Lead a Horse to Murder (31 page)

I couldn’t agree with you more,
I thought.
Especially
since I’m one of the people she seems to enjoy playing with.

“Anyway,” Callie asked, already losing interest in the topic of her sister, “what’s that homicide guy doing here? Falcone, or whatever his name is.”

“Lieutenant Falcone. He’s here because somebody most likely started that fire on purpose.”

“Arson?” Callie’s blue eyes widened. “But then why wouldn’t the police send an arson guy?”

I hesitated, wondering how much to tell her. “They will. But Lieutenant Falcone thinks the fire was related to Eduardo Garcia’s murder.” In response to her puzzled look, I added, “It’s possible that whoever set the fire was trying to scare me away from investigating the case.”

She frowned, looking more confused than ever. “Wait a sec. I thought you were a veterinarian. You mean you’re not?”

“I am a vet, Callie. But I also have this habit of sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong. Mainly, into murder investigations. It’s kind of like a hobby.”

“You mean you’ve done this before?”

“Once or twice,” I replied wearily.

“I get it. So
you’re
the reason somebody set the stable on fire—and it was probably done by the same person who killed Eduardo.”

“Exactly.”

“Wow.” Callie blinked. “In that case, you must be freaking out!”

“I am,” I admitted. “In fact, if you don’t mind, I think I’d just like to use your bathroom for five minutes so I can clean up and go home.”

“Sure. I don’t blame you.”

I was about to leave when I heard her call, “Dr. Popper?”

I glanced back over my shoulder.

“Just tell me one thing,” she said. “Did it work?”

I shook my head to show I didn’t understand her question.

“Did nearly getting trapped in a burning building make you decide to butt out?”

I thought for a few seconds, caught off guard by her question—and the blunt way she asked it.

“I guess it did,” I told her, then turned away.

As I headed toward the door, I was already agonizing over how I would ever manage to tell Nick about this. Given the fact that he wasn’t exactly crazy about my penchant for nosing around murder investigations, I expected a long string of
I told you so
’s. Or worse, he wouldn’t say anything. He’d just look at me so mournfully that I’d know exactly what he was thinking:
What
if something had happened to you? What would I do
then?

As much as I was dreading the conversation I was inevitably going to have with Nick, I couldn’t wait to get away from Heatherfield. But when I heard someone call my name softly, I turned.

“Dr. Popper? Can I speak weeth you? I am so sorry to bother you, but eet ees important.”

“Of course, Inez.” I could see from the earnest look on her face that something was troubling her. Even though I was exhausted and upset, I figured I could spare another couple of minutes.

“Please, come into the kitchen,” she said, glancing around nervously. “There, no one will hear.”

I followed her, my curiosity piqued. She closed the door before speaking.

“I hope I was not wrong to keep silent for so long,” she began, leaning against the counter. Her hands fluttered in front of her like hummingbirds. “I thought I should say something, but I was afraid of—how do you say, getting involved.”

“It’s all right, Inez,” I assured her. “I’m sure you didn’t purposely withhold any information.” I tried to sound calm and matter-of-fact. But I held my breath as I waited to hear what she had to say.

“I am only trying to help. I can see that someone— maybe the person who killed Eduardo—is very dangerous. To start a fire like that, to try to hurt you and all those horses . . . ees such a terrible thing. And Dr. Popper, you have always been so nice to me. If there is even one small way I could help . . .

“Maybe thees means nothing,” she continued, “but a few days before Eduardo was killed, I heard him talking with Meesus Chase.”

“Eduardo was speaking to Diana?” I asked.

She nodded. “Eet was more like arguing. Meesus Chase, she was so angry.”

“What was she so angry about?” I asked gently. I didn’t want to let on that my heart was pounding.

“Something about a secret she had told him. Something to do with money. A
lot
of money.” She hesitated, biting her lip. “Money she invested badly—and lost. Eduardo, he just laughed. He said she was a bad businesswoman. Then he said something else, something that made her even more angry.”

“Do you remember what that was?”

