The Kill (26 page)

“Thanks—” Manning and Thompson spoke in unison, then glared at one another.

Thompson broke the standoff first, bowing his head. “Pardon me, Master.”

“Yeah, like it or not, I am,” Manning muttered.

“So,” Margaret said, ignoring both of them and directing her attention to Abigale, “before you came in we were going around in circles trying to make sense of the fact that someone tampered with Richard’s saddle.”

“It changes everything, doesn’t it?” Abigale asked.

“I certainly think so. I called Lieutenant Mallory. He’s on his way here.”

“I don’t imagine they’ll be able to get any evidence off of it.”

“No, probably not,” Margaret said. “But they’ll start poking around, try to narrow down the time frame when it might have happened, try to establish who had access, et cetera.”

“That shouldn’t be too hard,” Abigale said. “It’s not like this is a public barn.”

“You’re right. Assuming the saddle was meddled with here.”

Abigale frowned at her. “Where else?”

“At Monday’s hunt.” Margaret said it as if it should be obvious.” Someone could have slipped into the trailer when Richard was off chitchatting, slit the billet straps with the saddle already on the horse. Could have been done in the blink of an eye, with no one the wiser. I know the slices were concealed under the buckle guard, but if I was going to do something like that I’d do it once the horse was saddled. Make sure it wasn’t discovered when buckling the girth.

“Of course, it could also have been done after hunting, setting it up for the next time Richard rode. That would have been easy as pie. When Richard stayed around for a tailgate, he usually untacked his horse. Put the saddle in the trailer’s tack room. Someone could have tampered with the saddle then; but that’d be mighty risky, bargaining that it’d escape Michael’s keen eye when he cleaned the tack.”

“Was there a tailgate the last time Uncle Richard hunted?”

Margaret nodded.

“We should also find out if Richard stopped in town on his way home from hunting,” Thompson said. “It wasn’t unusual for him to pick up supplies at the feed store. Or, for that matter, he might have made a detour to the Coach Stop. He did that more than once when I was with him. He’d see a vehicle parked out front and say ‘so-and-so’s in there. I need to have a word with him.’ He’d park the truck and trailer on the street and off he’d go. If Richard did that, anyone could have had access to his saddle.”

“I just can’t believe that someone wanted to murder Uncle Richard,” Abigale said. “It wasn’t some random shooting, some highway worker who tried to rob him and got spooked. Someone actually planned it. Someone he knew.”

“We don’t know that for sure,” Thompson said. “Whoever tampered with Richard’s saddle most likely targeted him directly. But I have a hard time seeing how that ties in with the shooting.”

“You think it was just a coincidence?” Abigale demanded, exasperation putting more bite in her tone than she intended.

“I don’t know what to think. I just can’t make sense of it.”

“That’s why I think we should keep this quiet,” Margaret said. “Just between us and those close to Richard. And the authorities, of course. If Dario Reyes didn’t shoot Richard, best not to tip off whoever did that the focus of the investigation may have shifted. In the meantime, we all need to be vigilant. Abigale, that means that you shouldn’t stay alone at Dartmoor Glebe.”

Abigale’s eyes widened. “Isn’t that a little extreme?”

“I agree with Margaret,” Thompson said. “Think about what happened last night.”

“What happened last night?” Manning demanded.

“Nothing,” Abigale replied.

“I let myself into the house with the key Richard gave me,” Thompson said, ignoring the look Abigale gave him. “I was doing the quarterly accounting for the hunt and needed to get some of the financial files. Of course, I had no idea Abigale was sleeping there. It was very late and when she heard me moving around downstairs I about gave her a heart attack. Anyway, the point is that any number of people could have a spare key. You know Richard. He was everyone’s best friend.”

“No doubt about that,” Margaret agreed. “Seemed like Richard always had a house guest of one sort or another. Course, I don’t imagine he gave them all keys, but better safe than sorry.”

“Okay. So I’ll get the locks changed,” Abigale said.

“Forget it, Abby. You’re not staying here alone,” Manning said.

Abigale glared at him.

Margaret said, “Was it that bad, staying at my place?”

“No! Of course not.”

“Then do me a favor and get your things. I packed up what you had at my house and brought your bag over this morning. Before I knew about any of this. It’s in your room.”

T
he session with Lieutenant Mallory only added to Abigale’s frustration. The lieutenant had seemed properly disturbed about the saddle, and he’d treated Manning with some deference; this led her to believe maybe Manning wasn’t a suspect after all, or if he had been, that the saddle incident had changed things. But the interview session had been tedious, and no obvious leads had turned up from Mallory’s questioning of Michael about who had been in the barn or had access to the saddle.

She’d escaped to the house to pack her bag and steal time for a quick shower. As much as it bothered her to pack up and leave Dartmoor Glebe, she had to admit the solitude of the big house felt threatening now. Even the clangs and gurgles as the water worked its way through the pipes seemed to sing with a menacing note. Still, she lingered long enough to let the warm water ease the stiffness from her muscles, wash away some of her stress.

Margaret had unpacked her clothes for her, folding them neatly on the closet shelves. Abigale threw on her favorite pair of jeans and black cashmere sweater, then stuffed the rest of the clothes back in her duffle. She took one last look around before zipping the bag, and her gaze rested on the stack of Manning’s letters. Abigale eyed them for a moment, then tucked them gently in a side pocket. At the last minute, she also tossed in her hunt horn and spurs and grabbed Uncle Richard’s journal from the study. She wasn’t sure why she did it; it wasn’t as if she was never coming back. She just wanted them with her.

