He swirled the whiskey in his hand again and stared into the glass as though expecting to see either angels or demons. “But maybe that’s because our family’s been on such a
losing
streak recently. Winning would have been a long way from her lexicon.” He released a heartfelt sigh, then sank down into one of two leather club chairs that bracketed the fire-place. The hide was a dark, subtly mottled green; contrasted with the flickering orange flames in the hearth, the polished brass of the fender rail and the crisp white paint of the walls, the picture should have been one of affluence and serenity. Instead, it was somber and cheerless.
“Take a seat, Polycrates. I’m not going to bite. What’s the problem this time?”
Again, Rosco saw no reason for beating around the bush, but he also had no wish to hit Collins with more bad news if he could help it. “I just came from talking to your barn manager about the stable fire—”
“Don’t tell me Orlando’s finally figured it out?” Todd grumbled. “Sure he did. Of course, he did. The guy’s no dummy . . . I have to admit, I took a certain amount of perverse joy in watching him squirm and fess up to doing something he didn’t. But I guess he was bound to learn how the blaze began sooner or later. Heather never was able to keep her mouth shut.” When Rosco made no reply, the patriarch’s heavy voice continued. “This is not a family that keeps secrets from each other. I’m well aware that Heather started that damn fire, and I also know precisely how—and why. She admitted the whole thing just as soon as the emergency crews left. She felt awful about the situation. Naturally, she would. Anyone would. She sure as hell hadn’t planned to instigate that kind of conflagration when she followed my wife to the stable . . .” Collins permitted himself the briefest of pauses before plunging ahead. It was almost as though he’d forgotten Rosco was in the room and was speaking out of his own deep need for confession.
“Heather told me she and Michael had strong suspicions Ryan was sleeping with Orlando—among others. A lot of different men, according to them. So Heather decided to spy on Ryan and catch her redhanded—which is how the whole mess started. Heather was trying to get me down there to confront my wife, discover her in a compromising position. My daughter was the one who was reaching for the damn tack room telephone to call the Big House, not Polk. The rest of the story you’ve already heard: the booze bottle, the damn space heater; it was an accident waiting to happen. Unfortunately, it was an accident that seems to have been the first in a tragic chain of events. Ironic, isn’t it, that a bottle of whiskey could cause such ruin?” Todd paused again. His craggy face was covered in a dark and angry frown.
“What about Orlando’s crack on the head? Some folks would suggest that a jealous husband might have left him there to die?”
Todd shook his head. “No, that’s not me; I don’t favor the death penalty. I’d rather sit and watch people rot and pay for their sins for the rest of their lives, day in and day out. Death is too easy for some people. I saw how the beam hit Orlando, so did Jack. Don’t forget we were the ones who pulled him out.”
“Your witness is dead, Mr. Collins.”
“That he is; but Orlando’s alive . . . I know what you’re thinking, Polycrates: ‘Why did we let him take the fall for the fire?’ Well, let me just say that it was easier than airing all this dirty laundry in public. And like I said, I took some enjoyment in watching him sweat bullets. I think he owes me one, wouldn’t you agree? And being blamed for causing an accidental fire isn’t necessarily a career-breaker. Not everywhere, at least.”
Rosco didn’t speak for a second or two. He intuited that expressing any surprise over Collins’s admission of Heather’s guilt, as well as his prior knowledge of his wife’s unfaithfulness, might force the man to clam up. Instead, Rosco ventured a soothing, “Your daughter must love you a good deal, Mr. Collins. Both your daughters.”
“Yeah, and I was the dope who tossed them aside. Married a woman who couldn’t hold a candle to either of them . . . didn’t listen to them saying that Ryan wasn’t worthy of my affection. I cut them off, turned my back on them—and Chip, too. Why do us old dogs do stupid things like that? Why do we let pretty young women flatter us into thinking they care? And then why do we ignore our true families, our own flesh and blood, as a result?”
Rosco considered the question. For a weird moment, he almost imagined he was talking to Walter Gudgeon. “Mr. Collins, let me ask you something—”
“Go ahead. It feels good to finally get this stuff off my chest.”
“You said your daughters made other attempts to expose your wife—”
“And Chip, too. In their own way, each of my kids tried to tell me she was cheating. Hell, Chip went so far as to call her a tramp, and I slapped him across the face.”
