Bluegrass Peril

by Virginia Smith

“There he is!” Tyler leaped up and ran to the front door, his brother a half second behind him.

  Becky stood at the window, watching as the twins dashed across the yard to the car. Chris got out slowly and closed the door with exaggerated care. Dark glasses obscured his eyes, but even across the distance she saw his grimace as Tyler grabbed his arm.

  How many times had she seen him move like that? About a million. He was hungover.

  Opening the door, Becky stepped out onto the front porch. “Boys, you go on inside. I want to talk to your father for a minute.”

  Strangely subdued, Tyler obeyed without arguing. Jamie looked up at Chris once, then followed his brother past her and into the house.

  Chris sank onto the concrete steps and lowered his head to his hands. “I gotta siddown a minute.”

  The back of his hair had an unbrushed tangle, ends hanging limply down past the collar of his T-shirt. Though fury at his disregard for his sons’ feelings brought angry words to the tip of her tongue, she was surprised to feel the stirrings of compassion. He looked like a miserable wretch.

  She sat down beside him, careful to keep space between them. The smell of sour beer wrinkled her nose. Whether it emanated from his clothes or oozed from his pores, she couldn’t tell.

  “You look terrible.”

  “I feel worse.” He spoke barely above a whisper.

  “Did you have a good time?” Her voice dripped sarcasm which she doubted he heard.

  A pain-filled smile lifted the edges of his lips. “As far as I can remember.”

  Becky shook her head. Thank the Lord she had outgrown that behavior. Maybe one day Chris would, too.

  “I ought to lecture you about disappointing your sons.” He didn’t react at all, and she continued. “But I’ll save that for when you’re completely sober. In the meantime, I want to tell you that I’ve made a decision.”

  He lifted the corner of one hand and tilted his head to peer at her through a bloodshot eye from the side of his sunglasses. “I can tell from your expression. You’re staying here, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you have a good relationship with Tyler and Jamie.” She softened her voice. “But the fact is, I don’t love you. Marrying you again would be just one more big mistake. I’m sorry.”

  He bent double, his head hanging between his knees. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he raised his head. “Yeah, well, I figured that from the way you were looking at your boss the other night.”

  A blush heated her cheeks, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t owe him anything, including an explanation.

  Chris heaved himself to his feet, groaning. “I gotta go. I need a little hair of the dog. Tell the boys I’ll call ’em later.”

  Becky watched him lurch toward his car. Though Jamie and Tyler would be heartbroken, that was much better than letting them spend time around their father in this shape.

  As he slid behind the wheel, she stood. Two little faces, so much like Chris’s but fresh and clean and unpolluted by the harsh life he’d lived, watched her anxiously from the window. She forced a smile, fighting against a sadness that threatened to make her cry. He was their father. As their mother, she always would make sure they were safe, but she couldn’t shield them from him completely. He probably loved them as much as he was able, but they’d just have to get used to being disappointed by him.

  Starting now.

  Scott looked at the sore on Kiri’s flank. Doc Matthews had said it wasn’t ringworm, and he put some ointment on it, but the place hadn’t cleared up. In fact, it looked worse, as if it had become infected.

  Doc, like most everyone who had anything to do with horses, was at Keeneland this last Saturday of the spring races. No chance of getting him out here until Monday.

  But they kept some antibiotic ointment over in the Shady Acres farm office. He could use that for a day or two. Sure wouldn’t hurt, and he had to do something.

  “Come on, Sam.” He whistled for the yellow Lab. “Let’s go across the road.”

  A lone stable boy occupied the Shady Acres barn, seated at a bench in the tack room. Scott heard the tinny notes and rhythmic thump of bass from his headphones, smelled the leather cleaner on the rag he rubbed over a saddle. He jumped like a nervous cat when Scott tapped him on the shoulder.

  He jerked the earphones off his head. “Mr. Lewis, you scared the daylights out of me.”

  Scott grinned and nodded toward his iPod. “You’ll go deaf if you’re not careful, Ben.”

