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 stopped, placed the manure fork against the wall and removed his other glove. “Yes. For the season. Then back to school.”
“I see.” Mr. Gill paused and took in a long, steady breath. “Well, perhaps in light of recent circumstances, you’d consider something a bit longer term now? Think it over. I can make it worth your while. As long as you and I can come to an understanding.”
Derrick frowned. “An understanding?”
“Yes. While you’re in this job, there are certain things I expect you to do.”
Derrick eyed the man carefully. “Such as?”
“For starters, help my daughter get on to the Olympic team.”
Derrick laughed. “I don’t see how I can—”
“Don’t be modest, Mr. Randall,” her father interrupted. “I ran a check on you. I know what you bring to the table. I’ve even been advised of your relationship with Peter Winslow. You could be key in securing him as her trainer.”
Derrick stiffened. “You ran a check on me?”
“I’m careful about who works on the estate. And with my daughter.”
“I can appreciate your concern for your daughter.” Derrick moved toward Redman, still hooked in the cross ties. Taking the animal by the chin strap, he led him into his stall. “But I think you overestimate my influence over Peter. He’s not likely to take a client he doesn’t want just because I ask him to.”
Mr. Gill took a step closer.
“There’s more to what you’re asking, isn’t there?” Derrick narrowed his eyes.
Mr. Gill feigned a smile and stuffed his hands into his pants pockets. “You have to understand that the Gill name sometimes raises conflicts. I travel a lot and I don’t want anyone taking advantage of Emilie in my absence. I need your assurance that you will watch out for her best interest, make sure nothing untoward happens.” Untoward? Derrick shook his head. “You mean you want me to babysit her.”
“No.” Mr. Gill looked annoyed. “My daughter doesn’t need a babysitter. But I do worry about her business, her travel, the media. Just be there. Keep things under control. Notify me if you feel a situation warrants my involvement. Mr. Garcia and I had a nice relationship. I was hoping you and I could have the same.”
“So, I’d be a bodyguard? An informant?”
“Mr. Randall, I don’t know if it’s necessary to label this. You need money to finish veterinary school. I know your scholarship fund ran dry. So, I know you could use this.” He reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat and handed Derrick five one hundred dollar bills. “And I get the comfort of knowing that my daughter is safe.”
Derrick backed away, lifting both palms in the air. He did need money, but this didn’t seem like an honest way to go about getting it. “Mr. Gill, no disrespect, but this doesn’t seem ethical to me. I think my coming here was a mistake.”
He tried to pass, but Preston Gill placed a firm hand on his chest to stop him. He leaned in close to Derrick’s face and stared with large green eyes, similar to his daughter’s in shape and color. But different. In Emilie’s, he’d seen sadness, irritation, sometimes a flicker of playfulness. Her father’s displayed nothing, keeping everything locked away.
“Think this over, Mr. Randall. I’m on the board of your university. I can make it difficult for you to return.”
“Well, vet school is looking less and less appealing.” The urge to laugh passed over him.
“I had a feeling you would say that. It seems you’ve spent your life not finishing what you start.”
Derrick dropped his head. The insult stung deeply. He thought about shoving Mr. Gill off his chest. His fingers curled into fists. Please, Lord. He forced a deep breath into his lungs and prayed for calm.
Mr. Gill took a step back and placed the money back into his own coat pocket. “There’s nothing underhanded about this, Randall. The simple truth is that as CEO of a leading financial group I travel constantly and I can’t be there for Emilie. But my daughter is still important to me. I don’t trust her care to anyone. Especially after such upsetting events. I want to know she’s taken care of.”
“Does your daughter know about this…arrangement?”
“I see no reason for that.”
Derrick nodded, certain his conscience wouldn’t allow him to agree