Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series) Read Online Free

I was established, more or less comfortably, in one of those neutral-looking waiting rooms, or conference rooms, with plastic chairs and industrial carpet, she left me. I had a paper cup of lousy coffee that a receptionist-type deputy had given me, and I sipped it. Patience, I told myself. In ten minutes, or close enough, the door was pushed open again and a short, fat, balding man in a suit came through it. Detective Ward was behind him. They seated themselves on the other side of the long table in the middle of the room, and Detective Ward put a tape recorder on the table and clicked it on.
    The short man said, "I'm Detective Reeder. Detective Ward says she knows you. We need to ask you a few questions."
    "Okay."
    "Your name?"
    "Gail McCarthy."
    We went through my address, phone number, and occupation. Then he asked me, "What were you doing at One twenty-eight Rose Avenue?"
    "I had an appointment with Cindy Whitney, to worm and give shots to her horse, Plumber."
    "What time was the appointment for?”
    "Eight o'clock."
    We went through it all step by step. The short, fat detective was as impersonal as a machine. I explained how I had looked around the barn, knocked at the house, had a cup of coffee, and gone back to the house and looked in the garage.
    "Why did you do that?" he wanted to know.
    "I don't know," I said truthfully. "It didn't seem right. The paper was still in the driveway; the horse wasn't fed. I had a funny feeling about it. When I saw the cars in the garage ..." I spread my hands and shrugged. "I can't say I guessed anything like the truth. I suppose I was afraid that Cindy was sick or incapacitated in some way."
    "What did you do next?"
    "I went in the house." I paused, and the detective looked at me. "I ought to explain, I guess, that I knew Ed and Cindy socially as well as professionally. I'd been over to their house a couple of times."
    The detective nodded. I told him how I found the bodies. He questioned me closely about where I had walked, what I had touched. I was able, I thought, to recount every step exactly.
    "I called nine one one; then I left the house."
    I hesitated. Only I could link the Walker to these murders, and I had an inward conviction, maybe unreasonable, that he hadn't done them. I wasn't sure who he was or where he came from-he didn't look as if he slept under a bridge-but in his constant walking and talking were the obvious signs of a mental disorder, and he, like many of the other street people, aroused my sympathy. Suppressing a feeling of guilt, I went on. "There was a man in the garage, knocking on the back door, when I opened it."
    "Did you recognize him?"
    "I've seen him walking around town before. He's got curly blond hair; in his thirties, I'd say. Sort of a young face. I'd know him if I saw him."
    "All right. What did this man do?"
    "He ran away. I said, 'Who are you?' and he looked at me and ran off." I wasn't sure if it was my imagination, but I thought Reeder grew more focused suddenly. His face stayed impassive, but something in his posture, maybe his eyes, reminded me of an Airedale spotting a mouse behind the feed sacks. Then it vanished.
    Finishing my story with the arrival of the sheriff's cars, I sat quietly in my chair, wondering if I was done. Detective Reeder looked down, then back up into my face. I was getting to know his eyes. Brown, a little bloodshot, with pouchy bags under them, like fat men have. "Did you know Cindy Whitney well?" His voice was neutral.
    I tried to answer the question honestly. "Not really. I'd been around her maybe thirty times in all, counting professional calls and running in to her at her trainer's barn and at horse shows. We were friendly."
    "What was she like?"
    "Outgoing-her main interest was horses. Definitely an extrovert, very social. She and Ed gave a lot of parties; it's my impression they were a part of Santa Cruz society, whatever that means these days. Cindy and I weren't close. She liked me, I think, because I was young,