by Arlene Kay
“Most women wound with words, not deeds,” I said. “Of course, some, like me, have the skills to defend themselves. What about Jacqui?”
Sheila avoided my eyes and busied herself with hugging Cecil. Once again, she appeared to be weighing options. “Jacqui and I both take martial arts classes. Nothing too exotic of course. Just basic self-defense stuff.”
Sheila had more to tell and was avoiding the real issue. I could tell by the way she bit her lip. Several things were adding up. Jacqui had the right body type to be my assailant. She was impulsive too with a volatile temper and a mean streak. I recalled the way her greedy eyes devoured Pruett and the hostile looks she shot my way.
“Come on. Out with it. I won’t tell Bascomb.” I hated to pressure Sheila, but Babette’s future hung in the balance. Apologies were for later.
“Okay. It’s just that Jacqui earned a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. She’s sort of like the class star. The rest of us are dabblers.”
One well-placed blow could easily have disabled Jakes. Taking Ethel down would have been child’s play. Jacqui was a virtual stranger to me, but she might have purchased one of my belts in town. Implicating me would have been the proverbial icing on the cake for a jealous woman. Major payback for my involvement with Pruett.
“One thing bothers me,” Sheila said. “Ethel’s murder seemed spur of the moment, but Jakes was a different story. Someone planned that one.” She reached down and scratched Cecil’s ear. “Maybe we’re looking for two killers instead of one.”
I had never even considered that. Suddenly I raised an uncomfortable possibility. “What about Ken? Maybe he tried to protect someone. He’s such a sweetie, sort of like a knight errant. If Ethel or Jakes threatened Cavalry Farms, I’m not sure what Ken would do.”
Sheila put her head in her hands. “It’s too much trouble playing detective. No fun at all. I like Ken Reedy no matter what he did. Why not let Bascomb figure everything out? That’s why we pay him for crying out loud.”
I shrugged and said nothing. For all I knew she might be right. Probably was.
Sheila steepled her fingers and looked up. “One thing I am sure of. Whoever murdered Ethel and Jakes must have had a damn good reason for it, something worth risking life and liberty for. Find that, and you’ll find the killer.”
Chapter 30
I immersed myself in work that evening, but it didn’t help. Crafting leather products requires skill and concentration. There are rules to follow too. I imported sheets of fine English bridle leather for most of my products, custom measured each article and cut and stitched in my workshop. Precision was my watch-word and there was no room for error. Murder was an entirely different matter and once the “thou shalt not kill” threshold was breached, all bets were off. After serving in the military I was no stranger to violence. Soldiers fought the enemy, but they also brawled over sex, money, and status often with disastrous results. I vividly recalled one baby-faced recruit who slit his roommate’s throat over a perceived slight, climbed into bed and slept the night away. This was different. An ordinary citizen—cold sober and calculating—had taken two lives. These crimes were personal, far from the battlefield, based in an idyllic setting among friends and neighbors just like me. The mayhem violated my personal space and left me feeling curiously vulnerable.
To discipline myself, I spent a full hour bathing and grooming Zeke. Handling that irascible goat was more punishment than pleasure even though I was convinced that he secretly enjoyed the ritual. It was cozy enough with Keats and Poe gathered ’round, providing a canine support unit for their pal. I was so focused on my task that I ignored the ringing of my cell phone and missed a call from Pruett. Returning his call took more moxie than I ever anticipated. All my insecurities arose and with them questions too dreadful to contemplate. Suppose Monique answered the phone? What if he brushed me off? After gritting my teeth, I vowed to expunge this feckless version of myself from my life and get on with it.
Pruett answered immediately in that warm, smoky voice that drove me wild.
After a few preliminaries, I shared my conversation with Sheila. “Maybe she’s right,” I said. “Two killers might make sense. Muddy the waters.”
“Maybe.” Pruett paused. “You realize that you’ve upped the stakes for Babette and Carleton? Despite their differences, they both had something to lose.”
