Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Maybe she was more interested in smaller, steady payments than one big score,” I said. “And don’t discount the elements of power and control in the equation. That’s a lot of ego balm for a clerical worker.”

  Pruett nodded and asked what Bascomb’s plan of action was. I suspected that while we enjoyed the comforts of a Georgetown eatery, the poor cop was busy sussing out the many faces of one Ethel McCall.

  “I checked reported burglaries in the area,” Pruett said. “Not too many. Casts doubt on that theory. After what you guys learned today it’s even less likely.”

  “At least he doesn’t think I’m in danger anymore,” Babette said. “Ethel had plenty of her own enemies.”

  Pruett got a peculiar look on his face that roused my suspicions. When we locked eyes, I understood everything. Ethel’s criminal past was a two-edged sword. Babette’s personal danger had lessened, but she had just graduated from potential victim to prime suspect.

  * * * *

  We left shortly after eating our dinner. Pruett escorted us to my car but leapt back as Keats and Poe launched a spate of growls and barks.

  “Got your guard dogs with you I see.” His expression was more smirk than smile. “Don’t they know this is America not a war zone?”

  “Sometimes it’s hard to see the difference,” I said.

  Babette ignored the subtext of his comments. “Those dogs are crazy about Perri. Lord help anyone who tries to mess with her.” She swayed a bit causing Pruett to grasp her arm and help her into the Suburban. I vowed immediately to prevent her from driving home. Bascomb would lock her up and throw away the key if she were nabbed for DUI.

  Pruett nodded. “That’s for sure.” He stepped back then pivoted sharply. “Text me if you get anything useful from Jakes. I’ll work a few angles from my end. And be careful. Both of you.”

  The drive home seemed endless as Babette chirped nonstop about the glories of Pruett. Nothing, not even the small matter of her dear friend’s murder, deterred her from weaving alcohol fueled romantic fantasies. All of them ended the same way with Pruett and I joined in wedded bliss.

  “You’re not listening to me, Perri,” she griped. “You know my instincts about these things are always on target.”

  That statement was too ludicrous to even comment on. Besides, Babette meant well, however misguided she might be, and anything that lifted her spirits was okay with me. As we pulled into her driveway, I grew anxious. Her estate was shrouded in darkness. Swaying tree limbs and swirling leaves lent an ominous air to the place.

  “Where’s Carleton?” I asked her. “Isn’t he usually home on a weeknight?”

  “Don’t ask me. He doesn’t punch a timecard. We have our own “don’t ask don’t tell” policy.”

  A sudden noise startled me, causing my dogs to bark. “What was that? Sounded like a door banging.”

  I could tell from the way Babette’s eyes widened that she was frightened. “It’s coming from Ethel’s place,” she whimpered. “Oh, dear Lord. I have to find Clara.” She bolted out of the Suburban and sped toward her front door.

  I reached under the seat for the powerful torch I had carried since my army days. It was military grade, a tactical flashlight with a strobe designed to immobilize any person or creature that posed a threat. Personally, I preferred it to a gun, although I had one of those too.

  Keats and Poe were already on alert. As soon as the hatch opened, they bounded toward the sound with their hackles raised. I followed close behind them, activating the strobe feature of my torch.

  “Babette! Stop! Wait for us!”

  She disappeared into her house, switched on the lights and emerged with Clara hugging her side. I shone the floodlight toward the garage windows where Carleton’s black BMW was clearly outlined. Babette saw it too; bent over and made a keening sound like none I had ever heard before. She was clearly terrified, and I didn’t blame her. She froze in place as rigid as a stone sculpture.

  “Call the police while I check out Ethel’s place.” I walked toward the guesthouse feeling braver than normal because of my dogs. Both Keats and Poe had faced danger many times and never failed. If only I could match their courage.

  The unlocked screen door, mired in crime scene tape, rattled on its hinges. Perhaps the police had forgotten to fasten it. There must be a dozen different explanations, all of which eluded me as I stood there.

  “Perri, wait. I called the police. They’ll be here any minute.” Babette and Clara edged toward us.

