Bluegrass Peril (16 page)

He broke the silence in the truck as he pulled out onto the road. “I’m going to wait until tomorrow to call the police about Stevens.”

She twisted in her seat to face him. “I think Mr. Courtney is right. We should call them now.”

One arm extended, the hand draped across the top of the steering wheel, he stared through the windshield as he answered. “I don’t think we have enough to make a convincing case. Yet.”

Becky narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean, yet?”

“I’ve been thinking about that guy, Rawlins. Why would Stevens hire him to run the breeding shed when he doesn’t know squat? Well, maybe he doesn’t know about horses, but maybe he does know about cloning procedures.”

“You think Jason is a scientist?” Becky shook her head. The guy didn’t look like her idea of a cloning specialist.

Scott shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t know what he is, but there’s something not right about him. And he’s just one more strange circumstance hovering around Nick Stevens.”

Becky knew what he meant. “You mean his wife having an affair with the manager of a farm full of retired champion Thoroughbreds?”

Scott nodded. “What if he discovered the affair? If Stevens wanted to get a skin sample from one of the stallions, what better time to do it than when he knew Haldeman was busy with Leslie?

“Okay, so why aren’t we calling the police now?”

The truck slowed and Scott’s knuckles whitened on the wheel as they neared the driveway of the Pasture. “Because unless we have something other than a suspicion, they won’t listen. Nick Stevens is a pretty important guy in this town, no matter what Lee says. They won’t do anything on a vague suspicion, and we’ll look like alarmists.”

The same way they didn’t do anything about Mr. Keller. Becky hadn’t heard a single word about him being charged for the break-in. “Money talks in this town,” she said drily.

“Exactly. But if I get proof, then they’ll move.”

The truck turned into the driveway, and Becky clutched the seat belt to keep from sliding sideways. “What kind of proof?”

He shoved the shifter into park and turned toward her. “I’ve been thinking. All that DNA work would need a pretty fancy laboratory. Now, maybe Stevens has connections over at the university or something, but that would be risky. Plus, he’s got tons of money. If it were me, I’d build my own laboratory.”

Becky’s eyes rounded as she followed his train of thought. “His new barn.”

Scott smiled. “I want to get a look inside that barn.”

B
ecky arrived home to find Chris and the boys pitching a baseball back and forth. Jamie and Tyler ran to hug her when she got out of the car.

“Mommy, you should have seen how far I hit the ball.” Tyler’s little chest swelled. “Dad said it was a triple for sure.”

“And I have a good arm,” Jamie informed her. “I might be a pitcher, or maybe a shortstop.”

Chris ruffled his hair, laughing. “You’ll have to work on catching those line drives, though.”

She smiled as she unlocked the house. “With all the practice you’re getting, I’ll bet you boys will be the stars of your team.”

“Yeah!”

When she pushed the door open, the boys tumbled inside. Jamie ran to put his ball glove in the bedroom, but Tyler stopped and turned an inquisitive glance toward his father.

“You coming, Dad?”

Chris shook his head. “I’ve got to get going, but I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay.” The boy followed his brother down the hallway at a trot.

“Tomorrow?” She raised an eyebrow at Chris.

“Yeah, I told them we’d all four go to breakfast and then spend the day together. I hope that’s okay.”

“How did it go?” Becky searched Chris’s face. “You didn’t have any problems?”

“Nah.” Chris’s face scrunched. “Well, not at first. After a while they wanted to come home. Kept asking when you’d be here.”

Poor Chris. It must be hard to realize your sons aren’t comfortable being alone with you. She laid a hand on his arm. “They’ll get used to you. Give them time.”

He leaned against the doorjamb and looked at her in the old way, the way that made her feel as though he could see all the way inside her.

“Listen, Beck.” She ignored a flutter in her stomach. Nobody had called her Beck in more than four years. “I’m leaving early Sunday to get back to Florida. I’ve got to go to work on Monday. Are you coming with me?”

Was he kidding? She shook her head. “I can’t just pick up and go. I have a job, responsibilities here.”

Hope flared in his eyes. “Then you are coming eventually?”

Her gaze dropped. “I don’t know.”

