by Toni Leland
Kim looked up Victory Arabians and found two similar farms—one in Sylmar, California and one in Morris, Minnesota. After visiting both websites, Kim’s instinct pointed her to the California breeder. She made a note of both phone numbers, then called the farm in Sylmar.
A woman’s voice answered, an unfriendly, chesty cigarette voice. “Victory.”
“This is Kim Kovak. I’m a photographer and—”
“We’re not interested in pictures, we take our own.”
Irritation coursed through Kim’s head. “Listen, I’m calling about your filly that was stolen in Kentucky. Are you interested or not?”
“Oh, you’ll have to talk to the owner. He ain’t here right now, but give me your number and I’ll tell him you called.”
A minute later, Kim hung up. Barn help should not be answering the phone. Stupid bitch.
Her irritation faded as she thought about the missing filly. A horse that young would not be stolen to sell for slaughter. No, this one would be slated for resale somewhere, especially if she had wonderful bloodlines. Kim returned to the farm’s website and searched through the photo gallery. The place had over thirty head of horses, most of them show champions or highly-pedigreed breeding stock. Nowhere did she see a young gray filly.
Kim sat back. Something was telling her that maybe they were another operation in financial trouble. A quick map search gave her another interesting tidbit: Sylmar was not far from Burbank.
~~
By mid-afternoon, Quaid had done all he could at Teri Fortune’s place. He stared at Dixie’s business card, wondering if he should call so soon. He laid the card aside and looked out the windshield. He’d sure like to see that beautiful smile again before he went home.
She answered on the first ring. “Inspector Quaid, how nice to hear from you.”
“I hope I’m not calling at a bad time. I just, well, I…”
“No, not at all. We just finished up and I’m headed home for the weekend. We have tomorrow off.”
Quaid’s brain ran wild. Was that an invitation?
“Would you like to have an early dinner? I’m due back in the office tomorrow, but I have to eat.”
“Garrett, I’d love to, but my mother’s having some problems and I have a meeting with the state senior services. May I have a rain check?”
Disappointed didn’t come close to describing Quaid’s reaction, but he couldn’t let her know that. “Sure, no big deal. I’ll just head back now.”
“Where is your office, anyway?”
“Cleveland, but I do a lot of work from my home in Chagrin Falls. If you’re ever up my way, be sure to give me a call.”
“You got it. Hey, talk to you later.”
Quaid tossed the phone on the passenger seat and frowned. He wasn’t much of a ladies’ man, but he sure knew a brush-off when he got one.
He drove toward the main road, feeling more melancholy than he had in years. His mood deepened as he tried to focus on the current investigation, but memories crowded in, effectively obliterating any productive thinking. At the ramp to I-71, he suddenly had no desire to join the seventy-mile-an-hour club. Instead, he continued east on Route 30. The country scenery would do him good. Minutes later, he found himself in the town of Sunbury, moving along at a snail’s pace in late afternoon traffic.
“Maybe this wasn’t such a hot idea,” he muttered, staring at the line of cars creeping along in both directions.
The car ahead of him stalled and another cycle of traffic lights began. Quaid sighed, then glanced out the passenger window. A sign caught his eye. “Ohio Fallen Heroes.” From those words, his gaze drifted to the scene laid out over lush turf. Stark white crosses formed perfect rows, leading the eye to a monument at the back of the green.
The light changed and Quaid wheeled into the entrance of the memorial park.
~~
Kim spent the afternoon in her studio preparing Shareen’s photographs to send to the lab. While she worked, she thought about the stolen filly, Dixie’s strange behavior, and her own ambivalent feelings about Garrett Quaid. Those thoughts faded when she began adjusting the candid shots in the barn. Again, the mysterious man and woman appeared in several of the photographs and Kim began to feel more than a little uneasy. Were they scoping out Shareen’s horses?
