Saddled With Trouble Page 15

  TWENTY-TWO

  MICHAELA SAW HER DAD TO HIS CAR AND FOLLOWED him home. They walked into the house together. Her mom was in the kitchen. “Hi, you two. Oh, Michaela, I didn’t know you were coming by. Good, good. I’m making a lasagna for tomorrow’s service. You want to help?’

  That was Mom, always doing, always one step ahead.“I would, Mom, but there’s some things I need to take care of. I ran into Dad and thought I’d stop by and say hi.”

  “Oh, nice. Ben? Are you okay?” Her mom looked from Michaela to her dad and back again.

  Michaela cut in before her dad could answer. “I think he’s tired, right, Dad?” She knew he needed time to think about what he would say to her mother.

  He nodded. “I’m going to lie down for a bit.” He kissed her on the cheek and walked into the kitchen, where he gave his wife a hug.

  Janie frowned. “Benjamin Bancroft, do you feel okay?” It wasn’t often that he was outwardly affectionate.

  “I’m fine. I love you.” He headed back toward their bedroom.

  Michaela’s mom looked at her. “What was that all about?”

  “I think you should let him rest right now. He’s got quite a bit on his mind, but don’t worry, Mom. Everything is going to be fine.”

  “Michaela?”

  “Mom, please. It’s not my place. Daddy will talk to you when he’s ready. Trust me.”

  “I don’t like the sound of this, but fine. It appears I don’t have a choice.”

  Wanting to change the subject and needing to find out about Uncle Lou’s funeral, Michaela asked, “Mom, when did Cynthia inform you about the services?”

  “Last night.”

  “She didn’t tell me. I was out for a bit anyway.”

  “I’m sure she’s tried to call you. It’s at one. Why don’t you meet us here and we can all go together.”

  “Sure.” She kissed her mom on the cheek. “See you tomorrow. I love you. Oh, what should I bring?”

  “How about that pear tart you do so well?”

  “You got it.” She knew that she left her mother feeling a bit confused. For now, she had to not only see what she could find out in order to seek justice for her uncle, she also had to keep her dad from going to jail. Once her mom found out about the gambling it would be heartbreaking, but her father going to jail would be devastating.

  On the drive to Cynthia’s she recapped in her mind everything she’d learned over the past few days. First: Ethan had fought with her uncle and never explained why. She would get to the bottom of that, because she hated suspecting that he had anything at all to do with this. Then there was Camden and her boyfriend. Their phone conversation still had Michaela reeling. Not to mention that Kevin now owned the dairy farm and had a mare housed there that he claimed to know nothing about. There was the issue with the contracts and the breeding and her suspicions around that. She had a feeling Brad was responsible for that mess. But a killer? She wasn’t sure.

  Bean had been acting strangely toward her, but she didn’t think he had the ability to pull off a breeding scam and she certainly didn’t think he could become angry enough to kill. Anything was possible, though. Plus, what was his continuing friendship with Brad all about? Sam and Dwayne had been off to Vegas with the horses. Summer had worked for Uncle Lou and handled a lot of the paperwork in the past. Could she have killed Lou for some reason?

  She’d pretty much ruled out the mob, but there were still those lawsuits against Lou that she had to get to the bottom of, which led her to ponder Cynthia. She was pregnant, and she was hiding something— like a lover, or possibly something more sinister.

  After getting out of her truck at Uncle Lou’s ranch, she walked through the breezeway and over to Loco’s stall. He came to her, his hot breath pouring through his nostrils onto her hand as she rubbed his face. Neither Dwayne nor Sam looked to be around either. Dwayne’s truck was gone and she wondered where they might have gone. “Too bad you can’t talk,” she said to Loco, who pulled his head away and shoved it in his feeder.

  She called out for Bean. He should at least be around. Deciding to see if anyone was up at the house, she knocked on the back door. No one answered. She turned the knob; it turned easily. “Cynthia? You here?”

  She walked in through the laundry room. Cynthia wouldn’t get upset if Michaela waited for her in the house. She headed into the kitchen. From down the hall, she thought she heard someone crying. No, it was more than crying and as she got closer, she realized it was Cynthia and she was sobbing.

