Homicide by Horse Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Anyone else?” Babette’s entire committee was apparently mired in corruption and vulnerable to a shark like Ethel.

  “This won’t surprise you one bit. You met Charlotte Westly and that Neanderthal she married, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Charlotte apparently frequents most of the hot sheet motels in the area and has the receipts to prove it. I think she’s some kind of nympho.”

  At least that wasn’t illegal. Ill-advised, sleazy, and grounds for divorce, but not illegal unless her partners were underage. I studied Sheila’s expression for a clue and decided that she looked guilty as hell.

  “Okay. Out with it.”

  “At least one of her ‘friends’ was a kid from Hamilton Arms and he was eighteen. The school hushed it up and he was of legal age, so the cops let it slide. I understand that Charlotte settled big time with the kid’s family though.”

  Either the alcohol or the insights into my neighbors made me feel queasy. I prayed that Sheila had finished describing things.

  “You mean her husband found out and didn’t divorce her?” Most men would have dumped a straying spouse, especially if her offense went public.

  Once again Sheila hesitated, as if for dramatic effect. “You got that right. Ellis would dump me like a hot potato. Charlotte was cagey though. She let it be known that if he divorced her, she would spread the word that hubby had performance issues! Think what that would do to his power in the boardroom! No man wants that.”

  Sheila turned away and busied herself with hugging Cecil. She didn’t fool me for a second. That ruse meant that she had something even more unpleasant to share.

  “Okay. What aren’t you saying?” I gave her my flat-eyed, military stare.

  She waited and heaved a big sigh. “Carleton’s name came up. He and Charlotte apparently were an item. Jacqueline too. A scandal just might mean the end of his cozy little berth at Hamilton Arms. That’s why Bascomb keeps his beady little eyes on Babette. He thinks she had motive, means and opportunity. For a cop that’s the trifecta.”

  I blinked ferociously while trying to process everything. All four suspects were also members of Babette’s committee and on or near the premises the day of Ethel’s murder. Add Jakes to the list and you had a quintet of potential killers. Everybody had plausible motives although my first reaction was to exclude Ken Reedy and Babette. Carleton was far more likely to strike back than his ex-wife if his livelihood was imperiled. He was so egotistical that I could easily envision the little creep bashing in Ethel’s brains if she taunted him. As for Ken and Babette, they were good people, gentle souls at heart who loved animals and abhorred violence. That counted for something, didn’t it? A devilish voice within me sneered that even good people could be driven to violence.

  Sheila jumped up and brushed off her slacks. “Talk about a quagmire. Even if Ethel deserved it, most of these things were simply no big deal. Certainly not worth a stretch in the big house or Virginia’s version of the needle.”

  I thought back to the murder scene, bloody and savage but somehow impromptu. Ethel’s murder was unplanned; I was positive of that. The fire extinguisher was a weapon of convenience, one of sheer chance. There was passion involved but not premeditation. Maybe Ethel upped the ante or taunted her victim. If the killer went berserk, that would explain the ferocity of the attack. According to Bascomb, she was struck on the back of the head, probably while preparing to don that stupid horse costume.

  “Babette doesn’t know this, I assume?”

  Sheila shook her head.

  It felt like the ultimate betrayal, keeping vital information from a friend. If only I could bounce my theories off someone. I winced knowing that Pruett was the one I needed but would never contact. Even for Babette.

  “Look, hon, I have to make tracks. Ellis has tickets to some charity thing or another tonight and he expects me to dazzle the donors.” Sheila preened and did a half pirouette. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll see Pruett there. Monique Allaire is co-sponsor of the shindig. Promised to snap some photos too.”

  My smile was weaker than day old tea. “Good luck. Knock ’em dead.”

  On second thought, considering our current dilemma my choice of words was unfortunate.

  * * * *

  Good thing I wasn’t a drinker. Even in the throes of Pip’s final illness when escape was tempting, I kept my mind clear and my body alcohol free, more from indifference than virtue. I gave myself a quick pep talk designed to ease angst and elevate my spirits. No pun intended. After all, bringing that gift made a little girl happy. I had no ulterior motive. The encounter with Monique was a minor blip in my romantic saga not a tragedy.

