The Kill (9 page)

Margaret shot a glance at Manning and saw he was chewing on the inside of his lip. That meant he was worried. “I don’t like it,” she said. “I don’t like it one bit.”

He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. “Let’s not jump to conclusions. We’re not near a road. What could happen to her here? There’s no reason to suspect anything other than she ran off chasing a rabbit.”

“There was no reason to suspect that anything would happen to Richard here either, but it did,” she snapped.

Manning opened his mouth, then clamped it shut with a shake of his head. He turned away. “Duchess!” His low baritone rumbled in his throat. He tilted his head and listened for a moment, then blew a piercing whistle. “Come on, Duchess!”

Margaret held her hand to her ear and strained to listen. Had she heard a bark? A pair of crows glided overhead, their raucous caws drowning out all other sounds. “Goddamned birds,” she muttered, eyeing them as they swept down to land on the railing of the stewards’ stand.

Then she heard it again, clearer this time. It was a dog barking. “Did you hear that?” she asked.

“Yeah.”

The barking grew louder, more insistent, and the pair of crows scattered from their perch.

Manning’s arm shot forward. “There, look!” He pointed at the stewards’ stand. “She’s barking at the crows.”

“Oh, thank God.” Margaret clasped one hand to her chest. “Duchess, get over here!”

The Lab twirled around and looked at them.

“Come on.”

Duchess lowered her head, grabbed something with her mouth, and ran toward them.

“That dog’s just too smart.” Margaret shook her head. “I encouraged her to chase the crows yesterday and she must have decided that’s her new role.”

Manning smiled. “Feel better?”

“I feel foolish, that’s how I feel. I overreacted. I’m on edge because of what happened to Richard.”

Manning nodded, then shoved his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, rocked back on his heels, and lowered his gaze. “It’s haunting me, too. In fact, there’s something I want to talk to you—”

Margaret cut him off. “What’s that Duchess has in her mouth?” She squatted on one knee as the dog wiggled to a stop in front of her. “What do you have there, girl? Give it to me.”

The Lab opened her jaw and dropped the article in Margaret’s gloved hand.

“Dear God. It’s Richard’s wallet.”

“Are you sure it’s Richard’s?” Manning asked, eyeing the buttery London-tan leather, now blemished with rust-colored mud and wet blotches from Duchess’s mouth.

“Absolutely. I gave it to him for his birthday to replace that god-awful one he’d been carrying. It was so old the tan leather had turned brown. And I don’t mean a nice, well-oiled saddle kind of brown. For a man who loved fast cars and well-bred horses, Richard could be downright miserly about spending money on himself,” she said affectionately.

Manning knelt next to her and draped an arm around Duchess. “Wonder where Duchess found it.”

“Based on the mud, I’d guess maybe it was dumped in the shrubbery surrounding the stewards’ stand. I edged and weeded that area last week, so there’s plenty of fresh soil exposed. I haven’t gotten around to mulching yet.” She turned the wallet over, holding it gingerly by the edges. “I can’t imagine they’ll be able to get much evidence off it.”

“Everything all right?” a man’s voice called from behind them.

Margaret looked over her shoulder and saw Thompson about twenty paces away, jogging toward them. “Duchess found Richard’s wallet.”

Thompson huffed to a stop beside her. “You’re kidding.”

She rose and held out her hand. “It’s a little the worse for wear.”

Thompson lifted it gingerly by the corner and examined it. “You never know. Forensics are pretty good these days. They might be able to get some prints off it.”

“Yeah. Like yours, now that you’ve touched it,” Manning said, rising to his feet. “Smart move.”

Thompson arched an eyebrow. “Where does your expertise on criminal investigations come from, personal experience?”

“Fuck you, Thompson. The only criminal investigation I’ve been involved in was when I borrowed the hunt truck and
you
reported it stolen.”

The incident with the hunt truck had happened months ago, but it was still a sore spot with Manning. He maintained that Thompson had known full well who had taken the truck, and that he’d reported it stolen just to cause trouble for Manning. Margaret didn’t really believe Thompson had done it deliberately, but it had resulted in an embarrassing situation for Manning. He’d had horse customers from California in the truck with him when he’d been pulled over and hauled away in handcuffs to the sheriff’s office. “All right, put your personal differences aside,” Margaret said. “We don’t have time for bickering.”

Thompson pressed his lips together, yanked a handkerchief from his back pocket, and wrapped it around the wallet. “We should notify the sheriff’s office right away. Would you like me to make the call, Margaret?”

“I suppose. Although they’ll want to come out and interview me. Fill out a report.” She eyed the racecourse. “Who knows, they might decide to extend the restricted area. Or ask us to leave the property altogether. We’ll be in a real pickle if that happens. I don’t see what difference it would make to delay calling for a couple of hours. Buy us some time to get some work done.”

“I think the prudent thing to do is to report it right away,” Thompson said. “What if there’s evidence on the wallet linking Reyes to the shooting?”

“You’re right.” Margaret sighed and peeled off her gloves. She dug her cell out of her coat pocket. “I’ll call Lieutenant Mallory.”

Manning stared at Margaret, then Thompson. “Wait a minute, what are you two talking about? Who’s Reyes?”

Thompson arched an eyebrow. “You haven’t heard?”

“Heard what?”

“I tried calling last evening to tell you, but wasn’t able to reach you,” Margaret said. “They’ve identified a suspect. A boy by the name of Dario Reyes. He worked on the road crew.”

“Are you shitting me? Why the hell am I just now finding out about that?”

