The Secret Heiress

by Bethany Campbell

  “Thanks to Darci,” Tyler said, almost smiling. “God love her.”

  Darci had sold a half interest in Darci’s Pride to Tyler. Along with the horse, it seemed, Tyler had acquired a fiancée, as well, Darci herself.

  Andrew studied his cousin’s profile. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Have at it.”

  “The first time you saw Darci, did you know that—well, did you suspect that she’d end up—you know…”

  Tyler cast him a sideways glance. “The woman I wanted to marry?”

  “Yeah,” Andrew said, gazing out at the paddock again. “That.”

  “I guess so,” Tyler said with a shrug. “Didn’t want to admit it, but I pretty much knew. A few minutes with her and wham! That was it. Got a little complicated but it worked out….”

  “Um,” murmured Andrew.

  “Why’re you asking?” Tyler said innocently. “That blonde over at Fairchild Acres?”

  Andrew felt as if he’d been hit across both knees with a ball bat, except it didn’t hurt. He just seemed to lose his sense of balance, his breath, and he gripped the top rail very hard. He could think of nothing to say.

  “Gotcha,” Tyler commented with satisfaction. “I’m not blind. The way you swept her up that day, when the vicious kiddy snake wiggy-wiggled up to give you his friendly grin.”

  Andrew swore. “Would you please never mention that again, you sadist?”

  Tyler said, “Hey, she’s a very attractive woman. Makes a hell of a meringue. Looks great in shorts. Handles herself well. Seems smart as hell. What’s the problem?”

  “The problem is that we don’t have anything in common. I don’t really know her. But I’m kind of—obsessed with her. Like there’s something in her nature or her character or—forget it. I don’t need to get involved with anybody right now.”

  Tyler laughed for the first time in a week. “Andrew, you’ve made my day. You, the intellectual one. The imperturbable one. Mr. Self-control. The one with the world at his feet. At last—brought to your knees, like an ordinary mortal. Ah, my life lies in ruins about me, but you’ve brought a ray of brightness into my life. Thanks, mate.”

  Andrew had had enough. “Yuck it up. Now change the subject. Tell me again why you don’t think Louisa’s guilty.”

  “Because she’s Louisa. She shot Sam once—right? But that was spontaneous. He came storming into her house, ranting at her; she had a gun and she reacted. I mean, of course she shouldn’t have shot him. But it wasn’t premeditated, it was a stupid reflex.

  “Louisa’s not the type to secretly lure him over to my place and kill him. If she really wanted to shoot somebody, she’d do it in the middle of Main Street in Pepper Flats. Louisa’s forthright, not sneaky.

  “And,” he said emphatically, “she wouldn’t set fire to the stables. She used to come over here and help me doctor sick horses. All night long, if need be. Many a time. All right, that was before the blowup with Sam. But even if she’s in a snit at me, she wouldn’t hurt my horses.”

  “Then who would?”

  Tyler’s eyes moved back to the gleaming horses, so illusory in their seeming perfection. “That’s the big question, isn’t it? And like I told you, I have a feeling we’ve got no idea what we’re really up against. But I’ve got my suspicions.”

  Marie found Megan standing outside Louisa’s hospital room, talking on her mobile. “D’Angelo,” she mouthed. “The lawyer.”

  Marie nodded and handed her a small plastic bag of medications she’d taken from Louisa’s suite, and then slipped into the room.

  Louisa looked Marie up and down rather ferociously. “Where have you been? I was starving at breakfast time. They brought me some ghastly drink that smelled like a dead wombat. And on top of that, I’m now a felon.”

  “Megan said you’re not officially charged yet,” Marie said, setting her backpack on the bedside table.

  “I’m in bloody limbo,” Louisa muttered. “I’m arrested, but not charged. They’re going to put a guard at my door. A guard! As if I might leap into the hall and start rending people asunder. Pah!”

  Marie stared at her in a mixture of disbelief and admiration. It was going to take more than a mere arrest and heart attack to quell Louisa’s rebellious spirit.

  “So,” Louisa demanded, “what did you bring? Eggnog with rum would be nice.”