  Her words made sense. No sane person would barge into a darkened home, no matter what type of training or skills she might have. For some reason common sense deserted me. I forged ahead with the Malinois at my side and stepped over the threshold. Babette and Clara made it a party of five. Once again, I activated the strobe and panned the hallway that had led to Ethel’s space. Babette’s scream pierced the night like a siren.

  There at the bottom of the stairwell lay the crumpled form of Carleton Croy.

  Chapter 13

  Despite the blood, he wasn’t dead. When I bent over Carleton I felt a faint pulse throbbing in his neck. I reached for my cell phone and dialed 911 again, knowing that Babette would be no help at all. She had fainted dead away the moment she saw her ex-husband, put down for the count by a morbid fear of blood and bodies, combined with an inordinate amount of alcohol. Doggy kisses from the faithful Clara ultimately revived her, although until the paramedics arrived she remained groggy and incoherent.

  Lieutenant Bascomb was first on the scene. His cruiser roared into the driveway at the same time that the ambulance arrived. The top cop’s scowl showed more annoyance than concern. He wore the morning’s wrinkled shirt and shiny suit and his disposition was foul.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he growled, pointing to Carleton’s form on the stretcher. “This place is a damn body farm.” As they loaded Babette in beside Carleton, Bascomb exploded. “Her too? You have a lot of explaining to do, Ms. Morgan. Both of you do.”

  Ethel’s house was now filled with lights and law enforcement—no need for my trusty torch. Bascomb gave an impatient snort and motioned me toward the living room sofa. He plopped down beside me as though prepared to stun me with his version of the third degree. Funny. I had curled up on that sofa a dozen times in the past sipping tea and listening to Babette and Ethel plot their projects. The plump down cushions and overstuffed chintz chairs were very English manor house, fitting tributes to Babette’s exquisite taste and bountiful checkbook. How different everything looked today. The presence of Bascomb and his minions immediately dispelled any illusion of comfort. Bascomb’s outsized limbs splayed over the sides of the delicate furniture in an ungainly pose that did nothing to improve his disposition. I had dealt with bullies many times and the path to victory lay in blanketing them with smiles and good cheer. It drove him mad.

  “What’s wrong with you?” he barked. “Two friends of yours were just carted away in an ambulance and you sit here grinning.”

  I reached down and ran my hand through Poe’s thick fur. Keats gave me a doggy smile and wagged his tail. The dogs were the constants in my life. Bascomb could just wait until I was ready. I revisited every minute from the time I left his office to the ghastly discovery of Carleton’s body. Bascomb said little. He folded his arms and stared as if he were an oracle who knew damn well that I was lying.

  “What time did Mrs. Croy get to your place?”

  I counted to ten in my head—twice—before answering. “As I mentioned, she arrived around six pm.”

  “You’re sure of that, are you?”

  “Absolutely. I checked my watch while I was sitting on the porch. Why is that such a big deal?”

  His smile was probably intended to be enigmatic, but it came off as third-rate burlesque. Good thing Bascomb had opted for law enforcement over comedy. Suddenly it occurred to me that he was more interested in Babe
tte’s movements than mine.

  “Surely you don’t think Mrs. Croy attacked him? She was with me all night. Ask Mr. Pruett if you don’t believe me.”

  Bascomb curled his lip. “Who knows when it happened? She could have clobbered him before joining you. When a husband runs around…” He raised his eyebrows. “Wives tend to react.”

  He gave me the cop’s stare—the one that separates the innocent from the guilty. In my case, seeing it was déjà vu all over again.

  “Need I remind you that the Croys are divorced? Quite amicably as it turns out.” I rose and brushed off my slacks. “I’m going to the hospital,” I said, in a tone so frosty that Bascomb blinked. “If anything develops, you can find me there. But for now, Mrs. Croy needs me.” Without saying another word, I corralled Clara, whistled to my dogs, and headed for the Suburban. George Washington University Hospital was ten miles away, a short enough distance at this time of night. As I fired up the engine and switched on the headlights, my cell phone buzzed. Sheila had a police scanner and the bad news about Carleton travelled fast. Bad news always moved through small communities with lightning speed.

