seven acres, FI's doing itself some good just by owning the land.'
'So you don't see any way Ambrose would benefit from Foxdale losing money?'
'Nope. If someone wants the place to go belly up, it's not him.'
'Okay. Thanks, Kenneth.'
'No sweat.'
'What're you up to these days?' I asked.
'I'm starting at NASA in May.'
'Don't you have two more years before you graduate?'
'Nah. I crammed the four into two. Hell, I could have taught the classes I've been taking in my sleep, they're so basic.'
I chuckled.
Kenneth told me about the artificial intelligence project he'd soon be cutting his teeth on, and by the time we said goodbye, the dull ache behind my eyes that I'd been nursing all evening had turned into a full-blown headache.
I knocked the cap off a bottle of beer and swallowed some ibuprophen. After I'd opened a box of Cheez-Its, I flipped through the pages in my notebook until I came to the scribbled notes I'd made at the library, where I'd stayed until closing time. I was fast becoming a pro at scanning microfiche, but I'd come away empty-handed as far as news coverage on horse and tack theft went. More depressing, however, were the lack of details on James Peters' death.
I unfolded the photocopies, smoothed them out on the counter, and read the blurred print for the third time.
STABLE OWNER MISSING ALONG WITH SEVEN HORSES
Berrett: Police were called to Hunters Ridge Farm on Martz Road shortly after seven a.m. Saturday morning, when Gwendolyn Peters discovered that seven of the farm's horses were missing from their stalls and presumed stolen. Police could not locate her husband, James S. Peters, though it is unclear at this time whether the events are related.
Damascus: The partially decomposed body of an unidentified adult male was found in the Patuxent River State Park just south of Long Corner Road early Friday morning. Two fourteen-year-old boys from Dorsett, Maryland discovered the body while hiking along a trail west of the Patuxent River. Police determined that the body had been buried, but recent heavy rains had washed away the loose soil. The cause of death was not immediately known.
Damascus: A body found in the Patuxent River State Park early Friday morning has been identified as that of James S. Peters of Berrett, Maryland. Peters, 64, who owned and operated a horse facility near Piney Run Park, disappeared August 4th, the same day seven horses were stolen from the farm.
Detective James Ralston, who is heading the investigation, said preliminary findings indicate that Peters interrupted the intruders and was murdered. Ralston refused to comment on other details of the investigation except to say that cause of death was determined to be blunt force trauma to the head. Peters is survived by his wife.
Those three clippings, combined with a brief write-up in the obituary column, were, as far as I could determine, the total coverage devoted to the life and death of James S. Peters. I downed the last of the beer and threw the empty into the trash.
Chapter 12
Thursday morning, I visited Gwendolyn Peters.
The only other living relative mentioned in Peters' obituary had been a nephew, and after a bit of detective work with the phone book the night before, I'd tracked him down. He knew little about the events surrounding August fourth and next to nothing about Hunters Ridge. He did, however, point me in the right direction as far as his aunt was concerned. Shortly after her husband's death, Mrs. Peters had suffered a nervous breakdown and seemed destined to live out the remainder of her days in a nursing home.
'What about the farm?' I'd said. 'Do you think anyone still works or boards there who knew your uncle?'
'You're outta luck there, pal. Place got sold and is being bulldozed as we speak.'
'Bulldozed into what?'
'A housing development, what else? Nice, too. The land backs right up to Piney Run.'
Shortly after eight, I pointed the Chevy's nose northward. After a few wrong turns, I found the town of Wards Chapel and, on Eighth Street, Shady Grove Nursing Home.
They must have recently polished the floor, because my shoes squeaked with each step I took down the long, depressing corridor. I had always hated hospitals, and nursing homes were close enough to elicit the same adversionary response. I turned a corner and nearly walked into an elderly man with disheveled yellow-gray hair. His back was so stooped, he reminded me of a tree limb, ready to snap. Even his skin looked like bark. I continued on.
Most of the doors were open, but I did not look in any of them. I paused just before I got to room 309 and wished I were anywhere else. The air stank of strong disinfectant that couldn't mask the stench of urine and was nauseating. I wiped my hands on my jeans and stood in the doorway.
Mrs. Peters sat unmoving in a chair that had been placed so she could look out the window. Early morning sunlight shifted and winked in the branches of a nearby Mimosa and angled through the glass like a moving kaleidoscope. The view was pleasant enough-manicured lawn, a hedge of forsythia bushes that had probably been spectacular a week earlier, a patch of blue sky. A breakfast tray sat on the bedside table, and by the looks of it, Mrs. Peters ate very little. The room was cheerless and drab with institutional furniture and empty walls, except for a still-life print that hung above the bed. The only personal possession in evidence was a photograph on the night stand.
I cleared my throat. 'Mrs. Peters?'
She didn't respond.
I walked around the bed and stood by the window where she could see me. 'Mrs. Peters?'
She turned her head slowly and looked at me with pale, watery eyes, her expression blank. Her skin was deeply wrinkled and hung slackly from her bones. She no longer looked like a woman in her sixties as her nephew had said she was.
I introduced myself and asked if she would mind answering some questions about Hunters Ridge.
'Hunters Ridge?' Her eyes widened, and her hands clutched at the knitted afghan draped across her lap. 'You know Hunters Ridge?'
'Yes, ma'am.'
'Is it a job you want?'
I blinked. 'Uh…'
'Because you'll have to ask Jimmy. He's the one does the hirin'.'
I didn't say anything. Couldn't.
'Have you seen him?'
I shook my head and swallowed. 'I wasn't looking for a job. I wanted to know who worked for, uh… is working for him.'
'Oh, well, Maryanne and Crystal come in the afternoons and on weekends, and Vicky gives lessons.'
According to Greg, it had been years since they'd switched from boarding to breeding, and I wondered what time frame Mrs. Peters' mind was stuck in. 'What are their last names?'
'Oh, heavens, I don't have the vaguest. Jimmy would know. He keeps the records. You just go on over and ask him. He'll know.'
