by Cate Conte
“That’s not true, Maddie. I didn’t want to involve you in something when there was so much at stake. That’s all.”
“But Leopard Man is my friend, too,” I said. “I want to help him. But I feel like everyone is sneaking around trying to keep all these secrets straight.”
Grandpa slid over and put his arm around me. “Doll. I never want to keep secrets from you. But this time, you’ll have to trust me for just a bit longer, okay?”
I sniffed but put my head on his shoulder, a subtle giving in. What choice did I have?
Chapter 54
I locked myself in my bedroom and finally fell into a restless sleep around 3:00 a.m. When I woke up at eight, everything was quiet. The wind seemed to have died down, and I didn’t hear rain against my windows for the first time since Friday.
I picked up my cell phone from my bedside table. A text from Lucas. I hoped he was coming home. I opened the message.
Mads. I have to stay another couple days. I’ll explain later. I’ll let you know which ferry I’m taking back. Love you.
I blinked at it, then reread. Another couple days, with no explanation? What was that about? And he loved me? He picked now to tell me that, when he was on the verge of disappearing?
What the heck was going on?
Why?? Everything okay? I texted back. I watched for a minute, hoping to see the little dots that told me he was responding, but nothing. I tried to call instead but got his voicemail.
I dropped my phone and rolled onto my back, staring at the ceiling. I’d really been looking forward to him coming home. Probably too much. And doing the whole holiday thing and maybe having something real. Maybe I was crazy for thinking I could have this, that it would fall into place, that I could actually come home and find my person. I’d known it was too good to be true. He seemed perfect in every way—at least for me—and I’d never attracted perfect before. This could be the Universe’s way of telling me that I was getting too invested in this relationship.
Tears pricked my eyelids and I tried to blink them away. I did not want to cry over him. But what was up with this, anyway? Had he found some hot girl at the groomers’ convention? Was he really like that?
Of course he is, that nasty little voice said. He’s a musician, right?
“No, he isn’t,” I snapped out loud, startling JJ. Great. Now I was talking to myself. Not only talking but having an argument with myself. And losing.
I rolled out of bed, threw on sweats, and crept to my door. I listened before stepping out into the hallway. Nothing. I wasn’t in the mood to talk with anyone. And I expected Val would still be sleeping after her exciting night. I hoped Ethan would be, too.
I went downstairs. Ethan had been up, because there was a fresh pot of coffee—he was kind of the perfect man in this sense—but he’d gone either out or back to bed. I poured a cup and went to clean litter boxes. I threw myself into the job with fierce determination, mostly because it needed to get done and because once it was I had to figure out what the contents of this notebook meant. And why I was so bothered by Lucas’s vague text message.
First thing first. While it was still fresh in my mind, I refocused on the notebook. Jason Holt was a fiction writer. In the articles about him that I’d read, he said he did a lot of his work by taking a scenario he’d read about in the news and what-ifing it to death, then creating his own account. Was that what he’d been doing with this old horse-racing scandal? Maybe he was going to fictionalize it. And maybe someone out there didn’t want him to. But how had anyone known about what he was working on?
And how did Leopard Man know Jason Holt? What did that mean?
I wanted to know the whole story. I was going to go to the library and do my research there. Mostly because I could bring JJ there with me and I didn’t feel like sitting around here all day. JJ liked the library. He often did events there, like reading nights with the kids or popping in to bring smiles if there was an event for the senior center. And the library staff adored him.
I made it through the rest of my cleaning without seeing anyone and hurried upstairs to shower and feed JJ. All was still quiet when we left. I didn’t question it. I was just thankful.
On my way, I drove past the PD. On impulse, I slowed, perusing the lot. Craig’s car was there. I pulled into the parking lot just as my phone rang. With a sigh, I fished it out of my bag and looked at it. A number I didn’t recognize. “Hello?”
“It’s Rick.”
