by Arlene Kay
Some of my customers mentioned Ethel but most looked away from her photo in either guilt or dismay. I forgot about Becca, until almost two hours later when she tapped my arm.
“Here. Let’s take a break and sip some tea.” My friend wore the satisfied smile of a winner. Christopher, her wayward charge, had acquitted himself well in the ring and that meant professional creds plus a handsome bonus from his owner. My near neighbor, a pet feed vendor, agreed to watch Creature Comforts while I took a break. Keats and Poe stood guard with her.
“Whew! Everyone’s running wild today,” I said. “By the way, congrats on your win.”
Becca grimaced. “I’d feel even better if Ethel were here to celebrate.”
“You got to know each other really well, didn’t you?”
She reached into her pocket for a tissue and dabbed her eyes. “I called Ethel that morning, you know. Told her I’d be late but to save me a seat.”
“Called her? What time was that?”
“Seven-thirty. Both of us are—were—early risers.”
Silence is not only golden. Many times, it can be a very effective tool. I squeezed Becca’s hand but said nothing.
“Ethel was so excited,” she said. “Couldn’t wait to spring her surprise on Babette.”
A cold chill swept through me. “Surprise?”
“Yeah. Didn’t she show you?” Becca staunched a flood of tears with yet another tissue.
I shook my head. It was the best I could do under the circumstances. After taking a deep breath, I finally spoke. “You know when I found her, she had already passed. It was horrible…”
Becca hugged me. “Oh Perri, I’m so sorry. I should never have brought it up.”
Another deep breath fortified me. “Tell me. What was this big surprise? It may help explain things.”
“You’ll think it’s silly, but Ethel had a fun side too. We found a horse costume on sale in one of those Halloween shops in DC. She bought it to wear for Babette’s event. You know, to make a point but get people laughing too.”
I now knew why Ethel had shed her clothes and folded them neatly. Nothing sinister. No sleazy components. She’d planned to surprise Babette and make her happy. That explained a lot, but it didn’t address the central question: who murdered Ethel and why.
“You had a pedicure too, I bet.”
She cocked her head as if I were speaking Urdu. In Becca’s world, horses got their hooves attended to, but serious riders did not. Clearly, she had no idea what I was asking. I felt obliged to fill in the gaps.
“Ethel had recently had a pedicure,” I explained. “I saw her toes when I found her, and it seemed so unlike her that I wondered if some guy was in the picture.”
“Not that I knew.” She lowered her voice. “Ethel—she was a good friend, but Lord knows like most of us she wasn’t perfect. Her own life was pretty tame. That’s why she poked her nose into other people’s business a bit too much.”
“Really?”
Becca looked around before answering and clutched her tissue. “She didn’t mean any harm. You know how it is. I feel like a heel even mentioning it. Besides everyone suspects that crazy biologist Glendon Jakes. I’ve had a few run-ins with that guy and believe me, he’s got some screws loose.”
We exchanged a few more words then returned to work. Becca rewarded her mount with a handful of carrots leaving me in peace to hawk my leather wares.
* * * *
Sunday horse shows had a different rhythm—slower, less frantic and more family oriented. For me, they simulated an almost religious experience as well as a competition. The array of equine beauty, brains, and body types can soften the hardest hearts and change scoffers into believers in a higher power.
The Creature Comforts booth was packed by noon with an eclectic blend of breeders, riders, trainers and sightseers. There was no way to predict which items would be in demand but on this day, my custom braided bridles quickly sold out.
I bent down to restock supplies and when I whirled around, there stood Pruett holding the hand of an adorable tyke.
He didn’t look one bit like your average suburban dad—not in head to toe leather. I suppressed all carnal thoughts and focused on his daughter instead.
“Ella,” I said. “I missed you.” The child jumped into my arms and hugged me.
“You know how she loves animals,” Pruett said. “She wants a horse more than anything, but her mom vetoed the idea. Too risky.”
I had heard that line before and, in most cases, it was a convenient fiction. Ella’s mom was a celebrated photojournalist, probably too busy or selfish to contend with the schedule that an obsessed animal lover generated. I bent down and signaled my dogs. “How about giving Keats and Poe a treat, Ella? It won’t spoil their lunch.”