  “You have to have healthy food,” Marie said firmly. “I’ve brought you homemade energy bars, low sodium, low fat, nice fruits and grains. This red thermos has bean soup. It’s got no cholesterol, lots of vitamins, fiber and decent protein.”

  “My God,” Louisa said in disgust. “You’re a food Nazi.”

  “You’re in no position to indulge yourself. I know about these things. My mother had heart disease. It killed her.”

  She didn’t add And I think she was your daughter, Louisa. She didn’t inherit the hardness of your heart, but she inherited its weakness.

  “Oh, be quiet. Give me one of those wretched ‘energy bars.’”

  Marie said, “I’ll send Bindy with lunch and supper. And the food’s going to be healthy. You need to watch what you eat. And drink. I brought you herbal tea. No caffeine.”

  “I could fire you, you know,” Louisa threatened.

  “Go ahead,” Marie shot back. “Eat hospital food instead.”

  Louisa slid her a sideways, measuring look. “You’re getting to be no fun at all. I used to be able to make you nervous. Quite jumpy, in fact.”

  “Eat and get your strength back,” Marie informed her sweetly. “Maybe you’ll be able to make me jumpy again.”

  She started to turn to go, but Louisa said, “You’ve given me unwanted advice. May I give you some in return?”

  “Certainly.”

  “I’ve heard you’ve made goo-goo eyes at Andrew Preston. Don’t. Men like him toy with girls like you. Beware. He’ll use you like a paper tissue. As a receptacle for some troublesome bodily fluids. And then he will toss you away. You may count on it. Cheerio.”

  Marie felt as if she’d been struck across the face. But she didn’t allow her expression to change or her body to flinch. “I know my place, Miss. Good day.”

  “G’day,” muttered Louisa. “And I didn’t mean to offend you. I try to look out for my girls, that’s all.”

  “Yes, Miss. I understand.”

  But she didn’t. She left the hospital, her mind awhirl. Louisa’s mood this morning was peculiar. She’d seemed almost glad to see Marie and to enjoy sparring with her. She’d even apologized—almost. Unbelievable.

  Maybe Reynard was right; Louisa intimidated people too easily and she wanted someone to stand up to her. Yet she had meant the warning about Andrew; Marie could tell.

  Chapter Nine

  Andrew parked the truck off the road, in the grove of eucalyptus near the bend in the road. In a hamper in the back of the truck, he’d brought some food and drink he’d bought in Pepper Flats. He thought this particular occasion might demand an icebreaker.

  Marie arrived on her bike, the sun shining on her golden hair. She wore her seersucker shorts again and one of her white blouses. She seemed so fresh, so natural, that she almost glowed. He couldn’t imagine her looking any better.

  He got out of the truck. “Hi,” he said.

  She dismounted her bike. “Hello.” She gazed at the truck in surprise. “Whose is that?”

  Andrew felt a tension radiating from her, a distrust. “The cook let me borrow it. I thought—well, it might throw people off our trail. I usually drive Tyler’s Jeep.”

  She looked at him with greater suspicion. “People are on our trail?”

  “Not that I know of. But you’re not comfortable about us being seen together.”

  “But we’re right here in plain sight,” she said. “What are we supposed to do? Crawl under the truck and chat?”

  Lord, she was a spunky little thing. And she said what she thought. Was that what heightened his attraction to her? Because he was attracted, damnabl
y so.

  She looked about. The grove was one of many dotting the hillside. He said, “I was out riding one day. I found an odd place down the hill. I asked Tyler about it. Come see for yourself. I brought some stuff just for a sort of—uh—snack.”

  He tucked the cooler under his left arm and took up the hamper with his left hand.

  She hoisted her backpack more firmly into place. “I brought something, too. I figure it’s my place in life.”

  He almost winced. Did she think that he looked down on her?

  But all he said was, “Chain up your bike and come with me.”

  She chained her bike to a tree behind some large shrubs, hiding it almost completely. He said, “Down this way. Be careful. There’s no path, and it’s steep in spots.”

  He fought back the desire to offer her his hand. He set off in front of her. The hillside dropped off, growing steeper once past the grove. He wondered if he, with his long legs, was walking too fast for her. But she’d kept pace perfectly and didn’t even seem out of breath.

