He mounted the steps to my porch before he spoke. "Miss Campbell, good of you to see me."
"Not at all." I hoped my nervousness didn't show. "I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Parsons. Please, come in."
He walked in and glanced around. Although I'm sure my whole house could easily fit into his garage, he gave no indication he held any opinion of it. The big guy in the dark glasses did not come in, but closed the door leaving Mr. Parsons alone with me.
Up close, Valerie's father was not as old as I first thought. He had classic, handsome features, and oozed elegance. But a steel-like formality about him made it clear he was not a man to cuddle up to. I tried to picture him bouncing his little blond girl on his knee. Nope, not this man.
"Won't you sit down?" I asked.
"I don't want to take much of your time," he said, disregarding my invitation. "I came to talk to you about my daughter."
He looked squarely at me. His gaze flicked to the bruises on my face, then back to my eyes.
"I understand it was your horse in the pasture at her house."
"Yes," I said, and swallowed. Blackie seemed to be everyone's favorite topic of conversation lately.
"I also understand I was mistaken in believing my daughter's death was an accident involving your horse." The muscles in his face were so tense his lips barely moved when he spoke.
"That's correct."
"How did your horse come to be in that pasture?"
"Someone took him from Copper Creek Saturday evening."
"Someone? Was it my daughter?"
His expression didn't change and neither did the tone of his voice, but I felt a rush of compassion for him. He was grieving and worried about the kind of person his daughter actually was.
"Mr. Parsons, no one knows who was driving Valerie's rig. No one saw the driver. It could have been her, but quite honestly, that doesn't make sense to me." In half a heartbeat I'd announced my abandonment of the "Valerie-is-a-crook" stance – again. Who could blame me? Maybe I'd believe it myself on one of these go-rounds.
"Nor does it make sense to me, Miss Campbell." The floor creaked as he walked across the hardwood of my entryway and into my living room. He looked around as if browsing in a gift shop. The photographs on the bookcase caught his eye and he strolled over to have a closer look. One picture was of Juliet. The other was of me on Blackie with Uncle Henry. Mr. Parsons picked up the one of Blackie and studied it, then did the same with Juliet's picture. "Your sister?"
"Yes." My face went cold, and my scalp seemed to shrink. I wanted to grab the photograph out of his hands. But before I made a move he returned it to its place on the bookshelf.
"Should you have any knowledge to share with me I would like to encourage you to do so. It would be prudent."
I locked eyes with him and set my jaw. "I'm afraid I'm as baffled as you, Mr. Parsons. More, perhaps."
"I intend to find out who killed my daughter and set her up to look like a common thief."
He held my gaze long enough for me to understand he considered me part of the equation. I did a quick reevaluation of my sympathy for him and discarded it. He nodded slightly, evidently satisfied I'd caught on.
"Thank you for your time," he said and left.
I closed the door softly behind him and slid the chain in place. It was a token gesture, to be sure. I watched from the living room window as the black car pulled away from the curb, then sat down to give my shaking knees a break.
Crap. How much worse could this get? An image popped into my mind of the little pig cowering in his straw house with the wolf at the door.
You're so pathetic, Thea.
No, now wait just one huffing minute. That story didn't end with the pig on a platter.
"Dammit, I've had enough," I said aloud to my empty living room. "I have absolutely, positively been terrorized for the last time. I will not continue to sit here and let people walk into my house and scare the hell out of me."
Chapter Ten
Considering how little time had passed since everyone seemed so concerned with my well-being, no one seemed to notice I was a bit late for pre-dinner cocktails. But, considering I was in self-sufficient mode that was fine with me. A quiet evening with no drama would go a long way toward getting me back to feeling in control. Juliet and Eric were in the living room with Uncle Henry and Aunt Vi. Their laughter – mostly Juliet's – made the scene seem almost normal.
"Blackie's doing fine," Uncle Henry said as I walked in. He handed me a glass of white wine.
"I just checked on him. Thanks. He certainly seems like his normal self."
"Did you find out what was wrong with Blackie?" Eric asked. I turned to answer him and he grimaced catching sight of my lovely bruises. "Ouch."
"Whoa, Thea! What happened to your face?" Juliet shoved her wine glass into Eric's hand and sprinted across the room to get a better look.
"Greg did that," Aunt Vi said, all lightness gone from her voice.
My sister and her boyfriend looked shocked.
"Why?" Juliet examined my face closely.
Aunt Vi jumped in before I could draw a breath. "Because he wanted to hurt Blackie and your sister wouldn't tell him where he was." She proceeded to relate the story, but with her own twist, saying that although she didn't know it at the time Blackie's odd behavior meant I was in trouble and needed help. The moment she sent Paul to me, my horse knew I'd be fine and settled down. Therefore, Blackie was the reason they weren't all visiting me in the hospital tonight.
"Wow," Juliet said. "I've heard of dogs having a psychic connection to their owners, but never a horse. How cool."
Eric caught my eye and raised an eyebrow. I studied the ceiling. The exchange didn't escape my aunt.
"All right for you, missy," she huffed in a proper British manner. "But I'll be the one saying I told you so."
I sipped my wine and laughed. "If we find out you're right, Aunt Vi, I'll buy you a new set of Tarot cards."
"Humph," she said, and disappeared into the kitchen, chin in the air.
Once we sat down to dinner the conversation returned to my encounter with Greg.
"So what happened? Greg knocked on your door and then what?" Juliet handed me the burden of the conversation along with the gravy boat. Unfortunately, the gravy boat was easier to pass along.
I related brief details, but they only seemed to intensify Juliet's interest, so I cleverly segued into Thurman's news clearing Blackie of fault in Valerie's death.
"You must have been sobbing with relief," she said.
"Well, no, not sobbing."
"Then dancing in the hall."
"No."
"Ha. I'll bet you threw your arms around that detective and kissed him."
"Hardly. Not when the next words out of his mouth were telling me I was a person of interest." Whoops.
Jaws dropped and eyes bugged around the table. Aunt Vi found her voice first.
"Theodora! You said nothing of this earlier!"
I stammered an incoherent string of "uhs" and "buts."
"You?" Juliet burst out laughing and fell into Eric. Aunt Vi reached over and smacked her shoulder. "Ow!"
Uncle Henry jumped in. "Thea, why didn't you -"
"I got the name of an attorney from Jonathan," I spewed. "But I really don't think I'll need him."
"Let's hope you don't," he finished.
"I can't believe anyone could think my sister -"
"Why do they think you were involved? Because she took your horse?" Eric cut off a still-guffawing Juliet. He laid his arm across the back of my sister's chair and tapped her shoulder with his fingertips. She glanced at him and he shushed her.
"Just because Blackie was at her farm doesn't mean she was the one who took him," Uncle Henry said sharply.