Bluegrass Peril (7 page)

The clear trumpet notes sounding the call to post cut through the murmur of the crowd, signalling the race was about to start. The speed of the people moving toward the track increased. Kaci glanced over Scott’s shoulder.

“I must go. Mother’s filly has a good chance of breaking her maiden in this one, and I don’t want to miss it.”

Scott gave her hand a final squeeze and released it. A racehorse’s first win, or breaking its maiden, was a celebrated event among breeders and trainers alike. “Of course. Good luck to her.”

Kaci fluttered her fingers in his direction and hurried toward the clubhouse elevator. Scott stood, indecisive, as the crowd surged around him. He could look for Eddie again, try to continue his conversation. But he didn’t really need to. He’d gotten what he wanted from the guy, a verification of Haldeman’s illegal betting activity, and a number.

The paddock area had emptied. Scott made his way toward the exit, remembering the flare of anger in Eddie’s eyes and in his voice. True, thirty thousand dollars was probably not a big deal to a guy in Eddie’s business. Not a big enough debt to kill a man over. But if Haldeman owed money to several people, and if each of them found out, it would certainly make someone worry that he wasn’t going to get paid very quickly. He might want to apply a little pressure, to make sure his debt got settled first. And that kind of pressure could turn physical at the drop of a hat. Fistfights had been known to erupt for much less reason. And a fistfight could turn nasty quickly.

Especially if there was a handy weapon nearby.

“N
ow boys,
please
be on your best behavior. We want to show our manners to Mr. Lewis, don’t we?”

Becky eyed her sons in the rearview mirror as she turned into the driveway of the Pasture. Jamie, intent on the colorful plastic man in his hands, nodded obediently in answer to her request, but Tyler’s face bore its usual stubborn expression.

“Why?”

Becky let out an exasperated sigh. “Because he’s my new boss, and I want to make a good impression on him. I told you that.”

The boy fixed her with a look so like his father’s that Becky’s heart stuttered in her chest. “Will he really fire you if me and Jamie act up?”

How could a child who had not seen his father since he was six months old speak in the same voice and look at her with Christopher’s eyes? Genetics, she supposed. She lived in Christopher’s shadow every day of her life. It just wasn’t fair. Yet she loved these tiny replicas of their father more than she loved her own life.

She shoved the shifter into park. “You never know.” She locked eyes with Tyler in the mirror. “He certainly won’t be impressed with an assistant whose sons act like savages. He might not let me bring you back again.”

She watched the dark head nod as he acknowledged the truth in her words, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her goal for this beautiful Saturday morning was to finish labeling the files for all that junk in Neal’s drawer while the kids watched Saturday-morning cartoons on the TV. After she made up a few of the hours she missed Thursday afternoon, she’d promised the boys a trip to the park to feed the ducks.

Neal’s truck still sat in the driveway, unmoved since Wednesday night. Today, Scott’s truck was parked alongside it, and both the front and back barn doors stood open. Neal usually left the front doors closed. A small difference, but one that served as a reminder that Neal was no longer in charge of Out to Pasture.

The moment she turned the key and cut the engine, the boys tumbled out the back doors and took off at a run toward the barn. Becky gathered her purse, watching through the windshield as Sam greeted them, his tail whipping back and forth while they petted and hugged him. She opened the car door, her pulse speeding up when Scott stepped to the wide barn doorway to meet her sons.

“Hello, there! You must not be strangers, or my guard dog wouldn’t be licking your faces.”

“Sam knows us.” Jamie stared at him with serious eyes. “He’s our friend.”

Scott grinned at her, but he answered Jamie with utmost seriousness. “I can see that.”

Jamie stood straight and stuck out a hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Jamie Dennison.”

Becky hid a smile. At least Jamie had listened to her lecture on manners this morning. Maybe Tyler would follow his brother’s lead.

Scott returned Jamie’s greeting formally. “Nice to meet you, Jamie. I’m Scott Lewis.”

When Scott released his hand, Tyler shoved his forward. “I’m Tyler. Are you going to fire my mom if I act like a savage?”

With a groan, Becky leaned against the hood of her car and shook her head. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Scott considering his answer. “Probably not,” he told Tyler, “but I might ask her to keep you in the office so you won’t get in my way out here. Only big kids who behave themselves can help with the horses, you know.”

Tyler’s face lit with excitement at the suggestion of helping with the horses. “I’m a big kid. I’m in kindergarten.”

Scott grinned at her over the tops of two dark heads. “Good. I can use some helpers today.”

Becky opened her mouth to protest. She didn’t come to work on a Saturday to play with horses. She had things to do in the office. And she couldn’t dump the boys on Scott while she went inside.