  He took a hard turn right, following a ridge of limestone, like a rocky spine thrusting through the crust of the earth. Then there was an almost stairlike set of limestone slabs, leading down precipitously beneath the spine. He negotiated the stones easily, but turned to help her. She had beautiful legs, and strong, but they weren’t long enough to make such long steps.

  She seemed reluctant to take his hand, but she did, and when he touched hers, it was like touching a painless flame that jolted down his arm and flooded his body. He noticed the smooth muscles in her legs, the sureness of her movements. And then he said, “Here we are. A cave. Sort of.”

  He saw her look up suddenly and almost smile. Above, the limestone formed an overhang that arched over an opening about fifteen feet across and ten feet deep. The floor was almost flat. There was a black spot where long-ago fires had been repeatedly built. In the farthest back corner sat an ancient blue enameled teakettle.

  He set down the hamper and cooler. “A private dining room,” he said, straightening up and gesturing around them. “Does it pass muster?”

  “Indeed,” she said. “What is this? Why the teakettle?”

  “A hermit lived here once,” Andrew answered. “The kettle was his.”

  “A hermit?” she asked, this time really smiling. And Lord, what a smile.

  “Yes. Tyler told me. Said he had a long scraggly beard and hair. He’d go from house to house selling herbs and game. Otherwise he left people alone, and they left him alone. He was an old Scotsman. He’d lived here since he was a young Scotsman. They say his spirit still keeps guard here.”

  She blinked. “He doesn’t want people to come here?”

  He couldn’t believe how green her eyes were, how sparkling and alert. “No,” he said softly. “They say he’s a kindly spirit. That he watches over the place.”

  He opened the hamper and took out a checkered oilcloth and laid it on the ground. “That’s why nobody’s ever taken the teakettle. There are some metal cups hidden up in the chinks, but their bottoms are rusted out. Still no one takes anything. Out of respect.”

  He lowered himself to the oilcloth. “Sit,” he invited. She took off her backpack and sat, too, placing it between them.

  “So why was he a hermit?” she asked.

  “Legend says some girl broke his heart, so he left the world of people and became a solitary. It makes a nice story. I don’t know if it’s true.”

  She looked skeptical. He said, “Don’t you believe in broken hearts?”

  Her expression went wary. “I’m more concerned about unhealthy ones, like Louisa’s.”

  Touché, he thought. “Right,” he said. “Have you seen her today?”

  “I took her breakfast. She already hates the hospital. And she’s furious about being arrested.”

  Marie actually looked worried about the old woman. She caught his gaze and held it. “You said you had information. You said maybe you could help her. Tell me, please.”

  “Fine,” he said. “You want a glass of tea? Fruit? Cheese? Crackers? I’ve got wine, too, if you wa—”

  “I don’t drink at this hour,” she said, rather sharply. “I’ll take tea. I brought lemonade and some cheese Danishes. You want any?”

  “Sure,” he said, sounding as laid-back as he could. “Some of both.” Why had he offered her wine at this time of day? What had he been thinking, for God’s sake?

  He poured her tea, she poured him lemonade. They exchanged glasses, and she handed him a Danish pastry on a paper napkin. “Now,” she said, “what do you have to tell me?”

  That you’re lovely and brave and you fascinate me, he thought. He said, “Tyler pointed out that the fire victimized mainly three people, Sam Whittleson, Tyler himself, and me. Me as a candidate. By casting suspicion on Tyler—guilt by association. But he points out there’s a fourth victim—Louisa.”

  She regarded him coolly. “That’s obvious. She’s been arrested, had a heart attack and they’re putting a guard at her door.”

  “All right,” he told her. “When I want to be paranoid, I think some syndicate, say one that has to do with racing, would strike out against Tyler, and consequently me. Somebody, say, who wants Jacko Bullock to win.”

  She cocked a dubious eyebrow. She took a sip of tea and waited. Hadn’t Reynard said almost the same thing?

  “It’s a nice conspiracy theory,” he said. “But why kill Sam? And why frame Louisa? Because Tyler and I both think she’s been framed. And she’s a good friend of Jacko. One of his strongest supporters. Why would he turn on her? If he’s behind all this, why would he let his people implicate her?”

