The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (36 page)

After the cops were done interviewing her,
Bridgette continued explaining to her husband: "I really wanted some
champagne. I decided to come out here and get it myself, what with you being
busy with Flashing Chico and everything. I figured I'd make myself
useful."

"Couldn't you have ordered champagne from
your box?" Michaela asked, not able to help herself. She heard a tremor in
Bridgette's voice; was the woman lying?

Bridgette glared at her. "I could have."
She rubbed Hugh's arm. "But Hugh knew we would win today and I brought a
special bottle for the occasion."

"Why not have it on ice in your box?"
Michaela asked again, recalling the champagne that Kathleen had in hers.

"Who are you again? I know we met earlier and
I know you're not the police. I've already answered these questions."
Bridgette's eyes narrowed like a hawk readying for the kill.

"I'm not the police; I was Audrey's
friend."

"I didn't kill her, if that's what you're
insinuating. I found her is all. I think it's interesting, you being her friend
that you weren't with her. If you had been, maybe she wouldn't have been
killed…unless, of course you had a reason to see her dead."

Michaela took a step toward her. "Excuse me?
What did you just say?" Rage boiled in her gut as tears stung her eyes.
"How dare you! I would never harm Audrey!" Her entire body shook with
gut-wrenching agony. "I loved her. She was my friend, you bitch!"
Bridgette's eyes widened. "I want to know why in the hell you were
standing over her…" Michaela put her face in her palms and sobbed.

Hugh put an arm around her. "I'm so sorry,
honey. We're all shaken up. Bridgette didn't mean anything by it. We all need
to cool off. This won't help bring Audrey back. Let's all settle down. I don't
think the police would take kindly to a scene right now."

Michaela nodded and pulled away from Hugh. He was
right. She didn't need one of the cops arresting her for assaulting Bridgette,
though she still wanted to.

He whispered something in Bridgette's ear and then
smiled sadly at Michaela. Taking Bridgette's arm, he led her over to their
limousine. Her anger started to fade as sadness and shock continued to weave
through her. She waited for the police to question the rest of the group. When
they got to her, she told them that she and Audrey had driven there from Indio
that morning. She went on to relate the events as she remembered them, from
Steve Benz's subtle threat to Audrey in Olivia's dressing room, to the fact
that she'd learned Audrey's brother had not shown up for work for the past
three days, nor at the track that day to vet the horses. The officer in charge,
Detective Merrill, asked her where Ms. Bowen was at that moment.

"Do you mean Olivia, or her mother,
Kathleen?"

"I'll start with Kathleen Bowen. My partner
is trying to track down the daughter," he said, his paper-thin lips tightening
with each word he spoke. It made him look ghoulish. He jotted something down in
his notebook. Michaela noticed the yellow on his fingers, probably from
nicotine. As he stepped closer, she decided that it definitely was nicotine.
Merrill smelled like one big, stale cigarette. He wore his dark hair slicked
straight back, and from the lines on his face, she couldn't help the odd
thought that maybe the man used Grecian Formula to keep his hair coal black. He
looked back up at her with ice-blue eyes, as if expecting something. "Ms.
Bowen? Where is she?"

"I left her in her box. Her horse sustained a
major injury in the opening race and Audrey was going down to the track to talk
to the vet. I followed, but when I reached the track I didn't see her anywhere."
She told the rest of the story to the detective about walking back to the
stalls with Hugh and Josh, and how it wasn't long before they'd heard Bridgette
screaming. When he finished taking her statement, Merrill asked her if she had
the vet's number. He wanted to find out if Audrey had ever made it to the
track. Michaela wanted to know, too, but also knew that Ethan was tied up with
Halliday.

Michaela watched as Audrey's body, now covered,
was loaded into the back of the coroner's van. Her stomach ached and a lump
caught in her throat. She couldn't speak or even cry. For a moment she wondered
if she was even breathing as the pain in her chest tightened. How could this
have happened? Why had Audrey charged out of the box? Dammit! She should have
gone with her. If she had, maybe she'd be alive.

Merrill asked Michaela to show him to Mrs. Bowen's
box. She agreed. She had to get out of there anyway; she didn't think she could
watch as the van with Audrey's body drove away, or see the onlookers and the
investigators. All she wanted to do was escape from there. It took about ten
minutes to walk back to Kathleen's box. Merrill didn't say much. Michaela tried
to ask him about his initial impressions, but all he did was nod occasionally,
which made no sense to her. "Do you think it was someone she knew?"
she asked.

