by Arlene Kay
Sheila rubbed her hands together. “I admit it, the thought of Cecil winning or even entering Westminster excites me. An impossible dream, sort of like me making the Olympic equestrian team.” She grinned. “Still. Ellis and I will be in the stands cheering him on if that miracle happens. That’s why I want all his gear to be perfect.”
In her case, perfection added up to a tidy sum. I finalized the order and walked Sheila out to her snazzy new ride.
“Is that your latest passion—mountain biking?” I pointed to the grey metal beast nestled in the back of the Rover. “Pretty posh. You better keep it cleaned though. Rust is a bear to get off once it starts.”
“Oh that? It’s a Fezzari Solitude—does everything but breathe for me. Only the best. You can thank Ellis for that one too. You know what a snob he can be about anything Italian. At least it helps keep me in shape.” She opened the hatch and gently helped Cecil into the back. “Come on, you big baby. By the way, Perri, if you hear anything about the murder let me know. I love mystery books and I’m pretty good at solving every one that I read.” Sheila sighed. “Let me know about the arrangements for Ethel too. I don’t know what Babette will do without her. Ethel was the stabilizer in that household.”
* * * *
I spent the rest of the evening working feverishly on my projects. Between the belts and Sheila’s order, my finances were looking up for a change. Pip had left me comfortably fixed but I had to work—needed to—to stay sane. I owed it to him and to my own self-respect. I’d lucked into my business. My foster dad did leatherworking as a hobby, but I took an interest in it and got pretty good. Then after college I apprenticed with a leathersmith and branched out from briefcases to custom pet products. Pruett knew better than to expect some sad Orphan Annie tale from me. My foster parents were good people who tried their best. I joined the army out of high school, went to college on GI benefits, and forged a career for myself. Solid and respectable. Nothing dramatic, but very satisfying.
It was peaceful with Poe and Keats stretched out on the floor snoring lustily while I worked the leather into shape. As I sewed the grips, something Sheila mentioned nagged at me. The police corralled her soon after she entered Babette’s place, but Jakes had been on the premises too. Bascomb hustled the biologist into a squad car soon after I’d discovered Ethel’s body. That suggested Jakes had roamed free for some time, and could well have been my assailant and Ethel’s murderer.
Bascomb would laugh at me if I tried to pry information out of him. Babette was probably unavailable, sleeping with the aid of our friend Ambien. There was only one person who might have the answer and even though we were a couple, I dreaded the very thought of calling him. Don’t be a wuss. Act like a professional not a silly little girl. I grabbed my cell and dialed Pruett’s number.
* * * *
Babette and I met bright and early that next morning at the local patisserie. It was formerly a coffee shop that had been sold, Frenchified, and renamed with prices to match. Babette loved it, particularly the croissants and the casual elegance of the décor.
“You look tired,” I said, watching her closely. Babette’s flawless complexion was splotchy, and her swollen eyes suggested a restless night. “Maybe you should go home and get some sleep.”
“Forget it. You wouldn’t win any beauty pageants yourself, Missy. Besides, the cops and press are still crawling all over Ethel’s place. Who can sleep with that going on?”
I tried not to appear anxious but every time the door opened, I glanced up in case Pruett arrived. He had answered right away last night, promising to join us for breakfast. He sounded amused but slightly sardonic as if he was expecting my call. That generated a storm of self-doubt and humiliation that disrupted my otherwise tranquil evening. Sleep eluded me until very early in the morning.
Nothing escaped Babette. She noticed everything especially when it concerned me. “Waiting for someone, hon?”
I levelled a ferocious glare at her. “Sarcasm doesn’t become you. Pruett said he’d join us and I was just checking. After all we have a lot to do today.”
Fortunately, just then he sauntered into the café looking casual, elegant and undeniably hot. Some men could pull off wearing shades, jeans and a black turtleneck without looking pretentious. Pruett was one of them. Lustful looks by women of all ages validated my opinion.
