The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3

by Michele Scott

  "Look, I apologize. I believe you, okay? And, because of that, I'm not letting you stay here alone."

  "I'm not alone. I've got Camden."

  He shook his head. "She'll do you a helluva lot a good now, won't she? What's she going to do if some maniac comes through your door? Throw a pair of stilettos at him?"

  Michaela couldn't help but smile. He had a point. "I got Cocoa here."

  "Uh-huh. You'd have better luck with your margarita-drinking, high-heeled, society-wannabe pal at your side than that old girl."

  "That's not nice."

  He shrugged.

  "I don't need you staying here. You'd drive me crazy and Camden would drive you crazy and the next thing you know we'll all be snapping at each other. Not a good idea."

  "Stubborn and foolish. That's the way you've always been."

  "Look who's talking."

  "I'll stay out here in the tack room, keep an eye on the colt, and if any trouble happens to come your way, I'll be within screaming distance. Just be sure to do one of those horror film-types, you know, a Fay Wray scream, and that way I'll know you're not joking."

  She had to admit that having Ethan close by would be a comfort. No. She wavered for a second. She'd learned the hard way that men were not dependable. But, Ethan was different. They'd known each other since before they could each ride a bike, much less a horse. Was he really different, though? He was the same man— supposedly her closest pal— who'd taken off less than a month ago on a river-rafting trip without telling her or calling her while away. What had he been up to, alone on that trip?

  "You can't sleep in the tack room. It's not exactly comfortable."

  "In case you hadn't noticed, I don't need a five-star hotel. I just slept on the ground in a pitched tent for weeks, Mick. I think a cot in the tack room would suffice. Besides, half the time I'm woken up in the middle of the night to take calls."

  She started to reply, but the sound of a car door closing sounded outside the barn. Detective Davis entered the breezeway. "Ms. Bancroft?"

  "Hello, Detective."

  He walked toward them. "Good evening, Mr. Slater."

  Michaela glanced at Ethan. Davis must've already spoken with him. Was he a suspect?

  Ethan nodded. "Evening." He turned to Michaela. "I'm going to grab a few things, and I'll be back."

  "Don't worry about it. You needn't come back. We'll be fine."

  "Stubborn." He shook a finger at her. "I will be back. If for nothing other than to make sure Leo is doing okay."

  "Where is your stuff anyway?" Michaela asked, curious about where Ethan had been staying since he'd returned.

  He hesitated. "Summer's place."

  Before she could respond, Ethan hurried out. Summer's place? His ex-fiancé? The same Summer who stood him up at the altar a few months ago? The one he'd been loyal to and had even gotten her the job at Uncle Lou's as his accountant? Oh boy, did they have something to discuss when he returned! She'd surely give him a piece of her mind.

  "Ms. Bancroft," Davis said. "Do you want to tell me what happened here?"

  "It's okay, you can call me Michaela. Why don't we go on into the house?" She rubbed her arms. "I'm cold. I can fix us some tea or coffee."

  "That would be fine. But before we do that, you said something about a pitchfork being in one place and then not being there later?"

  "That's right. Follow me." She led him to the tack room. "I needed to go over to the horse trailer and see if I had any more bran for my colt, and when I came back the pitchfork, which had been right here, was gone. I did notice my dog seemed to be bothered by something outside the barn. I figured it was a rabbit."

  "But the dog didn't bark?"

  "No."

  Davis nodded. "Okay. Why don't you show me around and we'll see if anything else looks out of place. Let's retrace your path as far as when you first came in to the tack room and spotted the pitchfork."

  "Sure." She walked him through everything from the moment she'd entered the barn.

  "You've got quite a crew here." He nodded down the aisle of stalls at the horses. The more curious ones peeked their heads out at the newcomer.

  "They're my life. Keep me sane. Horses are good for the soul, you know." She'd remembered Uncle Lou often telling her those exact words from the time she was a child. He'd been right. "They're constant. There for you. Always."

  "I can see that."

  "Do you ride?"

  "Me?" He laughed. "Hardly. Once, actually."

  "Where was that?"

