Bluegrass Peril

by Virginia Smith

  Divorced. So she wasn’t happily married after all. But she had kids. “Twins?”

  Whitley laughed. “Five-year-old boys, and they keep her hopping. You never met a rowdier pair.”

  Well, that settled that. Divorced or not, Becky Dennison just dropped off his radar screen. He had no desire to get involved with the single mother of two lively mischief makers.

  FIVE

  “Hi, Daddy,” Becky said into the phone later that night.

  “Hey, sweetheart, how’s my best girl?”

  She smiled at his light tone. He always sounded happy to hear from her. “I’m all right.”

  “Just all right?” Now he sounded concerned. “Is something wrong with the boys?”

  “No, they’re fine. I just put them to bed.” She propped her slippered feet on the coffee table, something she insisted Jamie and Tyler never do. But the recliner had a Hot Wheels car stuck in the mechanism, and she hadn’t found the time to pry it out yet.

  “Out with it, then. What’s bothering you?”

  “Something terrible happened at work. My boss was killed, probably murdered, and I found his body this morning.”

  “Becky!” Alarm exploded in his voice. “Are you okay? Do I need to come out there?”

  A tender smile curved her lips. Always her stalwart, if long-distance, protector, especially in the four years since Mom died. “I’m fine, Daddy, and of course you don’t need to come. I just need your advice about the boys. They knew Neal, so I have to tell them something, but I’m not sure how to go about it. Do you think they’re too young to go to a funeral?”

  “Yes, I do.” Not a hint of doubt in his voice. “But they’re not too young to talk about death.”

  “You don’t think it will affect them?”

  “Sure, it will affect them. But maybe not as much as you think. They probably already know more about death than you realize. They’ve seen dead bugs and animals on the side of the road. And on television, no doubt.”

  He was right about that. She tried to monitor their television viewing, but even the cartoons were full of violence these days.

  “I wouldn’t tell them the man was murdered,” Daddy advised. “Just say he died, and he’s living in heaven now with Jesus.”

  Sadness gripped Becky as she realized that probably wasn’t true. “I don’t think Neal was a Christian. Any time I tried to discuss God or church he changed the subject.”

  “Well, then just tell the boys he died and leave it at that.”

  “Okay.” She reached for her mug of herbal tea and inhaled the soothing odor of chamomile before she took a sip. “How are you doing? Everything go all right in that meeting you were worried about?”

  Daddy worked for a software firm in Silicon Valley managing a staff of developers. She had only a vague idea of what they did. Sometimes when he described the details of his job she felt as if he was speaking another language.

  “Smooth as silk. I talked them out of a big chunk of next year’s budget to fund a new database platform in conjunction with the operating system switchover.”

  Like that. But she knew better than to ask him to explain what a database platform was and why it would cost a chunk of money. She’d be on the phone all night. “Good for you.”

  “Listen, are you sure you’re okay? If this guy was murdered, are you in any danger?”

  That thought had plagued Becky throughout the day. “I don’t think so. It looked like there was a fight. Scott thinks maybe he surprised a burglar in the barn.”

  “The barn? What would a thief want from a barn? And who is Scott?”

  “Scott is my new boss.” Unease trickled into Becky’s thoughts, but she made sure it didn’t seep into her voice. “And I don’t know what a thief would want. Horse equipment maybe. Some of that stuff is expensive. Or maybe it was teenagers looking for drugs. Whoever it was, the police will catch them soon. Don’t worry about me.”

  His voice softened. “Worrying about you and my rascally grandsons is what I do best. I still wish you’d move out here so I could give you a hand with them.”

  Becky sipped her tea before answering. The thought of living near Daddy was attractive. But the cost of living was so high out in California there was no way she could find a job that paid well enough to support her and the boys. And she refused to move in with her father. No, she was better off staying here where at least she could be somewhat self-sufficient.

  “It would be wonderful to see you more often,” she admitted, as she always did, “but I’m not moving to California.”

