Sabotage. Kit Wilkinson

Emilie could barely repeat the heinous word. How could she think after Steele had uttered such a horrific statement?

      Camillo Garcia murdered?

      Steele waited for Emilie to take a seat behind her desk. Then he pulled the pen and tiny notebook from his jacket pocket, just as he had the day before. “As I was saying, the coroner suspected, as did I, that your employee’s death involved foul play. There will be a complete autopsy performed today, which should give us more insight. As you can imagine, I have more questions.”

      “Of course.” She sucked in a breath, trying to hold back her emotions. With a trembling hand, she wiped her moist eyes. “I’m sorry. This is all so unbelievable….”

      Detective Steele pulled his chair closer to her desk. “I understand this is difficult, Miss Gill. And it really could be as simple as Mr. Garcia having been in the wrong place at the wrong time. You said yourself that there are a lot of stable break-ins in the area.”

      She shook her head. “But nothing was taken.”

      “True. But I can’t rule it out. A thief could have gotten caught, panicked, killed Mr. Garcia and run…. Now, Miss Gill, how late were you at the stable Saturday evening?”

      She cleared her throat. “Until nine. But I didn’t go into the old barn. I’d been there early that morning when I found the note. I didn’t go back.”

      Steele jotted notes in his little book. He paused and looked up. “And was anyone else around, say between six and when you left?”

      She shook her head. “No. Not that late on a Saturday night.”

      “Are you usually here that late?”

      “No. Not usually. I normally leave at six. But I had a special trainer coming Sunday morning and without Camillo I had to prepare everything myself. Plus I’d given the stable hands the weekend off, since it’s a holiday, so I brought the horses in and fed them myself. Anyway, the whole time I kept thinking…well, hoping that Camillo would come back….” Her voice broke off with the strain of emotion.

      “And you saw nothing unusual while you were here? No cars or trucks? No workers?”

      “No. Like I said, everyone was away. As far as I know, no one was here but me.”

      He scribbled more notes in his pad. “The estate entrance has an iron gate with a keypad entry system. Is it closed at night?”

      “Yes. It closes at eight and is only accessible with a code or by calling the main house. That’s what time the stable is officially closed and what time the house staff leaves. It opens again at six in the morning. But some employees know the code.”

      “Which ones?”

      “Camillo knew it. Rosa Billings, the housekeeper. Mr. Huss, the grounds manager. And my dad’s lawyer, Mr. Adams.”

      “Was it common for Mr. Garcia to go out in the evenings?”

      “Not that I know of,” Emilie said.

      He nodded. “Did Mr. Garcia have many friends outside the stable?”

      She shrugged. “He had a few, but his job didn’t really allow for an active social life. He worked long, hard hours and he was very dedicated. I was lucky to have him. He was great at his job. In fact, I know for certain that a couple of other barns tried to woo him away.”

      The detective leaned forward. “Do you know which barns approached him?”

      “I suspect some of my competitors. Perhaps, Jack Frahm or Leslie Raney.”

      “Did Mr. Garcia consider these other positions?”

      “I don’t know why he would have. He wouldn’t have been paid any better, that’s for sure.”

      His brow creased upward, showing his small gray eyes. “Did you pay Mr. Garcia extra money in addition to his salary to ensure his position here?”

      She blinked rapidly. “No. I didn’t need to. His salary was more than sufficient. That’s what I was trying to say.”

      “So, you’re denying that you gave Mr. Garcia large sums of cash on a monthly basis?”

      She half laughed at the question. “Of course, I’m denying it. It’s not true.”

      “Then you can’t explain why Mr. Garcia made cash deposits every month totaling as much as five thousand dollars in addition to his check from Cedar Oaks Stable?”

      “What? Camillo made cash deposits?” She shook her head from side to side. “That can’t be true. He worked for me all the time. There’s no way he had time to moonlight for cash.”

      “Uh-huh.” The detective scratched his head and rubbed his broad nose. He glanced down to read something in his notebook then looked back at her. “Is there any chance Mr. Garcia was into something illegal, like drugs or gambling? The ME found a trace of drugs in his system. And it appears that his wrists had been bound for hours before death.”

      She felt her eyes widen. “No way. The only drugs Camillo touched were the joint supplements we feed to some of the older horses each morning. He didn’t even drink. And I can’t imagine he would have gambled. He sent most of his money to his family in Mexico.”

      “That’s what he told you?”

      “Yes. That’s what he told me because it’s the truth.” Emilie frowned.

      “What about enemies?” he asked. “Did Mr. Garcia have any problems getting along with the boarders or other workers here?”

      “Never. Everyone loved him. Especially his riding students…” She looked up quickly. “You know, he did make some extra money riding horses for boarders and teaching lessons. Maybe that’s where the extra cash came from?”

      “That money is recorded since he took personal checks for that work. In fact, Garcia kept meticulous records, which is why the unaccounted five thousand in cash each month really sticks out.”

      Emilie twisted her lips. “Well, I have no idea.”

      “Yesterday, you stated that you and Mr. Garcia were very good friends.” He checked his notes again. “How about elaborating?”

      “Elaborating?” Emilie raised an eyebrow.

      He gave a curt nod.

      She shrugged. “Uh…we worked together all day, every day and we were friends. Sometimes we had meals together and we would chat.” She stood, walked to the coffeepot and poured herself a full mug. “Would you like some coffee, Detective Steele?”

      “No, thank you.”

      Emilie found her seat again and took a sip of the hot brew. The detective fell silent, staring at the collection of awards and photos on her walls.

      “Look, Detective Steele, I don’t have much time outside my life here at the barn and all the shows I do. Neither did Camillo. It’s not surprising that over the four years he worked here we became friends.” She tightened her hands around the warm mug and lifted it again to her lips.

      His face pinched and his eyes rolled up at the ceiling. “Yes, I get that, Miss Gill. What I’m asking is were you intimate?”

      Emilie choked on her intake of coffee and struggled not to spill the mug as she placed it on the desktop. “No. Goodness no. Camillo was handsome and very sweet, but I never felt like that about him. Really, if you’d seen us together, you’d realize how ridiculous the idea is.”

      “When I questioned your stable boy Gabe, he didn’t seem to think it ridiculous at all. In fact, he said and I quote, ‘They were a thing. They were together all the time.’” Detective Steele returned his pad and pencil to his jacket pocket and placed his hands on his knees.

      Emilie gave him an angry stare. “Gabe cleans stalls and fills water buckets. That