by Kit Ehrman
"Makes sense."
"Yeah," Ralston said. "He swore up and down that he hadn't been there for at least three months, but ultimately, that claim was his downfall because, while they were waiting to go to the trial, this forensics guy vacuumed his house every day with one of the special vacuums they use at crime scenes--"
"The murder scene?"
"No. His house."
"I bet his wife loved that," I said.
"Yeah, I imagine so." Ralston yawned. "Anyway, he demonstrated how hair deteriorates over time but is still identifiable. So, from any given sample, he could show which hairs had been in the environment for an extended period of time and which hairs had been newly shed. He proved that some of the defendant's hairs found at the crime scene were fresh."
Ralston took off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Look at it the other way around. We can prove that any older hairs of yours have been in the trailer long enough to substantiate the claim that you were in that trailer two months ago as well as the other day."
"And if they find fibers from my coat, which I obviously didn't wear Tuesday, that'll help."
Ralston nodded.
I thought about the condition of the trailer and the fact that it had been forked out at least once since the theft. "What are the chances of forensics finding anything?"
"Not as bad as you might think. The overall lack of cleanliness might actually work in our favor. It's when the bad guys get out a hose and vacuum that it gets tough."
"What about James Peters?"
"I'm hoping we'll get something there, too. It's a crap shoot. You just hope you get something good." Ralston looked at me a little longer than was prudent for the narrow back road we were traveling. "Kind of an unusual job for someone with your background, isn't it?" he said.
I shrugged.
"I'd've figured you for Notre Dame or Harvard or Yale." He paused for emphasis. "Or even Johns Hopkins."
I shifted in my seat. "Done your homework, I see." When he didn't respond, I said, "I took a break from school and got a job here because I thought the idea of working with horses would be fun."
What I hadn't counted on was the old man kicking me out. Out of his house and out of his life, each of us waiting for the other to change his mind.
I sighed. "For a while, anyway."
Ralston accelerated into a curve. "But you stayed."
I adjusted the sun visor. "I kind of got caught up in it. I don't know. I like it a hell of a lot more than sitting in some lecture hall." I rubbed my eyes and said, "Do you think whoever stole the horses has someone inside Foxdale?"
"Hard to tell. Why?"
"Just wondered. One of our trainers got fired Friday. Whitcombe. The one I told you about before, who showed up with an expensive saddle right after the tack theft. He has a brand new Mustang convertible, too." And a baldheaded friend who resembled a eunuch, but I didn't tell him that.
"He inherited a chunk of change a while back, from an aunt," Ralston said, "but some family members contested the will. The ruling went in his favor. He received a check sometime in February. More than enough to cover that new saddle and a Mustang."
"Well then, that explains that. And maybe it explains his mood, too. He's always been . . . difficult, but in the last three or four months, he's been downright obnoxious."
"Money or love. Does it every time," Ralston said. "Know anything about his love life?"
"No," I said, "I do not."
The detective grinned, and I realized he must have known about, or at least suspected, Whitcombe's sexual preference.
"One of the other employees," I said, "Brian Denning. There's something up with him, isn't there?"
"He's in the system."
"What for?"
"Residential burglary, theft from a motor vehicle, DUI. He's on probation for another eight months.
"What's that entail?"
"Besides keeping his nose clean, staying off the booze, and holding a job, he's gotta attend A.A. and submit to drug testing. And he can't miss a meeting with his PO."
I pointed to a mailbox up ahead. "Turn in there."
I retrieved my coat, and Ralston lowered it into a plastic trash bag and sealed it shut with tape. He then rested a pad on the hood of his car and filled out a label which he pressed down across the bag's seam like a seal. "What about a hat? Gloves?"
I shook my head. I hadn't seen them since that night. Ralston handed me a receipt for the coat and dropped me off at Foxdale. I watched him back down the lane and hoped that something good would come from my screw-up.
* * *
After lunch, I fell asleep on the sofa in the lounge. When I next became aware of noises, someone was working at the computer keyboard in the office.