The detective grunted. She gave up.

Kathleen sat in her box, staring off into space,
her face stained with mascara. She looked up at them. "I know," she
muttered.

"Know what?" Michaela asked.

"You're going to tell me they had to put him
down, aren't you? That's why you and Audrey have been gone for so long,"
she said, slurring her words.

Kathleen appeared to have been drinking—heavily.

"I waited and I waited. Audrey didn't come
back, my daughter never came to see me, and you didn't show up. I finally got
up and had a drink. I was starting to think that maybe you all had left me
here. I was going to call my driver. I didn't know what to do, who to call. I
could see people on the track, people everywhere. They were running horses,
even after Halliday, and then no one came to tell me what was going on. Who is that
man?" She tried to stand.

Merrill stepped forward, steadied her, and helped
her sit back down. "Ma'am, I'm Detective Tom Merrill and I need to ask you
a few questions."

"About Halliday? Since when do they send in
the police to ask about a racehorse breaking his leg?"

"It's not about your horse, ma'am. It's about
Mrs. Pratt."

"Audrey? I don't understand."

Michaela looked at the detective. "Can
I…?"

He nodded. Ah, he had a heart after all.

She sat down next to Kathleen and took her hands.
Kathleen's eyes widened and she pulled back a bit, but Michaela didn't let go.
"This is very difficult." She felt her throat tighten. "Um, it's
Audrey. She…she was killed earlier." The words came out, but it didn't
feel or even sound like she was saying them. She'd had to do it quickly, or she
didn't think she could do it at all.

"What?" Kathleen pulled her hands away.

Merrill sat down on the other side of Kathleen.
She turned to look at him. "Is this true?"

"I am afraid so, ma'am. Mrs. Pratt was found
murdered."

Kathleen began to shake violently. "I don't
believe this. I don't,
I don't!
"

"I need to ask you some questions." He
glanced over at Michaela.

She took it as a suggestion for her to leave, and
stood. "Where are you going?" Kathleen asked. "Stay. Please
stay."

"Miss Bancroft, why don't you have the car
brought around for Mrs. Bowen? I'll escort her down."

"She can't stay?"

"Police procedure, ma'am."

Kathleen nodded. "Use my cell phone to call
the driver. All you have to do is press the number five and enter."
Kathleen handed her the phone.

Michaela did as instructed. She didn't want to get
into Merrill's way. He seemed pretty uptight. She had to wonder what types of
questions he was asking Kathleen. She had a few herself. She wondered if she'd
really remained inside her box the entire time, other than to get drinks. She'd
insisted that Michaela go down to the track with Audrey, but it didn't look as
if Audrey had gone down to the track at all. Could Kathleen have followed her?
Could
she have actually killed her friend?
Is that what the detective was also
thinking? Audrey had mentioned that Kathleen wasn't herself lately. And, she
was insistent that Michaela not mention her continued friendship with Hugh, for
fear of it troubling Kathleen. What if she found out that Audrey was still good
pals with Hugh? Maybe she had even seen her chatting with him when she and
Michaela went to place a bet. Could that have set the woman off? She didn't
come across as the most stable of people. Then, when Halliday broke his leg,
the crying jag: Had it been for real? Michaela didn't know. It seemed real. Of
course it was real. She wouldn't have killed Audrey. No. That was ridiculous.
Michaela knew she was being paranoid. The two women had been friends for years.
This was ludicrous.

As she walked away she pressed the number five on Kathleen's
cell. A man answered. "Kathleen?"

Michaela could hear loud music in the background.
"No. This is a friend. Can you please bring the car around?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yes, the car?" she shouted into the
phone. Maybe he couldn't hear her. He obviously had the stereo cranked.
"Can you turn down the music? Ms. Bowen needs the car brought
around."

"I have no idea what you're talking
about."

"Aren't you the chauffeur?"

He laughed. "Hardly."

Michaela apologized and got off the phone. Why
would Kathleen give her the wrong number? Must be stress. She hit the number
five again out of curiosity to see if a name came up. The initials
MF
did. Hmm. She decided to try number six, and found the chauffeur. He told her
that he'd be around momentarily.

