Unfinished Business: Kovak & Quaid Horse Mystery Series (Kovak & Quaid Horse Mysteries Book 3) Read online

  Quaid sat back and pursed his lips. Didn’t sound right to him – the instance of a mare purposely injuring her foal was almost unheard of. Not completely though – sometimes a maiden mare wouldn’t accept her first foal. Quaid checked the age of the mare. She was no first timer.

  The thing that really bothered him, though, was the amount of the claim. Seventy-five thousand dollars for a newborn seemed high. Policies were usually written based on two to three times the stud fee, or the championship status of the mare, or her history of consistently producing champion offspring. In the current economy, it was unlikely that the stud fee and market value of the colt were high enough to justify the insurance amount. How had such a miscalculation happened? Had someone at United Equine Assurance screwed up?

  Quaid picked up the phone and dialed, glancing again at the name of the claimant. “May I speak to Vivica Wheeler?”

  “This is her. Who’s calling?”

  “Garrett Quaid from United Equine Assurance. I’m handling your claim for the colt that just died, and I need to set up a time to meet with you, the sooner the better. I’ll also need your veterinarian’s report on the death and the blood tests to determine the cause. Would tomorrow morning work for you?”

  “Uh, yeah. I’ll have to take off from work, so make it around ten. And you’ll have to call the doc’s office to get that other stuff because I don’t have copies yet.”

  Something in the woman’s voice awakened Quaid’s radar.

  “You have the body, right?” he said.

  In dead of winter, the ground would be too hard to dig. With any luck, the body would be available to him to examine.

  “We hauled it out back and covered it with a tarp to keep the crows off ’til I can get a backhoe out here.”

  Quaid frowned at the woman’s dispassionate discussion of the lost foal. He hadn’t known many horse owners who weren’t crushed by the death of a baby horse they’d been anticipating for eleven months. This woman was one cold fish.

  “Okay, don’t do anything until I have a look. I’ll see you around ten tomorrow morning.”

  He hung up and shuddered. This wouldn’t be a pleasant experience. He picked up the phone again and punched the interoffice number.

  “Gail, would you pull the original paperwork on this dead foal case? File number AFD7934. Thanks. Just leave it on my desk, I need to go get something from my truck.”

  Chapter 5

  After swinging by her condo to change clothes and comb her hair, Kim headed for the northwest side of Columbus. She’d never been to Quaid’s new office in the Metro Center, but it wasn’t far from the little house he’d rented in Dublin, the one that she and Dixie had helped him find and move into. She grinned. Those days had been fun, filled with laughter and lots of pizza on paper plates.

  Probably the most memorable was moving day when Dixie arrived with Dana Dexton. Quaid’s jaw had almost hit the floor and Kim had been stunned too. What an unlikely coincidence that Dixie would become romantically involved with the stern sheriff’s deputy from Delaware – the beautiful African American woman who’d been instrumental in helping solve Teri Fortune’s murder.

  Kim pulled into a parking spot in front of Quaid’s office building and sighed as she turned off the engine. Poor Teri. She’d made some wrong choices and paid with her life, but if that hadn’t happened, Kim and Quaid wouldn’t have stumbled onto the biggest and most cunning international horse theft scheme imaginable. A scheme that, as far as Kim knew, might still be operating. She had the uneasy feeling that a lot of unfinished business remained on the table.

  Quickly checking her hair in the rearview mirror, she picked up her purse and climbed out of the car. The cold air snatched her breath away and she pulled her coat closer as she walked toward the entrance. Her breath came short and her step faltered. What if he was busy? What if he didn’t want to see her? This was a terrible idea. She stopped, ready to turn back. The door opened and Garrett stepped out.

  “Kim! Hey, what are you doing here? I mean, gosh, hi.”

  His dazzling smile seared through her chest and she almost couldn’t speak. He was clearly happy to see her.

  Taking a silent breath to calm herself, she fabricated an alibi. “I was in the area and thought I’d drop by and see how the new job is going.”

