Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series) by Laura Crum

uncomfortably sterile interview room that I'd sat in yesterday morning. I asked for and got another paper cup of lousy coffee. At least it was hot. I sipped it and stared at the stained ceiling tiles; it looked like they had a leak. I'd memorized every inch of the ceiling, the floor, and the nondescript furniture by the time Detective Reeder came in. He must have kept me waiting a good half hour.
    Detective Reeder was as sloppy as ever. Crumpled suit, stain on his shirtfront-no attempt at professionalism here. I gave a mental shrug. My jeans and bright turquoise T-shirt probably didn't look too professional to him, either.
    "Dr. McCarthy," he said. It was both a noncommittal greeting and a question.
    "Detective Reeder," I answered, trying to remember my rehearsed speech. Maybe taking the bull by the horns was the best approach. "I was shot at last night," I said baldly.
    Detective Reeder didn't blink. People being shot at were his line of work.
    I told the story of the barn on Pine Flat Road with few interruptions. When I was done, Reeder stared silently at me. His face was completely devoid of expression. There was no way to tell what he was thinking, but I had a suspicion it was along the lines of whether I was some kind of deranged personality who was making up stories in order to stay in the spotlight. I gave another mental shrug. Any attempt to defend what I'd said would only make me look foolish. Staring silently back at the detective, I willed my face to stay as impassive as his.
    He broke first. "Dr. McCarthy, is there any reason why someone would try to kill you?"
    "None that I know of."
    "Is there a reason why you didn't inform us of this incident immediately?"
    I shook my head. "It was late and I was tired. I just didn't feel up to it."
    "You realize you've made our job more difficult?"
    I decided there was no good answer to that so I didn't make one.
    The baggy brown eyes fixed themselves on me. "Do you know of any way this incident could be connected with Mr. and Mrs. Whitney's murder?"
    I sighed. "I guess that's the point, isn't it? That's what it came down to, when I thought about it. Do I know something the murderer thinks is dangerous?" I looked back at the detective. "I've wracked my brain, and I don't know what it would be. But I guess that's the only logical explanation."
    Detective Reeder nodded and looked for a split second as though maybe he believed me after all. I realized, with a sudden jolt, another obvious explanation that must have occurred to him. If I'd murdered Ed and Cindy, maybe I'd cook up a story like this in order to direct suspicion away from myself. That sounded logical, even to me.
    "All right, Dr. McCarthy. If you think of anything that could help us with this investigation, please let me know. In the meantime, I'd appreciate it if you'd go with one of our people to this barn where you were shot at." His voice was carefully not skeptical, but the skepticism was there, I thought.
    "Okay," I said.
    "If you'd wait here ..." Detective Reeder got up and stumped out of the room. I settled back down to wait. Without any coffee, this time.
    Ten minutes later Detective Ward walked into the room. She was looking a little less dressed for success than usual, I noticed; her wheat-colored linen jacket was paired with denim jeans and casual loafers-the jeans were close-fitted and artfully faded, jeans that said high fashion, big-city style as clearly as my own Wranglers said I-work-with-livestock, but they were jeans nonetheless.
    "Dr. McCarthy," she greeted me.
    "Gail," I said on impulse.
    She didn't respond, but I had the impression she was pleased. "John Reeder says you told him you were shot at last night."
    I noted Detective Reeder's mention of my story allowed room for doubt, and I smiled. "I don't think he believes me."
    Her mouth curved in the faintest upward direction. "Let's go have a look."
    Escorting me to a sheriff's car in the yard, she drove us out into downtown Santa Cruz. I told her