Free Slow Kill by Michael McGarrity

like Claudia Spalding and Kim Dean started out as horseback-riding buddies and the relationship segued into a hot love affair about two years ago that’s still going strong. Recently, Claudia has been crying on Deacon’s shoulder about the prenuptial agreement she signed with her dead husband.”
    “She wanted out of the marriage?” Kerney asked.
    “Affirmative,” Ramona replied. “But she didn’t want to lose the Santa Fe house or her lifestyle. According to Deacon, any divorce caused by infidelity on Claudia’s part cuts her out of Spalding’s will. The way Deacon tells it, the Santa Fe property is in his name as the sole owner, with a legal agreement signed by Claudia to back it up. About all she could walk away with would be her horses, other gifts he’s given her over the years, a half interest in the furnishings they bought together for the house, and whatever is in her personal checking account.”
    “What else?” Kerney asked.
    “Spalding was out here about two months ago for ten days. He got sick about halfway through the visit. Fatigue, heat intolerance, the sweats. Deacon said Spalding thought he was just having a reaction to the dry climate and the change in altitude.”
    “Did he see a doctor?” Kerney asked.
    “No, Claudia nursed him, cared for him hand and foot until he left.”
    “The loving wife. Where is she now?”
    “At the Albuquerque airport waiting for a flight to Burbank. According to Deacon, she keeps a car in Burbank and drives up to Santa Barbara.”
    “Did Deacon see her before she left?”
    “Yeah. Claudia told Deacon that probably Spalding’s heart had given out.”
    “Will Deacon keep her mouth shut about your visit?” Kerney asked.
    “She’d better. Both Thorpe and I made it clear that warning Claudia about our inquiries would make her liable to be charged as an accessory.”
    “Did that sink in?”
    “Big-time, Chief,” Ramona said. “She squirmed in her seat and promised to be a good girl.”
    “Put somebody on Kim Dean to keep an eye on him. I don’t want him suddenly disappearing.”
    “It’s already done.”
    “Have you got Sergeant Lowrey’s cell phone number?”
    “I do.”
    “Call her now and brief her.”
    “You don’t want me to do time-delayed information sharing on this go-round?” Ramona asked with a hint of a smile in her voice.
    Kerney laughed. “No, let’s get this over with so I can come home without a black cloud floating over my head.”
    “Ten-four to that, Chief. Thorpe is on the horn to Chief Baca with the news right now. Get ready to have him rib you about all of this when you get home.”
    “He’s already started,” Kerney said. “Good job, Sergeant. Pass on my appreciation to Officer Thorpe.”
    “Thanks, Chief. Will do.”
    He disconnected, sat back against the car seat, sighed with relief, and looked at the dashboard clock. He’d give it five minutes before driving to the motel in the hopes that a sheepish Sergeant Lowrey would be waiting for him with an apology in hand.
    Ellie Lowrey watched Chief Kerney enter the motel parking lot and ease to a stop next to her unit. Although she’d been rehearsing what to say to him, her mind suddenly went blank and her mouth got dry. She motioned at him to join her.
    He slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, and nodded a silent greeting.
    Ellie waited a few beats, hoping Kerney would say something to break the ice and let her off the hook. When the silence between them became unbearable, she said, “I guess I had my eye on the wrong target, Chief Kerney.”
    “Your instincts were good,” Kerney said, keeping his voice flat.
    “It wasn’t personal,” Ellie said, hoping Kerney would make eye contact with her.
    Kerney stared straight ahead. “I know that.”
    “I’m sorry for the hassle.”
    Kerney glanced her way and smiled. “It’s okay, Sergeant. You were doing your job, and doing it well.”
    “You’ve talked to Santa Fe?” Lowrey asked, trying to keep the