Once again, Inez glanced around, as if wanting to be absolutely certain no one else could hear. “He said he thought Meesus Chase’s husband would be very interested to learn about all the money she lost.”

I drew in my breath sharply. “Inez, do you remember exactly when you heard all this?”

She nodded. “It was Sunday evening. Two days before Eduardo was killed.”

By that point, my head was spinning. Based on what Inez was telling me, Diana Chase had just leaped into the number-one spot on my list of the polo player’s probable murderers. She certainly had a motive. If she
had
gone ahead with her plan to try to launch her own nail products company, then failed miserably and lost a substantial amount of money, she would have been in a very bad position with her husband. In fact, she would have undoubtedly been desperate to keep that information from Harlan. If Eduardo was the only person who knew about her failure, if he was threatening to expose her and perhaps even blackmailing her, who knew what she was capable of?

I certainly didn’t know, at least not for sure. But I had my suspicions.

“Thank you for being so honest, Inez,” I told her. “You did the right thing in telling me.”

I turned and headed for the door, wishing I could find some satisfaction in the possibility that Inez had just helped me identify the person who had murdered Eduardo—and almost murdered me. But at that point, I just wanted to go home.

As I closed the front door of my cottage behind me, I was instantly smothered with dog love and inundated with welcoming screeches from a very excited macaw. I was also surrounded with the sounds of Jimi Hendrix, a sign that someone of the human variety had also been awaiting my return home. Sure enough, Nick glanced up from the couch, where he was sitting with a ridiculously large book balanced in his lap. He slammed it shut, his face lighting up.

“Perfect timing!” he greeted me, leaping off the couch. “Believe it or not, I just finished my work. I thought that maybe tonight we’d—” His expression quickly turned from cheerful to deep concern. “What’s wrong, Jess? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.”

“Not quite,” I returned, trying to keep my voice light. “But I almost became one.”

“Somehow, that doesn’t strike me as particularly funny.”

“It’s not.” I sank onto the couch, suddenly exhausted. Even worse, my entire body had started to shake. Now that I was home, whatever defense mechanisms had kept me relatively calm and collected in the face of such grave danger had fallen away. Finally, I was reacting to the horror of what had just happened.

“Hey, Jess?” Nick said softly. “Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”

I eyed him warily, taking deep breaths. “I think you’d better sit down for this.”

Once we were sitting side by side, he turned and fixed his eyes on me. “Let’s hear it.”

Speaking in a low, even voice that was oddly devoid of emotion, I told Nick about the fire at Heatherfield. As I watched all the color drain from his face, I was glad I’d made sure he was sitting. Still, he did his best to remain expressionless, listening silently until the very end.

“Did you contact Falcone?” he finally said, his voice strained.

I nodded. “He showed up at Heatherfield right afterward.”

“What did he say?”

“What do you
think
he said? That I was swimming in dangerous waters and that I should get back on dry land.”

He reached over and gently pushed back a strand of hair that had fallen against my cheek. “He’s right, you know,” he said gently.

“I know,” I mumbled.

“It sounds as if whoever murdered Eduardo Garcia knows you’ve been poking around, asking questions,” Nick went on. “What’s even more important is that he’s extremely serious about stopping you.”

I nodded, my gaze wandering over to Leilani’s tank. From the small branch on which she stood, she gave me a knowing look, as if she, too, thought I should reconsider.

“Do you know what I think?” He draped his arm around me and pulled me closer. I leaned my head on his shoulder, nestling into that special place in men’s chests that seems to have been created specifically for that purpose. “There’s no reason for you to have anything more to do with Eduardo Garcia. Or Heatherfield, for that matter.”

Maybe I’m just contrary by nature, but what should have been comforting words prompted a disconcerting idea to pop into my head.
What about promising
Forrester I’d help him with his investigation?

I hated letting anyone down. Still, I could hardly ignore the fact that my involvement in the investigation of Eduardo’s murder had escalated into a game with high stakes.
Extremely
high stakes. At this point, even Forrester couldn’t fault me for reneging on my promise to help him. After all, whoever had set that fire had made it clear that not only was I in danger, so were Andrew MacKinnon’s poor, innocent horses.

