The Kill

by Jan Neuharth

  “No doubt some things will fall through the cracks, but we’ll muddle through. First thing I have to do is light a fire under Sheriff Boling to get the crime scene investigation wrapped up and allow us back into Longmeadow. We have a good two days’ worth of work to get the course ready.”

  He ran a palm across his shiny scalp. “What about the funeral?”

  “I called Richard’s sister, Caroline, and spoke with her assistant. The doctor says Caroline isn’t well enough to make the trip from Switzerland. I assured her we’d handle all the funeral arrangements for the family.”

  “Missing her own brother’s funeral?” His stooped shoulders sagged. “That don’t seem right.”

  “The cancer’s bad, Smitty. And the chemo has been very rough on her. She can’t keep anything down. After Richard’s visit to see her last month he told me she’s wasting away to nothing.”

  Smitty frowned. “Richard never said anything.”

  “He didn’t talk about it much, but after that last trip he confided that the doctor told him the outlook was bleak.”

  “Christ.” He let out a low whistle. “She’s all the family Richard had, except for Abigale.”

  Margaret nodded. “Caroline’s assistant is trying to get word to Abigale now.”

  “Is she still in Afghanistan?”

  “Yes.”

  “You think she’ll come?”

  “Of course.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yes.”

  “I hope you’re right.”

  A heavy silence was broken by the sound of rain splattering off the eaves.

  “It was many years ago, Smitty. I don’t think she’s battling those demons anymore.”

  “Manning is.”

  Margaret felt color rise in her cheeks. “That’s different. Manning has other issues.”

  “Okay.” Smitty raised a shoulder. “I’m just saying.”

  CHAPTER

  13

  Abigale saw Emilio waiting beyond the security fence as soon as she climbed out of the helicopter in Kabul. He wrapped her in a hug, then reached down and grabbed the handles of the large duffle at his feet. “I probably didn’t pack it like you would have, but I managed to stuff everything in there.”

  “It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s perfect. Thank you.”

  “They’ve got you on a military transport all the way to the States?”

  “From here to Ramstein, then I’ll catch another to Andrews.”

  “Did you learn any more about what happened?”

  “No. Just that my uncle was shot. Murdered.” Tears swam in Abigale’s eyes and she looked away. She’d sworn to herself on the chopper ride that she wouldn’t do this, that she’d hold it together until she was alone.

  Emilio ran his knuckles across her cheek. “Cara mia. I’m so sorry. Were you very close to him?”

  “I spent every summer at his farm in Virginia from as far back as I can remember until I was seventeen.”

  “Virginia. I hear it’s beautiful there. What kind of farm?”

  “Horses. Foxhunters, mostly.”

  “Foxhunting? Not exactly for the faint of heart.” He flashed a grin. “I can see you doing that.”

  She smiled through her tears. “It drove my father mad, the whole foxhunting scene. He always told Uncle Richard he hadn’t spent thousands of Swiss francs teaching me to ride so I could risk breaking my neck dashing across the Virginia countryside.”

  “But you did it anyway?”

  “Until my father put an end to my Virginia visits.”

  “Because of the danger of foxhunting?”

  “No.”

  “What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Abigale reached for the duffle. “I’d better go.”

  “I’ll walk with you.”

  “No. Let’s say goodbye here. It’ll be easier.”

  “Easier?” Emilio cocked his head. “How so?”

  She took a deep breath. “I won’t be coming back to Kabul.”

  “Why not?”

  “My editor wants to reassign me.”

  “Reassign you? Why? Things are just starting to heat up here.”

  “Maybe so, but the war’s unpopular in the States now. Max said no one wants to see photographs of it.”

  Emilio scowled. “Americans! They couldn’t get enough of it when you won your Pulitzer.”

  “That was four years ago. Baghdad. Different environment. Americans were still reeling from 9/11. They supported Bush’s war on terror then. They don’t anymore.”

  “If Reuters is starting to yank guys, the rest of the media won’t be far behind. God knows where we’ll all end up. Any word from London where you’ll be assigned?”

