"Your Detective Thurman's been a busy boy."
In the short sentence her opinion of Frederick Parsons no longer interested me. "How do you mean?"
"He's been interviewing everyone who'd ever come within fifty yards of Valerie."
"Like you?"
She nodded. "And Miguel and Maria."
"Really?"
Another nod. "Miguel took Jorge in on Monday, and came back with an invitation for me and Maria."
"So, how'd it go?"
She shrugged and sat forward. "Fine for us. I think it was a mixed bag for the detective, though."
"How so?"
"He walked Maria out to the lobby when they were done. She had him by the arm and was giving him advice on diet and exercise. She promised she'd call his wife, then gave him a little pat on the stomach."
"No." I grinned. It was like the home team scoring a point. "I wish I'd been there."
"On our way home Maria said she told him about the fight your sister and Valerie had over Eric. I expect by now you know all about their little set-to. Anyway, they went in for questioning, too – Eric and Juliet. Juliet's there now. Thought you should have a heads up about that."
Within half a dozen accelerated heartbeats I couldn't form a single coherent thought. Delores reached across her desk and held my wrist firmly.
"They're both adults. They can handle this. You don't have to protect them."
"I – yes, I know. It's just… she's my little sister," I squeaked the last four words.
Delores patted my hand and gave me a reassuring smile. "It'll be okay. I didn't mean for you to worry – just wanted you to know."
"Thanks. I do need to know and I'm not sure Juliet will tell me. Thanks." I swallowed, took a breath, and stood. "We'll just deal with things as they come up."
"That's all we can do."
"Right. Well, okay then. I guess I'll go collect my saddle and stuff."
"Good girl. By the way, I understand the funeral is on Wednesday."
"What? Oh. Thanks for letting me know." My knee-jerk thought was how I could avoid going. I caught Delores's small smile and shake of the head on my way out.
My locker offered little to pack up; saddle, bridle, pads, boots, brushes, some horse shampoo, a couple of blankets, buckets, and a few first aid supplies. After several trips, a little planning, and repacking, I got all of it to fit into my trunk and back seat. To be sure I didn't miss any of Blackie's toys, I decided to check his old stall, and walked back to the Big Barn along an alternate route through the New Barn.
A crash I recognized as a horse challenging his stall wall startled me out of my fretting over Juliet and Eric. I looked for the source of the equine temper tantrum and saw Nachtfeder, Valerie's horse, ears pinned and teeth bared, pushing his considerable bulk against the front of his stall. He clashed his teeth against the stall bars in an obvious effort to intimidate me. It worked well. I hurried past. Miguel poked his head out of the stall he was cleaning.
"Wow, that's one cranky horse," I said.
"He has always been difficult, but now every day he is worse."
"Maybe he misses Valerie."
He met my suggestion with a wry smile. "If he does, he would be the only one."
Except for Greg," I said, touching the still-sore bruise on my jaw.
"I think it's her money he misses." His eyes narrowed. "He do that?" He stroked his large bandito moustache with one hand. The smile that usually made the corners of his eyes crinkle was gone and without it he looked fierce.
"He stopped by my house yesterday morning pretty upset about Valerie. He tried to get me to tell him where Blackie was, but Paul came by and convinced him he should leave." I suspected he had heard some version of the story already.
"Paul, he is a good man." He gave an approving nod.
It was unnecessary and maybe even silly, but his opinion pleased me – and, I couldn't help notice, further diverted me from the mood that Delores's news had provoked.
"I'll see you later," I said. "Thought I'd do one last check of Blackie's stall to be sure I got everything."
"Be careful," he said, looking pointedly at my bruises, and went back to work.
I continued to the Big Barn resolved to deal with Juliet later and wondering what Valerie's family would do with her horse. More accurately, how much they'd sell him for and if his crabby disposition would make it difficult to find a buyer.
"Hi, Thea," a woman's voice called from behind me.
I turned. Sarah Fuller, in the latest equestrian schooling couture, walked toward me as quickly as her boots allowed. Her waif-like appearance and lack of social skills always made me think of her as a child. But she was a professional financial planner and worked in Greg's office. Rumor had it the sole reason Sarah took riding lessons was to get Greg to notice her. Despite her big blue eyes, she should not have tried for such a direct comparison with Valerie.
She'd been doing some heavy-duty shopping since I'd seen her last. The tall black boots, so stiff and free of wear, had to be new. Likewise the quilted, impractical, white vest, shirt, and dark blue plaid breeches. By my calculations she'd plunked down close to a thousand dollars for an outfit she'd wear a couple of times a week in a dusty barn and arena. There was no chance she'd ridden already. She wouldn't be so spotless. Valerie was the only one I knew who could pull that trick off.
To say Sarah and I were acquaintances would be erring on the side of friendliness. Last time I saw her she wouldn't have anything to do with me. However, I had no solid reason to dislike her and always tried to be pleasant when I couldn't avoid her. This odd little reversal of behavior of her's had me curious.
"Hi, Sarah. Nice boot."
"I heard Valerie's dead," she said.
Oh, that's why we were having this little tête-à-tête. "Yes, she is."
"Somebody said you found her. Did you?"
Oh great. She was trying to pump me for information. Could I be rude and walk away from her? "Yeah, I'm afraid so." I turned to walk away.
"Was she, you know, awful to look at?"
The image of Valerie's dead face sprang into my mind and produced an involuntary shiver. For as peculiar as Sarah was, I'd never have pegged her for having a morbid curiosity. I guess I was wrong. I glared, chin lowered, and back rigid, before answering.
"Yes."
"I heard you found her in the pasture at her house and your horse was in the field with her. People are saying she stole him."
"Are they?" If she noticed my caustic tone, she gave no indication.
"But she was murdered, right? I mean it wasn't an accident or anything? Do they know who did it?" The corners of her lips twitched with a smile she couldn't quite suppress. I knew Sarah despised Valerie – everyone knew – but this barely concealed delight put her on a par with Bride of Chucky for creepiness.
"I wouldn't know." I stepped away.
She followed. "She sure was, like, brutal to a lot of people… I've heard."
I halted my retreat. "Anyone in particular?"
"Yeah. You." She shifted on her feet under my angry stare. "So, what happened to your face?"
"I fell." I immediately regretted not coming up with a better story. The curl of her lip told me she recognized the lie.
"Yeah? Looks like it hurts."
"Not really." That at least was true. The ice had helped.
"A friend of mine got a bruise like that once."
"Oh? She must have had a bad fall, too."
"No, her boyfriend beat her up." She held my gaze for a beat.
"Sorry to hear it. I hope she broke up with him."
"He dumped her."
Something about the flat tone of her voice flipped on a mental light bulb. Sarah was referring to herself.
"Poor girl," I said, sincerely.
"Whatever. I need to get my horse for my lesson." And she left.
I watched her hurry away, overwhelmed with pity for her. I didn't understand the dynamics behind such relationships and prayed I never would. Violence and abuse did not belong in any relationship. What made her stay until she was discarded? Maybe I ought to be a tad less judgmental of her in the future. She didn't deserve my scorn.