  Keep telling yourself that Perri. Maybe you’ll believe it.

  I spent the rest of the evening in my workshop, filling orders and poring over my accounts. Before long, Poe and Keats nuzzled me, and I saw to my surprise that it was nearly ten o’clock. Bedtime for a working stiff like me.

  When my cell rang, I answered without checking caller ID, confident that Babette had yet another detail to discuss. His voice, deep, dark, and dreamy, jolted me out of my stupor.

  “Sorry I missed you today,” Pruett said. “You really hit a home run with my daughter. Couldn’t get her to take off that thing without bribing her. Chaps—who knew?”

  “I’m glad.” I didn’t trust myself to say much more. Anything else would have betrayed the depth of my anguish. Chasing men was something I simply did not do.

  Pruett hesitated. “Are you mad at me or something, Perri?”

  My legs felt weak and I quickly eased down on the sofa. Might as well clear the air right away. “This is so embarrassing. I’m sorry about today. I wasn’t stalking you at home or checking up on you. I thought Alma would be there to take the gift.”

  He laughed, a hearty, masculine sound. I expected to hear voices and other party noises in the background but there was total silence.

  “Aren’t you at that fundraiser? Sheila said …”

  “Are you kidding? I’m babysitting. Those things bore the pants off me, so I avoid them like the plague.”

  I spared a brief thought for Pruett without his pants then forged ahead with the conversation. “Oh. Just so you know.” For some reason, I was close to tears.

  “You are welcome at my place anytime, Ms. Morgan, even without a gift.” He was laughing again. “Hey, I know it’s late but how about having a drink? I can scoop up Ella and be at your place in twenty minutes.”

  “Tonight?” With no makeup, Pip’s ratty old robe and dog themed pajamas, I was scarcely a fashion plate. Truth be told, I was an early to bed, early to rise kind of gal and always had been. Suddenly I got a brainstorm. “We could Skype if you want. Sheila found out a bunch of things that I could run by you. Some of them are pretty wild.”

  He waited before answering, just long enough to make me sweat. “I guess so, but nothing beats having my arms around you. You’re in my head big time, lady. I don’t mind telling you.”

  I gulped, thinking of the glamorous woman at his house and her comely predecessors. Pruett was a practiced lover. A casual affair was de rigueur for him but not for me. Disposable partners were the preserve of cynical society fixtures prowling the cocktail circuit, but I was a country mouse. I shrugged off the drama and returned to the impersonal business of death. “Use your imagination. Come on. Let’s get started.”

  Skype had some advantages over direct contact. We spent an uninterrupted hour discussing suspects, communicating in modern mode about murder, society’s oldest taboo. Pruett listened carefully as I cited their names and the evidence against them. He bit his lip and scribbled notes on what looked like a legal pad.

  “Quite a list,” he said, “but my money’s still on Jakes. The guy is a nut and we know what kind of temper he has. Ethel might have taunted him, and he just lost it.”

  “What about K
en?” I held my breath, hoping that Pruett would understand as I did what a decent man Reedy truly was.

  “I don’t know him, but I sympathize with his actions. Besides, his secret was out in the open, so the cops would already know about it. He really had nothing to hide unless he didn’t want his friends to know.”

  The others were not so lucky. Both women relied on their social status and perceived reputation for fulfilment. Would they kill to conceal relatively minor offenses? Jacqueline was a tall, powerful woman who could probably overwhelm Ethel with no problem. Charlotte was no Amazon but if her rage was fueled by passion she could surprise her victim.

  Pruett must have read my mind. “Jacqui Parks plays a mean game of tennis,” he said. “Check out the muscles in her forearms sometime. Formidable.”

  “I’ll take your word for that.”

  Pruett sipped his wine and wisely confined his comments to our suspect list. “We need to at least consider Babette too. Just for the sake of form.”

  I had already rehearsed the pros and cons of that argument. True, Babette had motive and means but why choose a time when she was hosting a group and might be discovered? She could easily have faked a robbery or lured Ethel to another spot. Plus, she had no illusions about Carleton and I doubted that she cared about his liaisons.

