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  “How are you doing?” he whispered to Aubrey.

  “Not bad for having someone verbally kick the shit out of me last night.”

  “Yeah. Same here.”

  Elizabeth cleared her throat as she turned her attention back to them. She spoke slowly and deliberately as if she were reading a carefully drafted letter. “I cannot accept your contention that Charles was a participant in any plan to kill Simpatico or any other horse. However, inasmuch as I would be remiss to ignore the information you brought to me regarding Burton Bush’s possible involvement, I would very much like to determine if there was a conspiracy to harm our horses and, if so, identify and bring to justice the perpetrators. I feel completely confident that any investigation will totally absolve Charles of wrong doing.”

  Kent hid his sigh of relief. At least they had developed a good enough case that Elizabeth was willing to accept it as a possibility. Even if she didn’t consider Charles the mastermind. Time would tell.

  Elizabeth continued. “After our discussion last night, the two of you, no doubt, understand how strongly I feel about protecting the St. Pierre name. Since I am aware that your theory would inevitably become part of the public domain and that Jefferson’s propensity for rumors would build it into a scandal of proportions guaranteed to persist for generations, I am compelled to see this matter resolved beyond any speculation.”

  “Thank you,” Kent said, although he was not sure what for. “That’s why we brought the whole thing to you in the first place, so you could make the decision as to whether or not we pursue it.”

  “Then my decision is to pursue it to the end.” Elizabeth took a deep breath, and as she exhaled, her formality vanished. “Look., this kind of thing is way too much for an old lady like me, and I have no intention of taking it to the police for the reason I just explained. That is my one condition; there are to be no police until we know everything. Even then, only after clearing it with me. That includes your brother. Are you agreeable to that?”

  Kent and Aubrey nodded in unison.

  “Good.” Elizabeth glanced back and forth at her two friends. “I’m turning it over to you. It is totally in your hands. I’ll help any way I can, financially or otherwise if you ask, but you are in charge. Again, I say; no police until I say so.”

  She reached across the table and took both their hands. Her tired eyes brimmed with tears as she spoke. “I’ll be honest with you — and blunt. I’m still pissed as hell at both of you. But at least now that I have recovered from the initial shock, I realize your intentions are good. And frankly, I think you are the only ones who can do this.”

  Through the rest of the morning, Kent couldn’t get Charles’s role in the horses’ demise off his mind. He was used to dealing with problems, and it was a rare one that could distract him to the point that he was unable to give his full attention to his patients, and that made it worse. By midday he decided that he needed to do something about it. He called Aubrey and suggested she and Barry join them for dinner at Pine Holt. They would brainstorm until they had a plan, a good plan this time. No half-ass scheme like the Lake House mess. It was obvious that Aubrey couldn’t get the matter off her mind either. She accepted without hesitation.

  Dinner at Pine Holt that night was another of Margaret’s comfort food masterpieces — eggplant parmesan, which suited Aubrey just fine, and a pile of meatballs for the carnivores.

  “Brisk” would not adequately describe the conversation as they argued about who, how, and why — then, what they should do next.

  “Elizabeth just won’t face the truth,” Maria said, frustration obvious in her voice. With more compassion, she added, “But I guess I can’t blame her. I’d probably feel the same way.”

  Barry served himself a third helping of everything on the table while the others watched, amazed at how much a teenage boy could eat. With a forkful readied, inches from his lips, he said, “Who would figure their own son would do such a creepy thing, especially against his family? Of course Elizabeth doesn’t believe it.”

  Emily flashed him a sour look. “Where do you put all that food?”

  Barry, chewing away, shrugged. “I’ve been working all day.”

  “It’s not all about emotion with Elizabeth,” Kent said. “As she pointed out to us last night with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, money is not a motive for Charles. So, she’s asking: Why would he do it?”

  Margaret rose from the table, and began clearing dishes with more gusto than usual. All the talk of money and murder made her uncomfortable.

  Aubrey noticed. “That was one of the best meals I’ve had in a long time, Margaret,” she said.