I have a stubborn streak a mile wide. “Not buying that. Not about Babette. She’s had three other husbands, so a divorce wouldn’t destroy her. Carleton now, he’s a different kettle of fish. The man makes egotism an art form, and he’s all about the bucks.”
Pruett hesitated. “I suppose Jacqui might confide in me…”
“Great! I’ll tackle Ken Reedy. We became good friends through the rescue stuff.”
“Whoa,” Pruett said. “Wait one minute. If Reedy killed two people you’d put yourself in danger. No way.”
I chuckled and sidestepped the protection issue. “A show cluster starts Friday. I’m pretty sure Ken will be there so if you happen to drop by, you could keep an eye on both of us.”
Pruett sensed a concession and he jumped on it. “Good plan. There’s something fishy about that guy. Mr. Dependable. He already had a scuffle with Jakes, didn’t he?”
“A minor disagreement. No big deal. If you lounge around Hamilton Arms tomorrow, you might get lucky. Jacqui volunteers there twice a week or so Babette told me.”
Pruett muttered several uncouth and unprintable things, but he agreed. “Don’t blame me if she tests my virtue. Maybe I’ll ask her to lunch. As I recall she has quite an appetite.”
That was an opening only a saint could refuse. I am no candidate for a halo, so I immediately pounced. “You’re just the man to satisfy all of Jacqui’s appetites. She mentioned that only last week.”
For once, he was stumped. “I don’t drink that much anymore. One night with Jacqui was a better cure than an AA meeting. That woman is a piranha. You can bet I’ll stick to mineral water around her.”
I was still smiling long after we hung up. Things were so easy between Pruett and me—banter, affection and passion. Who could ask for anything more? I knew I was deluding myself, getting in deeper with each call and kiss. I was philosophical about the situation, substituting analysis for emotion. All told, the pleasure would outweigh the pain.
* * * *
Monday was the busiest day of my workweek. Internet orders were brisk, requiring an immediate acknowledgement to the customer and adjustments to my schedule. No complaints, no sir. My livelihood and identity were intertwined in Creature Comforts and I planned to keep it that way. Romantic fantasies were fine, but they did not pay the bills.
I tried unsuccessfully to process the clues we had accumulated but my brain was on overload and my usual confidant, Babette, was out of bounds. Pruett had sent me a mysterious text saying he had “done his duty” whatever that meant and would report later. There was only one way to escape the mental muddle. I plunged into the monotony of routine chores with a vengeance. It was comforting to feed and exercise my pets, check email, and return phone calls. Physical activity obviated the need for brainwork and left me exhausted but clear headed. When Sheila called after dinner, I gave her a concise summary of my thoughts.
“So, it looks like we were wrong about Charlotte and Carleton,” I said. “The cuff link threw us off.”
“Who else could it be?” Sheila asked. “She’s a chisler. We know that, but it’s just so petty. We need a list of Hamilton Arms parents. You can bet Carleton’s bit of fluff came from there. Opportunity and all that.”
She was right, but I hated to involve Babette any more than necessary. Maybe Pruett had a listing. Schools tended to distribute those things to parents. I fell asleep that night clutching my cell phone with a cat at my side and the dogs curled around the bed. No texts or messages disturbed my rest.
Chapter 31
Horse shows have their own rhythm for both vendors and participants. After years of practice, I mastered the routine, moving seamlessly through the familiar ritual: Wake up, care for the pets, load up my goods, and get my over-caffeinated self on the road. My fondest memories were of sharing the experience with Pip when he was the on-site veterinarian. Every show has one, but he added a special touch of magic to the event. Pip genuinely loved all animals, especially horses, and they reciprocated. Small wonder that show regulars dubbed him “the horse whisperer,” a moniker that held more than a grain of truth. In contrast, Pruett, a man with a pathological fear of animals simply couldn’t compete in that arena.
I gave myself a mental shakedown. Relationships were not a competitive sport and only a fool would think otherwise. Pip would be the first one to chastise me for putting him on a pedestal. Like all of us he had his faults but try as I might, I just couldn’t recall any. Until I resolved that conflict, my life was stuck in perpetual neutral, or neuter in the case of relationships.
