Page 25 of The Perfect Hosts
“She’s fine,” Madeline insists. She’s about ready to tell Lucy to go home and say she can’t deal with all this right now and maybe they can try again in a few months, when Trent opens the stable door.
“Just grabbing a rake,” Trent mutters and moves off to the far end of the stables. Lucy raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment.
“And really?” Madeline says. “You really think I need your input on how to take care of horses?” She turns her back on her sister and returns her attention to Mathilda.
The horses do seem fine, if a little antsy to get out of their stalls and into the paddock where they can stretch their legs, but that won’t happen until the sheriff says it’s okay. Outside, the hum of the helicopter has disappeared, and Madeline thinks she can make the trek back to the house without being filmed. Her back hurts, and she’s in desperate need of a shower or sponge bath, something to get the stink of smoke from her skin.
“You know why I’m here, Madeline,” Lucy says crossing her arms and giving Madeline an infuriatingly serene smile.
“Lucy...” Madeline says, her voice a warning.
“Okay, okay,” Lucy says and laughs. “I’ll shut up. I wouldn’t want another one of your right hooks.”
“It was a slap, not a right hook, and I shouldn’t have donethat,” Madeline says, giving Mathilda one final pat and moving to the next stall.
“No, no, it’s good,” Lucy says, shadowing Madeline. “At least there’s a little personality left in you.”
“My best friend is dead, Lucy.” Madeline is yelling now, and it unsettles the horses who begin stomping their feet. “I’m seven months pregnant, and I had a piece of shrapnel removed from my back. So, yes, it’s fair to say I’ve had a rough twenty-four hours.”
Lucy crosses her arms across her chest, her jaw set at a defiant angle. “I’m here because I’m trying to be a good sister.”
“Hey,” comes a voice. “Sorry to interrupt.” Madeline whirls around. It’s the ATF agent from the hospital. He’s looking at them with concern. “Everything okay here?”
“Yes, we’re fine,” Madeline says. Pip gets up from her spot in the corner and comes over to sniff the new arrival. Today the agent has swapped out his Vans for a pair of sturdy boots.
Lucy steps forward and holds out her hand. “Lucy Quaid,” she says. “Madeline’s sister, and for the record, I did not blow up the barn.”
“Stepsister,” Madeline interrupts.
“My sister,” Lucy says, casting a pointed look at Madeline, “still blames me for cutting the hair off her Barbie doll—and for the record I didn’t do that either.”
The corners of the agent’s mouth go up. Damn Lucy. She somehow always finds a way to slither into people’s good graces, and today she’s putting on a good show. Typically, Lucy is the first one to point out how they are related or, to be more accurate, how they aren’t.
“Jamie Saldano, ATF,” the agent says, taking Lucy’s hand and shaking it.
“Do you have any news?” Madeline asks. “Do you know what happened?”
“Not yet. We are still gathering information,” Agent Saldano says, turning his attention to Sonnet, the Dutch Warmblood that Lucy raised. “She’s a beauty. Can I touch her?”
“Of course,” Madeline says, distractedly. “It had to be an accident, right? Johanna smoked once in a while. When she was stressed. Could she have dropped a cigarette and accidently started the fire?”
Agent Saldano runs a tentative hand over Sonnet’s stormy gray flank, and the horse jerks her head away. “Whoa,” he says, with a nervous laugh. “I guess it’s obvious I’m not a horseman.” He’s not giving them anything. No information at all. But isn’t that the way investigations go? They’ll probably be the last ones to know what really happened, and until then they will be expected to answer all the questions and be patient. She tries to tamp down her frustration.
“She’s a little skittish,” Lucy says. “You need to rub her here, on her withers.” Lucy demonstrates by stroking Sonnet firmly between her shoulder blades.
Agent Saldano follows Lucy’s directions, and instead of flinching, the horse leans into his touch. Madeline bites her cheek, hating that Lucy is right.
“Good girl,” Saldano murmurs. “Until we have definitive proof that the explosion was an accident, we have to explore all possibilities. I know we talked briefly about this last evening at the hospital, but can you think of anyone who might have wanted to target you or your property?”
“No, no one,” Madeline says and then backtracks. “Our neighbor, Sully Preston. We were in business with him for a short time, and it ended badly. He and his wife crashed our party.”
“Badly enough that you can see him blowing up your barn?” the agent asks.
Madeline thinks for a moment. Sully Preston is a shady businessman and could have destroyed their business, butarson? Murder? It was possible. “I don’t know, but I saw Wes’s brother, Dix, and Sully having words earlier in the evening.”
“The partnership went south,” he says. “Why?”
“Bute,” Lucy says, and Madeline glares at her, willing her to shut up.