Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Whoa, Morgan. Stand down. We swung by to help you.” Pruett stood well behind me, staring fixedly at my dogs. Ella had no such reservations. She ran over to the Malinois with a mile-wide grin on her face and threw her arms around them. Pruett’s eyes widened as if he were envisioning the dogs making a meal out of his precious child.

  “You finished your interview?” I asked.

  His smirk returned. “Our wayward biologist clammed up and left the area in a huff. Apparently, my legendary charm deserted me this time. Go figure.”

  I’m not too proud to accept help even when it comes with strings attached. Pruett obviously saw the shows as a conduit to Babette and a source for Ethel’s grisly murder. How else to explain his show of interest and sudden appearance? I pointed toward the boxes. “Thanks. Just grab one of them. Maybe Ella can watch the pups for me.”

  The little girl clapped her hands. “Can I, Daddy? Please.”

  Pruett was an easy target. He obviously adored his daughter and would give her anything. “Okay. But be careful.”

  We emptied out my stall and dismantled the booth in record time. The sunset was magical, a multi-colored tribute to the master painter of the universe. Pruett and I both stood there savoring it until one of the security trucks circled around and asked us to leave. I whistled for the dogs and slid open the door of my van. Pruett put his hand on my shoulder. “Wait a minute, Perri. Ella and I are starving, and I’ll bet you could use some dinner too. Come with us to Applebee’s.” A flush crept across his cheeks. “It’s Ella’s favorite place, as you well know. I promised her.”

  I bent down to face Ella. “You have good taste. I love Applebee’s too, Ella, especially their boneless wings.”

  “Yum,” she said.

  “We’ll do it some other time. I have to get home and feed Thatcher and Zeke. You know how they get when they’re hungry.”

  “Just like kids,” Ella said.

  “Exactly.” The idea of a pygmy goat had always fascinated the little girl, prompting a flood of questions that alarmed her father. Pruett had no desire for a goat to spoil his elegant Georgetown address.

  Pruett finally intervened, playing the daddy card. The contrast between his typical sardonic manner and stern parental pose was highly entertaining.

  “Time to go, Ella. I can taste those wings even now.”

  I nodded and bid them a final good night.

  * * * *

  Babette was waiting for me when I got home, and she was wired. A mournful tune by Adele blared from the car as my friend and the loyal Clara swayed to the music.

  “You’re late. Where in hell have you been?” Her voice quaked when she spoke.

  Babette was close to tears and to my surprise she tossed a cigarette butt out the window. She’d quit that noxious habit three years ago, or so I thought.

  “Calm down. Culpepper shows were on today and yesterday. I told you. Remember?”

  She covered her face with her hands and sobbed until I fished a tissue from my backpack and handed it to her through the open window.

  “Here. Blow.”

  “Forgive me, hon. I’m so frazzled I can’t think straight. This nightmare turned me into a big witch.”

  I opened her car door and coaxed her out. “You? Never. Come on. I have some wine in the fridge from that Virginia vineyard you like so much.” I felt rather than saw Zeke’s evil grin emanating from his enclosure. “Tell you what. You feed the dogs and Thatcher and I’ll tackle Zeke. Then we can relax.”

  Babette was a worker. Give her a task and she forgot her problems and pitched right in. In short order, my pets were fed and we were sipping wine and nibbling on cheese.

  “Okay,” I said. “What’s up? Tell me what happened, and I’ll fill you in on some very interesting developments.” I expected a tale of marital discord or police harassment but that was not the case.

  “My committee. They all quit.”

  It took me a minute to process what she said. “You mean the Save the Farm group?”

  Babette sniffled. “They think I did it, Perri. Can you believe that? I’ve known those people for years. Why would they think I’d hurt anyone, let alone murder Ethel?”

  That puzzled me. Babette was many things but anyone around her also knew her kind heart and generous nature. She had rescued Ethel from financial ruin, given her respectability, a job and a spacious place to live. It didn’t compute. Unless…

  “Maybe it’s not you they suspect.” I kept my voice neutral and spoke quietly.

