Wrong Place, Wrong Time (21 page)

“Exactly. And, like I told you Sunday, that’s weird, too. The sequence of events doesn’t fit.” A pause. “Unless money’s just part of what this guy’s after. Maybe he’s got another motivation, like revenge.”

The phone rang.

Edward jumped on it. “Yes?” His entire body sagged with relief. “That’s great news. Tell him to take it easy and not to worry about anything, including expenses. Get him a private nurse. Keep me updated. Oh, and put an extra guard on James. Make sure you two check every drop of food or liquid that goes into his mouth.”

He hung up. “Granger’s okay,” he informed Monty. “He’s got some ugly gashes, a broken wrist, and bruised ribs. The hospital’s keeping him overnight for observation, just in case there’s any sign of concussion. Otherwise, he’s fine.”

“And James?”

“Hmm?”

“You said James was sick. What’s wrong?”

“Oh.” Edward snapped back to himself. “He’s got some twenty-four-hour stomach bug. He was bent over the toilet all night.”

“And now?”

“Now he’s just shaken. He knows that diuretic was meant for him.” Edward massaged his temples. “I’ve got to calm him down, or he’ll lose it before Sunday’s Grand Prix.”

Monty didn’t reply. He just continued scrutinizing Edward, his expression pensive.

DEVON COULDN’T WAIT to get home.

She’d returned to the clinic at four fifteen, just in time for the late-day chaos. The nonstop activity had been good for her. It kept her from thinking. Because when she thought, she thought about Blake. Not about the wonderful time they’d had last night, but about the car she’d seen him driving this afternoon. What did it mean, and how did it factor into Frederick’s murder?

Blake had an alibi. Sort of. He’d been at the farm all weekend. On the other hand, he could have slipped out without anyone noticing, driven up to the cabin, committed the crime, then driven back and —

No. She wasn’t letting herself go there. Not without grounds. As of now, there was no motive. There wasn’t even basis for suspicion — just something that might very well be a fluke. Monty would find out what the story was with the second Mercedes. Once she heard it, she’d decide how to play things with Blake.

In the meantime, she was beat.

She left work at seven fifteen. It was dark. Cold. On tap for tonight was checking in with Monty, eating a Lean Cuisine, and hitting the sheets.

It didn’t happen that way.

Within minutes of veering off the main drag, Devon got the disturbing sense she was being followed. She checked her rearview mirror repeatedly, but she saw nothing suspicious. Easing from the single-lane road onto the shoulder, she slowed down to a crawl and let the thin smattering of cars pass her. Not a single driver gave her a second look.

Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling.

She pulled back onto the road and accelerated, heading toward home as quickly as caution would allow. The air was bitter cold, leaving the side roads icy and dangerous.

The feeling persisted.

A half mile before reaching her condo, she pulled off onto the shoulder again. This time, she cut the engine and turned off her lights so she could see without being seen.

Other than Terror and Scamp giving her puzzled looks from the backseat, she saw nothing.

Maybe she was becoming paranoid.

With a disgusted sound, she started her car and steered back onto the road. Minutes later, she turned down her winding street and into her driveway.

Gathering up the two dogs, she hurried up the walk that led to her town house.

“Hi,” Merry greeted her, glancing up from the computer she’d been working on. “Everything okay?”

“I guess.” Devon squatted down to deposit Terror and Scamp on the floor. “I’m a little strung out. Probably overtired. I need some sleep.”

“Who wouldn’t after two hot nights on the town?”

“Very funny.” Devon rose and shrugged out of her coat. “How about here? Everything all right?”

“Pretty quiet. Oh, except for your flower delivery.” Merry made the announcement in a slow, exaggerated tone. “An exquisite bouquet — orange lilies, yellow roses, and assorted purple sprays. I’ve been dying to read the card all afternoon.”

Devon chuckled. “So why didn’t you?”

“I’m nosy, but I’m not totally intrusive. I waited for you. But now let’s find out which one of your avid suitors is trying to impress you.” She jumped up and led Devon into the kitchen, where the flowers were displayed in a designer vase.

“You’re right. They are impressive.” Devon tugged the tiny envelope free of its plastic tine holder and slipped out the card. She wasn’t sure what she was hoping to see. And she wasn’t waiting to figure it out.

