Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered. “Your subjects await.”

  “Some sleuth I am,” I said. “Sorry for sleeping. Missed the chance to review the case.”

  The interior light shone directly on his face. Lord, he was handsome! Most women would jump at the chance to share even a fraction of his life. What was wrong with me?

  “I can make coffee,” I said. “Do you have to leave?”

  Pruett shook his head. “Rain check. I have some stuff to do when I get home. I’ll call you.” He insisted on walking me to my door, even though he flinched when Keats and Poe streaked out. Before leaving, he took my hand and kissed it. When he said my name, he pronounced all four syllables slowly and sensuously.

  “Sleep tight, Persephone. You’ll find out soon enough. I don’t give up easily.”

  Chapter 10

  Babette battered down my door the next morning, oblivious to Zeke’s shrieks or the chorus of barks from the Malinois. I stared at the clock through sleep-laden eyes, astonished to see that it was nearly eight am. Guilt overwhelmed me. I was a bad pet mother, neglectful of their most basic needs and doomed to pay for it.

  “I’m coming in,” she trilled. “Are ya decent?”

  I sent a prayer of thanks to St. Nickolas the patron of bad girls everywhere that Pruett was nowhere to be found. For good measure, I tipped my hat to St. Lawrence too. He was the patron saint of tanners, an unfortunate martyr who had suffered a grisly death by being roasted on a spit. Those details were way too much to contemplate early on a weekday morning with my best friend grinning down on me.

  “Big night?” she asked. “I know you were with Pruett. Don’t lie. My pal Jacqui told me all about it.” Her smile put Cheshire cats to shame. “Here.” She thrust a venti latte made just the way I like it at me. “I stopped at Starbucks on the way. Now tell me everything.”

  Babette plopped down on the edge of the bed and giggled. “I’ll bet he was even better than they say.”

  Dignity and guilt don’t always mix. Unfortunately, I had nothing to repent except a few licentious thoughts. “What’s wrong with you,” I scolded. “This isn’t high school. Nothing happened. We were trying to get information—about the murder. Strictly business.”

  Most people not named Babette Croy would back off. My friend upped the ante. “Listen, Perri. Jacqueline is no fool and she was all lathered up after seeing him. I understand he looked hotter than hell.” She took a deep breath and a gulp of espresso. “Anyway, Jacqui made absolutely no progress. She said he never took his eyes off you the whole time. So there.”

  Suddenly it was my turn to inhale my latte. Had Pruett really looked for me? If so, he was probably trying to escape the amorous Mrs. Parks. I forced myself to regroup and filled Babette in on the gossip. She gasped when she heard about the missing funds.

  “Ethel a thief? She only volunteered at Hamilton to help me out. That woman never took a penny from me, Perri, and she had plenty of chances. It was probably one of those kleptos from the committee. Too much money, not enough to do and always bitchin’ about being bored.”

  I recalled Charlotte Westly’s beady little eyes, glittering with malice. When I mentioned her name, Babette stiffened.

  “That horny heifer! What a laugh. She’s always trying to seduce someone, even Carleton, if you can believe it. Everyone knows about her. They joke about getting entangled in Charlotte’s Web. A little literary pun but what can you expect from that crowd.”

  Candor was the only possible reaction even if it wounded my friend. I respected Babette too much to lie. Evasion was pointless.

  “Charlotte seemed very interested in Carleton. She hinted that he was a favorite of lots of the mothers.” I lost my nerve and began to backslide. “She was probably lying. Seemed like the type.”

  Babette jumped up and tossed her coffee cup into the waste bin, narrowing missing Thatcher who stalked off in a huff. “Perri. How dumb do you think I am?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She strolled over and flung her arms around me. “Honey, I know all about Carleton and his little romances. That’s why I watched the money like I did. I didn’t begrudge him some fun, but I’ll be damned if I’d finance it. When it got too much I called in my lawyer.”

  My mouth opened but no words emerged. What does one say to a betrayed wife? I was torn between shock, shame and awe.

