Angel's Advocate (25 page)

The light from the office windows spread a faint glow over the ground outside. Bree looked for the little wooden gate that fenced off the brick path to the house, and unlatched it, letting Sasha go through first. She motioned Hunter to follow. “We’ll go this way,” Bree said. “It’s shorter, and maybe we can coax Missy into the kitchen, away from the crowd.” She stepped onto the path. Late rambling roses reached out for her ankles, and she tripped a little over a particularly obtrusive root. Hunter caught her arm and eased her upright. “You’ve been here before?”

“This afternoon, obviously,” she said tartly.

Hunter glanced at her, the same sharp, penetrating look he’d given Abel. “You know the family well?”

“No. Not well. When I was younger . . .” She ignored his derisive snort. “Okay, a few years back, when I was still riding, I was here drag hunting a couple of times. It’s a good hunt. And the horses are marvelous. My folks bought more than one hunter from the Trasks, and not a dud in the bunch.”

She could almost feel Hunter’s withdrawal, as he walked along the path behind her. Well, he’d asked, hadn’t he? And she couldn’t change her family, or her own past experience, and it was just too flippin’ bad if he didn’t like it.

The lights were on in the kitchen, as she’d expected them to be. She knocked lightly at the back door, and smiled at the woman who opened it. “It’s Delight Rawlings, isn’t it?”

“That it is,” she said gravely, “and you’re Miss Bree Beaufort. I remember you from the hunt breakfasts a few years back.”

Bree stepped inside the kitchen, Hunter and Sasha both at her heels. “This is Lieutenant Hunter from the police. Lieutenant, Delight Rawlings is the woman who holds the household here together. We’re here to see Mrs. Trask, Delight. We thought we’d come in the back way and avoid creating too much of a fuss. Everything must be at sixes and sevens up front.”

“That it is,” Delight said with an explosive sigh. “Such goings-on, I never did see. Well, now, I’m a liar. It’s just like
Law & Order
. But that’s TV, if y’all know what I mean, and this here’s real life. You want I should fetch Miz Trask?”

“Please.” Bree sank down in a chair at the huge pine kitchen table.

“I’ll just do that. You help yourselves to coffee if you want some. And there’s some oatmeal cookies, fresh baked.” Her eyes slid to Hunter. “I sent some of the cookies out to your folks. I hope that’s all right.”

“Very kind of you, ma’am. Very.”

“I’ll be back directly.”

Hunter wandered around the kitchen as the house-keeper rolled out the swinging doors that led to the front of the house. The kitchen was large, perhaps twenty by forty, and it was dominated by a large brick fireplace with an old iron spit. An ancient ten-burner gas stove sat under the windows that looked out over the back gardens. The cabinets were a hodgepodge of styles, ranging from battered pine cupboards, painted a peeling white, to a couple of Home Depot specials faced with synthetic thermo glaze.

“Not quite what I expected,” Hunter said. He stared up at a ham that dangled from the rafters.

“There’s a smokehouse out back. It’s still in use. But Missy cares more about the barns than the house. Most of her family did, too. They never did spend much on the inside of their houses, the Seatons.” She raised her head and listened. Sasha, sprawled at her feet, raised his head, too.

Wonderful. Virginia was still up.

And still a shrieking pain in the neck. She was first through the doorway, shoving the swinging doors aside with an impatient hand. She barreled through at top speed, or so it seemed to Bree, who jumped out of the way as Virginia rolled to a halt.

“Bree Beaufort, as I live and breathe.”

“Hi, Virginia. You’re looking well.”

Virginia had been a beautiful girl when Abel married her fifteen years before, and she was beautiful still. She had the soft, peachy complexion of a camellia petal, with wide, velvety brown eyes fringed by thick, curling lashes. Her mouth made Bree’s hackles rise; it was sweetly curved and full and somehow repulsive. Her lower lip protruded as she considered Bree’s remark. “Kind of you to say that. That I’m looking well. When I’m just lookin’ a hag, especially after this horrible event today. But you’ve always been kind, Bree.” She smiled slyly. “Makes a sort of a religion of it, don’t you think, Abel? But you’re not sayin’ what you’re surely thinking, Bree: ‘What’s this poor child doing in a wheelchair?’ ” She smoothed her legs, as if petting a cat. She wore a dark blue silk pantsuit, with a brilliant turquoise tee that set off her complexion and her dark blonde hair. “A turn for the worse, the doctors said. Stress, most likely. That’s a real trigger for this disease. Multiple sclerosis,” she said, in Hunter’s direction. “Intermittent relapsing MS. Came on just after I married my Abel.”