  “Thank you.” Margaret gentle bumped the back of Kent’s head with the edge of a platter. “It’s fun to cook for someone who appreciates things other than meat and potatoes.”

  Kent raised his eyebrows to his housekeeper. “I love your eggplant parm.”

  “The problem with my job,” Aubrey said, “is that by the time I get home, I’m too tired to cook, even if Barry and I are starving.” She motioned toward Barry, who was still intent on his food. “You see the result.”

  “Both of you are always welcome here,” Margaret said, not even glancing at Kent. “I always cook too much.”

  “I’ll remember that,” Aubrey said, and gave Kent a how-about-that smirk.

  “I’m good with that, too,” Emily said. She pointed at Barry with her thumb. “You can even bring this guy along.”

  “Hey, I’m master of the house,” Kent said, with an exaggerated scowl. “I say who gets invited here.”

  “Yeah, right,” all four women said at once.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Kent saw Lucinda over on her rug, give a quick wag of her tail, in support of the women.

  “Traitor,” he said to her. Then to Barry, he said, “They’ve got us out numbered here, buddy.”

  Barry nodded. “We’ll go down fighting.”

  “Anyway,” Emily said, refocusing. “How are we going to prove it was Charles?”

  Kent’s confidence that they had even a ghost of a chance at solving this thing was waning. The more they plotted and schemed, the more it was apparent that they were in way over their heads. They hadn’t been able to come up with a plan that was any better than the infamous Lake House debacle, and he wasn’t about to do that again. He looked into each of the faces around him. No way was he going to risk the lives of the people he loved. Whether they liked it or not.

  “We aren’t,” he said, flatly. Everyone froze. All eyes shifted to him. Even Barry stopped chewing. “This is not a game. It’s serious and it’s dangerous. We’re talking murder here, and anyone who commits one can commit another. I know what Elizabeth said about us conducting our own investigation, but I see now that’s just plain unrealistic. This is way more than we can handle. Someone could get hurt badly — or worse. We told her what we found out. If she wants to follow up on it, she’s going to have to take it to the police. I’m sorry. End of discussion.”

  Margaret looked like she wanted to applaud.

  Emily let out the whine she knew her father detested. “Doc, you’re kidding me.”

  “Does it sound like I’m kidding? It’s too dangerous.”

  “But Elizabeth won’t go to the police. She told you that. She’ll let the whole thing drop before she does that. If we don’t find out what really happened, no one will. Then Burton and whoever he’s working with will have committed the perfect crime.”

  Kent accepted a cup of coffee from Margaret. “I feel as bad as you do, Em, and if there was some way we could solve it without the risk, I’d try it. But there isn’t. There are professionals — police, private investigators — to do that. We don’t even know where to start.”

  Emily pushed to her feet, nearly overturning her chair behind her. She threw her arm around an enormous casserole dish and headed toward the kitchen.
Kent watched as she disappeared through the door, the glass cover clanging noisily with each of her strides.

  He would not be able to live with himself if something bad happened to Emily or the others. It was better to have them disappointed now than deal with a catastrophe later.

  A while after dinner, the group drifted back together in the family room. Anticipation hung like a heavy vapor as each person waited to see if Kent would resume the discussion. He sensed it. Eventually, reluctantly, he began again.

  “Be reasonable,” he said. “This is not a game. For the money involved and the criminal charges that could result, people will kill you!”

  Aubrey put her arm around Emily. “We realize that, Kent. But we have to do something. Even if only because we have an obligation to the horses. We need to find a way to get enough information for Elizabeth to go to the police so they can solve the whole mess without ruining the St. Pierre name.”

  Kent pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. That angry voice from the logic center in his brain screamed, No way! Only an idiot would jeopardize his family and friends for some horses and a dead man. That’s what the police are for.

  He drew a decisive breath, and was choosing his words to shut down this whole fiasco when he heard another voice, a child-like whisper, taunting, almost patronizing, emanating from the emotion center of his brain, They weren’t just horses.

  Silence came and lingered.

