your horses get better soon.”
“Me, too.”
Kim turned back to her car. As she reached for the handle, the man spoke up again.
“There was a woman who came out here about the same time, but my wife was the one who talked to her, so I can’t help you there.”
“Is your wife here now?”
The man’s face fell. “Yeah, but you don’t want to see her right now. She’s pretty tore up.”
Another waft of air brought a fresh reminder of the morning’s activities on this farm.
Kim’s chest tightened. “I understand. Maybe I’ll call in a day or two. Best of luck to you.”
As she drove away, Kim clenched her jaw, convinced that Mark Knight had been at Breakstone Farm at the right time to collect a sample of the strangles bacteria. And being a horseman, he’d know exactly how to get it to the horses in Natalie’s barn, and probably how to get inside unnoticed. The only question was one of opportunity. Was he on the security disk that she hadn’t bothered to watch? Maybe she and Quaid could join forces and scan them tonight. If they could put Knight at Natalie’s barn, the mystery was solved.
She dialed and Quaid answered immediately. “What did you find out?”
“A lot, I think. Let’s meet back at the hotel. I need some help going through those security disks. And I’m hungry.”
“I’m at the Knight’s Horse Theater. Someone went to see if the owner is here. I’ll have to call you back.”
“Okay, but I still need to find Damon DeMarco. Any ideas?”
“Actually, I did a search this afternoon and found three residential listings that might be him. I’ll send them to your phone.” He chuckled. “You can get a feel for what it’s like to be a gumshoe. Hey, what does Knight look like?”
“Tall cowboy type, gray hair, moustache.”
“Got it. Talk to you later.
Quaid pocketed his phone and gazed around the lobby of the theater. The walls were hung with photographs of stunning horses and glittering costumed riders. The largest poster featured the voluptuous Sophia, her blonde curls piled high on her head, her exotic eyes boring right through him. He thought for a moment. Women were more likely to perform dastardly acts out of jealousy than were men. So, if the professional jealousy angle were the true issue here, could Natalie have somehow provoked the Ukrainian beauty to do something in retaliation? He shook his head. The only person who could legitimately answer those questions would be Mark Knight.
“Sir?”
Quaid turned toward the young woman in the doorway.
“Mark isn’t here. He had an emergency at home. Could someone else help you?”
How convenient. Would it do any good to leave my number?
“No, I really need to talk to him, personally. I’ll come back.”
“Can I give him a message? A name?”
What the hell.
“Steve Smith with Smith Booking Agency. I’ll get back with him tomorrow.”
Quaid stepping out onto the sidewalk. Maybe the prospect of some new business would flush Knight from wherever he was hiding.
As Quaid headed back to the hotel, he mentally checked off the main names on the master list that they still needed to interview: Bobby Sanchez, Damon DeMarco, and Mark Knight. And Susan Knight. Where the heck had she gone? Pulling off the highway, Quaid looked up the contact list and entered Knight’s home address into his GPS. The map showed a location only a couple of miles from the theater. Quaid turned around and headed that way. Perhaps catching Knight at home would be an even better scenario. And maybe the wife would be there too.
The charming neighborhood was filled with late nineteenth-century homes on large lots with well-kept gardens. Knight’s house was no exception. Quaid slowed and pulled up to the curb. No other cars were a
round, and the driveway was empty. Curious. Would he have walked to the theater? Or taken a bus? Or just really not be here? Quaid stepped out of the car and walked toward the porch. Just then, a young girl of about eleven came around the side of the house, leading a small white dog on a leash. She stopped short and stared at Quaid.
“Hi, honey. Is your dad home?”
She shook her head, her eyes dark with distrust.
“How about your mom?”
The girl took a step backward. “She doesn’t live here anymore.”
The front door opened and a middle-aged woman stepped out. “Can I help you?”
“I’m looking for Mark Knight. I’m with the insurance agency he uses.”
“He’s at work. I don’t expect him home until after the performance tonight. You can talk to him there, at the Knight’s Horse Theater.”