She scanned the card, which read:
You’re in my thoughts. Hope I’m in yours. I’ll break away as soon as I can, and we’ll pick up where we left off. Till then, look at these and think of me. — James
.

“Well?” Merry demanded.

“They’re from James.” Devon realized as she said it that she wasn’t surprised. This kind of grand gesture screamed “James” at the top of its lungs.

And Blake?

Blake’s idea of a postdate gesture would probably be lining up a sled rematch on Pilgrim Hill.

The thought made her smile.

“I guess you’re happy,” Merry observed.

“They’re beautiful,” Devon replied. “And, yes, flattering.”

“Good. You can tell that to James. He called twice. So did Blake. James left his number in Florida. Blake said to call his cell. So, the contenders are running neck and neck. The tension is mounting. I can’t wait to see who crosses the finish line first.”

“No one’s crossing
any
line,” Devon retorted. “This is a plan, remember? I’m helping Monty figure out who killed Frederick Pierson. Period.”

“Yeah. Right.” Meredith rolled her eyes. “I believe the helping Monty part. But the ‘period’? No way. You’re into this. Or into
them
. You’ve got those Pierson grandsons chomping at the bit — excuse the double entendre. And you’re chomping right back. No way this is just business.”

Devon shot her a look. “Go back to your econ assignment. I have to call James and say thank you.”

“Don’t forget Blake,” Merry reminded her good-naturedly as she headed back to the living room. “He’s waiting, too.”

The doorbell and the phone rang simultaneously.

“You see which contender’s calling in,” Merry instructed. “I’ll see who’s at the door.” She scooted off.

Devon scooped up the receiver. “Hello?”

“Did you get them?”

“James.” From the corner of her eye, Devon saw Monty enter the house. “I was just about to call you. They’re gorgeous.”

“So are you,” James replied. “Did you just get home?”

“Two seconds ago. I took off my coat and found your flowers.” Devon’s brows drew together as Monty stepped into the kitchen, clearly intent on hearing this call. “They’re a welcome sight after a long day.”

“Yeah. A
very
long day.” James sounded strained. “It’s good to hear your voice.”

“Yours, too.” Devon was watching Monty scribble something on a slip of paper, which he then shoved in front of her.

Put him on speakerphone. Ask how Wellington went today.

Devon nodded. She had no idea where Monty was going with this, but she followed his instructions, pressing the speakerphone button and hanging up the receiver. “How did today’s competition go?”

A hollow laugh. “It was a disaster.”

“Why? From what I recall, you said it was an intermediate-level event on a younger horse. Did he give you trouble?”

“
Life
gave me trouble. I picked up some kind of twenty-four-hour stomach bug. I couldn’t ride. My grandfather subbed in someone else.”

Monty waved his hand in a keep-him-talking gesture.

“And that upset you?” Devon pressed quizzically. “I thought it was only the Sunday events you’re focused on.”

“It is. I was relieved as hell that my grandfather got Granger to ride Future. I sure couldn’t do it.”

“Who’s Granger?”

“One of our grooms. He’s also a very strong rider. He was a good choice — or he should have been. He blacked out right before the third jump.”

“Blacked out?” Devon didn’t have to feign her shock. “He fell off the horse?”

“Uh-huh. He’s okay, other than some minor injuries. He’s lucky. We’re all lucky. I don’t think I could have lived with myself if it had been serious. Someone slipped him a diuretic. It was meant to disqualify the rider — me. Granger has low blood pressure, so it did a lot more than that.”

Devon sank down on a kitchen stool. “Someone tried to sabotage you?”

“Big-time. It turns out there was a random drug test scheduled for today. If the Antidoping Agency had found that stuff in my blood, I’d be banned from the circuit, maybe for good.”

“That’s horrible. Do you know who did it?”

“Not a clue. It could have been a dozen different people. I told you, the equestrian world’s pretty brutal.”

“Is there an investigation under way?”

James gave a humorless laugh. “There’s
always
an investigation under way, especially when drugs are involved. That doesn’t mean anything will be uncovered, much less proven.”

Devon glanced at Monty, who scribbled down the words:
Ask how he’s feeling
.

“What about your stomach bug?” she inquired. “Is it better?”