“What’s stopping you? We were good together once. We could be again.” The twins’ arguing voices drifted down the hallway, and he grinned. “We could be even better now. A real family.”

“Why, Chris?” She searched his face. “Why do you want me back? I’m not the same person I was. I won’t party with you like I used to, and I won’t want you to, either. The boys need a positive influence in their lives.”

“There’s nothing wrong with a little partying every now and then.” When she opened her mouth to protest, he laid a finger gently on her lips. “I said a little. Not like before. I’ve grown up, Beck. I’m ready to be a father, and a husband.”

Her mouth went completely dry. Never in her wildest dreams did she expect to hear Christopher talking like this. “I’m a Christian now,” she blurted. “I’m going to raise the boys in church.”

He returned her gaze without flinching. “I can deal with that.” A corner of his mouth lifted. “You never know. Maybe I’ll even come with you every now and then. On special occasions.”

Did he mean it? Was Christopher really ready to settle down? And would he really consider coming to church with her? He looked sincere. Once upon a time, years ago, she would have given anything to hear him say he wanted to be a father to the boys and a husband to her.

But now…

“I’ll think about it.”

“Well, you might want to hurry.” He leaned forward, until his face was inches from hers. “We have a lot of catching up to do.”

She stepped back quickly, out of kissing range. She wasn’t ready for that yet.

His eyes danced with humor as he straightened. “I’ll see you at nine in the morning.”

“I don’t know, Daddy.” She rinsed milk residue out of a plastic cup and set it in the top rack of the dishwasher. “He seems sincere.”

“I can’t believe I’m hearing you. This is the guy who cheated on you when you were pregnant with his sons. Maybe you’ve forgotten all the tears you cried on my shoulder, but I sure haven’t.”

A lively song from a children’s DVD sounded from the other room, punctuated by childish giggles. She switched the phone to the other shoulder.

“I haven’t forgotten, but things are different now. I’m more mature, for one thing.”

“One mature person can’t support a marriage on her own.”

“I know that.”

The last supper dish loaded in the dishwasher, she wet a dishrag to wipe the table.

Daddy’s voice lost its angry edge. He became serious. “Becky, what’s going on? There’s something you’re not telling me, something more than just wanting a father for Tyler and Jamie. What’s pushing you back to this guy?”

She tossed the dishrag into the sink and dropped into a kitchen chair. “Daddy, I’ve made so many mistakes. I wonder sometimes if this is God’s way of giving me a chance to make things right.”

“Hold on. You think
God
sent that lowlife back to you?”

“Have you ever considered that maybe I’m the only way He will ever get through to Chris?” Elbow on the table, she leaned her forehead on her fingers and massaged a dull ache behind her eyes. “I keep remembering that verse that says a believing wife can win her husband.”

A long pause. “So that’s what this is all about. You think you sinned when you divorced, and now you’ve got to make it up to God by going back to the guy.”

Becky cringed at the heavy sarcasm in his voice. Or maybe it wasn’t his tone, but the fact that he had just hit at the heart of her feelings. She hadn’t thought it through, but that’s exactly what she felt. She had to make it up, not only to God but also to her boys.

“Listen, Becky. I could pull out the Bible to try to convince you that you’re making a fool-headed mistake. The one about not being unequally yoked comes to mind. I’m no Bible scholar, but I’ll bet I could find more.

“The point is this. You don’t fix past mistakes with new ones. And going back to Christopher Dennison would be a colossal mistake for you and the twins.”

“You don’t know that.” She straightened and placed her hand on the table. “You haven’t talked to him in almost five years.”

“Maybe I don’t know the reasons, but I feel it in my bones.” He stopped, then went on more gently. “That’s it, sweetheart. I feel it, and I think you do, too. You know I’m not real smart when it comes to the Bible, but one thing I do know. God tells us what to do. The trick is learning how to ignore ourselves and listen to him. I just don’t think you’re listening hard enough.”

A hush stole over the kitchen. Becky went still. From the other room, the sound blared from the television as though from a great distance. Daddy’s words had the ring of truth. She’d been so busy feeling guilty, she hadn’t prayed about this situation with Chris. Or, she realized with a sudden rush of emotion, about her relationship with Scott. She’d assumed she knew the answers, but she’d never asked the questions. How could she possibly make the right decision if she hadn’t even taken the time to pray?