“Okay. Thanks a lot.” He turned to the girl. “Cute dog. What’s his name?”
She didn’t smile. “I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“That’s an interesting name for a dog.”
She started to giggle. “His name is Peanuts.”
Quaid turned toward the sidewalk and threw her a wave. “So long, Peanuts.”
The woman stayed on the porch until he drove away.
“So Mr. Mark Knight is avoiding me. I wonder why.”
Just before the entrance to the expressway, Quaid cranked the truck into a screeching U-turn and headed back toward town. Knight’s unavailability could be no coincidence.
Cars lined the street in front of the theater, but Quaid found a spot not far from the back entrance. The gate was closed but not latched, so he let himself in. Striding across the parking area as though he belonged there, he headed for the delivery doors of the building. The element of surprise would be his ticket to information.
Inside, the air was buzzing with pre-show activity. He moved down the corridor and stopped in the stall area. Several horses were tied to iron rings embedded in the wall, and grooms brushed and polished, chatting back and forth among themselves. No one even gave him a second glance. At the far end of the stabling area near the entrance to the dressing rooms, Quaid found a door marked office. With a quick knock, he turned the handle and stepped in.
Mark Knight stood in front of an open filing cabinet, his back to the door. “What is it?”
The son of a gun was here the whole time.
“I need to talk to you.”
Knight turned slowly and scowled. “Who are you? And how did you get in here?”
“I’m an investigator with–”
“That bitch!” Knight’s face turned red. “Why can’t she just leave me alone? What more does she want from me?”
At first startled by the outburst, Quaid recovered quickly. “We’re just looking for some answers. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?”
“What do you think?” All his bluster faded and he looked like a broken man. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you know anything about the strangles epidemic in Natalie Danseur’s barn?”
Stunned surprise widened Knight’s eyes, then he sat down and laughed without mirth. “Is that what this is about?”
Quaid stepped closer to the desk. “What did you think I wanted?”
“Dirt to help my wife screw me some more.” He stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you with Natalie. Too bad about her horses, but it isn’t my concern.” He moved toward the door. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a show to put on in an hour.”
“Just one thing, please. Natalie says she left your company over a professional disagreement. Would you explain that?”
“If that’s her story, then that’s what you’ve got. As I said, I can’t help you.”
A few minutes later, Quaid walked slowly across the back lot. If he had learned anything in his years as an investigator, it was how to read people. And Mark Knight was an open book. The likelihood that he’d sabotaged Natalie’s barn was next to zero. He obviously had some serious problems in his life, but criminal revenge wasn’t one of them. Quaid turned around and gazed at the building. Who else there might have had a reason to go after Dream Horse Ballet?
Chapter 28
Kim tossed her bag on the bed and thought for a moment. Shower, or make phone calls. At this time of day, most folks would be just getting home from work. Good timing, or bad? How long would it take her to ferret out Damon DeMarco from the three possibilities Quaid had given her? She moved to the window and closed the drapes. That would depend on why DeMarco had left the sports therapy clinic. Had he been fired? Left the business to set up his own?
Kim picked up her phone and sat down at the small table that served as a desk. The first call was answered by a voice that didn’t sound like the person she was looking for.
“Yo.”
“Um, is this the Damon DeMarco who is a physical therapist?”
Deep chortle. “Sistah, you’s got the wrong numbah. And da name is day-mee-un.”
“Sorry, thanks.”
A soft, well-rounded voice answered the second call. “This is Damon DeMarco.”
“Mr. DeMarco, are you the sports therapist from the therapy clinic in the north end?”
His tone became guarded. “I used to work there, yes. What do you need?”
“Oh, thank God. I have been trying to get in touch with you for days. My daughter is a gymnast, level six, and she damaged her Achilles tendon a week ago. We don’t care for the therapist the doctor sent us to. Would you be willing to see us?”
A long pause. “I could, although I’m not set up in an office yet. Could you come next week?”
