Bluegrass Peril (12 page)

“S
amson’s Secret is one of the friendliest horses we have here at the Pasture.” Scott slapped the old bay’s neck affectionately as six tourists gathered around him. “He was found abandoned in a field in New Jersey, nothing but a bag of bones living on rainwater and whatever wild grass he could find. The authorities checked his tattoo and realized who he was, a champion who had made more than a million dollars during his career. He still holds the six-furlong track record at Arlington.” Scott shook his head. “It was like finding Babe Ruth living under a bridge.”

“He’s a beautiful horse.” The woman reached a tentative hand toward Samson, smiling when he allowed her to rub his nose.

“Here, give him this.” Scott pulled an apple out of the bucket he carried and halved it with his pocket knife.

She did, turning a wide grin on her husband when Samson took it eagerly from her fingers.

Scott laughed. “Besides being the friendliest, he’s the best eater. Probably remembers what it was like to scavenge for food.”

“What’s wrong with his ear?” One of the men pointed.

Scott stepped closer to the fence to grasp Samson’s halter. The edge of his ear had a cut, fairly fresh. It looked clean, but he should probably put some antibiotic ointment on it to keep it from getting infected. Have to remember to do that.

He looked at the man and shrugged. “They get little nicks and cuts every so often, especially the ones who like to roll on the ground or rub against the fence.”

His cell phone buzzed on his belt. He unclipped it and glanced at the number. Lee Courtney.

“Excuse me a minute.” He nodded toward his audience before stepping a few feet away. They drew together in a tight cluster around Samson, who appeared to be enjoying all the attention.

“Scott Lewis.”

“Scott, this is Marion. Lee would like to see you this afternoon, if you have time.”

Scott wanted to get his evening chores done early so he could relax and enjoy Becky’s church. But of course he’d make time for his boss. “You bet. What time?”

He heard a paper shuffle, then Lee’s assistant said, “He’s free around four. Just come on up to the house.”

“I’ll be there.” Hopefully the meeting wouldn’t take too long. He was supposed to be at Becky’s at five-thirty.

Scott closed the cover on his phone and returned to the tour.

At three fifty-five Scott rang the doorbell at the Courtney residence, a magnificent antebellum mansion at the northernmost edge of the five-hundred-acre farm. Graceful white columns formed a two-story portico that always reminded Scott of
Gone With the Wind.
He could easily picture Scarlett O’Hara seated on a settee, batting her eyelashes behind her fan at a host of adoring beaux.

As he pressed the doorbell, he realized his cell phone was missing from his belt clip. He’d laid it down on the workbench this afternoon and forgot about it. Hopefully he’d have time to run back by the Pasture and pick it up before he went to Becky’s.

The door opened, and Scott smiled a greeting at Marion, Lee’s indispensable assistant.

“Right on time, as usual.” Marion allowed him to press his lips to her cheek as he stepped inside. “He’s out on the veranda. Do you remember the way?”

“I think so.”

Scott had only been here a couple of times, but he’d been given the grand tour. Soft strains of classical music drifted down the wide, curving stairway, punctuated by the sound of his boots echoing on the tiled floor until he stepped into a carpeted den. There, eight-foot French doors that opened onto the veranda had been thrown wide to let a soft, rose-scented breeze flood the room. When he stepped outside, he found Lee seated in a white wicker chair, well shaded from the bright afternoon sunlight that bathed an enormous rose garden. Water trickled down multilayered porcelain bowls in a fountain in the center of the garden.

“Scott, there you are.” The old gentleman laid his book on a glass-covered table beside him and stood to shake Scott’s hand. “Have a seat.”

As Scott sat in the chair he indicated, Marion stepped through the French doors bearing a tray.

“Ah, Marion, you always know what I want before I ask.” Lee beamed up at her, his blue eyes twinkling beneath thick gray brows.

“Of course I do.” She set the tray on the low table and winked at Scott. “That’s why you keep me around.”

She poured two tall glasses of lemonade from a frosty pitcher and set one before each of them. When she disappeared back into the house, Lee picked up his glass and held it to his lips.

He looked at Scott over the rim. “How are things going down at Out to Pasture?”

“Fine. I’m getting to know the horses and have spoken with most of the regular donors. You know, introduced myself, assured them that their help is still appreciated and necessary.”

“Good, good.”

