Purebred (14 page)

“We found this, as well.” Pierce picked up a mucking shovel and held it under the light.

More splatter.

Seeing the murder weapon like this was too much for Cat. Her stomach boiled and she barely made it back outside before heaving the little breakfast she’d eaten at the hospital. Aidan quickly came to her rescue and held her from falling to her knees.

“Sorry about that,” the detective said. “You okay?”

Cat glanced at Pierce. “Just great.”

“The men are done with your house. Didn’t find anything. You can go get some rest now.”

“A good idea,” Aidan agreed.

But Cat needed to know how things stood. Twin barks alerted her to the imminent arrival of the dogs. “What’s next?”

“We have to confirm the blood was your barn manager’s. My men are dusting for fingerprints now.”

In their excitement, Smokey and Topaz knocked into her. Bernie wasn’t far behind. She said, “You’re bound to find all our prints around that area—Raul’s, Bernie’s, mine. The kids. Even the owners. The same on the shovel handle, since we all use the equipment.”

“Maybe we’ll find prints that don’t belong.”

“You found prints?” a wide-eyed Bernie asked.

“And blood. George was struck with a mucking shovel just inside the barn.”

“Holy…” Bernie wandered into the entryway to watch the evidence techs at work.

“It’s too bad you couldn’t find George’s suitcase,” Cat said. “Maybe the killer’s prints would be on it.”

“That’s right,” Pierce said. “When you first called about George being missing, you said he’d packed some of his things and disappeared. What did the case look like?”

Though that had been part of her initial report, she told him again. “A small silvery-gray one with wheels. Like the ones you take on a plane.”

“We’ll keep an eye out for it,” he promised.

Aidan tugged her away from the barn. “Come now, there’s nothing more you can do here. You need some rest. And some food.”

“I probably ought to make some phone calls.”

“Who needs telling?”

“The owners. They’re not going to be too happy. They should hear about this from me.”

“I am certain Pierce will be talking to them again.”

“Great. You should have seen Dean Hill’s reaction to the first interview. Now a second murder…both connected to Clarke Acres…he’ll go ballistic if Pierce gets to him before I do. I have to call.”

“Take a lie-down first. When you are rested, it will go easier.”

Too exhausted, too heartsick, to answer, she let him head her for the house. Once inside, she went straight to the bedroom. He didn’t follow.

Waiting wouldn’t change how the owners reacted to the news of another death, of how Pierce had put it together that she and the farm were somehow at the center of the crime. They could all choose to pick up and move their broodmares to another breeder.

And then where would her business be? In shreds.

Still, she couldn’t stand to do it now, so she took Aidan’s suggestion. The moment her head hit the pillow, her world floated away.

Chapter Sixteen

Aidan fed Cat leftover pot roast and that afternoon somehow got her through the ordeal of calling her owners. After which, she’d collapsed on the bed again. As much as he wanted to go to the racetrack to check on Mac, Cat might need him.

And later, he slept on the sofa, just in case her attacker returned.

Though he hoped for a dream that would help the investigation, he got nothing this night. Exhausted, he slept like a dead man, waking briefly twice. Both times he looked in on Cat. Watched her sleep. Wondered if he had really condemned her by having sex with a woman who roused his softer emotions.

Convinced that she had somehow been hurt because of him, he vowed never to touch her again.

Would that work?

Could he obliterate the curse from his life and especially from hers somehow?

He didn’t know. He only knew that he cared about her more than he should, and that he was now likely responsible for her very life.

Morning brought with it televised news of the vet’s murder. Undoubtedly the story had been picked up on the internet and in the local paper. No mention of Clarke Acres. No cameras set up outside the property or reporters waiting for an interview.

Something for which to be thankful.

At Aidan’s prompting, Pierce had agreed to assign a police officer on the farm to guard Cat while Aidan was at the racetrack. The officer showed up as promised at dawn. Having police protection wouldn’t last long, Aidan was certain, but at least he could count on it for now.

Even so, he left for the racetrack with a heavy heart and vowed to return as quickly as possible.

The morning workout was Mac’s best. He had Nadim take him on several shorter runs to get the colt out of the gate with more power. The race was only ten days away, and still he didn’t have a jockey. Cat’s attack had put him a day behind schedule. He should at least be talking with potential jockeys or their agents.

Speaking of jockeys…

After the workout, he stood in the shedrow, watching Tim Browne working, not as a jockey but as a hotwalker. The other man circled Mac around the shedrow to cool him off.

What was his game? Aidan wondered.