  “Cynthia?”

  Michaela saw her as she rounded the corner of the hall, slumped down against the wall, her face in her hands. “Cynthia? What is it? What’s wrong?”

  Cynthia didn’t say anything. She didn’t lift her head as she held out a note. It was stained. With what? Oh God, it looked like droplets of blood. Michaela took it from Cynthia’s shaking hand. It read, I AM SORY I KILL MR. LOU.

  “What? What is this?”

  Cynthia looked up at Michaela. She uttered, “Kitchen.”

  Michaela stomach tightened as she entered the kitchen. Bean lay on the floor next to the table, a gun in his right hand, blood seeping from his temple.

  TWENTY-THREE

  SOMETHING WAS WRONG HERE. SO VERY wrong. Bean had killed Uncle Lou? Then, he’d committed suicide? Michaela’s head filled with confusion as she struggled to wrap her brain around this.

  The police showed up within minutes. Cynthia had called 911 immediately after finding Bean, and it was apparent that Michaela had come in right after that.

  Detective Davis was there along with a team of other cops. He’d asked Michaela and Cynthia to wait for him in Uncle Lou’s office, where they now sat on the couch. Michaela held Cynthia’s ice-cold hand. “I don’t understand why,” Cynthia said.

  “I don’t know either.”

  “Bean loved Lou. He loved me. We helped take care of him. He was here because we had been meeting at this time of day for a few weeks now. I was teaching him to read.” She choked back a sob. “He’s come every day at the same time even the last few days, since Lou . . .” She shook her head. “I told him that he would have to wait a bit before I felt like teaching him again.” A nervous laugh escaped her lips. “But, Bean didn’t understand that. Obviously. That’s why he’s been showing up in the kitchen every day, waiting for me to teach him. Today I went out for a walk knowing he would show up here; I didn’t want to face him. I didn’t want to tell him to leave me alone. I knew it hurt his feelings, but I haven’t been able to do anything like I used to.” Cynthia couldn’t speak anymore. She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.

  Michaela rubbed her back, shoving down her own sorrow and disillusionment the best that she could. “I’m sorry, Cyn. I really am.”

  Davis entered the room, then stopped. He looked at both women with sympathy. Cynthia wiped her face. “Why did he do this?”

  “Mrs. Bancroft, we don’t know.”

  “Did he really kill himself?” Michaela asked.

  “From what we can assess so far from the scene, I would have to say that he did.”

  Michaela nodded. “Do you think he killed my uncle?”

  Davis sat down in the chair across from the women. “I don’t know of any other reason for him to write that note and do what he did.”

  “I don’t believe it.” Michaela shook her head. “I’m sorry, but I don’t. You met Bean. The man was like a six-year-old child. He couldn’t have done this. He didn’t have the wherewithal.”

  “Ms. Bancroft, I hear you, and we will investigate this situation completely. I did meet Bean and yes, he was very childlike. However, I have heard of some children gone very wrong who have done horrendous things to siblings, friends, even parents. There is not a lot of sense to be made out of a situation like this.”

  Michaela had had a similar reaction to Bean and his behavior just the other day. She’d even wondered if he somehow feigned much of who and what he really was. Had his behavior all been an act?
But why? And for all those years? Or, was he like a child who had become angry at something Uncle Lou did and reacted in the heat of the moment before he’d realized what he’d done? If that were the case, then the morning that she’d discovered Lou’s body, Bean likely would have reacted differently than he had. She couldn’t help wondering if he would have even shown up. That is, if he truly had the mentality of a six-year-old, wouldn’t it have been more likely that, after doing something so terrible, he’d run and hide? He’d seemed genuinely shocked over her uncle’s death. She brought this up to Davis.

  “Because of Bean’s emotional immaturity and low IQ, it is possible that after killing your uncle, he blocked the memory due to the trauma it caused him. Then something might have sparked his memory, which upset him, causing him guilt, and he couldn’t take it. I don’t think he murdered Mr. Bancroft intentionally if he in fact did. I’m not a psychiatrist, so I can’t say for certain. But believe me, we will continue to try and find out exactly what happened.”

