Michaela shook her head, totally confused. "No she didn't tell me. I assumed it would be the end of the week. Thank you for letting me know. I'll give her a call."
"I'm sure she's planning on letting everyone know today."
Michaela nodded.
"Would four o' clock work, then, on Thursday?"
"Four it is."
"Also, if you need anything tomorrow, please don't hesitate to let me know."
"Thanks."
She watched as he walked down the hill. Why was she feeling so weird about him? Okay, one minute he was nice, the next he was not, and then he was again. Did he really believe that she had nothing to do with her uncle's murder, or was this some ploy he used to get people "to talk?" Not like she had much to say. Okay, so she did have some interesting theories at this juncture, like someone had killed Uncle Lou because he discovered who was substituting Loco's sperm with another stud's— possibly Rocky's. And why, even with all this horrible business going on, did Michaela hope that his desire to meet her for coffee meant more than some simple apology or the need to drag further information from her? Men!
And, what was going on with Cynthia? Why hadn't she called to let her know about Uncle Lou's services, and why the rush? Sure, she could understand wanting to get it over with, let him rest in peace... but why hadn't she asked Michaela to help her with the plans?
She dismounted and led Rocky out of the arena and down to the crossties, where she was reminded of yesterday's incidents. Should she have told Davis about the mare and the dairy farm, and what she thought was going on? Probably. But he might think she was losing it, and she'd been so caught up in the moment when he'd been there. He had that knack about him. Mesmerizing. Sort of. Also, she needed confirmation from the AQHA before she went further with her hunch. She had a feeling the contracts, the AI program, and the missing money had something to do with her uncle's murder. She decided she would tell Davis over coffee.
After sponging Rocky down, she put him away. She worked two more horses and then headed to the house. Camden was out. She'd never come home last night. God, she hated distrusting her friend. It was so damn uncomfortable. But she couldn't help it.
She showered quickly and headed out. Since Joey ruled out the possibility of the mob putting a hit on Lou because of her dad, there were others she needed to talk to. People who may have had a reason to want her uncle gone. She needed to start by looking into the lawsuits filed against her uncle, and as much as she didn't want to, she needed to go see her father and call him on the floor about his gambling. She also had to go see Cynthia. Her uncle's wife owed her some answers. She would find out why Cynthia was in such a rush to bury Uncle Lou. Michaela also planned to tell Cynthia that she knew Cynthia was pregnant.
TWENTY-ONE
MICHAELA CALLED CYNTHIA'S HOUSE A COUPLE of times, with no luck. She didn't answer her cell phone either. Michaela had a sinking feeling in her gut, because the last time no one answered a phone at Lou's... well, she couldn't even think about it.
She decided to take care of her next item for the day and then find Cynthia. Calling her parents' house, she learned from her mom that her dad wasn't there.
After dropping by a few local spots where she thought he might be, she found her dad at Roger's Sports Bar. He wasn't there to drink. That wasn't his vice. In fact, she'd put money on it that he was drinking a seltzer with lime. He'd come to watch the football game he'd bet on; he'd done it for years. Old habits die hard.
She sat down across from him. He didn't even look at her, his eyes remaining on the screen. "I'm only watching, Mickey. That's all."
"Dad, you've never been able to lie well. Besides, I already know. I know how much you're in for, and to who."
"Oh." He still didn't look at her. "You going to tell your mom?"
"She also has a pretty good idea, Dad. She just doesn't know the amount."
Benjamin Bancroft finally gazed at his daughter. His eyes were the same hazel color as hers. But, she recognized the look of shame suddenly covering his. "How did you find out?"
"Does it matter? I did, and I know you're in trouble. Quite a bit."
"Did someone come to you? Were you threatened by anyone?" He reached for her hand.
"No, Dad, nothing like that." She noticed he wore a fresh bandage on his right hand.
"I'm sorry." He looked back at her, his eyes watering.
She squeezed his good hand. "Oh, Daddy." He nodded, reminding her of a scared child, not the disciplinarian she'd grown up with. "How long have you been into this again?"
