Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  My own grooming rituals on show days were usually minimal, but with Pruett around I felt compelled to up my game. The man was accustomed to Monique’s standard of perfection, something I neither would nor could attain. Still, I sped to the shower, rid myself of every trace of Zeke, and applied a light cosmetic touch. For once, I let my hair down both literally and figuratively. A silk scarf added a dash of color and hid my neck injuries. It took some effort, but the reward awaited me in the kitchen.

  “Wow!” Pruett said, giving me a faux leer. “Hot stuff, Ms. Morgan.” He handed me a coffee mug. “Here. Have a caffeine fix.”

  My cheeks warmed even though I was much too old to blush. “Thanks.”

  Pruett lifted the scarf and ran his fingers lightly over the welts on my neck. “Poor thing. Your skin still has his fingermarks on it. Bastard!”

  I shrugged off his comment and reached for the toast stacked neatly on a plate. For a playboy, Pruett had a pronounced domesticated side.

  “I’m tougher than I look. Like they say, you should see the other guy.”

  Instead of laughing, he took my hand and kissed it. “Don’t make a habit of that kind of stuff, Perri. Next time you might get really hurt and how would I ever explain that to Ella?”

  “I promise to be careful. Besides, Jakes has been banned from the show grounds so I’m safe there at least. Despite everything, I still don’t think he’s the murderer. It all leads back to Ethel and her blackmail scheme. Jakes didn’t have enough cash to interest her. I think she was only toying with him. Look what she tried with Ken Reedy.”

  Pruett suggested several theories that I had never considered. We knew very little about Jakes other than his occupation. He might be the frugal type or have family money. Ethel, who apparently loved to twist the knife, might well have taunted him about some secret worth killing for—at least to Jakes. Perhaps her sadistic game was one of power and control as much as money.

  “When it comes to blackmail, money may not be the only motive. Love, prestige, position—they all have importance too.” Pruett stroked his chin. “Think of that gang Babette assembled in her parlor. Carleton risked his career by messing with other men’s wives. Ken Reedy values respect and he could sacrifice that. Sheila and Charlotte have cushy lives that depend on their husbands. And Jacqui—her social connections are all she has. It may sound trivial to us, but that spells motive to me. Ethel was playing with fire and she got burned.” Pruett checked the notes on his phone. “Back to this cable show of Babette’s. What if she arranged a program about Cavalry Farms and invited some of Ethel’s circle to it. People like that Hamilton Arms crew for instance. A couple of those women were hot to trot. Maybe they were afraid their husbands would find out.”

  I gave that idea some thought. A program about the murder would be too obvious, but a fundraiser for Cavalry Farms might just work. The guest list could include everyone from the original committee as well as any Hamilton Arms patrons who were friendly with Ethel. Bascomb would have a fit but it just might work.

  Pruett agreed immediately. “Great! That would give me an excuse to show up too. I’m not sure how Babette will feel about including Jakes, but he was one of the original group.” He shrugged. “Who knows? By then he might still be in jail.”

  Pruett agreed to discuss details with Babette and to do some more digging about Jakes and the other committee members. He had sources and techniques for eliciting information that ordinary mortals lacked. I knew that very few mortals could resist the blandishments of DC’s sexiest man alive. Sad to say, I included myself in that group.

  I packed up the Suburban, herded my dogs into it and prepared to leave.

  He lingered at the driver’s side window and tapped it. “Hey! My ride is at the showgrounds. Remember? Shove over.”

  It was too early in the morning to jockey for driving rights, so I climbed into the passenger seat and let Pruett do the honors. No one had fussed over me in a long time—over two years in fact. I’d forgotten how comforting it could be.

  When we arrived, Pruett leapt from the truck after urging me once again to be cautious and to text him when I was safely in my shop. We made no plans for the day, nor did we discuss anything about the evening. I looked in the mirror and wiped a goofy grin off my face. It felt both weird and wonderful to be connected to someone, even as caution lights flashed in my head. Monique was in town, I reminded myself. This was a woman he had once cared for and had a child with. Most men would prefer spending the evening with a celebrity over the dull domestic routine of a farm. That, as they said, was a no-brainer.