Her grip on the phone relaxed until it was almost a caress. “Thanks, Daddy. I know what I need to do now.”

Dressed in black, Scott hugged as close to the fencerow as he could. He’d left his truck over at the Pasture and snuck onto the Stevenses’ property through the back part of Shady Acres. Nick and Leslie’s house, tucked in a back corner at the end of a long, smooth driveway, glowed like a lighthouse in a storm, a landmark on the otherwise dark farm.

Feeling like a criminal, he nearly jumped out of his skin when a dark horse in the paddock beside him whinnied softly.

“Shh, there now.” He pitched his voice low, soothing. “Nothing to worry about. I’ll be in and out in no time.”

Wispy clouds moved across a fingernail moon, throwing strange shadows on the whitewashed side of the new barn. Thoroughbred breeders liked to erect fancy barns, and this was one of the better-built ones Scott had seen. Sturdy construction, thick siding, neatly trimmed windows with elaborately designed shutters. Nicer by far than the plain little cottage he rented from Lee Courtney. And about ten times the size. Situated as it was on the northernmost edge of the farm’s cleared land, and backing up to a thick copse of trees, this out-of-the-way location was the perfect place to hide a laboratory.

He came to the place where he had to leave the sparse cover of the fenced pasture and cross a packed dirt road to approach the barn. A big cloud raced across the night sky, blown by a spring breeze, and Scott waited until it covered the moon. In the resulting darkness, he dashed across the road and into the deep shadows on the far side of the building.

He peeked around the corner. Not a movement anywhere. Light shone through windows up at the Stevenses’ home about a hundred yards distant, far enough away that he couldn’t see anything through them. If anyone happened to be looking out, hopefully they couldn’t see this far, either.

He figured there’d be another door in the rear, like the barn at the Pasture. Sure enough, there was an entrance on this side. Probably one on the opposite side, as well, the one that faced the house. Hopefully it wouldn’t be locked.

When he pushed, it moved beneath his hand. It was not latched. Ready to dart into the trees at the first sound or sight of movement, he slid the door open inch by painstaking inch. Just enough to slip through.

Inside, the building was like a cave. His sneaker squeaked on the floor, the sound echoing with a hollow ring in the otherwise silent interior. The place smelled fresh, like new paint and raw timber. He shut his eyes tight, trying to adjust them to the pitch black, then opened them again. Still too dark to see anything. Well, at least the windows were all shuttered. Nobody would see his flashlight.

He pulled a slim penlight out of his back pocket. Heart thundering, he twisted the cap.

Amazing what a dim light could do in a dark place. He aimed the narrow beam toward the front of the barn, noted a half-dozen empty stalls. Nothing in that direction. Looked like any other horse barn.

He pointed toward the rear, and his pulse quickened. The entire back fourth of the barn was walled off. A small window punctuated the left of the partition, shuttered from the other side. On the right, a door. Shut.

Scott moved as silently as he could, each step placed with careful precision. The door was sure to be locked. If it was, he couldn’t bring himself to break in. Maybe the shutter on the window wasn’t latched and he could push it in enough to see.

He grabbed the doorknob and twisted.

It turned. Not locked.

He eased it open a crack and pointed the flashlight inside, expecting to see shiny metal surfaces and microscopes. Instead, the beam illuminated an ordinary bedroom. A single bed stood in one corner, and beside it, a four-drawer dresser with a small television set on the top. Lining the back wall were a small table with two chairs, a half-sized refrigerator and a cabinet with a microwave oven. Beside the dresser a door stood open and he glimpsed the corner of a toilet.

In the next instant, his dark-accustomed eyes were blinded by a flood of bright light. His penlight clattered to the floor.

A voice echoed in the empty barn behind him. “I have a gun pointed at your back. If you move an inch, I’ll shoot you.”

S
cott went statue-still, hand over his eyes. The police? But then the voice registered, and he knew who stood behind him. If only it
was
the police!

“Turn around slowly. Keep those hands where I can see them.”

