by Toni Leland
She moved away from the window and opened her laptop. Garrett had mentioned seeing Wheeler’s show photos on the Internet, but it wouldn’t hurt to send him the ones she’d taken earlier. She grinned. Prove to him she was working and not playing.
The e-mail went immediately and she idly browsed through some junk mail. Suddenly, a chat message from GQ popped up.
What are you doing up at this hour?
She chuckled as she responded.
I could ask you the same thing!
Her phone chimed. Garrett’s voice sounded good.
“Couldn’t sleep, so thought I’d get my house in order. Unpacked all but two boxes.”
“Good. That will give you more time to spend with Commander.”
“He’s gonna need it. I talked to Brooks today on the phone, and he thinks the horse will benefit from being handled again. It’s possible that the old boy just got cranky because he was bored.”
“I’m so glad you like him. I wasn’t sure what I’d do if you wouldn’t take him.”
Garrett laughed. “Always leaping first, asking questions later.”
“Speaking of questions, any more thoughts about the insulin idea?”
“I’ve been over the lab reports a second time and feel certain that’s what was done. All the dead foals had insulin values only slightly on the high side of normal except this last one. But I need to verify the findings with the company veterinarian. And I’m going to recommend that the company reopen those cases to prove fraud. But before I do that, I’m going to take a little ride up to Coleville tomorrow to do some more snooping. Surely I can find someone who knows something about Wheeler and her horses.”
Kim grinned, but said nothing. Slowly, but surely, Garrett Quaid was becoming interested in the bigger picture. And while that didn’t make a difference in the outcome of an insurance investigation, the satisfaction of knowing the how and why of a crime was worth something.
Chapter 26
Quaid looked through the windshield at the leaden sky. Yesterday’s sunshine had been short-lived and today’s clouds looked like more snow. He’d better waste no time getting to Coleville.
As he drove, he thought about how diabolically clever the insulin overdose idea was. The fact that it was a natural secretion would override questions – unless a pattern could be established of high insulin levels in dead horses at the same farm. If United Equine reopened all those cases, would they be able to prove beyond reasonable doubt that the dead foals had all been deliberately killed?
Before he’d left home, Quaid had set his GPS to the church’s address. Coleville’s main street didn’t have much activity at midmorning and Quaid drove slowly, examining the businesses and stores on either side of the street. A nice little town, one of those where everybody knew everybody else, and usually their business too. Find the right people, ask the right innocent questions, and he might have some foundation for how he planned to trap Vivica Wheeler.
Quaid turned onto Twilight Street and took his foot off the gas. “Holy moley!”
Glory Church of God’s Mission wasn’t what he’d expected. Maybe he was all wrong and Wheeler’s salary was significant enough to fund her horses. The church was too big and impressive to be cutting corners on salaries. And Wheeler had been there for a long time. He pulled into the parking lot and found an empty spot amongst a dozen or so cars. Must be something going on. At least I’ll be able to find someone to talk to.
As Quaid stepped into the foyer, a man came around the corner, head down, zipping up his winter jacket. He looked up, startled, then smiled.
“Good morning. Welcome to Glory Church. May I help you? I’m Pastor Lamb.”
Quaid smiled widely, not so much in greeting as in delight to have met up with the head honcho.
“Ben Garrett, nice to meet you.” He shook the pastor’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about your good work here.”
The man beamed. “We’re quite proud of our community and the rest of the country that supports our missions.” He took a step back and unzipped his jacket. “Are you interested in one of the charities? I’m working on my next television program, and would love to interview you on the air.”
Quaid raised his hands in mock horror. “Oh, no! I’m not goin’ on TV!” He laughed. “I get the shakes just trying to talk to my boss. But I’d like to hear more about the missions.”
Lamb turned, gesturing down the hall. “We can go to my study. Unfortunately, our secretary is on vacation. She’s the one who is the authority on the ins and outs of the missions.”
“Oh, is that Vivica Wheeler?”
“Why, yes. How did you know?”
Quaid offered his best smile. “She’s the one who told me all about you guys and your work.” Then he frowned. “I didn’t know she wouldn’t be here today.”
“I’ll do my best. How do you know Vivi?”
“We both have horses.”
Lamb nodded vigorously. “Oh, yes. Vivi adores her horse. She spends a lot of time with him, and I guess right now, she’s gone to a horse show somewhere. I never understood the attraction, myself.”
Quaid listened carefully, noting that Lamb apparently was under the impression that Wheeler had only a pet horse. Interesting.
“Oh, it’s an addiction all right. I met her at a horse show. So, tell me more about the missions you support.”
As Lamb talked, Quaid recognized that the church itself was probably funded through donations from the congregation and benefactors, but the real money was passing through the mission office. And Vivica Wheeler’s hands. A sick feeling began in the pit of Quaid’s stomach. Over the years, he’d heard the deplorable stories of humanitarian money and supplies being diverted for someone’s own benefit. Vivica Wheeler had worked in that church for over eighteen years, coming to them at a time when they’d just started the mission work. She’d made herself indispensable, ingratiated herself with the church elders and congregation, and gained the trust and respect of the entire community. Could Wheeler Arabians be thriving at the expense of the starving masses in some foreign country?
