Bluegrass Peril (11 page)

He was mocking him. Scott was sure of it. He kept a tight rein on his temper. He was here to get information from the guy, not antagonize him. “And a couple of other things, as well. But he didn’t find the real stash. I did.”

Eddie’s expression remained unchanged. He sipped from his glass again, then set it on the bar. “Here’s where I’m supposed to ask what you found.”

“Two hundred fifty thousand dollars in cash.”

If Scott hadn’t been watching him closely he would have missed the flicker of surprise, the quick movement of his eyes.

“That’s a lot of money. Too bad Haldeman didn’t use it to pay his debts before he cashed in his chips.”

What a callous attitude. An intense dislike for the man in front of him came over Scott. Here was someone who made a living from other people’s weaknesses. He didn’t care for his clients one bit, that was obvious. “Yeah, it might have saved his life if he had.”

The man straightened as he turned on his stool so that he faced Scott directly. Angry white lines creased the skin around his tightened lips. “I don’t like what I think I hear you saying.”

Scott stiffened his spine, too. He’d tried hard to keep the accusation out of his voice. Apparently he failed. “All I’m saying is on Friday I told you Haldeman had records mentioning your name, and Saturday night they were stolen. A day later a wad of cash turns up. Now those things might be coincidence, but when you add them to the fact that Haldeman was killed in that same place just a few days before, it starts to stink.”

Fury shone in Eddie’s eyes as he slipped off the stool to glare down at Scott from his full towering height. “The only stink I smell around here is you and your insinuations.”

“Is there a problem, gentlemen?”

Scott looked away from the fury in Eddie’s face. The bartender, hamlike hands on the surface of the bar as he bent across it, slid a menacing stare from Scott to Eddie. Around them, all conversations had ceased as the nearby patrons watched openly.

Okay, not a good idea to continue this. Besides, he wouldn’t get a list of Haldeman’s other bookies from Eddie now. Nor did he need to. He’d come in here looking for information, but he might have gotten more than he bargained for. If Scott’s hunch could be trusted, he was staring at the man responsible for Haldeman’s death.

He stood. “No problem. I was just leaving.”

He pulled a few dollars out of his pocket and threw them next to his untouched drink. With one more look into Eddie Jones’s furious face, he turned and walked to the door, aware that dozens of eyes watched him go.

B
ecky stood inside the back door staring across the Pasture’s paddocks. When she arrived for work an hour ago, Scott was already out on the cart doing his morning chores. Looked as though he’d just finished with Dark Diego in the farthest pasture.

She bit back a yawn and resisted the impulse to rub her tired eyes. Sleep had proven elusive most of the night. Instead, she replayed her conversation with Kaci over and over. By the time she finally dozed off, she’d come to the conclusion that the footprints in the barn probably didn’t belong to the snooty Kaci. Nor did she believe they belonged to Isabelle. But Kaci evidently knew the identity of a third woman, probably the same one who signed the note they found “L.”

Outside, Scott turned the cart around and headed toward the barn. Becky stepped back from the door. Hopefully he didn’t see her watching. She returned to her desk and her task of refiling the last of the documents the thief had dumped on the floor.

Of course, she could simply call Kaci and ask her the woman’s name. But subjecting herself to another conversation with that conceited snob wasn’t an appealing thought. No, much better to let the police handle things.

Becky fought against an uncharitable smile at the thought of the police paying a second visit to Miss Kaci Buchanan. With her compliments.

“Good morning.” Scott’s voice preceded the banging of the back door. His footsteps went into the kitchen, followed by the sound of water running.

“Hello,” she answered. “How was your evening?”

He stepped through the doorway, gulping from a glass. “Interesting.” His gaze fell to her clean desk. “Hey, you’ve about got it whipped.”

“I do. And I’m proud to say the files are in better shape now than they were before.” She picked up the sticky note on the center of her desk and kept her expression impassive as she held her index finger toward him, the yellow square stuck on the end. “You’ve got a message.”