He did as he was told. “Listen, I know this looks bad. I can explain.”

Nicholas Stevens didn’t look receptive to his explanations. His glower deepened when he recognized Scott, and he gripped the shotgun tighter to his side.

“Lewis. I should have known. I can smell Lee Courtney’s stink all the way over here.”

“You’ve got it wrong, Stevens. Lee doesn’t have any idea I’m here.”

Scott tried to keep his gaze locked on Nick’s face, but it kept sliding downward like metal to a magnet. He’d never had the barrel of a gun pointed in his direction. Not a good feeling.

Nick’s eyelids narrowed. “I don’t believe you. Courtney and all those other blue bloods have had it in for me since Leslie and I bred our first foal. I don’t know what he sent you over here to do, but I think I’d better call the police and let them figure it out.”

“Honest, Nick.” Scott kept his hands in front of him, in full sight. “I came on my own. I wasn’t planning to do anything bad. I wanted to get a look inside your barn, that’s all.”

The barrel dropped a fraction. “You have about thirty seconds to explain why, and it’d better be good.”

Scott wished he had good explanation. At the moment, a horse cloning scheme sounded about as far-fetched as little green men from Mars.

“Well, it’s kind of strange, really.” He gave a laugh, at which Nick’s scowl only deepened. “See, we’ve found a couple of things over at the Pasture that led us to believe Haldeman might have been involved in an experiment.” Yeah, an experiment. That sounded good. “But it would have required a scientific laboratory.” He cleared his throat. “I, uh, got to thinking about this brand-new barn, and, well, here I am.”

“You thought I had a laboratory in my barn?” The barrel slipped farther as lines creased Nick’s brow. “What kind of laboratory?”

“It gets a little crazy here.” Scott tried to keep his gaze straight. “A horse cloning laboratory.”

Nick’s stare became incredulous. “You think I’m cloning horses?”

“It wouldn’t have occurred to me at all, except I met your new shed manager the other day. Frankly, he didn’t seem to have much experience. Made me a little suspicious.”

His lips twisted. “Well, you got that right, anyway. He doesn’t know the first thing about horses. But he’s Leslie’s kid brother, and she insisted on hiring him.”

Scott rocked back on his heels. Leslie’s brother? “So he’s not a scientist?”

Nick’s laughter echoed off the vaulted ceiling. “Scientist? He’s a high school dropout. Hasn’t held a job longer than six months in his life.” He nodded toward the room behind Scott. “Leslie had that apartment put in for him, and moved him here from Phoenix. Against my better judgment, but she’s softhearted. Said she’d keep an eye on him. She’s more involved in the day-to-day operations of the place than I am, so I agreed.”

Never in his life had Scott felt more like an idiot than he did at this moment. “Listen, Nick, I’m sorry. I let my imagination get the better of me. I shouldn’t have.”

Nick studied him for a long moment, then finally shouldered the shotgun with a shrug. “It’s all right. I can’t say I like you sneaking around my farm in the middle of the night, but I guess since Haldeman’s death we’re all a little jumpy.”

Tension melted out of Scott’s shoulders as the menace of the shotgun was removed. “Thanks. You’re more understanding than I deserve.”

Nick cocked his head. “Do you really think Haldeman was cloning horses?” His eyes widened. “Man, some of those old stallions over there were top-notch in their day.”

Scott nodded. “I know. But if he was, I don’t know how he did it. He had to be working with someone.”

Nick’s right hand went up, palm facing Scott. “Not me. You can search every barn on my farm if you want. You won’t find a laboratory anywhere.” He grinned, which went a long way toward taking the edge off Scott’s guilt.

Scott shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll take your word on that. I think I’ll let the police handle it from here.”

“Sounds like a good idea to me.”

Nick turned, indicating that Scott should precede him out of the barn. Scott did, but kept his eye on the shotgun, just in case.

Nick noticed him staring at it. He hefted it in his hand and laughed. “It’s not loaded. I was standing outside having a smoke when I saw you cross the road. I grabbed it out of my pickup, but forgot to get the shells out of the glove compartment.”

Scott grinned. “Now you tell me.”