  “You mean?”

  I nodded. “You know how small towns are. Rumors fly, especially when the victim is found naked.”

  Babette clasped her hands in front of her and sat quietly. I expected harsh words and a quick denial but didn’t get them.

  “Has Bascomb been talking to your friends?” I asked. “He’s very blunt. Not the most tactful person you could meet.”

  At first, she smiled. Then Babette dissolved into peals of laughter. “That’s absurd! Ethel and Carleton. Honey, I can tell you that when he cats around, he chooses some sweet young thing who thinks he hung the moon or an heiress who just doesn’t care. Ethel saw right through him.”

  She had a point, one that I had no intention of arguing with. As Carleton’s former spouse who still allowed him to live in her home, Babette was hardly a disinterested spectator. My strategy was to serve up Jakes as a suspect. With his unpleasant personality and perpetual sneer, he was easy to dislike. There was only one problem: I couldn’t for the life of me think of a plausible motive.

  “We had quite a crowd at the show,” I said, “and I found out why Ethel shed her clothes. It was actually very innocent.”

  “What?” Babette clutched Clara in a grip so firm that the Border Collie yipped.

  When she heard about the horse costume, my friend broke down into sobs. It took almost superhuman willpower to avoid joining her. A moment of levity had caused poor Ethel to risk her reputation and lose her life.

  I focused instead on following the facts. “Tell me. Did Lieutenant Bascomb find that costume?”

  “He never mentioned it if he did. Let’s call him and ask.”

  I shook my head. “Not yet. That wasn’t the only thing I found out.”

  Babette gasped when I mentioned Pruett and Ella. The news about Jakes made her choke. “That sidewinder has a horse? I can’t believe it.”

  “Relax. He might still be a murderer even though Cleopatra is quite a charmer.” I shared Jakes’s comments about Ethel and Ken Reedy’s warning about Jakes’s temper. “Jakes knew who Ethel was, no matter what he said. But why kill her?”

  Babette furrowed her brow. “It doesn’t make any damn sense. Jakes hates me but that’s mutual. Ethel never fought with anyone. You know how smooth she was.”

  Smooth? Inoffensive maybe but not exactly smooth. I thought about the complicated woman who was Ethel McCall. She was so unobtrusive that when she first moved to town three years ago, I barely noticed her. Pip met her through the no-kill shelter and invited her over for a drink. He sipped bourbon, but Ethel was strictly a diet Coke girl. Even her facial features were uniform and unremarkable. Grey hair styled in a short smooth bob, rimless glasses, and nary a touch of makeup or jewelry. I am no style setter but next to Ethel I felt like a supermodel. I pondered that for a moment. Maybe that was the point.

  “How well did you really know her?” I asked. “Did Ethel ever mention her home or family?”

  Babette hesitated, carefully parsing her words. “She came from the West Coast. Oregon or California. One of those states. Didn’t talk much about her past but I got the idea that her ex-husband abused her.”

  That wasn’t much to go on, but it was something. If Bascomb wouldn’t keep us informed, we had to develop our own sources. I walked over to my computer and punched in Ethel’s name and Oregon. A general Google search yiel
ded absolutely nothing of interest. There were a number of Ethel McCalls, most of them elderly, others long deceased.

  Babette looked over my shoulder and shook her head. “Time to bring in the big guns, hon. Try PrivateEye.com, then take a pass at the Mugshots website. You wouldn’t believe the folks you see. I’ve got an account with both of them.” She flinched when I squeezed her arm. “I feel disloyal even suggesting it about Ethel, but we have to know.”

  PrivateEye.com listed a number of Ethel McCalls, none of whom fit our age criterion. The Mugshots website was even more problematic. If the name was an alias, combing through that sad collection of losers was an exercise in futility.

  “I give up,” Babette said. “Spying on someone isn’t exciting at all. It’s tedious!”