Scott crossed his legs. “Several of them wanted to know when the board would meet to discuss the Pasture’s future.” Scott didn’t mention that two donors had questioned him closely to determine if he was interested in taking the job as the Pasture’s director on a permanent basis. He’d been flattered, but if he passed that along it would sound like bragging.

Lee sipped his lemonade, then held the glass in both hands and stared into it. “That’s why I wanted to talk to you. I’ve had a few calls this morning from some of the board members.”

So maybe he didn’t have to blow his own horn after all. Maybe some of those donors had contacted the board on his behalf. He picked up his own glass and waited for Lee to continue.

“Frankly, Scott, they’re concerned. They question my decision to put you in charge.”

Scott sat immobile, searching the old man’s face while his words sank in. Someone didn’t think he could handle the job? Blood surged uncomfortably in his ears as the silence between them deepened.

He leaned forward to set his glass back on the table. “I’m stunned. You might not remember this, but I have a lot of experience working with stallions.”

Lee waved a hand. “Your experience isn’t in question. Your maturity is.”

“My maturity?” He shook his head. “I don’t understand. Do they think I’m too young to handle the job?”

Lips pursed, Lee studied him. Scott resisted the urge to squirm beneath the older man’s searching glance.

“I’ll be honest with you. Neal excelled in many ways, but his personal habits were, shall we say, less than professional in some areas. Out to Pasture was his creation, his dream-child. But on more than one occasion his reputation had a negative impact on the organization.”

Scott leaned back in his seat. “I can see how that would cause the board some concern. But what does it have to do with me? I don’t have a bad reputation.”

Lee moved his book to pick up the folded section of a newspaper beneath it. He held it toward Scott. “Have you seen this?”

Scott took it. A glance at the top showed him it was today’s
Davidson County Post.
He started to tell Lee that he didn’t take the small-town paper when his gaze caught on a headline.

Man Strangled In His Own Home

He skimmed the account of Eddie Jones’s death, exercising a huge amount of self-control to keep his face impassive when he found his own name mentioned. The reporter had spoken with someone at O’Grady’s, probably the same person Detective Foster questioned.

…A witness, who wished to remain anonymous, told police that a few hours before his death Jones was seen at O’Grady’s Tavern arguing with the manager of Out to Pasture, a farm for retired Thoroughbred stallions. Scott Lewis, who took over management of the retirement farm after the previous manger was murdered last week, was unavailable for comment.

“Nobody ever asked me for a comment.” He looked into Lee’s eyes, willing the man to believe him. “Honestly. I was there all day yesterday and today, and nobody from the paper has been by.”

“I’ve already called Jeffries, the owner of the
Post.
He said no one answered the phone last night in the office.”

“Has he ever heard of leaving a message?” Anger seeped into Scott’s voice. Surely there were laws against this kind of treatment by the press. Even a small-town newspaper was subject to the law, wasn’t it?

“Is it true?” Lee leaned forward to tap a finger on the article. “Do you associate with characters like this Jones?”

Scott flinched at the disapproval in the old gentleman’s tone. He leaned forward, forearms resting on his thighs. “No, sir. I do not associate with Jones. The bare facts here are true, but I don’t gamble at all, and I don’t drink.” He met Lee’s gaze without flinching. “I went to the bar to ask him about the break-in because I thought he was responsible for it. He didn’t like my questions, and got a little uptight. I wasn’t even there ten minutes.”

Lee’s eyes narrowed as he subjected Scott to a soul-searching stare. Finally, he nodded once and sat back with a relieved smile. “I knew you’d have an explanation. I’m never wrong about a man’s character.”

Scott sagged with relief. He picked up his glass and gulped, more for an excuse to look away than because of thirst.

Lee took the paper from his unresisting hand and buried it beneath his book. “I’ll give the board members a call, explain things. Don’t worry about it.”

“I appreciate that.” Sensing that he was being dismissed, Scott stood.

Lee stood, as well, and extended his hand. “Thanks for coming by. The board is meeting on Friday, so I’ll give you a call and let you know how it goes.”

Scott found his way to the front door alone and exited the house. Frustration tensed his jaw as he stomped down the porch stairs. Thank goodness Lee believed him, and he’d explain Scott’s involvement with Eddie Jones to the board. But what about the others who read that article?

He slid behind the wheel of his truck and slammed the door. Instead of turning the key in the ignition, he stared across the gentle swells of green farmland. He could just glimpse the roof of the Pasture beyond the Shady Acres horse barn.

