Stranded With The Detective. Lena Diaz

that Colby and Dillon could see it. She swiped her fingers across the face, showing an impressive collection of pictures of a young colt transforming into a mature stallion. The same stallion standing in the next stall.

      “Those pictures appear to show that you’ve owned the horse in the past,” Colby said. “But that doesn’t prove that you didn’t sell him and have seller’s remorse.” He took the papers from Dillon and scanned them. “The stallion was sold four weeks ago?”

      “Impossible,” she said. “I was out of state when Palmer tricked my ranch manager into believing I’d authorized the sale and that he was taking him somewhere on behalf of Mr. Wilkerson. Old man Wilkerson doesn’t even breed horses anymore, so that was obviously a lie. But he wasn’t home when one of the ranch hands went over there to verify Palmer’s claim. So Billy felt he had no choice but to let Gladiator go. When I found out what had happened, I filed a complaint with the police. But they haven’t been able to reach Mr. Wilkerson to straighten things out. They said until they talk to him, there’s nothing they can do. I had to track down Gladiator myself. Now that I’ve found him, I’m not leaving here without him.”

      “Billy?” Colby asked.

      “Billy Abbott. My ranch manager.”

      “Got it. Where did the alleged sale take place?” Colby handed the papers back to Dillon, who pocketed them.

      “At my ranch,” Piper said.

      “Horse or cattle?”

      “Horse. I run a breeding program.”

      “Thoroughbreds? Racehorses?”

      “Some, yes. I also raise exotics—rare or unusual breeds in this part of the world, including draft horses. They’re my bread and butter, steady income while we try to produce the next Kentucky Derby champion. But that’s like winning the lottery. The last Derby winner our ranch produced was back when my dad ran the place, when I was just a baby.” She frowned. “I don’t see how any of that matters, though.”

      “Just getting some background information. You mentioned this Wilkerson guy like you’re pretty familiar with him. Is he a friend?”

      “I wouldn’t call him a friend, no. We wave when we see each other across the fence or on the road. But we don’t typically socialize.”

      “He’s your neighbor?”

      “Yes. His property abuts mine.”

      “But he can’t be located. He’s missing?”

      She shook her head. “No, that’s one thing that I can’t blame on Palmer. Wilkerson hasn’t been kidnapped.”

      Palmer crossed his arms, glaring at her.

      She ignored him. “I spoke to the service that mows his grass and looks after his property when he’s gone. They said he’s on vacation and won’t be back for weeks. But they didn’t have an address or even a phone number. According to the police, Wilkerson has checked in a few times, so they’re not worried about foul play. But he hasn’t checked in since Gladiator was stolen, so I haven’t had a chance to talk to him.”

      She waved a hand toward Palmer. “I’ve never even met this guy before and he shows up when both Wilkerson and I are gone and waves his fake papers around. If that isn’t suspicious, I don’t know what is. He probably saw Gladiator out in the field, decided he wanted to steal him and randomly chose Wilkerson as a front for his schemes. I bet he’s never even met Mr. Wilkerson.”

      “Wilkerson, my employer, paid good money for him. Just because you changed your mind doesn’t mean I have to give you back the horse.”

      The tent flap opened again and Blake strode down the aisle. “Sorry for interrupting. Thank you, Mr. Palmer, Miss Caraway. Your records came back clean.” He smiled and handed them back their IDs. “There’s a crowd gathering outside, wanting in the tent to prep the horses for the parade,” he told Dillon. “I’ll hold them back, but the natives are definitely getting restless.”

      “Understood. Thanks, Blake.”

      Blake hurried out of the tent and Dillon walked toward the next stall. “How much did Wilkerson allegedly pay for the stallion?” When he reached the stall door and got his first unblocked view of the horse, he let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Friesian?”

      “Yes,” Palmer and Piper both said.

      “He’s thicker and taller than other Friesians I’ve seen.”

      After giving Palmer a warning glance, Piper responded alone this time, “That’s part of why he’s so special. Most Friesians are closer to fifteen or sixteen hands tall. Gladiator is seventeen hands and built like a Clydesdale.”

      “Gorgeous.” Dillon’s voice sounded wistful, as if he wished he owned the stallion.

      “He’s a perfect specimen,” she said, “heavily sought after as a breeder. Which is why I’d never agree to sell. His stud fees pay a large chunk of the expenses on the ranch.”

      The pride in her voice and the joy on her face as she talked about the horse were enough to convince Colby that all was not as it seemed. The real question was whether Palmer or his boss, Wilkerson, was the bad guy. Then again, maybe both of them were in cahoots.

      “You never answered Dillon’s question, Mr. Palmer. How much did your employer supposedly pay for Gladiator?”

      “Thirty thousand.”

      Colby stared at him, stunned.

      Piper snorted again. “That’s not even half of what he’s worth. And the money hasn’t been wired to my bank account. I haven’t received a single dime. That alone proves he’s lying.”

      Palmer shrugged. “That’s between you and Wilkerson. Maybe there was a mix-up in the wire transfer. The account numbers could have been transposed or something. All I know is that he told me it was taken care of and gave me the papers that you signed. I’m sure he’ll straighten out the financing hiccups.”

      “I didn’t sign anything.” Her hands flexed at her sides as if she wanted to strangle him. “You’re a horse thief, plain and simple. You should be shot.”

      “I think you mean hung,” Colby said. “I’m pretty sure that’s the time-honored punishment for horse thieves.”

      She appeared to consider his outrageous statement, then nodded sagely. “Works for me. If Destiny doesn’t already have a hanging scaffold, I’ll be happy to help them build one. I’ll even volunteer to pull the trip lever.”

      Colby grinned, then sobered when he caught Dillon frowning at him.

      “Mr. Palmer,” Colby said. “Let’s assume for a moment that there really is a mix-up at the bank and it will be straightened out. Thirty thousand dollars is a heck of a lot of money to pay for a horse. It’s hard to believe that Wilkerson would send such a valuable animal off to a county fair. Why would he do that?”

      Palmer’s gaze slid away from Colby. “Wilkerson wants to drum up interest in the horse community so he can command a higher stud fee. He told me to tour the stallion at equestrian events for a few months.”

      “Lexington is about three hours away. Why bring the stallion that far? Even if everyone in Blount County attends the fair, that’s only a few thousand people. A lot of them have horses for pleasure, but I doubt anyone around here is in the market for an expensive exotic like Gladiator. So why bring a prize Friesian to Destiny?”

      “Good question,” Piper chimed in before Palmer could respond. “Gladiator’s too big and heavy to win a race. But he’s gorgeous enough to win just about any horse show. What’s the purse for something like that? Four? Five hundred bucks? Palmer makes the circuit through Tennessee while Wilkerson is out of state, none the wiser. He pockets thousands of dollars that his employer knows nothing about. Assuming Wilkerson really is his employer. Sounds like a lucrative