"I don't know, a few months, maybe."
"A few months? And, you've gone through a hundred thousand dollars?"
He nodded. "I couldn't say anything. I don't know how it started. The way it always does. I get down about something, obsess about it, and then I make one small bet and that leads to another then another and it gets out of control before I know it. I kept thinking I can make it back. I can make it work."
Michaela could never really understand that thinking. To her it was insane. How do you not know when you're out of control? How does one bet lead to another and another? Her stomach churned. She wanted to scream these questions at him. But she'd done that years ago while home on spring break and exhausted from working and going to school— resentful that she had to go above and beyond most of the other kids at Cal Poly, where she studied animal husbandry. He'd just kept apologizing until she finally felt guilty for her own anger.
What she'd read and learned over the years did at least convince her that gambling was an addiction, like drugs or alcohol, and it wasn't about the gambling itself, or even the money. It was the momentary thrill, the possibilities. It took gamblers out of the realities of their world and placed them into a fantasy. Gambling gave them a high similar to drugs or alcohol and fed them tons of endorphins while in the process. But the crashes were huge, as harsh realities set in when these people lost their homes, their livelihoods, and ultimately their families.
"Okay, well, Dad, what's done is done. I'm going to help you, but you are going to have kick this thing for good. I know I'm enabling you by taking care of this debt, but I can't stand to see Mom hurt by this. It'll tear her up. And, you can't lose your place."
"I know. I need help."
"Fine."
"How are you dealing with the money? You don't have that kind of money."
"I know a relative of your bookie. He's looking into what he can do for me... I mean for you."
"Oh honey. No. I can't let you do that. I don't want you getting hurt because of me."
She squeezed his hand again. "You have to let me do it. And, I promise I won't get hurt, but here's the deal: You find a daily meeting with Gambler's Anonymous, get a sponsor again, and stay straight. In fact, for the next month or however long it takes, I am going to personally escort you to those meetings. I also will have my friend report in regularly to see if you've gone to borrow money from anyone, because this guy knows all the shady characters around. You're a good man, you're a great dad and husband; you can beat this thing. You are bigger than it is. Do it for me, for Mom, but really Dad, do it for yourself. Because I am certain you do not want to die a lonely old man. And, I can almost guarantee that if this continues, that is exactly what will happen. Mom will leave you, and I don't think I could stand by and watch you destroy yourself any more. It's too painful."
The tears were coming down his face now. God, she hated talking to him like that. But she had no choice. She had to have some kind of leverage over him, and when it came down to it, she knew that family meant everything to him.
"What do I tell your mom, about the meetings?"
"I think you have to tell her the truth. I know it's going to hurt her. I've got to leave that up to you. Tell her that you're going back to GA and you're turning the books over to either me or a bookkeeper. We both know that Mom doesn't like to handle the finances, but it's obviously not a good idea for you to run them. Not at this point."
He nod
ded. "I don't know what to say. I love you. That's pretty much all I can say, kid. And, I am sorry for putting you through this, especially now. I'm weak."
"No you're not."
He shook his head. "I feel rotten over this, over Lou. I didn't mean for any of it to happen."
She watched his face twist into anguish. "Dad, what do you mean?" She got the feeling by the way he was talking that it was more than the gambling, and more than her uncle dying.
"The police have been talking to me."
"Yeah, they've been talking to me, too."
"Honey, I think they have me listed as a suspect."
She squirmed in her chair. "Why?"
He held up his hand. "I went to see Lou the morning he was killed. My fingerprints... are on the pitchfork."
"What?"
He nodded.
"Dad, what are you saying?"
He sighed. "That morning, early, I went to Lou and Cynthia's place. I hadn't slept the night before because we'd talked and it didn't go well. I'd told him what was going on with me and the gambling, and he said that he'd think about helping me out. He said that I needed to talk with your mother, and I told him that I couldn't do that. He hung up on me." He took a sip of seltzer. "I couldn't sleep that night and I knew he'd be up by six, so I headed over to see him. I found him in Loco's stall. We... had words. He said that he wasn't going to bail me out. That he had his own problems to deal with and that I needed to come clean with you and your mother. He was right. But I reacted badly and I grabbed the pitchfork and threw it, then punched the wall. That's how I hurt my hand. Stupid, I know."
