She set her racket on the court bench, and picked up a towel, dabbing it to her neck. “Well, I didn’t come for her inheritance, Patrick.”
“I know.” His hazel eyes held hers. “But we’re her blood, Megs, the only living family she has left. Granny Betty and Mum were unfairly cheated out of the Fairchild wealth, and if Louisa wants to set things right now by leaving her legacy to her sister’s grandkids instead of the government, you should be more practical about it. The woman has amassed a fortune.”
Exactly what Dylan had said.
Megan glanced toward the horse barns in the distance, the white-fenced paddocks and corn-colored fields that rolled endlessly down towards the twisting brown Hunter River, the dusky blue haze of the gum-forested hills of the Koongorra preserve on the opposite bank.
Patrick followed her gaze. “Imagine owning all this some day, Megs?”
“Sergeant Hastings really seems to think Louisa is capable of this,” she said distractedly.
“Murder? You don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know what to think right now, Patrick,” she said, tossing her towel onto the bench. “I honestly don’t believe she would have set fire to Lochlain, but…Dylan seems to know something about Louisa’s past that we don’t.”
“Dylan? We’re on first-name terms now?”
She pulled a face. “I met his daughter. She’s a nice child. I gave her a ride home before I knew she belonged to the cop.”
His hazel eyes turned serious. “Megan, be careful. This could get messy. D’Angelo plans on nailing this guy big-time.”
“He’s just doing his job.”
Patrick arched a brow as he reached for the jug of ice-cold lemonade that Marie Lafayette from the kitchen had set on the table for them. “Is he?”
“He’s got no staff,” she added.
“Doesn’t mean we should be shortchanged justice,” he said, pouring the lemonade, ice chinking against glass.
“This state of emergency situation is putting us all into a surreal position, Patrick. It doesn’t mean we have to gun for the cop and his family personally, either.”
He studied her intently for a moment. “He’s got to you, hasn’t he, this detective and his kid?” he said, handing her a glass.
She took it, glancing away.
“Megs?”
She faced him. “You know what this should be about, Patrick? It should be about proving Louisa’s innocence, about finding the real killer. Not about crucifying the sole detective on the case for botched procedure.”
“Well, finding the real killer is the detective’s job, Megan. And he’s clearly not doing it if he’s looking no further than Louisa. That doesn’t leave us with much choice, does it? He’s making himself a target.”
Megan took a deep swallow of lemonade, cool and welcome against her parched throat. “Well, whatever you think, it’s in everyone’s interests to try and get the police to drop this before D’Angelo starts dragging it too far into legal mud.”
“You’re right.” He gave her a wicked smile. “We won’t be able to prove to the old dame that we’re worthy of her legacy if she’s sitting in the slammer without bail awaiting trial by jury, will we?”
“Patrick!”
He grinned. “It’s a joke, sis. Lighten up.”
She glared at him. “You’re not helping.”
He nodded, eyes turning serious and shrewd again, the stockbroker mind at work. “Did the police search of the house when she was arrested turn up anything?”
“Not that I know of.”
“And the murder weapon is definitely registered to Louisa.” It was more statement than question.
Megan nodded, taking another sip. “But D’Angelo is not worried about that. When we met with him at the clinic yesterday to go over the arrest details that precipitated the heart attack, he said just because the pistol is registered to Louisa, it doesn’t prove she shot anyone.”
“They must have something on her, though, to arrest her.”
“D’Angelo is not acknowledging the arrest as legal. He said the police will have to disclose whatever they do have on Louisa when they charge her and get her in front of a magistrate, but he’s going to make sure it doesn’t get that far. He left for Sydney last night. He’s going to negotiate a Thoroughbred sale for Fairchild, and while he’s there his criminal team will be putting together a case to have the arrest overturned.”
“So in the meantime all we need to do is keep Louisa’s doctor on side, Louisa in hospital and the police at bay so they can’t charge her.”
“Right. D’Angelo also said we might want to make an official burglary complaint, and get on record that Louisa’s gun was stolen.”
Patrick snorted softly. “Which will give D’Angelo ammunition in court if it ever gets that far, making a jury see theft as a viable scenario, one the police investigated themselves.” He set his glass down. “That lawyer is worth his weight in gold.”
He saw the look on her face. “What is it?”
“I’m remembering all the reasons I dropped criminal law. D’Angelo’s strategy has less to do with justice than a strategic game—one he actually appears to be relishing. He doesn’t give a damn about burying someone as long as it means getting his client off and winning.”
“And that client is your rich great-aunt, sis.” Patrick looped his arm over her shoulder as they left the tennis court. “D’Angelo’s strategy will get Louisa out of the woods, and us back on track, proving we are worthy of her legacy.”
