The Kill (39 page)

“Like what?” Manning asked.

“Maybe Larry was the one who tampered with the saddle. When the saddle broke and you were injured, he might have gotten scared he’d get caught so he ran away.”

“That doesn’t explain why he would have acted suspiciously when you caught him with the saddle in the closet. That was after the fact.”

“Right, but maybe he was trying to cover up what he’d done.”

Manning frowned. “How?”

“I don’t know. Maybe rough up the billet straps so it wasn’t obvious they’d been cut.”

“Much as I moan and complain about Larry, I just can’t see him doing something like that,” Michael said. “The boy might be lazy, but he’s not a bad seed. And he looked up to Mr. Clarke something fierce.”

“Okay.” Abigale gazed out the window as she thought it over. “So what if Larry saw someone
else
messing with Uncle Richard’s saddle? Maybe he didn’t realize at the time what they were doing, but after the saddle broke on Friday he remembered it. And when I saw him he was checking out the saddle, confirming his suspicions.” She looked at Michael. “Did Larry say anything about the saddle to you?”

“No, ma’am.”

Abigale’s expression turned grim. “Maybe Larry decided to keep his suspicions to himself until he confronted the person directly. And when he did he went missing.”

A
bigale drew in a slow lungful of air, finding some comfort in the fresh, woodsy odor of the bagged pine shavings she was perched atop. She glanced at her watch. It hadn’t been five minutes since Michelle had left her alone in the storage barn, but it might as well have been an hour. She wiped her palms against her pant legs.
Everything
rested on her being able to talk to Dario.

It was no longer just about catching Uncle Richard’s killer. Or clearing Manning’s name. It might be about saving Larry’s life. If whoever had tampered with the saddle was the same person who’d shot her uncle, then odds were that person had kidnapped Larry. If Dario could identify the person he’d seen leaving Longmeadow after he heard the gunshot, or give a description of the vehicle, they might have a chance at finding Larry before it was too late.

A worm of doubt about Larry still niggled at her. She’d wrestled with it most of the night. Larry wasn’t at work the last day Uncle Richard hunted. Michael had confirmed that. It was a Monday, Larry’s day off. That meant if the saddle had been tampered with that day, at the barn or the hunt, Larry hadn’t been the one to do it. Of course, that cut both ways. Larry also wouldn’t have been present to see who did. The one thing being off work that day did provide Larry with was opportunity. He could have been at Longmeadow. All the more reason it was crucial she talk with Dario. If Dario described seeing Larry’s car leaving Longmeadow—an old Ford Focus with a bad muffler—well, then, they’d know Larry was a killer, not a victim.

Without warning—no approaching footsteps, no knock—the doorknob turned. The white metal door slid silently inward, no more than a foot, and a young man slipped through. He turned the inside knob and closed the door without a sound.

They eyed each other: Abigale from her perch on the shavings, he with his back against the door, his hands thrust into the front pockets of his jeans. Michelle had told her his name was Miguel. He was the friend of one of her grooms. That was the extent of what Abigale knew.

Abigale swallowed and ran her tongue across her lips. Should she stand, offer her hand? She sensed that if she moved he’d disappear through the door. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to me.”

Miguel’s eyes darted beneath slick brows, shining like bright, black marbles in his round face. She guessed him to be in his early twenties.

“Michelle, she say you can help Dario.”

“I might be able to, if he’ll agree to talk to me. Michelle told me Dario saw someone drive away from Longmeadow the night my uncle was murdered. If he can give me a description or information that helps us find whoever shot my uncle, he’ll be cleared as a suspect.”

He shook his head. “The cops’ll still be after him. For not turning himself in, resisting arrest. Some crap like that.”

“I’ll find an attorney. We’ll work out a deal for Dario if he cooperates by talking to me. You have my word.”

Miguel was young, but the look in his eyes told her he’d seen more than his share of the darker side of life and had plenty of reasons not to believe her. “Why should he trust you?”

“Because it’s my uncle who was murdered.”

“Don’ that put you on opposite sides?”

“Only if Dario killed him.”

A frown tugged at his full lips.

“Did he?”

Miguel shook his head. “The cops, they jus’ trying to make him take the heat.”

“Then Dario should tell me what he saw and help me find my uncle’s killer.”

“How he know you not working with the cops?”

“I’m not. No one knows I’m even talking to you except Michelle. I’ll come alone, meet him anywhere he wants.”

He gave her a long look. She stared back, her heart thumping so hard in her chest she could barely breathe.

“I tell him,” he said finally. “No guarantee.”

“I understand.”

Miguel reached behind his back to grab the doorknob.

“How will you get in touch if Dario agrees to talk to me?” Abigale asked.

“Michelle have your cell number?”

She nodded.

“If Dario want to talk, I call.”

“How soon do you think I’ll hear?”

He shrugged. “Depends on Dario.”

“It’s important that I speak with him. As soon as possible. It might save someone’s life.”

