Page 35 of Dirty Looks

“He didn’t report you?” I asked.

Alex shrugged again. “I guess not. It’s not like he really had a leg to stand on. I know he’s caused more than one woman employed here to leave her job. A punch in the nose serves him right.”

“Who were the women you caught him with?” Martinez asked.

Alex hesitated and rested his arms on top of the stall gate, looking down at the foal. “It’s really not any of my business who he was messing around with.”

“But it’s our business,” Martinez said. “Give us the names.”

“I actually don’t know the name of the first girl I caught him with. She was youngish and blond and pretty. He liked to make his mark on the new hires. I haven’t seen her around in the last few months, so I figure he broke it off like he normally does and she quit in embarrassment. That tends to be the pattern.”

“But you knew the second woman?”

“Yeah,” he said, kicking the fence lightly with his boot. “Yeah, I know her. She’s one of mine. Maybe that’s why he thought he could get away with messing with her at the stables.”

“I need a name, Alex,” Martinez said.

“Lizzie Ryan,” he said.

“Ryan?” Martinez asked. “Any relation to Molly Ryan?”

“Her granddaughter,” he said. “Her son, John, is one of my best trainers and if he found out about Alan and Lizzie you’d have another murder on your hands. Just be careful who you share that information with.”

“Where can I find Lizzie?” Martinez asked.

“She was up with us all night helping with the foals,” Alex said. “I cut her loose about ten this morning. She should be at home.”

“If you think of anything that might help us you can give me a call,” Martinez said, handing him a card.

Alex was just reaching out to take it when three gunshots rang out.

CHAPTER TEN

Chaos eruptedaround us as trainers and staff tried to settle the startled horses. I’d never really been around horses much, even though Jack’s family always had a barnful of animals when we were growing up. I wasn’t necessarily afraid of them, but when you saw how small and fragile humans were against a horse’s towering musculature, I didn’t want to take unnecessary chances.

Martinez already had his weapon out and was running toward the area where the shots had been fired. I stayed behind him and out of his way, and motioned for innocent bystanders to stay inside the stables with the horses.

“Where’d it come from?” I asked Martinez.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It sounded like it was right on top of us.”

“It came from over there,” one of the trainers said. “One of the houses.”

“Make the 911 call and let them know there are officers on scene,” Martinez told him, waiting until the man nodded in the affirmative.

We crept around the perimeter of one of the outbuildings.

“Look there,” I said, tapping Martinez on the shoulder. “At the staff cottage next to Alex’s.”

The front door was ajar and there was a bag that had been dropped on the steps, its contents scattered. Martinez reached down and withdrew the revolver from his ankle holster and handed it to me.

“Just in case,” he said. “Don’t shoot me in the back.”

I rolled my eyes. I was an excellent shot. But I was irritated with myself that I hadn’t brought my own weapon. There was a time after I’d almost been strangled to death by a serial killer that I’d never left home without it. But after Jack and I had married and our lives had settled down I’d found myself not taking as much care with my personal safety.

Technically I worked under the authority of the sheriff’s office. I could assist the police or make arrests. And I could open carry. But I liked to leave the police work to the police.

There were six identical houses, all white and craftsman in style so they matched the aesthetics of the stables, and they were built around a shared courtyard. The house to the right of Alex’s had ferns hanging from the porch and there was a number2in black iron on one of the posts.

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