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Remmy looked like a woman who’d realized far too late that she’d said far too much.
“No, I didn’t,” she said.
“What was stolen?”
“What does it matter?” she snapped. “I know what was stolen out of mine.”
“Remmy, you mean you don’t know what Bobby kept in there?” asked King.
She didn’t answer for a long moment. When she did, her tone was far more subdued.
“No, I don’t.”
CHAPTER
17
“OKAY,” SAID MICHELLE
once they’d left the house. “A psychiatrist could write an entire textbook on just Savannah and Remmy’s relationship.”
“Her not knowing what was in Bobby’s secret drawer is bugging the hell out of the woman,” said King as he glanced back at the mansion.
“And while her closet was all broken up, Bobby’s wasn’t. That’s significant.”
“Right. The person knew where Bobby’s secret cache was but didn’t have the key to open it.”
Before leaving the house they’d spoken with Mason and the other household help. Their answers were incredibly consistent: they’d all been in the house in the rear grounds and had seen and heard nothing when the burglary occurred.
King and Michelle got in the car, but instead of leaving, King steered his Lexus down the asphalt road leading to the rear of the property.
“Where are we going?” she asked.
“I met Sally Wainwright, the woman who handles the stables, at a horse event last year. Let’s see if she saw and heard nothing that night too.”
Sally was in her mid-twenties, cute, petite but wiry with long brown hair that she kept in a ponytail. She was mucking a stall when King and Michelle drove up. She wiped the sweat from her face with a cloth and came over to the car.
“You probably don’t remember me,” began King. “I spent the day with you at the charity dressage event in Charlottesville last year.”
Sally smiled broadly. “Of course, I remember you, Sean.” She glanced at Michelle. “You and Ms. Maxwell here are pretty famous now.”
“Or infamous,” replied King. He looked around at the stables and horses. “So do many of the Battles still ride?” he asked.
“Dorothea never has. Eddie does quite a bit. He’s into Civil War reenactments and has to saddle up sometimes in those.”
“Are you into that?” asked Michelle.
Sally laughed. “I’m from Arizona. I couldn’t care less about the Civil War.”
“I see Savannah’s home. She used to ride in competition, didn’t she?” asked King.
A slight look of annoyance crossed Sally’s face. “She used to.” King waited expectantly to see if Sally would put a defining exclamation point on that comment.
“She’s a great rider. Not so handy with mucking, grooming and dealing with people who didn’t grow up with silver spoons in their mouths.” Sally suddenly looked scared as though she’d spoken out of turn.
“Not to worry, Sally,” said King supportively. “I know just what you mean.” He paused and added, “Does Mrs. Battle ride?”
“I’ve been here five years, and she hasn’t saddled up once in that time.” Sally leaned on her muck rake. “I saw you drive in earlier. You just visiting?”