Miguel’s dark eyes softened. He gave her a quick nod. “I see what I can do.”

A
bigale stopped by Dartmoor Glebe after she left Michelle’s. She needed time to think. Time to be alone.

A storm was forecast to hit overnight, some tropical depression sitting off the coast that was supposed to pummel them with rain for the next few days. Before the rain settled in she wanted to capture more shots of Dartmoor Glebe to send to her mother.

The sky was already blanketed with a wispy sheet of clouds, making for ideal lighting conditions. She strolled around the grounds until the sun sank behind the Blue Ridge and shot a memory card full of photographs. She’d brought along the hunt horn and spurs Uncle Richard had given her, and she arranged them on a moss-covered log in a cluster of trees in front of the house and shot them from various angles with the house in the background.

When she arrived at Manning’s he was hunched over his computer. Sheets of paper littered the hinged writing surface of the secretary desk, and a couple of file folders were scattered near his feet. He glanced up from the computer screen, sighing as he yanked his fingers through his hair.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Beating my head against the wall.” Manning leaned back in the swivel chair as she bent down to kiss him.

He grasped her arm as she started to rise. “Hey, what kind of a kiss was that?”

Abigale smiled as he pulled her onto his lap. He tugged her mouth to his and kissed her tenderly. “I missed you today,” he whispered. She sank into his kiss, tumbling to a place where all that mattered was his mouth, his hands, and the force of his arms around her. “Mother invited us to dinner,” he murmured against her lips. “We need to leave soon.”

“Mmm.” Abigale buried her face against his neck. His skin was warm against her cheek, the spicy scent of his aftershave soothing and erotic at the same time. Manning wrapped both arms around her and stroked her back, her hair—

She jerked back, stared wide-eyed at his right arm. “You got your cast off.”

“Yeah.”

“When—why? You didn’t tell me you were going to the doctor today!”

Manning took her hand and guided her off his lap. “I didn’t,” he said, standing up.

Abigale’s eyes shot from his arm to his face. “What do you mean, you didn’t?”

“I didn’t go to the doctor.”

“Did you go back to the ER?”

Manning shook his head, his eyes hardening into a don’t-argue-with-me look. “Kevin cut it off.”

“Kevin?”

He nodded.

“As in, your
blacksmith?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“Because my arm was swollen and it hurt like hell, itched like a son-of-a-bitch, too. I couldn’t stand it any longer.”

“Did it enter your mind to go to the doctor rather than your blacksmith?”

“Christ, Abby—” His eyes flashed and he clamped his mouth shut, then blew out a heavy rush of air. “I was at the barn, talking to Kevin. He commented on how swollen my hand was and I told him I felt like ripping the goddamn cast off. He offered to use one of his tools to cut it off and I took him up on it.” Manning looked away, stretching his neck from side to side as if to ease tension. “Look, let’s not fight about it, okay?”

“It’s your arm,” she said, giving him a tight smile.

Abigale knew Manning’s arm was bothering him when he didn’t object to her driving them to Margaret’s in the Subaru. He even admitted he’d had a rough go of it driving home from the barn without the cast, and had ended up shifting gears with his left arm. She managed to curb the impulse to point out that maybe there was an advantage to the cast after all. No doubt he’d figure that out on his own soon enough.

M
argaret was talking on the phone when they let themselves in the back door. She waved them into the kitchen. “All right. Thank you for letting me know, Lieutenant. I appreciate you keeping me informed.”

“What was that about?” Manning asked as Margaret hung up the phone.

“They found Larry’s car in the parking lot at Dulles Airport.”

Abigale’s pulse quickened. “So he did run away!”

“Not necessarily,” Margaret replied. “I just said the same thing to Lieutenant Mallory and he pointed out that if Larry did meet with foul play, the parking lot at Dulles is a logical place for someone to dump his car.”

No one spoke for a moment. Abigale said, “I assume they’re checking to see if he boarded a flight.”

“Of course. They haven’t found him on a passenger manifest yet. But Mallory said they’re investigating all possible modes of transportation out of Dulles. If Larry did run away, he could have jumped on a shuttle bus from Dulles and gone any number of places.”

Abigale exchanged a glance with Manning. “So finding the car there really doesn’t tell us much of anything.”

“Not really.” Margaret grabbed a platter of roast chicken off the counter and set it on the table. “Come on. Let’s sit down and eat before everything gets cold.”

As she filled their plates, she said to Manning, “Tell me about your meeting at the bank this morning. Doug told me Jay Barnsby met with you personally.”

“He did. Doug, Jay, and I talked in general about the hunt account and what services the bank offers, and then he had the branch manager oversee the paperwork adding me to the account. I’m already set up for online banking.”

Margaret’s eyebrows shot up. “Online banking? That seems like an unnecessary expense. Don’t you think you should get a better grasp of the bookkeeping before you start piling up charges for services you’ll probably never use?”