The Kill by Jan Neuharth Page A

name?”
    “Caden.”
    “Why don’t you hold Caden’s picture so I get it in the shot? Yes, just like that. Perfect.”
    “Make sure you get the flag in the background, okay?”
    “You bet.” Abigale angled the camera so it captured the American flag that hung from the plane’s ceiling. She snapped several shots and wrote down the soldier’s email address, promising to send the photos to him. “Good luck with your recovery. Are you going to Walter Reed?”
    He nodded. “Wish I was going home straight away, but my wife and boy will be up to see me, so that’s the next best thing. Home is where the heart is, right?”
    Abigale sank back against the narrow seat, struck by the irony of the soldier’s parting words. She’d lost her heart—maybe her soul—in Virginia seventeen years ago, so where did that leave her?

CHAPTER
18

    M argaret tugged on her work gloves when she spotted the dark-green sports car speeding toward them along the perimeter of the racecourse. Manning was late, as usual, and he was driving far too fast across the soggy turf. But he’d arrived.
    She turned to the small group that had gathered to work on the racecourse. “Okay, Manning’s here, so let’s divide up chores and get to work. As you can see, the snow fence is in my truck, so whoever wants to tackle that job should come with me. The rest of you can start with the timber fence repairs. Smitty knows which obstacles need work. Just remember, I gave Lieutenant Mallory my word we’d confine our activities to the perimeter of the course and not stray up the hill to the parking lot or the stewards’ stand.”
    “Any idea when we’ll be allowed up there?” Wendy asked, sheltering her eyes from the sun with her hand as she nodded in the direction of the hill.
    Margaret glanced at the yellow crime-scene tape that surrounded the stewards’ stand. “The sheriff is pushing to have the investigation wrapped up today. I hope we’ll be able to get in tomorrow.”
    “The deck will need to be repainted,” Thompson said. “We’d better be able to get that finished by tomorrow or it won’t be dry by Sunday for the races. Especially if we get more wet weather.”
    “I thought you and Richard had finished all the painting,” Wendy said to Margaret.
    Margaret exchanged a look with Thompson.
    “There’s quite a bit of blood,” Thompson said. “We’ll need to repaint the planks on the top deck. A portion of the deck below as well.”
    Wendy’s eyes widened and she clamped her palm over her mouth. “Oh, God.”
    Margaret put an arm around her. They watched in silence as Manning jogged toward them, his long stride gobbling up the distance with ease.
    “Sorry I’m late,” Manning said.
    “You’re in time to help put the snow fence around the horse van area,” Margaret replied. She caught a whiff of cologne intermingled with a fresh, soapy smell, and noted that his hair was wet but neatly combed, his face cleanly shaved. “There’s a thermos of coffee on the tailgate.”
    She turned away as Manning reached for the thermos. “Who else wants to help with the snow fence?”
    “I will,” Wendy said.
    “Okay. The three of us ought to be able to handle that. Thompson and Percy, why don’t you work with Smitty.” Margaret glanced at Wendy. “Are you expecting anyone else to show up to help?”
    “Charles Jenner said he and Tiffanie would try to be here.”
    Smitty groaned and rolled his eyes at Margaret. “Don’t tell me. You’re assigning them to my work group.”
    Margaret flashed a brief smile. “How perceptive of you.”
    “They’re just what I need today,” Smitty mumbled. “Charles will most likely show up hauling some brand-spanking-new chain saw that’s too powerful for him to handle, and Tiffanie will probably bring a pair of garden pruners and be dressed like she’s going to a hunt breakfast. I wouldn’t be surprised if she wants to clip the boxwood on the brush fences.”
    A glint of sunlight caught the