I hadn't slept for thirty hours, and lying down, even for a moment, had been a mistake. My legs and arms were felt heavy, as if they were weighted down.
The lounge door opened.
My entire body felt as if it were sunk into the cushions.
Whoever had opened the door, hadn't walked on through to the office.
I opened my eyes.
Mr. Harrison was standing alongside the sofa with a clipboard in his hand. His face was stiff, and I had the distinct impression he was clenching his teeth.
I checked my watch. Lunch time had ended without my knowledge. The crew was back at work, and no one had bothered to wake me.
When I pulled myself into a sitting position, Harrison handed me the paperwork. I glanced at his figures and saw that Marty had already initialed the invoice. I scrawled my name across the bottom of the sheet just the same and held out the clipboard. Harrison stared at me for a second, his eyes flat and expressionless, then he snatched it out of my hand and walked into the office.
Nick had described him as creepy. He wasn't far off.
Harrison could have left by the office door, but he chose to cut through the lounge on his way out. I was still sitting on the sofa when he stepped outside. He turned back around as the door swung shut and stared at me through the glass with that tight, expressionless face of his before he headed for his truck.
What a jerk. He was the one who had tried his stinking little scam. It was his damn luck he'd gotten caught.
I opened the lounge door as the flatbed lumbered down the lane. Harrison sat motionless in the passenger's seat. I glanced at the drive and realized I didn't know him and wondered if Harrison had fired the other guy. Harrison had seen me check. He scowled at me through the glass as the truck jostled past.
I rubbed my forehead and felt an overwhelming tiredness deep within my bones. And to top it off, it was going to be a late night. After the last lesson, the school horses had to be turned out and their stalls cleaned because we would be leasing the space to the clinic participants. If Rachel wanted to hang around, she'd have to watch me muck stalls.
There had to be a better way to impress your girlfriend.
I took the rest of the afternoon off, went home, and took a nap. Just before four o'clock, someone knocked on the kitchen door. I squinted through the glass.
Rachel was standing on the other side of my door.
Chapter 16
I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up. My jeans were on the floor halfway across the room, and the gray cat had curled into a ball on top of them. When I grabbed a pant leg, the cat dug her claws into the denim. I dragged her across the carpet until she gave it up and abandoned ship. When I straightened, I saw that Rachel was laughing.
"Ha, ha," I mouthed.
I zipped up my jeans, didn't bother with the snap, and opened the door.
Rachel was wearing a form-fitting T-shirt and along with skin-tight riding breeches and boots. Very sexy. She'd pulled her silky dark hair into a loose pony tail. Wisps of hair had worked free and hung along the side of her face and down the back of her neck. She stepped inside, and I reached behind her and clicked the door shut.
A thin breeze drifted through the open window and stirred the d
ust that hung in the air. Her perfume smelled faintly of vanilla.
Rachel reached out and touched my skin. I looked down at her hand. Her fingertips brushed across my waist, close to the snap on my jeans.
"Marty told me you'd pulled an all-nighter." Her gaze rose slowly to my face. She was concerned . . . and something else.
I nodded.
She stood very still, and she was breathing through her mouth.
I took her hand in mine and embraced her, then leaned into the counter and pulled her against me. Rachel wrapped her arms around my waist, and the feel of her hands on my bare skin was electrifying. I traced my fingertips along her jaw and kissed her mouth. Her lips were cool and tasted of cinnamon. I smoothed my hand down the front of her shirt and tugged it out of her pants. When I ran my hand across the small of her back, she twisted her fingers in my hair and kissed me hard on the mouth.
The loft seemed unnaturally quiet and still, the air around us charged.
I turned her around until her buttocks were pressed against my thighs. Flattening my hands on her belly, I slid my fingers under her shirt, lifted it out of the way, and cupped my hands over her breasts. She arched her back, and every time she shifted, her ass brushed against my crotch.