By the time I arrived at the showgrounds, prime parking spaces had been snapped up. In recognition of the amount of product we hauled around, vendors were assigned a special area close to the venue. Close was a relative term when it involved navigating through throngs of pets and people carrying cartons of leather goods and two large dogs. As I unloaded the truck, the cavalry arrived in the person of Ken Reedy.
“Need help?” he asked with a wry smile.
“Naw.” I struck a pose, hands on hips. “Used to be a teamster. How do you think I got these muscles?”
He reached into the truck, opened the crates, and grabbed the dogs’ leads. “Big day. Good luck with sales. Customers can be persnickety.”
“Persnickety? That’s a word I don’t often hear.”
Ken shrugged. “Archaic maybe but useful. Hey, made any progress on the murders? Nothing much in the papers.”
Although this was the opportunity I hoped and planned for, the triumph felt hollow. Ken Reedy was no killer. I knew that. Still, he was on the scene of both murders and certainly had the physical strength to do the deed. I recalled that Ken had served in Special Forces during the first Gulf War. That meant he also had the resolve to take serious actions if needed.
“Wait till I put this stuff away and I’ll tell you everything I know. Your courtroom skills will come in handy.”
He flashed that sardonic grin once more. “Okay. I don’t mind being your sounding board. Anything to help Babette.”
We worked in silence for the next ten minutes, toting my products and setting up the stall. After that, I leashed Keats and Poe, and turned to Ken. “Come on. Let’s walk and talk.”
We exited out of the side door headed toward the meadow that abutted the arena. At this time of day, very few humans were out and about. That didn’t bother me at all. Ken would never hurt me. I knew that. Besides, Keats and Poe provided the best most reliable back up anyone could ask for. They were trained warriors who watched over me at all times and their instinct for trouble far surpassed my own.
“Come on,” Ken said. “Tell me everything.”
I gave him a concise summary of everything that transpired. Ken was an attentive listener who watched me wordlessly, absorbing every word, nuance and piece of information. Verbalizing my thoughts had other benefits. It helped me to gain perspective as well.
“Sounds like it boils down to four or five points,” Ken said. “Ethel was blackmailing a number of folks and one of them ended it. Her murder was probably a spontaneous act rather than planned out.”
I nodded. “That’s the way we’ve got it figured too.”
He smiled again. “We? Does that include a certain investigative reporter?”
I can maintain a poker face with the best of them, a skill I honed in the army. Things had changed though. Something about the name Pruett wreaked havoc with my self-control. No more Persephone the stoic. I felt the color rise to my cheeks and turned aside.
“Several of us are involved. Babette and Sheila helped out too.”
“I suppose most folks have something to hide. Something big to them even if seems trivial to others.”
That was the thing that plagued me. Charlotte’s fondness for young men and her penny-pinching ways were reprehensible, but not criminal. Returning worn clothing was vile and dishonest, the hallmark of a shady soul, but none of these misdeeds shouted murder. I also doubted that Charlotte had enough ready cash to support Glendon Jakes in his new lifestyle.
“You okay, Perri?” Ken asked. “Got something on your mind?”
I shook off my misgivings and turned to him. “What’s your take on Jacqui and Sheila? They’re the only other ones who were close enough to the crime scenes.”
Ken chuckled. “Except for me, you mean. Don’t exclude any suspects, my girl. First law of criminal defense. Anyone is capable of committing murder under the right circumstances.”
“I trust you, Ken.”
He tightened his grip on my arm. “Don’t. By now, you know about my wife’s death. Some folks called that murder.”
“Not me. I would have helped Pip cross over if he had asked.” I gulped to avoid choking on unshed tears. Guilt and pain my long-time companions, welled up in me. Should I have ended Pip’s suffering? Was I so greedy for every minute with him, that I put my needs before his pain?
Ken moved closer, to comfort not menace me. Keats and Poe followed suit.