“I’m so glad you could make it,” Babette said. “Perri was afraid you’d blow us off for some big story.”
There was no sense correcting her once she got started. I remained silent and concentrated on the menu.
Pruett kissed the top of my head and turned to Babette. “How are you coping?” He touched Babette’s hand. “I know what it is to lose a friend.”
That show of sympathy opened the floodgates. Fortunately, Babette’s sobs were subdued, lady-like affairs that generated a minimum of tears. Since our table was in a secluded spot, no one noticed that anything was amiss.
“What was she like? Ethel, I mean.” His question seemed innocent enough. Pruett didn’t know Ethel at all and apparently neither did I. My impression of a prim, conservative matron who doggedly did her duty had obviously missed the mark. If she led a secret life, I knew nothing about it.
“Ethel?” Babette asked. “She was dedicated. I mean, hardworking and loyal. I trusted her.”
He leaned forward. “What did she do for fun?”
That stumped me. I had never associated Ethel with the word fun before. She seldom drank and railed against smoking and drugs, even aspirin.
“She loved organic gardening,” Babette said, “and crocheting. Ethel was a champ with a needle and thread. And of course, she loved animals. That’s why I’m going ahead with our campaign.”
“Campaign?” Pruett crossed his arms and waited. I knew the answer even before Babette spoke.
“Why, our stop the eviction campaign of course. Cavalry Farms. You know how close it was to Ethel’s heart, don’t you, Perri?”
I smiled wanly and sipped my espresso.
“What about men?” Pruett’s eyes hardened as he leaned in for the kill. “Your friend was interested in someone—a man or woman. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been found that way.”
“Remember the pedicure too,” I said, “and that bright toenail polish.”
Babette gripped the arms of her chair. “I don’t know. I just don’t know. Ethel never mentioned her private life at all. I thought she didn’t have one.”
Pruett and I locked eyes. This time I took the lead.
“How come Jakes got in yesterday but Sheila and the others got stopped? Our meeting was supposed to start at ten. The cops nabbed him not long after nine.”
Babette shrugged. “That mangy critter probably sneaked in. I never even saw him ’til the lieutenant dragged him out.”
That gave me a new and most unwelcome idea. Ethel and Jakes…that might explain why he arrived so early. The same thought must have occurred to Pruett.
“Did Ms. McCall get along with Jakes?” Pruett tried his nice guy grin again.
“Certainly not!” Babette’s cheeks flamed. “We both loathed him. Have you read that horrible blog he writes?”
“Bag It? I researched it before I came here.” Pruett cleared his throat. “Graphic. Dr. Jakes is a big proponent of the second amendment. Loves hunting, apparently.”
Babette snorted. “He’s a slimy piece of trash and my number one suspect. Ethel probably told him off and he flew into a rage.” She leaned toward Pruett. “Some men think owning a big gun makes them a stud but let me tell you. It means squat when it comes to the bedroom.”
The bedroom. The grisly murder scene was something that would haunt me for the rest of my life. I would never forget Ethel’s neatly folded clothes, the vibrant hue of her nail polish, and the deep dark stain of her blood. The weapon was so mundane—a fire extinguisher for crying out loud! The police call it a w
eapon of convenience, something the killer found and used for his purposes.
I turned to Pruett. “I don’t suppose you found out anything from the forensic evidence? Bascomb was tight as a clam when it came to sharing.”
Pruett cocked his head in an insufferably smug pose. “Bascomb wouldn’t tell but the coroner’s staff had no problems sharing.” He crossed his arms. “They’re pretty certain that those sheets were clean. No trace evidence to speak of. Of course, that’s preliminary.”
Babette flushed two shades of crimson and coughed. “Surely you didn’t think Ethel was—cavorting with someone in my bed? That’s vile and disgusting.”
Cavorting? Only Babette could get away with using such an archaic word but somehow it fit. I applied the mental brakes and recalibrated my view of Ethel. Her inner life had obviously been at variance with her public façade. I had to sweep aside my biases and visualize Ethel as a normal woman with needs and desires.