Rachel turned her head toward me, and her hot breath fanned across my cheek. Her breasts rose with each inhalation, her nipples erect under the thin fabric of her bra. I rubbed against her, and after a moment, I slipped my fingers under the elastic.
She gripped my hand, then stepped away from me. She flicked down her shirt and turned to face me.
"I can't." She crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm sorry, Steve. I'm not ready."
"You don't have to be." My voice sounded hoarse. "I'll get dressed."
I walked into the bathroom, braced my hands on the sink, and hung my head. She'd been sending out subtle messages all along that she needed to go slow, and I'd blown it. I sucked in a lungful of air. After a minute or two, I splashed cold water on my face--it didn't help--finished dressing, and brushed my teeth.
When I went back into the kitchen, Rachel had made herself at home on one of the barstools. She looked composed and relaxed, and she'd tucked in her shirt.
I kissed her on the cheek and rested my hands on her knees. "I need to go back to Foxdale, I'm afraid."
"To feed the horses?"
I nodded.
"Marty's taking care of it."
"Wow," I mumbled.
"He couldn't get you on the phone--"
"It's off the hook."
"So I see." She brushed her bangs off her forehead. "Anyway, he wanted to tell you to stay home. They're going to do whatever they can tonight to get ready for the clinic and finish up in the morning. So I offered to drive over to tell you, but I see Marty was wrong." She glanced at my crotch and seemed surprised that her eyes had betrayed her. "You're not at all impaired from lack of sleep, are you?"
"Wide awake now that you're here."
She giggled. "So you don't mind my dropping in unannounced?"
I grinned. "Come anytime."
Rachel rolled her eyes. "Are you sure this wasn't an elaborate plot between the two of you to get me over here," she glanced around the loft, "in your apartment?"
I grinned. "No, we're not that clever."
Her eyes were so dark, they were almost black.
"Would you like something to eat?" I said.
She hesitated. "Dinner only."
"I promise."
"Who colicked?"
I told her about the pony while we ate grilled cheese sandwiches--the only thing I had left suitable for human consumption--and some stale pretzels. I didn't spend all that much time in the loft and rarely had company. The place would feel empty when she was gone, and I hoped her presence would become routine. But it wouldn't happen if I kept behaving like a sex-crazed lunatic.
I turned sideways on my stool and watched her. She took a bite of her sandwich and looked up at me. A smile shone in her eyes, and I couldn't help but wonder what her past experiences had been like. I swallowed some Coke and realized that I really didn't know all that much about her.
* * *
Despite what Marty had said, we decided to go back to the barn at ten-thirty. As I followed Rachel's Camry down Foxdale's lane, barn A's lights flicked out. Barn B was already dark. I pulled into a parking space as three of the four vehicles still in the lot started up and headed toward the exit. Only Karen's car was left. As Rachel and I walked around the corner of the indoor, Karen was locking the office door.
"Getting everybody out of here's a pain in the ass," Karen said when we met on the sidewalk. "Especially on weekends. They wanna hang out and socialize, they oughta go somewhere else to do it." Karen's gaze flicked over us, and she took in the fact that we were holding hands. "I have a life, too, but they never think of that."
"You gonna catch any of the clinic?" I said.
"You kidding? I have a weekend off, the last place I wanna be's here."
"Well, goodnight," I said.
"Oh, I almost forgot," Karen said. "Marty got all the stalls done except the eight that were in the last lesson, so you lucked out."
"Great."
With my blessing, Rachel bent Foxdale's rules (Karen would've had a fit) and worked her horse in barn B's arena while I started on the stalls. I was mucking out the second to last stall when she joined me.
"How much longer will you be?" Rachel said.
"At the pace I'm going, another twenty minutes."
"I'll keep you company."
"You don't have to do that."
"I know." She leaned against the doorjamb. "But I want to. Anyway, I don't have anything better to do."
"I might be longer. You're distracting me."
"Oh . . . I'll leave then." She backed into the aisle.
I hopped out of the stall, took her in my arms, and kissed her. There was passion on her part, I was happy to see, and less poised control.