He crossed the room with three long strides to pluck the note off her finger. Becky straightened the position of the pad and placed the pen beside it, trying not to watch as he read.

“Hmm.” A puzzled frown drew lines on his forehead. Then it cleared as he folded the paper and shoved it in his pocket. “Oh, I forgot to tell you to add a bottle of Hoof Heal to the list of supplies from Simpson’s. Have you already placed the order?”

Unspoken questions burned on Becky’s tongue, but she managed to control herself. “Yes, but they haven’t delivered yet.” She reached for the phone. “There’s probably time—”

“Is anyone here?”

Becky identified the voice calling from the back door at the same moment its owner stepped into the office. Detective Foster, followed by Jeff. Good. Their presence would save her a phone call to tell them about the third woman. She bit back a greeting when she saw their solemn expressions.

Scott must have noted the same, because his tone was guarded. “What can we do for you this morning?”

Foster’s eyes flicked to her before settling on Scott’s face. “For starters, you can tell me where you were around one o’clock this morning.”

Scott’s spine stiffened. “Why do you want to know?”

“Would you answer the question, please?”

Why was the detective acting so politely hostile? Becky caught Jeff’s gaze and raised an eyebrow. He gave a very slight shake of his head, then stared pointedly at Scott.

Scott’s shoulders rose as he pocketed both hands. “I was in bed.”

“Alone?”

“Of course alone.” A smile flashed onto his lips. “Sam slept on the couch.”

Foster’s expression did not change. “What time did you get home, Mr. Lewis?”

“Around nine, I’d say. I spent some extra time with Thunder last night because his hooves needed attention.”

“And before that? Did you go anywhere at all last evening?”

Scott’s eyelids narrowed. “Actually, yes, I did. But I get the impression you already know that.”

The detective dipped his forehead, conceding the point. “We have statements from several witnesses who said you were at O’Grady’s Tavern in Lexington last night around six o’clock.”

Becky looked quickly at Scott. She didn’t think he was the kind of guy who frequented bars. Church, yes. But a bar? She shifted in her chair, suddenly uncomfortable.

He nodded, his lips tight.

Foster continued. “And that you had a conversation with an Edward Jones?”

Becky’s eyes widened as the name registered. That had to be the EJ from Neal’s betting records. Relief washed over her. Scott just went to the bar to talk to Neal’s bookie. Thank goodness. She’d had enough of men who thought a bar was a great place to hang out.

“You want to tell me what all this is about, Detective?” The stubborn set of Scott’s jaw must have told the detective he wasn’t going to answer any more questions blindly.

Foster nodded toward Jeff, his gaze never leaving Scott’s face.

The trooper stepped forward. “Mr. Edward Jones was murdered in his home around one this morning. The killer broke through a rear window and surprised him in bed.”

A loud gasp escaped Becky’s open mouth. Another murder?

Surely no one could mistake the shock on Scott’s face. His chin dropped as he stumbled backward to sit heavily on the surface of the other desk. He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard, and then managed to choke out, “How?”

“We thought you might tell us.”

Becky cringed at the accusation in Detective Foster’s tone.

Scott’s eyes went wide. “You can’t think I killed Eddie Jones?”

Jeff answered. “The witnesses who place you at the bar also say you and Mr. Jones argued, and that you left in a hurry.”

“That’s right. I left because he got hostile, and the bartender was about to throw us both out.”

“Why did he ‘get hostile’?”

Scott’s chest rose as he drew a deep breath. “Because I accused him of breaking into the Pasture’s office, and insinuated that he had something to do with Haldeman’s death.”

Detective Foster closed his eyes and shook his head. “Mr. Lewis, I warned you not to try to investigate this case on your own.”

“If you suspected Edward Jones of anything, you should have told us instead of trying to talk to the guy yourself.” Jeff’s voice was hard.

“Okay, yeah. In retrospect, that would have been the smart thing to do.”