  He chuckled and grabbed the door. “Hey, come inside. It’s colder than hell out here. The job is going okay, just takes some adjustment. Ha ha, insurance joke.”

  Kim stepped inside and grinned mischievously. “That’s your claim.”

  Garrett laughed. “You’re in rare form, as usual. How’ve you been? I’ve been meaning to call, but by the time I get home at night, I’m all out of steam. And my place is still a wreck.”

  Kim thought for a moment. Should she offer to come over and help him get organized? Would that be too obvious? Probably.

  “I understand. Moving’s a bitch. I can’t even imagine having to do it again.” She chuckled. “I’ll be in that condo until they take me out in a wheelchair.”

  “Hey, if you’re not busy, do you want to get a drink later? I have some calls to make about an appointment tomorrow, but then I’m done for the day.”

  “I’d love that. What time and where?”

  “Five at the Dublin Village Tavern. You know it?”

  “I do, and I need to stop at the grocery store, so that works just fine.”

  She reached for the door handle and gave him a little smile. Garrett saluted, then walked quickly toward his office, leaving Kim feeling just a little stunned.

  Chapter 6

  Quaid sat down at his desk, startled by how happy he was to see Kovak again. In truth, he’d honestly been busy and had intended to call, but the underlying worry about getting involved had probably been a greater source of resistance than his busy schedule. Since moving to Columbus at the end of November, the weeks had flown by in a blur. Christmas in Dayton with his family, some settling-in time at both the office and his new house, plus several trips to Chagrin Falls to finalize the sale of his house there. Now, at the end of January, he was hoping for some semblance of normalcy. Perhaps Kim Kovak could be a part of that. Damn, she really looks good.

  A gray file folder lay on his desk, marked with a case label for Wheeler Arabians and a green tab that indicated that the case was open. He sat down and reached for the phone. He needed to get the veterinarian reports right away. It would be even better if he could talk to the vet personally. An answering machine came on, informing him that the office was now closed for the day, but if he had an emergency, he could call the doctor directly on his cell phone. Quaid made a note of the number and set it aside. He’d call after he looked through the file.

  Going to the back of the folder, he started with the original application for insurance which contained the pertinent information about the horses involved. The mare purportedly had outstanding bloodlines, and the stallion was also noted to be well bred. Quaid didn’t know much about the value of Arabians, only that they’d had a heyday in the eighties, after which the bubble burst and had only slowly come back – but to nowhere near what it had been. He’d have to do some research.

  The mare had been purchased for $26,000 five years earlier at a dispersal sale. She had little show history and only a couple of offspring, but her bloodlines were popular, so in the economy at that time, she would have been considered a bargain at that price. The stud fee for the breeding was $12,000, probably reasonable for a champion stallion. Quaid frowned. Based on this information, the foal should have been insured for no more than $36,000.

  So, how did this foal come to be insured for seventy-five grand? He examined the date on the application, then looked at the claim form. Mortality insurance on a foal couldn’t be purchased until 72 hours after birth – the window used by the industry to confirm a “live birth.” The insurance was in force at exactly 73 hours, and the colt died 6 hours later.

  Quaid grabbed his phone and buzzed the girl who’d delivered the file. “Ga
il, I need every claim we have from these people. Make it a priority.”

  Pulling up a map on the computer, he did a search for Portland, Indiana. The town was a speck in the middle of nowhere, not far across the Ohio border. The map program estimated travel time at two hours, so he’d need to get on the road early to avoid the commuter traffic. He closed the screen and sighed. This was probably a wild goose chase, but large insurance settlements for some mom-and-pop operation did send up red flags.

  While he waited for the rest of the client files, he did a search for Wheeler Arabians. A moment later, he sat back hard in his chair. Vivica Wheeler was a major player in the Arabian industry, with the championships and history to prove it. Image after image showed the Wheeler horses in the winner’s circle, Vivica Wheeler draped in expensive clothing, the beautifully appointed stalls at some large show taking up an entire quarter of the main barn, and so on. Quaid reversed his initial assessment of the operation – this woman had some money.

