The Kill (40 page)

Manning’s expression flattened as if someone had lowered a curtain, blocking out the light. “I didn’t add the service,” he replied, stabbing his fork into a piece of chicken. “The hunt account already has online banking. They just authorized me as a user. Besides, it’s free.”

“Well, Richard certainly didn’t bank online.” Margaret’s tone had an edge to it, almost accusatory. “He didn’t even know how to turn on a computer. And he had no regard for anything financial if he couldn’t hold it in his hands, read it on a piece of paper. Must be something Thompson authorized.”

“I don’t know who authorized it,” Manning said, “but it was a good move. No one writes checks anymore. Online banking allows you to get up-to-date account information. It’s easier to stay on top of things. Especially when you accept online payments, like the hunt does for the race tickets.”

“How do you know so much about it?” Margaret asked.

“I used online banking in L.A.,” Manning said, handing the platter of chicken to Abigale. “The system there allowed me to pay bills online and download the transactions directly into my bookkeeping software. It even allocated the payments to different expense categories—feed, bedding, whatever.”

“
You paid
bills?” Margaret said.

“What, you thought I bought all my barn supplies with my charm?”

“Don’t get sassy with me, Manning. I assumed you had someone handle it for you.”

“I did in the beginning. Then I figured out the only way to really keep an eye on costs was to manage things myself.”

Margaret looked as though she couldn’t have been more surprised if Manning had just declared he was running for president. Her expression teetered between incredulity and pride. “Well,” she said, finally, “I didn’t realize you had that experience. That should help you understand the hunt finances.”

“Yeah.” Manning chewed thoughtfully. “I spent most of the afternoon looking through the files you gave me, though, and some of it just doesn’t make sense to me.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Margaret asked.

Manning narrowed his eyes. “A couple of things don’t seem to jibe. For starters, I can’t get the figures you gave me to reconcile with the online account balance. And the deposits for ticket sales from the races seem way off.”

“Those figures I gave you are from last month’s board meeting,” Margaret said dismissively. “You’ll get revised financials tomorrow. I set up a meeting for both of us with Thompson tomorrow afternoon at Dartmoor Glebe.”

“What about the deposits?” Manning asked.

“Same thing. The paperwork you got from me is outdated.”

Manning said, “But that’s just it. What I’m looking at online is up to date. Actual deposits. And it doesn’t match the revenue figures you gave me.”

Margaret waved off his concern. “Sounds like you’re spending too much time fretting over things. I’m sure Thompson can explain it to you.”

“Terrific,” Manning said without enthusiasm. “That’s something to look forward to. I’m sure Thompson will welcome the opportunity to make me look ignorant.”

Margaret’s eyes flashed. “If you’re going to go into it with an attitude like that, we might as well cancel tomorrow’s meeting. I have better things to do with my time than massage egos. The sooner you learn to work with Thompson, the better off you’ll be.”

“
T
hat went well,” Manning said, yanking the Subaru door shut.

Abigale inserted the key in the ignition but didn’t start the engine. “You shouldn’t let her get to you like that.”

“Easy for you to say.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Christ.” He thumped the dashboard with his left fist. “I can almost deal with the fact that Mother has no faith in me, but the killer is that she refuses to even entertain the notion that Thompson might be at fault for anything. I thought I did a pretty good job keeping my cool until she jumped all over my back when I mentioned what Kevin told me about Thompson adding his horses to Richard’s shoeing bill. She acted like I’d accused the Pope of stealing money from the collection plate.”

“I think she was just suggesting that there’s probably a logical explanation and you should give Thompson the benefit of the doubt. Ask rather than accuse.”

“I wasn’t accusing. I merely said I noticed the shoeing and vet expenses looked really high compared to what I paid in L.A., and that when I mentioned it to Kevin he told me the shoeing bill included Thompson’s horses.
That’s all I said
. Mother made the leap that I was accusing Thompson of something underhanded.”

Abigale gently fingered his broken arm as the interior light dimmed. “It probably didn’t help any that you mentioned the conversation took place while Kevin was cutting your cast off.”

Manning sighed. “Yeah. Probably not.”

Frustration seemed to radiate off him in the dark car. “I can’t—Jesus—I can’t do this whole master thing. I’m boxed into a no-win situation. I’m the master, but I have no authority. The board—Mother—runs the show. Fine. I don’t care. Let ’em. Let Thompson handle the finances. All I want to do is hunt anyway. Except—and this is a biggie—the hunt itself has no money. In fact, it loses money hand over fist. The hunt probably wouldn’t even exist if Richard hadn’t kept pumping in a steady stream of money all these years.”

“But he left you money to fund it now, right?”

“Yeah. He did. Five years’ worth of operating costs. And an additional million dollars in five years with the caveat that I’m successful at keeping the hunt alive that long.”

“Don’t you think you can do that?”