"Yes it was, Dad. What were you thinking? Don't you see how this addiction eats you up? You could have hurt Uncle Lou, and you did hurt yourself! Now, the police think you could have done this?" She paused and choked back emotion. "Your addiction turns you into someone you're not. Someone I don't know and don't want to know."
Where was the dad she grew up with? The one who'd take her on trail rides and play cowboys and cowgirls with her and her friends? Sometimes they'd pretend to be the posse after the bad guys, or sometimes they were the horse thieves trying to outrun the posse. Those were great days and good fun. That was the father she remembered. Not this man, reduced to heated arguments with a brother he adored— someone who hid from the world through an addiction that caused nothing but pain.
"You're right. I don't want to be this man any longer. I don't. I'll do whatever it takes. I'll tell your mom everything. I'll be honest and we'll get through it. But you should know that I think the police might arrest me. I think they're already looking into the gambling and they know I was at Lou's place the morning he died. You know, that was the last time I saw him. That morning." He choked on a sob and broke down.
She scooted her chair up and put an arm around him. She let her father cry for several minutes. She noticed a few people glancing over at them, but it didn't matter. He needed her and she would be there for him. "It's going to be all right, Daddy. It is. And, I know Uncle Lou is watching us, and he loves you. You have to forgive yourself. You have to. He would have. I'm sure he did. Do this for him. And, as far as the police go, I know you didn't kill him. I know it.
"And, Dad, I'm going to find out who did."
TWENTY-TWO
MICHAELA SAW HER DAD TO HIS CAR AND FOLLOWED him home. They walked into the house together. Her mom was in the kitchen. "Hi, you two. Oh, Michaela, I didn't know you were coming by. Good, good. I'm making a lasagna for tomorrow's service. You want to help?'
That was Mom, always doing, always one step ahead."I would, Mom, but there's some things I need to take care of. I ran into Dad and thought I'd stop by and say hi."
"Oh, nice. Ben? Are you okay?" Her mom looked from Michaela to her dad and back again.
Michaela cut in before her dad could answer. "I think he's tired, right, Dad?" She knew he needed time to think about what he would say to her mother.
He nodded. "I'm going to lie down for a bit." He kissed her on the cheek and walked into the kitchen, where he gave his wife a hug.
Janie frowned. "Benjamin Bancroft, do you feel okay?" It wasn't often that he was outwardly affectionate.
"I'm fine. I love you." He headed back toward their bedroom.
Michaela's mom looked at her. "What was that all about?"
"I think you should let him rest right now. He's got quite a bit on his mind, but don't worry, Mom. Everything is going to be fine."
"Michaela?"
"Mom, please. It's not my place. Daddy will talk to you when he's ready. Trust me."
"I don't like the sound of this, but fine. It appears I don't have a choice."
Wanting to change the subject and needing to find out about Uncle Lou's funeral, Michaela asked, "Mom, when did Cynthia inform you about the services?"
"Last night."
"She didn't tell me. I was out for a bit anyway."
"I'm sure she's tried to call you. It's at one. Why don't you meet us here and we can all go together."
"Sure." She kissed her mom on the cheek. "See you tomorrow. I love you. Oh, what should I bring?"
"How about that pear tart you do so well?"
"You got it." She knew that she left her mother feeling a bit confused. For now, she had to not only see what she could find out in order to seek justice for her uncle, she also had to keep her dad from going to jail. Once her mom found out about the gambling it would be heartbreaking, but her father going to jail would be devastating.