  “What’s going on?” she asked. “Is Babette okay?”

  My voice quivered as I shared the story with her. Funny. Until then I hadn’t noticed that my hands were trembling.

  “You sound shaky,” Sheila said. “Wait a minute and I’ll come pick you up. We don’t need another neighbor in the hospital.”

  Her plan made sense until she realized that I had three dogs to attend to. Fortunately, Zeke was in his stall at home with an ample supply of food at his disposal. Like most goats, he was an unemotional old cuss. Food was his primary focus.

  Sheila agreed to stay home only after I promised to call her as soon as I got an update. I toyed with calling Pruett but texted him instead. It was late, and as much as his presence would have comforted me, I saw big danger signs flashing. No sense in clinging to something that might soon vanish.

  * * * *

  Like most institutions of its kind, George Washington University Hospital was a city unto itself, filled with white-coated healers and their cohorts striding purposefully about. This particular hospital had successfully treated Presidents and dignitaries of all kinds without batting an eye. Carleton and Babette were in very good hands.

  A helpful receptionist directed me to Babette’s cubicle on the far side of the emergency room area. My pal was a drama queen at the best of times, so I steeled myself for the worst. After seeing Carleton’s bloody body, tears, tantrums, and hysterics were probably on the menu. To my surprise Babette was sitting up, dried eyed, calmly sipping orange juice. She was not alone. Pruett stood there with his arm around her speaking softly.

  “Perri! I told Pruett you’d be here.”

  I murmured something soothing and asked what I most dreaded. “Carleton. How is he?”

  “Still in surgery. No word yet but the staff was optimistic. They’ve been wonderful, Perri. Everyone. So many nurses stoppin’ in to see me.”

  Normally Babette was laser sharp, but I suspected she had been pumped full of happy juice. I locked eyes with Pruett and got my answer. Those helpful employees were more interested in seeing his sexy self than in comforting Babette. That’s the way celebrity worked in DC and like it or not Pruett was a certified star.

  He glided my way and took my arm. “How are you doing? You look beat.” An electrical blast jolted me the moment that his arm touched mine. I stepped back to avoid the heat and swallowed twice before answering.

  “I didn’t expect you to come here. I just wanted to let you know what happened. For your story and all.” At first, he said nothing. Just gazed down at me, letting those dreamy eyes do the talking. I raised my face upward, forcing myself to remain calm. Then Pruett gently stroked my cheek as if we were alone in the universe. “You know better, don’t you? This is more than work. Has been from the beginning. Persephone, after all this time I don’t know how to convince you. So much for objectivity. I just violated every tenet of the journalists’ code. Blame yourself, Belt Babe.”

  Me, Persephone Morgan, a temptress? Talk about your unfamiliar roles! Babette had dozed off, so I felt emboldened and quite unlike myself. “I won’t tell if you don’t,” I said.

  The sudden appearance of a doctor broke the spell. She was garbed in surgical gear—cap, mask and gloves. Her manner was grave as she approached Babette and I shuddered, fully expecting to hear the worst news possible.

  “Mrs. Croy? I’m Dr. Hightower, your husband’s surgeon.” She gently shook my friend’s shoulder.

  Babette dribbled juice on the bed, watching helplessly as it slowly seeped down her chin. Her movements were stiff, totally out of character for my animated pal. I left Pruett and walked quickly to her side. Babette was glassy eyed as she watched the surgeon. She seemed to be waiting for a cue.

  “The news is good, Mrs. Croy.” Dr. Hightower assayed a slight smile. “He’s not totally out of the woods yet but the signs are promising.”

  “Can I see him? When can I see him?” Once the floodgates opened, Babette spewed forth an endless stream of chatter. The surgeon waited for it to subside before answering.

  “He’s sedated. Come back tomorrow morning and you can stay with him. Cheer him up.” She reached for a towel and mopped up orange juice briskly and efficiently. “There we go. No need to get this sticky stuff all over you. We want you to brighten up Mr. Croy.”

