The Kill (6 page)

“What do you mean, that’s not where you went?” Margaret demanded. “Good God, Manning, are you saying Richard was at Longmeadow yesterday,
waiting for you
, and you never showed up?”

Jesus Christ. Had that happened? He
shook his head. “No. I told Richard I wouldn’t be able to make it after all.”

M
argaret lingered at the door with Smitty after the others had left. “What do you make of Manning saying he told Richard he couldn’t meet him at Longmeadow?” Margaret asked.

“What do I
make
of it?”

“Yes. Do you believe him?”

“You want my honest-to-God opinion?”

“You know I do.”

“I don’t think he remembers.”

Margaret sniffed. “You think he was too drunk.”

“He was three sheets to the wind when he left the tailgate.”

Margaret felt a sting in her nose, and her eyes filled with tears. “Good God, Smitty, what if Richard was waiting for Manning when the killer found him?”

“Might be that’s what happened, but we can’t change fate. Besides, if Manning had been at Longmeadow with Richard, what’s to say he wouldn’t have been shot as well?”

She shook off a shudder and clasped her arms to her chest. “I suppose you’re right. But if Manning did stand Richard up and that led to Richard’s murder, I’m not sure he’ll be able to live with himself.”

Smitty cocked an eyebrow. “What about you?”

“Will I be able to forgive Manning?”

He nodded.

“I honestly don’t know.”

“Oh, boy.” Smitty squeezed her shoulder. “We’ve got a real mess on our hands.”

“Don’t we ever.”

They eyed each other. Margaret knew they were both thinking the same thing: how in the hell were they going to get on without Richard?

“Should we cancel the races?” Smitty asked.

“Richard wouldn’t want that. He’d want us to carry on.”

Smitty grunted in agreement. “I don’t know how we’ll pull it off without him.”

“No doubt some things will fall through the cracks, but we’ll muddle through. First thing I have to do is light a fire under Sheriff Boling to get the crime scene investigation wrapped up and allow us back into Longmeadow. We have a good two days’ worth of work to get the course ready.”

He ran a palm across his shiny scalp. “What about the funeral?”

“I called Richard’s sister, Caroline, and spoke with her assistant. The doctor says Caroline isn’t well enough to make the trip from Switzerland. I assured her we’d handle all the funeral arrangements for the family.”

“Missing her own brother’s funeral?” His stooped shoulders sagged. “That don’t seem right.”

“The cancer’s bad, Smitty. And the chemo has been very rough on her. She can’t keep anything down. After Richard’s visit to see her last month he told me she’s wasting away to nothing.”

Smitty frowned. “Richard never said anything.”

“He didn’t talk about it much, but after that last trip he confided that the doctor told him the outlook was bleak.”

“Christ.” He let out a low whistle. “She’s all the family Richard had, except for Abigale.”

Margaret nodded. “Caroline’s assistant is trying to get word to Abigale now.”

“Is she still in Afghanistan?”

“Yes.”

“You think she’ll come?”

“Of course.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

“I hope you’re right.”

A heavy silence was broken by the sound of rain splattering off the eaves.

“It was many years ago, Smitty. I don’t think she’s battling those demons anymore.”

“Manning is.”

Margaret felt color rise in her cheeks. “That’s different. Manning has other issues.”

“Okay.” Smitty raised a shoulder. “I’m just saying.”

A
bigale saw Emilio waiting beyond the security fence as soon as she climbed out of the helicopter in Kabul. He wrapped her in a hug, then reached down and grabbed the handles of the large duffle at his feet. “I probably didn’t pack it like you would have, but I managed to stuff everything in there.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m sure it’s perfect. Thank you.”

“They’ve got you on a military transport all the way to the States?”

“From here to Ramstein, then I’ll catch another to Andrews.”

“Did you learn any more about what happened?”

“No. Just that my uncle was shot. Murdered.” Tears swam in Abigale’s eyes and she looked away. She’d sworn to herself on the chopper ride that she wouldn’t do this, that she’d hold it together until she was alone.

Emilio ran his knuckles across her cheek. “
Cara mia
. I’m so sorry. Were you very close to him?”

“I spent every summer at his farm in Virginia from as far back as I can remember until I was seventeen.”

“Virginia. I hear it’s beautiful there. What kind of farm?”

“Horses. Foxhunters, mostly.”

“Foxhunting? Not exactly for the faint of heart.” He flashed a grin. “I can see you doing that.”

She smiled through her tears. “It drove my father mad, the whole foxhunting scene. He always told Uncle Richard he hadn’t spent thousands of Swiss francs teaching me to ride so I could risk breaking my neck dashing across the Virginia countryside.”

“But you did it anyway?”

“Until my father put an end to my Virginia visits.”

“Because of the danger of foxhunting?”

“No.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” Abigale reached for the duffle. “I’d better go.”

“I’ll walk with you.”

“No. Let’s say goodbye here. It’ll be easier.”

“Easier?” Emilio cocked his head. “How so?”

She took a deep breath. “I won’t be coming back to Kabul.”