It took me a second to remember I’d asked Rick to find me the ferry records. “Rick. Sorry. Hey. What’s up?”
“I have that information you asked for. The passenger lists?”
“Oh, right. Thank you so much. I’ll swing by soon.” I hung up and hurried inside. And stopped short before I reached the dispatcher when I realized Lexie Holt was standing at the counter.
“Please,” she was saying, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. I couldn’t hear what else she said. Her voice was very soft.
But the cop kept shaking his head. “I’m sorry,” he said. He didn’t really sound it, though.
Lexie turned away. I could see that she was crying. She met my eyes, realized it was me, and tried to smile. “Hey,” she said, but she was already moving over to the “waiting” area—an old couch someone had rescued from Goodwill that was probably as old as me. She pulled out her phone.
I stepped up to the counter. The officer nodded at me. “Ms. James. Help you?”
“Is Craig—Officer Tomlin here?”
The cop glanced at a schedule posted on the wall next to him. “Out on patrol,” he said.
“Oh. Okay.” I’d have to catch him later. “Thanks.” I headed back to the door but stepped back as it flew open and Zach McConnell strode in, looking like he was on a mission.
I froze. He froze. He opened his mouth, about to say something to me, and I couldn’t tell if it was friendly or not. Behind me I heard Lexie Holt gasp. “What … what are you doing here?”
I didn’t dare breathe. Was this an act? Did she know darn well that he was here, and why?
McConnell looked around, as if looking for the answer on the walls or maybe from the cop behind the window, who was now watching this whole scene with interest. “Same thing you are,” he said finally. “Making sure things are wrapped up the way my friend would’ve wanted them to be.”
“Really,” Lexie said, her voice icy. “I’ve got everything under control, but so good of you to come. Too bad it was a wasted trip.”
“I’m sure you’ve got it all under control,” McConnell said, sarcasm dripping from his words. “But is that what Jason really would’ve wanted?” Without waiting for an answer he went to the desk and bent his head toward the hole in the window.
Without warning, Lexie Holt sprang at him, grabbing his arm and yanking him around to face her. The cop was out of his chair and heading for the door as I took a step back, eyes glued to the scene in front of me.
“I want to know what you’re really doing here!”
She’d gone from crying ex-widow to alley cat in about five seconds. It was fascinating. And I wondered why.
“Ma’am. That’s enough,” the cop said, coming through the door and stepping between her and McConnell.
She wrenched her arm away, glaring at both of them. “Sure. I’m the one who needs to calm down, right? It’s always the women who need to calm down.”
“Don’t worry,” McConnell said. “I’ll be out of here on the afternoon ferry.”
“Good riddance,” Lexie spat. With one last menacing look at McConnell, she stormed out the door of the station.
Chapter 55
I was torn between wanting to follow her and hearing what McConnell wanted to ask the cops, but I knew he wouldn’t say anything in front of me. Was he coming in to tell them he suspected me and Grandpa of hiding Holt’s possessions?
I decided it would look suspect if I hung around, so I left. When I got outside I looked around for Lexie, but she was gone. I sat i
n the car for a moment, pondering that scene. If what Damian’s friend said was true, they might just be hiding their relationship. Or maybe they’d also come to a bad end and they were truly at odds. They both had seemed pretty genuinely unhappy to see each other, although again, they could both just be really good actors.
I left Damian a message telling him what I’d just witnessed and asked if he could find out anything else about the two of them, then headed down to the library. When JJ and I walked in, it was like a swarm of fans ascending on us. His fans, to be clear.
“Look at those cheeks!” Ellen, one of the librarians, screeched, swooping in on JJ like a hawk. He froze, his ears flattening against his head.
“They are the best cheeks ever,” agreed Malcolm, who worked the reference desk.
“They are nice cheeks,” I agreed, as a few other people crowded around. They spent a few minutes cooing over JJ until he hid his head under my armpit, then moved on with their day.
