“I had to give Michaels this number, boss,” Jerry said in a subdued apologetic voice.
“Not to worry, Jerry. I hadn’t switched the line back to the Dower House yet.” Rafe sounded grim still, but he wasn’t addressing Jerry in that stilted, almost-Englishy-affected way. “Albert can’t be trusted to answer a phone, you know, so Garry always switches our line back to the big house.”
“Shall I put the Austin up, or will you be needing it?”
“No, I won’t be needing it. And please let the dogs out this evening before you go.”
“I always do when madam’s at home,” Jerry said, sounding disgusted. “Will you be working the string to morrow, boss?”
“Naturally.”
“I thought being newlywed…”
“This time I married a horsewoman, Jerry. Good evening.”
And Rafe had called that woman “Mother”? It must be his stepmother, I thought, trying to explain his astounding reaction to her. It had to be his stepmother, I decided when he came in, his face bleakly expressionless.
“I heard…” I said, gesturing to the open window. “Yes, you would have heard it all,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets as he slowly walked across the room to me. He stood, for a moment, looking down at me where I huddled under the quilt, and then his expression softened, he became Rafe Clery-”Sure, Mr. Clery”-again.
“Shall we get the fuzz off our necks?” he asked with a rueful grin.
I swallowed my surprise, because the emotional tension of the phone call had caused me to forget completely the previous conversation.
I nodded, because, honestly, I didn’t want to. Michaels had been polite and deferential, but he’d only been querying me about a fire, not a murder. A second murder, because Pete Sankey was dead because he had tried to help me. His murder was almost as senseless as my father’s. Had the man who killed Pete killed my father too? And why? Why?
Rafe was dialing the number stolidly, frowning as the very brusque, bored voice of the sergeant-operator identified precinct, town, and himself. Rafe held the phone slightly tilted from his left ear so that I could hear perfectly.
“Michaels there?”
“Detective Michaels? I’ll check.” Michaels answered after a very short pause.
“Rafe Clery here. I understand you’ve been trying to reach us.”
“Yes, I have, Mr. Clery, and I’ve had some funny answers.”
“I paid the desk clerk, because my wife had been bothered enough, and she needed rest more than rapping. Check with the doctor-Prentice, his name was, I think, if you like.”
“You cleared out in a hurry today, too.” “I cleared out because I got married this morning, and show-circuit people have some pretty obstreperous notions of how to celebrate nuptials if they know about them.”
Michaels mumbled something, then said, “I’d heard you and Miss Dunn were engaged. My congratulations.” He sounded as if he meant it. “However, I have some questions about the fire, and…”
“Pete Sankey’s death?”
“Yes,” Michaels said after a brief pause. “I gather MacCrate got back. Where were you and Miss Dunn Monday night?”
To my astonishment, Rafe began to chuckle. “Michaels, man to man, I’d rather not answer that question. The desk clerk was paid twenty to say we’d checked out. We hadn’t. But there’s no alibi, because I gave Nialla a sleeping pill and took one myself.”
I thought I heard a sigh. “Is Mrs. Clery able to come to the phone?”
“She’s here, listening in, as I am.” Rafe stressed the last three words. “A conference call, you might say.” I had no choice. Rafe tipped the phone toward me.
“Yes, Mr. Michaels?”
“I do apologize for disturbing you, Mrs. Clery, but I’d rather not have to make you come back here today.”
“Not a chance of that, Michaels. Doctor’s orders,” Rafe cut in.
“I do have some questions that I’m certain you can answer right now, and we can get a statement later if necessary,” Michaels went on, as if Rafe hadn’t interrupted. “I understand that Pete Sankey worked for you over the weekend.”
“Well, not exactly worked, Lieutenant. He was kind enough to stay with my horses while I was at dinner.”
“I see. He was watching your stock the night of the fire?”
“Yes. He got the mare out and gave the alarm.” “Have you seen him since the fire?”
“No. I haven’t, but they said he’d been into A-Barn on Monday. We wanted to thank him and-couldn’t find him anywhere.”
“Then he never mentioned to you that he might have seen someone or something suspicious around G-Barn the night of the fire?”
“No, not to me, but then I wasn’t…”
“Michaels”-Rafe had the phone again-”she passed out in A-Barn. And Pete said nothing to me when I saw him on Monday. He wasn’t much of a conversationalist at best.”
“Mr. Clery”-and Michaels’ voice lost a little of its courtesy-”I’m trying to help your wife, not harass her. Her father was murdered, Pete Sankey is dead, and there have been three attempts to harm her. I’m frankly worried for her safety.”
“Why the hell do you think I got her out of that town?”
Michaels sighed again. “Unfortunately, everyone knows where you live. I’m informing the local authorities…”
“My farm is fenced, Michaels, and I run guard dogs at night. Let Bob Erskine alone.”
Michaels said nothing for a long moment, then asked to speak to me again.
“Please try, Mrs. Clery, to think back to the time of your father’s death. Try to remember the most minute, unimportant details.”
“It’s no use, Mr. Michaels. I told the police everything then.”
“You may know something, Mrs. Clery, you don’t think you do. Give the matter some thought, please, for your own sake.”
“There is something, though.”
“Yes?”
“About this last weekend. I saw a man I used to know on the West Coast, Caps Galvano. He was at the Sunbury Fair.”
“And that’s a helluva funny place”-Rafe had grabbed the phone back-”for Galvano, Michaels, because he’s a racetrack tout from California. And a guy answering his general description was seen leaving the car that blared a horn while Nialla was jumping the black.” Rafe gave a quick description of Galvano. “He used to run a certain kind of service for Lou Marchmount, and Lou Marchmount was in Sunbury Monday night.”
“Russ Donnelly trained for Marchmount, didn’t he?” Michaels’ voice had quickened with interest. “
“Yes, he did.”
“Thank you, Mr. Clery. Thank you very much. And please stay put. I’ll try not to bother you any more than necessary.”
“That would be appreciated,” Rafe said, and hung up. “We’ll let him worry about it. Goddamn, why can’t I once have a peaceful, uninterrupted honeymoon?” he demanded, slapping his hands on his knees in two loud cracks.
It wasn’t a rebuke; it was an utterly exasperated complaint about conspiracy, which, combined with the long-suffering expression on his face, struck me as so ludicrous, under the circumstances, that I collapsed into giggles. His hard strong arms came around me, his laughter was in my ear as we rolled on the bed together. His eyes were merry, and he was not the frightening cold man who had stood in the doorway a few moments before. Suddenly he stripped the quilt from me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me off the bed with such force that I was propelled toward the closest at a run, when he let go. As I passed him, I was sped on by a smart slap on my bare rump.
“Get some clothes on, woman. I’m starving. And if I don’t feed you up, I’ll chop off my hand on your bony arse.”
The new dressing gown was at the top of the suitcase, and I was mightily relieved that he didn’t suggest dining out, I wanted to be alone with him. Alone and safe with the high fence and the guard dogs on the prowl.