  Two hours later, Gail stepped into his office and set a stack of folders on his desk. “The courier from Cleveland just brought these down. That’s everything, going back ten years.”

  Quaid gazed at the seven folders. “Ten years, eight claims. Seems excessive, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just in charge of keeping track of where everything is. But I guess it would depend on how many horses they have. Lots of horses would mean more chance for problems, right?”

  “Right, the law of averages. Thanks, Gail.”

  He watched her leave, thinking for a moment that sometimes the simple truth was the reality. If a farm only had ten horses, but filed eight claims, that would be suspicious. But for an operation with fifty or so head, not even unusual. Still, the powers that be thought Vivica Wheeler needed a look.

  Quaid opened the first file and checked the data. A dead colt insured for sixty thousand the first year Wheeler signed up with United Equine. Claim paid. The next file was a dead broodmare insured for $100,000. Claim paid. The next four files were paid claims for dead foals, insured for anywhere from $60,000 to $90,000. A coil tightened in Quaid’s gut. This didn’t feel like the law of averages. This felt like fraud.

  He grabbed the phone and dialed the veterinarian’s cell number, drumming his fingers on the desk while he waited. A moment later, a young voice answered.

  “Vet clinic. May I help you?”

  “This is Garrett Quaid with United Equine Assurance. I’m calling Dr. Morris about Vivica Wheeler’s colt that died a couple of days ago.”

  “Hold on, I’ll see if he’s available.”

  Several minutes passed, then a deep voice came on the line. “This is Jeb Morris. What can I do for you?”

  “I need the test results from your post mortem visit on Vivica Wheeler’s colt that died earlier this week. You drew blood, right?”

  “Oh, yes. My office should have those results. The secretary is off today, but if you give her a call first thing in the morning, she can mail it to you.”

  “I’d like to pick it up. Where is your office located?”

  “In Decatur, about 29 miles north of the Wheeler ranch. I’ll leave a message for her to have the results ready for you. Anything else I can do for you?”

  “No, that’s great, thanks. Oh, well yes, there is. I noticed that someone mentioned the possibility that the foal was kicked in the head. Did you find that to be true?”

  A short pause, then the vet cleared his throat. “It’s hard to tell in a foal that young. They have pretty rubbery bones.”

  Quaid narrowed his eyes. “What did your test results show?”

  “Nothing obvious. You know, it’s too bad, but sometimes these little ones just aren’t strong enough to survive. We don’t always know why.”

  “Thanks Dr. Morris. I’ll be in touch if I need anything else.”

  Quaid hung up the phone and scowled at the stack of folders. The vet was either incompetent or complicit, and Quaid was going to find out which.

  Gail stuck her head in the door. “Goodnight, Mr. Quaid. See you tomorrow.”

  Quaid leaped out of his chair. “Crap! I’m supposed to be somewhere right now!”

  Chapter 7

  Kim locked her car and glanced around the parking lot, looking for Garrett’s blue truck. Not there. She was exactly on time – was that a good thing? Or would it appear that she was too eager? She climbed back into the car and checked her hair in the rearview mirror, then laughed.

  “Jeez, you’d think I was meeting him for the first time!”

  Stepping out of the car again, she took a deep breath of cold air and headed for the entrance to the Dublin Village Tavern. Inside, the warmth wrapped around her like a welcoming blanket. This early on a workday, customers were sparse, but the bartender and servers bustled about in anticipation of the after-work crowd that would descend upon them shortly. Kim took a moment to admire the dark wood and rustic brickwork. The bartender called out a greeting and Kim responded as she moved toward a table with a view of the door.

  Ten minutes passed and several groups of people arrived. Kim checked her phone, but no one had called. She toyed with a cardboard coaster advertising Killian’s Red, trying not to look at her watch. The noise level in the bar rose as happy hour picked up. Kim’s confidence began to wane.

  Relief flooded through her as the door opened and Garrett rushed in, looking around as he peeled off his jacket. Kim’s heart thumped as she struggled to maintain a nonchalant expression.