  Kent braced his elbows on his knees, hung his head, and massaged the back of his neck. All eyes were on him, everyone holding their breath while Kent wrestled with his thoughts. Finally, he raised his eyes to meet theirs. “What the hell. Give me some more ideas.”

  For the longest time, no one offered up any suggestions.

  Then, as the proverbial light bulb flipped on in Emily’s head, she jerked to attention. “His apartment!” she blurted. “How about Burton’s apartment? There might be something there.”

  “Like he’s going to let us take a look,” Maria said.

  “Of course he won’t. But we can sneak in.” She watched for reactions from the others.

  Maria gave Emily the side-eye. “You’re saying, break into his apartment?”

  “Not break in. Just sneak in, when he’s not there.”

  “Uh-huh. Break in.”

  “Oh, Jesus.” Kent groaned. “Burton’s apartment?”

  “Why not? We can find a time when he’s not around, slip in, and check it out.”

  “Because that’s breaking and entering, Em. It’s against the law. A felony. That’s why not.”

  Aubrey looked at Emily, then back to Kent. “She has got a point. Burton could have something in there.”

  “Already we’re criminals. B&E, that’s three to five years,” Kent said, but no one seemed to care.

  “The apartment belongs to Elizabeth. Technically, she could give us permission. Couldn’t she?” Maria said.

  “Quit hedging. It’s still illegal entry.” Then, after a pause, he said, “But I’ve got to admit, it would be an interesting place to start.”

  Everyone in the group nodded, except Margaret.

  “Then we’re on,” Emily said, beaming with confidence.

  “Not yet. It depends on what Elizabeth says,” Kent said with a whole lot less enthusiasm. But, he was pretty sure hair brain scheme number two was about to get underway.

  CHAPTER 25

  Elizabeth stood behind her desk in the VinChaRo office and leaned on it like a podium.

  “Well, it looks like everyone is here,” she said, letting her gaze drift over the assembly of VinChaRo employees. “I think we can start. I know that it is unusual to stop work in the middle of the day. However, with Charles gone, I think it best that we all understand where we are. As you know, since Charles was a principal decision maker here at the farm, we are faced with the task of reorganizing, at least temporarily, to continue operations...”

  Elizabeth’s voice dissolved into a muffled drone as Aubrey’s attention shifted to her role as lookout. Seated inconspicuously in back, she scanned the gathering, then eased her hand into her pocket and keyed a two-way radio.

  When Kent had first insisted they use radios, she had thought it corny cloak and dagger stuff. Now she was glad she had one. She could alert her fellow sleuths immediately if anyone left the meeting. One long tone meant get out fast. A series of short beeps meant the meeting was breaking up. She glanced over at Burton who sat slouched along the wall, his red hair standing out like a beacon among the dark featured Latinos. Aubrey shuddered at her own naiveté. Could she have really underestimated him, that badly?

  Kent’s Cherokee was parked in front of VinChaRo’s carriage house that, many years ago, had been converted to employee housing. Maria was in the driver’s seat. Emily sat next to her, a two-way radio poised in her hand. Lucinda sat in back, her head and neck protruding out an open window, ears pricked, eyes fixed on her master who tested the carriage house’s weathered door.

  Kent had never been in the building, but Aubrey had given him the layout. There were six apartments, all small, three upstairs and three down. She had warned him that the rooms were shoddy and Kent could tell by the way she said it that it was a source of embarrassment. Every few years, Elizabeth spent large amounts of money to refurbish the building, and each time it decayed back to its dismal state. The steady turnover of young, single male tenants was too much for the old structure. Thankfully, a thick row of evergreens shrouded it from the rest of the farm.

  Kent pushed open the unlocked front door. Its windowpanes, loosely glazed, vibrated as the door rubbed over warped flooring. He stopped, waited, listened for movement inside. All quiet. He heard a faint whine from Lucinda outside, but did not acknowledge it. A hallway with gray-green walls and worn carpet ran the full length of the building. Pairs of crusty barn boots lay near two of the three ground floor apartment doors. Kent stepped around a plastic bag of garbage, mostly beer cans. The air held smells of horsey work clothes, fried food, and beer. He stepped to a set of narrow wooden stairs, and took them two at a time to lessen their creaks. Aubrey had told him Burton occupied the front upstairs apartment. It would be the first door on the left. The upstairs hallway was similar to the one below, except darker. The air smelled similar, but worse.

