Delilah.”
Delilah arrived at their table, and Coot smiled up at her. “Thank you, Delilah! Looks wonderful.”
“Enjoy!”
She stood there a minute, but they both made a pretense of being fascinated with their chicken potpie.
“More coffee, gentlemen?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Dustin told her.
She refilled their coffee. Then the family of four apparently needed some directions, and Delilah was distracted.
“I’d say look at those closest to him,” Coot said in a low voice. “Isn’t that what you law types do in situations like this?”
“Usually, yes.”
Coot nodded. “So at the Horse Farm you’ve got two more therapists. You’ve got Mason Garlano. The guy’s great with animals, but too much of a narcissist to be as good with people. I think he’s waiting to be in the right ice cream parlor at the right time and have some Hollywood type ‘discover’ him. He gets some modeling jobs on the side. Mariah Naughton is nice enough. A bit of an edge to her sometimes, as if she believed there’d be more in the world for her.”
“Doesn’t sound like they’d have anything against Marcus, though.”
“No. Then you’re down to the stable managers. Drew Dicksen and Sydney Roux. They’re both decent types, far as I can tell. They run a tight ship there, not easy with the number of animals Marcus was always bringing in. His door was open to any abandoned creature, and I should know, since I brought him a bunch. He’d try to find homes for the cats and dogs, but most of ’em wound up staying at the farm. That meant lots of animals to feed. Lots of housekeeping. Lots of—literally—shit to shovel.”
“So even if you resented him because of the workload or whatever, don’t you think you’d find another line of work before killing a man?” Dustin asked.
“Yeah. There’s the dilemma. Which one would have an agenda? Damned if I know.”
A few minutes later they finished their meals. Coot was insistent that they split the check; he wasn’t taking taxpayer money by letting Dustin pay, he said, but neither was he going to pay more taxes by buying Dustin’s meal.
They rose to leave, setting their money on the table.
About to walk out, Dustin thanked Delilah, who was busy wiping tables, preparing to close for the night. He could honestly tell her the chicken potpie was excellent.
The house was quiet when they returned. But Coot didn’t have any more to say. He started up the stairs to his own room.
“Nice to talk with you, young fellow,” he told Dustin.
“Nice to talk with you, too, sir,” Dustin said politely.
In his own room, he went on his computer to look into everyone’s backgrounds.
Mariah, Marcus and Sydney Roux were all from the area and had families that had been around these parts for over a hundred years. Mariah had already told him as much, at least where she was concerned.
Aaron Bentley was originally from Arkansas, Andrew Dicksen from Biloxi, Mississippi, Sandra Cheever from White Plains, New York, and Mason Garlano was from Austin, Texas.
He wondered if any of that would be significant. Probably not, he assumed—but you never knew.
* * *
Olivia had actually fallen asleep when the dog suddenly went crazy. She was dimly aware of a little woof by her side, then the patter of his nails as he raced down the stairs. At the front door, he started a frenzy of barking.
Nervously she jumped out of bed. She looked around the room and realized that Dustin Blake was right—she was virtually defenseless. She thought about the knives in her kitchen and decided they wouldn’t do her much good. If there really was an assailant, he’d just turn her own knife on her. She wasn’t a weakling by any means, but neither did she know about combat.
Her heart thudding, she threw on a robe, then snatched her phone off the bedside table.
The screen told her it was 4:31 a.m.
As she started down the stairs, the barking seemed to come from the back of the house.
She reminded herself
Delilah arrived at their table, and Coot smiled up at her. “Thank you, Delilah! Looks wonderful.”
“Enjoy!”
She stood there a minute, but they both made a pretense of being fascinated with their chicken potpie.
“More coffee, gentlemen?” she asked.
“Yes, please,” Dustin told her.
She refilled their coffee. Then the family of four apparently needed some directions, and Delilah was distracted.
“I’d say look at those closest to him,” Coot said in a low voice. “Isn’t that what you law types do in situations like this?”
“Usually, yes.”
Coot nodded. “So at the Horse Farm you’ve got two more therapists. You’ve got Mason Garlano. The guy’s great with animals, but too much of a narcissist to be as good with people. I think he’s waiting to be in the right ice cream parlor at the right time and have some Hollywood type ‘discover’ him. He gets some modeling jobs on the side. Mariah Naughton is nice enough. A bit of an edge to her sometimes, as if she believed there’d be more in the world for her.”
“Doesn’t sound like they’d have anything against Marcus, though.”
“No. Then you’re down to the stable managers. Drew Dicksen and Sydney Roux. They’re both decent types, far as I can tell. They run a tight ship there, not easy with the number of animals Marcus was always bringing in. His door was open to any abandoned creature, and I should know, since I brought him a bunch. He’d try to find homes for the cats and dogs, but most of ’em wound up staying at the farm. That meant lots of animals to feed. Lots of housekeeping. Lots of—literally—shit to shovel.”
“So even if you resented him because of the workload or whatever, don’t you think you’d find another line of work before killing a man?” Dustin asked.
“Yeah. There’s the dilemma. Which one would have an agenda? Damned if I know.”
A few minutes later they finished their meals. Coot was insistent that they split the check; he wasn’t taking taxpayer money by letting Dustin pay, he said, but neither was he going to pay more taxes by buying Dustin’s meal.
They rose to leave, setting their money on the table.
About to walk out, Dustin thanked Delilah, who was busy wiping tables, preparing to close for the night. He could honestly tell her the chicken potpie was excellent.
The house was quiet when they returned. But Coot didn’t have any more to say. He started up the stairs to his own room.
“Nice to talk with you, young fellow,” he told Dustin.
“Nice to talk with you, too, sir,” Dustin said politely.
In his own room, he went on his computer to look into everyone’s backgrounds.
Mariah, Marcus and Sydney Roux were all from the area and had families that had been around these parts for over a hundred years. Mariah had already told him as much, at least where she was concerned.
Aaron Bentley was originally from Arkansas, Andrew Dicksen from Biloxi, Mississippi, Sandra Cheever from White Plains, New York, and Mason Garlano was from Austin, Texas.
He wondered if any of that would be significant. Probably not, he assumed—but you never knew.
* * *
Olivia had actually fallen asleep when the dog suddenly went crazy. She was dimly aware of a little woof by her side, then the patter of his nails as he raced down the stairs. At the front door, he started a frenzy of barking.
Nervously she jumped out of bed. She looked around the room and realized that Dustin Blake was right—she was virtually defenseless. She thought about the knives in her kitchen and decided they wouldn’t do her much good. If there really was an assailant, he’d just turn her own knife on her. She wasn’t a weakling by any means, but neither did she know about combat.
Her heart thudding, she threw on a robe, then snatched her phone off the bedside table.
The screen told her it was 4:31 a.m.
As she started down the stairs, the barking seemed to come from the back of the house.
She reminded herself
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