  She frowned, reached into the open hamper and took an apple. “I don’t know. Why?”

  She bit the apple and waited again.

  “Imagine a map of this region,” Andrew said. “Can you see it in your mind?”

  “I think so,” she said.

  “Sam Whittleson’s land abuts Louisa’s. They fought about rights to the lake, which touched both their properties. Whose property is kitty-corner from Louisa’s?”

  “Tyler’s,” she said without hesitation. “What are you getting at?”

  “Add the three together and you get thousands of acres of the best Thoroughbred territory in the country. What do you think will happen to Sam’s place?”

  She made an uncertain gesture. “Well, Daniel, Sam’s son, will inherit it, won’t he?”

  “The place is falling down. Sam’s neglected it, and his horses didn’t do well last season.”

  “There’s rumor he was badly in debt. You think Daniel can turn that around on a trainer’s salary?”

  “I don’t know. It depends if Sam left Daniel any money.”

  “And if the rumors are true? He had no money?”

  “I suppose Daniel would have to sell it,” she said. She took another bite of apple, and he wished it didn’t make him think of Eden. It was too easy to imagine her as Eve.

  “Tyler swears he’s going to rebuild Lochlain Racing. But he’s short on barns, and he’s got only one horse he can race. If he can’t make it, what do you think will happen?”

  She looked thoughtful. “I suppose he’d have to sell, too.”

  “Now here’s a big question for you,” Andrew said. “What if Louisa gets charged, convicted and sent to prison?”

  Marie’s face went taut. “She’d never survive it.”

  “She might not even survive this heart attack,” said Andrew. “And if she dies, what becomes of Fairchild Acres?”

  Suddenly her expression changed, and she seemed shaken by the question. “I—I really don’t know.”

  “Does somebody inherit it? Like her great-niece and -nephew? Who’s in her will? I don’t know. But she was estranged from the niece and nephew. Now she might write them into it, but what would they do with it? They’re not really horse people.”

  Marie shook her head, as if truly confused. “I don’t know. I mean, they do have careers of their ow
n. They’re not into racing. Not the way people around here are.”

  “So they might sell it?” Andrew asked.

  “I—I suppose they might.” She pushed her hand through her bangs as if in agitation.

  Andrew leaned nearer. “So it’s possible that in one short period, three prime properties could go up for sale. And if someone could afford to buy them all, he’d be king of Hunter Valley. And Hunter Valley is second only to Kentucky in horse racing importance.”

  She shook her head. “But how does that help Louisa? I mean really help her?”

  “Ask D’Angelo,” he suggested. “Because looking at it that way, Louisa can be cast as another victim. Not the perpetrator, but a victim. Dylan Hastings has a very thin case against her, Marie. Hammer it hard enough, I think it’ll shatter into bits.”

  She stared off into the distance, as if torn by what he said. He made the mistake of biting into the Danish. It was so delicious that it made him dizzy. My God, he thought. It’s a love potion. He took another bite and watched her. She seemed caught up in a private conflict.

  At last she said. “It’s not enough to clear her. It’s a theory.”

  “It’s one that makes sense,” he told her. “Do you know what organized crime is like? How complex it is? It’s like a great spiderweb. No. It’s more like an unimaginably huge maze of interlocking spiderwebs, with strands connecting in all sorts of directions.”

  “Maybe it is,” she said warily. “So who’s the spider?”

  “That’s the point,” he said earnestly. “There isn’t just one spider. It’s like a network of spider kings. Some big, some little. There’s probably no great, all-powerful one. The webs are constantly shifting and changing all around us. But they’re there.”

  “Excuse me,” she said, her expression dubious. “But this is starting to sound like science fiction. The invisible spider kings of Australia?”

  He laid his hand on her bare arm. It made his fingers tingle, but he forced himself to concentrate on his message.

  “The invisible spider kings of the world,” he corrected. “Do you know how many kinds of syndicates, cartels, narcotics rings, smuggling rings, mobs, money launderers and crime families exist? Organized crime comes from everywhere, Europe, Asia, the Americas. And Australia.” He gave her a penetrating look. “Remember what I told you about horse racing and gambling?”