“That’s just it. The hunt lost money when Richard was master, right? Can I do any better? I don’t know. Not if I can’t call the shots. Not if the board dictates how things should be run and Thompson handles the money. And when I start asking questions, trying to understand the numbers so I can try to make ago of it…”

He looked out the window at the house, rapping his knuckles against the glass. “Mother jumps down my throat.”

“Go back inside and talk to her,” Abigale said softly. “Tell her what you just told me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Manning shook his head. “I’ll get the financials from Thompson tomorrow and figure it out myself.”

The light in the downstairs window clicked off, plunging the house into darkness.

He turned to Abigale. “Let’s go home.”

A
bigale spent most of the morning trying to stay out of Manning’s way while he alternated between staring at the computer screen and rifling through papers strewn across his desk, muttering things like “what the hell” and “this makes no sense.”

She reluctantly uncurled herself from the couch in front of the smoldering fire and padded to the kitchen for more coffee, her bare feet whispering across the hardwood floor. She glanced through the rain-streaked window. The steel-bottomed clouds that had pressed down from the heavens all morning were still unleashing a steady torrent of rain.

Sipping her coffee, Abigale checked her cell phone for what seemed like the hundredth time to make sure she hadn’t missed a call or text message from Miguel. Nothing. The landline rang, but Manning ignored it, so Abigale picked it up in the kitchen and carried the cordless phone to him, covering the mouthpiece with her hand.

“It’s your mother,” she said, extending the phone to him.

Manning’s face darkened. He shot her a look, mouthing a sarcastic “thanks” as he reached for the phone. “Hello?”

The conversation lasted less than a minute. Manning disconnected the call and stared thoughtfully at the handset.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He frowned at her. “Mother is coming over here. She wants me to show her the financials that I have questions about.”

“That’s great. What turned her around?”

“I don’t know. She just said she’d been thinking about it overnight and wanted to get together with me before the meeting with Thompson this afternoon.”

Abigale stroked the back of his neck. “Just keep your cool if she jumps down your throat again. Once she realizes you’re not criticizing the way things were done in the past, that you’re just asking questions in order to understand things, she’ll be on your side.”

His broad shoulders expanded as he sucked in a deep breath, then let it escape. “I hope so. Because the more I look at these numbers, the less I know.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Abigale pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’d better get dressed so I can get out of your hair before Margaret arrives.”

She was wearing one of Manning’s dress shirts, and he grabbed a handful of blue cotton as she turned away. “Uh-uh. Not so fast.”

Tension swept from Manning’s face as if washed away by the tide. His lips parted, curving into a smile. He reeled her back, his eyes dancing greedily up her thigh and across her abdomen, settling on her chest. He popped open a button and pulled her into a kiss.

Abigale planted a hand on his shoulder as she tore her mouth away. “I’ve got to go, Manning. I still need to shower.”

“Good idea. Me too,” he murmured, slipping his hands up inside the shirt. “We can save water.”

“You have a one-track mind,” she said, gently shoving his hands away.

A low chuckle rumbled in his throat. “Of course I do. I’m a guy.”

Abigale’s cell phone buzzed in her breast pocket. She’d set it on vibrate so she’d be able to slip away to answer it if she got a call about a meeting with Dario. She snatched the phone and saw a number she didn’t recognize. The area code was 703.
Virginia
. She punched the call button. “Hello.”

“It’s Miguel.”

Abigale’s heart slammed in her chest. She turned away from Manning and walked over by the window. “Yes.”

“Dario, he agree to talk.”

Thank God
. “Just tell me where and when.”

“I take you to him. You know Big Lots?”

“No.”

“It’s a store in Sterling. I meet you in parking lot.”

Abigale heard Manning shift in his chair. She felt his gaze on her. “Okay. I’ll find it. What time?” she said quietly.

“Five o’clock today.”

“I’ll be there.”

Abigale drew in a breath as she ended the call.
She was actually going to meet with Dario Reyes
. She itched to tell Manning, ached to let the whole story burst out—how Michelle had arranged for her to meet with Miguel, that Miguel was going to take her to Dario. Everything. But she fought the urge. She knew Manning would never let her meet with Dario alone. And if Miguel caught wind that anyone else was involved, he’d disappear like a scared rabbit. Her one chance to talk to Dario would vaporize. She couldn’t allow that to happen. This was something she had to do alone.

T
here were only a handful of cars in the parking area in front of Big Lots. No surprise. The pounding rain and relentless wind had probably kept all but those in need of absolute necessities hunkered down at home. Abigale glanced at the clock as she pulled the Subaru into a parking space a few rows away from the store entrance. She’d been slowed down by standing water on the roadways and a couple of intersections where the traffic signals were out, but had still managed to arrive with seven minutes to spare. She switched off the engine and eyed the other vehicles in the lot. None of them appeared to be occupied.