The Kill (27 page)

Margaret grabbed Richard’s coat and slipped her hand in the breast pocket. “I’d better check and see if there are any other treasures stashed away.”

“Oh, no, Mrs. Southwell, that’s not the coat I found the watch in,” the girl said, reaching into the laundry bag. “The watch was in this coat here.”

She spread Manning’s coat on the counter.

The force of her words hit Margaret square in the gut, stealing her breath away. She gripped the counter to steady herself.

The girl tilted her head, her hazel eyes wide. “Are you okay?”

“Are you certain that’s the coat you found it in?” Margaret demanded. She saw confusion cloud the girl’s eyes at the sound of the tremble in her voice.

“Oh, yes ma’am. It was in this pocket right here.” Her nail-bitten fingers plucked at the top corner of the left side pocket. “See how it’s torn right here? That caught my eye right off, and then I checked inside the pocket and found the watch. The rip is in the seam, so it would be simple to repair. Would you like us to mend it while we have it here?”

A
visit to the emergency room confirmed the vet’s diagnosis of a broken arm, which did nothing to help Manning’s mood. Abigale kept quiet and let the ER doc be the bad guy and insist Manning’s arm be put in a cast. Manning had argued with him, but in the end he’d given in—though he’d grumbled about how it was a waste of time. When Manning was ready for discharge and the nurse insisted it was hospital policy he be escorted out in a wheelchair, Abigale left him bickering with the nurse and slipped out to bring the Subaru to the curb.

Once Manning was in the car, Abigale resisted the urge to help him fasten his seat belt. He stabbed the silver tab at the receptacle with his left hand until it finally clicked in place, then flopped back against the seat.

“Should I stop at a pharmacy now for the pain medication, or do you want me to drop you off at your place so you can rest while I run back to town to get the prescription filled?”

He rolled his head against the headrest until he was looking at her. “You’re joking, right?”

“No.”

“I’m not going home to rest, Abby. I’m going to the racecourse.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” She pulled Margaret’s Subaru out of the hospital parking lot. “You’re going to have to help me get back to Middleburg; I’m totally lost with all these new roads.”

“Turn left at the light and follow the signs to Leesburg. And I’m not being ridiculous. I’m going to Longmeadow. If you don’t want to drive me, I’ll drive myself.”

“Wow, that’ll be interesting with a cast on your right arm. Your car’s a stick shift, isn’t it? Being left-handed won’t help you out there.”

Manning sighed and closed his eyes. “I have a small fracture in my arm, Abby. It’s no big deal. Just please stop giving me a hard time and drive me to Longmeadow. Whose side are you on, anyway?”

He sounded so disheartened, Abigale felt a stab of guilt. “I’m on your side.”

“Then stop treating me like a child. I get enough of that from Mother.”

“That’s unfair, Manning. It’s just because she cares—”

“She treats me like I’m twelve.”

Abigale laughed, and she thought she caught the glimmer of a smile play on his lips.

“And that’s on a good day,” he said, opening his eyes and sliding a glance at her. “You know it’s true.”

“Okay, I agree. Margaret can be a little controlling.”

He arched an eyebrow. “A little?”

“But this has nothing to do with treating you like a child, Manning. You have a broken arm and a concussion—”

“A
mild
concussion.”

“You have a broken arm and a mild concussion, and the doctor told you to go home and rest. I know you feel responsible for the work being done at the racecourse, but let’s figure out some kind of compromise here. How about if you call Smitty and see if he has it under control? They might even be finished by now. We were at the ER for over two hours.”

Manning didn’t say anything for a minute, then pulled his cell phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He thumbed down his list of contacts and pressed the call button.

“Hey, Smitty. How’s it going?”

Abigale had reached the outskirts of Leesburg and Manning motioned for her to follow the bypass toward Warrenton.

“I’m fine. They slapped a cast on my arm and I’m good to go. Are you still at Longmeadow?”

He stretched his neck from side to side as he listened. “You supervised, right? You didn’t leave Jenner alone to screw up anything?”

She heard Smitty laugh, the lilt of his Shenandoah Valley accent.

“Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll see you there tomorrow morning to flag the course. Nine o’clock, right?”

Abigale smiled at him when he snapped the phone shut. “Feel better?”

“Mildly.”

“So, are you going to tell me how to get to your place?”

His expression dimmed, as if someone had turned off the light. He looked away and a sigh whispered through his lips.

“What?”

“I don’t want to go home, Abby. I’ll go nuts just sitting there alone.”

“You won’t be alone.”

“I won’t?”

She shook her head. “No. The ER doc said you need neuro checks every hour for the next twenty-four hours.”

“Oh, great,” he said with a groan. “Mother will love it when she hears that. I’m sure she’s always wanted to set up round-the-clock guards for me. She’ll probably have someone show up at my door every hour with some kind of casserole.”

M
anning’s cottage was tucked away behind a knoll, out of sight of the rambling manor house at Clifden Cross. Tangles of ivy hugged the white stucco exterior, tapered into an arch above the fire-truck-red front door. A weathered trellis draped with ropes of wisteria vines sheltered a stone patio that had a to-die-for view of the Blue Ridge. Sunlight glistened off a pond nestled in a hollow.

“This is lovely, Manning,” Abigale said.

“Yeah, it’s a nice place. I’m fortunate to be able to rent it. The owners, Ian and Claire McCullough, don’t spend much time here, so they like the idea of having someone living on the property.”

