The Michaela Bancroft Mysteries 1-3 (51 page)

"Getting info can take some time," Joe
said as they sat on Michaela's porch watching Gen hold Booger's lead line while
he chewed on a patch of grass.

"I understand. I feel like there is no way
Bob did this horrible thing." She felt her throat tighten. "Even if
something bad has happened to him, I want to know. It seems as if Audrey wants
me to get to the truth and vindicate him, find justice for her."

Joe patted her on the back. "You may have to
accept that it might not happen. The cops seem focused on Bob, and you
vindicating him might not be in the cards."

"You're going to keep helping me though,
aren't you?"

He nodded.

She had told Joe about discovering Francisco, and
then the story about Olivia and her odd behavior afterward at the coffeehouse.
"There is more to this than that Bob went nutso. And how would it tie into
Francisco being killed at Audrey's? Doesn't it make sense that both of the murders
have some kind of connection?"

"It does seem like that."

"Can you do something for me?"

He laughed. "Mick, if I had a dollar every
time you asked me that question, I'd be able to send all my kids to private
school."

She went inside and brought out the envelope she'd
found in Audrey's office when she'd gone back the day after Francisco had been
killed. "I've had this for two days now. I think it's something that was
meant for Ethan, but I'm not sure. I don't know what's inside, or if it's even
important, but it does have Bob's address on the return."

"And you want me to open it."

"Would you?"

"Girl!"

"I know, Joe. Please."

"Mail fraud. Or tampering or something like
that. What the hell." He tore it open.

Michaela had not been able to bring herself to do
it, and with everything else that had been going on, she'd left it in the
truck, but now she knew she needed to find out what was in the envelope. She
wouldn't give it to Ethan until she knew it was meant for him.

Joe pulled out a file, opened it. "Don't know
what it is. Here's a note on it though." He handed her the file.

She read the note.
Dear Sis, Please give this
to Dr. Ethan Slater, as I asked. Love, Bobby.
Michaela studied the sheet on
the inside. Names that appeared to belong to horses, and all sorts of numbers,
percentages. They were labs. Huh. No big deal. It made sense that they would be
sharing lab information. "I'll get these to him. He did say that they
conferred on cases from time to time."

"Okay. I'll keep on seeing what I can learn.
Get some rest. You look tired."

"Thanks."

After Joe left and Michaela finished up for the
day, she sat down at the kitchen table and looked over the labs again. The
phone rang. She could see from her caller ID that it was from Jude. She'd let
it go.

The machine came on. "Michaela? Where are
you? I've been calling and you're not returning my calls, then I got this
message that we're not on for Friday. What is up? Please call me. And how about
Katie? She's asking to come for a lesson. Can you at least call me about that?"

She reached for the phone, but he'd hung up. She
knew it wasn't right to treat him this way. But what if he was playing her?
What if Garcia was right about Jude being a womanizer? She'd been down that
path with her ex-husband. She hadn't seen the signs at all. She didn't want to
make that same mistake. But she did owe Katie her time. Definitely. She'd call
tomorrow, after the girl was home from school.

She put her dinner in the microwave and the labs
on her kitchen counter. Okay, so it was normal for vets to pass information,
especially because they were both track vets. But why would Bob have sent the
labs to Ethan?

Without taking her food out of the oven, she
grabbed the files and once again drove to Ethan's place.

Luckily he was the only one home. Summer was out
shopping for the shower. She explained to him how she'd come into possession of
the file.

"Thank you," he said. "I thought
about it after you left last night. The only thing I can think of is the
information in here is about a case that we worked on together a few months ago
with a horse at the track." He looked them over. "I'll see if I can't
figure them out." He closed the file. "Listen, I want to take Rocky
down to the Rocovich Center with me tomorrow. I called you earlier but didn't
get you, so I'm glad you came by."

She sat down. "What do you mean? Why do you
want to take him?"

"I want to run some more tests, and there
isn't a better facility around than that."

"Ethan, you're scaring me."

He placed his hands on her shoulders. The familiar
warmth that came from him traveled through her for a second.