  Aubrey had told him the door would open into a kitchen area. There would be a counter with a sink and stove on the left and a small table. To the right, looking over a half-wall divider, there would be a combination living room and sleeping area. The bathroom would be straight across from where he entered.

  He put his ear to the blistered paint of the first door on the left, then carefully twisted the brass knob and pulled.

  “Jesus, Aubrey!” he said, in a loud whisper, as he stared into a disheveled broom closet.

  He eased the door shut, moved to the second door on the left, and listened again. Still nothing. His heart beat fast. The stale air seemed depleted of oxygen. With a sweaty hand, he turned the knob – locked. He fished the master key that Elizabeth had given him out of his pocket, poked it in the knob, and twisted. The latch snapped open with a pop like small caliber handgun. As he pushed the door, a choking stench of human slovenliness poured toward him. He had just about decided the room was too foul to be anyone’s residence when he noticed a kitchenette on the left and a living room-bedroom on the right, across a half-wall.

  He stepped inside, accidentally scuffed an empty cereal box, and sent it skidding through other debris on the floor. A window with no curtain provided gray light. Dirty dishes overflowed from the kitchen sink to the counter. The sleeping area contained a couch opened into a bed. Sidewalk-colored sheets and an Army blanket draped half onto the floor. Against one wall, layers of expensive-looking stereo components were stacked next to speakers that could, no doubt, rattle the whole building. A cheap, portable television sat on a snack table.

  Kent turne
d to begin his search when a flash of movement caught his eye — a dark blur low and to his right came from around the partition. His nerves, already primed with adrenalin, reacted quickly. He turned for a better look as he stepped back out of the projectile’s direct line. It corrected its course and rose from the floor, a silent missile, locked on. Kent had just enough time to bring his arm up to protect his face. Ninja! They had forgotten about Ninja.

  Kent reeled back as the dog’s weight crashed against his chest. He felt a searing pain as the shepherd’s powerful jaws sank enamel knives into his forearm.

  He shook his arm to free the vice, but his flailing only forced the teeth deeper. He smashed the dog’s eye with his free fist — the jaws held tight. Ninja’s front feet clawed through Kent’s shirt and gouged his chest. He could see red foam in the corners of Ninja’s mouth and feel fire as the dog’s teeth raked across bone. Searching for a weapon, he reached for a folding chair, but it fell away. The enraged dog forced him against the kitchen table, and Kent saw a butcher knife lying on it. He grabbed it, lifted his burning arm high to expose Ninja’s belly, but the dog’s flailing feet knocked the knife from his hand. Kent felt himself weakening. Ninja seemed to sense it and shook his arm more violently, pulling Kent to the floor.

  Suddenly there was a second projectile, this one red. It came through the door and across the kitchen floor like the wrath of God, snarling and ripping. Lucinda! He who threatens my master must die burned in her eyes.

  Ninja reeled back from the big hound’s impact, allowing Kent to scramble free. She brought herself down squarely on the enemy dog, and let out a roar the likes of which Kent had never heard before. She grasped Ninja’s neck in her teeth, and cast her head back and forth in a series of vicious ripping yanks. The black dog’s blood sprayed across the floor and spattered Kent’s legs. Ninja rolled onto his back and lay very still, eyes averted, but it was too late for appeasement. For a long moment Lucinda held her grip, then gradually she released her hold, but remained coiled like a spring, ready to attack again if Ninja so much as moved. When she was sure the shepherd was defeated, she stepped over to Kent and inspected him, passing her nose over his body and injured arm in a series of rapid sniffs. Then she whined softly. Kent stroked her scruff as the two of them watched the life drain out of Burton Bush’s dog. Strangely, in spite of it all, a wave of sadness passed over him.