  “Did he and Ethel…?” I couldn’t complete the thought

  “No way! Besides Ethel wasn’t his type. He never came on to you, did he?”

  “Nope. If anything, Carleton avoids me like the plague.” I hunched over my latte and sucked it dry. “What’s your point?”

  Babette squeezed my shoulders. “Money, honey. My dear ex-husband, hound that he is, finds women with bucks irresistible. Why do you think he chased after me?” She bit down on her bottom lip and preened. “Hard to believe with all this feminine pulchritude staring him in the face, he hadn’t touched me in months before our divorce.”

  She didn’t cry even though her lips trembled. In fact, Babette folded her arms in front of her and set her jaw tighter than a bank vault. I was torn between offering comfort and following her lead. I chose door number two. Anything that helped Babette to salvage some dignity was a harmless deception.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. Simple sentiment but vivid enough to release a flood of feelings inside Babette.

  “Funny thing. It started when I got a cold. Carleton slept in the guest room because my coughing kept him up.” She rolled her eyes. “Or so he said. Pretty soon, he was yapping about my snoring. And on and on. After a while I didn’t even ask. Why bother? When a man doesn’t want you it’s fairly obvious.”

  As if she sensed the tension, Clara sidled up to Babette displaying female solidarity at its most furry.

  “What’s your plan?” I asked. Planning was her strength. It kept Babette sane.

  “Life at the Croys is no Hallmark card,” she said. “Hasn’t been for some time. I should have kicked him out a while ago when we got divorced but I kept putting it off.”

  “Because of money?” I asked.

  No one can snort as well as Babette. Her distain was vivid and truly world class.

  “I take my finances seriously as well you know. Before we said ‘I do,’ my lawyers drew up a prenup tighter than a hangman’s noose. Carleton got practically nothing in the divorce.”

  My curiosity overcame good breeding. “Why then?” I expected her to cite loneliness or even love but my pal was way ahead of me.

  “Okay. Fasten your seatbelt.” Babette hesitated. “Carleton has hidden talents. You get my meaning?”

  “What?” I gasped at the very thought of it.

  “You betcha! Why else would I keep him around? Not for his disposition, that’s for damn sure. He’s smart enough, but basically boring. Until you get him into the sack.”

  I’m not naïve but that information floored me. All I could do was gape at Babette as I tried to visualize Carleton the sex magnet, swinging from a tree branch.

  Her chin trembled as she gathered her thoughts. “Guess I need to come to terms with things now that he’s no longer putting out. Too bad.”

  Timing is everything in life. If Babette sent him packing now, Bascomb and every citizen of Great Marsh would assume that he was a murderer or that his wife thought he was. A disquieting thought popped into my mind. If Babette died would her ex-husband benefit? Asking was awkward and downright rude but it couldn’t be helped. I chose my words carefully.

  “Carleton can’t be a suspect if he doesn’t inherit.”

  Babette trained her big brown eyes on me. “Nope. He left our little union pretty much the way he came into it. Particularly when I played the adultery card.”

  “You did?”

  “Honey not only did I, but I planned to name names. Trust me. None of those floozies who foole
d around with my husband went unscathed.” She heaved a big sigh. “Matter of pride.”

  I pictured Charlotte’s smug face pasted all over the tabloids and the visual made me smile. Big time. As satisfying as that prospect was, it did nothing to explain Ethel’s murder. Had she threatened someone, or was Ethel merely in the wrong place at the wrong time? Collateral damage as they say. Babette was a high profile hard-charging type of gal who collected foes and wore them as badges of honor. Jakes was a prime example of that, but there were plenty of others. If Carleton was a playboy, one of his sweeties might have used extreme measures to eliminate the competition. Had Ethel interrupted a murder in progress and paid the price?

  “Hold on, Babette, I just thought of one more thing.”

  She glared at me, hands on hips, as though daring me to speak.

  It took all my courage to broach the issue, but I had to know. “If something happened to you, who would inherit? You’re a woman of substance after all.”

  My persistence paid off, but it didn’t endear me to my pal. Babette bent down and gave Clara a big smooch before answering my question.