Besides, at the moment, Forrester Sloan, Heatherfield, and Eduardo Garcia seemed far, far away. The idea of leaving all of it behind—and forgetting all about the bizarre cast of characters who comprised the MacKinnon clan and their entourage—sounded very attractive indeed.

“You’re absolutely right,” I told Nick.

A great sense of relief immediately washed over me. It was as if a dark cloud that I hadn’t even realized was hovering overhead had suddenly disappeared, leaving behind a clear blue sky.

The weather forecast changed less than thirty-six hours later. Tuesday morning, as Nick and I bustled about the cottage, getting ready for a new day, my cell phone rang. Not a particularly unusual occurrence. But when I glanced at the caller ID and saw a number I recognized, I could practically feel a cool breeze in the cottage as the sun ducked out of sight.

“Dr. Popper,” I answered crisply. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh . . . I’ll be there later this morning.”

“An emergency?” Nick asked, glancing up from his bowl of cereal.

“I’m not sure.” I grabbed my coffee mug, chagrined to see that it was almost empty. “Actually, Stryder’s symptoms sound a little puzzling.”

“Stryder?” Nick repeated. “Is that a dog or a cat?”

I made a point of staring into my mug.

“Jess,” he said, sounding exasperated, “don’t tell me Stryder is a horse.”

“Okay,” I replied halfheartedly.

He sighed. “I thought we agreed that Heatherfield was history.” I could tell he was trying to sound calm. I hated it when he did that—mainly because he was so much better at it than I was.

“We did agree. At least, in terms of investigating Eduardo’s murder. But this is different. This is about a horse that’s in trouble.”

“And I suppose you’re the only veterinarian on Long Island who’s capable of treating an ailing horse,” he said sarcastically.

“I’m the only veterinarian who has a relationship with the people over there, aside from the poor guy who’s laid up in the hospital,” I replied, sounding a little more defensive than I’d planned. “I’m also the only veterinarian who can get over to Heatherfield in under an hour.”

“Jessie . . .”

“I’ll be fine. I promise. Horses only. No dead bodies.” I looked at him searchingly.

“I’m not trying to tell you what to do,” Nick said. “I’m just trying to keep you from becoming one. A dead body, I mean.”

He chose that moment to glance at his watch—and to realize that if he didn’t hit the road immediately, he’d never make it to his first class by nine. Despite the fact that the atmosphere inside the cottage had grown considerably more strained, I couldn’t help thinking how strange it was to be having breakfast with a grown man who was worried about being late for school.

Still, as I watched him dash off, a wave of despondency swept over me. I felt the same way I imagined Max and Lou feeling as they sat by the front door, whimpering and watching me leave. Even Cat had left the room, creeping back to the kitchen to settle onto the rug in front of the refrigerator now that Nick was gone. Only Prometheus seemed unaffected, cheerfully singing “Happy Birthday” even though not one of us had a birthday coming up in the near future. Leilani, as usual, simply stared, blinking every once in a while in a way that made her look terribly wise.

I sat with my hands wrapped around my coffee mug, even though it was empty. I hated having Nick leave while there was still tension between us. Somehow, it seemed one of us was always hurrying out, worried about being late for something important. It was part of modern life, I supposed. At least,
our
modern life.

Still, one of the worst things about both of us having such busy schedules was that there was hardly ever enough time to kiss and make up.

I was relieved to find that Heatherfield had the same ghost-town atmosphere it had had Sunday night. Still, the sight of the partially burned stable, with its charred shingles and boarded-up windows, made my stomach wrench.

Fortunately, one of the few signs of life was a team of workmen tearing down the wreckage and preparing to rebuild. And the horses looked as if they were enjoying the crisp, sunny fall day in their paddocks. Only one dapple gray mare, Stryder, remained in her stall.

“You’re back,” Johnny Ray greeted me. He’d adopted a new affectation: chewing on a toothpick. Better than a cigarette, I thought grimly. At least I don’t have to worry about the dangers of secondhand sawdust. “Didn’t know if you’d actually show up.”

“I told you on the phone that I’d be here,” I returned irritably.