An hour later, laden with brochures and information about the church’s various projects, Quaid climbed into his truck and drove back down the main street. His thoughts churned and his stomach rumbled. Glancing up at the sky, he decided the weather looked like it might hold off long enough for him to get something to eat before heading back to Columbus. At the corner, he spotted a café and pulled over to the curb. Yellow checkered curtains hung at the windows, and the lights were on inside. He picked up a couple of the mission brochures and went in.
An older woman bustled over to his table, smiling widely. “Morning! Chilly out there, isn’t it?”
Quaid nodded. “More than chilly, I’d say. What’s your soup today? Perfect weather for it.”
“Soup beans is our specialty every day. We also have minestrone today.”
Quaid grinned. “Soup beans. I haven’t had that since I was a kid. Mom always had a pot going.” He pulled out the brochures and casually laid them on the table. “I’ll have a grilled cheese too.”
The waitress wrote everything down, then glanced at the brochures. “Oh, are you with the mission church?”
“I might be soon. Just came to town, and learning about their work.”
A beatific smile lit up her face. “The Lord has blessed this town with Pastor Lamb and our church’s work. I’m a senior warden there. If you have any questions, I’d be happy to talk to you.”
Wow, is this good or what?
“I’d really appreciate that.” He squinted at her name tag. “Marge.”
She nodded. “I’ll get your order in, then take my break. We can chat for a few minutes.”
As she walked away, Quaid organized his thoughts. Here was an excellent opportunity to get some firsthand information about Wheeler without lighting up too many warning bulbs. What he really wanted to know was how the mission money came into the church, how it was handled, and where it ended up. Pasto
r Lamb had indicated that he didn’t have much knowledge of the workings of the secretary’s office. Apparently, she had made herself so useful that no one bothered to know what it was that she did all day.
A few moments later, Marge served his coffee, then sat down with a mug of her own.
“What would you like to know?”
Quaid held up one of the brochures. “This project looks particularly interesting. What can you tell me?”
Marge’s face fell. “Oh, I don’t know anything specific about the missions. Our secretary does all that. No one else can do it, she’s so good. But, I can tell you whatever you want to know about the church itself.”
“The secretary was on vacation when I went to the church this morning. What a bummer.”
“Yes, she and her boyfriend have a couple of horses they like to take to horse shows. I don’t think Clarence – that’s his name – went with her this time. He was in here this morning for breakfast.”
“Horses, huh? I have a horse. He’s a big black Morgan. I don’t ride him – he’s too frisky.”
Marge laughed. “I’m scared to death of horses, but lotsa people like them.”
“Where does the secretary keep her horse? I didn’t see any barns around close by.”
“Oh, I think they rent pasture north of town. There’s some farms up that way.” She frowned. “I thought you were interested in the church.”
Quaid chuckled. “Oh, I am. Just got sidetracked. So tell me all about Glory Church of God’s Mission.”
Marge jumped up. “I better get your lunch. My break’s over, but I can tell you a bit while I serve you.”
As Marge delivered the food, she talked about the number of people in the congregation, the summer picnics, the Sunday school program, the youth group, and everything else she could cram into a three minute spiel.
Quaid nodded appreciatively. “Wow, sounds like a place I’d like to be.” He gave her his best smile. “Maybe I’ll see you in church.”
She flushed with pleasure, then smoothed her apron. “I look forward to it.”
A moment later, Quaid closed his eyes, savoring the thick white bean soup with chunks of ham, and sinking into the memories it brought back.
Chapter 27
Kim settled behind the wheel of Shareen’s Volvo station wagon, taking a minute to locate all the buttons and levers. The Van Khotens had left early for the show grounds to prepare their filly for the Breeders Classic class. Kim wanted to make a stop at the local dollar store before going to West World. As she drove, she pondered how she would keep track of Vivica Wheeler without being recognized. The show program was helpful. Kim had highlighted all the classes with Wheeler horses, most of which were the same classes for Shareen’s horses. Kim would be able to snoop around the barn while Wheeler was in the ring, but mainly Kim would have to observe from the spectator stands. She didn’t think it would take long to get a feel for the level of money Wheeler was spending on her lifestyle, especially after seeing all the expensive equipment and vehicles at the farm in Indiana.
Kim pulled into a strip mall on the main road north and entered Dollar Tree. When she returned to the car, she peered at the rearview mirror. The black baseball cap sat low on her forehead, and the ridiculously large, dangling earrings would drive her crazy before the day was over, but paired with her sunglasses, the look was different enough that the Wheeler woman wouldn’t recognize her. Thinking back to the day they’d visited the farm, Kim wasn’t even sure that Vivica had even looked at her once during that time. But Kim wasn’t taking any chances.