Abigale turned off the lights, made sure the doors were locked, then tossed the duffle in the back of Margaret’s Subaru and drove to the barn.

Margaret stood with Manning by the open door to her truck, a scarlet hunt coat draped over her arm.

“I have to go to Longmeadow, Mother. Now. I was supposed to meet Smitty there an hour ago.”

“I already spoke with Smitty. He has Charles Jenner there to help him—”

“Some help that is.”

“And,” Margaret continued, holding up her hand to quiet him, “Smitty recruited a couple of guys from the training track. Thompson’s on the phone with his office now, delaying his appointments until this afternoon so he can help. They’ll be able to set the hurdles just fine.”

Manning moaned. “I don’t believe this. My arm isn’t broken. I can move my fingers.” He wiggled his swollen fingers. “See?”

“Good. Then it won’t take but a quick visit to the ER for an X-ray to confirm that.”

“Jesus Christ.” He looked away, shaking his head back and forth, then spun back to face her. “You want me to have it x-rayed? Okay, I’ll have Doc Paley x-ray it. If he says it’s broken, I’ll go to the ER.”

“Fine by me. If you can get Doc Paley to agree to it.”

Abigale pressed her lips together, fighting back a smile as she watched the chess game between the two of them. Thompson leaned against his nearby Ford Explorer, arms folded across his chest, a look of amusement on his face. He caught her eye and winked.

Manning stormed off toward the barn, muttering, “I don’t have time for this.”

Thompson unfolded himself and walked over to Margaret’s car. “Things are all set at my office. I can stay at Longmeadow as long as Smitty needs my help.”

“Thank you, Thompson. You’re a godsend. If I don’t have to run Manning to the emergency room, I’ll join you at Longmeadow.”

“I can drive Manning to the hospital,” Abigale said, then quickly added, “or help out at the racecourse.”

“Thank you, dear. Let’s see what verdict we get from Doc Paley. I hope it doesn’t take too long.” Margaret shot a glance at her watch, then at the scarlet coat she was holding. “I have to run Richard’s coat to the dry cleaner while I can still get same-day service. I thought we’d drape it on the altar, along with his boots. We’ve invited all MFHs attending the service to wear scarlet. And of course the pallbearers will be in scarlet.”

Margaret glanced at Thompson as she leaned into her truck and hung the coat over the back of the passenger seat. “I’ve got Manning’s coat in here, too. If yours needs cleaning, I’ll be happy to drop it off for you. Just add it to the heap. I’m going to go see what the story is with the X-rays.”

Thompson started to shake his head, then hesitated and cocked an eyebrow. “You sure you don’t mind?”

“If I minded, I wouldn’t have offered.”

He smiled. “Then I’ll take you up on the offer. Let me run down to my house and get it. I’ll be right back.”

M
argaret fiddled with the collar on Richard’s coat as she waited in line, thinking about how true it was that the robin’s-egg blue fabric had brought out the blue in his eyes. She’d heard ladies tell him that over more years than she liked to remember, but she’d never told him so herself. Now that it was too late, she wished she had. Tears misted her eyes and she blinked hard, stiffened her spine. She was turning into a sentimental old fool.

“Hello, Mrs. Southwell.” The blond girl at the counter smiled a greeting, her ponytail dancing across her neck as she shoveled the pile of clothes from the previous customer into a green nylon bag.

“Morning.” Margaret couldn’t remember her name. She was one of the Williams girls, but they’d all helped their parents at the cleaner at one time or another and she’d stopped trying to keep track of who was who. “I spoke with your mother earlier this morning and she told me she’d do me a favor and get me same-day service on these.”

“Yes, ma’am, she told me.” The girl lifted the coat on top of the pile. “Wow, these are heavier than they look.”

“Keeps out the wind and rain,” Margaret replied. “You’ll be sure to wrap the buttons, now, won’t you?”

“Oh, yes ma’am. Don’t you worry.”

“Margaret, hello!”

Margaret turned to see Tiffanie Jenner.
Just what she needed
. “Good morning, Tiffanie.”

Tiffanie’s eyes drifted to the pile of coats on the counter. She nudged next to Margaret and fingered the collar of each coat with her French-manicured nails. Tiffanie tugged Richard’s coat across the laminate counter. “The tailor did a lovely job attaching the collar on this one. Do you know who did the work?”

“Richard had all his coats tailored in London,” Margaret said.

“How nice. No one does work like the Brits, do they?”

Margaret grunted in response. “I can pick them up today after five, is that right?” she asked, turning toward the Williams girl.

“They’ll be ready for you.”

“All right. Be sure to thank your mother for me.”

“Sure thing,” the girl said, rushing around the counter to open the door for a woman with an armful of horse blankets. She held the door for Margaret, too, giving her a cheery smile. “See you later.”

Margaret was climbing in her truck when the cleaner’s door burst open again and the Williams girl flapped an arm at her. “Mrs. Southwell, wait! Look what I found in one of the pockets.”

The girl held a gold watch in her outstretched hand.
Richard’s watch
.

“Dear Lord.” Margaret marched back to the girl and folded her hand around the watch, clasping it to her chest. “Bless your heart for finding it.”

The girl blushed. “We always check pockets before we send things off so we don’t end up ruining something valuable, like your watch. Or in case there’s gum or food or such in there.”

Margaret started to tell the girl that it wasn’t her watch—it was Richard’s—but something stopped her. She said, “I usually look through the pockets before I bring things in, especially hunt coats. It just must have slipped my mind.” She followed the girl back to the counter, almost bumping shoulders with Tiffanie who hurried by on her way out.