Horse of a Different Killer

PRAISE FOR

A Tiger's Tale

“This book offers some heart-pounding moments as well as some very humorous moments of comic relief. I found myself laughing out loud . . . [A] fast-paced, well-plotted page turner of a read that kept me at the edge of my seat.”

—MyShelf.com

Woof at the Door

“
Woof at the Door
by Laura Morrigan is a hoot—literally! Her animal behaviorist, Grace Wilde, can talk to the animals. When she gets involved in the death of the star quarterback of the Jacksonville Jaguars, the fur flies. A fun read that will keep you guessing!”

—Joyce Lavene, national bestselling coauthor of the Missing Pieces Mysteries

“A sleuth who communicates with animals, a hunky crime scene investigator, and a twist-filled plot that will keep you guessing . . . A sparkling mystery debut . . . You'll love taking a walk on this ‘Wilde' side!”

—Heather Blake, national bestselling author of the Wishcraft Mysteries

“Dr. Dolittle, look out! Grace Wilde is the real deal . . . I predict a fabulous future for the Call of the Wilde series with its engaging characters, action-packed plot, and well-crafted mystery that will keep you guessing until the end.”

—Kari Lee Townsend, national bestselling author of the Fortune Teller Mysteries

“Plenty of excitement . . . More adventures and romance are certain to follow.”

—Gumshoe Review

Berkley Prime Crime titles by Laura Morrigan

WOOF AT THE DOOR

A TIGER'
S TALE

HORSE OF A DI
FFERENT KILLER

THE BERKLEY PUBLISHING GROUP

Published by the Penguin Group

Penguin Group (USA) LLC

375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014

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HORSE OF A DIFFERENT KILLER

A Berkley Prime Crime Book / published by arrangement with the author

Copyright © 2015 by Laura Morrigan.

Penguin supports copyright. Copyright fuels creativity, encourages diverse voices, promotes free speech, and creates a vibrant culture. Thank you for buying an authorized edition of this book and for complying with copyright laws by not reproducing, scanning, or distributing any part of it in any form without permission. You are supporting writers and allowing Penguin to continue to publish books for every reader.

Berkley Prime Crime Books are published by The Berkley Publishing Group.

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For information, address: The Berkley Publishing Group,

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eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-18374-2

PUBLISHING HISTORY

Berkley Prime Crime mass-market edition / March 2015

Cover illustration by Mary Ann Lasher.

Cover design by Diana Kolsky.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

For Mom. I love you.

There are many people without whom this book could not have been written. Heartfelt thanks to:

The wonderful team at Berkley Prime Crime, especially my editor, Faith Black. Faith, you're one in a million.

My friend Lois Ann Gavin and fellow writer Terry Conway. True “horse people” who proved to be a wealth of knowledge and ideas.

The Honorable Pat Kinsey, for answering random questions about the justice system, providing kitten inspiration and letting me “borrow” Pretty Girl.

The members of my writers group: Amelia Grey, Frances Hanson-Grow (AKA Mom), Geri Buckley Borcz, Hortense Thurman, and Sandra Shanklin. Your support means more than I can say.

My aunt, Oma Laura, for Jacksonville history and insights.

I claim responsibility for all mistakes, embellishments, and other tweaks to reality.

And finally to my loving and supportive family and friends who may not always understand the writer-crazies but are willing to put up with it. Thank you!

Some days you're the windshield, some days you're the bug.

Other days, you're the girl wading thigh-deep in frigid swamp water trying to talk a koala out of a cypress tree.

Well, if you're me, anyway.

My name is Grace Wilde, and I am the dog, cat, elephant, and at the moment, koala whisperer.

I waded closer to the base of the tree and squinted up.

Percy, the koala, sat in the crook of one of the bare branches. He was still soaked from his frantic swim to reach the tallest tree in the area. Wet is not a good look for a koala. The tufts of fur on his ears drooped and the rest of his gray and white coat was clumped and matted. In addition to looking pitiful, the poor little guy was confused, agitated, and in a pretty foul mood.

