She Can Tell (23 page)

Bandit shot back out into the open. The little dog’s ears were flapping and his stubby legs churning. Dirt flew as he drifted through a turn all
Fast and Furious
. Mike appeared in the doorway a second later. The cop was covered in dust and breathing hard.

Sean squatted down and waved the chicken. Bandit skidded to a stop in front of him and spat out his prize in exchange for the meat. The bone dropped to the hard-packed earth with a hollow
thunk
. “She told you not to chase him.” He picked up the still chewing dog and looked down at the discarded bone. “Femur. Guess you were right about the grave.”

“My life used to be gloriously uneventful.” Mike grimaced as Sean handed Bandit over. The dog swallowed the chicken, wagged his tail, and licked Mike’s face. “I have to call the medical examiner.”

“I’ll run her over to the hospital. Quinn’s there today.” Sean circled to her nonsmashed side. “Can you stand up or do we need to call an ambulance?”

In answer, Rachel pushed to her feet. “I already told the cop I’m fine.”

Mike lifted her chin. “Please go with Sean.”

Rachel’s glare melted. The
please
did it to her every time. Weakening, she huffed. “Nothing’s broken.”

“So humor me. I have a lot to do, and I won’t be able to concentrate if I’m worried about you.”

“You’re worried about me?” Maybe she was hurt more seriously than she suspected. The schoolgirl giddiness swirling in her belly was not normal.

“You have a knack for getting hurt. Your sister seems to think a fall could be dangerous.”

She didn’t deny the risk. “I didn’t exactly fall. The saddle fell off.”

She hadn’t had a chance to inspect her tack, but she couldn’t see how that could happen without some sort of sabotage.

Mike squatted on the floor outside the secret basement room. In the windowless interior, medical examiner Dr. Gregory Campbell worked by the light of a portable lamp. With his lean body and shoulder-length hair, the young doctor looked more like a college stoner than a medical examiner. “The house’s owner just discovered this house might have been a stop on the Underground Railroad.”

“Sorry, Mike.” Greg’s excited voice echoed in the empty space. The hidden area was approximately seven feet in width and spanned the length of the house. “I know you’d
like these to be Civil War–era remains, but this skeleton isn’t that old.”

“You can tell already?”

“The big clue is the sheet of plastic underneath.” With a gloved finger, Greg brushed some dirt away from the now-exposed remains. Light reflected off a shiny surface. “I don’t know the exact date clear plastic sheeting was invented, but it’s clearly not Civil War material.”

“Any guess how recent?” Mike asked. There was no point in speculating as to the origins of the remains until he had at least a rough time frame.

Greg sat back on his haunches and contemplated the skeleton. From the shallow grave, a skull stared back at them with mock attention, empty ocular cavities and disconnected jawbone giving it an eyes-wide-open, permanently surprised expression.

“The remains are fully skeletonized. There’s some partially deteriorated clothing, looks like some kind of poly-cotton blend. More than ten years—most likely these bones have been down here longer than that. I might be able to narrow down the estimate when I get everything back to the lab, but we’ll need to ship the remains to a forensic anthropologist.” Greg straightened his lean frame. “Call me tomorrow.”

Mike rubbed his face. Fresh cases deteriorated after forty-eight hours. These remains were likely at least a decade old. They weren’t just cold; they were glacial. If he were lucky, he’d be able to identify the victim. It was a long shot that they’d ever determine the cause of death. Actually solving a case this old would take a miracle.

He left Greg to do his thing and went outside in search of air that wasn’t dusty and dank. Mike passed Sean’s assistants, installing something under the eaves that hung over
Rachel’s back stoop. Why hadn’t Sean called? Were Rachel’s injuries more serious than they’d thought? Bandit stood up and put both paws on his knee. Mike stood on the back lawn, scratching the dog behind the ears and looking over the rolling green of Rachel’s pastures.