  “Well, then.” His voice trailed off. The faint sound of a keyboard tapping interrupted the silence. As usual, he was working on something as they talked. “Do you need any money?”

  She smiled. “No, Daddy. But thanks for asking.”

  “You get any more checks?”

  “I got one last week, in fact.”

  After their divorce, Christopher paid a total of three child support payments before disappearing. But four months ago, out of the blue, she started getting checks from the division of child support. When she called, all she could find out was that he’d taken a new job and his employer filed his social security number with something called the national new hire reporting database. They’d begun garnisheeing his wages. Becky didn’t expect it to last, but it had been a huge relief to have extra money to put toward some of her frighteningly large credit card balances.

  “If you need money, you’ll let me know, right?”

  How lucky she was to have such a supportive father. Even though he was on the other side of the country, she knew her boys would never go without the basic needs. She could count on him. And she’d never abuse the privilege. “I love you, Daddy.”

  “I love you, too, sweetheart. Don’t forget to say your prayers.”

  SIX

  Scott snapped the lid back on the feed bin, straightened and listened to the sound of rain pelting the barn’s roof. He breathed a deep breath of damp morning air. Both the front and rear doors stood open in an effort to clear out the lingering odor of death that was probably only his imagination.

  He’d swept up the loose dirt beneath the place where Haldeman had lain and covered it with straw. But Sam kept leaving the rug that served as his daytime bed to circle the area, nose to the ground.

  A car pulled into the driveway. Becky’s Chevy. His watch showed a few minutes before eight o’clock. The engine cut off, the driver’s door opened a crack and a blue umbrella popped open above the roof. Becky emerged, the slick canopy only partially shielding her from the driving rain as she made a dash toward the barn. When she stepped beneath the shelter, Sam leaped off his rug and ran to greet her.

  She stopped just inside and bent down to rub the dog’s head. “Hello, Sam.” Her gaze went to the place where Haldeman’s body had lain until the coroner took it to the morgue yesterday afternoon. She looked up at Scott. “I see the police are gone. I hoped they would be.”

  Scott nodded. “They finished up sometime after midnight. They’re coming back this afternoon, though. They want to get your fingerprints.”

  Eyes wide, her hand flew to her chest. “Mine? Why?”

  “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “They found a bunch of prints in the office and out here. They just need to be able to eliminate yours.”

  A vertical crease appeared between her eyebrows. “What if I don’t want them to have my fingerprints?”

  Actually, Scott asked that same question when they came for his. Until yesterday he hadn’t been at the Pasture in months, and he didn’t see the need. But Foster said since he was present at the scene of a crime when law enforcement arrived, they needed his, too. It felt kind of creepy having your fingerprints on file with the state police. “They said they’d call the county attorney and get a warrant if necessary.”

  “Oh.”

  She looked nice today in dress slacks and a pink sweater. He glanced at her shoes. Women’s shoes, not sneakers or boots. Obviously no
t farm attire.

  “You don’t help with the horses much, do you?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Neal never asked me to. I handle pretty much everything in the office. He even turned over the bank account a few weeks ago, so I make the deposits and write checks and all that.” She swallowed convulsively. “Do you need help out here?”

  Scott studied her. She looked frightened. “Are you afraid of horses?”

  “A little,” she admitted. “I’ve never been around them much. They’re so…so big.”

  Scott laughed. “They’re big, all right. And some of them can be temperamental, especially stallions. But they’re also smart and love to have fun. They each have their own personality and quirks, just like people.” He nodded toward the paddocks behind the barn. “You should get to know them, maybe help me take care of them. A lot of people would jump at the chance. We’ve got some real celebrities here.”

  Doubt clouded her features, but she said, “I’m sure you’re right.” Suddenly her face cleared. “Before I forget to tell you, a volunteer group from the university will be here after lunch to help groom them. They come every Friday afternoon.”

  That made sense. The university boasted an equine research center as part of its veterinary medicine program. Scott had instructed student volunteers over at Shady Acres more times than he could count.