On the drive to Cynthia's she recapped in her mind everything she'd learned over the past few days. First: Ethan had fought with her uncle and never explained why. She would get to the bottom of that, because she hated suspecting that he had anything at all to do with this. Then there was Camden and her boyfriend. Their phone conversation still had Michaela reeling. Not to mention that Kevin now owned the dairy farm and had a mare housed there that he claimed to know nothing about. There was the issue with the contracts and the breeding and her suspicions around that. She had a feeling Brad was responsible for that mess. But a killer? She wasn't sure.
Bean had been acting strangely toward her, but she didn't think he had the ability to pull off a breeding scam and she certainly didn't think he could become angry enough to kill. Anything was possible, though. Plus, what was his continuing friendship with Brad all about? Sam and Dwayne had been off to Vegas with the horses. Summer had worked for Uncle Lou and handled a lot of the paperwork in the past. Could she have killed Lou for some reason?
She'd pretty much ruled out the mob, but there were still those lawsuits against Lou that she had to get to the bottom of, which led her to ponder Cynthia. She was pregnant, and she was hiding something— like a lover, or possibly something more sinister.
After getting out of her truck at Uncle Lou's ranch, she walked through the breezeway and over to Loco's stall. He came to her, his hot breath pouring through his nostrils onto her hand as she rubbed his face. Neither Dwayne nor Sam looked to be around either. Dwayne's truck was gone and she wondered where they might have gone. "Too bad you can't talk," she said to Loco, who pulled his head away and shoved it in his feeder.
She called out for Bean. He should at least be around. Deciding to see if anyone was up at the house, she knocked on the back door. No one answered. She turned the knob; it turned easily. "Cynthia? You here?"
She walked in through the laundry room. Cynthia wouldn't get upset if Michaela waited for her in the house. She headed into the kitchen. From down the hall, she thought she heard someone crying. No, it was more than crying and as she got closer, she realized it was Cynthia and she was sobbing.
"Cynthia?"
Michaela saw her as she rounded the corner of the hall, slumped down against the wall, her face in her hands. "Cynthia? What is it? What's wrong?"
Cynthia didn't say anything. She didn't lift her head as she held out a note. It was stained. With what? Oh God, it looked like droplets of blood. Michaela took it from Cynthia's shaking hand. It read, I AM SORY
I KILL MR. LOU.
"What? What is this?"
Cynthia looked up at Michaela. She uttered, "Kitchen."
Michaela stomach tightened as she entered the kitchen. Bean lay on the floor next to the table, a gun in his right hand, blood seeping from his temple.
TWENTY-THREE
SOMETHING WAS WRONG HERE. SO VERY wrong. Bean had killed Uncle Lou? Then, he'd committed suicide? Michaela's head filled with confusion as she struggled to wrap her brain around this.
The police showed up within minutes. Cynthia had called 911 immediately after finding Bean, and it was apparent that Michaela had come in right after that.
Detective Davis was there along with a team of other cops. He'd asked Michaela and Cynthia to wait for him in Uncle Lou's office, where they now sat on the couch. Michaela held Cynthia's ice-cold hand. "I don't understand why," Cynthia said.
"I don't know either."
"Bean loved Lou. He loved me. We helped take care of him. He was here because we had been meeting at this time of day for a few weeks now. I was teaching him to read." She choked back a sob. "He's come every day at the same time even the last few days, since Lou..." She shook her head. "I told him that he would have to wait a bit before I felt like teaching him again." A nervous laugh escaped her lips. "But, Bean didn't understand that. Obviously. That's why he's been showing up in the kitchen every day, waiting for me to teach him. Today I went out for a walk knowing he would show up here; I didn't want to face him. I didn't want to tell him to leave me alone. I knew it hurt his feelings, but I haven't been able to do anything like I used to." Cynthia couldn't speak anymore. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
Michaela rubbed her back, shoving down her own sorrow and disillusionment the best that she could. "I'm sorry, Cyn. I really am."
Davis entered the room, then stopped. He looked at both women with sympathy. Cynthia wiped her face. "Why did he do this?"
"Mrs. Bancroft, we don't know."
"Did he really kill himself?" Michaela asked.
The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 Page 14