  He stopped for a minute and shoved his hands in his pockets, kind of looking away from her. "Uh, Barbados."

  "Barbados?"

  "Yeah. One of those expeditions, you know, trail rides."

  "But in Barbados?"

  He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "My... honeymoon. I was on my honeymoon."

  "Oh, right. Honeymoon. How nice."

  They walked outside and headed toward the horse trailer about fifty feet away. Michaela squinted her eyes as they neared, then gasped. "Do you see that?" She reached out to touch the pitchfork leaning against the horse trailer, its metal spikes shining reflectively from a beam of light showering down off the top of the barn.

  Davis grabbed her hand. "No. Don't touch it. I need to have it dusted for fingerprints."

  "Sorry." She pulled her hand away and for some odd reason felt heat rise to her face, obviously angry over her faux pas. Or was it? For a brief second she couldn't help feel Davis's grip sending something electric through her. She took a step back, suddenly a bit dizzy. Her feelings had nothing to do with Davis, she reassured herself. Instead, it was the realization that somebody had been on her property and had either been playing a cruel joke on her, or had intentionally planned to do her harm. Yeah, that's all it was.

  Michaela sat down on the step. The sadness she'd felt earlier still lingered, but now shared space with an overwhelming sense of fear.

  "You okay?" Davis asked, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his coat pocket.

  "Tired. That's all." Michaela noticed, as he slid the gloves over his hands, that he wasn't wearing a wedding ring. Huh? What about that honeymoon in Barbados... ? Lord! What was wrong with her? Why in the world did she care if this guy was married or not? He was the detective on her uncle's murder case, for heaven's sakes, and now he was checking out a threat on her property.

  He bent down next to the pitchfork and picked up a wrapper, holding it up to the light.

  "What is it?" Michaela asked.

  "A wrapper for chewing tobacco," he replied.

  "Chewing tobacco?"

  "Yep." He took another small plastic bag from his coat pocket and placed the wrapper in it

  "Anyone you know around here chew tobacco?"

  "No."

  "Maybe Dr. Slater?"

  "Definitely not." She stood up.

  "Okay. I'll take it with me, too. Doubt it will tell us much, but you never know."

  "So where do you think it might have come from?"

  She shook her head. "That I don't know. It makes sense that whoever moved the pitchfork might have been the one to leave the tobacco wrapper. But that doesn't seem too smart to throw it down."

  "No." He sighed. "But it could have dropped out of someone's pocket and they might not have seen it."

  "Makes sense." Michaela felt a shiver run down her spine with the repeat thought that someone might have been watching her from outside the barn while she fed and took care of the horses, waiting for a deliberate moment to do something to spook her. Or, what if that person had planned to do something more than spook her, but had gotten scared when Ethan pulled in? She didn't like this at all. "Do you think whoever was trying to frighten me— which, I assume, is what someone was trying to do— could also be my uncle's murderer?"

  "I don't know. But can you think of anyone you and your uncle knew that might have some type of, uh... well, is there anyone out there who might want to get even with you for something?

 
; She sighed and nodded."Maybe I do. Let me pour you that cup of tea. This might take a while."

  SEVEN

  MICHAELA HADN'T THOUGHT ABOUT IT UNTIL Detective Davis mentioned the possibility of revenge. And, it clicked that maybe there was one person out there who wanted to get even with both her and Uncle Lou. The thing was, she knew how this might sound, because she knew exactly how it sounded to herself— not good.

  Davis sat at her kitchen table sipping his tea. Camden still wasn't home. Where the heck was she? Must still be out with Kevin Tanner. Hadn't she told her last night they were spending the day together? Looked like day had turned into night. Camden sure was spending a lot of time with him lately.

  She sat down across from Davis. He twisted the mug back and forth between his hands. "Good tea."

  "Thanks." She took a sip and it warmed her insides. "Here." She opened the top of the cookie jar that sat on the table. "They're not homemade— Oreos. Kind of a vice for me."

  He smiled. It was a nice, warm smile. Comforting. "I have a sweet tooth, too. I better not, though. Ms. Bancroft, you said that there was someone who might have something against you and your uncle."

