Bluegrass Peril

by Virginia Smith

  Scott nodded, his face full of sympathy, which made Becky’s fingers dig into her arms. Puh-lease! “You’re welcome to walk around the farm, see the horses again if you like.”

  She gave a short laugh and gestured toward her fancy leather boots. “Not dressed like this, darling. No, I’m heading to the track right now, where I can shelter from the weather in Mother’s box.” She half turned toward the door, and then stopped. “While I’m thinking of it, I left an item here not long ago. A personal item. I’d like to have it back.”

  Aha. Becky studied her through narrowed eyelids. The real reason for this visit had emerged. “And what might that be?”

  “An earring.” She shot a coy glance toward Scott. “I know just where it is. If you don’t mind?”

  Without waiting for permission she turned and went through the doorway toward the television room.

  Becky speared Scott with an open-eyed glance. “Stop her,” she hissed.

  He held out his hands, confused. “Why? If she left something here, she has every right to get it back.”

  Becky gave him an incredulous look as she brushed past him on the way down the hallway. “The police might like to know about whatever it is.”

  He followed her, and found Kaci bending gracefully over the sagging sofa, her hand shoved into the crack behind the cushion.

  “There it is.” She straightened and rose in a smooth motion, her hand held out for their inspection. Resting in her palm was a large diamond earring. The way the stone sparkled in the room’s dull light told Becky it was not an imitation.

  “I can see why you’d want to get that back.” Scott spoke to Kaci, but leveled a triumphant look on Becky.

  “They were a gift. When I got home from my last visit and realized I was only wearing one, I knew it must have fallen out.” Kaci practically purred as she gazed at the diamond. Then she closed her fingers around it. “I’d best run along. You will consider the Club, now, won’t you, darling?”

  She flounced out of the room. Scott grinned at Becky and lifted a shoulder before following. His amused expression soothed her feathers a little. Maybe he hadn’t been taken in by the flirty floozie after all. Becky stood inside, watching through the window as he gallantly opened the car door. With a new wave of disgust she noticed that Kaci drove a gorgeous BMW convertible.

  Kaci fluttered her fingers at Scott as she backed out of the driveway. Becky didn’t wait for him to come back inside, but went into the office. He arrived as she lifted the remaining file folders out of the cabinet and deposited them with the others on Neal’s desk.

  “You didn’t like her very much.”

  His dry tone made her turn a sharp look his way. A denial rose to her lips, but she bit it back. No sense lying. “I’m not crazy about fakes in any form.”

  His brows drew together. “Fakes? Do you know who that was? Kaci Buchanan is the daughter of Francine Buchanan, one of the richest and most influential horse breeders in the industry. She’s not a fake. Kaci’s the real deal.”

  “Oh, I don’t mean the money.” Becky twisted her lips. “You can’t fake that. I mean her—the accent, the attitude. And especially her excuse for coming here.” Becky thrust her chin in the air and imitated the Southern drawl. “Oh, darling, I want to remember dear Neal in the place he loved.” She blew a raspberry. “Not likely. She was here to get that earring before the police found it and started asking questions about its owner.”

  Scott threw back his head and laughed. “Are you sure you’re not the tiniest bit jealous?”

  Becky drew herself up, outraged. “Jealous of what? Her money?”

  She turned her back on him and reached down to straighten the pile of folders. Jealous? Of a society brat? Not a chance.

  But when she remembered Kaci’s arrogance as her gaze swept over her, her face heated with remembered shame. Kaci had probably never bought a pair of pants at Wal-Mart in her life. She probably didn’t even have to pay for her own clothes, or her car, or anything. She definitely had never searched the couch cushions for change to buy gasoline.

  And the way she flirted so blatantly. Even worse, Scott seemed to actually enjoy the attention, in a detached, amused sort of way.

  Jealous? Okay, maybe a little.

  She faced Scott. “I’m prepared to concede that I might have felt a touch of jealousy. But you have to admit, her whole attitude was strange.”

  “How so?”

  “If she and Neal had a ‘special relationship,’ she sure didn’t seem very upset by his death, did she?”

