Parked behind my car at the curb was an older Chevy I didn't recognize. Someone was inside, in the driver's seat.
Joey.
No, not Joey. My heart wedged itself into my throat and stopped. I well knew what Mr. Parsons's hired goon looked like sitting in a car, and this wasn't him.
Get back in the house, you idiot! No, wait. You'll be trapped. He hasn't moved. Maybe he didn't notice you. If you're careful you can still get to your car and the sheriff's office.
Cautiously, I took one step, and then another. Still no movement from inside the car. If he moved, I'd run. Drawing a breath, I continued to approach my vehicle on tip toe.
Still nothing.
I crept closer, watching. Once within mad-dash distance of my own car I recognized the lurking form.
My pulse plunged to normal. Jorge sat at the wheel, sound asleep. Miguel must have sent him over.
I walked over and tapped on the window. No reaction. I tapped harder. Jorge sprang awake and looked around. I waved at him.
"Thea!" He rolled down the window.
"Go home, Jorge."
"I'm supposed to be protecting you."
"Thank you, but I'm going to the sheriff's office now." I made no comment on the quality of his protection.
"Oh, okay. I'll go home then." He yawned and dug her car keys out of his pants pocket. "I would have woke up if someone came by. I'm a very light sleeper."
"I'm sure you would have. I appreciate it," I added sincerely.
I smiled, got in my car, and started the engine. He put his car into gear only after I pulled away from the curb.
At a little after four-thirty the April sky in the Northwest is still dark. The cloud cover makes it even darker. The night officer at the Sheriff's Office made me wait while he verified my identification before letting me into the building. The entry was well lit, but there were nerve-wracking deep shadows beyond the floodlights.
"I need to talk to Detective Thurman about the murder case he's investigating," I said.
"Thurman won't be in before eight. You'll need to wait until then."
I sighed and checked my watch. I'd have a long wait in an uncomfortable chair, with no magazines for distraction. At least I had my coffee and I was safe.
"You don't need to wait here, you know," the officer said.
I brightened. "Should I wait in his office?" That would be better.
"You could go home."
"I don't want to go home."
"Are you here to confess?"
"No!" Oh my God, did cops I didn't know recognize me? Did everyone think I killed Valerie? I had to clear this up. Now. "I have information for him. I think I know who murdered Valerie Parsons."
"Oh." He looked, without enthusiasm, at the clock. "It won't kill him to get out of bed. I'll give him a call."
He disappeared, and in less than a minute the sliding window from the office opened and he put a phone on the counter where I could reach it.
"Line one," he said.
I pressed the blinking button.
"Good God, woman, do you know what time it is?"
"I think I know who killed Valerie Parsons." I tripped over my words, inexplicably breathless.
"That's what Hausman said. You got your attorney there?"
"No. I can't imagine why I'd need him for this."
"Suit yourself. Okay, who's our killer?"
I told him, in detail, what happened, leaving out the parts irrelevant to the case.
"So, you decided the description of haircut, clean, kind of blond and 'good looking, I guess,' told to you by a sleaze bag who mooches drinks, that someone, who was with another guy named 'Lee,' might possibly have been the killer of Valerie Parsons, and maybe hired this Lee person to go to Copper Creek Equestrian Center, take her horse, and put him in the field where we'd later find Miss Parsons's body and think her death was an accident. But this Lee guy took your horse instead because the two horses look alike – yeah, yeah, I know, same stall location, different barn – which is why your horse was taken. How am I doing?"
"Uh, fine."
"And who is this mystery man who whacked the victim?"
"Jonathan Woods." I'd spoken his name at last. The silence in my ear went on for so long I thought the detective hung up. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah, I'm still here." Another lengthy period of silence ensued. "And what about this other evidence – the bill of sale, the notes on your door, the witness who places you near the scene? How do those fit in?"
"They're separate issues, except for me being near the scene. That's an outright lie," I said, my confidence building.
"Have you mentioned your theory to anyone else?"
"No. I didn't say anything to Delores or Miguel either, because they were with me, heard what I heard, and I'm fairly certain they think the same thing I do."
"Well, at least no one will be filing a lawsuit for slander against you – this morning, anyway."
"Excuse me?" Was he joking? I pressed my palm to my forehead, searching for another way to explain my evidence.
"Look, Miss Campbell." His words came out as a long sigh. "I appreciate the information, but it's highly speculative and circumstantial."
"I'm sure, but -"
"Miss Campbell," he said, cutting me off like an impatient parent. "You need to leave this to the experts. We do, after all, have a vague notion as to what we are doing."
"Well, of course you do, but -"
"Miss Campbell -"
"But -"
"Thea," he bellowed.
I winced. "I -"
"Okay, okay." He sounded exasperated. "I will take the information you've given me and have someone follow up on it. Will that do?"
"Yes."
"Okay. Now, I'm going back to bed, and I suggest you go home and do the same. Feel free to call me, during business hours, if you have any more ideas. Good night – or morning."
I hung up feeling foolish, but only a little, and headed to the farm. As long as I was up, I might as well do stalls.
The kitchen light was on when I parked behind the house. Aunt Vi peered out the window and waved, probably recognizing my car's headlights. I tossed hay to Blackie and Duke, cleaned their stalls, then went down to the house. Aunt Vi was still busy in the kitchen. I knocked softly so as not to alarm her, and let myself in. The comforting aromas of coffee and bacon cooking greeted me. Whole wheat toast, butter, and marmalade were set out on the table. With a deep breath, the tension holding me rigid since yesterday drained away. I was famished. After washing up, I gave Aunt Vi a kiss on the cheek and poured myself coffee. She put a plate of bacon on the table and called to Uncle Henry, then returned to the stove and began cracking eggs into a pan.
"You're up early," she said.
"I couldn't sleep." I picked up a piece of bacon and took a bite.
Uncle Henry padded in dressed in his robe and slippers, yawned a good morning and sat at the table.
"Why is that?" She asked.
I put bacon and toast on a plate and told them about my adventure with Andrea, then my excursion to The Broken Axle with Delores and Miguel. Aunt Vi's eyes went wide with distress as I told her of identifying Jonathan as Valerie's murderer. She made little consoling noises while stroking my arm.
"I'm glad you went to the sheriff this morning," Uncle Henry said when I concluded. The half shake of his head that he'd repeated throughout my narration told me he hadn't been too glad about my other field trip.
"Yeah, for all the good it did. They didn't believe me." I propped my elbow on the table and supported my heavy head on my hand. "I know the evidence is sketchy, but it makes sense when you consider how obsessed Jonathan has been trying to get me to marry him." I stifled a yawn. "He must have killed Valerie after he and I argued in the driveway on Saturday. He was probably thinking if he could get her to back off me I'd be grateful to him and say 'yes' when he proposed. He must have killed her accidentally, then panicked and hired this Lee person to move Nachtfeder, so it'd look like the horse's fault. But Lee got the wrong one." I took a piece of toast and buttered it, turning clues over in my mind. "We need to find Lee so we can be sure." Man, but I was sleepy. It was hard to hold on to individual thoughts as they popped into my head. I yawned. "It makes sense to me now. I'm pretty sure it does, anyway." I put my toast down uneaten. Chewing would take more energy than I had at the moment – and small concerns from my conversation with Detective Thurman had begun to shift around like restless children. "Do you know for a while I thought Greg killed her? But he'd just come home from a business trip and walked into a tragedy. I still think he's scum, though." I shivered and stifled another yawn. "I don't ever want to see him again. I hope the Federal Trade Commission shuts him down and my clients get their money back. Serve him right."