I scratched his chin. “Hey, Ellen. I need a quiet place to do some research.”
“Oh, honey, it’s quiet as a church in here today. These guys loving on JJ? That’s the biggest crowd we’ve had all day.” She waved at the room, empty now that the crowd had dispersed. “But there’s that nice room in the back over there. It’s small and has a couple of computers and some privacy.”
“Perfect. Thanks.” I tucked JJ under my arm and turned to go.
“Hey, that was some story in the paper this morning, huh?” Ellen commented.
I glanced over my shoulder. I hadn’t bothered to look at the paper yet. “What story?”
“About that vet. What a shame. I mean, what he did was wrong, but was it really? Since it was for his son?” She clucked her tongue against her teeth in a sympathetic noise. “It’s one of those life-changing questions, right? Does the end justify the means? I think Jodi Picoult wrote a book about that. I have to go look it up.” She hurried away.
“Life changing for sure,” I said to JJ. I did feel bad for Drake. To have his son so sick and his health insurance coverage maxed out … I couldn’t imagine. I’d have probably engaged in a scheme or two myself. I wondered if Ava-Rose felt even a little badly for him, despite the loss of her precious ships.
I ducked into the room. Perfect. Only big enough for a couple people and I hoped no one would join me. I put JJ down, looped his leash around a chair leg, and chose the comfy little couch facing the door. I pulled out my iPad and notebook. JJ promptly rolled over into his seal position and went to sleep.
I pulled up the pics from Holt’s notebook and studied them. I flipped to the one that had the name Dante and the California phone number. I had to look it up to see exactly where and discovered it was Los Angeles County. I dialed the number and got a voicemail message with one of those disembodied voices telling me to leave a message. Not even a name to let me know if I’d reached Dante or not.
I figured I’d start with the actual crime. There was always a lot of coverage of crimes. I typed in Curtis Krump and hit search.
That was easy. The top article was a good start. I scanned it and picked up the basics. Curtis Krump was a famous jockey from California who raced Thoroughbred horses. He’d apparently won ten Breeders’ Cup races and one Eclipse Award, which sounded fancy.
And at the height of his career, he’d been found dead in an empty horse stall at the Santa Anita Park racecourse in 1977 from blunt-force trauma to his head. The same day he’d lost a big race, after his horse Koda had collapsed from an apparent heart attack and had to be euthanized.
No one was ever charged in Krump’s death.
Apparently Holt’s scribblings were research, not fictional notes. Grandpa had mentioned a scandal. This certainly appeared to be one. But why did Holt care?
The murder caused a ripple effect of events in the horse-racing community, apparently, according to the articles I perused. The Torrence family was under suspicion in the murder, specifically Joseph Torrence. I opened a new tab and looked him up. I found out Joseph, also known as JT, was the oldest of four Torrence sons, all of whom were involved in the family business of training horses. Joseph had apparently raised Koda from when he was a colt. There were nasty allegations flying around that Krump had been blood-doping his horse with something called EPO since he hadn’t had a win in six months. A quick side search told me it was short for EPOGEN which I remembered had been the drug in the Lance Armstrong scandal. The couple of articles I read stated that it was brought illegally into horse racing and that it had caused sudden deaths in humans from heart attacks or strokes.
I couldn’t tell if the allegations were proven or just hanging out there like a cloud over Krump’s name, although it was insinuated that vials of the substance were found with Krump’s things. The rumors ranged from Torrence killing the jockey because of the horse’s death to Torrence being in on the doping scandal himself.
But of course, the allegations about the mistreatment of the horse paled in light of Krump’s murder. Figured. Even though I personally believed that Krump probably deserved it, if he’d really been shooting Koda full of drugs. What an awful thing to do to a horse. I had never gotten too involved in learning about horse racing, mostly because I thought it was inhumane in the first place. But after I read this, it was terrible to think this sort of thing probably had happened all the time. And still did.