"I'm not trying to scare you. I don't know
that there is a real problem, but I don't like the labs that I've seen with
Halliday, and I don't like the comparison with Rocky's. I know how much you
love the boy, so let me take him down tomorrow and see if we can't get to the
bottom of it."

"I'm coming with you."

"No. You're better off running your day. Let
me do my job and if there is anything significant I'll call you and you can
come then."

"Like hell. I'm going. I want to be with him.
You obviously think there is a problem. I need to be there."

"Please, Michaela, you know that I wouldn't
do anything to hurt Rocky or you. You're going to worry yourself sick while we
do an exam and run more tests. Tell you what, if you'd like to come on down in
the afternoon, fine. But while the vets are taking care of him and doing what
they need to, just trust me on this."

With tears in her eyes, she agreed to let him take
Rocky. "You better call me if there's a problem."

He wiped her tears. "You know I will. I don't
anticipate one."

She nodded, silently praying that he was right.

ETHAN ARRIVED EARLY THE NEXT MORNING WITH his truck
and trailer. It took everything Michaela had in her not to get in that truck with
him.

"Promise me he'll be okay," she said,
after they'd loaded Rocky into the trailer.

Ethan hugged her. "I'm only taking
precautions here, Mick. It's a few tests, that's all, and I'll call you the
minute I know anything."

She smiled through her tears. Silly really, she
knew that. She didn't need to cry. Rocky was in good hands. The best. He'd be
fine. But dammit, he was like a kid to her. All of her horses were.

Before leaving, Ethan said, "Stop worrying
your pretty head. Do your thing. You've got other animals that need you. I'll
call."

She nodded and watched as he drove down the dirt
road until the trailer was no longer in sight. He was right. She'd work hard
today and before long she'd know what was going on with Rocky. There was plenty
to do after her trip to Los Angeles. Work would keep her mind off of Rocky and
Audrey. She planned to give Hugh a call today to see what he'd learned about
the coroner releasing Audrey's body, and when they might have a service for
her. She also needed to find out the status of her trailer. First she needed to
work Leo, her two-year-old. He'd just been started under saddle and she
expected a champion reiner out of him. Reining was a real art form as far as
she was concerned, where horses performed routines with various elements
including spins, sliding stops, turns, and a gamut of difficult feats. It was
her goal to win the big futurity held in Columbus, Ohio, annually. Leo had it
in him to be a winner. Working with him did take her mind off of everything for
a bit, as she had to place all of her focus on the young horse.

As she was putting Leo up, she heard a car coming
down the road. She peered out of the breezeway and spotted Joe's minivan. He
drove fast. After pulling up he rushed over to Michaela. "What are you doing
today?" he asked.

"Um, what I usually do. I'm working the
horses. Why? What's up? You're acting like you got a bug up—"

"No horses today. Get your purse. We're
taking a trip."

"Joe! What is going on?"

"I got a lead on Bob Pratt and I knew you'd want
to be in on it. You coming or what?"

"Hell yes." She jotted down a note for
Dwayne that she'd be gone for a while. He was out running errands with Camden.
"We'll take my truck." Joe frowned. "Come on, minivan is not my
style."

"You're no fun. I thought you liked to live on
the wild side," Joe replied.

"Guess I'm not quite that wild."

"You're a snob. Okay, but I'm driving,"
Joe said, and she tossed him the keys.

"What's this all about?" Michaela asked
as they headed onto the highway. "And where are we going?"

"Malibu."

"Ugh," she replied. "Maybe I should
rent a place in L.A.; I've been there, what, twice already this week. Want to
fill me in?"

"Bob hung out sometimes at that fish and
chips biker place up there in Malibu, right?"

"Yeah."

"The manager who was working the last time
Bob was in is there today. He told one of my cousins that he thought Bob was
acting strange that day he saw him with a couple of other guys. He didn't say
anything else but my cousin got the feeling the bartender knew more than what
he was saying. I figured that maybe I ought to go and see this guy. I figured
you'd want to go, too. I know what it means to you to find out what happened
with Audrey."