In actuality, it took me half an hour to finish up. Afterwards, we walked out to the parking lot. As we stood by her car, a police cruiser out on the road slowed and turned into the lane. The tires crunched across the gravel, sounding loud in the quiet darkness. He pulled alongside Rachel's car and left the engine running.
Officer Dorsett climbed out of his cruiser. "Jesus. You live here?"
"Just about." I made introductions.
Dorsett flicked his gaze over Rachel, pausing, I noticed, at the more compelling parts of her anatomy. Even with a jacket to ward off the chill, she couldn't disguise her figure. I wondered if she'd noticed, but if she had, nothing showed in her face.
"Were you leaving?" he asked us.
"Yes."
He looked directly at me and said, "Have you walked around yet?"
"No."
"I'll go with you. Nothing much going on right now."
Rachel and I said goodnight. Not the goodnight I'd envisioned, however, thanks to Officer Dorsett watching our every move. After she'd driven away, I started toward the barns. I'd taken several steps before I realized Dorsett hadn't moved.
I turned around and looked at his face. "What's wrong?"
"I've heard something that might be connected with your case."
A muscle twinged in my gut.
"Last weekend, just off Route 30 across the Maryland-PA line, some horses were stolen from a hunter barn. The woman who owns the place heard something and went outside to investigate. No one's seen her since."
I groaned. "Did anyone see the rig?"
Dorsett shook his head. "So far there aren't any leads, and her live-in boyfriend didn't hear a damn thing."
I swallowed.
"The farm's secluded. You can't see it from the road, and the barn's not close to the house." His portable radio clattered. Dorsett listened, then dismissed a broadcast that was mostly unintelligible to my ears. "They probably thought they wouldn't be interrupted."
"What about the boyfriend?"
"He remembers that she went ou
t. After that, nothing. They'd been drinking, and he was pretty much wasted."
"What's Ralston think?"
Dorsett shrugged. "He's up there now."
We checked the farm, but afterward, I couldn't remember one damn thing I'd seen or done.
* * *
I lay awake for hours. When the clock radio switched on at four o'clock. Saturday morning, my skull felt as if it had been squeezed in a vise. I walked over to the window and rubbed my eyes. Light had already begun to seep into the eastern horizon.
Despite a lack of enthusiasm on my part, the clinic started without a hitch, and by lunch time, both barns had been mucked out. I walked behind barn B and stood by the pasture gate. The school horses were exiled to the field for the duration of the clinic, and any change that interfered with a horse's normal routine could wreak havoc with its digestive system. In the past two years, though, the practice hadn't caused any problems. Unexplained colics, like last night's, were the norm.
Two years. It was hard to believe I'd been at Foxdale that long. I rested my forearms on the fence. I ought to stop feeling sorry for myself. Waste of time.
The sun felt warm on my shoulders. The clatter of Mrs. Hill's voice over the P.A. system was an indistinct murmur. I looked over the horses. They were content, relaxed, happy to be outside. Farther down the hill, a bay pony pawed the ground in front of the automatic waterer. I hopped the fence and walked down the slope. She turned her big, old head and watched my approach with a calm eye.
"Hey there, girl. What's wrong?" I patted her neck, and she nuzzled my arm.
Her coat hadn't completely shed out, and I could smell the sharp odor of sweat and damp horse hair. I looked at the waterer and frowned. The lid was closed. I flipped it back onto the main housing. It wasn't easy to move, but if she'd been fooling with it, I supposed she could have managed it. She pursed her lips and drank greedily from the bowl.
I turned to leave. Movement in the implement building caught my eye. As far as I knew, Dave hadn't come in, and no one else should have been down there. I cut across the pasture.
Brian was sitting in the chair alongside Dave's workbench, his head bowed, elbows propped on his knees. A crumpled paper bag and an empty Miller's can lay on the ground by his feet. A second can dangled from his right hand. When I stepped into the shade of the roof overhang, he looked up and squinted at me through a haze of cigarette smoke.