  Based on his body language, my arguments fell flat with Pruett. He set his jaw and folded his arms. “Anything else?” he asked. “I know Babette is your friend but when it comes to emotion you just can’t predict anything. Hamlet said love leads to desperate undertakings. You gotta admit that nothing is more desperate than murder.”

  I shrugged it off. “Who am I to dispute the Bard? Just think. Ken, Jacqui, Jakes and Charlotte all had their cars in the driveway and the cops searched them. Wouldn’t some forensic evidence have been there? Afterwards, they cordoned off the area. Sheila was late and almost didn’t get in.”

  Pruett hesitated. “Maybe someone hiked or ran in from the highway.”

  I shook my head. “Doubtful. It’s five miles from the road and the timeframe’s too narrow. Babette was only gone a short time. I suppose a bicycle might work though.”

  Either way, the murderer was bold, someone who was willing to risk everything to silence Ethel. I considered the five likely suspects and decided I just didn’t know enough about their characters to make a judgement.

  “We may learn something at that meeting of Babette’s tomorrow.” Pruett grinned. “What if I drop by your place tomorrow before the meeting and give you a wakeup call? I promise to bring sustenance.”

  “What’s on the menu?” I asked. “Stale bagels just won’t cut it. I have a big appetite.”

  Pruett was a master of snark. “Trust me. I can satisfy your needs. All of them.”

  “Not scared of my dogs anymore?” My insouciance surprised even me.

  “Nope. We’ve reached détente. Wait and see.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Chapter 22

  Sleep eluded me that night. I tried not to fuss about trivial things—no frilly silk negligées or lacy lingerie. Come to think of it, I didn’t own any sexy sleepwear. Oversized cotton t-shirts were more my thing, cheap and washable. I had just dozed off when Zeke sounded the alarm, Thatcher bolted out of bed and the Malinois assaulted my ears with frenzied barks. So much for sleep—my guest had arrived.

  I quieted my herd and whisked Pruett into the house, hoping that the light was too dim for him to observe me closely. Bed head and morning breath were an unappealing combo. Pruett carried a thermos and a wicker basket that emitted a mouth-watering aroma. “Alma fixed us a feast,” he said. “Dig in.”

  “Have some coffee while I get ready. It won’t take long. Promise.”

  Accompanied by my posse, I zoomed up the stairs and jumped into the shower. Fortunately, my hair was shiny clean, and my jeans were neatly pressed. No sense in trying for glitz. I toweled off and fumbled for Pip’s robe. When I emerged from bathing, a surprise awaited me. He had arranged our breakfast on the side table and positioned himself under the bedcovers. He held out his arms and said in a soft, sultry voice, “Come here, lady. Let’s have that wakeup call.”

  * * * *

  There was something special about Pruett. It went beyond physical attraction, although that was potent enough. According to the gossip columns, most of his romances dissolved within two months. We’d been an item for well over a year, so I was on borrowed time.

  Pruett ran his fingers through my hair. “So lovely, and it’s real.”

  “What?”

  He chuckled. “Most models and actresses today have that fake hair—extensions they call it. Looks okay until you touch it. Ugh!” He helped himself to espresso and a heaping plate of spinach quiche ala Alma. “Yum! Wait’til you try this stuff. It’s the best.”

  I couldn’t wait to devour that quiche. No sense in pretending, he already knew that I ate like a lumberjack. Besides, wasting food was a sin. All the preachers said so. We satiated ourselves and rewarded the dogs with the remaining scraps. Pruett cleaned up while I attended to Zeke and poured water and kibble for the pups. Thatcher was an exception. She refused to eat any pet food except kitten chow although she had long passed any claim to kittenhood.

  We drove separately to Babette’s, part of a plan to divide and conquer her little group. Pruett agreed to charm the ladies while I played hostess with my friend. That way if Jakes showed up, I could count on back-up. My neck bruises attested to the man’s strength when angered.