  Ben rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mother.”

  Laughing, Scott left him to finish listening to his song and headed toward the office.

  His keys jangled as he unlocked the windowed office door. Inside, the surface of the desk was littered with files and untidy stacks of paperwork. He crossed to the metal cabinet along the back row and slid the door open. Inside, he scanned across the various bottles and tubes, looking for the one he wanted.

  Not here. Maybe Shady Acres was out of the antibiotic ointment, too.

  One more place to look. The junk drawer. The bottom desk drawer served as repository for everything that either didn’t have a permanent storage place, or that someone didn’t want to take the time to put away. Scott sat in the rolling chair and yanked on the handle.

  Locked. That was odd. They never bothered to lock the desk drawers, because the office stayed locked whenever nobody was in it. Scott sorted through the keys on his ring, grasping the smallest one between his fingers. He slipped it into the lock and opened the drawer.

  What a mess. It was even more full than when he last looked. He pawed through a variety of stuff, pushing aside a stapler, a ball of metal wire, a roll of duct tape. Where was that tube of ointment?

  He’d just about decided he was out of luck when he grabbed a grooming cloth and shoved it to the front of the pile. It unrolled as it moved, uncovering an item that had been wrapped inside.

  Scott’s hand halted. He stared. Blood roared in his ears in rhythm with his pulse.

  A hoof pick.

  Barely breathing, Scott gawked at the tool as his mind raced. Maybe there was a plausible explanation for a hoof pick to be in the junk drawer. Even though it should be in the tack room with the rest of the grooming equipment. Maybe it was broken or something.

  Careful not to touch it, Scott dropped the cloth over the red plastic handle and picked it up. It wasn’t broken. He examined the metal hook closely, almost afraid to find the telltale signs of blood. It was clean, thank goodness. A little too clean, maybe? Shouldn’t there be dirt or something on it?

  Stop it. The boys keep the equipment clean.

  Pulse pounding, he set the tool on the desk. Was this the instrument of Neal Haldeman’s demise?

  Only one other person had keys to this desk. Zach Garrett.

  Scott leaned back in the chair, unable to tear his gaze from the hoof pick. No. He refused to believe it. Zach had been nothing but kind to him since he came to Shady Acres. They didn’t have a lot in common outside of the horses, but he was a nice guy. Not a killer.

  Cold fingers slid up his spine, and the hair on his arms rose. Zach had wanted the temporary job over at the Pasture. He’d been irritated when Lee gave it to Scott. Why would he be eager to walk away from the Shady Acres manager position with the responsibility and staff and all the prestige that went with it?

  Was Zach in cahoots with Haldeman to clone the stallions?

  No. This had to be another misunderstanding, just like the one with Nick Sanders. There had to be an explanation.

  And Scott wanted—no needed—to hear it.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  The ringing of the telephone interrupted their movie.

  “I’ll get it!” Tyler jumped up from the living room floor and ran for the phone in the kitchen.

  “Want me to pause it, Mommy?” Jamie, in control of the remote tonight, held an eager finger above the button.

  “Sure.”


  Becky glanced at the wall clock. A few minutes past six-thirty. About time Chris called. The boys had waited all afternoon. In a blatant effort to soothe their aching feelings, Becky had splurged on a supper of junk food and a movie rental.

  She heard Tyler’s high-pitched, “Hello?” from the kitchen, followed by a pause. “Hi, Mr. Lewis. I’ll get Mommy.”

  Scott calling her? A sudden attack of nerves made her want to giggle, but she bit it back. She’d itched all day long to call him, to tell him about her decision. But what would he think? That she was chasing him? That she was man-hungry? Images of the tall, gorgeous Kaci Buchanan taunted her and kept her from picking up the phone.

  But now he was calling her.

  “Go ahead and press Play,” she told Jamie. “I’ll catch up with the movie in a minute.”

  She intercepted Tyler in the doorway and took the phone from him. He scooted past her, grabbed a handful of chips from the bag on the coffee table and returned to his place on the floor in front of the television.

