Slow Kill - Michael Mcgarrity [14]
“You picked the best of the lot,” Wheeler said as Kerney wrote out the check.
“They’ll do nicely,” Kerney replied. “Have you ever been to Santa Fe?”
Wheeler shook his head as he took the offered check. “Why do you ask?”
“I thought maybe you could tell me about Mrs. Spalding.”
Wheeler laughed. “I can’t help you there. As far as she’s concerned, I’m just hired help, and I’m sure not the type that would turn her head.”
“Meaning?” Kerney asked.
Wheeler scratched his chin. “She seems to have an eye for men. But they’re all a hell of a lot taller, younger, and better-looking than me. I’ve never heard that it went any further than that. But playing around isn’t all that unusual among the horse-racing set.”
“She got along okay with her husband?”
“Yeah, as far as I could tell. Why wouldn’t she? The guy was fronting some big bucks to keep her happy.”
“Did Spalding ever say anything about his marriage?” Kerney asked.
Wheeler wrinkled his nose. “Not directly to me. I did overhear him once bellyaching to a friend before a race that he had a hard time getting her to travel out to the coast. There was always something that would come up and keep her in Santa Fe. Why are you asking me these questions?”
“I have the feeling the sheriff’s deputy thinks I may be personally involved with Mrs. Spalding,” Kerney said, “and that her husband’s death may not be as uncomplicated as it appears.”
Wheeler’s genial attitude vanished as he looked Kerney up and down. “You’re saying the cops think Spalding might have been murdered?”
“They haven’t discounted it.”
“Well, you sure fit the type she’d be drawn to.” Wheeler shifted uneasily in his chair. “Not that I’m saying you’re involved in anything.”
“I’m sure it will all get sorted out,” Kerney said.
He picked up the paperwork from the desk and thanked Wheeler for making the transaction pleasurable. Outside, two sheriff’s units were parked in front of the guest cottage.
Kerney walked across the circular driveway thinking that what Wheeler had told him lent credence to Sergeant Lowrey’s gut instincts about the case. The idea of going home as a suspect in a homicide held no appeal. He decided to delay his return to Santa Fe and poke around a bit to see what more he could learn about Clifford and Claudia Spalding.
Ellie Lowrey didn’t see any hint of surprise or uneasiness in Kerney when he entered the cabin.
“Have you found anything interesting, Sergeant?” he asked. In the kitchen, the coroner was bagging the juice glass Kerney had rinsed out and left on the counter.
“Not yet,” Ellie replied.
He turned to leave. “I’ll wait on the porch until you’re finished.”
“Mr. Kerney,” Lowrey said.
Lowrey had deliberately avoided addressing him by rank. It was a neat psychological trick to establish dominance. Kerney countered by reducing Lowrey in rank. “Yes, Deputy?”
Color rose on Lowrey’s cheeks. “I’d like permission to search your luggage.”
“Go ahead,” Kerney said. “I’ll be on the porch.”
“Don’t you want to be present?”
“It’s not necessary.”
She held out a clipboard. “Please sign the permission slip,” she said tersely.
He scrawled his name, went outside, and sat on the stoop. Woodpeckers were busy in the trees and mares grazed lazily in the adjacent pasture. The afternoon sun, hazy in the sky, cast a soft, golden light that looked like melted butter. A mare rubbed her rump against the thick, curling lower branch of a live oak tree as her foal lay asleep close by, legs folded. Leaves shimmered in a whispering breeze, and a crow swished overhead, wings spread wide, croaking as it passed to drop down and perch on a creek-bed rock.
It had been an unusual day. Some of it had been as pleasant as the warm afternoon sun now on Kerney’s face, and some of it as chilly as the early morning