Chapter 11
Jamie
Despite living in horse country for a brief time, Jamie has never actually touched a horse before. Give him a skateboard over
one of these creatures any day. The Appaloosa’s coat is silky, the tangled mane rough beneath his fingers. Lucy shows him
the proper way to brush him. Jamie isn’t surprised to learn that the two women aren’t biologically related. They look nothing
alike. Lucy is shorter than her sister, more angular, but seems to take up more space in a room while Madeline is taller,
softer. It’s clear there’s a rift between the two of them, and he wonders if Lucy Quaid may have come to Nightjar for much
more nefarious reasons.
Though Jamie doesn’t say anything to the women yet, the second explosion is clearly the result of an IED. While the fire marshal
and the crime-scene techs finish up their work, Jamie needs to use this time to try and gather as much information as possible
about the Drakes, Johanna and Dalton Monaghan, and the people around them.
“You said something about animal rights activists?” Jamie says, running the curry comb along the Appaloosa’s back.
“Yeah. Madeline told me about the emails last year,” Lucy says, tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. “Some zealots
not happy that the ranch raises and trains horses for competitions.”
“Have there been complaints about how the horses are treated?” Jamie asks. “They look like they’re in good shape to me.”
“Oh, they are. My sister knows how to care for horses. In her mind they are better company than most humans.” Lucy shrugs.
“Some activists see it as a moral issue.”
“And this group believes so strongly in this they might commit arson? Murder?” Jamie asks.
“Possibly,” Lucy says. “When I was racing, I’d get threats, had people protesting the competitions.”
“You raced horses?” Jamie asks. “Like the Kentucky Derby?” He eyes Lucy with new interest.
Lucy laughs. “Not quite. I was marathoner. I used to ride in endurance competitions, sometimes up to a hundred miles a day.”
“On a horse?” Jamie asks, impressed. “I’ve never heard of that before. Kind of like the Pony Express.”
“Sort of,” Lucy says. “The horses loved to race. It was when they felt most free. Me too,” she adds.
“Why’d you stop?” Jamie asks.
Lucy gives him a sad smile. “My dad got sick a few years ago. I came home to take care of him. He died last month.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jamie says. He waits, lets the moment pass before going on. “Do you know the name of this particular
group that threatened your sister and her husband?” Jamie asks.
“I don’t,” Lucy says. “As you probably noticed, my sister and I are not particularly close. We had a falling-out at our dad’s
funeral. I know you have to ask me, but I did not blow up my sister’s barn. As much as Madeline loves horses, I do too. Even
if I was angry with my sister, I would never put her animals in danger.” Lucy takes the curry comb from Jamie’s hand and returns
it to the hook on the stable wall.
“Good to know,” Jamie says. “But if things are so tense with Madeline, why are you here?”
“I missed her,” Lucy says simply. “My sister and I may have our differences, but I love her. It’s been a hard year. Our dad
died. Well, my dad, Madeline’s stepdad. Madeline’s mom died when she was sixteen. We’re all that each other has left, and
I was hoping we could get past it.”
“And?” Jamie asks. “Have you gotten past it?”
He watches as hesitation flickers across Lucy’s face. “Not yet. Madeline has made it perfectly clear she wants nothing to
do with me.”
“Why is that?” Jamie asks.
“It’s a long story, and stupid really.” Lucy shrugs. “At the funeral I said some things to Madeline I probably shouldn’t have.
She left angry, took my horses.”
Jamie waits for Lucy to say more. Instead, she moves to the next stall.
“So where were you yesterday at around six o’clock?” Jamie finally asks.
“I was in a bar about thirty miles from here, drinking shots with Trent. He’s a ranch hand here. I left around midnight and
then got a flat. Trent came upon me, and that’s when the sheriff showed up and told us what happened, and we drove right here.”
This was the same story the ranch hand told him, though Trent’s account made Lucy sound a little off. “You came from where?”
“Iowa. Got here three days ago,” Lucy says.
Jamie raises his eyebrows. “And you didn’t go to the party? You came all this way and didn’t even show up to find out if your
sister is going to have a boy or a girl?”
“I was trying to get my nerve up to see Madeline. We left things in a pretty bad way.”
“So she had no idea you were coming?”
“None. Looking back, it probably wasn’t wise that I showed up,” Lucy admits, “but if Madeline knew I was coming, she would
have made a point to avoid me.”
“Are you sticking around for a few more days?” Jamie asks. He can’t detain Lucy, has no reason to, at least not yet. If she
decides to leave, he can only take her contact information and reach out if he has more questions.
