Hoofprints (Gail McCarthy series) by Laura Crum Page A

where we were going and settled myself into the passenger side of the seat, watching the drab little shops along Mission Street give way to the wide fields of artichokes and Brussels sprouts, rough, hilly pastures, and cold gray ocean vistas of the north coast. Once we were moving along, I looked over in her direction. Since her eyes were on the road, I allowed myself to stare a little.
    On close examination, Jeri Ward had an oddly nondescript face, somewhat at variance with the golden blond hair worn in a wavy jaw-length bob-a style that implied a forties-style glamour. Her features were regular and unremarkable, the skin fair, the nose a little snub, eyebrows neither light nor dark, eyes that color somewhere between blue, gray, and green. What struck you was her sense of tight inner poise, a complete composure that hid her real self entirely, exposing only a carefully controlled veneer.
    As if she could hear my thoughts, she glanced in my direction inquiringly, and I dropped my eyes. "So, how's the investigation going?" I asked, hoping to distract her attention from my too-obvious staring.
    She gave an infinitesimal shrug. "Well, we haven't arrested anyone yet."
    "I saw the woman at your office yesterday-Ms. Whitney. One of Ed's relations, I guess." I said it neutrally, not wanting to sound inappropriately nosy, but she responded naturally enough.
    "Ms. Anne Whitney. Ed Whitney's sister, his only sibling, which makes her his next of kin, since both his parents are dead, and his sole heir."
    "Oh."
    "Exactly. She inherits a couple of million dollars, more or less, in a trust fund-an income of about a hundred thousand a year-and that property on Rose Avenue free and clear. That's what we got from his lawyer this morning."
    "Was it news to the sister that she inherits?"
    "We don't know. In a case like this, the first thing we do is notify the next of kin. Ed Whitney had his sister listed in the emergency numbers, right by the phone, so we called her and asked her to come down to the office. When I asked her the usual questions about where she was at the time, she got furious. Wanted to know why I was wasting time suspecting her instead of tracking down the 'real killer.' " Jeri Ward's mouth twitched. "It's a fairly common reaction, more common than you'd maybe guess. Certain types of people can't or won't allow themselves to feel sadness; they express it in anger."
    This was the longest, most revealing speech she'd ever made to me, and I ventured a personal comment in return. "Not much fun for you."
    "No. She's been asked to come back down this afternoon-since we talked to the lawyer and found out she's the heir; I can imagine how she'll feel about that."
    I nodded. "How about Cindy's relatives. Do they inherit anything?"
    She glanced over at me. "We still don't know who Cindy Whitney's relatives are. There isn't a piece of paper anywhere that identifies her as anything other than Cindy Whitney, Ed Whitney's wife. And her will simply says that she leaves everything to Ed and his heirs. We're trying to find her family, with no success so far."
    "That's odd. I don't remember ever hearing her say anything about her family or her childhood, but then, there wasn't any reason why she would." I looked back at Jeri; I was starting to think of her as Jeri. "Do you have any ideas about who killed them?"
    Her face grew guarded. "Nothing definite," was all she said.
    Getting the message that she didn't want to talk about the investigation anymore, I lapsed back into silence, pondering what she'd told me and wondering what had prompted such unusually forthcoming behavior.
    The north coast slipped along outside the windows, blanketed in cold gray fog, but when we turned inland and headed up toward Bonny Doon, the sun broke through. The ominous dark redwoods of the night before looked green and welcoming in the morning light. I directed Jeri to the yellow gate at 2120 Pine Flat Road, and we both got out of the car.
    Up here, the air was