Chapter 11

The Fatal Accident Reconstruction officer was still working the scene when Josie drove back up Prout Road. Three other officers from the team had joined her, taking photos and making sketches. Two cruisers remained to protect the scene and direct traffic. The tow truck was also there, the driver asleep in the cab. Josie waved to Officer Brennan as they rolled past. Gretchen sipped at the new coffee they'd stopped for and studied the wreckage. As they climbed the hill, the fields spread on either side of them, nothing but high grass and an occasional patch of wildflowers with the forest in the distance. They crested the hill and the road flattened out. A mile passed and then another, and there were no driveways or buildings in sight.

"You were right," Gretchen said. "There is literally nothing out here."

"We should still take a look at the aerial maps when we get back to the station. I'm not sure how far these fields go or what's on the other side of these trees. What did you think of Summers?"

"You mean, do I think she's lying about not remembering anything about Jane Doe or who stabbed them or what happened before the accident? Or, most importantly, if she knows anything about the drawing? I have no idea. I can't see what reason she would have to lie and yet, she only forgot the exact things we need to know. I get what Nashat was saying about concussions, and I've even seen people block out traumatic events—like being stabbed—so who knows? We should talk to her again when she's stitched up and has had some rest. We might get a better read on her then."

Josie calculated they'd driven almost five miles by the time the Tranquil Trails Equestrian Academy came into view. Paint peeled off the small sign at the edge of a gravel driveway. Josie turned onto it and drove past trees along one side and a large field on the other. She braked when the gravel expanded along her left side into a grove of maple trees thirty yards away. A wooden produce stand, painted a faded red, nestled in the clearing beneath them but nothing sat on its shelves except a wooden box that said, LEAVE SOMETHING, TAKE SOMETHING. She continued on. The driveway wound to the right. Finally, they came to a large two-story building behind a split rail fence. The structure appeared to be a former barn that had been partially converted into a house. Its wooden siding was old, its brown fading to gray in places. The driveway continued to curve around the house, out of their line of sight, but just past a massive pine tree, there was a dirt parking lot to her left, so Josie pulled in there. Gretchen said, "I think ‘academy' is a bit of a stretch."

Josie got out and stretched her arms over her head, noting two other vehicles in the lot, one a sedan and the other a pickup truck. "Maybe the inside is nicer?"

From across the car roof, Gretchen scoffed. As she closed the door, she said, "Are we even still in Denton?"

Josie looked in the direction of the road. "Believe it or not, yes. The city limit goes a few more miles north of here."

As they walked toward the house, Gretchen shook her head, laughing softly. "The city limits. This place is a far cry from the concrete jungle of Philadelphia. I'll never get used to it."

They walked through the split rail fence and followed a stone walkway to the front of the house. An unwelcoming white door greeted them. There were no signs. Not even a doorbell.

"It doesn't even look like this place is in operation," said Gretchen.

They hadn't had time to properly research the place, having come directly from the hospital. Normally, Josie would have done a deep dive on Tranquil Trails Equestrian Academy before arriving, but if this was the last place that Mira Summers had been before the accident, she wanted to check it out right away. If there was any evidence or witnesses who could help them figure out who their Jane Doe was or what had happened before Mira Summers crashed, and most importantly, whether or not a child was at risk, Josie wanted to get to it immediately.

"There are cars in the lot," Josie said, rapping on the door.

Gretchen was already on her cell phone, tapping the name of the place into her internet browser.

No one answered. Josie knocked again with the same result.

Gretchen said, "It's got good reviews. Doesn't look like it does a ton of business."

"Do they have their own website?" Josie stepped back from the door and scanned the front of the building. It didn't even have windows on the first level.

"Yes." Gretchen kept scrolling. "Family-owned. Passed down three generations. Now owned by a granddaughter of the original owners and her husband, Rebecca and Jonathan Lee. Here we go. It says to park in the lot and walk around the back."

They followed the curve in the driveway, avoiding puddles and muddy spots as they went. It widened as they passed the back of the house, leading to a stable which was painted white and appeared far more modern than the house. Two large trucks sat nearby, one with an open bay that held bales of hay, the other partially open with stacks of lumber protruding from the back door. The smell of mud and animal waste combined with that of straw and horse feed coalesced into a vaguely unpleasant odor, and yet it wasn't the earthy scent that Josie had encountered when she was leaning over Jane Doe's body. The doors to the stable stood open. The brown head of a horse poked from one of the stalls. It huffed. From somewhere beyond it came the sound of a man humming.

"Hello?" Josie called. "Mr. Lee? Jonathan Lee?"

"Just a minute now," came a man's voice. As promised, a moment later, a man in his fifties appeared in the center of the stable. He closed a stall, reached in to give a white-faced horse a pet, and then wiped his hands on his flannel shirt. As he came closer, a welcoming smile died on his ruddy, stubbled face. "Police?"