Kim zoomed in on one of the pictures that had a good view of the couple. They looked familiar, but probably only because Kim had been noticing them in most of the photos. She cropped just their heads, enhancing and sharpening until she had a good image. The man had dark, deep-set eyes and heavy brows. His face was rugged, almost brutish, and his lips formed an unpleasant thin line. The woman was classic Latina, but her good looks had faded with age.
A minute later, the printer spit out the picture and Kim examined it, trying to memorize the features so she’d recognize them again. Too bad she couldn’t get one of her old buddies to run the photo through the face recognition database. A hollow feeling crept into her chest. She’d purposely avoided anyone from her old division for over five years. Better to leave the memories where they lay.
She ran a hand down her thigh, gently massaging the ache, her fingertips lightly exploring the indentation in her flesh where the surgeon had removed the bullet.
A car honked outside and Kim went to the deck doors to investigate. A county patrol car sat in Dixie’s driveway. The door opened and she waved. A few minutes later, she came through the door. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes sparkled.
Kim nodded. “Dog duty seems to agree with you…or is it something else.”
Dixie cocked her head and gave Kim a teasing look. “You have something to say?”
“No, of course not. You always stay out late with a hot guy.”
“You think he’s hot? Oh, man, I see what’s going on. No wonder you took off.”
Kim scowled, not even slightly amused. “Well I certainly don’t see what’s going on. You want to enlighten me?”
“I just enjoy good company. You can have him.” She winked. “He’s not my type.”
“I’m totally confused.”
Dixie started toward the kitchen. “Don’t be. I am what I am and Garrett Quaid is no dummy. I think he was just trying to make you jealous.”
“Garrett Quaid couldn’t quit slobbering all over himself, and that had nothing to do with me. He’s not as smart as you think.”
Kim suddenly remembered the state car. “Did you get a message from the state senior services department?”
Dixie blinked. “Yeah, how did you know?”
“Someone was here yesterday, knocking on your door. I thought maybe something happened to your mom.”
“No, but she’s applied for financial assistance to pay her utilities and they want to interview me. Probably want to know why I’m not helping her.” Dixie’s shoulders slumped. “I give her as much as I can spare, but with the reduction in hours, it isn’t much.” A scowl flashed across her face. “I can’t believe she did this without telling me.”
“Elderly people desperately want to remain independent, Dix. It has to be a horrible feeling to become the cared-for instead of the care-giver.”
“What do you mean?”
“Parents spend their lives looking after their children, making their decisions, keeping them safe, helping them grow up.” Kim stopped, surprised at her clinical analysis of something she knew little about, since her own parents were long gone. “Then, at some point, the tables turn and the children must look after the parents. Not always willingly. I think elderly people can tell when a person resents doing things for them. That might explain why your mom decided to handle her own problems.”
“You think she knows how much I bitch about her?”
“Maybe not directly, but I think when we’re busy or stressed, we can’t hide tiny reactions to things like demands to visit or call.”
Dixie sat quietly for a moment. “You’re right, I need to be more charitable. She won’t be around forever and I sure don’t want to ha
ve any regrets when the time comes.” She stood up. “Thanks, I needed that. I gotta get going, I’m meeting the counselor in an hour.” She headed for the door.
“Hey! Aren’t you going to tell me about last night?”
Dixie’s laughter drifted back into the house, then the door clicked shut.
Chapter 11
Quaid pressed the doorbell and stepped back, wishing he was twenty other places. The small nondescript house in the ordinary Cleveland neighborhood didn’t help his mood. No one answered the door, so he pressed the button again. The door opened quickly and Jenna’s scowl appeared.
“For Pete’s sake, Garrett, give me a minute to get here.” She moved aside. “Come in, everyone’s out back.”
Quaid recoiled at the animosity in her voice. What the hell’s the matter with her? He took a quiet breath and moved across the threshold of his dead brother’s home. The living room looked the same as it had since the day of the memorial service, crowded with comfortable mismatched furniture, exuding a somewhat chaotic, lived-in feeling. The fireplace mantel held a parade of photographs and Garrett’s gaze was instantly drawn to one of the last pictures taken, an image of his older brother’s smiling face beneath a rumpled desert camouflage hat. Garrett clenched his jaw and followed his sister-in-law as she led the way toward the kitchen.