He’d never had a boss express anything close to displeasure in him, and the experience rankled. He needed to keep his reputation spotless if he had any chance of landing a job at another Thoroughbred farm. Or, as he’d begun to consider, of keeping the job at Out to Pasture permanently. Who would hire him to manage a multimillion dollar enterprise if they thought he was reckless with his personal finances?

He shook himself as he turned the key. The engine roared to life. He was going to a prayer meeting tonight, and a good, long prayer was exactly what he needed.

But first, dinner with Becky and Jamie and Tyler. A glance at his watch told him he had just enough time to get home, shower and get over to her house. She’d left work an hour early, probably to get dinner ready for him. He didn’t care if she served tuna fish sandwiches and potato chips, he was just looking forward to an evening with her. Something about Becky relaxed him. She was so easy to talk to, so insightful and smart. He loved that ready smile that ignited her eyes.

He punched the gas pedal. If he hurried, he’d have time to stop and pick up some flowers, as he should have done last night.

B
ecky checked the address on her note and compared it to the number etched in gold on the plaque in the front yard of what she could only describe as a modern mansion. Three elegant stories, tall graceful windows, glittering crystal in the wide double doors. She battled a fit of nerves as she turned onto the circular driveway. Maybe she should have called Isabelle first. The police might already have been here, and it would be so embarrassing to be thrown out on her ear. But if they hadn’t questioned her yet, Becky wanted to warn her that they might be coming.

Feeling like a poor relation, she pulled her bedraggled car beneath the arched portico and cut the engine. She clutched the steering wheel, gathering her nerve, then got out of the car. She paused in the act of locking the doors. Nobody would bother breaking into her old Chevy in a ritzy neighborhood like this one.

The exquisite front door opened the moment her foot reached the topmost brick step. When it did, cigar-scented air rushed outward. A dark-haired man who seemed to be all legs looked down on her from a lofty height, his expression one of polite inquiry. When she noticed a slight flaring of his hawklike nostrils, Becky bit back a nervous giggle.

“I’m here to see Isabelle Keller. My name is Becky Dennison.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, in a voice that denied it, “but Miss Keller isn’t home this afternoon.”

She
knew
she should have called. She gave the man a bright smile. “Will you tell her I dropped by, and ask her to call me?”

“Lawrence, who’re you talking to?” A man’s deep voice sounded from somewhere inside the house.

Lawrence turned his head and spoke without moving. “Someone to see Miss Keller.”

“Well, don’t leave her standing outside. Bring her in.”

Lawrence paused only a second, long enough for Becky to wish she’d taken the time to refresh her lipstick, then stepped backward and opened the door wider. Becky stepped into an entry hall that belonged in Buckingham Palace. Marble everywhere, on the floors, the staircase, the tops of antique tables scattered all around. When the door closed behind her, the late-afternoon sunlight pouring through the glass cast dancing rainbows across the floor.

Movement to her right drew her attention. A man stood from a wing chair and stooped over an ashtray to put out his cigar before coming toward her. This man wasn’t much taller than Becky, with a thick neck and muscular arms that bulged like one of Jamie’s toy action figures. She recognized him from the newspapers.

“Mr. Keller, my name is Becky Dennison. I’m a friend of Isabelle’s.”

His hand engulfed hers, and he studied her face with small, piercing eyes. “I don’t think I’ve heard Izzy mention your name.”

Becky fought the impulse to look away. “Actually, we just met last week when she stopped by the place I work.”

“And where is that?”

“Out to Pasture. I work in the office.”

Something flared in his eyes that made Becky want to take a step backward. But it was gone before she could identify it. “I see. Please come in and sit down.” He gestured toward an empty wing chair on the other side of a marble-topped table from his. “Can I have Lawrence bring you a drink?”

As she sat, she noticed a half-f glass beside the ashtray. From the smell of it, it was something alcoholic. At four-fifteen in the afternoon?

She perched on the edge of the seat cushion, ankles crossed, and held her purse in her lap. “No, thank you. I can’t stay long.”

With a glance of dismissal at Lawrence, Mr. Keller reseated himself and turned to look at her full-on. “You’re the one who found the money. In a bag of dog food, I heard.”

Becky straightened. She didn’t know the discovery was public information.

He must have seen her surprise, because he explained. “I have friends at State Police Headquarters in Frankfort.”

She remembered what Scott said about charges against Mr. Keller always being dropped. “I see.”

