The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (44 page)

"Mick, it's me, Joe. I got some info for you
on that Bob Pratt dude. Seems he had a girlfriend named Cara Klein. She lives
in San Diego. That's all I've been able to get so far. I'm still working that
angle." Michaela made a mental note of the information. "Also, he liked
to hang at this bar up in Malibu. Place serves good fish and chips, my cousin
told me. Anyhow, he was in there a couple of weeks ago."

"Drinking?"

"Only Cokes, according to the
bartender."

"Was he by himself?"

"No. Says he was with a couple of younger
men, both Hispanic. He said that one didn't seem as friendly as the other, was
kind of an ass to the bartender and it made Pratt nervous. The other guy seemed
okay. The bartender also said that guy was a short dude."

"Interesting. We've got to find out who those
men were that he was talking to. Can you do that?"

"You're getting sucked into this, Mick."

"Joe, do it. And I know you will. You know
why?"

"Cause you're working with my kid."

"Nope. Well, maybe that, but it's also
because you love this cloak-and-dagger stuff."

He didn't comment for a few seconds. "I'll
call you back. Be careful."

"Always."

Michaela went into Audrey's office to see if she
could find a pen and something to write on. She wanted to jot down Cara Klein's
name. She doubted she'd forget it, but she wanted to be certain.

She opened the top drawer and found a pen but no
paper. The third drawer down, she located a stack of legal pads as well as an
8×10 envelope addressed to Audrey. But what caught her eye was the return
address: that of her brother, Bob.

OKAY, SO SHE SHOULDN'T HAVE DONE IT. IT WAS
impulsive. Michaela knew she should not have done it. But she had. She'd walked
out of the barn with the large envelope, keeping an eye out for Garcia, hoping
the deputy wouldn't spot her and ask her what the envelope was about. She knew
she was taking something that didn't belong to her. Maybe she should've passed
it on to Garcia. Heck no. Why do
her
any favors? She set the envelope in
the backseat and headed west. Besides she had a feeling that this was the
envelope Audrey had mentioned the other day. The one that she was to give to
Ethan. It didn't belong to the police or her. It belonged to Ethan. Right? That
is, if it was the right envelope. Michaela could not be sure about that without
opening it. And, she didn't know how she felt about opening it. But she
certainly couldn't give it to Ethan to open and then have it be something he
would have no clue about. She'd have to ask him if he'd gotten Audrey's message
about it. She'd also have to tell him about Audrey, if he hadn't already heard.
Detective Merrill had told her that he would be needing to speak with Ethan and
ask if he'd spotted Audrey on the track after Halliday had broken his leg.

Over lunch: Maybe that's when she'd take a look at
what was in the envelope. She would have to eat lunch today. And she'd be in
Los Angeles at lunchtime. Hudson Drake came to mind. But she was pulling a
horse trailer. It might be nice to have lunch with him, her treat. Ah, who was
she kidding? She was irritated that Jude might be talking about the two of them
as if they were a thing. They were
not
a thing. And she didn't like
feeling suspicious that he might be playing her and another woman, or women.
That she did not like at all. She recalled his almost egotistical attitude
about coming out the winner yesterday when he'd kissed her. Was he like that
with all women? She'd discovered that the kind of man who exuded the kind of
self-confidence Jude did around women indicated he'd traveled the path to a
woman's heart or bed more than a few times. But did she have a right to feel
that way?

She picked through her wallet where she'd put
Hudson's card and gave him a call. He told her that he'd love to have lunch
with her, and since she was pulling a trailer they could meet at Duke's, a
nearby restaurant. "It's laid-back there. Not the jet set in and out, and
the parking lot is huge. They've seen trailers come in there before," he
said.

"Great. Noon work for you?"

"Sure does."

She wondered if he'd had any luck with the private
investigator he'd said that he hired to look into Bob's disappearance and
intended to ask him about it. Lost in thought, Michaela at first didn't see the
flashing lights in her rearview mirror. When she did, it took her another
second to realize that she was being pulled over. What had she done? She wasn't
speeding. She hadn't cut anyone off, had she? Oh brother! She didn't have time
for this right now. She pulled off to the side of the road and cut the engine.
A highway patrolman approached the truck. "Hi, Officer," Michaela
said. "I'm not certain why you pulled me over."