  He glanced through the doorway at the dark, heavy sky. “I hope it clears up.” The clouds looked as though they had settled in for a while. He looked back down at Becky. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’m sure Haldeman kept files on each of these horses, with vet records and the like. I want to take a look at them. And if you can find anything else that might help me figure out how things work around here, I’d appreciate it. Oh, and Detective Foster said if you run across anything in the office that might help with their investigation, you’re supposed to call Trooper Whitley. I put his card on the desk inside.”

  Becky glanced toward the house. “Are you going to live in there, like Neal did?”

  Scott had considered the question several times yesterday. Though it wasn’t a bad idea to have someone on-site at night, the thought of moving into Haldeman’s bedroom was not an appealing one. Scott rented a cottage from Mr. Courtney on the far side of Shady Acres, and he’d come to the conclusion that it was close enough. “I don’t think so. Sam and I did okay last night. Oh, yeah.” He snapped his fingers as he remembered a detail the dog certainly had not forgotten. “Could you feed Sam? I didn’t have anything to give him over at my place.”

  Becky’s smile made her eyes shine even in the gloom inside the barn. She was a pretty woman. Sweet and wholesome-looking. When she spoke, affection for the dog warmed her tone. “I always feed Sam when I get to work, while Neal’s out feeding the horses.” She bent again and roughed the yellow fur on the dog’s neck. “Come on, boy. Let’s go get you some breakfast.”

  She nodded in Scott’s direction as she popped her umbrella open. With a quick glance at the menacing sky, she dashed out of the barn and splashed across the wet driveway toward the house, Sam running ahead of her.

  Scott watched until the door closed behind them. What was he thinking, encouraging her to get involved with the horses? If she helped care for them, he’d be forced to spend more time with her.

  Maybe she’d forget his suggestion. Better for everyone if she stayed in the office and let him handle the horses.

  Seated in front of Neal’s two-drawer file cabinet, Becky looked up when the back door opened. Scott stopped just inside the next room to wipe his feet on a tattered but still-serviceable floor mat. Sam leaped off a shabby recliner where he’d been napping and went to greet his new master.

  At least, she assumed Scott had decided to adopt the dog. Becky had been half-ready to suggest that Sam could come home with her. The boys would love to welcome him to the family, and he could still come to work with her every day. But he seemed to like Scott, and she couldn’t afford to feed an extra mouth anyway.

  From the office, which had once been the living room of the old farmhouse, Becky called to him. “I found the files you asked me to pull.”

  Scott appeared in the doorway between the two rooms. He leaned a shoulder against the frame.

  “Thanks. Do you know where Haldeman kept treats for the horses? There aren’t any in the barns.”

  “Sure, they’re in here.”

  He didn’t move as she slid past him in the doorway. The scent of horses clung to him, an earthy, pleasant odor that reminded her of the outdoors. She looked up into his solemn face. He was a lot less jovial than Neal, who had always liked to make wisecracks. And a lot more handsome.

  She led him into the kitchen. “Their favorites are carrots and apples. Neal did live here, of course, so there’s some food that will need to be disposed of.”

  She opened the refrigerator and showed him the nearly empty interior. On the shelves were several take-out containers which had probably been there for weeks, a bag of apples and an unopened half-gallon of milk. “He wasn’t much of a cook.”

  Scott peered inside. “If that milk’s any good, you might as well take it home. Your boys will drink it, no doubt.”

  Becky turned a quick look on him. How did he know about Jamie and Tyler? Had she mentioned them yesterday? No, she didn’t think so. Her pulse quickened as she looked into his dark eyes. Did he ask around about her?

  She tore her gaze away and closed the refrigerator. “Thanks. I’ll do that. We keep treats for the horses here.” She opened one of the cabinets. Inside were a dozen or so bags of peppermint-flavored horse treats. “They prefer carrots, but—”

  From the other room came the sound of the back door slamming. “Hello? Is anyone here?”

