Death By a Dark Horse

'Don't I know. He could give telemarketers lessons.' I leaned back in my chair and put my feet on my desk.

'All you've got to do is look at his hairline and imagine what he'll look like when that blond hair gets thinner and disappears. Should keep you from listening to a word he says.'

A giggle escaped as a snort. I grinned. 'That's a trick I hadn't thought of.'

'Let's meet for dinner on Thursday then,' she said. 'And if he's talked you into something you don't want we'll have time to fix it.'

I laughed and agreed. Why hadn't I talked to Andrea earlier?

'Ordinarily, Thea, I'd think it would be wonderful to have some guy be so attentive, but Jonathan? I don't know. He's so obsessive about you. Gives me the creeps. I'm sorry I introduced you to him.'

'I don't think it's that bad.' She tended to carry the over-protective thing a bit far.

'It is from where I sit. I'll bet I'm not the only one who thinks so, either. You're doing the right thing, and remember I'm here for you.'

'Yes, Mother.'

We made plans to meet at The Cheesecake Factory at the mall in Bellevue, two blocks from her office. We'd get dinner and retail therapy within steps of each other. I was feeling better already.

Right.

I should have known.

The doorbell rang as I put my last client file away. I wasn't expecting anyone, but then I had more than my usual share of unexpected visitors lately. I slid the metal drawer shut and went to the front door.

'Who is it?'

An unfamiliar male voice responded. 'Mr. Frederick Parsons to see Miss Campbell.'

Crap.

I sprinted into the living room and looked out my front window. A large black Mercedes sat idling at the curb.

Tell him you're not here. Tell him you're the maid, or the neighbor watering the house plants.

No. He'll come back. He has to know by now that Blackie is innocent. He can't know I'm a person of interest. Not yet. He won't hurt me. I pulled my cell phone out of my purse and stuck it in my pocket – just in case. With my pulse rate pushing optimal work-out level, I opened the door and looked up at a Frankenstein-sized man in a black uniform and dark glasses. An extra twinge from some recess of my mind added to my tension. I pushed it down.

'Miss Thea Campbell?' The big guy did not smile.

'Yes?' I tried to.

'Mr. Frederick Parsons would like a word with you.'

'Of course.'

He turned toward the car and, as though through some pre-arranged signal, its back door opened. Out stepped a gray-haired man impeccably dressed in a well cut, steel gray suit. He moved with the square-shouldered confidence you expect of someone who is used to having people snap-to at his command.

He mounted the steps to my porch before he spoke. 'Miss Campbell, good of you to see me.'

'Not at all.' I hoped my nervousness didn't show. 'I'm so sorry for your loss, Mr. Parsons. Please, come in.'

He walked in and glanced around. Although I'm sure my whole house could easily fit into his garage, he gave no indication he held any opinion of it. The big guy in the dark glasses did not come in, but closed the door leaving Mr. Parsons alone with me.

Up close, Valerie's father was not as old as I first thought. He had classic, handsome features, and oozed elegance. But a steel-like formality about him made it clear he was not a man to cuddle up to. I tried to picture him bouncing his little blond girl on his knee. Nope, not this man.

'Won't you sit down?' I asked.

'I don't want to take much of your time,' he said, disregarding my invitation. 'I came to talk to you about my daughter.'

He looked squarely at me. His gaze flicked to the bruises on my face, then back to my eyes.

'I understand it was your horse in the pasture at her house.'

'Yes,' I said, and swallowed. Blackie seemed to be everyone's favorite topic of conversation lately.

'I also understand I was mistaken in believing my daughter's death was an accident involving your horse.' The muscles in his face were so tense his lips barely moved when he spoke.

'That's correct.'

'How did your horse come to be in that pasture?'

'Someone took him from Copper Creek Saturday evening.'

'Someone? Was it my daughter?'

His expression didn't change and neither did the tone of his voice, but I felt a rush of compassion for him. He was grieving and worried about the kind of person his daughter actually was.

'Mr. Parsons, no one knows who was driving Valerie's rig. No one saw the driver. It could have been her, but quite honestly, that doesn't make sense to me.' In half a heartbeat I'd announced my abandonment of the 'Valerie- is-a-crook' stance – again. Who could blame me? Maybe I'd believe it myself on one of these go-rounds.

'Nor does it make sense to me, Miss Campbell.' The floor creaked as he walked across the hardwood of my entryway and into my living room. He looked around as if browsing in a gift shop. The photographs on the bookcase caught his eye and he strolled over to have a closer look. One picture was of Juliet. The other was of me on Blackie with Uncle Henry. Mr. Parsons picked up the one of Blackie and studied it, then did the same with Juliet's picture. 'Your sister?'

'Yes.' My face went cold, and my scalp seemed to shrink. I wanted to grab the photograph out of his hands. But before I made a move he returned it to its place on the bookshelf.

'Should you have any knowledge to share with me I would like to encourage you to do so. It would be prudent.'

I locked eyes with him and set my jaw. 'I'm afraid I'm as baffled as you, Mr. Parsons. More, perhaps.'

'I intend to find out who killed my daughter and set her up to look like a common thief.'

He held my gaze long enough for me to understand he considered me part of the equation. I did a quick reevaluation of my sympathy for him and discarded it. He nodded slightly, evidently satisfied I'd caught on.

'Thank you for your time,' he said and left.

I closed the door softly behind him and slid the chain in place. It was a token gesture, to be sure. I watched from the living room window as the black car pulled away from the curb, then sat down to give my shaking knees a break.

Crap. How much worse could this get? An image popped into my mind of the little pig cowering in his straw house with the wolf at the door.

You're so pathetic, Thea.

No, now wait just one huffing minute. That story didn't end with the pig on a platter.

'Dammit, I've had enough,' I said aloud to my empty living room. 'I have absolutely, positively been terrorized for the last time. I will not continue to sit here and let people walk into my house and scare the hell out of me.'

Chapter Ten

Considering how little time had passed since everyone seemed so concerned with my well-being, no one seemed to notice I was a bit late for pre-dinner cocktails. But, considering I was in self-sufficient mode that was fine with me. A quiet evening with no drama would go a long way toward getting me back to feeling in control. Juliet and Eric were in the living room with Uncle Henry and Aunt Vi. Their laughter – mostly Juliet's – made the scene seem almost normal.