He sounded so defeated that Becky tried to infuse as much confidence in her smile as she could when he glanced her way. His lips curved upward in response.

Then he folded his arms and asked, “Am I being arrested?”

Becky sat forward on the edge of her chair, waiting for the answer. Surely no one could seriously suspect Scott of such a monstrous act. When Detective Foster didn’t immediately deny it, she threw a panicked look toward Jeff, but he refused to meet her eye.

The silence stretched uncomfortably before Foster finally answered. “Not at this time. But we need to get your statement. And until further notice, it would be unwise to leave town without letting one of us know.” Scott stared at the floor, his lips tight. “We’d also like to take a look at your truck and your home.”

His head jerked up. Detective Foster returned his glare with equanimity.

Finally, Scott gave a single nod. “Go ahead. I have nothing to hide.”

Jeff stepped toward the door. “If you’ll come with me, then.”

Scott followed him out of the house. As Detective Foster turned to leave, Becky rose from her chair.

“Detective, I have something I need to tell you.”

He turned a polite expression her way.

When she heard the back door close behind Scott and Jeff, she cleared her throat. “It concerns that note you and Trooper Whitley found. I have a feeling Kaci Buchanan knows who L is.”

His eyebrows arched. “What makes you think so?”

Becky repeated their conversation, leaving out the parts about Isabelle and Scott. “So she obviously knows Neal was involved with another woman.”

He pressed the corner of his mustache into his mouth as he studied her for a moment. Finally, he spoke. “Mrs. Dennison, we’ve already disturbed Miss Buchanan once. She was entirely forthcoming, and we specifically asked if she knew of anyone else who might have visited Mr. Haldeman’s barn. She denied any such knowledge.”

“Then she lied.” Becky raised her chin. “Something I have no doubt she can do with a great deal of skill.”

A real smile curved Foster’s mouth. He spoke gently. “Perhaps it was not me she lied to.”

Becky felt a flush creep up her neck. “Why would she lie to me?”

“Perhaps to upset you?”

He stared at her until she looked away. She had to admit the possibility that Kaci would lie just to mess with her.

“That’s possible,” she conceded. “But I don’t think so. She sounded too surprised when I—” She snapped her mouth shut.

“Yes?”

Becky chewed on the inside of her lip. She hadn’t planned to say anything about Isabelle. But under his piercing stare, she couldn’t hold back.

She stared at the floor between them. “We were discussing another of Neal’s girlfriends, Isabelle Keller.”

“The daughter of Hugh Keller.” His voice was flat.

She nodded. “Kaci didn’t know about her, and obviously thought I was talking about this third woman. When I mentioned Isabelle’s name, she was surprised.” She looked up. “So that’s why I don’t think she was lying. Not to me, anyway.”

He studied her a moment longer, then gave a single nod. “If we have reason to question Miss Buchanan further, I will certainly ask her to verify her previous statement about not knowing any other women who had opportunity to visit the barn here.”

What did
if we have reason
mean? “You mean you’re not going to—”

“Thank you, Mrs. Dennison. And now, I will stress to you the same thing I told Mr. Lewis yesterday. Do not attempt any further investigation on your own. Leave it to the professionals.”

Feeling as though her hands had been slapped, Becky managed a sulky nod.

“A
fter they searched Scott’s truck, they took him over to his house and searched there, too. But they didn’t find anything, of course.”

Becky kept her voice low, glancing down the hallway toward the boys’ bedroom.

“Jeff never mentioned a thing.” Amber scowled. “But he never talks about his cases until they’re over. Police rules or something.” She winced as a crash echoed down the hallway, and threw an anxious glance at Becky.

Becky flashed an apologetic grimace as she trotted toward the boys’ bedroom.

“All right, misters, stop it this instant!”

Entangled like a pretzel on the floor, they froze. Identical looks of surprise turned her way. Both were playing a less-than-friendly game of tug-of-war with a yellow dump truck.