Pruett moved closer to his daughter and gingerly patted Poe’s silky head. I didn’t move a muscle. The touching father-daughter tableau revealed a different side of the man, one that continually surprised me. His devotion was real, not the feigned interest I’d observed from far too many weekend-only parents. How easy it was to judge someone by appearances instead of actions. Ella was a beautiful child, the recipient of gorgeous genes from both her parents. Her long dark hair was thick and curly, and her eyes were a vivid shade of blue. Even better, she was a sweet, unspoiled little sprite who had crept into my heart in record time. Her pointer, Lady Guinevere, was already a Grand Champion and seemed headed for even more accolades. Her handler was grooming her for Westminster as we spoke. Pruett had adjusted to having a dog but hadn’t yet transitioned to equine mania.
“This is a local show, you know, mostly hunters and jumpers. You guys can approach any of the riders and ask questions or pet the horses.”
Ella was thrilled, although her doting daddy looked less enthusiastic. “Can you go with us?” he asked.
“Sorry. This is a workday for me. But hey,” I spotted a bouncy blonde equestrian who had positioned herself in the aisle, staring longingly at Pruett. “I’ll find you an expert guide.”
Before he could protest, I made introductions and sent them on their way with his escort gabbing a mile a minute.
“She’ll owe you her life,” Becca said. She had slipped in behind a determined couple tugging a child. “Isn’t that the famous Wing Pruett? Girl, you sure hit the jackpot there.”
I laughed. “The one and only. He’s working the story about Ethel’s murder and when anything involves his job he bears watching.”
She sighed. “Watching him is no problem.”
“I noticed.”
“You’re not fooling me, Missy. Acting so cool. Besides, looking doesn’t mean you have to buy or even sample the merchandise. Right?”
I knew better than to argue. Equestrians are a tough breed, as tenacious as the horses they partner with. Besides, Becca had a point.
“Can I get you anything else?” I asked her.
She clutched my arm. “I almost forgot. Jumpers have switched to ring five and you’ll never guess who has his horse entered.”
“Not my day for quizzes.”
“Glendon Jakes! His mare Cleopatra is already a champion, even if he’s not.”
My throat went desert dry at the news. Defying all odds, the prime murder suspect had miraculously wandered into my world. I heard opportunity knocking and answered its siren song.
“Watch my store. Please.” I can beg with the best of them when the need arises.
She narrowed her eyes. “Perri Morgan, you’re up to something. Spill it or I’ll walk out.”
Sometimes honesty is the best policy—particularly when it’s the only option. I swallowed twice to calm myself and hoped against hope that Pruett was under control.
“Jakes was roaming around the day Ethel was killed.” I shrank from saying the word murder in front of Becca. It was a cruel, harsh term that no friend needed to hear. “The
cops dragged him off for questioning but let him go. I’m not satisfied.”
She did a double take. “Could he be the one?”
“Maybe. Either way I want to find out. I owe it to Ethel.” I patted Becca’s shoulder and sped off before she could stop me.
* * * *
As luck would have it, arena ten was halfway around the fairgrounds. I jogged toward it while dodging excrement, gawkers, and competitors. I arrived just as the first contestants entered the ring.
Jakes was hard to miss. He was taller than most and as rangy as the mare he paraded around the ring. According to the program guide, she was Cleopatra, a golden palomino beauty with a commanding show presence. I had to admit that even Jakes looked respectable in formal show garb. To the uninitiated, he appeared to be a gentleman.
“Looking for a change, Perri?” Ken Reedy, a wizened veteran of the horse and dog circuit raised his eyebrows. “That’s the one to beat today. Eight years old and already a contender.”
“Wow! Her rider looks familiar too, but I just can’t place him.”
He curled his lip. “No comment. With the right guidance, Cleo would be an Olympic contender. Count on it. Jakes doesn’t deserve her.”
“Oh?”
Ken looked around. “He’s got a temper, that guy. Threatened a judge when Cleo didn’t win the whole shebang. Big dustup.”