  “Hello?”

  “Becky, it’s Scott.” His voice sounded odd, tight.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know. I found something.”

  She sank into a chair, listening with growing disbelief as he described his discovery in the office at Shady Acres.

  “So you called the police, right?” Her voice came out in a squeak, and she lowered it. “Please tell me you called the police.”

  “Not yet. I have to talk to him, Becky. I’ve been falsely accused before, and I won’t do that to anyone else. I’ve worked with Zach for almost a year now, and I owe him that.”

  “You don’t owe him a thing if he killed Neal.” She hissed the last words, glancing toward the doorway to make sure the twins were still in the living room. “And don’t forget that bookie. Two people are dead, Scott. If he’s responsible, he might come after you, too.”

  “That’s why I called you. I don’t want to go over there without someone knowing where I am. I’m sorry to pull you into this, but I didn’t think I should call Lee. Zach might have a perfectly logical explanation for that hoof pick, and then he won’t thank me for calling his boss.”

  Her insides clenched into a knot. She wanted to scream at him, would have, if the boys hadn’t been in the other room. “Scott, this is a mistake.” She let a note of unabashed pleading saturate her tone. “Please call the police.”

  He ignored her. “It’s six-thirty now. I’m at my house, and I can see his place from here. It’s dark. I know he went to Keeneland today, but he should be home soon. I want you to do me a favor.” He paused. “If you don’t hear from me by eight o’clock, call the police.”

  His tone chilled her to the bone. “Scott, I’m afraid. Please don’t do this.”

  “I’ll be fine. Promise me you won’t call the cops before eight, okay?”

  She hesitated. “I don’t think—”

  “Please, Becky. I’m counting on you.”

  She couldn’t think straight. Her gut screamed No, but he was counting on her. She couldn’t deny him. She heaved a loud sigh into the phone, another indication to him that she was going against her better judgment. “Okay, I promise not to call the police until eight o’clock. But the moment that second hand hits—”

  “You won’t have to. I’ll be in touch before then.” Relief made his voice sound almost normal. “One other thing. Say a prayer for me, okay?”

  Her hand trembled so violently the phone slipped away from her ear. “I will. Please be careful.”

  The line went dead. Becky sat at the kitchen table, her heart pounding. He should not do this alone. If Zach Garrett killed Neal and that bookie, he was a dangerous man. Scott was too trusting. He needed someone else with him, someone to make him see reason. If only she had a babysitter she could leave the boys with on short notice.

  After Tuesday night, she wouldn’t dare ask Amber. What about…

  No. She would not call Chris. He’d said something about “hair of the dog,” which meant he was probably drunk again tonight.

  Her hands balled into fists, and she pounded on the table. Oh, how she hated this helpless feeling!

  Lord, please keep Scott safe.

  The doorbell rang. Becky’s teeth clamped together, her jaw tightening with frustration. She did not have the patience to deal with Christopher tonight. And if he thought he was going to come around the boys if he’d been drinking, he had another think coming. She’d just have to send him away, that’s all. Tyler and Jamie wouldn’t understand, but—

  Jamie’s excited voice pierced the air. “Grandpa!”

  Becky’s head jerked upward. Daddy, here?

  She leaped up from the chair and ran into the living room. Each twin had hold of one of Daddy’s hands, and both hopped like overinflated basketballs, squealing their excitement. Becky threw her arms around her father’s neck and hugged for all she was worth.

  “I’m so glad to see you.” Her voice came out choked. She pulled back and looked at him through pools of tears. “What are you doing here?”

  He gave her a stern look. “I caught a 6:00 a.m. flight out of LAX, and it cost me a fortune. I’m here to make sure you don’t repeat the biggest mistake of your life.”

  She hugged him again, laughing. “Thank you. Oh, thank you, Daddy.” She straightened. “And you’re just in time. I desperately need a babysitter!”