Twenty minutes later, Kim entered the Equidome where the breeders classes would be held. Most of the seats in the lower rows were full and the air crackled with excitement. Kim climbed up to about midway, where she’d have a good view, then settled into an open seat in the midst of a group of spectators. She looked around for familiar faces, but saw none. In the ring, ten horses posed in the classic halter stance, several of them with tails flagged. Kim opened the show program and located Wheeler’s name and number for the Adult Amateur Owner class, then pulled out her camera and used the zoom to look at each handler. The woman wearing Vivica Wheeler’s exhibitor number stood second from the right, showing her horse for all she was worth. Kim’s jaw dropped as she watched the subject of her spy mission. The woman bore no resemblance to the plain horsewoman who’d grudgingly allowed them to inspect her dead foal. The transformation was amazing.
Wheeler’s hair lay in an elegant twisted knot at the nape of her neck, and her facial features were beautifully enhanced with expertly applied makeup. Jewels sparkled from her earlobes and around her neck, and her gorgeous turquoise and silver outfit looked custom made. Kim snapped off several shots, then lowered the camera, still not believing what she saw.
Someone behind her grunted.
“God, I hope Wheeler doesn’t get this one again. It ain’t fair to be able to buy these classes.”
Another voice responded. “Money talks, and those judges don’t get paid much.”
Kim turned and frowned. “That’s a pretty strong accusation.”
The stout woman glowered back. “I bin in this business a lotta years and my horses ain’t never won against those folks with lotsa money.”
Kim wanted to retort, have a debate over the fact that quality horses cost “lotsa” money, that quality horses were the ones that had the best chances of winning. She opened her mouth, then closed it again as her gaze drifted past the woman’s shoulder. A tall, skinny man in a cowboy hat had just risen from his seat, catching Kim’s attention. Something about him seemed familiar, but she couldn’t think what it might be. He walked along the top tier, then disappeared down the stairs at the end.
She rose from her seat and nodded to the women. “Good luck.” She turned and moved toward the area where the man had disappeared.
A minute later, she gazed around the local vicinity, but he was nowhere to be seen. Curious. She frowned and returned to the grandstand.
Taking a seat in a different section, she focused her camera again on the class. Shareen’s filly swished her tail and bobbed her head, and Kim noted Shareen’s concerned expression. Then the announcer called for the exhibitors to relax as the judges walked toward the ring steward to hand over their scorecards. Shareen walked her filly around in a circle, then set her up again. Vivica Wheeler’s horse danced a little, and Wheeler yanked hard on the lead, sending the horse’s head up in response to the pain.
Kim watched, thinking about this woman who’d been seemingly unmoved by the death of a newborn. A woman who, according to Garrett, might have purposely killed the foal, and several others, for insurance money. A woman who seemed to have unlimited resources to buy whatever she wanted or needed. Kim glanced over at the two women who’d been bitching about the class. Was there any truth to what they said? Was it possible to guarantee a win if you greased the right palms? Maybe tonight Kim would ask Shareen and Albert about it.
“Ladies and gentlemen, your Scottsdale International Arabian Breeders Classic 2 Year Old Filly winner is SRA Rasheeka, owned and shown by Shareen Van Khoten of Sahara Riih Arabians!”
Kim snapped off several pictures, smiling to herself. Apparently, only the best horses won and money had nothing to do with it.
Kim made her way down to the arena level, moving with the surge of spectators headed for the barns. The air was filled with talk and laughter, and more than one comment about the beauty of the horses in the class. Kim heard no more disparaging comments about the honesty of the judges.
Shareen and Albert were in the aisle, stroking the filly and chatting with a group of people gathered around them.
Shareen looked up as Kim approached. “Oh, my goodness! You look so different!”
Kim laughed. “I thought since I was coming to a fancy Arabian show, I should look like a fancy spectator.”
A little stab of guilt ran through her head. She really needed to tell her friends what she was up to.
Albert grinned. “
The earrings are certainly as flamboyant as an Arabian horse.”
Kim tucked her sunglasses into her shirt pocket, then held up her camera. “Let me get some pictures of the two of you with the horse.”
As she focused on the trio in the viewfinder, her sharp eye caught another individual in the background, moving along the aisle. She pressed the shutter in time to capture the tall, skinny man before he disappeared. She’d have a good look at him later.
Her cell chimed and Garrett’s number appeared on the screen. A tiny ripple ran through her stomach as she answered.
“Hi, Garrett, how’s the weather back there?”
“Not so great. I’m trying to beat the next wave of snow. I’m in Coleville. Just had the best bowl of soup beans I’ve had in a long time.”
“You must be eating in that little café on the corner, the one with the chatty waitress.”
He chuckled. “Oh, yes, Marge. She’s a wealth of information.”
“What have you found out?”
“I get the sense that no one knows about Wheeler’s big horse operation. They all know that she has ‘a’ horse and likes to go to horse shows, but other than that, nothing. Marge did mention that Wheeler keeps her horse in a pasture north of town. I’m headed up that way to see if I find the place.”
Kim laughed. “You just gonna drive around looking for pastures?”
“I figured maybe there’d be signs for boarding or something.”
“Find the local feed store and ask there. If anyone would know what’s available, they would.”