“I’d really appreciate you seeing us right away. She’s devastated. Gymnastics is her life and she’s so afraid this injury has destroyed her career. I’ve heard that you are one of the best in the city. I can bring her by tomorrow, just so you can meet her and talk to her. Would that be okay?”
“Yes, I guess we could do that. Meet me at the Generations Fitness Spa at nine...and what’s your name again?”
“Kimberly Kovak. I’ll see you in the morning. And thank you so much!”
Kim grinned and set the phone aside, then looked up the address of the fitness center. Sitting back, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. So far on this trip, she had been an insurance investigator, a reporter, a writer, and now a concerned mom. Who knew that lying could be so much fun?
Her phone rang and Quaid’s name appeared. He sounded in good spirits.
“Hey, you want a sandwich? I’m right next to Subway and I’m starving. We can eat while we watch that security footage.”
Kim laughed. “Sounds great. Get me the club with everything on it.”
“See you in about twenty minutes.”
Kim tossed the phone on the bed and headed for the shower, mildly surprised at how enthusiastic she was about the prospect of spending an evening watching boring surveillance videos.
Quaid juggled the sack of sandwiches and his computer bag while he fumbled with the keycard lock on his room. The security factor was good, but the damned things were a pain in the butt if you didn’t get the door open immediately.
Inside, he set the food on the desk, then arranged his laptop on the small table by the windows before calling Kovak.
“I’m here. Come on down.”
He stepped into the bathroom and ran a hand over his short hair, then straightened his shirt.
When he opened the door a minute later, Kovak smiled and held up a six-pack of beer. “I brought the adult beverages.”
“Good thinking. Are you psychic or something?”
She laughed and stepped into the room. “Mostly something – like thirsty.”
As she passed, Quaid caught a whiff of something fresh and feminine. He closed the door, watching her walk toward the table. Her hair was damp and pulled back with a clip at the nape of her neck. A sudden vision of her soft curves in the shower sent a jolt through his chest. He turned away quickly, using t
he awkward moment to grab two plastic glasses from the beverage setup.
He cleared his throat. “I hope you had better luck than I did today. Right now, all I have are suppositions.”
Kovak pulled one of the chairs closer to the table. “I might have something, but this whole case is really confusing, don’t you think?”
“Not only confusing, but beginning to feel like a wild goose chase.” He handed her a sandwich. “What’s your gut feeling?”
Kovak let out a sigh. “Truthfully? I think Natalie is a little off-balance and neurotic. She’s trying to find someone to blame for her run of bad luck. Grasping at straws. Otherwise, why wouldn’t she have gone immediately to the police? I don’t buy the bad publicity angle at all. But I can’t just go on my gut.”
Quaid gazed at his new partner. A solid police background gave her a significant dose of skepticism, but she still had the intuitive skills to make her a good investigator. Plus she had the advantage of thinking like a woman, a distinct plus in this situation.
He took a bite of sandwich and set it aside. “I have to agree with you on that. Okay, let’s go through our list and see where we are. You go first.”
“While you were talking to Natalie this morning, I snooped around her barn. One of the staff ran me off, but not before I learned one small tidbit. Oh, and I had an idea how the bacteria might have been introduced into the barn, but I later decided it wasn’t a serious option. So, anyway–”
“Hold up a minute, one thing at a time. Tell me your idea. We can’t discount anything without a thorough analysis.”
She grinned. “It’s pretty far out, which is why I discarded the idea. Natalie has one of those fly spray distributors installed. You know, the kind that spits out insecticide at timed intervals.”
“Yeah, they’re pretty standard in big barns.” Then he recognized where she was headed. “Of course! Put the bacteria in the sprayer and you’ve done the deed without ever touching a horse.”
Her eyes sparkled. “Exactly. Great idea, huh? You wouldn’t even have to open the contraption. Just smear the bacteria on the nozzle.” Then she shook her head. “But why go to all that trouble and the chance of being caught when all you would have to do is touch a muzzle, or a water bucket, or anything that is used for all the horses, then let the bacteria spread on its own. That opens up the suspect possibilities to include anyone who worked in or visited that barn.”