  "Please, like I said, you can call me Michaela," she interrupted.

  "Okay, Michaela, who are you thinking of?"

  She leaned back in the wooden chair. "Possibly my soon-to-be ex-husband."

  "Really? Why is that?"

  "Brad is a cheat and a liar. Something my uncle Lou always knew and tried to warn me about. But, you know the saying: 'Love is... '"

  "Blind." He finished the sentence for her.

  "Right. Brad and I were married for nine years. We married young. I was right out of college, and there were some good times— a few, maybe." She forced a smile, trying to convince herself of this as much as she was Davis. "But then Brad became really involved in the rodeo circuit."

  "Aren't you as well?"

  "No. When we were married, I would go to the rodeos, and I still like to go and watch the big National Finals Rodeo held out in Vegas each year. I did use to run barrels as a kid."

  "Run barrels?"

  "Sure. It's a blast. Your horse running all out and rounding the barrels in a cloverleaf pattern. You know, barrel racing."

  "Oh yeah, yeah. I got it. I've seen that before on TV."

  She smiled. "I'm sure you have. Anyway, it's my favorite event to watch at the rodeo. In fact, the NFR starts this weekend, and I'd planned to drive out with my roommate, but now that seems wrong to do, considering what's just happened with my uncle."

  Davis shifted in the chair. "I understand. Why would your ex be seeking revenge?"

  "Like I said, this might take some time to fill in all the holes."

  "I've got time." He leaned back in his chair, his blue eyes trained on her.

  "Brad rides bulls. Or he did, anyway."

  "A bull rider?"

  "Yeah, I know, don't say it. Everyone does; you don't look like the kind of girl who would marry a bull rider."

  "The thought crossed my mind."

  "Well, when we met, bull riding wasn't his thing. He was more into the working cow horse events. But he got the bug. Someone dared him and the fool took the dare. He started riding broncs, and then onto the bulls because the money was great and he got hooked on the adrenaline rush. It also didn't help that he was good at it. Then, he got hurt, broke his hip, and I nursed him back to health. He had a few surgeries, and although he couldn't compete any longer, because it was too painful, it didn't stop him from wanting to go out on the circuit."

  "He enjoyed the lifestyle," Davis suggested.

  Michaela nodded. "The problem was, or I should say, is, that the money he'd earned, he blew partying on the circuit with his pals. I tried to salvage the marriage. I wanted children."

  "He didn't?"

  "Brad said that he did, promised me he'd be around more and help me grow my business, and that we could start a family. He tried to convince me that it was good for him to be out and about with his buddies, that they were all spreading the word about what a great trainer I was. Even though I don't train horses for rodeo-type events other than some barrel racing, there is quite a bit of crossover communication in the horse world. Plenty, actually, especially because most of us in this part of the industry ride quarter horses." Davis raised his brow and shrugged, and Michaela continued. "A quarter horse is a really great breed— stocky, athletic, good-natured, they tend to be of sound mind, and intelligent. I guess you could say that they're kind of the Labradors of horses, if that makes sense to you." He nodded. "They're a versatile breed. I love working with them."

  "Your ex didn't exactly go around touting you as the brilliant trainer, I take it?"

  "No. He was too busy with other things."

  "And, you put up with that?"

  A wave of shame swept through her. She had put up with it. "I did, but in my defense as I said, love is blind, or in this case plain stupid. I wanted to believe him and I really wanted kids. He did get me a couple of clients, and that kept me hooked into thinking that he was sort of a manager— the good husband doing his part to bring in the business. Stupid, I know."

  "We all want to believe the best in people, I don't think that's stupid at all." In spite of himself, he took a cookie from the jar, bit into it, and set it down. It left a crumb on the side of his mouth. "You don't have any kids, then?"

  "No." She didn't want to go there. It wasn't necessary. He just needed to know the facts, and why Brad would have the need to see her uncle dead... maybe even her. She couldn't imagine him actually doing it, but one never really knew a person. And, after nine years with Brad, she'd discovered that she hadn't really known him at all. But Uncle Lou had him pegged from the get-go. Why hadn't she listened to him?