“More or less. I managed to hold down some tea and dry toast. So I’m on the mend. Although the news about Granger made my stomach turn all over again.”

“I can imagine. Is there someone down there with you? Someone who can check on you, or bring you what you need?”

“Not to worry,” James assured her. “We’ve got an entire staff, including a family doctor, here in Wellington. I’m in good hands. But thanks for caring.” He paused. “How was your date with Blake?”

“Fine.” Devon saw her father grimace. “Very lighthearted and fun.”

“Fun? What did you do?”

“Sledding, skating, and snowball fighting.”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. Actually, it was good to unwind. This week’s been a nightmare, as you well know.”

“And Blake gave you a reprieve. I’m glad. Listen, I was thinking of flying up Sunday night. Are you free?”

Devon blinked. “Sunday’s the Grand Prix.”

“Which I plan to win. And, since there are no Monday events, Sunday night is party time. I’d rather party with you. I don’t have to be back until Tuesday. What do you say?”

“Will you feel up to it?”

“To seeing you? I already do.”

“I guess I’m a great cure for a stomach virus.”

He chuckled. “Guess so. Is it a date?”

Monty nodded.

“Sure,” Devon responded.

“Great. Since I liked that answer, I’ll press my luck a little bit. Would you consider flying down next weekend and watching me compete? I’d arrange for the corporate jet to be ready and waiting Friday night. Wellington’s got a private airstrip. You’d be here in the blink of an eye. What do you say?”

Monty was already shaking his head vehemently.

“I’d like to, but I can’t,” Devon hedged. “Not unless my mother’s safely out of hiding. My sister and brother are here with me, remember? I can’t desert them. Plus, I’d be lousy company. I hope you understand.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed. But of course I understand. Just tell me you’ll take a rain check. For right after your mother comes home.”

“Rain check taken.” Devon’s gaze followed Monty, who’d spied the floral bouquet and crossed over to examine it. An anticipatory look crossed his face, and he searched the countertop until he found the card. Glancing at it, he gave a hard, satisfied nod.

He gestured for Devon to wrap up her call. Then he flipped open his cell and stalked out of the room.

By the time Devon had hung up and gone out to the living room, Monty was thanking someone on the other end of his cell phone and saying good-bye.

He whipped around to face Devon. “Interesting. James Pierson ordered these flowers personally. From Wellington. Early this morning. While his lips were supposedly glued to the toilet.”

Devon processed that. “You think he’s lying about being sick.”

“I think this story has too many holes in it. It felt wrong before, and it feels even more wrong now. James gets a convenient, disabling, but intermittent stomach bug. Granger, the ideal rider to take his place, just happens to have low blood pressure. There’s a random drug test scheduled for exactly the right date and event — a test that ends up not mattering because Granger blacked out and required independent blood tests anyway. And the drugging procedure — if someone wanted to target James’s drink, wouldn’t he make damned sure it
was
James’s drink before he plopped some meds in?”

“Points taken,” Devon said thoughtfully. “I’m just not sure where your rationale is taking us.”

“Me, either. But here’s another inconsistency: James’s reaction. It’s way out of character for him to be so blasé about getting to the bottom of this. Edward’s preoccupied with the big picture. But James doesn’t know squat about the extortion scheme. So why isn’t he hell-bent on figuring out who did this to him?”

“Okay, so you’re suggesting this was all staged. Why? Granger’s no threat to James, not personally or professionally.”

Monty gave a tight nod, then began pacing around. “That’s the part that doesn’t fit. Granger’s the only one who stood to get hurt.”

Devon sank down on the sofa, her expression pensive. “You knew about all this before James called.”

“Yeah. I found out a few hours ago. Edward summoned me into his office. He was pretty worked up. Once he heard Granger was okay, he calmed down. But he didn’t seem surprised or worried that James, the avid equestrian, was sick enough to bail out of an event. That bugged me. But not as much as what James just said. Edward didn’t mention anything about a scheduled drug test. He just tossed out the possibility like a what-if, not a fact. So, either he didn’t know as much as James did, or he did a damned good job of covering. Either way, you can be sure I’m going to poke around and find out how far ahead this drug screening was planned, and who knew it was going to take place.”