The Kill (36 page)

M
anning watched Smitty lead the hounds toward him. His heart slammed against his chest and Henry danced beneath him, no doubt feeling his nerves. Habit drew Manning’s hand to the void in front of his left saddle flap, where the leather pouch containing his flask was usually strapped.
Jesus
. Had he really thought he could get through today without it? A mind-numbing bolt of fear shot through him, as if he were a parent who had just discovered his toddler had disappeared in a crowded mall. Why the hell hadn’t he accepted the stirrup cup of port Tiffanie had offered to him?

Smitty pulled his horse to a halt beside Henry and gathered the hounds. “Ready to do this?”

“Scared shitless.”

Smitty chuckled. “What are you afraid of? You think they’re not going to follow you?”

Manning smiled.

“You’ll be fine, son. Richard’s with us today.” Smitty splayed his gloved hand across his heart.” Right in here.”

Manning locked eyes with Smitty and saw the huntsman believed it. An uneasy calm settled over him. It was now or never. He removed his hunt cap as he faced the riders gathered in front of him.

“Today is a day none of us ever envisioned, not even in our worst nightmares. Richard was more than the leader of this hunt club. He was our friend. The void he left in the hunt, in our hearts, will never be filled. But together, we will get through this.

“The position of master is not something I sought, but I’ll do my best to live up to the trust Richard placed in me. I will never come close to filling Richard’s shoes, but I promise to honor his memory.” Manning’s throat closed up. He swallowed, blinking back tears. “Please join me in a moment of silence.”

Manning bowed his head, aware of a chorus of clicking as cameras captured the moment. Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Abigale nestled beneath the branches of a nearby sycamore tree. He knew this was as hard on her as on anyone. Maybe harder. She’d tossed and turned all night and had barely spoken to anyone since they’d arrived at the meet. As soon as he was on the horse she’d disappeared behind her camera.

“Thank you,” he said, raising his hunt cap, then adjusting it back on his head. “I’ll be leading the first field today and Doug will be taking second field.” He looked over at Doug Cummings, who raised his hunt whip as a signal of confirmation. “Following the hunt, we’ll have a brief tailgate hosted by Tiffanie and Charles Jenner.”

They hadn’t planned on having a tailgate, but Tiffanie had blindsided him as soon as he’d arrived at the meet, told him she “had it all arranged.” The table was already set up. Flowers, champagne, the whole nine yards. What was he supposed to do, tell her no?

“Safe hunting,” Manning said, gathering up his reins. He nodded at Smitty who blew on his horn and moved off to the first draw.

Manning steered Henry to Abigale before heading down the drive. “We’re going out the front way. We’ll cross the road and loop around through the woods to Hickory Ridge. There’s a nice stone wall out of the woods into the back pasture if you want to take some jumping shots.”

She stepped close and gave him a soft smile. “You said just the right thing. Uncle Richard would have been proud of you.”

Manning still felt as if he were standing on the edge of a cliff, not knowing whether it was better to go ahead and jump or wait to be pushed, but Abigale’s words managed to ratchet his panic down a notch. He nodded and urged Henry on.

A
bigale followed the hunt by car for over an hour, capturing some great shots over the stone wall and a nice photo of Manning leading the field down the road just outside the entrance to Dartmoor Glebe. She lost them when the hounds picked up a scent shortly after crossing Goose Creek. Abigale lingered by the creek for a while and listened to the sound of the hounds in full cry until the trees swallowed up their music. She felt the old adrenaline rush, for a moment regretting her decision not to hunt.

When she arrived back at Dartmoor Glebe, Tiffanie Jenner was barking orders at three women wearing white catering jackets. Abigale kept out of their way; she meandered around snapping shots of the house and grounds to send to her mother. As she emerged from the boxwood garden she heard someone call her name.

“Abigale!” Tiffanie waved at her, motioning her over to the food table. “Would you mind taking some photographs of my table?”

“No, of course not.”

She took a couple of shots with Tiffanie standing beside a table that almost groaned from the weight of food piled on it. In the center, a vine of lush greens and white roses encircled the base of an enormous copper tub filled with a dozen or more bottles of champagne.

“It looks lovely,” Abigale said.

“Thank you. I must say I agree with you,” Tiffanie replied. “I want to send some photos to the local papers. I snapped some with my little camera, but I’m sure what you took will be much more powerful. Who knows, maybe you’ll win another award.”

Abigale bit back a smile. She doubted there was a Pulitzer lurking in the shots of Tiffanie’s table.

“I’m glad I have this opportunity to be alone with you. There’s something I want to talk to you about,” Tiffanie said. She cast a glance at the caterers, then added in a low voice, “Let’s step away.”

They walked toward the garden. When they were out of earshot of the caterers, Tiffanie said, “I’ve thought some more about what you asked me at my house the other day, about whether I had an appointment with Richard the day he died.” She said it in an offhand way, but her eyes shifted back and forth between Abigale and the catering staff.

“And?”

Tiffanie pressed her lips together. “I did get together with Richard after the hunt that day. But it wasn’t planned. I just dropped by to chat with him about something. You threw me for a loop when you asked if we had a meeting scheduled—which we
did not
—I guess that’s why I didn’t recall our little get-together.”

Their little get-together?
Oh God. Had she been right when she’d suggested to Margaret that Uncle Richard might have been having an affair with Tiffanie?