  “You are way behind the curve. The cops asked me that first thing, Perri. Bascomb is sharper than you think. He’s actually quite impressive. Better brush up on your detective skills if you plan to do any good.”

  I winced but didn’t back down. “So?”

  “My entire estate goes to charity—animal charities of course. The horse farm and the animal shelter especially. I named you to head up the Babette Croy Foundation. Satisfied? No one benefits from losing little ole me unless they add you to the suspect list.”

  That left me gobsmacked. Babette had never mentioned a foundation or my role in one before. Just another reason to wish my friend a long and healthy life! What did I know about managing a foundation? Furthermore, how many other people knew about her scheme?

  Babette spoke slowly and deliberately as if I were an addled child. “In case you’re wondering, Ethel knew all about it. Helped me set up the whole thing with my lawyer.” Babette didn’t taunt me outright but came fairly close to doing so.

  I stared into space, contemplating the many sides of Ethel. Obviously, I had underestimated the woman. By blending into the scenery, Ethel had managed to escape scrutiny and remain an enigma. What else had she been up to?

  “Why was Ethel at your place the day she was murdered? She told me she had other plans.”

  Babette shrugged. “Beats me. We had a pretty loose arrangement. The way friends do.” She stifled a sob. “I cared about her, Perri. Ethel was like an older sister—wise, kind of bossy but good-hearted. She wasn’t a criminal. I know it.” Babette fetched a lacy handkerchief from her bag and noisily blew her nose. “If she died because of me, I… just couldn’t bear it.”

  My irrepressible friend was a changed person, laid low by Ethel’s murder. I had to do something—anything—to help her. When I outlined my plan to involve Sheila, Babette immediately brightened. Suddenly I vaulted back to hero status with her once again.

  “I forgot about ole Ellis,” she said, giving me a hug. “Perri, you’re brilliant!”

  “You’re too generous,” I said. “Come on. Help me with the pets and then we’ll call Sheila. Deal?”

  She slapped my hand and skipped toward the door with Clara by her side. “Deal!”

  * * * *

  Zeke gave us a hard stare as soon as we entered his enclosure. He eyed the bucket of corn and oats I carried, sniffed the alfalfa, and backed against the stall as if preparing for a fight.

  “Calm down, big guy,” I whispered. “Eat up and then I’ll groom you.” Zeke is a glutton, so food offerings mollified him somewhat. Before eating, he plunged his head in the water pail and drank lustily. When I left him, he was satiated, shiny and relatively happy. I considered it a good omen that he neither nipped, bit, or butted either one of us.

  “Pip was nuts to bring that goat home,” Babette said. “He eyed me like I was an appetizer.”

  “Just foreplay,” I said. “He’ll settle down once the dogs are with him.” I never even dreamed of exiling Zeke. For better or worse, he was part of Pip’s legacy and I would never let him go. It would be akin to discarding Pip himself and that would never happen.

  I linked arms with Babette and nudged her toward the house. “Ah forget about it. Let’s bring Sheila in on this. She always has good ideas.” Keats and Poe responded instantly to my whistle and trailed behind us. Clara brought up the rear.

  “If we’re lucky, Sheila will be home. You know how she obsesses about mysteries. Thinks she’s a cross between Jessica Fletcher and Miss Marple. I’ll make some espresso to go with that shortbread you brought. Looks yummy.”

  Babette’s eyes sparkled. “I had to sneak it out of the house. Carleton pitches a fit if he sees me eating sweets. Says it makes me fat.” She grimaced. “Not that it’s any of his business now.”

  I refrained from commenting about men who played the body-shaming card. Most women were sensitive about their weight, even ones like me who had always been called skinny. Some of the most unlikely men felt entitled to comment on so-called female imperfections. It was the ultimate power game. I scowled thinking about Babette’s supercilious ex-spouse. Carleton was no prize package no matter what hidden assets he might possess. To his credit, I had never heard Pruett make those disparaging comments.

  “You look great and you know it,” I told Babette. “Lieutenant Bascomb appreciates those curves. I saw the way he looked at you.”