  He came toward her, shaking his head. “I’m sure sorry. I got involved in a case and, well, I just lost track of the time.”

  His gorgeous smile sent a familiar ripple through her chest.

  “I just got here myself. Lucky there was still a table.”

  Good grief, why do I play these games?

  Garrett signaled the server, then turned and smiled. “So, here we are again. How’ve you been?”

  “Pretty good. Spending some time with my horse, but mostly trying to drum up some business for the coming season.”

  Garrett’s eyes narrowed. “Aren’t you supposed to be headed to California soon?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Yeah, that was the plan, but the show facility burned down.”

  “You’re kidding! That huge place in Burbank where we were last year? Holy cow!” He cocked his head. “Was it arson?”

  “Don’t know yet, it only happened this morning, but the show manager already called me to cancel. They might reschedule for later, but probably not.” She sighed. “And I have a nonrefundable airline ticket. This really sucks.” She threw him a sideways grin. “I thought briefly about just going out there and tracking down Jasper Martin, but ...”

  Garrett vigorously shook his head. “What, exactly, would that accomplish? The claim was paid, the case is closed. Other than your own curiosity – which almost got you killed, by the way – you’ve nothing to gain by finding him.”

  Kim pouted. “I just want to know. It drives me crazy to think that Martin­ orchestrated that elaborate plan to switch those horses, and got away with it.”

  Garrett didn’t say anything and Kim recalled his comments about not always finding answers. He was right, she had no business pursuing that dead end. Still ...

  He sat back and grinned. “Since you have a ticket, why not change it and go somewhere you’d like to be? Take a little vacation to someplace warm. It would be good for you.”

  “I could probably do that. I think the charge for changing is about a hundred bucks, but that’s better than forfeiting almost a thousand.”

  Garrett’s expression changed and he cleared his throat. “Listen, it’s none of my business, but I’ve been wondering how you make ends meet with just your photography.”

  She looked at her hands. “Just barely after last year’s disasters. I had a small inheritance after my parents’ death, plus some disability insurance and my police pension. I’d managed to save a little and get along on the photo money, but the knee injury and t
he robbery at my apartment took a huge bite out of that backup.”

  “I can imagine.”

  He didn’t say anything more, so she changed the subject. “So tell me how the new job is working out. Any interesting cases?” Any interest in still having me work with you?

  Garrett nodded. “We’ve been fairly busy for this time of year. Actually, I caught a case this morning that might be a humdinger. In fact, you might be able to help me out on this one, if you’re interested. You have some Arabian horse connections, right?”

  “My Egyptian friends know everyone in the business. Although, I’m not sure where they are right now. The last I heard, Shareen and Albert were possibly leaving Cairo. But I can certainly find out. What do you need?”

  As Garrett laid out the claim details and his suspicions, Kim’s thoughts raced. Everything he said made sense and pointed to some sort of insurance scam, but one that involved a lot of dead animals. She shuddered. Would they be dealing with someone so heartless as to kill beautiful horses just for money?

  Garrett finished his explanation, then his face brightened. “I have to go there tomorrow morning to check it out. Wanna come along?” He grinned. “I’ll need pictures.”

  Chapter 8

  In the early morning darkness, Kim drove slowly down the road through the condo complex. To the west, the sky glowed with the lights of the city, already awake and ready to start the day. As she joined the traffic on Dublin-Granville Road, she thought about Garrett’s suggestion regarding how to use her airline ticket. The thought of spending a few days on some sunny beach by herself didn’t appeal at all. The saving grace on the whole thing was that the ticket was valid for a year. Certainly, in that time, she could come up with something interesting to do.

  Her thoughts turned to Garrett’s case. The farm they would visit that morning was somewhere in eastern Indiana. From what Kim could remember from a horse show she’d once covered in Fort Wayne, that part of the state was flat and extremely windy. Mile after mile of farmland, the horizon only broken by silos and groves of trees. The wind had nearly driven her mad during her three-day stay, and there’d been no way to keep the fine dust out of her camera equipment.