Ice clinked against the sides of his glass when he picked it up. “Did my Izzy talk to you, tell you she’d been seeing Haldeman?”

Becky watched his hand as he swirled the liquid. Those hands were huge, and strong. Strong enough to kill a man with a hoof pick? Or maybe strangle him in his sleep?

A tickle of fear made her palms begin to sweat. She wiped them on her slacks. “Yes, she did.”

A blast of humorless laughter shook his shoulders. “He was toying with her. He did that, toyed with women just to get money out of them for those precious horses of his. I warned her, but she wouldn’t listen.” His jowls drooped as he stared at the carpet in front of his chair. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. “She wouldn’t listen. And now what will happen to her?”

He knew. Becky was suddenly sure that Isabelle’s father knew of her pregnancy.

“Mr. Keller,” she said gently, “maybe he did toy with women in the past, but a man can change. Maybe Neal really loved Isabelle.”

“Ha!” He jerked upright and some of the liquor splashed out of his glass onto his pants. He didn’t appear to notice. “He didn’t. Know how I know?”

The last came out slurred. The man was drunk.

Lord, please get me out of here in one piece!

Becky kept her voice calm, though fear was creeping up her spine to brush prickly fingers at the back of her neck. “How do you know?”

He went still, staring into her eyes for a long moment. “Because I paid him to leave her and the baby alone. Gave him two hundred fifty thousand dollars. And he took it.” He held the glass to his lips, staring into it. “He took it.”

“How long have you known about the baby?”

“Since Izzy found out. She took one of those test things, and left it in the trash can. Lawrence found it, brought it to me.” He jerked his head upright and glared at her. “Don’t tell her I know. I want her to come to me on her own.”

Becky sat back in the chair. The money had come from Isabelle’s father. A bribe. Not a horse race. Had Neal told his bookies he had the money to pay them off? Who knew about it besides Mr. Keller?

She leaned forward. “Did you break into Out to Pasture to get your money back?”

He put his head back and laughed. “You’re smart, you are. You should work for the police. They wouldn’t have been able to figure it out if I hadn’t told ’em.”

“You confessed?”

He shrugged. “It’s okay. I turned over everything I took. Fifty bucks in cash, which made it look like a real robbery, and the files. I figured they’d be happy to get those records, once I saw what they were. They probably can’t use it as evidence, but at least they have it.” He shook his head. “Never thought to look in the dog food, though.”

If he broke into the office, did he also break into the barn? She couldn’t help staring at those strong hands.

He followed her glance and laughed. “No, I didn’t kill him.” He flexed his fingers into a fist. “I could have, I was that mad. But I figured paying him off was a better way. And I was right. Izzy will see that sooner or later. She didn’t know about the others, she believed him when he told her he loved her. But I knew better. I had him watched. He was having an affair with a married woman at the same time he was seeing my Izzy.”

“An affair?” Becky’s clutch on her purse tightened. “Mr. Keller, do you know who he was seeing?”

“Of course.” He set the drink down. “Leslie Stevens. His next-door neighbor’s wife. The scumbag.”

Becky’s mouth fell open. No way! She had met Leslie several times, because she came to the Pasture often. She and her husband, Nick, were regular donors.

“Did you tell the police?”

He scowled. “Why should I? The woman has bad taste in men, but I see no sense in dragging her into a mess. Let the dead stay dead, and leave the living alone, that’s my motto.”

Becky watched him pick up his cigar, glance at her and put it down again. She stood.

“I really must be going, Mr. Keller. Please tell Isabelle I stopped by.”

He didn’t get out of the chair as Becky practically ran to the front door. She felt the weight of his stare on her back as she slipped outside, not breathing freely until she was in her car with the doors locked.

She glanced at her watch. She couldn’t be late picking up the boys. The day care center charged a dollar a minute after closing time. And she had to get home to put dinner on before Scott arrived. Now’s when she wished she had a cell phone, so she could call the police before the boys got in the car. She had to tell them she’d discovered the identity of the L in the note.

“What are we having?”

Jamie’s tone, as usual, told Becky he expected the worst.

She’d managed to regain her composure before she arrived at the day care center by reminding herself that there was nothing time sensitive in the revelation of the mysterious L. She could pull Jeff Whitley aside at church tonight. That would be soon enough.

“Cheeseburgers, Tater Tots and a salad.”

“Woo-hoo!” Tyler danced in his seat, arms pumping the air. Thank goodness for seat belts.

