Bluegrass Peril Read Online Free PDF

initial shock of finding Haldeman’s body wore off. From her phone call, he’d have pegged her for the hysterical type, not the kind to keep her composure under police questioning. Megan would have…
    He stabbed the scoop into the feed bag and climbed behind the wheel of the golf cart to head for the next paddock. Why did he keep comparing her to Megan? She didn’t look a thing like his former girlfriend, except for the eyes. He steeled himself against the wave of regret that thoughts of Megan always brought. He had to stop thinking about the past and focus on the task at hand. And that meant working with Becky to hold things together. Hopefully, she was happily married and totally in love with her husband. Theirs would be a business relationship, period. And he was the boss.
    A smile tugged at his mouth. He’d never officially been the boss of anyone before. This temporary job at the Pasture was going to give him some great experience. If he handled it well, he might be able to land a job as general manager with the next breeder he worked for. Having someone like Mr. Courtney put in a good word for him when he was ready to move on would be worth a lot.
    He pulled on the hand brake as he approached the feed bucket for Samson’s Secret. Zach’s comment about having more experience with stallions than Scott wasn’t really accurate. He and Mr. Courtney seemed to have forgotten that Scott’s last job had been at a stud farm. But out of respect for his boss, Scott had kept his mouth shut. Though he could be a bit crusty, Zach had been nothing but kind to Scott since his arrival. In some ways, he reminded Scott of his dad.
    Unlike Fortune, Samson ran toward Scott eagerly when he realized food was being scooped into his feed bucket. He shoved his head in after the first scoop as though starving.
    “Take it easy, fella.” Scott laughed as he gently pushed the horse’s head back so he could add another scoop. “You can’t fool me into thinking you’re that hungry. I’ve watched you graze all morning.”
    As he left Samson’s paddock, Detective Foster and Trooper Whitley came through the back door of the farmhouse. Foster’s gaze swept the paddocks and stopped when he caught sight of Scott. Both men started toward him. Scott hopped into the golf cart and met them at the edge of the black plank fencing.
    “Lewis,” said Foster, “any idea what this is?”
    Trooper Whitley held a scrap of paper in his blue-gloved hand. When Scott reached for it, he jerked it away.
    “Fingerprints,” he explained.
    Scott nodded and shoved his hand into his pocket. The square of paper looked like newsprint and had two ripped edges, as though torn from the corner of a larger piece. Scrawled in blue ink across the white space were two sentences.

     
    I need to see you. I’ll come by tonight.

     
    The handwriting was pretty, the even, rounded letters flowing across the paper. The i in tonight was dotted with a little circle.
    Scott shrugged. “I’m not an expert, but to me it looks like a note written by a woman.”
    Detective Foster’s lips pursed. “We know that. I’m asking about the paper it’s written on.”
    Scott looked again. The scrap was torn from the page of a racing form. Bold print beside the blue scrawl listed statistics that might look like gibberish to someone with no knowledge of the industry, but were a horse’s lifetime stats.
    “It’s probably torn from a page of the Daily Racing Form. ” He grasped Whitley’s rubber-encased wrist and turned it over. On the back the large bold heading was torn, the last part missing, but enough of the name remained that Scott recognized it. “Lemon Sugar. She’s a filly from Harwood Farm over in Lexington. She ran at Keeneland this week.”
    Foster’s face remained impassive. The man was a master at hiding his reactions. “What day?”
    Scott shrugged. “I’m not sure. I don’t go to the races much.”
    “But you’re a horse guy.” Whitley gave him a surprised