  Babette had other thoughts. She called just as I unlocked the shop and immediately peppered me with questions about Pruett. I deflected as many as possible and downplayed our involvement. When I mentioned Monique, she pivoted with the grace of Pavlova.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Perri. After all, you have substance. You’re not just another pretty face.” Babette realized what a backhanded compliment that was. “You have inner beauty too,” she said. “Anyone can tell by the way he looked at you that Pruett is totally smitten. Definitely smitten.”

  “He’s looking for you by the way. You two can discuss the television bit,” I said. “Put your heads together.”

  Babette sighed. “Don’t I wish. Unfortunately, Bascomb is a more likely candidate for head bumping than our golden boy. Okay. Take it easy today. And Perri—leave the heroics to the cops. Bascomb gets paid to dance with murderers. You don’t.”

  After so many warnings, I prowled around the grounds, seeing Jakes behind every barrel. A stop at the barn to check on Cleopatra calmed my emotions. Straightaway, the beautiful mare nudged my pockets cadging for treats. I rewarded her with apple slices and a stray carrot. No sentient being could stroke that soft nose or scratch between her ears without sighing. Fear was simply not my friend and had to be banished. I gave myself a vigorous mental shakedown and steadied my nerves. Sunday show days were relatively peaceful, and this was no exception. After the final hunter class concluded I began the procession toward the Suburban accompanied by Poe. Keats remained in the store guarding my products. I walked slowly, vigilant but not paranoid—not with a Malinois at my side. Even Jakes would think twice before taking on Poe.

  “Need some help?” Ken Reedy was a welcome sight. He patted Poe and helped load the stock into my truck. “Got another load or two, I presume?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, come on then, girl. Get moving. I just left the farm but news travels fast. After yesterday you need to be extra careful.” Ken was a man of few words, an extraordinary thing in a lawyer. When he did speak, however, he made every syllable count.

  “Don’t suppose they’ll give Jakes jail time unless you push it,” he said. “Most likely cop a plea and order counselling and anger management training.” He hooted. “Like that makes a difference with a nutbag like him. He’s threatening to sue the show and you personally, Perri.”

  “Me?”

  “Yep. Says his head injuries are all your fault.” Like most lawyers, Reedy had a bizarre sense of humor. He patted my back and walked ahead, chuckling all the way.

  I was conflicted, unsure how to feel about the whole thing. Obviously, Jakes needed professional help, but a prison sentence might be overkill. Overkill—an interesting choice of words, especially if Jakes really had murdered Ethel. I shivered even though the temperature was moderate for Northern Virginia. Times like this made me yearn to be home cuddling my pets with the down comforter over my head. The unease didn’t subside until I swung into my driveway and saw Zeke, flashing his fey, malevolent grin my way.

  * * * *

  The next week passed quickly and productively for me and my pet family. Work had always been an antidote to worry, so I put myself to the test by working feverishly to complete the belt order. Pruett and I texted but had no substantive contact. Thanks to Babette, however, I kept abreast of the planned
cable showdown an event whose level of secrecy surpassed the Manhattan Project.

  When it came to relationships, I was no risk taker. Dealing with a man like Pruett was doubly difficult since he was understandably wary of any attempts to entrap him. Still, I took a risk and fashioned a custom set of half-chaps for Ella. Pruett mentioned that her birthday was coming up and a small token seemed appropriate. It was a labor of love and her initials on the finished product made it seem extra special. In order to send it to her, I phoned Pruett’s landline, hoping, praying, that Alma the genial housekeeper would answer. Sometimes, prayers actually work.

  “Miss Perri,” Alma said. “Como estas?”

  “Muy bien, Alma. Gracias.”

  I explained that I had a gift for Ella and needed her mailing address. Alma had a better idea and suggested that I just drop it off at the house.

  “Will you be in town this week, Ms. Perri? Bring it over and I will give it to Ella. No problema.”