“Really?” No sane person who wanted to remain on the show circuit did that. It was a mortal sin that could get the owner, rider and horse thrown out of competition and permanently excommunicated. Maybe that was the point—explosive reaction to women in authority. Jakes had an ungovernable temper that exploded into threats and violence. I pondered whether or not to call Bascomb and share the news.
“Quite a sight.” Those plummy tones could belong to only one man.
I gave Pruett a baleful glance. “Where is your daughter, Daddy Dearest?”
“Enraptured by what I believe you call a pleasure class.” Pruett shuddered. “I decided to take a break. Besides, Ella won’t stay away from you too long. She’ll be here in a minute.”
“Pleasure is a useful art,” I said. “You might have learned something.”
I hushed him just as Jakes exited the ring looking jubilant. “Be quiet for once and follow my lead. Watch his face.”
Jakes was the right height and build to be my assailant, but I couldn’t be sure. From what I had just heard, he also had a short fuse. Why not apply a bit of soft soap before testing that theory?
“Great win,” I said, patting Cleo.
Jakes was either a top-notch actor or he had no clue who I was. “Goes toward her scores. Cleo’s set for the Olympics someday.”
I summoned an expression of faux awe. “Wow! Does she do jumping and hunting too?” I expected Jakes to brag about using a gun and horse to mow down hapless creatures, but he surprised me.
“She’s a pureblood. I focus on hunting. Nothing too risky for her.”
I faked a smile, but Pruett leapt into the discussion and seized the moment.
“Hey, that sounds fascinating. Any chance you’d agree to an interview? I’m a freelance journalist.” He extended his hand. “Wing Pruett. And this is Perri Morgan.”
Jakes straightened up and stared at Pruett. He didn’t give me a second glance. “I’ve heard of you. You’re a network guy. What brings you to this show?”
Deceit was apparently second nature to a journalist, at least if his name was Pruett.
“I’m officially on daddy duty. My daughter’s crazy about horses. My friend here was just giving me an earful about ditching my daughter for a while. I’m always on the trail of an interesting story. Occupational hazard, I guess.”
For a moment, I pitied Jakes. When it comes to his pet, any animal lover is vulnerable to predators like Pruett. All it takes is a compliment or a willing ear. Then I recalled Ethel’s corpse with its beautifully manicured foot pointing skyward. My compassion for Jakes took a quick nosedive.
Chapter 7
Pruett wasn’t quite so bold when Cleopatra approached him. He edged toward the railing, kept a respectable distance behind Jakes and left the honors to me. That was no problem at all. Cleo was a perfect exemplar of her breed who looked as if she had just stepped off the pages of Horses and Hounds. Like most kids, I’d grown to love Palominos since watching that noble steed Trigger save Roy Rogers’s bacon on weekly television.
“She’s really lovely,” I told Jakes as Cleo nuzzled my pocket looking for treats. “Okay if I give her some carrots?”
He flinched as if I had offered poison. “I’m very particular about her diet.”
“Understood. I have apples if she prefers those.”
“Ugh!” Pruett said. “Pretty poor snacks if you ask me.”
“Not to a horse.” After Jakes nodded, I held my palm flat and fed Cleo her treat. Jakes smiled as she licked her lips and he relaxed enough for the interview to proceed. Pruett started slowly, asking innocuous questions about Jakes and Cleo’s history. I studied his face, marveling at the expressionless mask that overlaid his features. Pruett gave nothing away. Not a smile or a frown.
“You say you’re a biologist, Dr. Jakes? Your name sounds familiar to me, but I can’t quite place it.” Pruett leaned in. “Got it! I’m a fan of your blog. Bag It. Isn’t that the name? A fascinating piece.”
Glendon Jakes was only human. Praise from a celebrity left him tongue-tied and totally disarmed. He sputtered a quick thank you.
Pruett immediately capitalized on his advantage. “Say, weren’t you on the site of that murder last week? The animal rights activist. Babette somebody or other.”
“I got there late,” Jakes was another facile liar. “Traffic, you know. The cops asked for my help. Practically begged for it. They’re in way over their heads.”
Bascomb begging? That’s one scenario I would pay to watch.
“My friend was there too,” Pruett said pointing to me. “Actually, she found the body.”
Jakes narrowed his eyes and studied me. “Why was she there?”