“Do they live in Ireland?”

Manning smiled. “No; good guess, though, based on their names and the name of the farm. They live in Los Angeles.”

He thumbed the brass lever on the door handle and elbowed the door open. “Come on in.”

The door led directly into a large room that looked like something out of a travel brochure for an upscale B&B: wide-planked oak flooring, tapestry-draped windows, sporting-art oils on sage-green walls. A massive claw-footed coffee table squatted in the center of an oriental rug, surrounded by two leather club chairs and a comfy-looking overstuffed couch strewn with needlepoint pillows.

Abigale looked around, wide-eyed. “Wow.”

“Yeah, like I said, it’s a nice place.”

“Did you furnish it?”

“Are you kidding? The only things in here that are mine are those trophies and ribbons over there.” He gestured toward a mahogany sideboard that was littered with tri-color ribbons, assorted silver cups and trays, and an engraved champagne cooler.

“That’s a nice collection.”

“Makes it feel like home. Come on, I’ll show you the kitchen. The bedroom’s over there,” he added, nodding toward a door across the room, next to a broad brick fireplace.

The kitchen was small but cozy, very Country French. A glass-paneled door led out onto the patio. Abigale set her shoulder bag on the counter next to a porcelain rooster. “Do you need me to pick up any groceries when I get your prescription filled?”

Manning lifted a shoulder. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, like—” Abigale tugged on the stainless-steel refrigerator door—“food. My God, Manning, this is pathetic.”

The glass shelves were bare, but for an open case of Bass Ale and a half-empty jar of salsa.

“I usually eat out,” Manning said, shrugging it off with a crooked smile.

“I can see why. The idea of Margaret organizing people to bring casseroles is sounding better and better.”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

Abigale laughed, feeling the warmth of his smile wash over her. “Speaking of Margaret, we should give her a call.”

“Be my guest.”

“Come on, Manning. Give her a call. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”

He handed the cordless phone to her. “You do it. She’ll want to quiz you about everything the ER doc said.”

Something in his tone of voice told her not to push it. “What’s the number?” she asked.

Abigale punched in the numbers as Manning recited them to her. Margaret answered on the first ring. “Hi, Margaret. It’s Abigale. I just brought Manning back to his house.”

“And?”

“He’s doing okay. The vet was right, he did break his ulna. The doctor called it a nightstick fracture. He explained it as a partial fracture that occurs when just one side of the bone is fractured, like if you held your arm up to defend against a blow. Manning finally admitted that his arm hit a rock when he landed, so that’s probably what did it.”

“Will it require surgery?”

“No, it wasn’t dislocated, so they were able to cast it. The doctor considered giving him a removable brace, but it took him all of about two minutes to pick up on the fact that Manning would not be an ideal patient, so he put him in a hard cast. It should heal fine. The doctor said it will just take time and hurt like hell.”

Manning turned away and yanked open a drawer by the sink, noisily shoving objects around.

“Well, thank the Lord he didn’t need surgery. Does he have a concussion?”

“Yes, a mild one—wait a minute, hold on, Margaret.” She covered the phone with her hand. “What are you doing?” she asked Manning.

“Taking aspirin?” His expression said,
Are you going to jump on my back about this now, too?

“The doctor specifically said you can’t take aspirin when you have a concussion. It could worsen bleeding if there is any and potentially cause a brain hemorrhage. Take Tylenol.”

“I don’t have Tylenol,” Manning muttered, tossing the aspirin bottle back in the drawer.

“There’s some in my bag. I’ll get it for you as soon as I’m off the phone.”

She slid her hand off the mouthpiece and turned her attention back to the conversation with Margaret. “Anyway, we’re supposed to keep an eye on him for the next twenty-four hours. The doctor wants us to do hourly neurological checks throughout the night.”

“Sounds like he needs to be under lock and key if he’s already disobeying orders about aspirin.”

Abigale let the remark slide. She turned her back on Manning’s accusatory glare and walked to the window, where she watched a cardinal flutter down to a bird feeder suspended from a weeping cherry tree. “I can stay here and keep an eye on him. My internal clock seems to be stuck on Kabul time, so I’ll probably be awake half the night anyway.”

There was a long silence. Finally, Margaret said, “Or you could bring him here. We could take turns with the hourly checks.”

“I think Manning will be more comfortable sleeping in his own bed.” Abigale turned to face him. “In fact, he looks like he’s about to fall asleep standing up. I’ll get him settled, and then I’m going to run into Middleburg to fill his prescription.”

Margaret exhaled loudly into the phone. “All right. Call me if you need me.”

“I will. ’Bye, Margaret.”

“Thank you,” Manning said when she placed the handset on the base. He flashed a tired smile. “I owe you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Do you believe I’m on your side now?”

Manning’s smile flattened. “I shouldn’t have made that remark earlier. I’ve always believed you’re on my side, Abby.” His voice was quiet, deep, and so dark with emotion she felt as if he’d reached inside her chest and wrapped his hand around her heart. Seventeen years vanished in the blink of an eye.

Abigale swallowed and looked away. She knew what would happen if she took one step toward him. She grabbed her bag, rummaged through it for the Tylenol and placed the bottle next to the sink. “I’ll be back shortly. Try to get some rest.”

Manning leaned against the counter, regarding her through cool blue eyes as she walked to the door.