I couldn't blame him.

He'd been on his way to his new home in Orlando when disaster struck. The transport vehicle was involved in an accident on I-95 that left the driver with a concussion and an injured leg. During the crash, the van's rear doors and the koala's cage had popped open. Thankfully, Percy had chosen to run away from the six lanes of speeding traffic and flee into the adjacent swamp.

Someone called 911. Kai Duncan, whom I've been dating and who happens to be a sergeant with the Jacksonville Sheriff's Office, called me. I, in turn, had called reinforcements. And here we were . . .

“What do you think, Grace?”

The question came from my friend and colleague, Sonja Brown.

Sonja was an animal behaviorist with a big heart and had great instincts. Like the rest of the would-be rescuers gathered around us, she was willing to drop everything to go on a mission to find a rogue koala. Unlike the other volunteers, Sonja knew my secret.

I can communicate with animals.

Some would say I'm psychic, some would use the term
telepath
. A few too many would call me crazy, a freak, or both, which means I tend to be a selective sharer.

I looked at Sonja. She stood in the murky water a few feet to my right and wore an expression of calm concern on her lovely, dark face.

So far, I'd coaxed, cajoled, and visualized a eucalyptus utopia.

Percy wasn't interested.

He wanted someone he called Teddy, and that was that.

I motioned Sonja closer. She slogged slowly to where I stood.

“What was the driver's name?”

“Mark somebody. Why?”

I lowered my voice so the other rescuers wouldn't hear.

“He keeps asking for Teddy.”

“Teddy, huh?” She looked up at the koala. “Even if we figure out who Teddy is, it would take a while for them to get here, right?”

I nodded, understanding what she meant. Though I hadn't sensed any physical trauma from the koala, I couldn't be sure and we couldn't take any chances.

Drawing in a lungful of marshy air, I focused my thoughts and tried again to persuade Percy to come down the tree.

Hungry?
I pulled the image of eucalyptus leaves to the front of my mind and offered it to the koala.

Teddy!
Was the response.

I don't know who Teddy is!
The frustrated thought came out a little more forceful than I'd intended
.

To my surprise, instead of being startled, the koala answered with a series of sensations and images. The feel of soft fur. Bright, black eyes, a velvet nose.

“I've got it,” I said.

I splashed over to where we'd set Percy's transport cage, got on my hands and knees and started digging through the contents. Eucalyptus, eucalyptus, a little more eucalyptus . . . I found a baby blanket and, buried in a corner, a stuffed bear.

“Hello, Teddy.”

•   •   •

“Even though I've seen you do your stuff before, I'm always impressed,” Sonja said twenty minutes later as we walked to the construction site where we, and the other volunteers, had parked.

I shrugged and shifted my gaze to the people around us. I had always been uncomfortable with compliments and especially so when it came to my ability.

Having only recently told a handful of people, I was still getting used to talking about it openly. Doing so within earshot of those who didn't know made me feel exposed.

I cast a meaningful look in the direction of the other volunteers.

“What?” She followed my glance, stopped, planted her hands on her hips, and stared at me in silent challenge.

“I'm not ready to tell everyone I meet what I can do, okay?” I whispered.

“Did I say anything about your ability? No, I did not. I didn't use the word
telepathy
or
psychic
or anything like that, did I?” She didn't wait for my answer. “No, what I did was pay you a compliment. The proper response to which should be: ‘Thank you, Sonja.'”

She waited expectantly.

I huffed out a breath. “Thank you, Sonja.”

“See? Was that so hard? Grace, honey, listen. I understand your reluctance to open up to people. Even though I don't agree with it, I understand.”

“You sound like Emma.”

My sister had been encouraging me to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak, for years. I'd resisted. Mostly out of fear.

“I know what happened with that idiot old boyfriend of yours, but by now you must've learned that there are plenty of people who will accept what you can do. Not without question, maybe. But they'll at least give you a chance. Speaking of chances . . .” She looked over my shoulder and smiled.