  We arranged a time that next morning after the meeting with my client, and I went back to work with a smile on my face.

  Traffic was horrific that next morning as I plowed through the maze of DC streets. My nerves frayed and to complicate matters, the Suburban’s temperamental air conditioner went on strike. By the time I wrangled a parking space in Georgetown and hauled my sample case up to the office, I resembled a stable hand more than an entrepreneur.

  None of that detracted from the meeting. It was pleasant, productive, and best of all, lucrative. My client and the buyers from several large retail outlets loved the belts and clamored for more. I floated out to my truck on a cloud of optimism. With any luck, I could drop off Ella’s present and beat the rush hour traffic back to Great Marsh.

  Thanks to my GPS, I found Pruett’s “P” street roost without too many false turns. I had wrapped Ella’s gift in horse themed paper and affixed a small milk bone to the top. The child probably had designer everything, but this handmade gift was still unique and worth having. I was proud of my work. After ringing the bell, I waited for Alma, oblivious to my windswept hair and faded lipstick. The transaction would take only a minute, so I had no need to primp. Finally, the door opened a crack and a woman’s throaty voice asked. “Yes? What do you want?”

  It may be a cliché, but my heart truly did sink. Every insecurity from childhood welled up within me as the door opened and I glimpsed the flawless face and form of Monique Allaire, the woman Pruett had once loved.

  I had always comforted myself by thinking that airbrushed magazine images were artificial and improbable. How wrong I was. Unadorned and clad in an oversize tee-shirt, Monique was the most perfect looking specimen I had ever seen. She was tall, lean, and beautifully put together with silky streaked hair and bright blue eyes. Maybe that perfection explained her arrogance.

  “Do I know you?” she asked, giving me a casual onceover. I considered my options: flee, feign ignorance, or pretend I was at the wrong address. Since none of them were feasible I opted for truth.

  “Is Alma here?” I asked. “I have something to give her.”

  Monique gave me a hard stare as if my story rang false. Although we had met before, she either forgot or chose to ignore that fact. “She’s at the market. Come back later.”

  I nodded and turned to leave. No need for a scene. Unfortunately, at that moment Ella appeared and flung herself at me. “Perri! Are the dogs with you?”

  I shook my head. “Not today. I know your birthday is next week, so I made you a present.” I handed it to her. “From me and all the pets.”

  Ella’s sunny smile warmed my day. “Perri has dogs and a cat and goat too. She’s Daddy’s girlfriend.”

  Monique’s eyes flashed as if she were still very much in Pruett’s life. She pushed open the door and sent a semi-smirk my way. “Wing is at work, but he’ll be back for lunch. Come in if you’d care to wait.” Her manner was icy, her gaze insolent.

  By force of will, I managed to maintain my composure. My simple, spontaneous gesture had suddenly become the source of incalculable humiliation. If Pruett found me there, I simply could not bear it.

  “Thanks, but I have to get back. Nice seeing you again, Monique.” I gave Ella another hug, took my leave and shed not one tear until I was safely in the Suburban.

  * * * *

  Babette sized up the situation immediately. She listened to my tale of woe and broke out a bottle of aged brandy.

  “Kind of early to drink,” I said. “After all nobody died.”

  “Darlin,’ when invincible Perri Morgan falls apart, no time is too early. Here. Bottoms up. Think of it as medicinal.”

  She waited a decent interval before peppering me for details about Monique. Like most people, Babette was intrigued by the famous beauty and hoped to hear of some flaw. We’d last seen Monique a year ago, but time had not marred her beauty. A mole, errant hair, or chunk of cellulite would have made Babette’s day. Alas. I could only report the truth: Pruett’s former lover was perfect, lovelier in the flesh than I remembered.

  “Sounds like a bitch though.” Babette brightened at the thought. “Just think. They’re not together so there must be a reason.”

  Time to dispel her fantasies and mine. “She was wearing a tee-shirt—his.”

  Babette mounted a spirited argument about the ubiquity of such shirts until I hit her with the showstopper.