  She flushed with pleasure. “Even at my advanced age, a compliment makes me feel good. Still seeking approval from a man, I guess.”

  “Big deal. That’s just being human, and you my friend deserve the attention.” I winked at her and led the way into the living room.

  Fortunately, we caught Sheila just as she was leaving the house. After hearing our plan, she immediately agreed to cancel her appointments and join us.

  “Funny thing. I’ve been thinking a lot about Ethel lately,” she said. “Who knows what will happen if we put our heads together? The power of three you know.”

  My thoughts exactly. Self-restraint and discipline have always been my watchwords. No wonder I was often described as dull, reliable, nose to the grindstone Perri Morgan. I caught myself just as I reached for the cell phone to call Pruett. No matter how often I vowed that it was strictly business between us, my internal truth detector pinged a very different message. My only option was to relax and enjoy.

  Sometimes my pal can almost read my mind. Babette tilted her head to the side and grinned. “Pruett really should join us. Don’t you agree?”

  I shrugged with as much nonchalance as I could muster.

  “Call him, Perri. You have his number.”

  I busied myself arranging shortbread on a fancy plate. “Later. After the three of us talk.”

  Babette peered out the window as the dogs began a cacophony of barks and growls. “Oops. Looks like it’s too late. Unless I’m mistaken, and I seldom am, the man himself just pulled into your driveway right behind Sheila.” She strutted toward the door. “Guess you better make enough espresso for four.”

  Chapter 11

  Our planning committee turned into a coffee klatch with four adults, four dogs and one highly agitated feline. Pruett captivated Sheila right away by focusing his considerable charm squarely upon her. He even feigned enthusiasm for Cecil although he kept a safe distance from the Ridgeback pup.

  “Beautiful animal,” he said. “My daughter is dog-crazy, so we’ve studied every breed. She feels the same way about horses. Takes lessons every week.”

  Sheila launched into a soliloquy about animal companionship and the therapy provided by horses. “They’re not the right choice for everyone,” she said. “Rather a lot for novices to handle but worth it.”

  Babette heaved an enormous sigh. “We all need love.”
<
br />   I leapt to my feet and played hostess in order to stave off another bout of melancholia by my friend. “Why don’t we start by sharing information? That way we’ll all be on the same page.” I gave Pruett a hard stare. “Needless to say, this is all off the record.”

  Babette gave an exhaustive and somewhat exhausting account of her interview with Bascomb. Although she didn’t mention it per se, her infatuation with the police chief was obvious—flushed cheeks and head tosses gave her away every time.

  “No kidding,” Sheila said. “I always pegged him as the village idiot. You know, Inspector Clouseau without the Gallic charm.”

  “Certainly not!” Babette bristled. “Titus zeroed in on the fact that I was the likely target instead of Ethel. He asked me all about my will and those nasty emails too.” She curled her lip. “Believe me, he took old Jakes very seriously as a suspect, especially since the creep is a big phony too. Doesn’t even own a gun!”

  Pruett’s eyes met mine and he nodded. I told my tale about our horse show exploits, focusing on Jakes and his angry outbursts.

  Sheila leaned forward with her elbows planted firmly on her knees. “Wow! So that guy is a misogynist and a creep! Quite a combo. Too bad he’s an animal lover. Normally that’s such a good sign.”

  “Admittedly the guy’s a loser but unless we find a link to Ethel, it doesn’t mean anything.” Pruett described our undercover operation at Hamilton Arms, clearly and concisely, omitting his encounter with the amorous Jacqui.

  Once again, Sheila’s mouth flew open. “Ethel a thief? Mousey little Ethel McCall who faded into the woodwork? I don’t believe it.”

  “It kind of makes sense,” said Pruett. “Ethel was the invisible woman, there but never noticed. An amiable drudge. Maybe she used it to her advantage. How many embezzlers are quiet, industrious ladies who nobody suspects—until it’s too late?”

  “She never took a penny from me,” Babette said. Emotion mottled her normally flawless skin as she leapt to her feet and began pacing. “Those broads are a bunch of gossips. I told Perri that and it’s true.”