“I’m hungry, Mommy. When will he get here?” Tyler didn’t normally whine, so his nasally tone told Becky he was more anxious than hungry.

When Chris didn’t show up by ten, she’d fed the boys cereal. She glanced at the clock. Almost twelve-thirty. And still no answer in his motel room. For the fiftieth time she wished she’d asked who he was meeting last night.

“I don’t know, sweetheart. Do you want a peanut butter sandwich?”

His head drooped. “No.”

Jamie sat on the couch, watching television without a word. Occasionally he looked over his shoulder, out the window toward the driveway. His sad little frown nearly broke her heart. She’d gone through this countless times during the last months of her marriage. She’d grown accustomed to hours of gut-wrenching worry, wondering whether she should call the hospital emergency room to see if Chris had been in an accident.

But she wasn’t five years old. Becky’s teeth clenched. Chris had better have a good explanation for disappointing the boys.

She picked up the remote control and pressed the Off button. Neither twin protested, an indication of how anxious they were.

“Boys, listen to me.” She waited until both sets of eyes were fixed on her. “I know you’re worried about your daddy. Do you remember what we do when we’re upset about something?”

Jamie raised a tentative hand as though he was in school, and Becky hid a smile.

“We pray?” he asked.

She nodded. “That’s right. Do you want me to pray with you now?”

“Okay.”

Tyler slipped off the couch to his knees, Jamie right behind him. They placed their arms on the cushion, and clasped their hands together like they did every night before she tucked them in bed. Eyes closed, their dark heads dropped forward.

Her heart twisting in her chest, Becky joined her boys on the floor and bowed her head.

“Dear Lord, Jamie and Tyler are worried because they don’t know where their daddy is.” She cracked an eyelid open and saw Jamie nod in agreement. “But You know where he is, because You know everything. So we ask You to watch over him and keep him safe.”

“And don’t let him be in a wreck,” said Jamie.

“And let him get here soon,” Tyler added.

“And most of all,” Becky continued, “let him know how much You love him. In Jesus’ Name, Amen.”

“Amen,” they chorused.

Smiles lit their eyes as they both threw arms around her. Hugging them for all she was worth, Becky added a silent prayer of her own.
And please guard their hearts, Lord. I can’t stand to see them disappointed.

“There he is!” Tyler leaped up and ran to the front door, his brother a half second behind him.

Becky stood at the window, watching as the twins dashed across the yard to the car. Chris got out slowly and closed the door with exaggerated care. Dark glasses obscured his eyes, but even across the distance she saw his grimace as Tyler grabbed his arm.

How many times had she seen him move like that? About a million. He was hungover.

Opening the door, Becky stepped out onto the front porch. “Boys, you go on inside. I want to talk to your father for a minute.”

Strangely subdued, Tyler obeyed without arguing. Jamie looked up at Chris once, then followed his brother past her and into the house.

Chris sank onto the concrete steps and lowered his head to his hands. “I gotta siddown a minute.”

The back of his hair had an unbrushed tangle, ends hanging limply down past the collar of his T-shirt. Though fury at his disregard for his sons’ feelings brought angry words to the tip of her tongue, she was surprised to feel the stirrings of compassion. He looked like a miserable wretch.

She sat down beside him, careful to keep space between them. The smell of sour beer wrinkled her nose. Whether it emanated from his clothes or oozed from his pores, she couldn’t tell.

“You look terrible.”

“I feel worse.” He spoke barely above a whisper.

“Did you have a good time?” Her voice dripped sarcasm which she doubted he heard.

A pain-filled smile lifted the edges of his lips. “As far as I can remember.”

Becky shook her head. Thank the Lord she had outgrown that behavior. Maybe one day Chris would, too.

“I ought to lecture you about disappointing your sons.” He didn’t react at all, and she continued. “But I’ll save that for when you’re completely sober. In the meantime, I want to tell you that I’ve made a decision.”

He lifted the corner of one hand and tilted his head to peer at her through a bloodshot eye from the side of his sunglasses. “I can tell from your expression. You’re staying here, aren’t you?”

She nodded. “I’m sorry, Chris. I’ll do whatever I can to make sure you have a good relationship with Tyler and Jamie.” She softened her voice. “But the fact is, I don’t love you. Marrying you again would be just one more big mistake. I’m sorry.”