Why would he leave Ireland for America and hide who he was by taking a commonplace job?

Surely he wasn’t involved in whatever was going on at Clarke Acres. Though Aidan wished he could be certain of that.

When the colt was cool enough, Browne brought him back to his stall and turned him loose inside. He told Aidan, “Everyone who has seen Mac run the last few mornings has been impressed.”

Smothering his sense of pride for the moment, Aidan couldn’t help but bait the man to pry information out of him. “Mac is doing a fine job of it, hopefully good enough to impress a leading jockey into taking the ride.”

“’Tis certain he’ll attract the attention of someone who will do him justice.”

So, still no admission. Had Browne come here to this country, to this very racetrack, in order to secure a ride on Mac? Then why hadn’t he just been honest about it?

Browne said, “I haven’t seen your partner around the shedrow since the first day.”

Aidan started at his interest. “Cat has her own business to run.”

“But she has an investment in the colt, as well.”

Browne seemed to know more than he should have, considering he was someone Aidan had met only three days ago.

“Aye, an investment,” Aidan agreed, “but broodmares are also in season. She must attend to them first.”

“Is that it, then?”

“What else?”

“I heard about the attack. I assume she’s recovered.”

How did he know about the attack on Cat? Aidan wondered.

Before he could ask, Browne added, “And then there are rumors of murder associated with her farm. I thought perhaps that is why she has stayed away.”

“Only inasmuch as the murdered woman vetted her horses as well as those on many other farms.”

“Aye, you are correct, of course. Perhaps it was inappropriate of me to speak of it.” Browne backed away down the shedrow. “Tell her for me that I sincerely hope she has fully recovered from the attack.”

With that Browne escaped.

At least that was the way Aidan saw it.

The edgy conversation with Browne made him wonder if he should warn Cat about his dream, about what had happened to Pegeen.

Would she believe it, though?

She didn’t believe in the psychic connection he had with Mac. She didn’t believe in Sheelin O’Keefe’s curse. So why would she believe that he had dreams that foretold the future? He couldn’t even guarantee things would happen as he’d seen them, when his dreams were filled with half-truths.

And if things didn’t happen as he predicted, would she assume he was lying? Like Jack? She’d made it very clear that her ex-husband had been not only a cheater, but a liar, a fact that she’d hated.

If she thought
he
was lying, as well…

If only he could be certain Cat would do as he asked to avoid another tragedy. Or, like Pegeen, would she back up and become more stubborn, would she insist on doing things her way despite anything he had to say?

He didn’t want to test it. He wasn’t ready to tell Cat about the past, share the awful truth about the way Pegeen had died. He couldn’t stand to see Cat turn away from him in disgust.

The best thing, then, would be to hold back his psychic musings and increase his vigilance, so that he could prevent anything bad from happening to another woman about whom he cared.

He would do everything in his power to protect her.

Aidan realized Helen Fox’s murder was hot news, but he hadn’t seen or read a report linking her death to Clarke Acres. And the attack on Cat had been kept from the media, thankfully. So where was Browne getting his information? He supposed it could have come from Raul by way of his brother, Placido. Undoubtedly, Browne knew the other jockey.

Unless…what if Browne himself had been involved in the attack and/or murders?

As unlikely as it seemed, Aidan had to give the idea credence.

* * *

B
Y
THE
TIME
C
AT
WAS
ON
HER
WAY
to the cemetery, she was feeling better. Well-rested, at least. And the throbbing in her head was gone. But her physical well-being had no influence on her feelings.

Her emotions were once more in turmoil, and she had no one to share them with.

She’d dismissed the young policeman who had been dogging her steps all morning—she’d thought he might pass out as he watched her breed Be My Valentine, another of Dean Hill’s horses. Aidan was coming to the cemetery straight from the racetrack.

The cemetery was small and well kept, with drifts of flowers in enough areas that it almost looked like a peaceful garden. Most of the plots had markers in the ground or plain headstones. No mausoleums here.

As she drove along the cemetery road, Cat faced the questions that echoed over and over in her head—who had killed George and why? Did his death really have something to do with her? Or was she simply a chess piece who’d gotten in the way?

No, it all had to be connected: George and Helen both murdered and her knocked out. How were the three separate incidents related?

She thought back to her own attack. Someone had been in the barn late at night, and it wasn’t the first time. Though she’d never caught anyone, she’d felt another presence twice before in the past week. Something was going on there without her knowledge.

Something that George must have discovered.

But what about Helen? The vet hadn’t been killed in Cat’s barn. Was her death really connected?