Hunter observed her silently, and then said, “Very sorry to hear that, ma’am. It’s fortunate that you’re here, however. You were here on the farm all day today?”

“I was.”

“And you didn’t leave at all.”

She flirted up at him. “Now, do I look like I could have taken myself off anywhere, Lieutenant? My husband was out all day, and I was here all by myself . . .”

“Except for me, Miz Trask,” Delight said. “I was here right along.”

“Well, yes. Delight and I were here alone until sup pertime. Abel and Missy came in to eat around seven. And then, of course, Missy went out to do evening rounds and this all happened.”

“Then we’ll need a statement from you,” Hunter said smoothly. “Mr. Trask? If you could take your wife to the front—parlor, would it be?”

“That’s right, Lieutenant,” Virginia said graciously. “These fine old Southern homes do indeed have parlors.”

Hunter smiled. He had, Bree realized, quite an attractive smile, when he chose to deploy it. And that’s what he was doing now. “I’m a city boy—New York City—and this style of living is all new to me.”

“Well, it
would
be, wouldn’t it,” Virginia said. “And you need a statement from me, you said?”

“From all of the family members,” Hunter said smoothly. “If you’ll make yourself comfortable . . .”

“Comfortable!” Virginia indicated her wheelchair with a sweep of one red-nailed hand.

“As is possible, with your situation. I’ll send Sergeant Markham to you right away.”

Virginia shot Bree a malevolent glance. “Abel. I’ll need you there with me.”

Abel turned to Missy, who had washed her face, combed her hair, and exchanged her flannel shirt for long-sleeved cotton. “You going to be okay with all this?”

She jerked her chin in a gesture of acceptance. Abel opened the swinging doors and Virginia rolled through. Hunter waited until the doors banged closed, then pulled out his cell and called Markham.

Missy stuffed her hands in her jeans and rocked back and forth on her heels. She addressed Bree without looking at her. “Sorry,” she said shortly.

“It’s all right. You just voiced what I’d been thinking.” Bree shook her head helplessly. “I can’t believe it.”

“Neither of us, Abel or I, think you had a hand in poor Shirley’s death. I didn’t mean what I said. About you having murdered her. I did mean what I said about dealing with that dreadful kid Lindsey and her family, Bree. How could you?”

“Everyone’s entitled to the best representation the courts can offer,” Bree said stiffly. “I won’t apologize for that.”

Missy tried to smile. “Now you sound like your daddy.”

“And you sound like you’ve had more experience with Lindsey than seeing her strutting her stuff on TV.” Bree looked encouraging. “Well?”

Missy sat across from her with a sigh, and accepted a cup of coffee from the silently sympathetic Delight. “You’ve noticed things look a little run-down around here.”

Bree demurred, then said, sympathetically, “Hard times?”

Missy grimaced. “You could say that. I made a mistake going into hunters, Bree. Charles was great about it. He was always good about letting me make the big decisions. But it diverted attention from the track, and the track paid the bills. You know what happens when you let things slide. First you start placing second and then you show third, and then you don’t come into the money at all. By the time I woke up and smelled the coffee, we were thinking about selling off some of the land.”

Bree made a sympathetic noise. With the sudden jump in the number of retirees looking for second homes, land around Savannah had doubled, tripled, and quadrupled in value in the past few years. Missy was sitting on a fortune.

Behind them both, Hunter stowed his cell phone, leaned against the stove, and listened.

“I thought maybe the quickest way to pay the bills was a riding school. You know what has to happen with those horses that don’t make it at the track.”

Bree did. It was a hard fact of life that a stud like Seaton sent horses off to the knackers several times a year.

“So we reschooled a couple of the old boys who had the temperament to make it as hacks, and took on students.” An impish twinkle lit her eye. “Girls with mammas with more money than sense, most of them. And they knew squat-all about horses, but that’s another story. So, to cut to the chase. Lindsey and her two friends signed up for the basic English hunter classes. Madison and what’s her name, Hartley. They were okay. Madison in particular has the makings of a pretty good rider. And she’s a good kid. But Lindsey.” Her lips tightened in disgust. “Pulled her off the horse, called Carrie-Alice, and banned her from the property. For life.”

Bree winced. She remembered Lindsey poking at Sasha with the stick. “Really bad? Actionable?”