  Becky pulled her car into the dirt driveway behind Scott’s pickup. She cut the engine and sat with her hands clutching the steering wheel. A chorus of crickets sang a peaceful counterpoint to her twanging nerves. When Scott saw her on his front stoop, he’d think she was no better than Kaci, blatantly chasing after him. Either that, or he’d be irritated with her.

  Too bad. There was no way she intended to let him face a possible killer alone. Steeling herself, she dropped her keys in her purse and stepped out into the cool night air.

  The door jerked open when she raised her hand to knock. Judging by the annoyance on his face, he’d chosen the second reaction.

  “What are you doing here?” His gaze searched the car behind her. “You didn’t bring the boys, did you?”

  “Of course not.” She drew herself up. “I came to help you. You can’t confront Zach by yourself.”

  The cleft in his chin deepened as his lips tightened. “I certainly can, and I will.”

  “Scott, be reasonable.” Becky adjusted the purse strap on her shoulder. “If there are two of us, he’s less likely to try anything.”

  The next instant, Becky found herself jerked roughly through the door. Scott’s fingers bit into her arm as he pulled her to one side and slammed the door shut. He released her, crossed to a window and pulled back a curtain to peek through it.

  “He’s home. I don’t want him to see you.”

  She couldn’t help looking around the tiny room curiously even as she asked, “Why not?” A plain three-cushion sofa, a coffee table and a small television on a cheap metal stand were the only furnishings. Very sparse. Very male.

  Scott wasn’t watching her. He had his eye up to the crack in the curtains and spoke without turning. “Because if it turns out he’s responsible for Haldeman’s death, I’d just as soon he not know you’re involved.” He whirled to face her. “I want you to go home.”

  She folded her arms and said, “Not a chance.”

  “But who will call the police if something happens to me?” His stare became suspicious. “You didn’t call them before you came, did you?”

  Becky returned his stare. “Of course not. I promised, didn’t I?”

  He peeked out the window. “He’s leaving again.” The irritated look he turned her way would have made her flinch if she hadn’t been trying so hard to look stubborn. “I’m going to miss my chance to talk to him.”

  An idea sparked. “Let’s follow him. Maybe he’s going to grab a bite to eat or something. It’ll be much safer if you confront him in a public place.”

  Scott’s f
orehead wrinkled as he considered her suggestion. “Well…”

  “Come on!” She grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the door. “He’ll get away from us if we don’t hurry. I’ll drive.”

  Scott jerked his arm away. “Why should you drive?”

  She smiled sweetly. “Because I’m parked behind you.”

  Scott’s fingers cramped from his tight grip on the armrest of Becky’s car. “He turned right. Past that white truck.”

  She took her gaze off the road to glance his way. “I saw him.”

  He had to admit, she’d done a good job of following Zach’s car on the fifteen-minute drive to Lexington, never losing sight of his taillights, but staying far enough back that he wouldn’t notice. Once they hit the city limits they got a little closer. But instead of going to a restaurant, as Scott hoped, Zach seemed to be going to someone’s house. The car was winding through the quiet streets of a sprawling neighborhood. Not a lot of traffic here to hide them.

  “There.” His finger left a smudge on the windshield. “He pulled into a driveway. Don’t get close to the house.”

  “I won’t.”

  Becky pulled the car over to the side of the road and cut the lights. Enough cars were parked up and down this residential street that theirs should go unnoticed. They watched as Zach got out of his car and went inside the house without knocking.

  “I can’t follow him in there. What if he’s on a date or something?” Scott’s hands knotted into fists. “If you hadn’t showed up, I could have confronted him at home, before he took off again.”

  Becky caught him in a sideways look. “If you hadn’t been so mule-headed about talking to him, the police would be doing this instead of us.”

  He turned away from her piercing gaze. Unexpectedly, his lips twitched. They were snapping at each other like old friends. He swallowed convulsively. Or sweethearts. His smile faded. Which they definitely were not.

  He unclipped the cell phone from his belt. “As long as we’re here, I’m going to sneak up there and have a look through the back windows.”