Josie and Gretchen presented their credentials. He read their names out loud and then his eyes narrowed on Josie's face. "You're the one on TV all the time. Don't you have a show?"

"That's my sister," Josie explained. Her twin, Trinity Payne, was an accomplished journalist who now had her own show about unsolved crimes. "Though I am on local television sometimes to address cases that occur here in Denton."

This seemed to ease some of the tension in his face. Trinity had always told Josie that being on television made people feel like they knew her and that was part of why she got so much information out of them. In Josie's experience, being a police officer, it often had the opposite effect.

"My wife just went into the house," said the man.

Josie glanced at Gretchen for only a second, but she could hear Gretchen's unspoken comment: the police show up, and his first thought is to take them to his wife?

Before either of them could respond, a woman's voice behind them called out, "I'm right here, Jon." A woman in a fitted white T-shirt, jeans, and riding boots strode toward them. Her long gray-brown hair lay in a thick braid over her shoulder, bouncing against her chest as she walked. When she reached them, she extended a hand. "Rebecca Lee. This is my husband Jon."

Josie and Gretchen both shook her hand. Her grip was firm. She exuded a confidence that Josie felt immediately drawn to and a warmth that would put anyone at ease. The tension in Jon's shoulders drained as Rebecca took charge.

Gretchen took out her notebook and pen. "We're here to talk to you about Mira Summers. We understand she's a client here."

Jon crossed his arms over his chest. Rebecca's smile faltered, concern flaring in her wide, brown eyes. "Is Mira okay? Did something happen?"

"She was in a motor vehicle accident today," Josie said, giving them the approximate time. "She's being treated at Denton Memorial. She has a head injury. In addition, when she was removed from the car, the EMTs noticed that she had defensive stab wounds on her forearms."

Rebecca gasped. "Someone stabbed Mira?"

"It appears so," Gretchen answered. "That's all we know right now. We're trying to piece together what happened. The accident occurred on Prout Road. Mira doesn't remember much about it, but she said that she was on her way back from here."

Jon said, "That sounds right. She was here this morning. She comes every Sunday at the same time and rides Petunia."

"Was anyone with her?" asked Gretchen.

Rebecca slowly shook her head. "No. Why?"

"She had a passenger in the car with her," said Josie.

Jon and Rebecca exchanged a puzzled look. Jon said, "She always comes alone. Do you think—do you think maybe this passenger was the one who stabbed her?"

Rebecca said, "Where would she have picked up a passenger?"

"Was there anyone else here this morning?" asked Josie. "Other clients?"

"Sure," said Rebecca. "Sunday mornings tend to be busy. Most of those clients are gone now but we've still got two riders out. I didn't see Mira talking with any of them, though. Nobody left at or near the time she did. She was alone. She keeps to herself."

"She's very quiet," Jon added.

From the stables, a horse nickered. Josie said, "Does Mira come into contact with any children here?"

"I don't think so," Rebecca replied. "We have children's programs, but Mira isn't usually here during those hours. I've never seen her interacting with any of the children here."

Jon pushed a hand through his hair. "Me either."

"Do you two have children?" asked Josie.

"No," Rebecca said with a strained smile. "It wasn't in the cards for us."

"Nieces? Nephews?" Gretchen pressed.

"None, I'm afraid," Rebecca answered.

Josie pulled up the photo of the child's drawing. Before leaving the hospital, she'd cropped out the smears of blood. She showed it to Rebecca. "Does this look familiar?"

She studied it. "Is that an eye?"

Jon sidled up to her so that he could see it as well. There was no recognition in either of their faces.

"We're not sure," Gretchen said. "Are there any children who are here regularly who might have drawn that?"

"No," Jon said. "We don't really do that sort of thing. Heck, we don't even have crayons in the house."

"I honestly have no idea," Rebecca answered. "When they're here, they work with the horses. I have no idea what they do when they leave here. I'm sure all of them draw pictures, but if you're asking me if this drawing looks like something I would recognize as belonging to a specific child, the answer is no."

Another nicker came from the stables, followed by a banging sound. Jon sighed. "That will be Nutmeg wanting attention."

"She can wait," Rebecca said. "Why are you asking us about children?"

Josie pocketed her phone. "We believe that Mira or her passenger might have had contact with a child prior to the incident today. How about the produce stand alongside the driveway? Is that in use?"

"Not currently," Rebecca replied. "Next month, I expect we'll begin stocking it. We've got a garden on one of our lower fields and in the summer, if we've got surplus, we put it out there. Depending on the kind of year we're having and the weather, sometimes that thing is empty all year round."

"It's mostly clients who use it when it's stocked," said Jon. "They take what they need and leave a few dollars—or sometimes they leave other things in exchange, like firewood or hay. People are pretty good about it."

Rebecca smiled. "It's the faith system. We put good faith in people. We haven't been disappointed yet."