He faced her, eyes covered in dark sunglasses, a
serious expression on his face. This could not be good. "Can I see your
driver's license, ma'am?"

She removed her wallet from her purse. "Sure,
but can you tell me what I did wrong?"

He opened up his ticket pad and took the license
from her. "I'm going to have to write you a fix-it ticket. Did you know
that the lights are out on your trailer?"

"Oh no." She sighed, relived that it
wasn't anything more than that. That sounded like an easy fix. "Are you
sure?" He frowned.
Stupid question
. "I will definitely have
that fixed." He finished writing the ticket and tore it off. "Have a
nice day," she said taking the ticket. He walked back to his car. Damn.
She was only thirty minutes from Hugh Bowen's place. She'd have to get the
trailer fixed. There wasn't a way out of it. She couldn't haul a horse back
without those brake lights working.

She called ahead to the Bowen ranch. Hugh told her
that someone should be around who could fix them, that she should just pull on
in and either find Josh or Enrique. "I have some errands to take care of.
I don't think I'll be around by the time you get here. Hopefully you can get
the trailer fixed quickly and be back on your way. I know it's quite a
drive."

"True. I'm sorry that I won't see you."

"Me, too, but you'll be at the charity event
on Saturday. We'll catch up there. I'd actually stay and wait here for you, but
I need to find out when Audrey's body might be released. We have to plan a
proper service for her."

Michaela recognized the emotion in his voice. How
had she not thought of a service for her friend? Of course, something needed to
be arranged. She thanked Hugh for his willingness to take care of it and
offered her help in any way that she could.

When she pulled into the ranch, the gate was open.
She parked the truck and trailer near the main stables. She looked around but
didn't see anyone at first. Then a Hispanic man in jeans, T-shirt, and leather
gloves came toward her. "Hey," he said. "I'm Juan Perez. You Ms.
Bancroft?"

"Yes."

"Yeah. Okay, Mr. Bowen said you would be by.
He said that your trailer's light are out."

"They are." She frowned.

"I'll unhook it for you and see what's going
on, okay?"

"Thank you. That would be great. Quiet around
here this morning?" she said as Juan started unhooking the trailer.

He nodded. "Josh and my brother, Enrique, had
to take care of some business with the American Quarter Horse Association. I
think they're in the office on the phone or something."

"Oh."

"And most of the grooms are on break, but I'm
trying to get ahead, you know. Mr. Bowen, he just give me this job, so I'm
doing the best I can."

Michaela couldn't help but remember what Hugh had
said about Juan—something to the effect of him having been in some trouble. She
also couldn't help wondering who it was that Bobby Pratt had been talking to at
the fish and chips bar in Malibu a few weeks ago. She suddenly wondered if it
was possible that the two Hispanic men he'd been hanging out with were Juan and
Enrique Perez.

"Hey, Juan, do you know Bob Pratt?"

He stood up. "Who?"

"The vet. I know that Mr. Bowen uses him at
times, and that they're friends. I'm sure you heard about the murder at the
races."

"Sure, yeah." He nodded emphatically.
"I heard 'bout that. No good, you know. My brother tol' me, and he say it
was real bad. Mr. Bowen pretty upset 'bout it."

"Me too. The lady who was killed was a good
friend of mine."

"Oh no. I'm real sorry."

"And, her brother is Bob Pratt. He's been
missing for several days now."

Juan clucked his tongue. "That's too
bad."

"So, you don't know him? Never met him?"

He shook his head again. "I don't think so. I
only work here on and off, you know. I haven't been here for about three
months, maybe. My brother got my job back though. Mr. Bowen is a good man. He's
helping me out. I don't want to mess up, you know? But the vet, no. I wouldn't
know if I did see him because a lot of people come here and look at horses. I
just fix stuff."

"Right. Thanks. Hey, is there any water down
here? I'd like something to drink."

"You know, I gotta fix that, too. The faucet
in the tack room got all messed up. You can maybe go in the office where Josh
and Enrique are. There's a refrigerator there."

"No, I don't want to bother them if they're
on the phone."

"You can take the golf cart up to the house.
Mr. Bowen, he has a fountain in the garden."