I went back to my research. I also saw something about one of the vets who took care of some of the horses racing at this track, who the authorities also wanted to question about the horse-doping scandal. I was skimming, so I almost—almost—missed it. But then I stopped and went back to the vet’s name.
Anna Wakeland. The other name in Holt’s notebook. I pulled up my photos to check again. Yep, that was it. On to a new Google tab, where I typed her name in, my heart thudding in anticipation. I was close to something. I could feel it.
The results seemed to take forever to load, but when they did I sat back, staring at the screen. Part of me knew what I would find, the other part of me couldn’t quite believe it. I remembered that first day in the cafe, her comments about Muffin’s health, which left me wondering about her background.
This was also why I hadn’t been able to find anything on Thea Coleman when I Googled her. Because she wasn’t really Thea Coleman. Bones’ fake-name theory had been right.
This younger, prettier version of her—the Anna version—looked like she’d been a lot more enchanted with life back then. She smiled into the camera, shading her eyes from the California sun. Her hair was long and curly, those perfect ringlets I’d always been in awe of. Nothing like the frizzy gray curls Thea Coleman had. I found a picture of her with no sunglasses. Her eyes were bright and wrinkle-free, her smile genuine. She stood in a stable, with two horses flanking her. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair windswept, and the way she rested her hands on the horses told me they were special. She could’ve been a model doing a shoot.
A vet. No wonder she’d commented about Muffin’s potential issues when she was in my cafe that day. But was she really doping horses to enhance their performance? Was she working with this Krump guy? Had they killed that poor horse? The whole thing disgusted me. Horse racing, greyhound racing, all of it. I hated anything that used animals to make money, especially when it meant they were put in danger to make it happen.
I scanned Holt’s notes, remembering something about prison. Yes, there it was—Anna Wakeland—Arkansas prison, 1994–2000. That was a long time after this, so it couldn’t be related to the horse scandal. And why Arkansas? Maybe she’d fled California after Krump’s death, figuring she was next.
I did another search. It took me a few tries to find the scoop on this, and when I did it seemed another piece of the puzzle fell into place. Anna Wakeland had done time in Arkansas for vehicular homicide. She’d been drunk at the time of the incident, which involved hitting a woman who had been crossing the street in a crosswalk.
A hit-and-run.
She’d pleaded her time dow
n and been released after six years, which had enraged the woman’s family, according to an article written after her release.
So apparently Anna Wakeland had decided to change her name and flee Arkansas. She’d said she lived in California, so she must’ve gone back there again. And somehow ended up vacationing on Daybreak Island.
I grabbed my phone, intent on calling Becky and spilling this whole sordid story. This had to prove that Thea killed Holt. I mean, it looked like hit-and-runs were her MO. Or else it was another of those unbelievable coincidences. The ones I didn’t believe in.
I fished my phone out of my bag, but as I did, I realized someone was standing in the doorway of the room, just watching me.
“Hello, Maddie,” Leopard Man said. “I’m sorry I’ve been absent the past few days. But I have something of yours I wanted to give back.”
Chapter 56
I literally froze in my chair, trying to see past him. Was anyone else in the library—if anyone was left—paying attention? I hated the thought, but I wondered if he was here as friend or foe. And how had he known I was here? Why show up today when he’d been MIA for days?
And what of mine could he possibly have?
I knew all of these questions must’ve shown on my face. He looked … resigned. He took off his hat, shook the water off it, and moved into the room. He reached into his pocket, then extended his closed hand to me. “Here,” he said.
Wordlessly, I held my hand under his. He released my rock into my palm. The rock I’d dropped the night I’d followed Thea Coleman/Anna Wakeland to the trailer. I glanced at him, the question written in my eyes.
“She knew you were following her,” he said. “She told me you’d seen us all. I have to admit I didn’t believe her, but … I found your rock. It’s lovely. Does it mean something?”