  “Not yet.”

  Emilio caressed her shoulders. “So we’ll find a way to make it work. I have a million frequent-flyer miles. I’ll visit you. Or we can meet someplace. Perhaps my friend’s villa in the French Riviera that I told you about—”

  Abigale pressed her fingertips to his lips and shook her head. “Don’t.”

  His chocolate eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

  “When we started this, we both vowed that there would be no strings attached, remember? No heartbreak. No hurt feelings. That when the time came for one of us to move on, we’d move on.”

  Emilio sighed, then gave her a tight smile. “Sí, we did,” he said softly. He reached for a long strand of hair that had worked its way loose from the clasp at the nape of her neck and twirled her auburn curls around his fingers. Leaning in, he touched his lips to her forehead. “I’ll miss you.”

  Abigale closed her eyes and let herself melt into his embrace. Then she stepped back. “Stay safe, okay?”

  CHAPTER

  14

  Manning punched Julia’s number on his cell phone as he drove. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. Come on, come on, answer. Five long rings, then voicemail.

  “Hi. It’s Julia. I’m probably out riding. Leave a message.”

  He waited for the beep. “Julia. It’s Manning. I need to talk to you. It’s important. Call me on my cell as soon as you get this message.” He thumbed the END key on his phone. Now what?

  Who besides Julia could tell him how long he’d been at the Blackthorne Inn yesterday? He could always go to the pub, see who was around, ask who had been working the evening before. But then what? Tell them that last night—even yesterday afternoon—was a total blank? That he couldn’t remember where he’d been or what he’d done for, what, sixteen, eighteen hours? No way was he going to do that.

  He remembered leaving the hunt. And taking his horse back to the barn. And, once Percy had brought it up, he vaguely remembered talking to Richard at the hunt, agreeing to help repair the timber on one of the fences. But he’d never made it to Longmeadow. At least he didn’t think he had. Had Richard really been waiting for him? Could he be the reason Richard had been alone at Longmeadow? The reason Richard was murdered? Or had he told Richard he couldn’t make it, as he’d just told his mother he had? Damn it! He pounded a fist on the steering wheel.

  Manning’s cell rang and he snatched it off the passenger seat, muttering, “Please let it be Julia.” He glanced at the caller ID, feeling a twinge of guilt at the fleeting urge not to answer his mother’s call.

  “Hello.”

  “It’s your mother.”

  He stuck the cell between his shoulder and ear as he accelerated and shifted gears. “What’s up?”

  “I’m getting ready to pay Sheriff Boling a visit, but I wanted to let you know I spoke with Abigale. She’s leaving Afghanistan now and will arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

  Manning’s mind flashed to a moment in time he’d fought furiously to shove to the pit of his memory. The truck behind him flashed its lights and Manning realized his speed had dropped, creating a line of traffic that crawled behind him. He shook the thought away and stomped on the accelerator.

  “How’s Abby handling it?”

  “As you’d expect. Caroline
is too ill to make the trip, so Abigale will be coming alone,” Margaret said. “I’ve invited her to stay with me. I thought it would be nice to have a little get-together for her tomorrow evening. Make her feel at home.”

  A dinner party? Jesus Christ. That was classic Mother. Throw Abigale into the mix as soon as she arrives.

  “Manning?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think she’ll be exhausted after flying all the way from Afghanistan, and the last thing she’ll want to do is make small talk at some dinner party.”

  “Well, she has to eat. Besides, it’s not a dinner party. I just want to surround her with friends.”

  “Okay,” he said, not meaning it.

  “Good. I’ll invite Smitty, of course. Who else do you think we should include?”

  “It’s up to you.”

  “I know it’s up to me. I’m not asking you for permission, I’m asking for advice. You better than anyone knows who Abigale’s friends were. Who would help make her feel at home?”

  Manning groaned. “God, Mother, I don’t know. Most of the kids we hung out with went off to school and moved on after that. They don’t live here anymore.”