I heard Pruett snickering and glared at him. After all, Babette had suffered a tremendous loss. Contempt was unkind even from a jaded character like him.
“Anything else?” I asked. “Fingerprints on that fire extinguisher?”
Pruett cleared his throat and got serious. “None. They’re just kicking around a few theories. Nothing big.”
I swallowed before asking. “It was the murder weapon I presume?”
Babette clutched her throat as Pruett nodded. He was hiding something; I could tell by the way he averted his eyes. Apparently so could Babette. She leaned across the table and grabbed Pruett’s wrist.
“Tell us. I need to know.”
Pruett looked at me and I nodded. “Frankly Babette, they wonder if someone killed Ms. McCall thinking she was you. After all, your house, your bedroom. It makes sense.”
My friend bit her lip but didn’t falter. “Go on.”
“Look. You’re an activist and that comes with risks. Calling folks murderers—that’s strong language, the kind that can lead to trouble.”
I knew that Babette received death threats in the past along with some very unsavory warnings. Ethel handled everything. She had once shown me a thick file neatly clipped and labelled “negative press.” Had Bascomb already confiscated it or was it still nestled in Babette’s ornate desk drawer?
“Bascomb has the file, I suppose.” I kept my tone neutral.
Babette shook her head. “Naturally. But if you’re interested, I have copies of everything on my computer. You know how efficient Ethel was.” Her voice broke when she said her friend’s name. “I’ll pull it up on my laptop. It’s in my car.”
After she trotted off, I cornered Pruett. “Okay. What’s the rest of the story?”
Judging by his stony expression, Pruett had aced inscrutability 101 in Journalism school. Fortunately, during my stint in the Army, I learned a thing or two about interrogation techniques myself. I waited patiently, folded my arms and stared him down.
“Geez, Perri, you’re a hard case.” He looked around the room before answering. “Okay. I heard the cops talking about Babette’s ex. Apparently he’s quite a player around town.”
“Carleton? I don’t believe it. He’s such a whiner. No woman would have him, especially Ethel.”
Pruett shrugged. “I only know what I heard. Actually, I plan to nose around that school he teaches at and see what I can learn. Ella goes there you know. Pre-school. Maybe I’ll attend the next parents’ partnership meeting.” His smile was close to a smirk. “You can go as my guest if you want to. Wednesday. Unless you’re afraid to be alone with all those vacuous people.”
Rather than smack the sneer off his face I reversed course. “Thanks. Sounds like fun. Count me in.”
“On what?” Babette rejoined us, clutching her laptop. It was the latest ultrathin snazzy model from Apple with every possible enhancement. Just seeing it activated a raging case of computer envy. My old desktop barely sputtered through the day.
“Are you two plotting something?” Babette’s inner radar had zeroed in on me. I’m a poor liar and an abominable poker player. I pretended to tie my shoe to hide the guilt that suffused my face.
“Nothing. Pruett was discussing Ella’s education. Did you find that file?”
She nodded. “It goes back five years or so. Back to that deer massacre.”
We refreshed our drinks and set to work. Fortunately, the patisserie was deserted, although with Pruett around that probably wasn’t an issue. The hostess, a normally sensible woman, sidled up to him and shyly requested an autograph. He handled it well—just a touch of noblesse oblige—scribbling something on her order pad that made her blush.
“Does that happen often?” Babette asked when she left.
He grinned but didn’t answer. I got the message anyway. Pruett was a hot guy and what passed for a celebrity in the nation’s capital. The Washingtonian had twice tagged him as the sexiest man in the city although competition for that title was pretty slim. Some wag or another once described DC as Hollywood for ugly people, a place filled with powerful men and a few serious women, most of whom wouldn’t win any beauty prizes. I gave Pruett a sideways glance while he was hunched over the computer. I had to admit that he was a babe, possibly too much of one for a simple soul like me. Babette chided me, suggesting that a competent therapist could exorcise those doubts. My response was tart and to the point. I wasn’t the type of woman who attracted a swarm of men. I didn’t need or want that. Maybe in time things would change but until then I was content with Pruett, and the love of my pets and friends.