Becky spoke in her sternest voice. “If you don’t want to spend the whole week in time-out, you had better behave yourselves tonight. Aunt Amber is doing Mommy a favor, and I don’t want you to make her sorry she did.”

Tyler scowled and released the truck to fold his arms across his chest. “I don’t know why we can’t come, too.”

A quick reply came to mind, but Becky stopped herself. Was this the jealousy Daddy told her might occur? She’d dated only a couple of times since her divorce, and the last time had been over a year ago when they were four. They were older now, closer to the age when they might really resent a man claiming their mother’s attention.

She dropped to her knees, careful to avoid the assortment of cars and connecting blocks scattered around the floor. “You can’t go because Mr. Lewis and I want to spend some time alone so we can get to know each other better. You’ll have fun here with Aunt Amber.”

Jamie spun a wheel on the upturned dump truck. “He could get to know me and Tyler, too.”

“I’m sure he’d like that another time. Besides, we’re going to a fancy restaurant where there won’t be any other kids and you can’t make any noise. You’d get really bored.”

Tyler scowled. “Then why do you want to go?”

She laughed and ruffled his hair. “Because they have cool things to eat, like snails.”

“Eeewww, yucky!”

Both boys rolled on the floor, clutching their stomachs and making gagging noises. When she tickled their tummies, the gagging turned to giggles.

After as much roughhousing as Becky could comfortably handle in a skirt and panty hose, she got to her feet.

“Mommy?”

Tyler looked up at her, his expression serious, dark eyes full of concern. Was this it? Was this where they’d ask her if she still loved them even if she liked Mr. Lewis?

Her heart twisted as she looked down into the beloved little face. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Sam’s not going is he? ’Cause if Sam goes, I get to go, too.”

Jamie leaped to his feet. “Me, too. I want to go with Sam.”

She kept the laughter out of her expression. “No, Sam is not going.”

“Okay.” Their concerns resolved, they returned to their task of picking out the perfect toy to show Aunt Amber.

Becky went back to the living room, chuckling.

The doorbell rang. Two tornadoes sped past her, each shouting, “I’ll get it!”

They opened the door before Becky could stop them. When she caught sight of Scott on the front stoop, her protest died on her lips. She’d never seen him in anything but jeans. Tonight he wore dark tailored pants, a gray dress shirt and a sport coat. His model-like good looks made her mouth dry. This gorgeous guy was here for
her
when he could have someone as beautiful as Kaci Buchanan? What did she do to deserve this?

“Hey, guys, how’s it going?” Scott’s smile widened when he looked up at her. “Hello. You look fantastic.”

Be still my heart.
“Thanks.”

His gaze swept the room, and she allowed hers to follow, seeing her cramped home with fresh eyes. The furniture was nearly as shabby as the Pasture’s before it got ripped to shreds. And what was that smell? Why had she cooked fish sticks for the boys’ supper tonight, of all nights? Heat flooded her face, and she grabbed Amber’s arm to pull her forward. “Scott, I’d like you to meet my friend, Amber Craig. Jeff Whitley is her boyfriend.”

Scott’s smile was nothing but polite as he shook her hand. In return, Amber examined him with a friendly but curious gaze.

“I’ve heard a lot about you, Scott.” Her eyes widened and she glanced quickly at Becky. “Uh, I mean from Becky. Not from Jeff. He would never talk about a suspect. Uh, not that Becky said—I mean, she told me…” She winced and lowered her eyes. Becky cringed. So much for making a good impression.

Thank goodness for kids who forgot their manners. They interrupted what might have become an awkward moment by tugging on Scott’s arms.

“Come see our toys, Mr. Lewis,” Tyler urged.

“Sorry, boys, we need to get going.” Becky glanced pointedly at her watch, then at Amber. “Do you have any questions before we leave?”