Her protest died unspoken as a car pulled into the driveway. The sunlight gleamed on the polished hood of a gold Mercedes Roadster. It slowed to a stop midway down the driveway, the sun’s rays reflecting off the windshield so that Becky couldn’t see the driver clearly. She glanced at Scott, who shrugged.

Becky approached the driver’s door and stopped beside the tinted windows. After a moment, the window opened a few inches, revealing a woman in large dark sunglasses with a tan print scarf covering her head.

Odd. Sometimes people came on Saturdays for a tour, but she hadn’t made note on the calendar of anyone scheduled for today. Maybe this woman was out for a drive and stopped in when she saw the sign by the road.

“Hello.” Becky dipped her head toward the window. “Are you here for a tour?”

The dark glasses hid most of the woman’s face, but her lips, unadorned with lipstick, tightened into a crooked line for a moment before she answered. “No. I…uh, no.”

Was that a sob that broke her voice? Becky couldn’t be sure, but the skin on her arm prickled with sudden suspicion. Could this woman be the mysterious “L”? Maybe the owner of the footprint returning to check out the scene of her crime?

“What can we do for you, Ms….” She let her tone rise, an unspoken request for the stranger’s name.

“Keller.” The woman’s lips snapped shut. She faced forward, staring through the windshield at the place where Scott and the boys stood near the entrance to the barn, watching them.

The boys! Fear clawed at Becky’s throat. What had possessed her to bring the boys here today? Neal’s killer was still on the loose, and maybe even sitting here now, with her fancy car pointed directly toward them.

The woman drew a shuddering breath and spoke without facing Becky, the eyes invisible behind the glasses. “I…I just wanted to look around, if that’s okay?”

A sob stuttered her voice. That sounded like genuine grief. Becky took a step toward the window, her suspicions beginning to fade. Did killers grieve over their victims? The scarf was knotted beneath an untidy mass of dark hair at the back of her head. The woman’s rather large nose was red, the nostrils rubbed nearly raw. Either she was suffering from a bad cold, or she had recently indulged in a violent crying spell. A shuddering breath gave evidence of the latter, and compassion warred with suspicion in Becky. Maybe she wasn’t a killer after all. A friend of Neal’s, perhaps?

“I don’t know if Mr. Lewis has time to conduct a tour this morning.” She cast a glance toward Scott.

The woman killed the engine and got out of the car. When she stood, she towered a full head over Becky. That wasn’t unusual. Most people did.

Scott stepped forward, the boys and Sam tagging along. He held out his hand. “Hello, I’m Scott Lewis. I’m taking care of things around here for a little while.”

The woman’s hand froze in the process of stretching out to take Scott’s, and a sob escaped her lips. Her shoulders hunched forward and her hands rose to cover her face, glasses and all, as she succumbed to a fit of weeping.

“Oh, you poor thing.” All her suspicions melting at the sight of the woman’s grief, Becky rushed forward and put an arm around the sobbing woman’s shoulders.

The boys stood openmouthed. A grown woman blubbering like a child wasn’t something they saw often. Becky squeezed the shuddering shoulders and made soothing noises while Scott watched, his extended hand clenching and unclenching.

After a moment, the woman pulled a much-used tissue from the pocket of her jacket and scrubbed at her red nose. “I’m suh-sorry to act like a fool. I just—” Another heave robbed her of words and she shook her head violently, knocking her glasses lopsided on her face. She shoved them up to perch on top of her scarf like the eyes of a giant insect.

Grief could ravage the looks of even a beautiful woman, and this woman was no beauty to begin with. Despair had wreaked havoc on her face. She folded the ragged tissue and attempted to blot at her eyes, the lids of which were so reddened and swollen that discerning their normal shape was impossible.

With a huge intake of breath, she shoved the damp scrap of tissue back in her pocket and thrust her hand toward Scott in a belated greeting. “Please forgive me for being rude, Mr. Lewis. My name is Isabelle Keller, and I’m a…” Becky thought she might sob again, but instead she swallowed hard and continued with obvious difficulty. “I was a friend of Neal Haldeman.”

Isabelle Keller. Becky knew that name. Isabelle’s father was a well-known real estate mogul who had bought and sold half the land in central Kentucky at one time or other. His name was in the newspaper almost every day. Becky had spoken with Isabelle on the phone several times, and had overheard Neal arranging to pick her up for dinner just last week. At the time Becky had noted that his attitude on the phone was deferential, unlike his tone when he spoke with women like Kaci Buchanan.

Neal had certainly moved in lofty circles.

Becky placed a hand on the woman’s arm. “Miss Keller, I’m so sorry for your loss. Please accept my condolences.” Isabelle’s lips twisted in her effort to hold back another sob. “I’m Becky Dennison, Neal’s assistant.”

Recognition cleared the lines from her forehead and she took Becky’s hand. Becky kept her expression kind as she returned the woman’s troubled gaze.