"Thanks, and you're right. I definitely want
to find the truth. Since we're headed there anyway, maybe we could also check
into this Terrell Jardinière." She'd left him a voice message yesterday
about the mysterious phone call she'd received.

"Yeah. I got an address where he used to box.
It's a gym in Venice. We can head there, too."

"One more thing."

"Now what!"

She laughed. At least she'd be able to take her
mind off her worries around Joe. "Right. My trailer is at the Bowen ranch,
plus a horse that was going to be delivered to me. Maybe if my trailer is fixed
we can grab them, too."

"Whatever."

The traffic was miserable, but the company good as
she and Joe chatted about his kids, her horses, his wife, politics, and his
cousins. The lively conversation filled the three hours it took to finally get
through the traffic, into Los Angeles, and up the PCH.

They parked in front of Mermaids. Michaela took
Joe's arm and they walked into the place. Greasy, divey, with a slight musty
smell, Michaela mused over the thought that this was where Bob liked to hang
out. Maybe the food was good.

A handful of patrons already in various states of
drunkenness at a little after twelve noon sat at the bar partaking of their
choice of poisons. A couple of them looked at Joe and Michaela when they
entered. The others didn't bother. The bartender, a man with long hair pulled
back into a ponytail asked them what they wanted to drink. Joe ordered two
beers.

They waited until the bartender put their drinks
in front of them. After a few sips and some small talk between him and the
bartender, Joe asked, "Is Pete around?"

"I'm Pete."

"The manager?"

"Yep."

Joe reached across the bar and shook the man's
hand; he looked bewildered or irritated, maybe both. "Joe Pellegrino. You
talked to my cousin Anthony. He said that you was here when Bob Pratt came in
last." Joe produced a small photo of Bob.

Michaela looked at Joe. He was good.

"Yeah, so?"

"Yeah, so. My cousin says that you said Bob
was acting kinda weird that day."

"Oh, you know, that just might have been him
having an off day. We all have 'em."

"Right." Joe leaned back and laced his
fingers together, stretching them out and cracking his knuckles. "I'm
thinking that you might know if there was another reason for Bob to be acting
off
."

Pete hesitated. "You know I don't like to
talk about people."

"Sure, sure. I understand." Joe stared
him down.

The bartender caved. Michaela figured she would
have, too. Joe had one piercing, mean look. "Bob was saying some weird
shit, you know?"

"No. I don't. Was he drunk?"

"Nope. Not as far as I could tell. He was
drinking a Coke, eating fish and chips, hanging out, but he got on this kick
about his girlfriend—"

"Cara," Michaela interrupted. Both men
looked at her. "Sorry."

"I think that was her name. Anyway, he was
saying that she's got cancer and how he knew it was all a conspiracy. That someone
gave her the cancer."

"Cancer's not contagious," Joe said.

"Right. See why I didn't want to say
anything? The man was talking crazy and he seemed really upset. My shift was
over before he left."

"And that's it?" Joe asked.

"That's it." The bartender turned.
"Hang on, someone else needs a drink." He pointed to the end of the
bar, where a man and woman had just sat down. Joe nodded.

"Odd," Michaela said.

"You guys talking about Bobby Pratt? The
vet?"

Michaela and Joe turned to see an older man
looking at them—silver haired, dark brown eyes, lines on his face that made him
look far older than his years. He reminded Michaela of an ancient-looking
medicine man. "You know Bob Pratt?" Joey asked.

"Maybe. Who wants to know?"

Joe lowered his voice. "You ever hear of the
Pellegrino and Torrino families?"

The man's face turned white. He wrapped his hand
tightly around whatever it was he was drinking—whiskey, maybe some kind of rotgut.
"Yeah, I heard of them."

"Thought you might have. Anyway, they wanna
know."

"Oh," the man whispered.

"Well?"

"Let's get a booth."

They followed him to a corner booth across the
room, where the vinyl seats were torn and cracked. Michaela slid in next to
Joe, opposite the old man. "Well?" Joe said again.

"I heard that some not so good things
happened to Bob."