by Jan Neuharth
“That’s right,” Mallory replied. “Pretty much keeps to himself. Apparently he spends most of his spare time playing games on his Xbox.”
Manning felt Abigale’s hand on his arm. “Friday was when you had your riding accident.”
Manning frowned at her. “Yeah. So?”
“So that’s when the saddle broke,” she said quickly. “After I finished grooming Braveheart, I went to put my grooming supplies in the closet and Larry was in there with Uncle Richard’s saddle. He acted like I’d caught him doing something he shouldn’t be. At the time, I just figured he was goofing off and I didn’t think anything else about it. But maybe there was more to it.”
“Like what?” Manning asked.
“Maybe Larry was the one who tampered with the saddle. When the saddle broke and you were injured, he might have gotten scared he’d get caught so he ran away.”
“That doesn’t explain why he would have acted suspiciously when you caught him with the saddle in the closet. That was after the fact.”
“Right, but maybe he was trying to cover up what he’d done.”
Manning frowned. “How?”
“I don’t know. Maybe rough up the billet straps so it wasn’t obvious they’d been cut.”
“Much as I moan and complain about Larry, I just can’t see him doing something like that,” Michael said. “The boy might be lazy, but he’s not a bad seed. And he looked up to Mr. Clarke something fierce.”
“Okay.” Abigale gazed out the window as she thought it over. “So what if Larry saw someone else messing with Uncle Richard’s saddle? Maybe he didn’t realize at the time what they were doing, but after the saddle broke on Friday he remembered it. And when I saw him he was checking out the saddle, confirming his suspicions.” She looked at Michael. “Did Larry say anything about the saddle to you?”
“No, ma’am.”
Abigale’s expression turned grim. “Maybe Larry decided to keep his suspicions to himself until he confronted the person directly. And when he did he went missing.”
CHAPTER
74
Abigale drew in a slow lungful of air, finding some comfort in the fresh, woodsy odor of the bagged pine shavings she was perched atop. She glanced at her watch. It hadn’t been five minutes since Michelle had left her alone in the storage barn, but it might as well have been an hour. She wiped her palms against her pant legs. Everything rested on her being able to talk to Dario.
It was no longer just about catching Uncle Richard’s killer. Or clearing Manning’s name. It might be about saving Larry’s life. If whoever had tampered with the saddle was the same person who’d shot her uncle, then odds were that person had kidnapped Larry. If Dario could identify the person he’d seen leaving Longmeadow after he heard the gunshot, or give a description of the vehicle, they might have a chance at finding Larry before it was too late.
A worm of doubt about Larry still niggled at her. She’d wrestled with it most of the night. Larry wasn’t at work the last day Uncle Richard hunted. Michael had confirmed that. It was a Monday, Larry’s day off. That meant if the saddle had been tampered with that day, at the barn or the hunt, Larry hadn’t been the one to do it. Of course, that cut both ways. Larry also wouldn’t have been present to see who did. The one thing being off work that day did provide Larry with was opportunity. He could have been at Longmeadow. All the more reason it was crucial she talk with Dario. If Dario described seeing Larry’s car leaving Longmeadow—an old Ford Focus with a bad muffler—well, then, they’d know Larry was a killer, not a victim.
Without warning—no approaching footsteps, no knock—the doorknob turned. The white metal door slid silently inward, no more than a foot, and a young man slipped through. He turned the inside knob and closed the door without a sound.
They eyed each other: Abigale from her perch on the shavings, he with his back against the door, his hands thrust into the front pockets of his jeans. Michelle had told her his name was Miguel. He was the friend of one of her grooms. That was the extent of what Abigale knew.
Abigale swallowed and ran her tongue across her lips. Should she stand, offer her hand? She sensed that if she moved he’d disappear through the door. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”
Miguel’s eyes darted beneath slick brows, shining like bright, black marbles in his round face. She guessed him to be in his early twenties.
“Michelle, she say you can help Dario.”
“I might be able to, if he’ll agree to talk to me. Michelle told me Dario saw someone drive away from Longmeadow the night my uncle was murdered. If he can give me a description or information that helps us find whoever shot my uncle, he’ll be cleared as a suspect.”
He shook his head. “The cops’ll still be after him. For not turning himself in, resisting arrest. Some crap like that.”
“I’ll find an attorney. We’ll work out a deal for Dario if he cooperates by talking to me. You have my word.”
Miguel was young, but the look in his eyes told her he’d seen more than his share of the darker side of life and had plenty of reasons not to believe her. “Why should he trust you?”
“Because it’s my uncle who was murdered.”
“Don’ that put you on opposite sides?”
“Only if Dario killed him.”
A frown tugged at his full lips.
“Did he?”
Miguel shook his head. “The cops, they jus’ trying to make him take the heat.”
“Then Dario should tell me what he saw and help me find my uncle’s killer.”
“How he know you not working with the cops?”
“I’m not. No one knows I’m even talking to you except Michelle. I’ll come alone, meet him anywhere he wants.”
He gave her a long look. She stared back, her heart thumping so hard in her chest she could barely breathe.
“I tell him,” he said finally. “No guarantee.”
“I understand.”
Miguel reached behind his back to grab the doorknob.