He bent double, his head hanging between his knees. For a moment he didn’t say anything. Then he raised his head. “Yeah, well, I figured that from the way you were looking at your boss the other night.”

A blush heated her cheeks, but she kept her mouth shut. She didn’t owe him anything, including an explanation.

Chris heaved himself to his feet, groaning. “I gotta go. I need a little hair of the dog. Tell the boys I’ll call ’em later.”

Becky watched him lurch toward his car. Though Jamie and Tyler would be heartbroken, that was much better than letting them spend time around their father in this shape.

As he slid behind the wheel, she stood. Two little faces, so much like Chris’s but fresh and clean and unpolluted by the harsh life he’d lived, watched her anxiously from the window. She forced a smile, fighting against a sadness that threatened to make her cry. He was their father. As their mother, she always would make sure they were safe, but she couldn’t shield them from him completely. He probably loved them as much as he was able, but they’d just have to get used to being disappointed by him.

Starting now.

Scott looked at the sore on Kiri’s flank. Doc Matthews had said it wasn’t ringworm, and he put some ointment on it, but the place hadn’t cleared up. In fact, it looked worse, as if it had become infected.

Doc, like most everyone who had anything to do with horses, was at Keeneland this last Saturday of the spring races. No chance of getting him out here until Monday.

But they kept some antibiotic ointment over in the Shady Acres farm office. He could use that for a day or two. Sure wouldn’t hurt, and he had to do something.

“Come on, Sam.” He whistled for the yellow Lab. “Let’s go across the road.”

A lone stable boy occupied the Shady Acres barn, seated at a bench in the tack room. Scott heard the tinny notes and rhythmic thump of bass from his headphones, smelled the leather cleaner on the rag he rubbed over a saddle. He jumped like a nervous cat when Scott tapped him on the shoulder.

He jerked the earphones off his head. “Mr. Lewis, you scared the daylights out of me.”

Scott grinned and nodded toward his iPod. “You’ll go deaf if you’re not careful, Ben.”

Ben rolled his eyes. “You sound like my mother.”

Laughing, Scott left him to finish listening to his song and headed toward the office.

His keys jangled as he unlocked the windowed office door. Inside, the surface of the desk was littered with files and untidy stacks of paperwork. He crossed to the metal cabinet along the back row and slid the door open. Inside, he scanned across the various bottles and tubes, looking for the one he wanted.

Not here. Maybe Shady Acres was out of the antibiotic ointment, too.

One more place to look. The junk drawer. The bottom desk drawer served as repository for everything that either didn’t have a permanent storage place, or that someone didn’t want to take the time to put away. Scott sat in the rolling chair and yanked on the handle.

Locked. That was odd. They never bothered to lock the desk drawers, because the office stayed locked whenever nobody was in it. Scott sorted through the keys on his ring, grasping the smallest one between his fingers. He slipped it into the lock and opened the drawer.

What a mess. It was even more full than when he last looked. He pawed through a variety of stuff, pushing aside a stapler, a ball of metal wire, a roll of duct tape. Where was that tube of ointment?

He’d just about decided he was out of luck when he grabbed a grooming cloth and shoved it to the front of the pile. It unrolled as it moved, uncovering an item that had been wrapped inside.

Scott’s hand halted. He stared. Blood roared in his ears in rhythm with his pulse.

A hoof pick.

Barely breathing, Scott gawked at the tool as his mind raced. Maybe there was a plausible explanation for a hoof pick to be in the junk drawer. Even though it should be in the tack room with the rest of the grooming equipment. Maybe it was broken or something.

Careful not to touch it, Scott dropped the cloth over the red plastic handle and picked it up. It wasn’t broken. He examined the metal hook closely, almost afraid to find the telltale signs of blood. It was clean, thank goodness. A little too clean, maybe? Shouldn’t there be dirt or something on it?

Stop it. The boys keep the equipment clean.

Pulse pounding, he set the tool on the desk. Was this the instrument of Neal Haldeman’s demise?

Only one other person had keys to this desk. Zach Garrett.