I’d had enough of Pruett’s sleazy tactics. It was time for some truth telling. “I’m a friend of Ms. Croy’s, and for your information, the dead woman was her secretary Ethel McCall.”
“Sorry. Didn’t know the lady.” Jakes sucked his cheeks in as if he were eating a lemon.
Pruett stepped closer and put his arm around me. “She’s still quite emotional about it. I’m sure you understand.” They exchanged men of the world glances that set my teeth on edge.
Pruett averted an explosion by embracing me, whispering a warning in my ear as he did so. “Go along with me, Perri. Just this once.”
I should have pulled away. Should have stomped on his foot or done something, anything except savor the faint scent of his cologne and the touch of his lips. I was out of practice and out of sorts.
“Were you able to help the cops at all?” Pruett asked. “They haven’t told the press anything.”
Jakes thrust out his chest, peacock-style. “I gave them a tip or two. That group of harpies was bound to stir up trouble. Impinging on the Second Amendment like they do, or try to do. As for Cavalry Farms, those old nags at that farm have no business occupying valuable real estate. I’m a biologist and believe me, I know a thing or two about that. Genetic stock is important.”
Pruett leaned in. “I understand that Mrs. Croy got plenty of threats, but this Ethel person was kind of a nobody.” He lowered his voice. “And she was almost naked.”
Jakes hooted as if that were comic gold. “That old bat? Believe me. No man would look twice at her body, naked or not.”
Pruett pivoted deftly and faced him. “I thought you said you never met her?”
Bullseye! “Ugly women always join those protest movements. That’s the closest they get to a man,” Jakes sputtered. He lunged toward Pruett. “What�
��s your game? You said this was about my horse.”
I had to hand it to Pruett. He stood his ground even after Jakes clenched his fists. I expected a brawl or at least a shouting match. The biologist was red-faced and out of control, but the journalist appeared to be enjoying himself. Looking at them, I gave Pruett the edge. He had a black belt in some form of martial arts and I’d seen him in action before.
An unlikely peacemaker arrived on the scene and immediately diffused the tension.
“Daddy! Where have you been?” Ella Pruett, accompanied by several other little girls, grabbed Pruett and hugged his waist. “Oh!” She ran up to Cleopatra and held out her hand. “She’s beautiful.”
The mare obliged by nuzzling Ella’s hand.
“I love her! Daddy, can we bring her home?”
Pruett’s horrified expression was priceless. I enjoyed watching him squirm, but I had to intervene.
“Cleo already has a home, Ella, and Guinnie takes up a lot of your time. Ask Mr. Jakes. He’ll tell you all about her.”
Jakes managed a smile and bent down to speak with the little girl. “Sit over here. I’ll show you pictures of Cleo when she was just a foal.”
Pruett and I locked eyes as yet another side of the biologist emerged. Call me easy, but any man who loves his horse gets my vote. Provisionally.
When Pruett joined his daughter, I made my escape. He raised an eyebrow but waved me on. Ella and Jakes were so engrossed in discussing Cleopatra that they never even noticed my absence. I power-walked across the field to Creature Comforts just as Becca started to lock it up.
“Just in time, Ms. Persephone. I’ve got a prospective client waiting for me outside ring six and he does not like to wait.”
She had a point—why pick a fight especially when a fat fee was in the offing? I hugged her as she breezed past me. “You’re a real pal. I owe you.”
The next two hours flew by as I filled orders, measured harnesses, and restocked the bins. None of my customers mentioned Ethel, alluded to Babette, or discussed Cavalry Farms, even though the memorial photo was prominently displayed by the cash register. When the show wound down at five, I signaled to Poe and Keats, and began the arduous process of loading my stock into the van. Most of my fellow vendors had vanished and I was glad for the canine company. Ethel had been struck down with an ordinary object, not an exotic weapon. Dog and horse shows were full of potentially lethal implements, a fact that made me eager to finish the task and get home. My back was turned when Keats growled, a low, menacing sound that raised the hackles on his neck. I whirled around, ready to stand my ground and fight. It was an automatic reflex, a throwback to my military training that came in handy during a physical confrontation. I was confident but not cocky—neither Wonder Woman nor weakling.