  Knowing Carleton, I doubted that cheer or brightness was on the menu. Still, at least this time he had a legitimate gripe rather than his usual litany of petty grievances. For Babette’s sake, I was happy. Despite his folksy ways, Bascomb was nobody’s fool. He had anointed her as the prime murder suspect and another corpse on her property would only complicate her situation.

  “Come on,” I said. “I’ll take you home. You need your beauty rest.”

  Pruett quickly intervened. “No need. My place is just down the street. Stay in my guest room tonight and I can drop you off first thing tomorrow. It’s easier. Avoid the traffic that way.”

  Babette wasn’t firing on all cylinders, but she wasn’t oblivious. She blinked and looked up at Pruett. “Really? You’re sure?”

  He nodded.

  I stayed neutral, not wanting to admit that it was actually a pretty good idea. A kind gesture too. “Pruett’s right. Don’t worry about Clara,” I said. “She’s in the back of my truck with the others. I’ll take care of her.”

  “That invitation included you,” Pruett said. “It’s after midnight and you look exhausted.” He raised his eyebrows in an exaggerated leer. “Don’t worry. Your virtue is safe. I’m too tired to do any damage.”

  “Please, Perri.” Babette gave me the wide-eyed look. “Don’t leave me.”

  I shrugged helplessly. “I’ve got three big dogs with me and Zeke has to be fed by sunup or he goes berserk.”

  “Call Sheila. She’ll take care of everything. She has keys to both of our places and besides she actually likes that goat.” Babette’s spirits seemed to be rising. She managed to eke out a smile as she spoke of Zeke.

  Pruett leapt to his feet. “Come on, ladies, we could all use a good night’s sleep. Let me check with the nurse.” He returned accompanied by a beaming hospital worker pushing a wheelchair. After helping Babette off the cot, the aide led the way to the elevator chattering all the while to a bemused Pruett. He didn’t say much, just did a lot of nodding and smiling, followed by an autograph signing. Whatever. I was too exhausted to notice or even care. The thought of driving back to Great Marsh was enough to knock me out and Pruett’s offer was more welcome than I was willing to admit even without the normal fringe benefits.

  “I’ll get the Suburban and follow you,” I said. “You’re sure the dogs won’t bother you?”

  Pruett lied bravely. “Not a bit. Wait’til Ella hears about it. I’ll be her hero.”


  He already was his daughter’s hero. Anyone who saw the two of them together figured that out right away. Who could blame a little girl for idolizing a glamorous dad who so obviously returned the favor? Instead of railing against Pruett’s brash, take-charge manner, I found it comforting. On occasion, even a strong woman like me needed someone to lean on. Pip knew just how to do that without compromising my independence. Fortunately, Pruett knew that too.

  Chapter 14

  Pruett’s townhouse was one notch short of spectacular. For someone like me, who fancied historic homes with high ceilings and original woodwork, it was very close to perfect. My observations were limited of course. We had neither time nor energy for a house tour that evening, just enough to sip a brandy in the walnut paneled study. The three dogs gathered at our feet as we collected our thoughts.

  “What if Bascomb comes looking for me?” Babette fretted. “He’ll think I’ve gone on the lam.” She was barely coherent, so exhausted that she punctuated each sentence with a yawn.

  “Don’t worry. I already left a message for Bascomb.” Pruett grinned. “Can’t risk a SWAT operation at this hour, can we? Come on, ladies.” He moved cautiously under the watchful gaze of our canine guardians. “Let me show you to the guest rooms. The beds have clean linens on them and if you check the closets you should find some nightclothes.”

  He reddened as I gave him the gimlet eye. “It’s not what you think. My housekeeper has everything fully stocked with men’s and women’s stuff. That way she’s prepared for any guests.”

  “Personally, I don’t care. Lead me to the bedroom before I drop.” Babette had passed the time for social niceties. A tidal wave of grief and fear had swept away her party manners and laid bare her emotions. I sympathized since I was almost there myself.

  We formed a solemn processional both human and canine as we dragged up the stairwell to our rooms. Each was beautifully appointed and boasted its own private bath. Babette called Clara and staggered off to bed without saying another word. Any other time I would have scrutinized everything in the place but that evening I managed only to nod and summon my dogs.