be Charlie, the guy who cares for the horses. Of course they’d still need to be fed and exercised and whatever else one does with horses while the Talbots are gone.
I push away from the gate, determined not to get caught peeking at Windermere uninvited twice in two weeks. It’s cooler today, and while I’m outside, I figure I might as well take a walk. I’m not consciously waiting for Charlie to finish up and leave. As I stroll casually down to the end of Linden Lane, past Magnolia House and Seacrest, that monstrosity of metal and glass, and then back around the other way, I’m not actively planning to slip through the trees and over to Windermere as soon as Charlie’s truck is gone. But by my third loop of the street, when it’s getting on three and the truck is lumbering away, that’s exactly what I do.
I find myself walking along freshly mowed grass on the side of Windermere. Caden must have pounced on their trip to get the job done. It looks a lot nicer back here now; you can actually see the work Caden’s been doing on the back patio, and instead of sprouting haphazardly from weeds, the stable looks purposeful and bright. I gravitate toward it, thinking I could go for a whiskey and Coke. I’m still on vacation until tomorrow. No one to judge me but me.
I wonder for a moment if the stable will be locked, trying to picture how Caden let us in in the dark the other night. But the doors are secured by a simple wooden bar that lifts right up.
“Hi, Jackie O. Pike.” I nod toward both horses, who are busy chewing feed inside their stalls. Jackie O. lifts her head and gives me a soft snort, but neither seems too bothered to see me in their domain. I head to the back of the stable, toward the unused stall with Caden’s whiskey stash. I swing open the bottom panel of the stall door, as I watched Caden do the other night, and crouch down to climb inside. My eyes take a minute to adjust to the dimmer light, then focus on the mini-fridge in the corner. Inside, I find several cans of Coke and a box of Thin Mints. The cookies are tempting, but I leave them alone and grab a can.
My eyes dart around the rest of the stall. On the floor against the side wall are three bottles of Glenlivet, two unopened and one half filled. But it’s the small table against the back wall that catches my eye. It’s old and wobbly and looks like a nightstand from a child’s bedroom set. On top rests a single envelope. Curiosity piqued, I set my Coke down on top of the fridge and swing open the stall’s top panel to get some more light inside, then walk over to get a better look.
It’s a square greeting card envelope, made out to ZOE in neat block letters. My breath catches. I spin it over, but of course, it’s sealed.
I place the envelope back down and slide open the nightstand’s single drawer. Inside is a black flash drive with bright yellow polka dots. Otherwise, the drawer is empty. I look behind my shoulder, paranoid, as if my snooping might summon Caden from Manhattan. Or Zoe, from wherever she may be. Possibly from beyond the grave.
My fingers close around the flash drive. A heat that feels like adrenaline spiked with something much stronger floods my veins. My desire for a drink is gone; a new scrap of information about Zoe is a far better drug. I close my eyes, riding the high, and theories start to whirr. If Caden has a letter for her stashed in the stable, he must still believe she’s out there somewhere. That she’s going to come back for it. Or maybe this is some kind of simple shrine. A birthday card he never got the chance to give her and a flash drive with his favorite pictures of them together. Whatever it is, it’s obviously private. It obviously has nothing to do with me.
I grab both items, shut the stall doors behind me, and slip out of the stable and back through the trees to Clovelly Cottage. Pike gives me a little whinny on my way out.
* * *
In the main house, I place the pilfered items on the kitchen counter as my heart rate slows to almost normal. I’ll change my laundry over, then