A glance in the rearview mirror showed her Jamie’s scowl. “I don’t like salad.”

“I know you don’t. But you can at least eat a tomato and a cucumber.”

She grinned at his dramatic sigh of woe.

As she turned the corner onto her street, Becky looked automatically toward her house. Odd. There was an unfamiliar car in the driveway. And was that a man sitting on her front stoop?

Her pulse picked up speed as she slowed the car. Had Mr. Keller realized he’d talked too much? Did he send someone to her house to warn her to keep her mouth shut?

“Who’s at our house?” asked Jamie.

“I don’t know.”

She’d drive right past, go around the block and leave. But where could she go? She faced forward while trying to get a look at the guy as she drove by. Maybe she’d go to Amber’s house. Maybe—

Her foot slammed the brake pedal. The car came to a screeching halt just beyond her driveway. She knew that man.

She pulled forward to the curb in front of her next-door neighbor’s house and parked.

When she turned off the engine, the rear door opened and Tyler tumbled out to the sidewalk, Jamie right behind. Becky jerked her door open and grabbed their shirts before they got three steps away from the car.

“You two stay here.” She directed her sternest stare at both boys. “Do not move. Do you understand me?”

Her tone promised dire consequences, and they got the message. Wide-eyed, they nodded and backed up to lean against the car. She took a bracing breath and faced her house. This could
not
be happening. Not tonight. Not in front of the boys.

As she walked down the sidewalk, the man stood. “I thought that was you.”

“Christopher, what are you doing here?”

“I came to see my wife and sons.” He flashed the lopsided grin she remembered so well. Her stomach clenched in response.

“Ex-wife.”

“Whatever.”

He hopped down the concrete stairs and came toward her, arms extended. She took a step backward, warning him with a glare to keep his distance.

“Whoa, a little touchy, aren’t you?”

“And why wouldn’t I be?” She didn’t even try to filter her tone. “Did you expect me to welcome you with open arms like nothing’s happened? After
four years
without a word?”

His hands dropped to his sides. “Trust me, I wasn’t any good for anybody these past few years. You wouldn’t have wanted me around.” His voice softened. “But a day hasn’t gone by that I didn’t think of you and the twins, Becky.”

Was that actual contrition she heard in his voice? She eyed him suspiciously. Chris could charm a T-bone from a hungry bear. It was one of his talents.

“And now?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “I’m getting things back on track. I’ve got a steady job down in Florida doing landscaping for a big corporation.” His shoulders jerked with a silent laugh. “They actually pay me to dig in the dirt. Turns out I’m good at something after all. Wouldn’t my old man have been surprised if he’d lived?”

Becky fought against a wave of sympathy, which made her angry. She didn’t want to feel sorry for the man who deserted her with two little babies. “You were good at lots of things,” she said, grudgingly. “Just not good at sticking with them.”

“Yeah, well, that’s all changing.” He craned his neck toward her car. “Are those the boys? I’ll bet I won’t even recognize them.”

Oh, he’d recognize them all right. He saw them every day in the mirror. Becky realized anew how much her sons looked like their father.

“I wish you had called first, Christopher. They were babies when you left. They don’t remember you. I need to prepare them.”

“Prepare them for what? I’m their father.” His smile tightened. “I figure since I’m paying child support, I might as well exercise my visitation rights.”

She spoke through clenched teeth. “You don’t pay for the privilege of seeing your children. You pay for the responsibility of raising them. And you haven’t done your fair share of that.”

“I know, I know.” He held his hands out, fingers splayed, and took another step toward her. “Are we going to argue about this right now? I’ve come a long way, and I’d like to see my sons.” His arms dropped to his sides and he tried another smile on her. “I’ve looked forward to seeing you, too, Becky. I’ve really missed you.”

For one instant, time stopped. A bird in a distant tree fell silent. The light breeze that tickled her hair stilled. Even her heart seemed to pause in her chest.

How many times had she dreamed of hearing those words from Christopher? She fell in love with him on the first day of their freshman year in high school, and had never loved another. After he left she’d lost count of the number of nights her aching heart kept her awake in bed, knowing he would never share it again. Why should he, when so many other women welcomed him to theirs?

The wind stirred the grass at her feet. The bird resumed its song. Her heart thudded to life. The Lord had soothed her hurts, healed the wounds Christopher had inflicted. But the scars remained, and they were a little more tender than she’d realized.