“I hate to mention this, Perri, and I know you love Babette…” Ken hesitated, “but she has one heck of a motive. Carleton has an even bigger one. If Hamilton Arms dumps him, he won’t find another slot. Somehow, I can’t see him teaching in a DC public school. Not an entitled guy like him.”
Brainstorms can come anywhere, even in the middle of a meadow. I pounded Ken on the shoulder for emphasis. “It comes down to that fundraiser at Sheila’s place last year. I wasn’t there, but the others were.”
Ken’s eyes widened. “I was there. We all were. Not Jakes of course. Sheila would never invite a low-life like him. Babette and Carleton showed up though. So, what?”
“Sheila told me there was some sort of problem, a fracas between guests.”
He stopped short, bent down and patted Keats. “Something like that.”
“Ethel was there, wasn’t she?”
“Yep.” If Ken was auditioning for an old time Western, he won my vote. Unfortunately, a laconic cowpoke wouldn’t help solve the murders.
I stood tall, balancing my weight evenly on both feet. “If you won’t tell me, let Bascomb know. You just might stop a murderer.”
Ken shook his finger at me. “Leave it, Perri. They don’t deserve your time. Both of them—Ethel and Jakes—were just no good. They fed off other people’s misery. I tried to warn Ethel, but she laughed in my face.”
My heart rate accelerated dramatically. Was he confessing to murder? I kept my voice calm and casual. “Ethel fooled most of us but not you. How long did you know about her?”
“Lawyers get pretty good at judging people,” he said. “Ethel’s humble act just didn’t sit well with me. I pegged her for a phony. Maybe it was her eyes. Windows to the soul they call them, don’t they?”
I closed my own eyes, trying to visualize Ethel’s face. Come to think of it, those glasses she wore obscured her eyes very effectively. From what I could recall they were fairly average, nothing spectacular. I frowned, puzzled by his point.
“Every once in a while, the mask dropped, and the real Ethel emerged.” He rubbed his forearm absently. “Blackmail.”
This time Ken seemed genuinely amused. “She miscalculated. I had already surrendered my law license, and anyone who did internet research would know the whole story about me. I wasn’t ashamed of what I did. I’d do it again if my wife were suffering.”
This was the oddest confession I had ever heard, and believe me, I had heard plenty of them.
The field was filling up with horses, riders, and owners now. Ken couldn’t hurt me if he tried. “Why did she do it—money?”
“Nope. Ethel didn’t care about money. Didn’t you tell me she left it all in her safety deposit box?”
“What then?”
“Power. Ethel, or whatever her name was, loved power, especially over rich people. It tickled her to see them grovel. Jakes was another kettle of fish entirely. He was greedy. Wanted money however he could get it and thought he was smarter than everyone else.”
Ken patted Poe’s soft coat and gave him a nose kiss. “He sure didn’t deserve a princess like Cleopatra. I wasn’t surprised at all when he bit the dust.”
Something weird was going on. Ken wasn’t the murderer. No way. But he sure as hell knew who was. “You know who did this, don’t you?”
Ken gave me his trial face, the impassive look that had made him a courtroom star. “I’ll say it again. Stay out of it, Perri. No good can come of meddling.”
He was probably right but if Bascomb got frustrated he still might try to pin the murders on Babette. Worse still, if no one were charged, the stigma would surround her like a noxious cloud and ruin her life. I refused to let that happen.
“Sorry. Can’t do it. You have to go to the police. Please, Ken.”
I’ll never know what his response would have been. Before he said one more word, a gleeful voice rang out. “Perri! Poe. Keats.”
The children’s crusade, led by Ella Pruett, accompanied by her father, had arrived.
After hugging my dogs, Ella threw her arms around my waist and gave me some love too. Pruett put his arm around me and extended his hand to Ken.
“Good to see you again, Ken. Ella and I decided to check up on Perri. Cheer her on.” His eyes were a truth detector scanning our faces without saying a word. I tried to meet his glance but could not.
Ken turned toward the ring. “Looks like reinforcements have arrived. I’ll be on my way folks.” He strolled off, arms swinging as if he had not a care in the world.