Missy flapped her hand dismissively. “Just creepy. Picking sores in the horses’ hides, that kind of stuff. Couldn’t trust her with a crop. But I’ll tell you, Bree, that kid is on something. I don’t know much about kids and drugs. Lydia and David never seemed to get caught up in any of that stuff when they were at home. Or if they did, they sure as hell kept it from me. But that girl was on something. Sure as you’re born.”

“I think so, too,” Bree said. “I’m going to ask Mrs. Chandler’s permission to take a look at any hospital records. And perhaps talk her into arranging for a total medical exam.”

“I don’t get it,” Missy said. “I thought you were through with all this. You bribed Shirley . . .”

“I did
not
bribe Shirley!”

“Well, paid her off, then. And that case is over, right? So what’s up with the poking around into Lindsey’s life?”

Bree gestured vaguely. “Just tying up a few loose ends.”

Missy frowned. “Do you think
Lindsey
could have had something to do with Shirley’s death?”

“Until the family asks me to back off, I’m still representing her interests,” Bree said. “So, thanks for the heads-up. If you can remember anything more about her time here, would you let me know?”

“It was as short as I could make it,” Missy grunted.

“Then you’ll give me a call, if you think of anything at all, won’t you?” Bree scrabbled in her purse and pulled out a card.

“I’ve already got one. Threw it out, though.” Missy took it, read it, and said, “Angelus? I’m Savannah born and bred. Where the heck is Angelus?”

“Little side street off of East Bay. Very easy to miss.”

Missy turned and handed the card to Delight, who walked to the kitchen counter and put it in the cookie jar. “It’s where we keep the important stuff,” Missy said.

“Drives poor Abel crazy. I put the bills and the petty cash in there, too.” Her eyes narrowed, and she took a breath. “About Abel, Brianna . . .”

“I may have mentioned that we need a written statement from you regarding the discovery of the body,” Hunter interrupted. “It’s late. We’re all tired. But if you could go through it again it’ll help us move the investigation forward.”

Missy scrubbed at her eyes with both hands. “Sure. Fine. Especially if I don’t have to see you all again. No offense, Lieutenant, but all this is playing hell with my barn routine. The sooner you get your people out of here, the better.”

He pulled a tape recorder out of the breast pocket of his jacket and set it down.

Bree listened closely to Missy’s account, which was straightforward, unembellished, and bare of anything resembling a clue. She and Abel had supper at seven, and then went out again at eight thirty for evening rounds. The barn manager, Neely Sandman, went with them. Missy checked on each of the forty horses under her care. Feed changes were discussed, any performance or veterinary issues noted. In the case of the horses headed for the track, racing schedules were debated. The four barns surrounding the brick quadrangle each held twelve stalls; in the fourth barn, the one assigned to Shirley Chavez, Missy was perplexed to discover that the mucking out had been abandoned partway through. “There’s ten horses in that number four barn, and she’d finished eight stalls. The last two were filthy, with a day’s worth of manure in them, and of course, that idiot Patch Brogan had just slammed Belle and Flyer in there without so much as a by-your-leave and didn’t say a word about it.” She shook her head in disgust. “It’s damn hard to keep help. The wages suck, the work’s hard, hot, and dirty, and you don’t get to mess around with horses much. So if you love animals, the way Shirley did, there’s precious little reward.

“Anyway, Shirley’s on from nine in the morning until three. She begins mucking out around eleven. It takes about thirty minutes to do each stall right; you rake out, put fresh sawdust in, scrub out the water buckets. Neely said she started right on time. She was one hell of worker, Shirley was.” Missy glanced sidelong at Bree. “She took about twenty minutes out of her day to talk with you. Oh, this is being taped, right? She stopped work for about twenty minutes at one o’clock to discuss a private matter with Brianna Winston-Beaufort, a local attorney. She went right back to work. The ninth stall was partways done, Patch Brogan said. He kicked the sawdust around to cover the patches Shirley’d raked out. So as near as I can figure, she must have been killed about two thirty, two forty-five.” Missy stopped, tears in her eyes. She scrubbed at the tears with the tail of her shirt, and went on. “Sorry. We heard the shot, but the woods are filled with hunters this time of year . . . and who knew?” Anyway, Abel, Neely, and I split up to look for her when she didn’t come in for her day’s pay. She would have stopped halfway through to get a load of sawdust, so I checked the alleyway between barn four and the storage silo. And there,” Missy said bleakly, “she was.”