  Michaela sighed. None of it sat well with her.

  “I am going to need to take statements from both of you. Separately, of course. It’s procedure.”

  “I need to use the bathroom,” Cynthia said. “Is that okay, Michaela? Do you mind going first?”

  “No. Go ahead.”

  Cynthia tried to smile, but it was forced and came out looking more like a frown.

  After she left the room, Davis said, “I realize that this seems incomprehensible to you, but from everything I’ve seen so far, it appears that Bean committed your uncle’s murder and killed himself.”

  “Yes, it’s difficult to believe, but I guess so. I don’t know what else to think. If the police are sure that’s what happened . . .” She shrugged.

  “The evidence points in that direction.”

  She nodded and looked down.

  “I don’t want to sound crass. You and your family have been through a rough time, but at least now you can bury your uncle with some sense of peace.”

  Her head jerked up. “Sense of peace? I’m not sure about that, Detective. I don’t know how much peace can be found when you learn that a man with the mentality of a child has murdered someone you love dearly, then kills himself. There’s no peace in that.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  Neither one said anything for several seconds. She felt like she was suffocating in that room with Davis, who stared at her. She needed to get out of there and think . . . or not even think, but just be.

  “Why don’t we go over what happened here today and how you found Mrs. Bancroft and Bean?” Davis finally asked.

  Michaela told him everything from the time she arrived at the ranch. She didn’t recognize her own voice as she relayed the story to him. It sounded far off, as if someone else was explaining to Davis what she’d encountered. But it was her. It had been her. Her neck and shoulders tightened with each word she spoke, and she knew that if she didn’t get out of there soon, she would crack. Right there, in front of Davis, she would break down. Thankfully he finished his questions. He stood and held a hand out to help her up from the couch. His hand was warm. He squeezed hers and then let go. “I am sorry for all you’ve been through.”

  “Thank you.” She saw Cynthia briefly and told her that she had to go. Cynthia seemed to understand.

  Walking past the kitchen, she saw that Bean’s body had already been covered with a tarp. She couldn’t help but look. Was it morbid curiosity that made her do it? Or the fact that she still couldn’t accept any of this? She heard herself say out loud, “Why?”

  A police officer approached her. “Ms. Bancroft, you really shouldn’t be here.”

  She turned to leave. Her eye caught the corner of the kitchen counter. On top of it sat a book. She walked over, ignoring the cop. She looked down at the book—Peter Pan. The same book that she had found yesterday in the stall at the old dairy farm.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  MICHAELA FELT IN HER GUT THAT BEAN HADN’T killed himself, and she doubted that he’d murdered Uncle Lou. He just didn’t seem capable. How wrong could she have been about Bean? Had he really done it and fooled everyone? She needed a sounding board.

  She walked into Joey Pellegrino’s shop fueled by confusion and this strange twist of events, one that she didn’t want to believe. “Hey, Mick. How’s it . . . wait a minute, what is it? What’s wrong?” Joey came out from behind his shop counter.

  She tried hard to keep her emotions in check. “I need someone to talk to.”

  “Yeah, sure. Wait a sec, will ya? I gotta take care of a customer first.” Joe walked over to help out some guy in the paint department. Once he’d finished, he locked the door behind him and turned the OPEN sign around to CLOSED. “Figure by the way you look and sound, you’z don’t want no one buggin’ us.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

  “C’mon. Follow me to my office.”

  They walked past aisles of nuts, bolts, and nails. He pushed away a pale blue curtain to reveal boxes upon boxes. He pointed to one of them. “My office. Take a seat. It ain’t fancy, but it’ll do.” She smiled and was glad she’d come to see him as she sat down on the box. Joey sat down opposite her. “So, tell Joe what’s goin’ on.” Oddly enough— or considering that it was Joe, maybe not so odd— opera music played from the radio in Joe’s office. “Wait a minute.” He got up and turned the radio down, then grinned and blushed as he turned around. Obviously he hadn’t wanted her to see his softer side.