  A woman stepped into view. She was model-thin and tall, nearly as tall as Scott. Her artful makeup, tailored skirt, boots and elegant suede jacket with fur trim looked out of place in the dumpy little farmhouse-turned-office. When she caught sight of them, she came into the kitchen. The odor of her sweet, musky perfume filled the room.

  She stopped just inside, her gaze sweeping over Becky, who fiddled with the cross that hung from her neck. Suddenly she felt short and dumpy in her slacks and sweater. Superiority flickered in the woman’s eyes as her chin rose a fraction, and she turned her attention on Scott, dismissing Becky with a flip of shining blond hair.

  Her carefully shaped eyebrows rose as she gave Scott the same once-over. “My, my, my. And who do we have here?”

  Becky almost laughed out loud. Nobody pronounced it ‘he-yah’ like that on purpose. That deep Southern drawl had to be fake, as fake as her tan. Who had a tan like that in April, anyway?

  Scott crossed the room in two steps, his hand extended. “Scott Lewis. I’m taking care of things here at Out to Pasture for a little while.”

  The woman’s movement was smooth, silky, as she took Scott’s hand. Her other arm rose to cover their clasped hands, and her long fingers brushed slowly over Scott’s skin. “I am Kaci Buchanan.” She tilted her head and peered at Scott from the corners of her eyes. “Have we met, Mr. Lewis? Perhaps at the Thoroughbred Club?”

  Becky had to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Judging by the number of syllables the woman got out of each word, she must love hearing her own voice. Every sentence was its own little production. Nobody would fall for that assumed accent.

  Scott shook his head. “I don’t think so. I’m not a member of the Thoroughbred Club. And I’m sure I’d remember if we met somewhere else.”

  “You simply must become a member, darling. Everyone is, you know.” Still clutching his hand, she leaned forward until her face was inches from his. “I’d be honored to sponsor you, given your new position.”

  A smile broke on Scott’s face. “Thank you, Miss Buchanan. That’s very nice of you.”

  “Please call me Kaci. Everyone does.”

  They appeared to have completely forgotten about Becky. She pasted on a pleasant s
mile and took a step forward. “What can we do for you, Kaci? I’m afraid we don’t have any tours scheduled this morning.”

  Arrogance flooded her delicate features as Kaci tore her gaze away from Scott. Apparently, the invitation to use her first name was not extended to Becky. At least she released Scott’s hand, and with a quick glance in Becky’s direction, he shoved it in the back pocket of his jeans.

  “Why, aren’t you the sweetest thing.” Her chilly tone contradicted her words. “But I’ve not come for a tour. Neal gave me one personally.” Her gaze slid back to Scott and a smile flirted with her lips as her tone warmed. “After hours.”

  Amazing. She managed to flirt with one guy at the same time she hinted at an intimate relationship with another. Pink spots appeared on Scott’s ruddy cheeks. Becky bit back a grunt of disgust. Surely he wasn’t taken in by this, this fake Southern belle.

  He cleared his throat. “I suppose you’ve heard about Haldeman?”

  Kaci’s face became mournful. “Simply dreadful. And such a shock.” She lifted a graceful hand to rest at the base of her throat. “Neal and I had a special relationship, you know. When I read the news of his demise in the morning paper…” An elegant and perfectly manicured hand fluttered dramatically around her collarbone.

  Becky didn’t believe her for a minute. She knew Neal dated frequently, and sitting in the same office during the day she couldn’t help but overhear the occasional phone conversation. She had heard him mention the name Kaci, had passed along an occasional message from her for Neal to return her call. But she’d taken messages from many women.

  Kaci apparently recovered enough to continue. “I came by to pay my respects to dear Neal.”

  Becky folded her arms across her chest. “So you won’t be coming to the funeral?”

  Kaci’s smile stiffened, her gaze shifting to Becky. “This is the place he loved. I shall always remember him here, as he was the last time I saw him.”