Page 15 of Her Dying Secret

“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.”

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