  “Some of them must still be around. What about Percy? As I recall you, Abigale, and Percy were like the Three Stooges that last summer.”

  “For a while. Until the night Abby and Julia Farleigh went skinny-dipping in the Community Center pool and Percy stole their clothes.”

  “That sounds like Percy.”

  “Yeah. Julia got over it after a day or so, even thought it was kind of funny. But Abby wouldn’t give it up. Finally, someone blabbed and outed Percy and she was pissed as hell.”

  “Well, I’m sure she’s gotten over it by now. I’ll invite him. Percy was her friend and Richard’s as well. I think he should be here.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  “Um-hmm. Who else? What about Julia? Was the skinny-dipping a onetime thing or were they close friends?”

  Manning eased out a sigh. That’s all he needed—to have Julia there the first time he saw Abigale again. “They were friends, but that was a long time ago, Mother. It’s not like they’ve kept in touch all these years.”

  “That doesn’t matter. I’ll invite Julia. Now, let’s see, that makes six. The table holds eight, so we can invite two more. Any other suggestions?”

  “Not really.”

  “Then I think I’ll invite Wendy, since she’ll be instrumental in assisting us with the funeral arrangements. Thompson would be a good one to round it out, don’t you think?”

  Manning didn’t respond. His mother knew exactly how he felt about Thompson.

  CHAPTER

  15

  Margaret refused the offer to take a seat in the reception area at the sheriff’s office. If she’d learned anything over the years, it was that sitting usually increased one’s wait time.

  “Sheriff Boling shouldn’t be too much longer,” the young woman at the front desk said. “Are you sure I can’t get you a cup of coffee?”

  “Nope. I’m just fine, thanks.” Margaret gave her a smile, then glanced at her wristwatch. “Is the sheriff in a meeting?”

  The woman’s brown curls jiggled as she jerked her head toward a closed door at the back of the room. “Big hubbub going on in his office.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I think it’s about that man they found shot dead at Longmeadow Park this morning. Couple of deputies came rushing in here about thirty minutes ago, been holed up back there with the sheriff ever since.”

  “And you think it’s about the murder?”

  “Well, when they went back there, before the sheriff closed the door, I heard one of them say, ‘We have us a suspect, Sheriff. And, get this, he’s a Hispanic.’” She rubbed her hands along the sleeves of the moss-green sweater that she’d probably purchased because of the way it accentuated her eyes. “That’s Sheriff Boling’s top priority, you know. Cracking down on gangs. They’ve been keeping the seriousness of the problem quiet, so as not to hurt tourism and all, but gangs have become a real problem in this county.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Most folks figure the gang activity is in the eastern part of the county, closer to Washington. But it’s out here, too.”

  “Are you saying the shooting was gang-related?”

  The woman held both hands out in a balancing motion, as if weighing the evidence. “Hispanic. Gangs. They go hand in hand.”

  Margaret grunted in response, but she stopped short of disagreeing with the woman. No sense getting on her bad side. Never know when she might be useful.

  The door to the sheriff’s office screeched open and the receptionist wheeled around in her chair. She rose as Sheriff Boling strode through the doorway, ushering two deputies ahead of him. “Great work, fellas,” the sheriff said, clasping one of the men on the back as he wove his way around the receptionist’s desk. “Keep me in the loop.”

  “You bet, Sheriff.”

  The front door clanged shut behind the deputies and Sheriff Boling glanced at the receptionist. “Any calls come in for me while I was tied up, Charlotte?”

  Bright spots of color flushed the young woman’s cheeks and she ran her palms down the sides of her gray wool skirt. “No, Sheriff Boling, but this lady, Mrs. Southwell, has been waiting to see you.”

  The lines around the sheriff’s mouth drooped as his eyes settled on Margaret. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t notice you standing there.” He grabbed her hand in both of his and gave it a firm squeeze. “Please accept my condolences about Mr. Clarke.”