Josie had seen these types of stands in many places in rural Pennsylvania. She'd even seen some of them that had mini-fridges stocked with eggs. Those were usually close enough to the residence to be plugged in. Just as Jon said, she'd seen stands stocked exclusively with excess firewood bearing signs that told people to take what they needed and leave what they could afford.

Gretchen said, "We're going to need a list of all the other clients who were here this morning, if you don't mind."

Josie braced herself, waiting for the inevitable question about a warrant, which was well within the Lees' rights, but which would slow down the investigation, but Rebecca only shrugged. "Sure. That's not a problem, but shouldn't you be more concerned with this passenger?"

"The passenger was deceased at the scene," Josie explained. "With no identification."

Rebecca sucked in a sharp breath. "I'm so sorry to hear that."

"If you have a photo of this passenger, we could probably tell you if they were here this morning or if they're a client," Jon offered.

Rebecca shook her head, giving him a dark look. "Jon, please. I don't want to see a picture of a dead person."

He pushed a hand through his dark hair again. "Right, right. Of course." He smiled tightly and started walking toward the house. "I'll get that list for you."

Rebecca said, "But maybe you could describe the passenger? I might be able to tell you something from that, although…" She drifted off, looking down the driveway to where it turned toward the front of the house. "I just can't imagine where Mira would have picked up a passenger. Were there any vehicles broken down along the road?"

"No," Gretchen answered.

Josie took out her phone once more. "We have a photo."

Rebecca held up a hand, as if to ward her off. "Please. I'm sorry. I really don't want to see it."

Josie put her phone back into her pocket. "Female, Caucasian, short brown hair. Undernourished. Very thin. Wearing a white T-shirt and gray sweatpants."

"That doesn't sound like a client." She panned their surroundings. "It's so strange. All of our clients drive here. We're pretty far out of the city. Not in walking distance of anything, really. Right now there are three cars in the parking lot—I looked before I came out because I thought I heard Jon talking with someone out here. Two of them belong to our clients, who are out riding, and the other is yours, I assume."

"Yes," Josie confirmed.

"Everyone is accounted for. Well, I don't know where Mira would have picked up a passenger, but it wasn't here," Rebecca concluded.

"Do you always hear when cars pull up?"

Rebecca waved a hand. "If I'm in the house. I was down here with Jon and the other clients all day. I only went back to the house about a minute before you arrived."

Which meant that the passenger was probably not a Tranquil Trails client, but that someone could have brought Jane Doe with them to the stable and whatever happened could have transpired in the parking lot.

Probably thinking along the same lines, Gretchen asked, "Do you have cameras in the parking lot, or anywhere on the property?"

Rebecca laughed. "Goodness, no. What for? It's not like we've got thoroughbreds, and none of our horses participate in racing."

If Mira and Jane Doe had been stabbed in the parking lot or even in the driveway, she would have been close enough to the stables to come to the Lees for help. Which meant that it was possible she hadn't come into contact with the killer here—or Jane Doe.

"Standard procedure to ask," Gretchen explained. "Mrs. Lee, we understand that Mira is in your therapeutic riding program."

"Yes." Rebecca's eyes lit up. "It's a program for people who want to improve their mental and physical health. It's beneficial for people struggling with emotional issues, like past trauma, whether it arises from childhood problems or domestic violence. It also helps with processing grief. The reasons that clients come to us are many and often complex. Or sometimes they're not. We have a teenage boy who was routinely bullied at school. This program has helped him build confidence and self-esteem. For some people, just being on horseback, enjoying the peacefulness of the outdoors and nature can be very healing."

She beckoned them to walk with her through the stable to the opening on the other side. Spread before them was a huge expanse of rolling green pastures, punctuated with dirt riding trails, that went on for what looked like a couple of miles before terminating at a line of trees. Several of the paths continued into the tree line. Josie wondered what was beyond those trees. She tried scanning her mental map of Denton but came up empty. Denton PD rarely got called out this far.

Gretchen nodded. "It sure is beautiful."

Rebecca beamed. "Yes. Clients love it. I've always wanted to do this. I was a licensed psychologist before I quit my practice to take over this business for my parents. The results I've seen with our clients have been really rewarding."

"So you're actually Dr. Lee," asked Gretchen.

Rebecca rolled her eyes. "No one's called me that in ten years. It's just Rebecca." She sighed contentedly, surveying her domain. "This is so much better than sitting in a stuffy office all day."

Josie glanced over her shoulder where a couple of the horses huffed and nudged against their enclosures. "It definitely is," she agreed. "Do you keep records?"

Rebecca folded her arms over her chest, keeping her eyes straight ahead on the fields. A horse and rider emerged from the tree line, slowly climbing one of the trails back toward the stable. Finally, she said, "Yes, but they're confidential. I'm sure you're aware of what would be required if you wanted access to records pertaining to our clients' mental health."

"Of course," Gretchen said. "While we're here, would you mind if we looked around?"

Rebecca glanced back toward the house. "Sure, why not? Let's go to the house first. Jon should have that list for you by now."