  "With Brad out promoting me, and me supporting him, my uncle Lou became even more wary of him. He didn't trust him. He never thought he was good enough for me, but he'd kept that to himself after I finally told him to drop it." Michaela took a sip of her tea before going on. Cocoa padded over to her, her tail wagging. She reached down to scratch the dog's head.

  "Beautiful dog."

  "Thank you. She's an old girl, but like tonight, she's obviously still got it, still alert— sometimes."

  "I've got a feeling that your uncle may have stopped talking about your ex, but he did something else to prove his point."

  "He did. First, he decided to play by my rules and give Brad the benefit of the doubt. He gave him a job at his ranch, helping out with the artificial insemination program my uncle started a few years ago. But, Brad took advantage of the fact that Uncle Lou was family, and it didn't take long before he came and went as he pleased. He also thought the job was beneath him."

  "Why is that?"

  Michaela felt heat rise to her cheeks. "Well, even though the program Uncle Lou ran was a breeding program, as I said, it was artificial insemination, and someone needed to collect the..."

  Davis held up his palms. "Say no more. Brad was the collector?"

  "Yes, but it's not what you're thinking. It's quite technical. They use dummy mares. It's all very clean, but still," she said, not really wanting to continue.

  Thankfully, Davis didn't seem to either. "Right."

  "Anyway, Brad was blasé about the job. My uncle grew more suspicious of him and had him followed." Michaela stood, walked over to a drawer in the kitchen, and pulled out a large envelope, which contained photos. She handed them to Davis.

  "Brad."

  "Yes, and Kirsten Redmond."

  Davis thumbed through the prints that Michaela had gone over countless times in the past until she'd finally accepted that it was true: Her husband had cheated on her with Miss Rodeo America. She shut her eyes tight for a second as Davis continued scanning the photos. "I'll burn those after we go to court."

  "Your uncle Lou had him followed, this is what came of it, and you divorced Brad. I would assume that Brad also lost his job at the ranch?"

  "Yes."

  "Do yo
u think Brad wanted to get even with Lou for having him followed, thus causing your breakup?"

  "Partly. But Brad did plan to divorce me."

  "Then what gives?" Davis patted his leg and Cocoa came over to him. "I like dogs. I've got a Lhaso Apso."

  She laughed. "That's not a dog."

  "Oh, so you're one of those people who believes a dog is only a dog if it's big and loud. He may not be big, but I assure you he's loud." He grinned.

  "I'm kidding. I like all dogs."

  "Right. So, what happened with you and your ex?"

  "Brad and I had been married nine years like I said. We were three months short of our ten-year anniversary when I filed for divorce."

  "Let me guess: You were the breadwinner, and he knew by waiting the full ten years it would make him eligible to receive spousal support for a very long time."

  Michaela couldn't help but laugh at the way he'd put it, but yes, that was exactly how she'd felt when one of Brad's ex-cronies told her of his devious plan. The laughter felt good for a moment. How could she laugh today, or any day ever again, for that matter? She'd found Uncle Lou only that morning with a pitchfork through him. She shook her head, hoping to cast that image from her mind. Doubtful that could ever happen. "You know a bit about California divorce laws."

  He nodded. "He was banking that he wouldn't get caught cheating, could divorce you after ten years, and you'd be stuck paying spousal support."

  "Exactly. But he did get caught, thanks to my uncle, and now it's hopeful a judge will take a look at that and things will go in my favor. Now, he's making all sorts of claims that we were separated while he was out having the time of his life, and that I'd kicked him out. His girlfriend harasses me to no end. She enjoys calling me, insisting that I sign the papers he had some moronic attorney devise. I read over them last night. He wants to settle with me. I love that. Crazy. But the best is we have a pile of medical bills that our insurance refused to pay, and he's basically skipped out on his portion of the obligation. I've even heard he's going to file bankruptcy. So, I'm stuck with that. But, I will hold out signing any type of papers that benefits either one of them."

  Davis shook his head. "Did he plan to marry this rodeo queen? If so, the gravy train would have come to a halt, even if he hadn't been caught in the act."