  “It had his name on it. Wing.”

  My caring friend enveloped me in a tight hug and immediately turned on Pruett. “All men are bastards, Perri. You know that. They take turns.”

  My problems were no cause for lamentation. I survived Afghanistan and I would survive this. Carleton was once Babette’s husband and he had publicly disgraced her with who knew how many women. That was real pain. Tears were superfluous and unworthy of a warrior woman. Wasn’t that what Pruett had called me?

  We shared another drink of brandy and chatted about her forthcoming television show. Once word got out that Pruett would make an appearance, the acceptance rate zoomed to one hundred percent. Taping was scheduled for the following Monday at ten a.m. at Babette’s place. No word yet on Jakes, although he had been officially charged, freed on his own recognizance and ordered to stay at least one hundred yards away from me. Cleo had been transported to Cavalry Farms where she remained happily camped out.

  “When is that sidewinder gonna pick up his horse?” Babette asked. “We’re having a dry run over at my place. Before the taping, you know.”

  I shrugged. “He has to make arrangements through his attorney, so the ball is in his court. More to the point will he attend your show’s taping?”

  Babette evaded my eyes, a sure sign of trouble. “I’m not handling that detail,” she mumbled. Even without mentioning his name Pruett was the center of conversation. I could live with that. The important thing was narrowing the suspect list in Ethel’s murder. Anything else was irrelevant.

  Tasks awaited me, so I gathered my things to head home. When Babette’s cell phone rang, I knew by the furtive look on her face who was calling. That was my exit cue.

  “See you later.” I strode out the door and jumped into the Suburban. Let Pruett spread his charm elsewhere. He owed me nothing, not even an explanation. Besides, I was a willing participant. More than willing, actually. No doubt he was now on the run, wary about yet another predatory female—me.

  Chapter 21

  Sheila was waiting for me when I arrived home, pacing around my driveway with Cecil in tow. Since she was wearing boots and breeches, I realized she had recently finished riding. To her credit, she had kept busy by feeding Zeke and frolicking with my dogs. I was officially in her debt and glad to be so.

  “Finally,” she said. “I thought you’d never come home. I cut short my ride because I had to see you.” This behavior was odd for Sheila who typically was one very cool customer. It was obvious that she had some big news to share. />
  “Come on in and have a drink,” I said. “You’ve got me very curious.” Sheila and the entire menagerie save for Zeke followed me into the living room.

  “Perri, you won’t believe this,” she said. “Ellis had his security guys do some sleuthing and guess what they found? Our little community is a nest of crime and corruption! A virtual den of iniquity.”

  That bombshell required an explanation. Sheila yawned, stretched out her long legs on my couch and spilled her secrets. “Okay. This one will blow your mind. Ken Reedy didn’t retire from practicing law. He was disbarred! Actually, he surrendered his law license but it’s the same thing. Can you believe it?”

  I bowed my head. “I just found out. He didn’t try to hide anything.”

  She nodded. “Yep. He admitted it, lost his license and got a suspended sentence.”

  I refused to condemn Ken’s actions, not after seeing how Pip had suffered. He insisted on bearing the pain even though as a veterinarian, he had access to plenty of alternatives. Had he asked me, I would have done anything to help him.

  “What else?” I asked, dreading the answer. Everyone, even a potential murderer deserved a zone of privacy. It felt sordid to pry into their secrets.

  “Jacqueline Parks—you know that woman who screwed around with Pruett. Babette’s pal.”

  “Yes?”

  “She has a conviction for shoplifting. Can you believe it? She swiped a box of condoms from the CVS. Now that’s just nasty!”

  I took a perverse pleasure in picturing Pruett using purloined condoms. Served him right. “Don’t they usually hush up that kind of stuff, especially in a wealthy community?”

  Sheila winked. “Right. But apparently, this was not her first offense. Mrs. Parks clipped a bunch of things from Walmart and Sam’s Club too. So lowbrow! She probably got a sick thrill from slumming.”