The unanswered questions plagued her as she pulled up behind several other vehicles near the gravesite. No farm truck. Aidan wasn’t here yet.

Raul stood with his hand on the coffin, head bowed as if in prayer, then crossed himself and stepped back to where his brother, Placido, stood. Behind them, she spotted Nadim with a stranger who looked small enough to be another exercise rider or a jockey. Opposite them on the other side of chairs lined up before the coffin, Dean Hill stood with Martin Bradley, his daughter, Simone, and of all people, Jack.

With her stomach clenched and her head going light, hardly able to believe her ex-husband had shown up when he hadn’t cared a bit about George, Cat grabbed the photographs she’d taken from her bedroom wall and left the SUV. Where was Aidan? He’d said he would meet her here.

“Miss Clarke, there you are,” the funeral director said.

“I have the photographs of George.”

Handing them to the man, Cat watched as he set them on the coffin—one photo of the barn manager lunging a horse, the other of him with her whole family at a Fourth of July picnic.

She glanced back to see Bernie arrive. He stopped to say something to Martin, and the man stepped away from his daughter for a moment. It looked as if he and Bernie were arguing about something. Then, tight-lipped, Bernie stalked away and stood by himself while Martin rejoined his group.

What was that about? Cat wondered.

“Is everyone here?” the funeral director asked.

A dark sedan drove up, and Detective Pierce got out. What in the world was he doing here? Surely he didn’t intend to conduct a gravesite investigation.

“Not quite everyone,” she said, wondering if Aidan was going to show at all. “Give us a few more minutes.”

“Of course.”

Pierce stopped at a respectful distance behind the others and turned his gaze from one person to the other. Suspects? Her pulse picked up. Of course he would think that. He’d questioned just about everyone here. And just about everyone here had connections both to George and to Helen.

Cat didn’t want to think anyone she knew was guilty of murder, certainly not people she worked with on a daily basis. Not wanting to face the others, especially not her ex-husband, not today, not alone, she turned to the coffin and stared at the photographs and hoped for fond memories of her barn manager to get her through the short service.

The sound of a noisy engine made her turn back to the road to see the farm truck pull up. Not only did Aidan alight, but so did Laura and Vincent. Laura looked scared and Vincent held her hand. The teenagers hung back until a relieved Cat waved them over. Aidan followed. She’d never been so glad to see anyone. A weight lifted from her as he joined her, stopping a yard away and intently studying her face.

“We were just about to start.” Giving him as much of a smile as she could muster, she turned to the funeral director and nodded.

“Would everyone gather round?” He motioned everyone closer.

Since there was a single row of chairs, Cat sat in the middle, Aidan on one side of her, the kids on the other. As people took their places, Martin, Simone and Dean sat in the seats on one side, Raul and Bernie on the other. The remaining mourners stood behind the chairs. The hair on the back of Cat’s neck stood at attention, making her certain that Jack was directly behind her.

Aidan whispered, “What is Tim Browne doing here?”

Cat glanced back to see Nadim with the stranger. “That’s Mac’s hotwalker?”

“He’s more than a backstretch worker. I will explain later.”

Though curious, Cat had to be content with that as the service started. Since George hadn’t professed any particular faith and hadn’t frequented any church she knew of, Cat had thought it appropriate to let the funeral director conduct the service.

“We are here to bid farewell to George Ordell…”

For a moment, it took all her will for Cat not to cry again. Yes, she was still sad, but more than that, she was angry. Someone had murdered a man who had played a major role in her life. A man about whom she deeply cared. Maybe someone present at this service. That same person had undoubtedly killed Helen Fox, as well. And knocked her out in her own barn.

She looked around, studied the faces, tried to read them. Some wore sorrowful expressions. Some wore no expressions at all. One of the latter was Tim Browne, who stared directly at her, his expression narrowed and probing and making her heart skip a beat.

What was that about?

Strong fingers clasped hers and she looked down to see Aidan holding her hand as if to give her strength. She clung to that and thought only of George through the end of the short service.

And as the coffin was lowered into the ground, Cat swore she would help bring the killer to justice.

* * *

T
HROUGHOUT
THE
SERVICE
,
Aidan had the distinct feeling that not everyone was here out of fondness for George Odell. Or even for Cat, for that matter.

Strong, dark vibes assaulted him, but he didn’t know from which direction. From Cat’s ex, perhaps?

From the murderer?

He could not help but notice the way Tim Browne had been studying Cat. And he could not help but be irritated by the presence of the man who had no reason to be here. The man was not showing his support because he was working with Mac, of that he was certain.