She pulled away. “Dammit, Patrick.” Her eyes tunneled into his. “This is not just about Louisa and us. A man was killed. A trainer lost his father. Tyler Preston’s livelihood is in ruins. And do you know that the cop’s daughter’s horse was also injured in that blaze?”
He frowned. “All the more reason for the detective to be less objective about this case, Megan, if he’s got an ax to grind.”
“He’s a single dad! Nailing him is nailing his family.”
Patrick’s expression turned serious. “He really did get to you, didn’t he?”
She said nothing, turned and marched across the springy green lawn and up the stairs to the house. “I’m going to see Louisa,” she called over her shoulder.
Patrick watched his younger sister storm up the stairs, a combination of athletic elegance and sheer energy, blond ponytail swinging, brown legs lean and tanned. And he had a sudden flashback to when they were kids.
He smiled, his heart filling with warmth.
She’d always been the idealist. The kind one. The crusader. And he’d loved her for it.
He was the pragmatist. A businessman—a stockbroker who focused on the bottom line, the outcome. He hadn’t always been practical. Life had made him that way by necessity. And coming to Fairchild Acres to sound Louisa out on a potential inheritance made solid financial sense to him. But it had also given him something unexpected. Something special. A chance to reconnect with his sister. And an opportunity to get to know his great-aunt. Despite what everyone said about Louisa, there was something in Patrick that connected with her, and he was actually beginning to like the charismatic old dame. Thorns and all.
Coming to Fairchild had given him a sense of family he hadn’t even realized they’d lost.
Megan set a large vase of belladonna lilies on a stand under the hospital window. While Louisa lay sleeping, she rearranged the fragrant trumpets she’d cut herself on the farm this morning after her game of tennis with Patrick. The March blooms thrived in the dry Upper Hunter climate, and they’d just come into their full glory, a time when many other flowers had passed their prime for the season.
She picked up the newspaper she’d brought with her, and took a seat near Louisa’s bed, thinking that a garden was one of the things she missed most about living in an apartment. As beautiful as her Sydney flat was, overlooking the ocean, she didn’t have a piece of earth to call her own.
Megan flipped open the paper, scanning the headlines. The unrest in the c
ity was calming down a little. That could mean a return of police presence in the Hunter Valley. She glanced at Louisa, wondering if that was a good or a bad thing. D’Angelo was using the lack of police as his trump card.
Then again, having a proper homicide task force reinstated could help find the killer faster. Tension whispered through Megan, tightening the complex knot of conflict growing in her belly.
Louisa stirred, opened her eyes, saw Megan and scowled. “How long have you been sitting there watching me?”
“A few minutes. How are you feeling?” Megan asked.
Louisa struggled to sit. “I’d kill for an espresso,” she muttered.
“The doc said no more caffeine. You were having too much.”
“Bollocks. And I want that idiot cop removed from my door. I won’t have it—I’m not some common criminal.” She threw back her covers. “Pass me my clothes. I need to get out of here.”
Megan moved to her side. “Louisa,” she said, restraining her gently. “You need to stay calm, and you need to stay in hospital. The doctors are worried about infection.” The doctors were also concerned about what other drugs Louisa might be taking. The health records Patrick found showed nothing, yet they knew from her blood work that Louisa was using some kind of stimulant, apart from caffeine.
“I’m fine. They can come check me at the estate.”
Megan lowered her voice. “It’s not just your health, Louisa. If the police think you’re fine, they’re going to charge you. D’Angelo wants to get this arrest overturned before that happens. The longer they take to charge you, the more ammunition in his favor, and the more he can say they’ve breached protocol. And with all this APEC stuff going on we can also try and keep your arrest out of the media, avoiding a circus. Which will be better for stud business.” Megan smiled encouragingly. “So you stay right where you are, and remain low-key. For your own good.”
Louisa’s steely eyes held hers for a long beat. “You keep bossing me around, girl, I could cut you from my will.”
Megan snorted. “There’s one thing you better know about me, Louisa. I’m not here for your money.”
“Pshaw! Everyone says that.”
“I’m not everyone.”
The older woman looked at her strangely. “What are you here for, then?”
Megan wavered for a moment. “Family.”
“What rubbish!”
“They told me you were blunt.”
“What else did they say?”
“That you have a charming personality, for an eighty-year-old,” Megan said with a wry smile.
“No one wants me for family, girl. It’s my money and old age that keeps everyone around. I’m no fool.”
Megan pulled up her covers. “No one said you were. Marie Lafayette sent you some fruit. I put it on the counter over there. Let me know if I can bring you anything else.”
Louisa studied her in silence for a long while. “You remind me of her,” she said finally, quietly.
“Who? Marie?”
