She swallowed hard, staring down at the red Turkish rug that covered her hardwood office floor. “They depend on him for support. His family. Tell them I’ll forward his pay. I don’t want them to worry.”
“I’ll be glad to do that.” Steele eyed her as he took out a pad and some paper. “Can we go over a few things?” She nodded.
“I understand Mr. Garcia recently left your employ. Is that correct?”
Emilie stood and with robotic motions, took the note Camillo had left her from her desk. She handed it to the detective. “I guess he left Friday night. I’d seen him at dinner. He said nothing about leaving. But in the morning, when he didn’t show up to groom and exercise the horses, I went to the back barn, into his office and found this note. Next to it were all his keys.”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to keep the note.” He took it from her trembling hands. He folded it away in his jacket pocket. “Did you and Mr. Garcia always eat meals together?”
She shrugged. “A few times a week. He wasn’t just an employee. We were friends, too.”
“As I said, I’m terribly sorry.” He made some notes in his little book. “So, the room where you found Mr. Garcia was normally locked?”
She nodded. “It should have been. I’m certain it was closed yesterday. I assumed it was locked.”
“Do you always lock all of the rooms in the stable?”
“All the tack rooms, yes. And the feed room,” she said. “I’m sure you know there is a high rate of saddle theft in the area and I’ve heard of people stealing the pharmaceuticals, as well, which are in the feed room.”
“Who else has a key to the room where you found Mr. Garcia?”
“No one. Just Camillo and me.”
“Was the stable busy this weekend?”
“No. No one’s here this weekend. The staff is off for Thanksgiving and almost all the boarders went out of town.”
He wrote more notes in his book. “You saw Mr. Garcia Friday night. He said nothing about leaving. Then Saturday morning he didn’t show up for work so you walk back to his office and find this note and his keys. Do you have these keys?”
Emilie stood again and retrieved the keys from the top desk drawer.
“That’s a lot of keys,” he said. “Was his office locked when you found these and the note?”
Emilie frowned. “No. But he didn’t always lock his office. There wasn’t anything valuable in it. He did keep the door closed.”
“Was the door closed when you found the note?”
Emilie closed her eyes. The events of the weekend blurred together. “I don’t…I don’t remember.”
“But you’re sure the tack room was closed and locked? How is that?”
His accusatory tone irked her. “I said I don’t know if it was locked. I assumed it was. It was closed. I remember that.”
“But you can’t remember if the office door was closed?”
“No,” she said.
Steele stared at her while unwrapping a stick of gum and popping it into his mouth. “What are all these keys to?”
“Camillo’s apartment, his office, his tack room, my tack room, the feed room and the trailers and trucks.”
“How many trucks and trailers?”
“Two of each.”
He counted the keys and seemed satisfied. “And since then, you’ve stored these keys in this office, which only you have a key to?”
“Yes. Well, actually copies of most of these keys are in the main house, too. Why?”
He ignored her question, returned the keys to her and put away his notebook. “The ME is placing time of death at sometime between 8 p.m. and midnight. I think we can assume Mr. Garcia was hit in the head with some of that equipment that hung in the rafters, but we can’t determine whether or not it was accidental until we get the body in a lab. I’m going to ask that you close off that part of the stable until I get back to you.” He stood and handed her a card with his contact information.
Emilie’s head spun as she reached for the card. “So, what are you saying? You’re not sure if it was an accident? What do you think happened?”
“Miss Gill, does it seem strange to you that your employee left without much notice?”
“Yes.”
“Does it seem strange that he would come back here in the night knowing that he gave the keys to you and that you might have locked him out of those rooms?”
“I suppose it does.”
“I’ve been doing this sort of work for fifteen years, and I think so, too.”
Steele left the room.
Emilie grabbed her stomach, ran to the bathroom and was sick.
The mucking passed slowly with the horses inside. Derrick had to halter and place each one in the cross ties before he could clean and add fresh bedding. Hours passed. But the process allowed him to learn every horse’s name, memorize its distinctive markings and make an educated guess at its breeding. It helped to keep his mind off the dead body and the real question that nagged his brain. Should I take the job or not?
The truth was he hadn’t thought over the decision much before coming. There hadn’t been time. Emilie had called him yesterday and here he was. When they’d spoken on the phone, she had expected Camillo to return, so he’d accepted the job as a temporary position. But now what? She would need someone permanent and he could never commit to that. “Mr. Randall?”
Derrick stepped out of Redman’s stall, Stall K, toward the low voice. A distinguished man in his mid-fifties approached. He was slender and handsome with an intelligent forehead and the same clear green eyes as Emilie.
Derrick pulled off his right glove and extended his hand. “I’m Derrick Randall.”
“Preston Gill.” The man scanned up then down Derrick’s person. “Did my daughter ask you to do that?” He pointed to the wooden handle of the manure fork Derrick held against his chest.
“No. She didn’t.”
“You know that’s not part of your job. She has people here who do that.”
Derrick’s gaze swept the interior of the stable. “Well, today, it just seems to be me.”
“That’s because my daughter gave everyone the weekend off.” Mr. Gill spread two fingers across his short, silvery mustache and twitched his nose at the strong odor of manure beside him. “I spoke with Emilie about your employment. She says you’re only here temporarily?”
Derrick
