“This stable?” Alex gasped. “My mother was killed here?”
It was clear to her that he hadn’t intended to let that slip. He cursed beneath his breath before answering curtly, “That’s right.”
“Where? Which stall?”
“It doesn’t mat—”
“Show me, damn you! I’m sick to death of your half answers and evasions. Show me where you found her body that morning, Sheriff.” She enunciated the last word carefully, reminding him that it was his sworn duty to protect and serve.
Without another word, he turned and strode toward the door through which she had entered the barn. At the second stall in the row, he halted. “Here.”
Alex came to a full stop, then moved forward slowly until she was even with Reede. She turned to face the stall. There was no hay in it, just the rubber-covered floor. The gate had been removed because no horse was occupying the stall. It looked innocent, almost sterile.
“There hasn’t been a horse boarded in this stall since it happened.” Scornfully, he added, “Angus has a sentimental streak.”
Alex tried to envision a bloody corpse lying in the stall, but couldn’t. She raised inquiring eyes to Reede.
The skin seemed more tautly stretched across his cheekbones, and the vertical lines that framed his mouth appeared more pronounced than they had a few moments ago, when he had been angry. A visit to the scene of the crime wasn’t as easy for him as he wanted to pretend.
“Tell me about it. Please.”
He hesitated, then said, “She was lying diagonally, her head in that corner, her feet about here.” He touched a spot with the toe of his boot. “She was covered with blood. It was in her hair, on her clothes, everywhere.” Alex had heard jaded homicide detectives discussing gory murder sites with more emotion. Reede’s voice was hollow and monotonal, but his features were stark with pain. “Her eyes were still open.”
“What time was that?” she asked huskily.
“When I found her?” She nodded, finding it difficult to speak. “Dawn. Around six-thirty.”
“What were you doing here at that time of day?”
“I usually started mucking the stables around seven. That particular morning I was worried about the mare.”
“Oh, yes, the one that had foaled the day before. So, you had come to check on her and the foal?”
“That’s right.”
Tears were shimmering in her eyes as she raised them to his. “Where were you the night before?”
“Out.”
“All night?”
“Since supper time, yes.”
“Alone?”
His lips narrowed with irritation. “If you want more answers, Counselor, bring the case to trial.”
“I plan to.”
As she brushed past him on her way to the door, he caught her arm and drew her up against him. He felt hard and powerfully male. “Miss Gaither,” he growled in irritation and impatience, “you’re smart. Drop this. If you don’t, somebody’s likely to get hurt.”
“Namely?”
“You.”
“How?”
He didn’t actually move; he just inclined his body closer to hers. “There are any number of ways.”