“Is it possible that one of them killed her? You know the police love to play the inheritance card. I understand you intended to leave the farm, pretty much everything, to your wife?”
Collins shook his head slowly. “I don’t believe they would do that. Not because they’re not capable of rage, or keeping their eyes on a buck. My kids are definitely a chip off the old block—no pun intended—and they’re damned used to getting their own way, and can be ferocious when they don’t. But I believe their concern over me would have prevented them from killing Ryan out of spite. Oh, sure, they wanted to prove her to be the trollop she was and hoped and prayed that I’d toss her out . . . but bashing her head like that, and letting me find the body? No, that’s not their style. Ryan would have to do something pretty abhorrent to push them over the top.” Collins smiled a weary smile. “And that’s saying a lot, because they surely must have hated the woman. But I didn’t raise any murderers, Polycrates.”
Again, Rosco was silent. He was aware of a clock ticking on the mantelpiece, of the distant whir of a vacuum cleaner moving through the second floor, of a leaf blower working the far end of the garden: all homey and comforting sounds intruding into a space that was far from peaceable. “So you must not believe that Heather killed Jack Curry.”
Todd Collins didn’t immediately answer. “I’ve been struggling and struggling with that one. I know Fee went off the deep end last night, accused Heather of all sorts of nasty things . . . but I simply can’t see her shacking up with Curry when she knew her sister was about to marry him again . . . let alone murder him.”
“Would Curry have cheated on Fiona in that fashion?” Rosco prompted.
“Well, that’s another story. I don’t hold with speaking ill of the dead, but I don’t believe I’m doing so when I say that Jack was a diamond in the rough. He had flaws that no amount of polishing was going to remove. Fee knew that. Hell, she’d been married to the guy once, and she’d also spent a sizable amount of time on the show circuit with him. There’s a lot of testosterone flying around out in those pony rings—and, believe me, it’s not just the stallions. People who engage in that type of winner-take-all experience need to put their pent-up energy somewhere. And let me tell you, the women trainers and riders are just as wild as the men.”
Rosco nodded while Collins continued, “I’m going to miss Jack Curry, I’ll tell you that much. I’m going to miss the heck out of him. He was one fine trainer, and a good friend. And he was also the only man who could keep Fiona in line. It was the one good thing Ryan did, insisting I bring him back here, and I never regretted my decision for a minute.”
Rosco made a mental note of the fact. “How long ago was that, again? That you rehired him?”
“Shortly after we were married. Ryan thought it would be good for the stable, as well as for Fiona—even though Fee was already hitched to that jackass Whitney Applegate. Of course, I never explained to my daughter that her love life had played a part in my decision. I just said I was damn glad to have Curry back working the Wenstarin horses. And if you have a child who’s unhappy with a spouse, a parent has an obligation to shake things up a little, get them back on the right track.”
“So your wife was interested in making your daughters happy?”
Collins didn’t immediately respond. “I don’t know about other occasions, but she was then, yes. And, yes, I also realize people suspected that she and Jack had been an item when they were both kicking around in the smaller southern circuits a few years back. But I hadn’t met her then, and I never asked about her history. Call me blind, if you want. One thing I do know: Orlando may have been shagging my wife, but Jack was too loyal to pull a stunt like that. And too grateful that I’d brought him back into the big time. I guess you could say I rescued him. I sure as hell saved him from himself. He’d had money problems and so forth when he and Fee were first hitched, but from what I’d heard he’d finally gotten himself in debt big-time, and was starting to hit the sauce in earnest. But he cleaned himself up before he came back to Wenstarin Farms, and that was good enough for me.”
Again, Rosco nodded in thought. “I appreciate your talking to me so candidly, Mr. Collins. And I also realize that this isn’t an easy conversation for you to have.”
Collins allowed himself another wan smile. “I told you, Polycrates, I’m glad to unburden myself. It’s kind of odd, but I haven’t had a soul to talk to since Ryan died. Oh, my kids, sure, but . . .” He took a deep breath. “It hasn’t been easy knowing how, and why, that damn fire started. And what happened afterwards . . .” Tears choked his voice. He leaned back in his chair and seemed to visibly force himself into self-control again. Then he released a hollow laugh. “I guess this interview means that you’re going to help me find my wife’s killer. Now that your concerns about arson are resolved, I mean.”
