Page 33 of Dirty Looks

“If I had you wouldn’t have Oscar.”

I sighed. “Jack is going to have kittens. I’m trying to pretend like it’s no big deal right now so I can be calm and collected when he finds out that Doug just adopted a dog that looks like he lives in a trash can.”

“You’re doing pretty well at keeping it together,” Martinez said. “I never would have guessed except for that line of sweat on your upper lip. Maybe Jack will love Oscar. Maybe they’ll be best friends.”

“Jack’s got a weird hang-up about dogs,” I said. “He agreed to let me have one, but I’m not sure he actually meant it. He’s still traumatized by the dog he had as a kid.”

“What happened to it?” he asked.

“She died of extreme old age,” I said. “But she and Jack were very close.”

“Maybe he should talk to the department shrink,” Martinez said.

“Or just replace the affection he had for that dog with this one,” I told him.

“That seems healthy.”

“Hey, I’m all about finding healthy coping mechanisms,” I said. “Look, there’s the staff cottages.”

“The word cottage is a bit of an understatement,” Martinez said. “I was expecting something smaller. Those are nice houses. Looks like one of those old-timey neighborhoods with the trees and stables in the back. Maybe I should come to work for the Lidles. Seems like a pretty sweet setup.”

“How many buildings and stables do horses need?” I asked. “I’m counting five. Not to mention those on the back side that look like a small apartment building.”

“That must be the ranch hand apartments,” Martinez said. “I guess champions get the best. And rightly so. I’ve got a thousand dollars riding on their Captain Morgan for the win in the derby.”

“Were you really an altar boy?” I asked. “Cursesandgambling. What’s next? Loose women?”

“Every chance I get,” he said, grinning.

The main stable was white and majestic, with tall gables and dormer windows, and at least twenty stall doors that facedthe livery yard. There was a maze of crisp green hedges and a cobbled path that formed an oval, and on the exterior of the oval were several other white outbuildings that made aUaround the paddock. They were all designed to look like miniatures of the stable.

“You think the free staff housing is worth waking up smelling horses every morning?” I asked.

“I think when you’ve got this much money nothing smells too bad,” Martinez said. “Let’s see if we can find Alex the stable master. You think he’s home or at the stables?”

“It’s still regular working hours,” I said. “Whatever that is for people who deal with animals. Let’s check the stables.”

A weak beam of sunlight crept through the clouds.

“I’ll take that as a sign,” Martinez said. “The stables it is.”

He stopped the SUV just outside the white rail fence. I left my raincoat in the car but grabbed my medical bag out of habit, putting it across my body so it hung down at my side. The ground had areas of standing water, even on the cobblestones, and Martinez and I made our way through the fence and hedges to the stable. It smelled of fresh rain and hay and wet animals, and when the sun brightened and glinted off the gabled windows I thought it might be the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.

“I’m not an expert on horses,” I said. “But there seem to be a lack of horses in these stables.”

“That’s because all of our contenders have been transported to different training facilities across the nation,” said a man from behind us. “The lack of sun affects horses much like it does humans. It affects their emotions and their performance.”

We turned and faced a man dressed in tan riding breeches that fit like a second skin and black boots. He wore a navy pullover with a gold crest and the stable’s logo. His face was tan and comfortably lined for a man in his late forties or early fifties—the kind of lines that only seemed to make a man moreattractive with age—and his hair was wind blown and dark blond, hitting the back of his collar.

“Horse depression,” I said, arching a brow. “Who knew?”

“That’s why they pay me the big bucks,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Martinez,” Martinez said, showing him his badge. “And this is Dr. Graves. We’re looking for Alex Wheeler.”

“You found him,” he said. “What’s going on?”

“You haven’t noticed the police presence at the house this morning or turned on the news?” Martinez asked.

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