Given C’ndee’s family connections, she ought to know. Even so, I disagreed. Jesse’s father dedicated himself to saving lives as a doctor. His daughter might be shallow and messed up, but I just couldn’t picture her intentionally taking a life.

“I’m just glad we never had a second murder,’’ I said. “It’s almost over. Aside from Norman, it seems like the rest of us will get out of this okay.’’

C’ndee made the sign of the cross so fast, her hand was a blur. “Don’t say that, Mace. You’ll jinx us. Whenever you let down your guard, that’s when something bad happens.’’

A short time later, as I made my way along the wooded path to the corral, I thought about what C’ndee said. I vowed to keep up my guard until the last Hollywood star left Himmarshee.

_____

I slipped a halter over Rebel’s head, and ran a hand along his sturdy neck. “You’ve done a good job, boy. You know that?’’ He swished his tail. “I bet you’ll be happy to get back to working cattle, instead of working for the cameras, won’t you?’’

I knew I’d be glad to close the book on this movie job. Soon, all the horses would be loaded onto two trailers for their ride home. They still had to be fed and groomed. They’d go back to Rocking Horse Ranch looking just as good as when I got them.

I tried to call my sisters to ask them when I could expect them, but I couldn’t get a signal on my cell phone. Instead, I started on the chores that had to be finished.

Slipping an oversized metal comb out of my back pocket, I began loosening some knots in Rebel’s mane. The late-day sun warmed my back. I heard the buzzy call of a grasshopper sparrow, feeding in the pasture. The bird’s chirp-chirp zzzzttt kept time with the rhythm of grooming: Comb, chirp-chirp, comb, zzzzttt. Comb, chirp-chirp, comb, zzzzttt.

Suddenly, the sparrow’s song ceased. The sound of pounding footsteps, human footsteps, broke through my trance. I looked over the back of the horse, and out into the open pasture.

Greg Tilton loped toward the corral, arm lifted high and waving hello. “I’m so sorry, Mace,’’ he yelled. “I got to the food tent just after you left. Better late than never, right?’’

I returned my attention to the horse, not bothering to acknowledge Tilton. He’d caught me on a bad day for being disappointed by men. He pulled up short, outside the fence of the corral. “Are you mad at me?’’

“You were the one who begged to meet me. I waited around like a dummy. Let’s just say standing me up is not very ‘new Greg Tilton.’ It’s not nice.’’

He found the gate, opened it, and stepped through. “I’m sorry. I was on the phone with my agent. I couldn’t break away. I still want to talk to you, though. I need to talk to you.’’

C’ndee’s warning ran through my mind. Tilton’s clothes were too tight to be hiding a weapon. Even so, I planned to keep him in my full line of sight.

“If I hadn’t hung around waiting, I’d be an hour into my work by now.’’ I handed him a stiff-bristled Dandy brush I’d balanced on a fence post. “Make yourself useful while we talk.’’

I nodded at the Percheron tied on a lead rope to the fence. Tilton looked the huge horse up and down. “Are you sure the pony doesn’t need brushing instead?’’

“You want to talk, it’s the plow horse or nothing.’’

He went to work with barely a smirk, surprising me with how well he knew his way around the animal. “How’d you learn so much about horses?’’ I asked.

“The same foster home where I learned to hunt. The family kept all kinds of animals on a little farm; nothing as big as this ranch, though.’’

The word “farm’’ triggered a thought. Tilton had spent time on a farm. Vermin were common on farms.

“You know we never really talked much about that sandwich the raccoon got into,’’ I said. “Where’d it come from again?’’

“Like I told the cops, it was left at my trailer, in the fridge in a basket with some sodas, snacks, and sweets. The cops took the whole thing. I just assumed somebody from the production company brought it around to the stars’ trailers.’’

“Do you always eat food that shows up unexpectedly?’’

The brush in Tilton’s hand slowed, and then stopped. The Percheron stomped one huge hoof, splattering mud all over the movie star’s expensive-looking jeans. He scowled at the mud, and then narrowed his eyes at me.

“What are you getting at?’’ he asked.

“Did you have chores on the foster family’s farm?’’

“Yeah, all the kids did.’’

“Like what?’’ I asked.

“I helped clean the barn, feed the animals, and stuff like that.’’

“Do you ever remember seeing rats around the feed?’’

“Sure, but they put out bait to control them.’’

“Kill them, you mean. Was it strychnine?’’

“Yeah, I think so. Why?’’

Now, my hand went motionless, too. I willed my breathing to slow. I didn’t want Tilton to guess at the thoughts flying through my mind.

“Why?’’ he repeated.

When I didn’t answer, he laid the brush back on the fence post. Then he stepped toward me, closing the distance between us. The nearer he got, the harder it was for me to breathe. The air felt thick, laden with danger. When he spoke again, his voice was edged with threat.

“I asked you a question, Mace.’’

“The raccoon,’’ I whispered, sidestepping my way along Rebel’s body. Tilton moved with me, close enough now so I felt his hot breath on my cheek. It smelled rancid, like rotten onions mixed with stale whiskey.

“What about it?’’ he asked, pressing his body against my side.

I scanned the pasture. It was empty. We were alone. My eyes darted around for something to use as a weapon. The mane comb! My fingers tightened around one end. If I slammed it into his face hard enough, maybe the shock or the pain would give me the upper hand.

“What about the raccoon?’’ he asked again. “Is there something wrong with your hearing? Maybe I should stand a little closer.’’

I felt him push, his hip pressed against mine. He lifted a hand and cupped my left breast. That was the moment I needed. I spun, catching him across the bridge of the nose with the pointy teeth of the metal comb.

“Oh, my God! My face!’’ He reeled back, clutching at his nose with both hands. “What is wrong with you?’’

“You killed the raccoon!’’ I yelled. “You killed Norman Sydney!’’

He stopped howling. When he lowered his hands to look at me, his face registered pure puzzlement. That, and an imprint in the shape of a comb.

“What the hell?’’ he asked.

“Exactly right,’’ I said. “What the hell were you thinking? Did you really imagine you could get away with it?”

“No, I meant what the hell kind of psycho bitch are you?’’

“Me?’’ I said, insulted.

“Yeah, you. You smack me in the face for no reason …”

“No reason? You were about to try to rape me.”

“You’re insane. I was copping a feel. Big deal. I thought maybe you’d reconsidered about getting it on. I thought you were sending signals that you were interested.’’ He pumped his lower region, back and forth, making combing motions at the same time. “That whole horse-grooming thing? Very sensual.’’

Now, I was certain my face looked as bewildered as his had. “You need to work on your signal-reading. Do you really think I’d be turned on by a murderer?’’

“Murderer?’’ He barked out a laugh. “Jesus, you are a psycho. Where’d you come up with that?’’

“The raccoon,’’ I said, a bit hesitant now. “I thought you poisoned it to make it look like you were a target. If you were the target, you couldn’t be the murderer.’’

“I’m not the murderer. The person who killed Norman tried to kill me, too.’’

I circled to the other side of the Percheron, putting the big horse between us. Tilton and I glared at each other over the creature’s broad back.

“How do I know you’re not the killer?’’ He pointed at me. “You made no secret of how much you hated all our ‘Hollywood crap.’ Maybe you wanted to sabotage the movie so we’d shut it down and just go away.’’