Recent heavy rains had made Pennsylvania look like Ireland. Horses grazed under an overcast sky. The mountain that rose behind the farm was a dramatic backdrop. The trees that ringed the open space were turning, their leaves fiery with reds and golds. It was peaceful out here. Or at least it would be without all the vandalism. Mike could do without the skeleton too. But Rachel’s farm had something that his little house in town didn’t possess. Quiet. Solitude. Privacy. The knowledge that your neighbors didn’t care if you put your garbage cans out before dark. The fact that no one would call, well him, if the dog were barking. This was the kind of place where dogs and kids could make as much noise as they liked. Where a comfortable chair and a cup of coffee were all he’d need in the evening.

Like the house Mike had grown up in, before his dad had died. Afterward, the small house in town had been all Mike’s mom could afford. That house symbolized everything that he’d lost. It represented settling for less than he wanted. So why the hell had Mike kept it? Did he like rubbing his own nose in his misfortunes?

He had no time to lament. Instead of a relaxing evening in the country, tonight he’d be dealing with the mayor, the fire, rampant vandalism, and, just for kicks and giggles, he now had a skeleton on his hands. He’d have to squeeze in an interview with Blake Webb. Rachel’s stalker was still on the loose, and he was getting more serious. Good times…

Mike headed toward the barn. An engine purred. A familiar Mercedes turned onto Rachel’s driveway.

Cristan Rojas.

Mike kept walking while the Argentinean got out of the car. The tween daughter climbed out of the back and slumped unhappily toward the barn.

Rojas fell into step beside Mike. He glanced sideways, eyes scanning Mike’s uniform with suspicion. “Is everything all right? Where is Miss Parker?”

“Miss Parker won’t be able to teach her lesson today. She’s at the hospital because she fell off
your
horse earlier.” Mike waited for Rojas’s reaction.

“That is preposterous,” Rojas said in accented but precise English. “Miss Parker does not just fall off horses. She is one of the best riders in the world. Shadow Dancer is a challenge for my daughter, but for Miss Parker, he is nothing, a carousel pony.”

The praise took Mike by surprise. “Funny, I was under the impression you didn’t like her much.”

Rojas laughed. Amusement flared in his black eyes. “Oh no. I like her very much.”

Mike did not appreciate the way Rojas emphasized
very
. “But you were arguing with her over the training of your daughter’s horse.”

“Ah, yes. Fighting with Miss Parker is very stimulating. She is… How you say it?” Rojas paused, gesturing as if seeking the correct translation. Mike had a feeling the Argentinean didn’t need as much help with the language as he pretended. “She is a passionate woman. Her eyes sparkle when she is angry, no?”

The fact that Mike also found her hot when she was mad was disturbing.

“Miss Parker and I disagree on how to best raise my daughter. I believe a child should be challenged so she does not become weak. Miss Parker favors a gentler approach,
and she is not afraid to voice her opinion. But I highly doubt Miss Parker became such a skilled horsewoman by riding tame animals.” Rojas smiled. “I want my daughter to be strong, to seek a challenge rather than take the easy path, to be the best at whatever she chooses to be. One must not be afraid to take risks.”

Rachel was a risk-taker. No question.

Rojas’s face went grim. “I hope that she is all right. Are her injuries serious?”

Mike’s gut twisted. “I haven’t heard, but she was walking on her own.” Mike didn’t intend for his voice to be colored with respect.

“Ah, I see.” Rojas’s accent deepened with understanding. Of what, Mike wasn’t sure. But the guy’s know-it-all tone was irritating. “That does not mean she is not hurt. She is a strong woman. Very proud. She would walk to her own deathbed.”

“Yeah.” Mike had been thinking the same thing, and it wasn’t comforting. He checked his cell for messages from Sean. Two texts and three missed calls from the mayor, which Mike ignored. There wasn’t anything from his friend. Mike pulled up Sean’s number, typed a question mark, and pressed the send key.

He was probably going to get fired, but with each second that passed, Mike cared less about small-town politics and more about keeping Rachel safe. He was going to miss his job, and he couldn’t imagine staying in Westbury without it. Could he leave it all behind? He’d lived in Philadelphia for a number of years when he was married to Laura, but the city had never been home.