I glanced back to see who she was talking about and felt a smile tug at the corners of my mouth as well.

“I've been trying to call you,” Kai said.

“I left my phone in Bluebell.” I motioned to where my vintage, light blue Suburban was parked.

Kai nodded a quick greeting to Sonja and said to me, “I need to talk to you. Privately.”

Sonja gave me a wink, we said our good-byes, and I turned back to Kai. “What's up?”

He waited for my friend to be out of earshot before he started to answer. “Did you talk to—” He broke off at the sound of tires crunching over the oyster-shell parking lot. Kai went still, then shifted his weight, turning his body slightly to cast a clandestine glance over his shoulder.

“Shit,” he muttered.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning to peer around him and see who had driven into the parking area. Kai moved to block my line of sight.

I gazed a question into his troubled face.

“Listen, I don't have time to explain.” His words were punctuated by the slam of a door and footsteps on the loose shells. “The woman walking toward us is a cop. She's going to want to ask you questions. Don't panic, no matter what she says.”

Here's the thing—when someone tells you not to panic, what's the first thing you do? Yep. I swallowed hard against the sudden tendrils of fear tightening around my throat.

The footsteps crunched closer.

“Kai, what—”

“You're going to have to stall,” he said, lowering his voice. “Redirect. But whatever you do, don't tell her anything about Emma.”

“Emma?” The tendrils grew into thorny vines at the mention of my sister's name. My heart rate surged, pounding in my chest almost painfully.

“You don't know anything. I don't know anything. I'm just here to take you to a late lunch. Okay?”

I nodded.

“Now, smile and ask me where we're going to eat,” he murmured.

I bared my teeth—it was the best I could do in that moment—and said, “So, what are you hungry for?” just as the woman reached us.

The first thing I noticed when I shifted my attention to her was the flame-red color of her hair. Natural, if the freckles dusting her nose and cheeks were any indication. Her hair was cut short and, along with her heart-shaped face and petite frame, made me think of Neverland and pixies.

She didn't look at all scary, which was more unnerving than if I'd turned to see the Blair Witch.

Kai shrugged at me, still pretending not to have noticed her.

“It's up to you. I was—” He stopped and turned, a look of surprise on his face. “Detective Boyle, what are you doing here?”

She gave him an unfriendly look. I admit my understanding of people is limited, but I know the stink eye when I see it. Whoever this woman was, she didn't like Kai.

“Oh, I'm sure you know, Sergeant Duncan.”

“I don't, actually,” Kai said, his tone so honest and forthcoming, I almost believed him.

She turned to me and her features softened. “Grace Wilde?”

“Yes.”

Her tone was much warmer, almost apologetic, when she said, “I have a few questions for you if you have a moment.”

I felt Kai reach over to clasp my hand in his. Though we'd been dating, in the few times we'd gone out he'd never held my hand.

The sensation of his warm, rough palm pressed to mine should have sent a happy flutter through me. All I felt was dread.

I could sense Kai trying to tell me something through his steady grip.

What?

Get ready to run?

Stay calm?

“Sure,” I said.

“Great. Would you mind coming with me?”

“Like this?” I motioned to my stained clothes. “I should probably head home and change before—”

She waved my comment away and said, “You were going to lunch, right?”

Damn. Busted.

“Drive-through,” I said with a shrug. “Bluebell is used to the dirt.”

“Who?”

“Bluebell.” I pointed.

“Well,” Detective Boyle said after eyeing my old, enormous SUV, “I'm sure we can manage.”

“What's all this about, Detective?” I asked.

“We'll explain once we get to the sheriff's office.”

“Why don't you explain now?” I felt Kai's hand tighten in mine so I tacked on a “please.”

“I have questions about your sister, Emma.”

“Emma? Is she okay?”

“She's not hurt.”

That wasn't the same thing as being okay, but relief poured over me anyway. I blew out a sigh and said, “I'm not sure I understand why you want to talk to me about Emma.”

“She's just been arrested.”

“Arrested? For what?”

“Murder.”