“Most of these threats are childish,” Pruett said, “not to mention anonymous. You sure stirred up a hornet’s nest, Babette. Lots of hunters got upset. Gun rights people too who said they don’t even hunt.”
Babette sniffed. “Half of them weren’t even residents. They were yokels from God knows where who used our little community as a killing field.”
I thought of my clients and neighbors most of whom were good though misguided people. When it came to anything that threatened the second amendment even peripherally, they went ballistic. Babette’s intentions were noble, but her tactics were often scattershot and disruptive. Too often my kindly friend led with her heart and not her head.
“Does Ethel have any family?” I asked. “Nephews, nieces? She never mentioned anyone that I can think of.”
“Not really. I think she has a niece somewhere in the Midwest. Chicago maybe. It probably doesn’t matter anyway. Ethel didn’t have much to leave anyone.”
Pruett’s ears pricked up when he heard that. “She left a will, I suppose.”
“Sure. Carleton and I witnessed it. Ethel left a copy in our safe. Lieutenant Bascomb wanted it but I refused. Let him get a warrant.”
That earned her a big smile from Pruett and a fist bump. “Way to go, Babette. Cops should follow the rules.”
Apparently, those rules didn’t apply to nosey journalists seeking a scoop. Pruett had shown more than once that he had no problem pushing the limits in pursuit of the first amendment, or his version of it.
Before we left, I had one more issue to cover. Pruett ignored my hints and refused to leave until Babette and I did. That left me no alternative.
“Ethel said she had a special surprise for you. Any idea what it was?” I asked.
“No. If it was something in her house the police haven’t mentioned it. They took almost everything in my bedroom and packed it up.” Babette’s eyes narrowed. “Crime scene evidence, they called it. They even pawed through my closet. Very creepy.”
Pruett’s eyes got a peculiar glint in them that convinced me he was on to something. Something he didn’t intend to share with us.
“Let’s make a pact,” I said, as sweetly as I could manage. “We work together on this and share our findings. Ethel deserves that much.”
Chapter 6
That weekend was a busy one for
Creature Comforts. I crated my dogs, loaded the Suburban and motored out to Northern Virginia. My goal was strictly business. Although I had a number of private clients, show fanciers and their four-legged charges were the real heart of my business. Dog and horse shows brought out both in abundance. Sunday promised to be even more intense. I promised to staff the rescue booth at the Culpepper horse show in addition to displaying my own products.
I had an ulterior motive as well. Many locals from Great Marsh attended the show both as exhibitors and fans. Typically, they stopped by my booth, cruised the aisles, and exchanged gossip. I knew with certainty that although their horses would be topic number one, Ethel’s murder would be a close second. To reinforce that theory, I posted a picture of her with “In Memoriam” prominently displayed.
Soon after I switched on the lights, Becca Tate, a veteran show competitor, barreled through the door. “Perri! Save my life! I need a new bridle ASAP.” She glowered at her mount, a gorgeous bay gelding with a jaunty air. “Christopher chewed it to pieces going after a mare. Just what I need before a big show.”
“No problem,” I said. “Give me a minute and we’ll have you set.”
“Great! Pay you as soon as I get out of the ring.” She swept out the door and vanished into the throng surrounding the competition. Becca was a stalwart, always reliable and a soft touch for any animal cause. She and Ethel had devised our strategy for the farm protest and I hoped she had information that might lead to the murderer.
The pace of my day rapidly accelerated with doting parents studying my fanciest equipment, children shopping for the family pet, and harried horse people searching for consolation. A few equine boosters stopped in to order bridles, halters and the like. The season was heating up in central Virginia and nobody wanted to be caught short.