Sleep of the Innocent Read Online Free Page B

was dead when we found him.”
    â€œDid he . . .” She hesitated and stopped, taking a deep breath. The mare snorted and bent her head around to find out what was going on. “Did he do it himself? Was it suicide?”
    Lucas shook his head. “It doesn’t appear to have been suicide. No.”
    â€œThen that means that someone killed him.”
    â€œIt looks like that.”
    â€œWho would—when did it happen?” she asked.
    â€œThis afternoon. I’m sorry someone didn’t come earlier, but he had no wallet on him, and it took us a while to find out—”
    â€œYou’re sure it
is
Carl?” she said quickly.
    â€œThe hotel manager identified him.”
    â€œBent? Bent Sigurdson?”
    That sounded familiar. Lucas nodded.
    â€œHe would know.” She sounded oddly reassured, as though the certainty of the identification comforted her. “Poor Carl,” she said. She stood absolutely still, leaning slightly against the mare. “He was so afraid of dying. More than most people, I think. Do I have to identify him? I will if it’s necessary.” She patted the mare, who was stamping restlessly and turned to nudge her pockets.
    â€œShe’s expecting something,” said Lucas, nodding at the mare.
    â€œThere’s a carrot on the desk, if you don’t mind,” said Mrs. Neilson. “She’d kill for carrots.”
    He stepped into the office, grabbed the carrot, broke it in half and fed one piece to the impatient animal; then, with a friendly pat, he caught her firmly by the halter and led her into the empty box.
    â€œYou’ve done that before,” said Lydia Neilson.
    â€œThat I have,” said Lucas. “Did your husband ride? Is one of the horses his?”
    â€œWell, in a manner of speaking, I suppose.” She spoke hesitantly, as if she felt her comments could be construed as a betrayal of marital trust. “The mare is my hacking pony—actually, I guess she’s a bit big to be called a pony, but”—she gave him a pale smile—“she’s a pet. Well, they’re all pets, in a way. Too much so. That was Jasmine. This is Hector—eh, baby, come here,” she cooed, and a big bay stuck his head farther over the door. She opened it and led him out. “Isn’t he a beauty?” she said. “Most of the ribbons in there are his. He’s very neat and intelligent—he can tell exactly what I’m thinking before I think it.” She raised his head to show him off. “You should see him over a fence. Poetry. Restrained poetry. But Carl’s horse—I suppose he was Carl’s horse, although he didn’t ride him very often—is over here.” Lucas held out the other half of the carrot for Hector, who took it with restraint and dignity and then paced elegantly back into his stall. “Achilles,” she said, opening the last door, and an enormous gray gelding stepped out and then shook his head impatiently. “Isn’t he a fine size? That’s how they described him. He’s Irish.”
    â€œDid you get him here?” asked Lucas.
    She shook her head. “I went over to the spring sales and fell in love with him. Then they told me his name, and I knew it was fate. You should see him move. He’s young yet, though. He’s from Tipperary—the finest bloodstock in the country, they say. I paid a bundle for him by the time I had him shipped over. He was a birthday present for Carl—I wouldn’t spend that much on a horse for myself—but Carl never appreciated him. He was threatening to sell him this spring; it broke my heart to think of it. Eh, baby?” she murmured. “Do you think you could find another carrot? There should be one in my bag—it’s on the chair. Everyone else got a carrot, didn’t they?” she went on softly, rubbing his nose.
    Lucas went back into the little office and found her