“No, Betty.”
Megan’s pulse quickened. “How so?”
“You’re gentle like her.”
“And this is a good thing?” Megan cocked a brow. “Coming from you, Louisa, I imagine you see that as a weakness.”
Louisa actually smiled, and it reached with a nostalgic glimmer into her blue eyes. “Didn’t mean Betty couldn’t be stubborn as a mule.”
“What happened between you and Betty, Louisa?” Megan asked cautiously. She didn’t want to push too fast, nor did she want this opening to slip by completely.
Louisa’s eyes shuttered and she was quiet for a few moments. “That’s in the past.”
Megan took a seat next to the bed. “It’s my past, too, you know.”
“So that’s really why you came here, is it? To dig around in the past?”
“Like I said, I want to know more about my family, my heritage.”
Louisa looked away. “It’s easier to deal with people who want money,” she said. “Or objects.”
“Well.” Megan leaned forward. “If it’ll make things simpler, I do want to ask you a favor. I’d like to borrow a couple of horses.”
Louisa’s eyes flashed back to hers. “Racehorses?”
Megan laughed. “No, dressage horses.”
“What for?”
She inhaled deeply. “I used to ride competitively when I was kid,” she said. “I tried just about every equestrian discipline out there but settled on dressage as my performance class.” She paused, watching Louisa. “It was Granny Betty who passed a love of the sport down to my mum, and then to me. Those were special moments we had, all three of us riding together sometimes.” She glanced away, staring at the belladonna lilies, the memories strangely raw after all this time. “I thought I might get back into it,” she said, turning to face Louisa.
Those steely eyes were unreadable, but Megan could see she’d shaken Louisa deep down somewhere. “Betty and I also used to ride together,” she said, very quietly.
Megan remained silent, hoping Louisa would offer more. She didn’t.
“You said two horses. Why?”
“I met this young girl,” Megan said, carefully steering around the truth. She couldn’t possibly tell Louisa one horse was for the daughter of the police officer trying to put her away for life.
“She reminded me of myself at that age. She has a tangible passion for dressage, but she doesn’t have access to a horse at the moment. Her family is not wealthy, so I…sort of offered.”
Louisa chuckled. “Bleeding heart you are, just like Betty. I used to tell her that she’d never amount to much if she gave everything away…” Her expression grew distant, then suddenly turned shrewd and sharp again. “How well do you ride?”
“I was going places on the circuit.” Megan grinned. “At least in my own mind. Granny Betty said it was in the Fairchild women’s blood.”
“She did, eh?”
Megan nodded.
“And the girl? How good is she?”
“She’s learning.”
“Take Lady Manners for the girl, a nice solid bay mare and a bit on the small side. I ride her myself—steady as a rock, she is. Get the grooms to bring her to the stables near the house.” Her eyes narrowed. “You take Breaking Free.”
“The black stallion?”
“He needs the work. Good horse. Excellent dressage skills. Still has a tendency to carry his weight forward, though.”
A surprising excitement shimmered through Megan at the thought of working with a horse in the ring again, especially a stallion like Breaking Free. “Thank you.”
Louisa shrugged, as if to say We’ll see, then winced from the pain the movement caused her.
“You okay?”
“Fine. I want to be alone now.”
Megan hesitated.
“Good grief, don’t look so worried, girl. I’m not about to kick the bucket. Yet,” she added, closing her eyes and lying back. “Still haven’t decided if you and your brother are worthy of my legacy.”
Megan smiled. The woman was something else. She actually liked her frankness. And Megan sensed a softness buried deep down under Louisa’s brittle veneer. It was that hidden part of Louisa that Megan could feel herself connecting with. Yet this was also a woman who’d been trying to bankrupt her debt-ridden neighbor with a battle over water rights so she could snap up his farm for a song.
And now he was dead.
She went to the door, thinking one could never really know another person’s heart, what broke them down, or what gave them strength. Or how they defined courage, rebellion, success.
She paused, looked back.
“Louisa?”
“What now?”
“Do you know Dylan Hastings?”
Her eyes shot open. “Is this a mental test? You think there’s something wrong with my mind now? Of course I know him. He’s the fool who arrested me for bloody murder.”
“No, I mean…from before. He said he grew up in this
area.”
She huffed. “So did a lot of people. Doesn’t mean I know them all. Now leave me be. I need some rest. And do me a favor. Get that guard away from my door.”
Megan nodded, and left, the door swinging silently shut behind her.
Louisa sighed, closed her eyes, and lay back on her pillow, feeling for the first time in years how nice it was to have someone who cared. Just because they were family. But with that thought came a strange and uncomfortable sense of vulnerability.
Breaking Free (Thoroughbred Legacy #10) Page 8