  She seemed reluctant to go home but I was exhausted. It took a great deal of effort to avoid dozing off in mid-sentence.

  “You’re welcome to stay in the guest room tonight,” I said. “This weekend was rough, and I can barely stay awake.”

  “I better mosey on home or Carleton will be positive that I’ve been arrested.” Babette called to Clara. “Come on little darlin.’ Let’s make tracks.” Before opening the door, she swung around and pointed my way. “We’re just spinning our wheels. Call Pruett tomorrow and get some help. No excuses.”

  “What about you?”

  She grimaced. “Tomorrow I’m going to take the bull by the horns and go mano a mano with Lieutenant Bascomb.”

  Chapter 8

  I seldom avoid tough choices. All my life, until I met Pip, I’ve had to stand up for myself. There was no one else to fight my battles and I did what was necessary in order to survive. Procrastination was foreign to me—until now. That next morning, I lagged behind doing every conceivable chore twice just to fill the time. Why did I avoid calling Pruett, particularly when the subject was business not personal? Such girly behavior was illogical and unacceptable. I detested wimps especially when I was the wimp in question. Wing Pruett had information about Ethel’s murder. Plain and simple. He was an investigative reporter with all kinds of sources for heaven’s sake. His motives were beside the point. I had agreed to accompany him to parents’ night as part of our inquiry and his idea to work as a team had its appeal. It was not a competition between us, at least not on my part.

  I called his cell, hoping that my message would go directly to voice mail. As luck would have it, Pruett answered on the first ring.

  “Perri! What a surprise. I was just thinking about you.” His voice was deep and sultry, custom-made for seduction. I swallowed my pride and soldiered on. “Babette and I were discussing the murder last night and we need your help with something.”

  “Anything. Just ask. Sometimes I think you don’t realize what you mean to me. Ella spent the entire time at dinner talking about you, your pets, and Lord save me, horses.” Pruett waited half a beat. “We’re already like a family.”

  I hesitated and swallowed the lump in my throat. “She’s a great kid. You’re lucky to have her and so am I.” That part was true. He was lucky to have an endearing child who so obviously loved him. Fortune had shined on Pruett most of his life according to everything I knew about him. If that left him spoiled, entitled, and a touch arrogant, it was perfectly understandable—unacceptable but understandable. We were working on that, and progress was noticeable. Pruett said that he loved me, and Lord knows, I felt the same way about him. It frightened me, made me want to burrow under the covers and hide.

  A no-nonsense, business-like approach was called for. I summarized our concerns about Ethel and the need to do some digging. Pruett stayed silent at first as if he were evaluating the request. Against my better judgement, I tried to explain.

  “Babette and I tried Google and the other search engines. No luck. We figured you might have other sources.”

  “You’re presuming that Ethel, not Mrs. Croy, was the target. Is that what the police think now? Bascomb was sold on a grudge killing when last I spoke with him.”

  I hated to admit that our strategy was based on pure speculation.

  “Babette is meeting with the police this morning. Maybe she’ll find something out. She can be quite persuasive.” I’d seen my friend worm intimate information out of the most unlikely people. Bascomb might succumb to her charms as well.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Pruett said. “Get me Ethel’s social security number if you can and don’t forget our date at Hamilton Arms tomorrow. We can stop for dinner afterwards to compare notes.”

  “Okay. Where should I meet you?”

  “Perri—get real. I’ll pick you up at six. Parents mingle before the big show and we don’t want to miss that. By the way, I suggest you invent a sister or niece as a potential student. It works every time. They’ll fall all over themselves to be friendly then.”

  I had plenty to think about after he hung up.

  Long ago, I found that hard work was the best tonic for an uneasy mind. With that thought, I took Poe and Keats for a five-mile jog, turned off my cell phone, and devoted the balance of the day to crafting ten leather belts. They were an affirmation, tangible proof that I had accomplished something worthwhile, beautiful, and lucrative. The work absorbed me so completely that I blocked out every other sound. Fortunately, my Malinois were on the job. Their heads and ears went on alert as they swarmed the door. Since they didn’t bark, I knew my guest was someone they knew and approved of.