  By the time we arrived, the others, with the exception of Jakes, had already claimed their spots. I surveyed them with a jaundiced eye: Sheila, long, lean, and cool; Jacqueline blonde and leonine; Charlotte, notable for too much scent and an inordinate amount of jewelry, and Ken Reedy, watchful and poised. Was one of them hiding the ultimate secret?

  Babette immediately hugged me, and clasped Pruett’s hand. Her cheek was ice-cold despite the blazing fire, and the quilted cashmere outfit she wore. Perhaps the presence of her ex-spouse explained her condition. Carleton sat alone on the oversized chair adjacent to the fireplace, grim and forbidding, with his arms crossed. The man radiated disapproval.

  “Why don’t we get started,” Babette said with forced cheer. “So much to do, so little time. I think you all know each other.”

  Carleton held up his hand. “Wait. Since Mr. Pruett is a reporter, how much of this discussion is on the record?”

  I noticed that Pruett was wedged between Charlotte and Jacqui on the down sofa. He seemed perfectly at home there.

  “Let me know if something is private,” he said. “No problem. I thought this was just a brainstorming session.”

  His claque of admirers nodded and patted his shoulder. Ken Reedy eyed Pruett with that jaundiced stare common to lawyers.

  “Wasn’t Jakes supposed to be here?” Reedy asked. “I didn’t see his truck in the driveway.”

  I frowned, thinking of the battered van I had seen behind Ethel’s old place. Jakes owned a vehicle very much like that, but then so did half the guys in the county.

  All eyes turned to Babette. “He texted me last night and said he’d be here.” She shrugged. “Let’s give him a few minutes more.”

  “Anything new about Ethel?” Reedy asked. “It fell out of the news headlines after that triple murder in Richmond last Friday. Sexier, I guess.”

  Charlotte shivered. “At least that Bascomb character has backed down. He gives me the creeps, always asking the same questions three different ways.”

  I leaned forward and took a risk. “He thinks Ethel was a blackmailer. Can you believe it?”

  “Didn’t we meet at Hamilton Arms?” Charlotte said, squinting up at me. “Something about your niece?”

  Pruett quickly intervened. “Perri was there as my guest. My daughter adores her.”

  “Well, I still think some thief tangled with
Ethel and panicked. She was spunky you know. Nosey too. Would have challenged anyone in a heartbeat.” Jacqui folded her arms across her capacious bosom as if that settled everything. To his credit, Pruett averted his eyes.

  I moved toward Babette to give her a modicum of support. She had a lengthy agenda typed and ready to distribute, but my normally vivacious friend seemed paralyzed by indecision. “Here,” I said. “Let me do that.”

  After each person had a copy, Babette revived somewhat. She led a discussion about Cavalry Farms and its need for financial support, then asked Pruett to share his experience with other groups whose causes challenged the establishment. I had to admit that his comments were concise, witty, and right on point. Naturally, he had no difficulty in holding the attention of every female in the room. Sheila smiled, Charlotte simpered, and Jacqui gaped. I kept my cool while recalling a few pleasurable scenes from our morning tryst. When he finished, I checked my watch, surprised to learn that an hour had passed with no sign of Jakes. If he intended to show up, Jakes had better make a move soon.

  Our hostess called for a fifteen-minute break, and the participants scattered. Soon only Pruett, Babette, and I remained in the room. Even Carleton vanished out a side door.

  “This isn’t working,” Babette groaned. “Nobody said one incriminating thing.” She twisted to her right side. “Damn. My strap came undone. Turn your back, Pruett. No woman undresses in front of a man.”

  I stood lookout while she raised her top, unhooked her bra, and made adjustments. By the time she finished, the group straggled in, one by one. Jacqui had obviously freshened her makeup. She headed straight for Pruett and clasped his arm in a deliberate, proprietary hold. I noticed the muscles in her arms and confirmed what Pruett had said. That woman looked strong! Charlotte filed in a minute later clutching her cell phone. The way she cooed into it convinced me that she had finalized an assignation. I watched her when Carleton rejoined us. He kept his head down, but Charlotte shot a guilty look his way. Poor Babette.