When he pulled up, Michaela explained that Ms.
Bowen would be there soon. "No problem," he said.

Several minutes later, as she stood lost in
thought, Detective Merrill escorted Kathleen to the car. He told Michaela he'd
be in touch with both of them soon. She thanked him.

Kathleen slid into the backseat and instructed the
driver to take her home. "Get in," she told Michaela.

"My truck is here. I really should head
out."

"No," she whined. "You can't go
home. I need someone to stay with me tonight. I don't want to be alone.
Please."

Michaela cringed. The last thing she wanted to do
was stay with Kathleen. Granted, that had been the initial plan, but now
everything had changed. After Audrey and Halliday, she couldn't help but want
to return to her safe harbor. She wanted to see Rocky and her other animals,
make sure they were all okay.

Kathleen poured herself a drink from the limo's
bar. "Wait, please. Have a drink with me." She took something from
her purse and put it in her mouth

"What was that?" Michaela asked.

"Valium, for my nerves."

"You've been drinking. You really shouldn't
take that on top of alcohol. Put the drink down, Kathleen. It's not a good
idea."

She waved a hand at her. "If I die, then so
be it. Look at all that's happened today. My friend, my horse, and my child.
Lord only knows where she is. You know that she never came to the box to see
me. I doubt anyone would miss me."

Oh no. Michaela shut her eyes for a brief moment.
Think,
think
. She sighed. "Okay, I'll follow you home."

"You will?" Kathleen looked at her
through drunken eyes.

Michaela nodded.

"Thank you. You're a good person." She
patted her hand. "I have to ask you first about my horse. Did he
suffer?"

"He's alive. I told them to do whatever they
needed to try and save him. Now, hand me the drink."

Her eyes brightened; she ignored Michaela's
request. "Oh God, thank you. He's going to make it?"

"Hopefully.

She sighed. "I don't know what I was thinking, though.
Trying to save him. I mean really, I can't afford to save him."

"Excuse me?" Michaela asked. How did she
figure? The woman rolled in diamonds and spent cash like she'd picked it from
trees.

She shook her head. "Nope. No money. I'm
bankrupt."

"Bankrupt?"

"Yesiree. Broke." She leaned back and
closed her eyes, her drink sliding from her hand. Michaela caught it before it
hit the floorboard and set it aside. She started to ask Kathleen how that could
be, but the woman had passed out.

"MICHAELA, I CAN'T LET YOU DO IT! WHAT ARE YOU
thinking, anyway? Kathleen Bowen can pay this horse's bill. She's got more
money than she knows what to do with," Ethan said to her on the other end
of the phone.

Michaela stood facing the bay windows watching the
tide roll in. She'd been sitting on Kathleen's balcony outside her room, which
overlooked the ocean, since before the sun came up. Listening to the ocean's
sounds had likely been what kept her sane that morning, after seeing Audrey's
body, dead—murdered—the day before. She'd hated coming to Kathleen's house,
especially without Audrey, but the serenity of the Pacific gave her some sense
of peace where she'd thought there would be none. "I don't know about
that," she finally answered.

"Michaela, you are talking nonsense. Do you
hear me? That's nuts. You may have inherited some money from Lou, but trust me,
Mick, do not pay for this horse's surgery and medical care. It'll likely be in
the hundreds of thousands. I can't believe that Kathleen doesn't have any kind
of medical coverage on the horse. I'm sure the insurance company would keep
this animal alive no matter what the diagnosis is, anyhow. They do their
damndest to wait until the last straw. Too many of these animals suffer, all in
the name of money, so the insurance companies want to hang on for as long as
possible, hoping that they won't have to make a million-dollar payout."

"How is he, anyway?"

"The good news is, I wouldn't—and neither
would the other vets—recommend putting him down. The break was a condylar
fracture above the ankle. That is fairly easy to repair. The bad news is, he
also has a fracture below the ankle in the pastern. Very similar to what
happened with Barbaro at the Preakness Stakes a few years ago. It's not as bad,
and with a lot of care, possibly more surgery, he'll likely grow old grazing in
a pasture somewhere. I don't think he'll ever see a track again, though. He's
been kept comfortable through the night, and now we're prepared to take him
into surgery, but we need signed paperwork from Kathleen. Do you have the fax
number there? She can sign it and fax it back to us."