Amber’s face had gone from red to white at Becky’s announcement. “About a million. What do they eat? When is bedtime? Do they go to the bathroom alone?” She wore a please-don’t-leave-me-alone-with-them expression that made Becky chuckle.

“They’ve already eaten, eight-thirty, and yes.” She gathered the panicky woman in a quick hug. “Don’t worry. You’ll be fine.”

Becky pressed a quick kiss onto each of the boys’ cheeks and slipped outside after Scott. When the door closed behind her, she leaned against it and wiped an imaginary bead of sweat off her forehead.

Scott laughed. “I take it this is her first babysitting job.”

“Yes, and she had to be coerced into it.” She cast an anxious glance over her shoulder. “I hope she’ll be okay.”

“Don’t worry, Mother Goose.” He placed a hand at her back and propelled her toward his truck. “She looks like she can handle your little goslings.”

“Hey!” Becky pulled away from his touch and whirled to walk backward so she could look at him. “I don’t want to be Mother Goose tonight. I want to be Cinderella, going to the ball.” She reached the truck and leaned against it, tilting her head to cast a flirtatious grin up at him.

Admiration lit his eyes. “I’ll be Prince Charming to your Cinderella any day.”

He leaned toward her, and butterflies took flight in Becky’s stomach. But instead of kissing her, he grabbed the door handle and opened it for her.

When she had stepped up into the truck and slid onto the bench seat, he placed an arm on the back and bent forward to capture her eyes in an intense gaze. “I have only one request for the evening.”

She would have promised him anything if only he would go on looking at her like that. “What is it?”

He grinned. “Let’s not talk about the Pasture, or Haldeman, or murder suspects, or anything related to any of the above.”

On that, they were in wholehearted agreement.

At ten-twenty, Becky closed the living room door behind her and sank against it with a rapturous sigh.

“Welcome home,” whispered Amber from the couch. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, Amber!” She closed her eyes and let a dreamy smile take her lips. “It was the most wonderful evening I’ve ever had. He is handsome and kind and smart and considerate. And a strong Christian! I think he knows the Bible as well as Pastor Vaughn.” She grinned triumphantly. “We’ll see tomorrow, because he’s coming here for dinner and then to church with us!”

“I’m glad you had a nice time.” Amber sounded tired.

As her friend struggled to her feet, Becky looked around the room. “What happened in here?”

The place was a disaster. Toys were strewn everywhere, the curtains dangled off the rod at one end and a brown handprint had been smeared across the television screen. Jamie was curled up in a slumbering ball on the floor, while Tyler had collapsed across the coffee table, his feet still on the floor. Drool puddled beneath his open mouth on the table’s surface.

“I made a critical mistake.” Amber’s lips twisted at her blunder. “I tried to bribe them into being good with chocolate.”

Becky’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, no.”

Scowling, Amber nodded. “They were wound tighter than a couple of springs.”

A hint of concern crept into Becky’s voice as she stepped farther into the room to examine her friend. She looked as if she’d been mugged. “What is that gunk in your hair?”

“Peanut butter.” She tried to wipe off a blob of goo with her fingers and managed to rub it in even more. “One of them, I have no idea which, came up with the great idea of slathering the chocolate bars with peanut butter.”

“Oh, Amber, I’m so sorry. They’re usually—” She stopped. She was about to say the boys were well-behaved if you were firm with them, but the look on her friend’s face warned her now was not the time to share child-raising tips.

“Yeah, whatever.”

Becky winced at Amber’s caustic tone. She bent to pick up a candy wrapper, then started to lay a hand on Tyler’s back to rouse him and send him to bed.

“Don’t!”

Amber’s loud hiss made her jerk her hand back. “Don’t what?”

“Don’t wake them until I’m gone.” She dashed into the kitchen and returned in a second, purse clutched in her hand and a frantic expression on her face. “Just give me a thirty-second head start. Good night. See you at church.”

She ran from the house without a backward glance. The slam of the door shook the dangling curtain rod off the wall.