“No, Carl’s higher-functioning,” Marge said. “He takes care of himself and the horses. Besides being the stable hand, he’s the grounds keeper. Takes care of the fruit trees, maintains the huge garden out back. She’s got a few acres here. Keeping it up is a lot of responsibility.”
“You know, the maid mentioned that Lilah sends people from the spa to fix things in her house, pick stuff from the garden. She mentioned someone named Mike.”
Marge said, “I’ll check him out.”
“What about Totes as a suspect? What does your gut say?”
“Gut-speaking, probably not. You told me Lilah didn’t know who attacked her. I don’t think Carl has enough smarts to plan an assault without being recognized.”
Decker said, “How long has Carl been working out the horse?”
“He took it out maybe a half hour ago, says he tries to work out each horse for an hour. Jesus, that’s six hours in the saddle every day. Guy must have nothing but a big callus for a butt.”
Decker slapped his notepad against his palm. “You get used to it.”
“Macho Pete.”
Decker smiled, thinking that Marge wasn’t so bad in the machismo department herself. At a fit five-ten, one fifty-five, she could successfully floor most men without breaking a sweat. Her most feminine feature was her eyes. Soft and doelike, they inspired trust. Everyone told Marge their secrets.
She said, “Why don’t you take a look around while I organize my notes?”
Decker agreed, strolling the stables, taking in the scenery. Lilah had prime horses—well-muscled with straight backs and princely gaits. The Lippizaner was the jumper, the two Thoroughbreds were young with fine-looking legs. The Appaloosa in the middle stall looked to be about twelve—probably dead broke and a great trail rider. Aps were good range horses—fearless and surefooted. He returned to Totes’s stall, sniffed the towels and bedsheet.
“His clothes are dirty, but his linens are clean. The maid said she doesn’t do his laundry.”
Marge said, “He’s got a small empty washbasin outside. Next to the toilet.”
“Who buys his food?”
“He told me Lilah gives him some canned goods—tuna, chili and beans. And then there’s the garden—actually it’s more like a farm. A half acre’s worth of vegetables, most of the greens and herbs grown for the spa. VULCAN advertises homegrown fruits and vegetables. Guess Lilah needs something to justify those rates.”
Decker smiled and rolled his shoulders.
Marge said, “Totes helps himself to the veggies. To the fruits in the orchards, too. I guess if you don’t mind simple living and the smell, it’s not a terrible life.” She checked her watch. “How about we grab some lunch after you’ve spoken to Mr. Totes?”
“I want to stop off at home,” Decker said. “I’ve got some baked goods in the car that were supposed to be Rina’s breakfast. Want to come over for lunch?”
“I’m sure Rina would love that.”
“I’ll need you as a buffer.”
“She giving you a hard time?”
“Nah,” Decker said. “She’s just being pregnant. Stop by with me. She likes you. Sometimes I think she likes you better than me.”
“You go it alone this time.” Marge stood on her tiptoes and patted his cheek. “You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”
Decker smiled. “You want to explain to Totes that I’m your partner? He’s already had one interview today. I don’t want to confuse the guy by suddenly presenting myself.”
“Sure.”
“While I’m talking to him, can you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Frederick Brecht’s not at the spa and supposedly no one had his office number. The Vulcanites are very closemouthed.”
“I’ll look him up. You want me to call him?”
“I don’t know if he’s aware of what’s happened. The maid didn’t call him; the spa isn’t concerned about Lilah’s absence. The manager there … what the hell was her name?” He flipped through his notepad. “Uh … Kelley Ness … she told me that Ms. Brecht wasn’t expected in today, but she didn’t sound uptight.”
“Did you ask Kelley about this Mike person?” Marge said.
“No. If Mike’s there and involved, I don’t want to spook him. I don’t want to interview this Mike guy or Doctor Freddy by phone. I want to see their reactions to the news in the flesh.”
“Makes sense,” Marge said. “How about you talk to Totes while I break for lunch? Afterward, I’ll take a peek around the spa and you check out Doctor Freddy.”
“Sounds good,” Decker said. “By the time I’m done with Freddy, maybe Lilah will be able to talk.”
Marge said, “What should we do about Davida Eversong?”
Decker made a face and leaned backward. “What does she have to do with any of this?”
“You haven’t talked to Morrison yet?”
Decker was taken aback. It was unusual for the captain to stick his nose into Decker’s affairs. “Christ, what is it, Marge?”
“Just wanted to know a little about the case. Mentioned the fact that since Lilah was Davida Eversong’s daughter, it could get some press.” Marge sighed. “That maybe we might want to break the news to Ms. Eversong first and tell her to keep a low profile so we can do our jobs. I seemed to get the impression that he’s worried that Eversong might play this for some publicity. Should I try to dig her up?”
Decker thought for a moment. “Not just yet. Let me at least try to talk to Lilah first. She may have her own method of dealing with her mother.”
Plumes of dust obscured the corral’s ground as the palomino kicked up cloud banks of grit. The tomtom sound of hooves beating against the dirt, the horse rounding each bend of the fence seamlessly. In lesser hands, the stallion could have easily lost its footing, but Totes handled the animal with the combined expertise of professional cowboy and jockey.
Riding bare chested, the man was so thin he looked like an antenna. In his time, Decker had known many hands like him. Their strength was often deceptive. The guy was probably one wiry sucker.
Marge caught Totes’s attention. He pulled on the reins, stopping directly in front of them, spraying them with dirt. He untied the bandanna from around his neck and wiped perspiration off his face and neck. A watery sheen had coated his chest and stomach, but he didn’t bother to swab it away.
“Carl, this is my partner, Sergeant Decker,” Marge said. “If you don’t mind, he’d like to ask you a few questions.”
There was a moment of silence. Totes’s eyes were unreadable, hidden behind the shadow of his cowboy hat. He had a long face that matched his lean body. His nutmeg-colored cheeks were gaunt, hairless, and mottled with acne scars and moles.
“My partner needs to ask you a few questions, Carl,” Marge said.
Totes nodded.
“How ’bout we go in the stable?” Decker said. “You can brush your horse down while we talk.”
Totes nodded but made no effort to dismount. The palomino was prancing about, chafing at the bit, sweat pouring down his flanks.
Decker said, “You need to cool him off first?”
“Yes sir, I do.”
“Go ahead,” Decker said.