Rosco hedged his response with a noncommittal, “If your son and daughters knew about the situation with your barn manager and your wife, did Kelly know as well?”
Collins thought. His frown deepened. “You’re not suggesting Kelly killed Ryan, are you?”
“Jealousy’s a powerful motive, Mr. Collins.” Knowing that the emotion worked both ways, Rosco closely watched Todd’s face, hoping the statement would bring on some reaction, but it didn’t.
“Little Kelly? Kill Ryan? Why, Ryan was a good three inches taller than Kelly . . .” He shook his head from side to side. “No . . . that’s just not possible. Kelly’s like a doll. Scurries around here like a tiny mouse. She wouldn’t have it in her. Besides, she was thankful as all get-out when my wife hired her. They were more like best buddies than employee and employer.”
“Which would only add to a sense of betrayal if she discovered her friend was moving in on her husband,” Rosco observed.
“I don’t buy that. No, you’re barking up the wrong tree with Kelly. She doesn’t have a mean bone in her body.”
Collins drained what was left of his drink, appeared to consider pouring himself another, then put the glass firmly on a nearby table. “I’ve got to lay off of this stuff,” he muttered, then added a reasoned, “Maybe I can imagine Kelly getting angry with her husband for cheating on her, but never Ryan. Not in a million years. Those women were really close. Of course, Kelly would have a tough time beating up on Orlando. She’s too petite, and he’s pure muscle. She’d move out if she knew, but I can’t see her trying to resort to physical violence.”
“But your daughter’s not a big woman, and yet she’s in custody for killing Jack Curry.”
Collins covered his face with his hands. “Oh, my poor Heather . . . I told you I’ve been wrestling with this . . . I simply can’t believe there’s any truth to that, either.”
Rosco gave him a moment to calm down. “Tell me about Michael Palamountain, Mr. Collins.”
He released a long sigh and looked up. “Not much to tell. He’s an investment guy. Quiet, reserved—at least, I believed he was until last night.” Collins thought for a moment. “But then, those were highly unusual circumstances, and no one was behaving well.” He paused again. “Michael handles the farm’s financial transactions.”
“And you trust him?” The statement was more question than comment.
“I’m a businessman, Polycrates. A fancier of good horseflesh, absolutely, but I couldn’t indulge this very,
very
expensive habit if I didn’t also run a lucrative corporation—and then try to make the farm into a moneymaker as well. Yes, I trust Michael not to cook the books, if that’s what you mean.” He let out a small chuckle. “But don’t think I’m not looking over his shoulder every minute.”
“Palamountain also sent your daughter—his own wife—to jail, sir. It was his word that put her there.”
Collins groaned again and again stared at his empty glass.
“Heather insists that she found Curry already dead and his house in disarray,” Rosco continued with a little more force. “Michael, on the other hand, claims that he discovered his wife holding the murder weapon, and, I gather, looking pretty darn guilty, having already washed the knife. What kind of a husband would cause his wife to be arrested, Mr. Collins?”
Todd made no response other than to lower his head in thought again.
“Is there a possibility, sir, that Michael Palamountain’s convinced she’ll be found innocent? That, in fact, he knows who the guilty party is and realizes that a good lawyer can easily get your daughter acquitted—?”
“Wait. Wait up there. You’re suggesting Michael killed Jack? Or Ryan? Or even both?” Disbelief echoed through Collins’s voice. “He’s a money manager and venture capitalist, not a thug. Even if he knew for a fact that his wife was cheating on him, no way would he resort to killing one of the best damn horse trainers in the country!”
“Somebody did, sir. And if you want to be absolutely certain your daughter didn’t kill Curry, maybe you need to figure out who else did.”
Rosco stood. As Al had said, the situation at King Wenstarin Farms was looking both far too simple and way too complicated—which was what happened when a bunch of people started lying to protect one another. And no matter how disgusted Todd’s kids might have been at the introduction of Ryan into the household, the Collinses were still a family; and families, as Rosco knew, could go to desperate measures to save one of their own.