  He considered that, then shook his head. “She didn’t seem grief-stricken.”

  “As I said, she came here today for one reason only. To get that earring.”

  Scott’s forehead dipped forward. “Granted. But you can’t blame her for wanting it back. That diamond had to be worth a small fortune. She must have been frantic to recover it.”

  Becky wasn’t buying that. “First of all, she doesn’t look like the kind who’d be worried over the cost of an earring, no matter what it’s worth. No, either she has some reason for not wanting the police to know she’s been here recently, or she left that earring here on purpose.”

  “You mean so she had an excuse to come back and see Haldeman again.”

  Becky relaxed. At least he wasn’t too trusting to spot manipulative behavior. “Exactly. She went straight to it, which can only mean she planted it there.”

  Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “She’s a conniving female, I’ll give you that. But she wouldn’t be the first to pull that stunt. There’s nothing of any possible interest to the police.”

  “Maybe.” Becky shoved the top drawer on the file cabinet closed and crossed the room to her desk. “But did you see her shoes?”

  “Boots,” he corrected. “And what about them?”

  She slid into her chair, picked up a piece of mail and caught his gaze across the room. “They had high, narrow heels.”

  SEVEN

  Scott had already started grooming Dark Diego when the students from the university showed up. The dark clouds had emptied themselves out midmorning, and the sun shining overhead had dried the horses enough that they could be groomed. His helpers, three girls and a guy, already knew about Haldeman’s death when they arrived.

  “I just can’t believe it.”

  Scott lifted his head to look toward the place where the four were perched on the fence, arms dangling over the top plank, while he ran the currycomb gently over Diego’s back.

  The pretty brunette, who introduced herself as Patti, shook her head. “I mean, last week he was totally fine.”

  The boy beside her, Mike, gave her a sideways glance. “He was killed. It’s not like you’d be able to see it coming last Friday.” He turned toward Scott. “And you saw the body?”

  His expression begged for details, but Scott refused to feed the kid’s morbid curiosity. He ran the comb over the stallion’s flank. “Yeah.”

  “So, was there, like, blood and gore?”

  “Mike, you’re disgusting.” Rachel looked at Scott. “I’m going to miss Mr. Haldeman. He really loved these horses.”

  “I know he did.” Scott gave the chestnut’s hair a final swipe with the currycomb. “Could you hand me the dandy brush, please?” He pointed toward the pouch hanging on a fence post.

  Patti dug out the brush and passed it over the fence. Scott stepped back up to Diego’s head and started at the top of his neck. As he flicked the brush expertly, Diego’s eyelids half closed, and his lower lip quivered with pleasure.

  “He likes this,” Scott said.

  The third girl, Teri, agreed. “Yeah, Diego loves it. Not like Alidor over there.”

  Scott glanced at the next paddock where Alidor grazed near his run-in shack. “A bit feisty, is he?”

  All four nodded. “Mr. Haldeman didn’t let us mess with him much,” said Mike. “Not unless Alidor was in a real good mood.”

  “But we can groom the others,” said Patti. “Do you want us
to get started?”

  Scott looked at their eager faces. Actually, he preferred to groom all the stallions himself, at least this first time. That way they’d have an opportunity to get used to him, and he’d be able to do a quick checkup on each of them. On the other hand, if the horses were accustomed to having these four around they might appreciate seeing someone familiar in Haldeman’s absence.

  “Sure, go ahead. I’ll come around and give you a hand so I can check each one out.”

  With a nod they hopped off the fence and headed toward the barn. Their voices faded as they rounded the corner and disappeared inside. Scott went over Diego with the dandy brush and then swapped it for a body brush. The stallion stood with his ears perked forward, obviously enjoying himself.

  He’d read Diego’s file this morning. The stallion was something of a legend in the Florida racing circuit, having fathered more than five hundred stakes winners. An impressive record, and by far the most successful in terms of his career as a stud, though his lifetime earnings as a racer didn’t come close to that of some of the horses at the Pasture.