“I can’t leave until my truck gets fixed,” she says. “But as soon as that happens, I’m pretty sure Madeline is going to send
me on my way. But I’d like to stay. I can see how upset she is about her friend dying.”
Jamie can’t quite tell if Lucy is being sincere. He knows how complicated family relationships can be, how fraught with emotion
and tainted by real and imagined slights. Could their rift be due to a few horses? Maybe, but Jamie is willing to bet there’s
a whole lot more to it than what Lucy is telling him.
He takes Lucy’s cell number and hands her his card. “Give me a call if you think of anything.” He walks away, pausing to slide
his hand across the nape of Sonnet’s neck one more time, aware of Lucy’s eyes on his back, and exits the stables. He sends
a quick text to Greta.
Get me a list of all the stores in a sixty-mile radius of Nightjar that sell PVC piping and double-headed nails. And run a
FinCen report on Sully and Mia Preston, Wes and Madeline Drake, Lucy Quaid, and the Monaghans.
A FinCen report will give them an overview of someone’s financial records.
If there are any red flags, they can apply for a subpoena with the US Attorney’s Office for more detailed records.
Jamie needs to talk to Madeline again, alone.
Suss out her relationship with Lucy. He’s seen it before in his work—sibling rivalry, jealousy simmering until it bubbles over into violence.
He thinks of his own sister. Jamie still has the puckered white scars on his arm where Juneau scratched him over some childhood
disagreement. His sister had a temper but was quick to apologize and quick to forgive. That’s why Jamie didn’t get too worked-up
on that warm September evening when she kicked him out of the car, telling him he had to walk the rest of the way home. He
thought, at the time, he would walk a few hundred yards and Juneau would pull up behind him, tell him to get back in and then
take him home, promising to make pizza rolls for supper. That never happened.
Jamie shakes away the memory as he moves toward the house. Now that it looks like an IED is what killed Johanna Monaghan,
he’ll talk to her husband again and set up an interview with the Prestons. Then he needs to get the guest list and the names
of all the other attendees at the party, including the caterers and photographer. He also needs to get his hands on the security
footage. If they are lucky, the perpetrator will be on video.
Wes and Madeline Drake are with Sheriff Colson on the back terrace when he approaches the house. A current of anticipation
zips through him. It’s the first time he’ll come face-to-face with Jerry Colson in over two and a half decades, and a cold
sweat erupts across his skin. He takes a few steps toward him, then stops.
“Sheriff,” Jamie calls out, “can I borrow you for a second?”
The sheriff raises his hand to let Jamie know he heard him and finishes his conversation with the Drakes, and Jamie’s heart
skips a beat as Colson begins the slow walk across the yard toward him.
The sheriff narrows his eyes, peering hard at Jamie as he moves closer. It takes a second, but recognition floods the older man’s face, followed by a broad smile. “J. J. Archer,” he breathes out, using the name Jamie hasn’t used in years.
“I go by Jamie Saldano now,” Jamie says. “My mother’s maiden name.”
Once Jamie left home and went to college, Jamie ditched the initials and his father’s last name and went with Saldano. Jamie
didn’t mind severing the tie to his dad, a man who had always been absent, but he did feel guilty severing this connection
to his sister. He felt he had to do it to escape the scrutiny. Each year, around the anniversary of Juneau’s disappearance,
a renewed interest in the case would spark calls and ambushes from the press. His life has been much quieter since the name
change, and Jamie is okay with that.
“Last I heard you moved back to San Antonio. My God, you’ve gotten tall,” Colton says, looking up at Jamie. “I almost didn’t
recognize you.”
“My wife and I moved back a few months ago. I’m at the Cheyenne office. Got the call about the explosion and here I am. And
you look exactly the same,” Jamie says, an unexpected lump rising in his throat. Sheriff Colson does look the same, a few
pounds heavier, but Jamie will never forget the man’s eyes. Sharp, watchful, but kind. “You’re the sheriff now, Colson?” Jamie
says. “Really moving up in the world!”
“Yeah.” Colson laughs and claps him on the back. “So you’re married? Any kids?”
“Nope, no kids,” Jamie says. “But I met your son. Trent, right?”
“Yep, and I got two more just like him,” Colson says and turns to look at Wes and Madeline on the terrace. “Does Wes know
you’re here?” he asks.
“No,” Jamie admits. “I mean I saw him last night at the hospital, but he didn’t recognize me. Can’t blame him—he has a lot
going on right now.”
“And you didn’t say anything?” the sheriff asks in disbelief. “Let me call him over. He’ll be glad to see you.”