“Why not?”

“My editor wants to reassign me.”

“Reassign you? Why? Things are just starting to heat up here.”

“Maybe so, but the war’s unpopular in the States now. Max said no one wants to see photographs of it.”

Emilio scowled. “Americans! They couldn’t get enough of it when you won your Pulitzer.”

“That was four years ago. Baghdad. Different environment. Americans were still reeling from 9/11. They supported Bush’s war on terror then. They don’t anymore.”

“If Reuters is starting to yank guys, the rest of the media won’t be far behind. God knows where we’ll all end up. Any word from London where you’ll be assigned?”

“Not yet.”

Emilio caressed her shoulders. “So we’ll find a way to make it work. I have a million frequent-flyer miles. I’ll visit you. Or we can meet someplace. Perhaps my friend’s villa in the French Riviera that I told you about—”

Abigale pressed her fingertips to his lips and shook her head. “Don’t.”

His chocolate eyes narrowed. “Why not?”

“When we started this, we both vowed that there would be no strings attached, remember? No heartbreak. No hurt feelings. That when the time came for one of us to move on, we’d move on.”

Emilio sighed, then gave her a tight smile. “
Sí
, we did,” he said softly. He reached for a long strand of hair that had worked its way loose from the clasp at the nape of her neck and twirled her auburn curls around his fingers. Leaning in, he touched his lips to her forehead. “I’ll miss you.”

Abigale closed her eyes and let herself melt into his embrace. Then she stepped back. “Stay safe, okay?”

M
anning punched Julia’s number on his cell phone as he drove. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.
Come on, come on, answer
. Five long rings, then voicemail.

“Hi. It’s Julia. I’m probably out riding. Leave a message.”

He waited for the beep. “Julia. It’s Manning. I need to talk to you. It’s important. Call me on my cell as soon as you get this message.” He thumbed the END key on his phone. Now what?

Who besides Julia could tell him how long he’d been at the Blackthorne Inn yesterday? He could always go to the pub, see who was around, ask who had been working the evening before. But then what? Tell them that last night—even yesterday afternoon—was a total blank? That he couldn’t remember where he’d been or what he’d done for, what, sixteen, eighteen hours? No way was he going to do that.

He remembered leaving the hunt. And taking his horse back to the barn. And, once Percy had brought it up, he vaguely remembered talking to Richard at the hunt, agreeing to help repair the timber on one of the fences. But he’d never made it to Longmeadow. At least he didn’t think he had. Had Richard really been waiting for him? Could
he
be the reason Richard had been alone at Longmeadow? The reason Richard was murdered? Or had he told Richard he couldn’t make it, as he’d just told his mother he had?
Damn it! He
pounded a fist on the steering wheel.

Manning’s cell rang and he snatched it off the passenger seat, muttering, “Please let it be Julia.” He glanced at the caller ID, feeling a twinge of guilt at the fleeting urge not to answer his mother’s call.

“Hello.”

“It’s your mother.”

He stuck the cell between his shoulder and ear as he accelerated and shifted gears. “What’s up?”

“I’m getting ready to pay Sheriff Boling a visit, but I wanted to let you know I spoke with Abigale. She’s leaving Afghanistan now and will arrive tomorrow afternoon.”

Manning’s mind flashed to a moment in time he’d fought furiously to shove to the pit of his memory. The truck behind him flashed its lights and Manning realized his speed had dropped, creating a line of traffic that crawled behind him. He shook the thought away and stomped on the accelerator.

“How’s Abby handling it?”

“As you’d expect. Caroline is too ill to make the trip, so Abigale will be coming alone,” Margaret said. “I’ve invited her to stay with me. I thought it would be nice to have a little get-together for her tomorrow evening. Make her feel at home.”

A dinner party?
Jesus Christ. That was classic Mother. Throw Abigale into the mix as soon as she arrives.

“Manning?”

“Yeah.”

“What do you think?”

“I think she’ll be exhausted after flying all the way from Afghanistan, and the last thing she’ll want to do is make small talk at some dinner party.”

“Well, she has to eat. Besides, it’s not a dinner party. I just want to surround her with friends.”

“Okay,” he said, not meaning it.

“Good. I’ll invite Smitty, of course. Who else do you think we should include?”

“It’s up to you.”

“I know it’s up to me. I’m not asking you for permission, I’m asking for advice. You better than anyone knows who Abigale’s friends were. Who would help make her feel at home?”

Manning groaned. “God, Mother, I don’t know. Most of the kids we hung out with went off to school and moved on after that. They don’t live here anymore.”

“Some of them must still be around. What about Percy? As I recall you, Abigale, and Percy were like the Three Stooges that last summer.”

“For a while. Until the night Abby and Julia Farleigh went skinny-dipping in the Community Center pool and Percy stole their clothes.”

“That sounds like Percy.”

“Yeah. Julia got over it after a day or so, even thought it was kind of funny. But Abby wouldn’t give it up. Finally, someone blabbed and outed Percy and she was pissed as hell.”