“How will you get in touch if Dario agrees to talk to me?” Abigale asked.
“Michelle have your cell number?”
She nodded.
“If Dario want to talk, I call.”
“How soon do you think I’ll hear?”
He shrugged. “Depends on Dario.”
“It’s important that I speak with him. As soon as possible. It might save someone’s life.”
Miguel’s dark eyes softened. He gave her a quick nod. “I see what I can do.”
CHAPTER
75
Abigale stopped by Dartmoor Glebe after she left Michelle’s. She needed time to think. Time to be alone.
A storm was forecast to hit overnight, some tropical depression sitting off the coast that was supposed to pummel them with rain for the next few days. Before the rain settled in she wanted to capture more shots of Dartmoor Glebe to send to her mother.
The sky was already blanketed with a wispy sheet of clouds, making for ideal lighting conditions. She strolled around the grounds until the sun sank behind the Blue Ridge and shot a memory card full of photographs. She’d brought along the hunt horn and spurs Uncle Richard had given her, and she arranged them on a moss-covered log in a cluster of trees in front of the house and shot them from various angles with the house in the background.
When she arrived at Manning’s he was hunched over his computer. Sheets of paper littered the hinged writing surface of the secretary desk, and a couple of file folders were scattered near his feet. He glanced up from the computer screen, sighing as he yanked his fingers through his hair.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“Beating my head against the wall.” Manning leaned back in the swivel chair as she bent down to kiss him.
He grasped her arm as she started to rise. “Hey, what kind of a kiss was that?”
Abigale smiled as he pulled her onto his lap. He tugged her mouth to his and kissed her tenderly. “I missed you today,” he whispered. She sank into h
is kiss, tumbling to a place where all that mattered was his mouth, his hands, and the force of his arms around her. “Mother invited us to dinner,” he murmured against her lips. “We need to leave soon.”
“Mmm.” Abigale buried her face against his neck. His skin was warm against her cheek, the spicy scent of his aftershave soothing and erotic at the same time. Manning wrapped both arms around her and stroked her back, her hair—
She jerked back, stared wide-eyed at his right arm. “You got your cast off.”
“Yeah.”
“When—why? You didn’t tell me you were going to the doctor today!”
Manning took her hand and guided her off his lap. “I didn’t,” he said, standing up.
Abigale’s eyes shot from his arm to his face. “What do you mean, you didn’t?”
“I didn’t go to the doctor.”
“Did you go back to the ER?”
Manning shook his head, his eyes hardening into a don’t-argue-with-me look. “Kevin cut it off.”
“Kevin?”
He nodded.
“As in, your blacksmith?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?”
“Because my arm was swollen and it hurt like hell, itched like a son-of-a-bitch, too. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”
“Did it enter your mind to go to the doctor rather than your blacksmith?”
“Christ, Abby—” His eyes flashed and he clamped his mouth shut, then blew out a heavy rush of air. “I was at the barn, talking to Kevin. He commented on how swollen my hand was and I told him I felt like ripping the goddamn cast off. He offered to use one of his tools to cut it off and I took him up on it.” Manning looked away, stretching his neck from side to side as if to ease tension. “Look, let’s not fight about it, okay?”
“It’s your arm,” she said, giving him a tight smile.
Abigale knew Manning’s arm was bothering him when he didn’t object to her driving them to Margaret’s in the Subaru. He even admitted he’d had a rough go of it driving home from the barn without the cast, and had ended up shifting gears with his left arm. She managed to curb the impulse to point out that maybe there was an advantage to the cast after all. No doubt he’d figure that out on his own soon enough.
CHAPTER
76
Margaret was talking on the phone when they let themselves in the back door. She waved them into the kitchen. “All right. Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant. I appreciate you keeping me informed.”
“What was that about?” Manning asked as Margaret hung up the phone.
“They found Larry’s car in the parking lot at Dulles Airport.”
Abigale’s pulse quickened. “So he did run away!”
“Not necessarily,” Margaret replied. “I just said the same thing to Lieutenant Mallory and he pointed out that if Larry did meet with foul play, the parking lot at Dulles is a logical place for someone to dump his car.”
No one spoke for a moment. Abigale said, “I assume they’re checking to see if he boarded a flight.”
“Of course. They haven’t found him on a passenger manifest yet. But Mallory said they’re investigating all possible modes of transportation out of Dulles. If Larry did run away, he could have jumped on a shuttle bus from Dulles and gone any number of places.”
Abigale exchanged a glance with Manning. “So finding the car there really doesn’t tell us much of anything.”
“Not really.” Margaret grabbed a platter of roast chicken off the counter and set it on the table. “Come on. Let’s sit down and eat before everything gets cold.”
As she filled their plates, she said to Manning, “Tell me about your meeting at the bank this morning. Doug told me Jay Barnsby met with you personally.”
“He did. Doug, Jay, and I talked in general about the hunt account and what services the bank offers, and then he had the branch manager oversee the paperwork adding me to the account. I’m already set up for online banking.”
Margaret’s eyebrows shot up. “Online banking? That seems like an unnecessary expense. Don’t you think you should get a better grasp of the bookkeeping before you start piling up charges for services you’ll probably never use?”
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.”
CHAPTER
77
“That 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…”