“How’ve you been, Jen?”
“Okay. I’m doing some volunteer work. Helps fill the time.”
Quaid wrinkled his brow. “What do you mean?”
Strain tightened her features. “Well, of course, you wouldn’t know since we never see you…I was laid off last month.”
“Aw jeez, I’m sorry. Anything I can do?”
She looked away. “Ricky could sure use some moral support. He failed sixth grade and now he’s in summer school.”
Quaid’s chest tightened. He and his nephew didn’t have the best rapport. The kid was sullen and uncommunicative, sometimes downright obnoxious. But who could blame him? One day everything is great, he has a hero for a father. The next, he has a dead hero for a father. Quaid looked down at the gift bag he carried. There wasn’t a present in the world that could fill that void. For either of them.
“I’ll try, Jen, but you know how he feels about me.”
Jenna’s eyes glistened with sudden tears and her chin quivered. “I need to get back to the party.”
Did his sister-in-law know why Ricky had withdrawn from what had once been a great uncle/nephew relationship? For the life of him, Quaid sure didn’t.
She turned and strode toward the back door. Quaid took a deep breath and followed.
Jenna’s sister and mother sat in lawn chairs, watching several kids play badminton. They looked up and waved, then turned back to the game.
“Ricky! Your uncle’s here,” Jenna called out.
Quaid’s nephew looked over and waved.
Twenty minutes later, after bumbling through small talk with the women, Quaid handed the gift bag over to Ricky. The other boys crowded around to see what was in it. Ricky pulled out the box and a wide grin lit up his freckled face, the first smile Quaid had seen in a long time.
“Wow! A Wii! How did you know I wanted this?”
A wave of relief swept through Quaid’s mind, then he caught sight of Jenna’s grim expression. Okay, so what’s the problem?
He tried to ignore Jenna’s daggers. “I just know you like to be challenged. The store clerk said this was the latest and best.”
“Thanks! Come on, you guys, let’s go try this thing out!”
They disappeared through the screen door and an uncomfortable silence settled over the group.
Jenna finally spoke. “I can’t believe you spent that much on a toy. Do you have any idea how many groceries that would buy? Or school clothes? Or pay a bill?”
“Wait a minute, I only just found out about your situation. Give me a break!” He stood up. “I need to get going. I’ll let myself out.”
He went in through the back door and into the living room where the boys were setting up the game. “Happy Birthday, Ricky. I’m glad you like the Wii. I’ll come over one of these nights and you can show me how it works.”
The boy looked up and, for a split second, Quaid saw the pain. Then it was gone.
“Sure thing, Uncle Garrett.”
By the time Quaid reached his car, Jenna had come around the side yard.
“Wait.” She came up to within a couple feet of him, not meeting his eyes, but shaking her head. “I’m sorry. I overreacted. Thank you for getting him such a nice gift.”
Quaid let his irritation recede, tempering his tone. “Jenna, why do we have such a hard time?”
She took a deep breath, then met his gaze. “Because every time I look at you, I see Ben. It’s almost more than I can bear, even after all this time.”
~~
Kim listened to the man's voice on the other end of the phone, a voice that should have been colored with concern, but instead sounded quite calm.
“We’re not sure how it happened. The filly wasn’t easy to handle. Whoever took her certainly had their hands full.”
The owner of Victory Farms sounded too matter-of-fact.
Kim narrowed her eyes. “Have you questioned all your employees who were at the show? Maybe someone saw something they didn’t think was important.”
“Yes, yes, we did all that. Who did you say you are?”
“Listen, I was just concerned since there’ve been quite a number of show thefts recently. If you’re not familiar with Stolen Horse International, you should go to the website and post the horse’s information. You might get her back.”