Rojas looked ahead. His gaze fixed on the saddle hanging over the corral fence. His eyes went flat, like a cop’s—or a criminal’s—and Mike wondered what Sean was going to
uncover in the Argentinean’s background. His demeanor didn’t exactly scream boring executive. Hired killer was a better possibility.

Rojas pointed at the thin straps still buckled to the girth strap that would encircle the horse’s belly and hold the saddle in place. “These were cut with a very sharp knife.”

Mike had suspected it all along, but seeing the evidence intensified the sick feeling in his stomach. “Why wouldn’t she have seen that when she saddled the horse?”

Rojas reassembled the pieces. “Because the part that was severed was concealed under the skirt.” He tucked the cut ends under the large flap of leather that comprised the side of the saddle. “She might not have noticed unless she was cleaning it.”

She’d been distracted right before her fall because of their kiss. “No matter how you look at it, someone intended to hurt her.”

“Only cowards attack women.” Rojas’s face darkened. Pain and anger replaced cool amusement.

Mike held out a business card. “Call me if you see anything or anyone suspicious while you’re here.”

Rojas took the card. “Tell Miss Parker to contact me if I am able to be of assistance. If you’ll please excuse me, I must help my daughter.” He stalked away.

Mike stashed the saddle, now evidence, in the back of his SUV. In no rush to deal with the mayor, he made a detour to the hospital on the way back to the station.

Sean was standing guard outside a glass-walled exam room in the ER. “Quinn just went in there with her X-rays.”

Mike knocked on the jamb and walked through the open door. “Rachel?”

“In here,” she answered.

He ducked around the floor-to-ceiling curtain. Rachel was semireclined on a gurney. She was still wearing her riding pants and boots, but a hospital johnny had replaced her grass-stained shirt.

On the other side of the cubicle, Quinn turned on a lighted box and backlit her X-rays. “This arm looks like something my boys built with their erector set. But as far as I can tell, the rod and screws are still in place, which is a medical miracle. I can’t say how the soft tissue around all that hardware fared. Are you sure I can’t talk you into that MRI?”

“Positive.”

Mike shot her a what-the-hell look.

She gave him a squinty-eyed glare back. “Their machine is a closed tube. I don’t do small spaces.”

“Why not?” Mike asked.

“Because I don’t.” Rachel looked at the wall and took a deep breath. “When I was six, I got locked in a storage container in a game of hide-and-go-seek gone wrong.” Her jaw clenched. A shudder passed through her body. “No one found me for like eighteen hours. It was the middle of summer. I almost died.” Her voice broke. She squeezed her eyes shut.

His chest tightened. She’d been alone and small and scared, not much different from her current situation. Mike wished he could take her in his arms and hold her until the memory, and the pain that came with it, passed. Rachel had had far too many close calls.

Quinn’s pen scratched on her chart. “Bruises should improve in a few days. If not, you should go back to the university hospital and see the orthopedic surgeon who did the original surgeries. Ice and rest that arm for the next week. Don’t go anywhere just yet. We’ll get those stitches out while you’re here.” The doctor ducked out.

Mike stepped up closer to the bed. “The girth straps of your saddle were cut.”

That opened her eyes, but resignation rather than shock crossed her face. “I should’ve seen that.”

“The cuts were all the way up at the top, under the flap. When was the last time you used that saddle?”

“With the weather and everything else, it’s been a few days, but I clean it every week or so. I would’ve noticed if anything wasn’t right.”

“Do you always keep it in the tack room?” Mike asked.

“Yes.”

“And the room isn’t locked up at night.” He already knew the answer but had to ask anyway.

“Guess it will be from now on.”

“How many boarders and students have been in and out in the last few days?”

“Not that many. Less than ten.”

“Can you give me a list?”

She nodded. “Sure.”

“I have to go. Sean’s going to take you home.”