  Scott laughed at the horse’s delight as the soft-bristled brush caressed his forelock. “Yeah, this is the life, isn’t it? You’ve got a big space to run, tender spring grass, an automatic waterer, someone to bring your food every morning and night, and you get groomed every week to boot.” He ran the brush over the horse’s face with a slow, careful motion. “That’s what retirement is all about, huh, boy?”

  As Diego’s ears flicked forward, Scott caught sight of a spot on his left ear. He lowered the brush and reached up with his other hand to touch an irregular place along the edge. Diego tossed his head away when Scott’s fingers touched it. There was a nick along the edge, healed up but not scarred over.

  “What’d you do to yourself, Diego? Get in a fight?”

  No telling how old the cut was, but it wasn’t fresh. The stallion probably cut it rubbing his head against the ground or something. Judging by the amount of dirt caked under his hair, Diego enjoyed a good roll.

  “Hey, Mr. Lewis.”

  Scott looked up to see Mike coming out of the barn, grooming tools in his hands. The girls followed, and two of them peeled off to head in the direction of Gadsby’s paddock. Rachel followed Mike toward him.

  “Any idea where the other hoof pick went?”

  Scott nodded toward the bag hanging on the fence post. “There’s one in there. Just let me finish up with Diego here and you can have it.”

  A polishing rag in her hand, Rachel shook her head. “No, he means the other one. There should be three, but one seems to be missing.”

  Scott’s hand stopped halfway through a brush swipe. The fine hair at the base of his scalp prickled. Foster said he should be sure to let him know if anything came up missing. Of course, Scott wouldn’t have any idea what might be missing from the Pasture’s barn, because he didn’t spend any time there. But these kids did.

  He pulled the bag off the fence post and dumped the contents onto the ground. One hoof pick. He grabbed it and held it up.

  “Is this the one you’re looking for?”

  Mike shrugged. “It’ll do as well as any of them. But Rachel’s right. Mr. Haldeman kept three sets of grooming tools on that workbench in the barn, and—” The young man gasped as he realized the implication of the missing tool. “Do you think somebody used a hoof pick to kill Mr. Haldeman?”

  Staring with horror at the pick in Scott’s hand, Rachel looked a little green around the gills. Scott turned the tool over and examined the business end. The metal point was sharp, but not razor sharp. It wouldn’t be easy to kill a man with this.

  An image of Haldeman’s body rose unbidden in Scott’s mind. Those gashes on his chest had been ragged and wide. Ugly. Not clean punctures or slashes that a sharp knife would make. And his neck had been covered in blood. So much blood. Scott hadn’t seen details, hadn’t wanted to see details, but it was possible a hoof pick could gouge a man’s throat.

  The hand holding the hoof pick trembled. Rachel gave a strangled cry and turned away, while Mike’s eyes were round as doughnuts.

  “I think I’d better call the police,” Scott said.

  Becky finished totaling up the bank deposit and double-checked her numbers. Two days’ worth of correspondence opened and dealt with, finally. It had taken her most of the morning. The phone wouldn’t stop ringing, people calling to offer their condolences after reading the article in the Lexington Herald-Leader. Finally, she’d recorded a generic message and let the machine pick up the calls.

  The mail had yielded a few small donations from individuals, as usual, and one five-hundred-dollar check from a man who’d taken the tour three weeks ago. Neal would be pleased with—

  Becky’s hand froze in the act of setting down the pen. She closed her eyes and let the fact of Neal’s death sweep over her again. Hard to believe he wouldn’t be coming through the door any minute, whistling in that tuneless way of his as he crossed toward the kitchen to get his afternoon cup of coffee. Though Becky didn’t drink coffee herself, she’d made a fresh pot at lunchtime. Habit. Maybe Scott would want a cup.

  Through the back door she saw a police car pull into view and park beside Scott’s pickup. They’d finally come to get her fingerprints. She pressed her lips tight. She intended to tell those people what she thought about them leaving fingerprint powder all over the office for her to clean up. And no matter what Scott thought, she’d tell them about Kaci Buchanan’s visit this morning, too.

