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“The stable boy from St. Cecilia’s.” Rayne reached into her pocket and pulled out a picture as she crossed to stand directly in front of Brooke. Niko hurried to join her. There was something about the Orwells that were setting off his inner alarms. He wanted to be close to Rayne in case things went sideways. Rayne held out the picture. “This is Henri,” she said. “That’s the same man who was your trainer, isn’t it?”
There was a pause. Was Brooke deciding whether or not she would continue to pretend she didn’t know the identity of her own employee? Then, she flicked a glance toward the picture in Rayne’s hand and released a brittle laugh.
“Oh, yes. Henri. I’d almost forgotten about him.”
“How did he get from Austria to here?” Rayne demanded.
“He knew we owned a horse farm, and when my parents came to my graduation he asked if my father would hire him,” Brooke smoothly responded.
“And your father did?” Rayne arched her brow. “Just like that?”
“Henri was well-trained and eager to immigrate to the States. My father decided to give him a chance.”
Niko watched as Trent’s hands curled into tight fists. The man looked as if he was wishing he could punch something. Henri Wagner? Or Rayne, for asking uncomfortable questions?
“Is he still here?” Niko abruptly demanded.
It was Brooke who answered. “No.”
“Why not?” Rayne asked.
Brooke shrugged. “We caught him stealing from petty cash.”
Niko narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t friends with the Orwell family. Nat had been their only connection. But he did know rich families and their reactions to having a servant stealing from them. They would consider it more than a mere theft. It would be the breaking of a trust. They wouldn’t be satisfied without punishing them.
“You didn’t have him arrested?”
Brooke shook her head. “We didn’t want to make a fuss. We kicked him off the farm without a reference. That seemed fair.”
Niko snorted. They’d brought him all the way from Austria and then just asked him to leave? No way. There was something more to this story.
“Where is he now?” Niko asked.
Brooke licked her lips. She didn’t want to answer. “I heard he went to jail. For all I know he’s still there,” she eventually muttered. “Or maybe he went back to Austria. He didn’t seem particularly happy in America.”
“We’re done here,” Trent announced in hard tones, tugging his sister through the doorway. “If you have any more questions, contact our lawyers.”
The two disappeared from view, and with a rueful glance toward Rayne, Niko led the way out of the house. There was no point in hanging around. Trent Orwell had made it clear the meeting was over.
Neither spoke until they were in the van and Rayne was pulling through the gate onto the graveled road.
“They’re hiding something,” Niko said between clenched teeth.
Rayne nodded. “I agree. But what?”
“Maybe we should ask Henri,” Niko murmured, his gaze locked on the nearby barns, which were bigger than most people’s homes. “It’s too much of a coincidence that he worked at St. Cecilia’s School and then for the Orwells.”
“If we can find him.”
Niko pulled out his phone, searching for the name on the internet. “Here,” he said, glancing through the top hits. “Wagner Stables, horse training and riding lessons for all ages. Proprietor Henri Wagner. That has to be him.”
“Where is it?”
Niko pulled up his map app and plugged in the address. Then he released a low whistle. “Twelve miles north of here.” He pointed toward the upcoming intersection. “Make a left at the next road. It will take us directly to the place.”
Rayne slowed to take the turn, her brow furrowed. “Hard to believe that neither Brooke nor Trent knew Henri had stables practically in their backyard.”
“No crap. I have a friend who owns a racehorse. The boarding and training of Thoroughbreds is a specialized business where everyone knows everyone else.”