  Sure enough, Babette with Clara in tow swung into the driveway and bounded toward my office, tossing her hair gleefully.

  “I presume you were successful,” I said as she greeted my dogs and plopped down in a chair.

  “Damn straight! Bascomb didn’t know what hit him. I buttered him up. You know, the old feminine wiles stuff.”

  “Skip the preamble. What did he tell you?”

  “Okay, spoilsport. First of all, he still thinks I was the target. Probably a hit man who didn’t know what I looked like. Some gun crazy with a Second Amendment fetish.”

  I took a deep breath. Babette hadn’t gotten very far with Bascomb. He was craftier than I gave him credit for.

  “He has proof of that, does he?”

  That deflated her high spirits. “Proof? Not exactly, but he was very confident.”

  “What about the horse costume?”

  “Oh that. His guys seized it with the other stuff.” She shrugged as if it were nothing important. By the way Babette ducked her head, splaying her fingers through Clara’s shiny coat, I knew that she was avoiding something.

  Time to summon my tough Army persona. “Will he check Ethel out? That’s nothing extraordinary for crying out loud. Just good, solid police work. After all, she was the victim.”

  “Cool it, Perri. I have complete confidence in Titus.”

  “Titus!” It took effort to control my voice and avoid screeching. “You two got awfully chummy, Mrs. Croy. Did he ask you anything about Carleton?”

  My pal’s cheeks morphed from pink to crimson. “Nothing too personal. Just the general stuff. You know, how happy was our marriage, why was he still hanging around if we were divorced—blah, blah, blah.”

  It appeared that Lieutenant Bascomb had peeled Babette like a grape without any reciprocity at all. I took a deep breath and kept that opinion to myself.

  “What about Jakes? Surely that came up.”

  Babette’s confidence blossomed. “That was the best part of all, Perri. Get this. Jakes is a big fat fraud! Titus says Jakes doesn’t even hunt. No guns registered to him either. How about that?”

  I was stunned, gobsmacked, thrown for a loop. Suppose Ethel knew Jakes’s big secret? He might clobber her in a fit of panic if she threatened to tell. Bag It was an important credential for a wimpy guy like Jakes. He had probably spent his adolescence being the last kid chosen for every sports team. Now, as the champion of hunters and gonzo gun freaks, he had the chan
ce to redeem himself.

  I was curious about Jakes’s personal life too. Did he have a wife, girlfriend or both? Despite his claims, he may have been involved with Ethel. As my drill sergeant often said, still waters run deep and muddy. Ethel was a quiet one who seldom revealed herself. Leading a double life made that a wise precaution.

  “Earth to Perri. What did Pruett have to say?”

  I explained that he agreed to check his sources. Somehow, the subject of our date at Hamilton Arms never arose.

  Babette bounced from foot to foot as she watched me. “I knew it!”

  “What?”

  “Pruett. He’s in love with you. Don’t deny it. I can tell these things. Has he asked you to marry him yet?”

  A flush threatened to engulf me, but I played it cool. “You’re nuts. Forget your romantic fantasies and focus on the important things. Ethel’s murder. Remember?”

  Babette was a SCUD missile locked on target and harder to deflect. “Your love life is important too. I’ve heard that he’s dynamite in the sack.” She smirked. “Jacqueline Parks shared a moment with him last year and she said—”

  “Stop. You’re as lurid as a tabloid, for heaven’s sake. Privacy matters. I refuse to discuss that stuff with you.” When Poe nuzzled my palm, another thought occurred to me. “Ella loves animals, but Pruett doesn’t. To his credit, he’s working on it though.”

  She fluttered her lashes, playing the coquette. “Maybe so, darlin,’ but I say relax and enjoy the ride while you can. Definitely worth it.”