  Jeff got out from behind the wheel, and Detective Foster stood on the opposite side of the car. But instead of coming into the office they walked toward the barn. She slipped the deposit into the desk drawer and then crossed the room to look out the window. Scott and all four university students came out of the barn and stood talking to them. The kids looked excited about something.

  Curiosity drove her through the door. She approached the group in time to hear Rachel say, “There are always three hoof picks. We do three horses at a time.”

  Foster glanced at Jeff, who opened his leather notebook and slipped the pen from beneath the metal clip. “Can you describe the missing tool?”

  “Yeah,” said Mike. “It looks just like the other two. Hold on a sec.” The kid dashed into the barn and returned in a moment with a tool in his hand. “Exactly like this one.”

  A tool missing? Becky looked at the instrument in Mike’s hand. A red plastic looped handle held a curved shaft of metal that tapered to a point. Was something like this used to kill Neal? It didn’t look all that sharp, but somehow that made it an even more wicked-looking weapon.

  Foster took the hoof pick from Mike and turned it over in his hand. He spoke Becky’s thoughts. “It isn’t very sharp.”

  He and Jeff exchanged a glance. Watching them, Becky realized the two had expected a dull instrument like this one. Her throat constricted, trying not to think about the damage that point could inflict.

  “When was the last time you saw all three hoof picks?” Jeff’s glance swept the four kids.

  “Friday,” said Teri without hesitation, and the others nodded. “Our group comes every Friday afternoon.”

  “Six of us,” put in Patti. “Because there are three sets of grooming tools. Last week Kelly and Josh came, but they couldn’t come today.”

  Jeff looked at Scott. “Could it be misplaced?”

  Scott shook his head. “We combed that barn after we called you. They’re not sure if a polishing rag is missing or not, but they all insist the tools are kept on the workbench.”

  “It was there last week.” Mike’s expression became stubborn. “We used all three, and we always clean them and put them back. And they’re always there the next Friday.”

  Becky remembered something Neal said earlier in the week, something about…

  “Bull!”

  They all looked at her. Foster’s eyebrows arched. “I beg your pardon?”

  She gave an embarrassed laugh. “Bulldozer Bucka
roo. He’s one of the stallions, and Neal sometimes grooms him during the week. I think he did this week, on Tuesday. He came into the office at lunchtime talking about…” She closed her eyes, trying to remember Neal’s exact words. “He said Bull had been rolling in the mud again. He said he thought Bull did it on purpose, because he liked being groomed.”

  “So you think he used the hoof pick on Tuesday and didn’t put it back?” Patti asked.

  “I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Not likely.” Mike’s eyebrows drew together. “Why would he put all the brushes back where they belong but put the hoof pick somewhere else? That doesn’t make sense.”

  Becky agreed. Neal wasn’t exactly the most organized man she’d ever known, but it didn’t seem likely he’d put all but one of the tools back in place.

  Scott rubbed his chin with a finger, his expression pensive. “Maybe it got broken, or maybe he dropped it on the way to or from Bull’s paddock.”

  Mike seemed determined to prove the hoof pick as the murder weapon. “Then he would have bought another one.” He swung toward Becky. “Did he?”

  “No.” She spoke with confidence. “He would have asked me to do that, and he didn’t.”

  The detective nodded slowly, then held Scott’s gaze. “You’ll look around for it? Let us know if you find anything?” Scott nodded. “In the meantime, may we have this one? I’d like to show it to the coroner.”

  Scott lifted a shoulder. “Of course.” He switched his gaze to Mike. “Could you run over to Shady Acres and ask Mr. Garrett if we can borrow a couple of hoof picks for the afternoon?” Mike nodded. “And Becky, do you think you could pick up a couple of replacements?”

  “Sure.” She’d stop by the tack and feed store when she made the bank deposit.

  Jeff slid his pen beneath the clip and snapped his notebook closed. He looked at her. “We need to get some prints from you.”

  His expression held a hint of apprehension, as though he was afraid she’d put up a fuss. Truthfully, Becky had considered it after the mess they’d left in the office. But if having her fingerprints helped them catch Neal’s killer, she wasn’t going to argue about it. “Okay, let’s get it over with.”