“Watch your language, Manning,” Margaret said. “If you had answered your phone last night, you would have learned about it from me at that time.”

Anger flared in Manning’s eyes. “Well I’m here now, Mother. Would you mind filling me in?”

She pressed the cell to her ear and held up a hand to silence him. “Good morning, Charlotte. This is Margaret Southwell. Is Lieutenant Mallory available? It’s important.”

M
anning raised the hammer and slammed two nails into the timber fence. “That should do it for this one.” He swiped his sleeve across his sweaty forehead and pulled on the fence to make sure it felt secure.

Smitty tossed his toolbox into the bed of the Gator. “We made short work of that job, didn’t we?”

Charles Jenner tugged on his belt and hiked his khakis higher across his generous belly. “I still think it would have gone quicker if we’d used my nail gun.”

Manning exchanged a look with Smitty. Easy for Charles to say, considering he hadn’t done more than stand by and offer advice. “What’s next?” he asked Smitty.

“I think that wraps it up. Looks like Percy and Thompson are about finished shoveling open the drainage ditch on the far turn. You and Wendy got the snow fence put in place. That’s it until we can set the national fences.”

“When are they being delivered?”

“They were originally supposed to be delivered today, but with the sheriff’s investigation and all Margaret had it rescheduled for Friday.”

Manning raised an eyebrow. “That’s cutting it close.”

“You’re telling me,” Smitty said, flipping the lid on a six-pack-sized cooler and hooking the necks of two bottles of Budweiser. He held them out to Manning and Charles.

“It’s about time. We’ve earned these,” Charles said, grabbing a bottle.

Manning smiled at the face Smitty made behind Charles’s back. “I think I’ll pass.”

Smitty waved the bottle at him. “You sure? It’s cold.”

“Nah. I’m good.”

“Suit yourself.” Smitty twisted the cap and took a long draw from the bottle. He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. “Ah, that hits the spot.”

Manning eyed the open cooler. A film of moisture glistened invitingly on the brown glass bottles. Budweiser was Smitty’s brand of choice, not his, but that had never stopped him before. He gnawed on his lower lip. What harm would it do to have one beer? Just one.

A car door slammed in the distance and Smitty tipped the neck of the beer bottle toward the stewards’ stand, where a sheriff’s car was pulling away. “Looks like they’re finished up there. Margaret’s heading back down the hill.”

Manning glanced at his watch. “She’s been up there with them for almost two hours.”

Charles snorted. “Probably riding roughshod over the whole damn investigation.”

They watched Margaret pick her way down the slope. “It look to you like she’s moving awful slow?” Smitty asked.

Manning nodded. “She seemed a little unsteady on her feet this morning.”

“Come on. Let’s go pick her up with the Gator.”

Charles opened the door to his Hummer. “I’ve got to head out. Glad I could help today. Don’t forget to tell Margaret that Tiffanie was sorry she wasn’t able to make it.”

“Yeah, I’ll be sure to tell her,” Manning said, holding onto the seat as Smitty gunned the engine.

They rolled to a stop beside Margaret, and Manning hopped out and gestured for her to take the front seat. “I’ll get in back.”

Margaret plopped down beside Smitty, and Manning climbed into the utility bed. He banged down the lid on the cooler and shoved it aside.

“You were up there a long time,” Smitty said.

She gave him a tired smile. “I thought my presence might speed things along.”

“Did it?”

“They’re opening the entire property back up starting tomorrow morning.”

“Hey, that’s great,” Manning said. “Did they find anything?”

Margaret glanced at him over her shoulder. “No, but they do think Duchess found Richard’s wallet in the boxwood by the stewards’ stand. Her paw prints are visible in the mud around the shrubs.”

“Any human footprints?”

She shook her head. “They’re surmising the wallet was tossed in the bushes from the deck of the stewards’ stand. There’s no money or credit cards in it, by the way. Just Richard’s driver’s license and hunting license.”

Manning’s mouth tightened. “So that confirms it, then. It was a robbery.”

“It sure looks that way.” Margaret heaved a long sigh as she surveyed the racecourse. “It looks like you’ve accomplished a lot in my absence.”

“We’ve finished all the course repairs,” Smitty said.

“That’s sensational. You should be in charge more often.”

“Oh no, don’t go getting any ideas along those lines. It’s Manning who helped things get done so quick.” Smitty twisted in the seat and clasped Manning’s arm. “Felt just like I was working alongside Richard, that’s how it felt.”

“Well, I’m grateful to you.” Margaret waved a hand at the key. “C’mon, let’s get this thing fired up. Duchess is probably fit to be tied being locked up in my truck. And I need to get dinner started before Abigale arrives.”

Smitty tipped the brim of his baseball cap and turned over the ignition. “Yes, ma’am.”

Manning was jostled against the side rail as Smitty punched the accelerator. He grabbed onto the front seatback as the Gator bounced over the field, trying to ignore the clink of the beer bottles in the cooler.

A
bigale set her duffle on the floral chintz bench that stood at the foot of the double bed. “This room is lovely, Margaret. Thanks so much for inviting me to stay here.”

“I’m happy to have the company. Besides, I couldn’t tolerate the thought of you staying alone in some sterile hotel room.”

Abigale worked up a smile. “I’m pretty used to it by now. In Afghanistan, and Iraq before that, I considered myself lucky to even get a hotel room.”

“Well, I hope you’ll feel at home while you’re here, in spite of the circumstances.” Margaret patted her arm. “I’ll leave you alone to get unpacked. You have an hour until folks arrive, so you can even work in a quick catnap before you freshen up and dress for dinner.”