“I remember. Neal said—” She stopped, struggling to maintain her composure, then continued. “Neal said you were a big help to him, that you were going to organize things in the office. He was so glad to have you.” Fresh tears pooled in her eyes. Fumbling in her pocket, she withdrew the abused scrap of tissue again. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t think anyone would be here today.”

“Mommy?” Jamie edged toward her, his gaze fixed on Isabelle as he laid a hand on Becky’s leg. His loud whisper rasped over the sound of the woman’s sniffle. “What’s wrong with that lady?”

“Jamie.” Becky infused her tone with warning as her stern expression told her son to hold his tongue.

Scott cleared his throat. “Tell you what, boys. I could use some help feeding the horses. Think you guys could give me a hand?”

“Wow!” Tyler ran toward her, bouncing on his toes. “Can we, Mommy? Please?”

Becky lifted her gaze from their pleading faces to Scott’s. The twins could be a handful, and she really hadn’t intended to dump them on her boss. Scott nodded almost imperceptibly toward Isabelle and then the house. Obviously, he’d rather deal with them than a crying woman.

Becky laid a hand on each boy’s shoulder. “Okay, but only if you promise to do exactly what Mr. Lewis says. And no fighting. And no standing up on the golf cart.”

Jamie’s eyes lit up. “We get to ride on the golf cart?”

“Woo-hoo!” Tyler pumped a fist into the air.

Scott nodded toward Isabelle and then with an unmistakable air of relief, headed toward the barn, flanked by excitedly leaping boys.

Becky smiled into Isabelle’s tear-streaked face. “Perhaps you’d like to come inside. I can put on a pot of coffee, or maybe make some tea.”

Isabelle hesitated. “Tea would be good, if it’s herbal.”

“It is.”

Becky placed an assuring arm around her and guided her toward the back door. Inside, she steered Isabelle into the kitchen and gestured toward a seat at the small table in the center of the room. She ran hot water into the large glass measuring cup she used to make her own tea every morning. While that heated in the microwave, she placed a boxed assortment of herbal teas on the table and got two clean mugs from the cupboard. She set the unchipped one in front of Isabelle.

A comfortable silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle, descended between them as they each selected a pouch from the box. When the microwave dinged, Becky poured water over Isabelle’s tea bag, and peach-scented steam rose from her mug. She retrieved a box of tissues from the office, which drew a brief smile of thanks from her distraught guest.

As Isabelle stirred a package of sweetener into her mug, Becky dunked her tea bag rhythmically in the steaming water. The sharp odor of mint from her mug mingled with the peach. She kept her gaze on the swiftly darkening tea. “Have you known Neal a long time?”

“We met at a Christmas party.” Isabelle reached for a fresh tissue as she shook her head. “Four months ago. It seems much longer.”

There could be only one possible reason for such grief for a man she’d known such a short time. Becky swirled her tea bag and spoke softly. “Were you in love with him?”

More tears rolled unchecked down her red cheeks as Isabelle nodded. “From the first moment. He was so handsome and funny. And passionate.” She looked up quickly. “About the horses, I mean. He told me all about them, and he spoke as though they were his children.”

“In a way, I think they were.”

A brief smile took her lips. “That’s what Father said. But that’s only because—” She bit back whatever she’d been about to say with a hard swallow.

Becky pulled the tea bag from her mug and sipped, breathing in the sweet odor of wintergreen. She judged the woman to be in her early thirties, not much older than Becky. “His death must have come as such a shock.”

She nodded miserably. “We were to have dinner Thursday night, a special dinner. When he didn’t arrive to pick me up, I thought—” She broke off and stared into her mug. When she continued, her voice was soft. “Father said it wouldn’t last, that Neal was only interested in me because of money. He forbade me to give him any.” Her tear-filled eyes rose to lock with Becky’s. “But he never asked. Not once since the night we met. So he couldn’t have been after my money, could he?” Her voice held a note of desperation.

Though she’d only worked with Neal two months, Becky had seen him pursue donations for the Pasture with charming single-mindedness. Would he have dated a woman only to get money for his precious horses? Possibly. But only temporarily, perhaps a dinner date or two. Surely he wouldn’t continue a relationship for months under false pretenses.

Becky blew the steam from her tea and sipped, aware that Isabelle waited fearfully for her answer. Neal was gone, and there was no reason for the poor woman to wonder for the rest of her life whether the man she loved had loved her in return. Tears of sympathy stung her eyes, and she replied with a confidence she didn’t feel. “Of course not. Neal had too much integrity for that.”

Isabelle seemed to draw comfort from her certainty. Her mug still untouched, she leaned against the back of the chair. “If only Father had known him better. And he would have had the opportunity soon.”