  “The wait was no problem,” Margaret replied. “I’m sure you’re busy, but I’d be most grateful if you could spare a few minutes to talk about the investigation into Richard’s death.”

  The sheriff’s head bobbed vigorously. “Of course. In fact, I just came out of a briefing about it.” He spread his arm toward the back of the room. “Come on in my office.”

  The sheriff stood aside at the doorway and gestured for Margaret to precede him into the spacious office. “Have a seat on the sofa.” He winced as he swung the door closed. “I keep forgetting to ask Charlotte to have someone oil that door.”

  Margaret managed a polite smile. She waited while he settled into one of the leather club chairs that flanked the couch.

  “It looks like we may already have a break in the case,” the sheriff said, hiking up his pant leg as he crossed one knee over the other.

  “Oh?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Seems there’s a road crew, been working repaving St. Louis Road at a spot just due south of Longmeadow.”

  “I’m aware of that.”

  “Okay. Well, a couple of deputies went out there to question the workers. See if anyone had seen anything that might be helpful. Anyhow, it turns out one of the workers, a nineteen-year-old Hispanic boy by the name of Reyes—Dario Reyes—didn’t show up for work this morning.”

  “Have they been able to locate him?”

  “Nope, but they found his car abandoned by the side of the road—”

  The leather sofa squeaked as Margaret leaned forward. “Near the entrance to Longmeadow.”

  Sheriff Boling arched an eyebrow. “How’d you know that?”

  “I saw a car there. This morning. It was parked on the shoulder, but it still took up a fair share of the road. I remember swerving to drive around it.”

  “That was Reyes’s car. The last any co-workers saw him was around four-thirty yesterday afternoon when he drove away after work.”

  “He had his car at the work site?” Margaret said.

  “No. That’s the whole point. He didn’t. His car was parked in Leesburg. The VDOT road crew travels to the work site as a group. He’d have to have driven back to the area after he got off work.”

  “Does he live out near Longmeadow?”

  “Nowhere near. He lives in Sterling.”

  “That’s in the exact opposite direction.”

 
The sheriff shot a finger at her. “Bingo.”

  “Oh, my,” Margaret said, sinking back with a sigh. “What do you suppose brought him back there?”

  “I’m figuring, Mr. Clarke might’ve caught Reyes’s eye when he drove through the work site. You know, refined-looking older gentleman driving an expensive Lexus and all.”

  “Hmm, perhaps. But if he came back with the intent to harm Richard—if he’s the one who shot Richard—why would he leave his car in a place that would implicate him in the crime?”

  The sheriff broke into a broad smile. “The fool boy ran out of gas. Gas tank’s dry as Goose Creek in August.”

  “Forcing him to abandon his car,” Margaret murmured. “Has the medical examiner determined the time of Richard’s death?”

  “Not yet, but his initial estimate is that Mr. Clarke had been dead for quite a few hours. In other words, it is more likely he died last night than this morning.”

  “So you think Reyes saw Richard drive though the paving area yesterday afternoon and went back there after work with the intent to rob him?”

  “That’s my hunch.”

  “Could be.” As much as Margaret wanted to believe that Richard’s killer had been identified, a prickle of doubt nagged her. Everything seemed to point toward a robbery-related shooting, but still… Of course, she couldn’t come up with a more plausible scenario. Richard didn’t have any enemies. Sure, he was one to take a strong stand on an issue if it was something he felt passionate about, but people out here disagreed on matters all the time. The battle lines that had been drawn over the development of a resort hotel had soured more than one friendship. But folks didn’t go around murdering each other over their differences. Robbery—plain old greed—was the only motive that seemed to fit.

  “The entrance to Longmeadow is down the road from the paving area, around that blind curve,” Margaret said. “Reyes couldn’t have seen Richard turn in there.”

  “No, not from where they were paving. But Reyes might’ve figured he’d be able to cruise the area and catch a glimpse of the Lexus from the road. It’s my understanding that Mr. Clarke had been frequenting Longmeadow on a regular basis the last few days, getting the place ready for the races. Is that right?”