“Okay, well, thanks for calling.”
The line went dead and Kim stared at her phone. “That was weird,” she muttered.
He almost sounded like he didn’t want to find the horse. She sat back and thought for a minute. I wonder what insurance company they use. How could I find out? Garrett Quaid would be able to do that, but she’d have to use some finesse. And what reason would she give for wanting to know? Idle curiosity? That would never fly. No, she’d be revealing way too much if she let Quaid know she was following leads on the Talisman case. But what did she intend to do with any information she might get? Realistically, she’d have to turn it over to Quaid. How was that going to work?
She picked up a stack of mail from the corner of her desk and sorted through it. Mostly bills and advertisements, and one thick white envelope hand-addressed to her. She slit the top and pulled out a contract and retainer check for the Burbank horse show. She nodded thoughtfully as an idea formed. A couple of extra days in the area would give her a chance to snoop around Jasper’s operation and maybe even look at these Victory people.
Then a yellow flyer for a Cincinnati charity horse show caught her eye and she glanced at her watch.
“Nuts, I need to get on the road.”
~~
Quaid sank into his recliner, took off his glasses, and massaged the bridge of his nose. At least now he knew why his sister-in-law had been so unpleasant for so long. He wished he’d known it sooner—that might have helped them over some rough spots together. But there wasn’t much he could do about the way he looked. Though three years apart, Quaid and his brother Ben could easily have been twins. He smiled without humor. Just like Talisman and his clone.
Quaid’s brain discarded the painful personal realm for the reality of his work. Teri Fortune had provided some new data and now he needed to put it all together to see what came out of it. Especially now that he wasn’t quite so sure that she was blameless.
The small room Quaid used for an office was dark and cluttered. He flipped on all the lights and scooted a stack of stuff to the back of the desk, then sat down and started his computer. The first thing he needed to do was transcribe all his notes from the second visit to Fortune Farms. Following that, he would research the owner, and also see if he could locate the former barn manager.
A flagged folder caught his eye and he opened the image
s that the photographer had sent. He zoomed in on the photos of the horse in the stall, the ones Kovak said she’d thrown away. He then moved to the show photos of the big bay jumper. She’d marked the photos with the date and “Washington National Horse Show, Verizon Center Arena”, which at least gave Quaid a timeframe from then until the date the horse had supposedly been put on a trailer in California. On close comparison, the horse at Fortune and the horse flying over the parallel oxer were identical. But Jasper Martin had been adamant that he could prove that the horse at Fortune was not Talisman. Why hadn’t he done so during Quaid’s first visit? Why had the guy been so damned nervous? That bullshit about the horse being too nice just wouldn’t cut it for proof. Quaid didn’t know a whole lot about performance horses, but he couldn’t believe that a horse with a vicious personality could be trained to become a national champion.
He returned to Kovak’s e-mail and, on impulse, clicked on her website. A minute later, he let out a slow breath. The woman had amazing talent. Her portraiture and action shots were some of the best Quaid had ever seen. Too bad she had such a hard-on. He leaned forward to take a closer look at one of the photos on her home page. It was definitely Talisman at the National, but it wasn’t one she’d sent to him. Almost identical, but just a second later in the jump flight pattern. What was different? He switched back to the shots she’d sent him and located the one he was thinking about. Back and forth, examining both photos. Then he saw it.
In the image she’d sent him, the people standing at the rail had been blurred out. Not all the people, just two. Why would she do that?
He downloaded the web image and blew it up to three hundred percent to get a good look at the man and woman on the rail. After a moment, he moved the photograph to his work folder.
“Okay, sweetheart, let’s just find out what you’re up to.”
A quick search on her name only brought up her website and various references to her work. Using the skill that had made him so successful in his work, Quaid delved deeper into the Internet, using keywords and phrases that eliminated the sources he didn’t want, but focused on keywords in the content. Within a few minutes, a five-year-old newspaper article appeared and he clicked on the link.