"That's okay. I can just get a drink out of
the hose. I was only looking to quench my thirst a bit. No biggie."

"Might as well go up to the gardens and see
it anyway. It's gonna take me some time to find the problem here. And it's real
pretty up there. Take a cruise around the place. It's nice. And the water is
much better than from the hose." He laughed.

"Okay. Thanks." She really didn't have
time to kill, but she also had no choice. She climbed into the golf cart and
cruised around the ranch. Either Juan Perez was lying or he really had no clue
who Bob Pratt was, and the men he'd been with at the place in Malibu were two
different people than she'd guessed at for a second. Another thought struck
her: What if it had been Francisco, Audrey's ranch hand? He'd met a horrible,
untimely demise as well. Michaela could not believe that his murder was not
somehow connected to Audrey's, and she was also pretty sure that Bob's
disappearance was what tied everything together. She realized that both
thoughts were kind of out there. After all, there were quite a few Hispanics
living in Los Angeles. What type of business would Bob Pratt have had with Juan
or Enrique or Francisco? Just because they were all Latino didn't mean
anything. She realized that she was grasping at straws here.

As she jetted around on the cart, she took in the
opulence of the place. She passed the practice track, the stables, and palm
tree–lined pasture, which had a beautiful pond in the center of it where ducks
lazed through the water. The facility was magnificent and seeing it all made
Michaela sad, knowing that Audrey would have enjoyed living here. She would
have appreciated the ranch and she would have been happy with Hugh. "Oh,
Audrey," she whispered as tears stung her eyes.

She approached the garden, complete with the
English hedge maze that Juan had mentioned. Unsure exactly where the water
fountain was located, she got out of the cart and took a walk through the
garden. Various rosebushes gave off their soft floral scent as hummingbirds
dipped in and out of water feeders. A large fountain, with a statue of an angel
atop a horse, sat in the middle of the garden. The artwork was gorgeous. She
finally found the fountain off to the side of a path that led into the hedge
maze. She took a long drink. She decided it might be fun to take a walk through
the maze. Apparently there was time to spare. Why not?

Michaela started in through the maze, taking in
the sounds and smells. It really was like an English garden. As she wound
herself farther into the maze though, some anxiety came over her when she'd
heard something—a rustling in the maze. Probably birds. No need to get spooked.
She glanced around. She wanted out of there. Her nerves buzzed with the idea
that if someone were inside the hedge watching her, she certainly wouldn't be
heard if she screamed. She backed away. She had to get out of there. Her brow started
to perspire as she tried to wind her way back through the route she'd come in.
A few minutes later she was at the entrance of the maze. Thank God. Then she
heard the rustling noise again. She inched toward one of the Spanish moss trees
that lined the gardens. There it was again—only now, she also heard a voice. A
woman's voice. She stayed close to the shadows and tried to make out where it
was coming from and who was talking. She caught a glimpse of blond hair as a
person walked through the hedge and then out of the maze. Bridgette. Had she
spotted Michaela? She'd been walking the maze at the same time? She must have
been on the other end, because she didn't seem concerned, or to be looking for
anyone herself. It was obvious to Michaela that Bridgette did not know that she
was there.

Michaela watched, intrigued, as Bridgette headed
toward the rosebushes, cell phone to her ear, and then sat down on the bench.
Michaela kept out of sight, and she could now hear the woman quite a bit
better.

"I have to see you." She smelled one of
the roses. "No. Look, I know it's not a good idea, but please. I need you
right now. If Hugh knew what was going on…What we did. Oh God, I could lose
everything. Everything. Dammit." She paused. "No! I need to see you
now. This is a big deal. It's a huge deal. What we've done, well…if anyone
knew. Please, lover. Please. We can just have lunch. That's all I'm asking.
Okay. I'll meet you at the restaurant then. Shutters. Half an hour. Thank you,
love." She turned off her cell.

Michaela moved even closer to the tree. Bridgette
glanced in her direction. Oh no. Don't see me.
Don't see me
. Bridgette
stood up and started walking toward the house. Oh God, what about the cart?
Michaela had parked it off to the side, but if she saw it, she'd wonder who had
driven it up here. She might look around. Michaela watched as she veered off to
the other side of the garden. She finally dared to breathe, knowing that Bridgette
hadn't discovered her.