  She started with how she’d found Lou dead in Loco’s stall, how Ethan was keeping something from her that was related to an argument he’d had with her uncle; how Camden and Kevin Tanner had joined forces and their intentions appeared dishonorable. Then, she told him about the cancelled checks and contracts and how Uncle Lou’s memory was apparently fading on him, and how Dwayne and Sam both thought he could use a vacation. She filled him in on Cynthia’s pregnancy, the horse at the dairy farm and what she figured had been going on there, and how she thought Brad was somehow connected. Finally she told him about Bean’s apparent suicide and the doubts she’d had about him— whether or not he was just a really good actor, or someone who enjoyed playing the victim card.

  “I mean, doesn’t it seem odd to you?” she asked Joe. “Here’s a guy with the emotional and probably the intellectual equivalent of a six- or seven-year-old and supposedly he did this? Why?”

  “Maybe he got pissed at your uncle. You know, like you said, even the cop told you that he’s seen it all. That there are some mean kids out there. And, this Bean guy was no kid, even if he acted like it.”

  “Yeah. But what about him sleeping at the old dairy farm with that mare? It had to be him taking care of the mare. I don’t think he could have come up with some type of breeding scheme on his own.”

  He shook a finger at her. “You said so yourself that maybe you had some doubts about Bean, like maybe he was faking some of it. You know he’s obviously been around horses, watched your uncle’s operation. Maybe he saw a good thing as far as money and he thought he could get some of it. But once he realized that he wouldn’t be able to get away with it . . . well, then it all soured on him. Then, maybe he figured, you know, like your uncle was gonna connect it all, or maybe your uncle did put the pieces together, and voilà! The guy goes all looney and stabs him with the pitchfork.” Michaela winced. “Sorry.”

  “It’s okay. No, Joe, it still doesn’t ring true. Yes, it does look like Bean was involved in this somehow, at least the breeding scheme, which I’m still sure was going on.”

  “What about these two guys— Sam and Dwayne— who worked for your uncle? Bean worked with them, too.”

  “Yeah. Maybe.” She shrugged. “They just don’t seem like bad guys.”

  Joe laughed. “Oh my friend, things are never what they seem.”

  “The morning my uncle was killed though, they were in Vegas.”

  “Can you confirm that one?”

  “Pretty sure. They were taking out a few horses
. I’m certain there are hotel and restaurant receipts that can confirm their whereabouts. As soon as Dwayne heard about what happened he was on his way back.”

  Joey rubbed his chin. “I don’t know. Sounds like one mess. I gotta tell you, Mick, why don’t you let the police take care of it? They think they’ve got it all figured out, right?”

  “I don’t think they do. It’s a gut feeling, but I really don’t think they do have it figured out.”

  “But you ain’t no detective, and I’m afraid you’re gonna get hurt mixin’ yourself up in this thing.”

  “All I’m doing here is talking with you, bouncing off ideas. I trust you, and you’ve got good instincts.”

  He smiled. “I do, don’t I? Okay, since we’re just bouncing out ideas here, you telling me about this wife of your uncle’s gives me an idea. The lady is preggers, and you’re thinking you heard somewhere in your family rumor mill that Uncle Lou didn’t have the goods. You ever think that maybe she got knocked up by another dude, and then knocked off her hubby?”

  “I did think of that, and I keep telling myself that maybe the pregnancy test I saw was wrong, or maybe Uncle Lou never had the vasectomy.”

  Joey shook his head. “You gotta tell the cops this. They need to know she’s expectin’, and you gotta find out if Lou was able to make that happen for her. Pretty big motive for murder, don’t you think? And, if Lou’s wifey was doing the deed with some other guy, well . . .” He shrugged, his large palms face up. “You know the guy bangin’ her . . . oops sorry, sometimes I don’t use the nicest language.”

  “No problem.”

  “Anyway, the guy sleeping with Lou’s wife could have taken him out on account of her. Man gets all funny when he knows his seed’s been planted. He might’ve gotten all possessive over Cynthia, with the kid comin’ into the world. Or, it could have been a planned thing between them. They wanna get rid of Lou, so they can crawl off somewhere, start a new life as a family. Plus, your uncle wasn’t exactly poor. Leave the money for the wife and she and her new family might be lookin’ to have a real nice life together.”