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“So you didn’t leave the filly out in the cold the other night.” Trent pushed away from his desk and fixed Bernsen with a look that said the kid would not squirm out of this one.
“No.” Zach Bernsen shook his head as if the idea was ridiculous. He stood in front of Trent’s desk, his blond hair mussed, his jaw set in defiance.
“You were in charge.”
“All of the horses were penned when I closed the stables. I counted twice. Rolfe was with me. He can vouch for me.”
“I’ll get to him.” Eric Rolfe was currently cooling his jets on one of the plastic folding chairs outside Trent’s office in the short hallway that branched to the gym and locker rooms. “But you’re the senior TA.”
“All the animals were accounted for.” Zach wasn’t about to budge.
“The horse got out somehow.”
“That’s just it—she got out on her own or someone let her out.”
“Who?”
“How the hell should I know?” Bernsen’s face, usually so calm, was flushed. “What is this, anyway? Doesn’t the school have bigger problems? I mean, Nona Vickers is dead and Drew … Oh, hell, who knows?” His mouth clamped into a firm, angry line, and his cool blue eyes flashed with a silent rage.
“Okay, so you didn’t do it. You won’t say or don’t know who did.” Trent tented his fingers, considering the next move. Though he didn’t admit it, he agreed with Bernsen. The filly was left out, but she survived. Nona Vickers had not. Could the two incidents be tied together? “Let’s say I believe you. The filly was locked up before curfew. That means someone came by later and let her out, or else she got out when someone else came to the stable. I’m thinking that the hayloft has been used before Drew and Nona went up there. I can’t believe that Drew Prescott had the time, energy, or foresight to pull it together by himself.”
Was there a flicker in Zach’s cool eyes?
“A couple of nights ago, I came up behind two people out after curfew, down by the garage. They took off before I could catch up with them. You know anything about that?”
“No!” Quick denial.
“Did you know that Drew Prescott and Nona Vickers were a couple?”
“Hell, no! Drew flirted with all the girls, wanted to get into their pants. He didn’t care who. I don’t think Nona was anything special to him.”
“Real nice.”
“Hey, you asked.”
“Do you know anything more?”
Zach closed down. “I told the cops and I’ll tell you—I don’t know anything about what happened to those two. And that goes double for the freakin’ horse! I do not know how Nova ended up locked outside.”
Trent wasn’t convinced. Zach was a player. “Okay, but if you change your mind and suddenly remember something, it would be wise to tell me about it, because Mr. Flannagan is pretty pissed about the whole thing, seeing as the stable is his responsibility. He’s ready to rip you and Rolfe new ones with the business end of a pitchfork, so I’d think real hard about what you know and either tell me or the detectives.”
Zach cocked his head, the tough facade cracking. “About … the horse, right?”
“About anything.” Trent skewered the kid with a hard-ass glare. “You got something to tell me, Zach?”
The kid looked away, sucked in a breath, shook his head. “No. I don’t know anything.”
“Think about it, Zach. You’ve worked hard here. You wouldn’t want to mess up.”
“I haven’t.”
Trent didn’t believe that for an instant. “You can leave now. Tell Rolfe he’s up.”
Zach couldn’t get out of the room fast enough. A few seconds later, Eric Rolfe walked in, hands in his pockets, face set in a bring-it-on-punk expression. “What is this?” he demanded, standing in front of the desk, rolling on the balls of his feet, looking like he was itching for a fight. “It’s time for dinner.”
“Not yet. Sit.” Trent had already pegged Eric as a hothead. With little provocation, the guy would take a swing at him. And then there was the fight he’d already started with Shaylee Stillman. Yeah, a loose cannon.
“I don’t get it,” Rolfe demanded. “I already talked to Lynch and the cops. So now you’ve got more questions?”