“Where did you get together?” Abigale asked.

Tiffanie raised her chin in an almost defiant pose. “At Longmeadow.”

“You were there, at the racecourse, that afternoon?
The day he was murdered?”

Tiffanie’s posture, the set of her mouth, dared Abigale to challenge her. But her eyes had a deer-in-the-headlights look. “I know what you’re going to ask next,” Tiffanie said. “You want to know if I saw anyone—anything—at Longmeadow that might provide a clue to Richard’s murder. The answer is no, I did not.”

“Have you reported this to the sheriff’s office?” Abigale asked.

“There was no need. I was there hours before Richard was shot. I know nothing of any value.”

Abigale felt heat rise in her cheeks. She made a stab at reining in her anger. “How do you know that? You have no idea what’s relevant, what you might have seen that could help the investigation. How could you keep this to yourself?”

Tiffanie just stared at her.

“Are you so—” Abigale stopped herself, choking back the accusation she was about to hurl. If she wanted any information from Tiffanie, she had to calm down. She eased out a slow breath. “Who else knows about this? Does your husband know?”

“No! And that’s the whole point,” Tiffanie said.

“What do you mean, ‘that’s the point’? Why can’t your husband know about it?”

“I went to talk to Richard about awarding Charles his colors. I thought it would be a nice touch if Richard presented Charles with his colors at the races. Since Charles was such a big sponsor and all.”

“His colors?”

“Yes.” Tiffanie’s eyes flashed. “Charles deserved them. He’s put in his time and God knows he’s paid his dues. I didn’t want him to have to wait until the end of the season. I have a scarlet coat on hold at Horse Country Saddlery and a tailor just waiting for the go-ahead to sew on the blue collar and hunt buttons.”

Good God
. “Did my uncle agree?”

“No. That’s why Charles can’t know I went to talk to Richard about it. Why no one can know. Richard refused to even entertain the notion of presenting colors at the races. He said it’s always done at the end of the season.” Tiffanie gave a dismissive roll of her eyes. “God forbid anyone around here would consider deviating from tradition. Richard also as good as told me that Charles won’t be awarded his colors at the closing breakfast at the end of hunt season, either. Charles would be crushed if he knew that Richard didn’t think he had earned his colors. Especially after all he’s done for the hunt. It’s embarrassing.”

Abigale clenched her jaw.
Talk about self-centered!
“Why did you go to Longmeadow to talk to him about it? Why didn’t you just call him?”

“Because I needed to know. If Richard had said yes, I was going to give the tailor the green light so Richard could present the scarlet coat to Charles at the races, rather than just handing him a strip of blue fabric and a handful of buttons. I’ve always thought that was such a tacky way to present colors. Anyway, I heard Richard talking at the tailgate after the hunt, saying he was going to Longmeadow. So I went there too.”

Abigale could just picture it: Tiffanie cornering her uncle, demanding to know if her husband would get his colors. “Was he alone?”

“Yes,” Tiffanie replied. “I wouldn’t have had the conversation otherwise.”

“Where was he?”

“In the stewards’ stand.” Tiffanie’s expression remained composed, but her voice held the slightest tremble.

“What was he doing?” Abigale asked.

Tiffanie frowned at her. “Nothing.”

“Was he just standing there?”

“He said he was waiting for someone.”

“Did he say who?”

“No, he didn’t. Look, Abigale, I already told you I don’t know anything that will help find Richard’s murderer. I went to see him. We talked. I left. End of story.”

It was not the end of the story. Far from it. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Tiffanie tucked her hair behind one ear, her diamond ring glinting in the sunlight. “I figured you were going to keep asking questions and it might eventually come out. Then it could look like I was trying to hide something.”

Which you are
, Abigale thought.

Tiffanie said, “I figured if I told you and you understood the situation, that would be the end of it.”

“No.” Abigale shook her head. “I appreciate you telling me, but that can’t be the end of it. You need to tell the authorities.”

“Are you serious?” Tiffanie’s voice shot up an octave. “Then everyone will know.”

“Why do you care if people know?”

“Well, it won’t help my marriage any, for one thing. Which is already on shaky ground.” The tip of Tiffanie’s nose reddened and she tossed her head, blinking rapidly.

True emotion?
Abigale wondered.
Or just a good act?

“Charles will kill me if he finds out I pleaded with Richard to give him his colors. He’d already warned me to back off.” Tiffanie snorted daintily. “Charles thinks I’m being too pushy. That I should just let the chips fall as they will.”

“Charles doesn’t care if he gets his colors?” Abigale asked.

“Not enough,” Tiffanie replied.

The sound of laughter drifted up the drive, the crunch of horseshoes on gravel. A group of riders came into view as they rode through the front gate.

“They’re back. I’ve got to check the food,” Tiffanie said.

Abigale ignored her. She wasn’t about to let Tiffanie run off now. “Call Lieutenant Mallory. I’m sure he’ll do whatever he can to help you keep a low profile.”

“And if I don’t call him?” Tiffanie asked.

“Then I will.”

Tiffanie balled her fists and clenched her arms to her chest. The look she gave Abigale was pure hatred. “Give me some time to tell Charles.”

“How long?”

“I don’t know. Time. A week.”

Abigale shook her head. “Twenty-four hours.”

“Charles isn’t even
home
. He left for California on business this morning. I can’t tell him over the telephone.”