Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(76)

“Since kindergarten,” Sidney said. “I love it here so much. My parents live in San Francisco. I see them on weekends. But I’d much rather be here than in the city. Too crowded.”

Sell it, Sidney.

“So you would have been here when that girl died,” I said casually as the barn and stables, plus riding ring, came into view, the stables large but tidy, painted white with green trim, the barn done in traditional cliché—but attractive—red barn paint. “What was her name, darling?” I squeezed Jesse’s arm. I was leaning on it because it was difficult to walk on the school’s gravel paths in my high-heeled pumps. “That poor girl who died? Lucy something?”

“Lucia,” Jesse said, right on cue. He appeared immune to Sidney’s charms.

“Oh, God.” Sidney’s red plaid uniform skirt swayed sassily ahead of us on the path. “Yes. Lucia Martinez. I’ll never forget it. What a nightmare. I was a year ahead of her. But they still made us all take, like, bereavement classes to make sure we weren’t going to go mental or whatever.”

Then she seemed to remember to whom she was speaking and flashed a quick embarrassed smile over her shoulder. “Not, you know, that it wasn’t completely terrible, what happened to her. Horseback-riding accident. But nothing like that would ever happen to your daughter. It was a completely freak accident. It could never happen again.”

“Yes,” I said, remembering what Becca had said she was tired of hearing everyone say: “ ‘Accidents happen.’ I’m sure.”

By that time we were at the stables. As fortune had it, a lesson was going on. A strong-looking older woman in jodhpurs was standing in the middle of a grassy ring, directing six or seven girls on extremely healthy-looking mounts.

“Ms. Dunleavy.” Sidney called to her from the white wooden fence. “I have some nice people here who’d like to meet you.”

Jennifer Dunleavy—I recognized the name from the newspaper article CeeCee had sent me about Lucia’s death—walked over to the side of the fence where Jesse and I leaned, inhaling the not unpleasant smells of horse and fresh-cut grass and hay. She removed a glove to shake our hands as Sidney expertly introduced us. Jennifer Dunleavy’s grip was firm but not overwhelming.

“Dr. and Mrs. Baracus’s little girl has a pony,” Sidney explained. “If they decide to enroll her here, they’d be interested in boarding it.”

“Great,” Jennifer said with a big smile that looked sincere. “We definitely have the space. I’ve got a lesson right now, as you can see, but Mike can show you around. Mike!” She called to a hired hand who was holding a paint can, doing touch-ups. He smiled and began strolling over.

“Oh,” I said quickly. “My friend’s stepdaughter took riding lessons here for a time, and she said there was the most marvelous man who had the most amazing touch. What was his name again, darling?” I squeezed Jesse’s arm again.

“Jimmy,” Jesse said woodenly. I could tell he was ready to hit someone, though not anyone present at the current moment.

“That’s right,” I cried. “Jimmy! Is Jimmy still here? I’d love to meet Jimmy, if I could, and for him to show us around.”

Jennifer’s face clouded over. For a moment I thought it was because the name disturbed her. Then I realized her clouded expression might only have been because she couldn’t place the name right away.

“Oh, Jimmy,” she said at last. “You must mean Jim Delgado.”

And just like that, I had a last name for Becca’s tormentor and Lucia’s murderer. I tried not to squeeze Jesse’s arm too hard in my excitement.

“Oh, that’s right,” I said. “Delgado. Jimmy Delgado.”

“But good grief,” Jennifer went on. “He hasn’t worked here in nearly a decade.”

I didn’t bother hiding my disappointment. I figured a rich lady like Mrs. Baracus wouldn’t hide her feelings. She’d definitely pout if a store didn’t have her favorite brand, or a rich private school no longer employed her favorite child killer.

“Oh,” I said. “What a shame. Mrs. Walters said so many good things about him, too.”

Jennifer’s eyebrows went up questioningly at the name.

“Mrs. Walters?”

“Yes. That’s my friend. Lance Arthur Walters’s wife, Kelly Walters, of Wal-Con Aeronautics. Surely you remember. Her stepdaughter went here for a time . . . Becca Walters?”

I saw Sidney make a slight moue of distaste at Becca’s name. Well, Becca had never been a very popular girl.

But then, none of them were aware that Becca had had good reason to make herself as inconspicuous as possible: Jimmy Delgado.

“Such a lovely couple,” I went on. “We met on a committee to raise money for breast cancer research. Kelly just couldn’t stop raving about this school and of course Jimmy’s horse-handling skills. What a shame. I don’t suppose you know where Jimmy Delgado went?”

I felt Jesse gently squeeze my elbow. He knew I was lying about Kelly, and also laying it on too thick.

But what Jesse doesn’t know—because he has too much integrity, which is one of the reasons I love him so much—is that there’s no such thing as laying it on too thick when it comes to people who are only interested in you for your money.